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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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int64 14
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[WP] During the cultural exchange throughout the galaxy, it becomes clear that every species has their own fantasy tropes. One particular ambassador from the other side of the Milky Way decides to tell a story that is famous on their planet.
|
Emilia Parks, diplomat to Earth, had been chatting with Gabnik Mknal from the Aoibnah system long after everyone else had retired to their rooms. Trying to revolve around every specie's natural sleep cycles was still very complicated, but both Humans and Aoibnahns had stamina-based predator ancestors; they could tolerate an extra few quiet hours of chatting.
They eventually got to the topic of stories. "In my world," Gabnik began, "we are very fond of our tales. I had noticed in your introductory portfolio that Humans had quite a few, what were they called, 'fairy tales'?"
"Oh, yeah," said Emilia, taking a sip of her low-cafeine coffee. "We often use them to explain difficult concepts to children. But they're also very entertaining. Do you have any?"
Gabnik's eyes twinkled. "A few. But one of our favourites is the tale of the Blood Creator."
Emilia downed the last gulp of her coffee. "Wait one minute. I think I'm going to need something like hot chocolate."
They both agreed to dim the lights for ambience, and Emilia gave Gabnik a cup of hot medka soup. He nodded his thanks and wiggled excitedly before settling in to tell the tale.
"Once upon a time... That's how you usually start your stories, correct? Once upon a time, there was a very small boy. He was so small, he kept getting stepped on. His mother had to always reach up to the trees to get his food; his father had to always lift him to reach the steps of his home.
All the other children thought he was ridiculous. Especially when they heard that he wanted to touch the stars. It's impossible! they'd cry. No one can reach that high! Especially not you! But the boy persisted, and insisted that it was possible. He was mocked right out of his playground.
But the boy Wasn't going to lose hope. He's reach his hand up, way up, as far as it could go. He'd build ladders and stack rocks and he'd climb as high as he could go, but still he could not reach those stars.
His mother noticed that he no longer asked her to grab him fruits; his father noticed that he no longer asked to be lifted. The boy would climb everywhere, even just as practice, and then as second nature.
But he would fall, quite often even. One day he had climbed so far, that his fall torn apart his foot. He lay there, not knowing if it would be worth asking for help, when he noticed something. His blood was seeping into the dust beneath him, and everywhere it touched, the dust glowed a speckled blue and white. Just like the stars.
The boy was so overcome with wonder that he believed that he'd fallen right into the sky."
Gabnik sipped his soup and hummed peacefully. Emilia smiled.
"I have to ask," she said finally, "Usually those kinds of tales refer to something. Why did the dust glow?"
"There is a metal, in our blood, that reacts to some of the rocks we have on my home planet," Gabnik explained. "We usually need to process it through many chemicals before we can make the night-lights our children are so fond of. The parents usually enjoy making it their child's first science experiment. But in those of my kind afflicted with dwarfism, the metal is much more present. It is how we found out about the reaction in the first place."
Emilia frowned. "So Aoibnahns are just as good as Humans at sanitising stories of scientific advancements that happen through violence."
Gabnik sipped his soup again. "I'm glad you noticed. This will make diplomacy that much more clear to you."
|
The truth of stories is: that's all we are. Here is a story of us.
Deep in the core of Matrix 616 is a little known data adjunct, barely functioning, but it still emits the light of the Source. This data was uncovered, uncorrupted by decay, from a limb of many cycles past.
When the Source was blue and young, the Core was still wild and still had parts unknown. We were subjects: breeders bred, workers worked, hunters hunted. When work was done, we gathered in the dark places unseen by the blue above and we shared what we had seen and known that day.
Here, the breeders stomped their feet, we have made more of us for our home. They are small but they will grow and spread and join our stories.
Here, the workers gnashed their teeth, we have built walls and dug from the earth for our home. We have rock and ore and there is more space for us to tell our stories.
Here, the hunters thrummed their sacs, we have brought food and slain our prey for our home. All are safe to live and spread so we can have more stories.
And all reveled in the tale and lived it as they had. We were strong and fierce and growing. But one of us grew still and quiet. It did not stomp its feet or gnash its teeth or thrum its sac.
What has happened, we asked.
I have known great sorrow this cycle, it said, I have been away from us. I have returned from above and far beyond the wild. I have seen a multitude of creatures each a vastness unto itself. A monster. They are many, but they are alone.
How can this be, we asked.
I do not know, it said, but I must return.
And we rose up and covered the walls and spit on the earth. None can leave us. Without us, we are nothing. Something must be done. There must more of us, said the breeders. We must build walls, said the workers. We must destroy them, said the hunters.
No, it said, we must go to them and tell our stories. I will go, for I know them well. It paused, and we stood silent. Who will go with me?
We cannot go, we must breed. We cannot go, we must work. We cannot go, we must hunt.
Who will go with me, it repeated.
None replied and we stood still.
But one raised its head and said, we will go. One more came forward and said, we will go. And one more and more until there was many. We will tell our stories, it said.
And so we left. At first we followed, and climbed the walls and ceiling and watched them leave. We traveled through the tunnels and caverns and underground waters until not even the bravest of us could walk beside them. And they traveled above and saw the blue.
When the light of the Source fell upon them, they were changed. I am free, it said. I am many, it said. I am not alone, it said. And though we are one, we are still together.
In the blue above, they encountered all manner of strange creature. But each was alone, even when there were many. We told them our stories. We stomped our feet and gnashed our teeth and thrummed our sacs, but they ran from us. Some lived in water and gurgled as they fled. Some lived in their and whistled far above our heads. Some had only two feet and made tunnels above the ground. None would listen to our stories, and they shared no stories with us.
Finally when the Source was fading, it told us to stop. It was the one who had first left. We must try something so they can hear us, it said. We must share our stories so they know us. We must try something new.
And it turned from us and dove at a creature. It did not stop to share our stories, but quick like the quaking earth, it dug and borrowed deep so that it could not run. It found a place deep in its tunnels where no light reached.
Finally, it said, here, listen to our stories. And it could hear us. And it stopped and we gathered and told our stories. I am free, it said. I am many, it said. I am not alone, it said.
And each in turn we found a creature and shared our stories. And they were not breeders, or workers, or hunters. They were something new. We had become something more than us.
We were no longer subjects. Now we were storytellers.
The truth of stories is: that's all we are.
| 2020-03-03T15:55:59
| 2020-03-03T15:46:42
| 38
| 28
|
[WP] It's a known fact that you are incapable of telling a lie. This has landed you several opportunities, including your current job as Head of Security at one of the largest banks in the world. Except you got bored and decided to rob it all. This is the story of how you got away with it.
|
– So there's been a robbery, but you are not guilty of that, I'm pretty sure.
– Uh, yeah, actually…
– No, I know, it's all fine, you tried your best to prevent that.
– Well, the truth is…
– Nah, it's okay, man, you don't have to feel guilty. It has been a massive scheme. We will just learn to defend ourselves better. Let's go for a beer meanwhile.
|
“I’m Super Special Agent Dirk Diggler and this Super Important Agent Mick Mickerson, I assume you are expecting us.”
The agents stood in the doorway, peering down the hall past the lady who greeted them.
“Ah, yeah, sure. You’ll be wanting to speak to my manager, right?”
Diggler lifted his clipboard to reading level, “A Mr. Berguson?”
“Yes, but he prefers to be called by his first name – Ferguson.”
The agents were led down the hall, the rooms of the bank showing themselves through the various widows in the building – police tape dancing around like wild flowers. The agents eventually reached the office of Mr. Berguson who was quick to greet both men with hearty handshakes.
“Right, gentlemen, I prefer to be called Ferguson – not too big on formality. What can I call you two?”
“Unfortunately, as Bureau men, we are all about formality,” said Mickerson, discreetly wiping Ferguson’s sweat from his hand. “But, as you have been so welcoming, you can call us Special Agent Diggler and Special Agent Mickerson.”
The agents took their seats, just in front of the desk Ferguson Berguson had seated himself at. The room was extravagant and was well befitting the prestige of the bank.
“We’ve been through the police reports and we have some ... questions,” said Diggler, rifling through the pages attached to his clipboard. “In particular, our questions revolve around the issue with Steve, your head of security.”
“And what is the issue with Steve?”
“Well,” said Diggler, inching forward on his chair, “it appears you wrote off every accusation the local police threw his way.”
“And that’s because he told me didn’t do it,” said Ferguson, confidently reclining in his chair.
“Yeah, we read that in the report,” said Mickerson. “But how can you be so sure?”
“Because Steve also told me can never ever lie.”
“Did you just say ‘ever’?” asked Diggler, rubbing at his chin inquisitively.
“Never ever,” said Berguson.
“Jesus Christ,” said Mickerson, furiously taking notes.
“I still remember my first meeting with Steve to this day. The confidence radiated from the man. During the interview he stopped me to say, ‘”Mr. Berguson, ask me any question you want and I’ll have to tell you the truth because, and I know I have said this multiple times already, I can never lie.’”
“And what did you ask him?” asked Mickerson.
Mr. Berguson leaned forward. “And that’s how this whole story ties together, gentlemen. I asked him: ‘Would you ever rob this bank.”
“Incredible,” said Diggler.
“That’s probably the question I would ask him, too. What did he say?” asked Mickerson.
“I’d ask him something like ‘do aliens exist?'” said Diggler.
“That’s not how it works. He can only answer truthfully with the knowledge he possesses,” explained Berguson.
“Then maybe I would ask him ‘If aliens did exist, do they?’ Try and catch him out,” said Mickerson, winking first at Berguson then casting a smile at Diggler who was flashing back an impressed expression.
“Gentlemen, that’s not how this works.”
“Zombies. True or false.”
“He said he would never ever, ever steal from my bank!” shouted Berguson, trying his best to get the conversation back on track.
“A double ever?” said Diggler, looking towards Mickerson who was nodding his head as the two men re-entered the conversation.
“That’s irrefutable,” said Mickerson.
“In the Bureau we have a saying, ‘A double ever is irrefutable’.”
“It’s true, we do say that all the time,” said Mickerson.
“Well, Mr. Berguson. That’s all we need." The two agents stood from their chairs. "I think we just cracked this case,” said Mickerson.
“What do you mean you’ve cracked the case?”
“It’s simple," said Diggler, re-tucking in his shirt in to his pants as it had done that awkward thing where it falls out after standing from a sitting position. "All we have to do is ask Steve who robbed this joint.”
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement
| 2018-05-03T05:52:10
| 2018-05-03T05:32:31
| 454
| 156
|
[WP] Dr Frankenstein enters a body building competition, but when he arrives he realizes that he strongly misunderstood the objective
|
Victor flexed. He rippled. Under the hard spotlights the contours of his oiled body gleamed. He was tanned, cut, a hardbody, sculpted perfection and he hadn't picked up a syringe or a scalpel even once.
He struck a pose, isolating another muscle group, and there was an outburst from the front row as a respected pathologist from Ruritania lost all semblance of self control and tried to stuff his posing pouch full of Pfennigs. She was restrained by some helpful lab assistants. In the VIP box, the notorious Dr. Furter flashed him a lascivious grin and raised an eyebrow. He left the stage to a storm of applause and quite a lot of thrown underwear.
He was met in the wings by Igor, who handed Victor his robe, and Professor Twilight.
"I don't want to denigrate what you do, Victor, but..."
"But next year, bring an animate corpse?" finished Victor. He smiled.
"It's what the competition is all about, after all."
Victor Frankenstein thought about this for a moment.
"Professor, I appreciate everything you say. But my time as a modern Prometheus is over. The crude surgery of my time has been superceded and eclipsed by genetic manipulation, cloning and even more esoteric techniques. What I do now is bring a little joy to the proceedings. And I have a few fans, here and there."
Professor Twilight sighed.
"I know, Frankenstein, I know. But they are not in the majority."
Frankenstein slipped off his robe.
"Professor, I might be outnumbered," he said, flexing a bicep "but I'm surely never outgunned."
|
It was perfect. All the nights spent digging up graves, all the frantic escapes from the biting torches and pointed pitchforks of the mob... They all paid off tonight.
Leading the grotesque figure by a chain fastened around his neck, the Doctor made his way to Town Square, a slight skip in his step as he anticipated the reaction of the judges. He arrived at the river, and by the dull light of the lantern in his hand, he made out the sign: *Ingolstadt*. The chained behemoth's boots pounded the wood of the bridge as the bizarre duo made their way into town.
As the Doctor meandered through the narrow cobblestone roads, stooping to avoid the low-hanging thatch roofs of the houses on either side, the sounds of laughter and music arrived from the distance.
The bonfire roared high and mighty in the center of town square, casting dancing shadows of the villagers' joyous forms. This scene of merriment and community was one to behold.
The Doctor emerged from the dark path and stepped into the light of the bonfire, taking in the sight of the judges setting up their table. He gripped the chain in nervous, sweaty hands, anxiously glancing at the competition.
What?
The other creations were... perfect! Their glistening bodies, flexing and oiling themselves up, were the ideal image of male beauty. There were no scars between the muscles, no sign that they had been assembled! In fact, if the Doctor had not know he was at a Body Building Competition, he would not have even guessed that these bodies had been built! Astounding!
Well, he assured himself, none of them were as large or impressive as his creation. He yanked twice on the chain, and the beast lumbered into the light.
The sounds of merriment ceased. Not a sound was made, save the crackling of the fire. The judges' jaws dropped in sheer horror as the Doctor made a grand gesture to his masterpiece. A little girl began screaming, acting as the catalyst for the villagers to panic. Tables were overturned, the spit roast dropped into the coals, as people began running away, desperate to escape the hideous gaze of the abomination looming in front of them. A banner tore from its fastenings and fell into the fire, casting eerie shadows along the brick facades of town square.
The Doctor and his monster stood alone, a man and his work, taking in the emptiness of the once bustling area.
The behemoth looked down at the doctor, and opened his pale lips:
"Oh vell, maybe next year..."
| 2014-07-01T08:35:34
| 2014-07-01T07:50:14
| 23
| 15
|
[WP] Write a 500 word long story that only uses each word once
|
Nights were filled with cold, frigid storms of endless horizon. Easily finding peace- tranquility, even- when gazing upon what could only be defined as first-hand experience into Watcher’s Willful Eye. Foregone conclusively, universal scale unimaginable unless seeing.
Constellations slowly drifting through space-time in a dazzling show: crimson colors outlining deep violets sprinkling pure celestial blue. Maybe it was time for me to get on adventuring- Zalik won’t idly fret, machinations forming within his demented mind- but calming feelings comes too short supply nowadays, and serenity’s newfound home residing inside my head wasn’t anything wanting perturbed.
Picking myself from the comfortable green pasture that had proved defensible during nightfall showed tenuous desolation across mountains: stark lightning blasted midnight black horizons, turbulent winds knocked over ancient trees previously standing millenia, tremorous earthquakes laying destructive waste everywhere. Villain’s been busy. So have I.
Walking. Striding. Sprinting. Crawling. Climbing. Did all doable methods ascending Mount Windrivver. Fought Guardwolves, Nightwatchers, Sinful Damned- fell every single one. Nescryl spiders crushed, irreparable. Stormfully ravaging opposition numbering legions- until, finally, marking completion. Dark Lords Throne ominously towering before salvation’s champion. Beyond, laid ruination.
Turning, Death incarnate spoke, rasped whispers clawing forsaken air.
“You arrived.” Corruption already? Sooner than expected.
“Yes, not moments soon.” Defiant, heroically.
“Wrong. Late.” Swivelling around, obsidian cape billowing gently. Intriguing juxtaposition- something soft betraying harder, vile intents.
“Your plan…”, breathing fearfully: fear resting, tension bursting behind false grandeur. World, civilization, eternity itself ceases if true.
“Achieved.” Final. Complete. Period.
“Impossible. Inconceivable.” Hopeful, stupidly.
“Perfected.” Quiet now, almost forlorn. Regret seeping somberly, holding spoken truths tight.
“Don’t do this.” Bargaining, hopelessly.
“Action’s done. Irrevocable, no going back.” Quietly, depressingly. Truthfully.
“Still, always chances. Destiny… Fickle creature. Undoable.” Grieving, pleading. Words cutting out, silent tears choking voice.
Staring, realizing...It’s gone. He’s given up.
Oblivion’s rift raged, background noise tonight.
Dawn? Catastrophic.
Zal crumbled, hellbent book crumbling, ashes incinerating yesterday's hope.
Lifeforce waning yet...possibly…
Ideas gushing forth like unbreakable dams long destroyed, cool water flowing towards brighter futures. Sorting, storing- options thrown wayside. Solitary choice left.
There’s hardly possibility...however risky. Needed. Necessary. Required.
Achievable.
Corpse restful forevermore. Can’t care about being moved slightly.
Blood. Gallons. Hands unforgetting. Never will.
Who wouldn’t?
Tome opened, pages ripped. Attempted ensuring reversal failed. Improbable instead.
Centrally stored. Portal torn, consuming worldly behaviors. Closable?
Unfindable.
Can try.
Might work...hopefully…
Failure isn’t an option.
Begging question: failing conceivable?
Answer: Absolutely.
Winning possible?
Conclusion: Percentile.
Result?
Action.
Explosively heralded new sunrise.
Humanity pushed forward, unfailingly.
Tomorrow’s foretold weather conditions:
Sunny, cloudless. Chance rainfall, precipitation low. Everyday occurrence. Happens everytime.
Families exited houses, gathered together, stayed safe. Giving thanks. Messiahs praised, gods worshipped, skies blessed.
Solidarity, two men collapsed, unsaveable, rescue forgotten. Tower collapsing inevitable, exploding, fiery demise.
Fatherly bonds, familial ties- moralistically separated.
Eyes wide open, fate searing watchful future.
Historically, resolute saviors needs rest.
Eternal reward.
Eternally rewarded.
Find refuge again, another day.
Sun rises, brilliantly firing solar light, life creeping onward.
Despair dissolves, dormant.
May heroes discover afterlife.
|
(this was too hard so i just did 100, heres my attempt. it is incoherent i know)
George?
Yes?
something to tell you
Alright, shoot.
Well theres this girl
Same old story?
Better believe it
Do explain
plane. aisles. seated beside red head. mighty fine.
must be more?
words. beat me over head. bad speak.
sorry man, go on.
say ‘astronaut.’ disbelief. try ‘movie star.’ unfamiliar. india.
Dude, a chick believed you were an indian celebrity
totally, chatting. watching plane tv. hold hands. backs off.
moved too fast?
unrequited love. proposed marriage
FRICKIN CRAZY
woman confirms, however, lacks time
clearly
female’s dad disapprove. baseball bat. painful
hospital?
rush here. help
getting married, cannot
betrothed? how!
flight attendant
| 2018-09-05T20:10:08
| 2018-09-05T18:58:02
| 24
| 18
|
[WP] A bed ridden child is given solace by the monster under the bed.
Life's been dull. Make me feel.
EDIT: Wonderful stuff, everyone. Thanks for the stories.
|
"*...you...don't...leave...*"
Eli lifted his head off the pillow. He *did* hear it this time, he was sure of it.
Four days after school let out for the summer, he had convinced himself that there was a monster under the bed. He'd be drifting off to sleep, only to hear soft noises in his room, like a mouse or a vole skittering across the floor. Sometimes he thought he heard a low humming, like a song, but he didn't recognize it. When it was light, he went under the bed and moved his box of Legos, the bulky wooden train set his Mom still wouldn't let him get rid of, the bag of broken Power Ranger figures. There was nothing there but dust. That night he was finally brave enough to tell his Mom, afraid she would laugh at him or tell him he was too old for monsters. Instead she smiled, and said "I have just the thing."
That night, when she tucked him in, she brought in his book along with a spray can. It was white with a red top, and had "MONSTER SPRAY" written in marker across the front. "It keeps monsters from coming into your room and living under your bed," she explained. She kissed him goodnight, tucked up his covers, and bent down to put a few short bursts of the monster spray under the bed. He thought it smelled like the apple pie-scented scratch-and-sniff sticker he got at school last year. "That should do it. Goodnight, sweetie. Love you." Eli hugged his stuffed dog and smiled. He waited a few minutes, and didn't hear anything. *It worked!* he thought, and drifted off to sleep.
Now it was October, and Eli's mom brought the heavy quilts down from the big closet. The large patchwork quilt from Grama was on the bed, and he fingered one of the worn patches, listening for the voice. He took a deep breath, and moved slightly so his head was hanging over the edge of the bed.
"*...you...don't...leave...*"
"Whaddya mean?" he whispered.
"*...you...when it is bright. Used to leave the room. Your bed. Come back when it is dark. But not now.*"
"No, I don't," he slowly whispered back. "I got sick this summer. Real bad." He tried not to cry. No summer camp or afternoons at the pool, just repeated hour long car trips to the children's hospital. He had to stay in the hospital the entire month of July, which really sucked (one of the new words he learned from watching too much daytime TV). He didn't want to think about how much he hurt, all the time.
"*When will you leave?*"
"I dunno. Mom says we're waiting for some tests. She said she'll tell me." He paused. "Do *you* want to leave?" he whispered.
"*I cannot. You are here.*" He heard a low sigh. "*When you leave for the day, then I can leave also.*"
Eli thought a minute. "I'll let you know when I'll be leaving, is that okay?"
"*...yes. I will be here. You...you sometimes do not sleep.*" the voice paused. "*You are not scared?*"
Eli thought another minute. "No, not now that we're talking. I'm sorry you're stuck under there."
"*I am sorry you cannot leave.*" There was a long pause. "*I...misjudged. The smell. I liked the smell. I did not leave in time.*"
Eli thought yet another minute. Smell? What smell....OH, thought Eli, and started to giggle. "Did you like my Mom's Monster Spray?"
He heard a huff from under the bed. "*It was pleasant. C-could you be afraid? Again? To the large human?*"
That made Eli giggle even more. "Sure," he whispered. "I'll tell my Mom the monster is still under the bed. Tomorrow."
"*Thank you.*"
"You're welcome." Eli smiled. Maybe he could stand staying in bed for a little while longer.
|
I don't kill kids.
'Then why are you under my bed?'
Because I eat kids.
'But I'm alive!'
For now. You're sick.
'Daddy said I'm gonna get better. He said even though I'm sick, they're gonna bring in the best doctor and he's gonna make me better.'
Maybe that's the case. But I'm down here just in case.
'In case what?'
In case you die. Then I'm going to eat you.
'I'm NOT gonna DIE!'
Probably. When your father was sick like this, I was under his bed too. But he got better.
'Really? When was my dad sick?'
When he was a boy. About your age.
'Was he as sick as me? Because the doctors said that I shouldn't leave the house for a long time, until I'm better.'
Sicker. I thought he died more than once, I almost took a bite. But then he would wake up and tell me to go away.
'Well you're not going to eat me, monster. My dad is going to take care of me and make me all better. You should find somebody else's bed to hide under.'
Maybe. But there's still a chance.
| 2014-05-19T08:55:41
| 2014-05-19T08:26:44
| 17
| 12
|
[WP] You have a friendc who buys you gifts that, days later, turns out you need. You figure they’re just observant. In till they give you a giant stuffed bear, to your surprise as it is a fairly normal gift and on your car ride home you are crash and the extra cushion of the bear saves your life.
|
“Ezekiel?!” I exclaimed as he walked into my hospital room. I was sure I wouldn’t see him until after I left the hospital, if even then. Every time I got hurt, he always disappeared for a while unexpectedly.
“Hey Riley,” he said hesitantly, looking over my bruised figure. I glanced down immediately to make sure I wasn’t half naked or something. I couldn’t tell anymore without looking, and I already felt self-conscious without a bra underneath my hospital gown. “H-How are you doing?” He stuttered slowly.
I looked up and stared at him for a moment, evaluating his reserved expression. His dark green eyes seemed…regretful. “Zeek,” I began cautiously, “why did you give me that huge teddy bear? It saved my life. It’s literally the only reason why I’m not dead right now.”
He looked away, his face now impassive. “It was just a gift Riley, I told you that.”
His response immediately made me suspicious. There was no surprise in what I'd said. No 'Wow, I can't believe my gift saved your life.' Just regret. A knowledgeable regret, as if he knew exactly what he had done. As if it had been intentional. But that wasn't what I was focusing on. My heart hurt too much to think about that.
“Why?” I demanded, feeling my eyes begin to sting. “Why do you insist of giving me things even though you said you don’t want to be with me?”
He shifted his weight uneasily at the foot of the bed. “I never said that,” he began quietly.
“Yes you did!” I exclaimed. I knew for a fact he did. Why was he denying it now?
He glanced at me briefly before looking away again. “I didn’t say I didn’t *want* to be with you.”
That gave me pause as I read between the lines. What had he really said? And then it hit me. He *couldn’t* be with me. Not that he didn’t want to be. “Why?” I asked again, barely above a whisper.
But he didn’t respond. He just stared at the wall silently.
“Zeek!” I exclaimed. “Why? Why did you save my life?”
He shifted uneasily again, a subconscious act, and remained silent.
I gasped. I was right. It had just been a stab in the dark, just an impossible theory. But his reaction…I was right. “Zeek…I can’t feel my legs.”
His head snapped in my direction, shock all over his face. He rushed to my side, kneeling down next to me and clasping his warms hands around mine. “Riley! I’m sorry!” He pleaded with me. “I didn’t know!”
When he bowed his head over our hands, tears silently slipping from his eyes, I reached out and began running my fingers through his thick brown hair with my free hand.
“Ezekiel,” I finally whispered, “why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”
He sighed heavily, pressing is forehead into our hands. “I can’t Riley. It’s…” He took a deep breath. “It’s against the rules.”
The portion of my body I could still control locked up in surprise. He immediately noticed and looked at me pleadingly. I had to look away from him then, afraid his emerald gaze was going to make me lose my train of thought. Finally, I spoke. “Is it not against the rules to save my life?” I asked hesitantly.
He froze this time. I could sense all his muscles tense. “No, it is against the rules,” he admitted cautiously. My head snapped in his direction, shocked that he was actually being honest. He continued. “Riley…I’ve been saving your life ever since I met you.”
“How long?” I whispered.
He held my gaze as he replied. “Since you were nine years old.”
I gasped, trying to remember back. To recall some inkling as to why it had started then. “Why?” I finally asked.
He looked away then, seeming to misunderstand my question, his expression emotionless. “Because that is when I was sent to collect your soul Riley.” He looked at me then, no longer hindered by my shocked expression. “I’m a reaper. A god of death.”
# Part 2
“A god of death?” I asked slowly, suddenly feeling lightheaded. I had to lean my head back against the upright portion of the bed. While Ezekiel had withheld information from me, not once had he ever lied to me. Even though it seemed impossible, if he was telling me he was a reaper then I believed him. But that didn’t make wrapping my mind around it any easier.
“So now you know,” he replied quietly. “Why we can’t be together.”
I closed my eyes, trying to keep the room from spinning. “But why me?” I whispered.
He lowered his voice even more. “Your soul. It’s…beautiful. And innocent. I couldn’t touch it. I didn’t want to touch it.” I opened my eyes and looked at him then as he began gently running his lips along the back of my hand. “I wanted to protect it.” He then sighed heavily, seemingly lost in his own thoughts now. “I’ve taken so many others, but when I met you…I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
My face flushed as he continued to run his warm lips along my hand and my wrist. There was so much to consider. So many questions to ask. But I could only focus on one thing. “But I still don’t understand,” I admitted. “Why can’t we be together?”
He ignored my question. “I can heal your legs,” he announced unexpectedly. But there was something more there. A pain in his expression, in his voice. He then started mumbling to himself. “I should have just done it a long time ago. You wouldn’t be in this situation if I had. I was just too selfish.” He rested his forehead against our hands again, as if silently apologizing.
I believed him that he could heal me. And I was glad to know that maybe I wouldn’t be paralyzed from the waist down for the rest of my life. But, clearly, this gift wasn’t free. Otherwise he wouldn’t seem so…regretful.
“At what cost?” I wondered hesitantly.
He looked up at me then, holding my gaze for a few seconds, and then turned his head away. “You’ll never see me again.”
“Why not?” I asked breathlessly. I wanted the feeling back in my legs, but…I wanted him more.
He took a deep breath. “Because you won’t *want* to see me again.”
“But why Zeek?” I didn’t understand. There wasn’t any manifestation of reality in which I wouldn’t want him. I’d always wanted him, for as long as I had known him.
He finally met my gaze. “Because Riley….if I awaken your divinity then your legs will be healed, but you’ll be a different person. You’ll be appalled by what I am.” I just stared at him in disbelief, prompting him to continue. “Riley…you’re a reincarnated god. A god of life.”
My vision immediately darkened, and my ears started ringing. I had to lay my head back again. I barely heard Ezekiel urgently calling my name. I barely felt his breath suddenly on my cheek. His face was finally close to mine. After all this time, after all my fantasies, it was finally happening. And yet, I was barely conscious enough to enjoy him this close to me.
“Don’t do it,” I whispered, barely even hearing my own voice. “I want to be with you. I *need* to be with you.”
He pulled away then. I tried to look at him, but it felt like he was far away, as if I was watching him through a tunnel.
Unexpectedly, he held up his hand and a shadow appeared in the room, manifesting into a massive scythe with a bright red gem at the top, and a long chain at the bottom. My heart began fluttering, my ears barely picking up on his words.
“I’m sorry Riley. This is goodbye.”
# [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt/comments/9e4vxp/my_boyfriend_is_a_soul_reaper_part_3/) | [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt/comments/9e7d8c/my_boyfriend_is_a_soul_reaper_part_4/) | [Part 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt/comments/9e86mw/my_boyfriend_is_a_soul_reaper_part_5/)
**Thanks for reading! I have a couple of popular stories regarding some recent prompts going on at my subreddit right now, if you want to check them out at** [r/AuthorKurt](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt)
|
"What do you mean I'm crash" was my first shock, I had just been in my car ride home, and now I'm being told this garbage?
"You are crash bandicot" the wise old sage nodded, for reasons he refused to get into; This wise old sage was a piece of wood.
"No no no, I've played the game. I know how this ends" I denied, but the wooden board wasn't having it.
Before I could even scream in horror too much, the board had plastered itself on my head and my vision was momentarily cut off.
Like a horror dream, everytime I tried to escape; the board would cut off all vision until I returned to the predetermined path ahead of me. I already knew the horrors of this, I've played it.
I died a lot in the game. My greatest fear would be that I would die here, it only made my trials longer and my struggles worse. But I didn't die.
The bear is what saved my life at first, and my mentality. Whenever I felt like crying and giving up, I would squeeze it to death. If it wasn't so heavily cushioned, it would be flat. And if it wasn't there, I would do something suicidal.
I had plenty of time to think about my life, and when I finally reached the last level, the board flew off my head and I found my friend. In the end, I could only spit two scathing sentences.
"OP, what the hell is wrong with you? Why did you try railroad me while limiting my own choices?"
It was obviously OP, had to be. He gave me a teddy because he wanted it to be a crucial focus in my life.
The jokes on him though, halfway through I dumped the teddy.
| 2018-09-08T04:39:03
| 2018-09-08T03:52:17
| 90
| 34
|
[WP] Now that he has 8 years executive experience, Obama can apply for the job he REALLY wants
|
*So Mr Obama, what are your qualifications?*
*Well, I was 44th President of the United States of America*
*Well, Mr President, what about your presidency makes you qualified for a job at Disneyworld? We already have a robot playing you in the hall of Presidents*
*Michelle, BRING ME MY SUPER SUIT*
^^*zzzziiiipppp*
*You're hired.*
|
"Mr. Obama, I want you to understand that, well, your qualifications are up to par, and your experience certainly is plenty, but what we do not understand is why you'd choose to apply for this position."
"Mr. McDonald, contrary to popular opinion, the most powerful man in the world is not Bernie Sanders, nor Xi Jin Ping, nor Vladimir Putin. It is the President of McDonalds. I have been to many countries, Mr. McD, and in almost everyone of those, there are McDonald franchises in them. When you hire me, I will expand this company to every nation on the face of the Earth, and it is through that that I may spread Americanism."
| 2016-02-23T02:07:50
| 2016-02-23T01:52:30
| 89
| 47
|
[WP] In this world of magic, you're a mage who specializes in sound magic. You've just discovered an extremely dangerous and chaotic form of sound magic, naming it "Dubstep."
|
Most people think of audiomancy as supportive or for parlor tricks.
Oh sure, breaking a piece of glass at it's resonant frequency is impressive, but not usually an effective combat technique. A temporal mage can stop the fragments in midair and move; a thermal mage can make a wall of ice, or use heat to keep it fused.
Sound magic's main niche was healing. Exciting the cells in different parts of a living creatures body to accelerate healing was imprecise, but it worked. Novices worked in medical wards and generally just shortened stays by a day or two; Experts worked in field triage.
If I could survive a council, this would change that.
The council chair, a photomancer, clearly didn't think that was the case. "So, Mr. Gibson... you have a new audiomancy technique. You know sound mages haven't brought anything substantial in about 50 years, right?"
"I understand, which is part of why I think the council would be interested in humoring this."
"Fine. Show us whatever imprecise glamour you have at the moment."
"I can't show it here. I've identified a cliff off the northern coast; I've included the telemancy thread. Could the council transport us there."
"...ugh. This is a waste of time, but perhaps it will shut up the sound mages argument of bias. Tobias, can you make this quick?"
In a blink, we were on the coast, at a large inlet.
"Oh, bravo, you brought us to a sound. Ha ha."
"The pun wasn't intended, I assure you. I needed a rock formation like the one over there, and no other people nearby. Field testing is dangerous."
"Get on with it."
I started my explanation. "Most sound mages work toward precision, which requires using less and less energy in the spell. This technique eschews that." I started pulling the mana together for the spell.
"Well, at least you aren't lying about that. That's almost enough energy for a decent spell."
Ignoring the slight, I continued: "This technique doesn't use high precision, like glass shattering. Nor does it waste much energy. Instead, it takes advantage of the variance. Now then..."
I began.
WUB
Even the first wave shook the distant cliff. A bit of dust kicked up; birds flew away.
The head of the council wasn't blathering any more.
WUB\-WuB\-wUB WUUB
The cliff shook more violently. A crack started to form near the west edge.
WUB WUB WUB wub\-wub\-WUb\-wub\-wub
More cracks formed. Chunks of stone started dropping into the sea.
WUB\-wub\-wub\-wub\-wub\-wub\-WUB
With that last wave, it was done. The cliff was too badly damaged; it collapsed into the sea.
For a moment, I watched my handiwork. Surely this would impress the council. I turned around, expecting cheers or at least some respect. This was not the reaction.
"That spell is, simply put, too powerful. It cannot be allowed to the general populace. Frederick, remove him."
The shocked mage regained his composure, then started a spell that would... incinerate me?
After all my work? After struggling for years?
No.
WUB
The council fell to the ground. Frederick's spellwork was disrupted. But I had assaulted a council \- I was going to be hunted down and killed. I couldn't...
WUB Wub WUB
Their bodies writhed in pain. At least a couple were bleeding; there were definitely broken bones as well.
wub\-wub\-wub\-wub\-wub
I... wasn't doing this, was I? Was I fighting a council to the death... and winning? Easily?
A couple of them got up and started spells.
wub\-WUB\-wu
I stopped. It was time for the other half of the technique.
The energy required for this part was more intense \- mana flowed into me rapidly, and instead of a wave, this was a field. It sprang from my fingertips, enveloping the council. Within it, nothing moved. Not a single air molecule. Not a heartbeat. No spellwork.
I said out loud, even though they wouldn't hear: "This is not temporal magic \- instead, things just... don't happen, even though time passes. It's in preparation for..."
WUUUUB!
The council members were no more. Now, I had to figure out if I was going to be a rogue mage or point out that this was self defense. Neither was going to be easy.
|
I double check my surroundings before closing the door to the barn and locking it, both with the key and with some restriction magic. I want to ensure my practice goes off without a hitch, especially if I'm planning to use it for the grand magic games.
I readjust my ear-blockers and take my position in the centre of the room. I take deep breaths, in quick succession, to calm my heart rate down. I need it to be down.
It slows down to a quarter of a second between beats but its not enough. I continue to regulate my breathing till I hit half a second between the beats of my heart. I let a smile form on my face before killing it.
I raise my hands in the air and release my magic into the space. This new magic I have discovered is an extension of the work I have been researching in regards to Sound Magic and vibrations. I leave my hands in the air, till I can feel the air pressure on them. With the right release of magic, I can cause the air to vibrate at a certain frequency.
So I start the vibration, slowly at first. Disorganised. I keep it like this for a few seconds before moving my fingers. I have to coordinate the vibrations in my left and right hands so that they can attain the same frequency. As soon as this happens, I bring my hands closer together, in front of me. Building the vibrations in front of me, I condense the area of release and let it loose.
*Boom*
The sonic sound travels through the air before dissipating. I find myself smiling again. This is how I usually start my practice. I hold my breath briefly to ensure my heartbeat is still half a beat apart before I move on to what I'm about to test.
I figured out, a few days ago, that just like air, vibrations are malleable. I had always thought it was a build up and release, as per the sound that escapes the mouths when we speak but all of that changed on my trip back from the market.
I build the vibrations in my palms until both hands are synchronised to the same frequency. Then I make a grabbing motion with my hands like I'm grabbing hold of my garments. In my fist, I can still feel the vibrations pumping through.
Then I pull my hands apart.
A sound rips through the air as the air itself splits in front of me. Before I let myself get enamored by it, I bring my fists back and the air collapses on itself immediately. The sudden tear and close causes a boom to replace the screeching sound of the rip that preceded it.
"Ha!" I say I crack the bones in my neck. Time to have some fun.
I pull back with my right like I did before, and as the ripping sound starts to form, I release my grip with my right hand slightly, moving my fingers like I'm juggling a gold coin. The rip is replaced with an audible air vibration.
The air in front of me solidifies slightly, and the vibration is more visible. A "wub-wub-wub" sound emanates from the wall and I find I can control the movement and the placement of the wall by moving my left hand.
I raise both hands above my head and then bring them down to the floor with speed, and the air wall smashes into the ground. The subsequent sound releases is so great it lifts me off my feet and smashes me back to the door of the barn.
I let a laugh escape me now.
I get up dusting myself. I have a few more hours till sun-down. I have more to learn.
---
/r/EvenAsIWrite
| 2018-06-14T05:30:26
| 2018-06-14T04:45:13
| 77
| 28
|
[WP] At the age of 18, every human goes to a special school. Here, they will be magically drawn to the classroom where someone will teach them their true calling. The room you enter is...empty. Not even a teacher there. Apparently no one else can even see a door there.
|
Alone. One word that defined my whole life.
—————-
The day my father vanished from the house, leaving nought but cigarette stubs and a vacant closet, my Mom cradled me in her arms and we were alone together.
On the first day of grade school, in a sea of new and unfamiliar faces, laughing and talking about things I didn’t understand, I was alone.
In the principal’s office, across Becca’s mother and a teary-eyed Becca sitting across the table - a tuft of hair missing and my favorite eraser still in her grubby clutches - I was alone.
When the phone rang and I was busy prepping our microwave dinners, waiting for Mom to come back from her emergency shift at the ER, I was alone.
Behind the glass pane of the quarantine room, watching my Mom wheeze into her ventilator, I was alone.
On that rainy Tuesday afternoon, dressed in my only black dress, staring blankly into the small puddle forming on the lid of the coffin, I was the most alone I’d ever been.
———
So when on Selection Day I found myself an Apprentice in an empty room with no Guide, I was not surprised. I was sad, disappointed, angry, and bitter in turns - but not surprised. After waiting for 12 long, lonely hours in room 401, I accepted that not even my own future wanted anything to do with me.
As I slowly packed up my things to go, the door swung open. I turned around, hoping against hope - but it was just the janitor.
“Hey kid, Selection Day’s over. Time to get out.” As he looked around the empty, bare room and my unhappy face, it slowly dawned on him. “Ah. You’re one of them. The Uncalled.”
———
Bonding over a tepid coffee in a break room of the Selection Hub, I found in Norie a kindred soul. He had fled a few decades ago from the Outlands up North, where the Authority's zealots held no sway and where nobody had even heard of a Calling. With no family, friends, or Calling of his own, Norie bounced between odd jobs until he eventually landed at the Hub.
I settled into a new routine. Norie slipped me onto the payroll through a few "friends", and I began working as a janitor on the night shift. During the day, I attended vocational college, courtesy of a faked Calling card provided by the same "friends".
In my spare time, I worked on my small projects, little tinker toys made from scraps that jittered and spun as they slowly wound down. I always understood them more than people. They always followed strict, unbending rules - even if those rules were obscure. People were messy, inconsistent, impossible to predict or understand.
If not for Norie's encouragement, I never would have thought to apply for my Master's in Engineering or my PHD in Biomechanics. I'd have been happy sweeping those floors, watching those eager applicants file into Selection to find their Calling. But he always wanted me to be more than I was. I think he saw in me the daughter he'd never had.
——
But my loneliness was not gone - it was just hiding patiently in its corner, waiting for the fullness of time to embrace me back into itself. And after a few years, it found its opening.
It quickly spiraled out of control. A synthetic super-muscle prototype flexed beyond its operating limits. A colleague dead on the lab floor. An Authority investigation uncovering my faked Calling. My promising career shattered and broken. An interrogation and a long stint in a deniable black site.
But when I finally got home after 6 months, what broke me was the tiny cardboard box on my doorstep. On top of Norie’s few belongings was a picture of us on my graduation day and a short note from the the Authority that Norie had “died of natural causes during questioning, with no registered next of kin.”
I threw myself into my work, taking every black market deal and dubious genehack job to fund my work. From that research came the Gorilla Arms, which helped me rip the doors of the Opus Bank’s vault straight off their hinges. The heist paid for the materials of my Frog Legs, which helped me scale the cliffs guarding Authority BioLab 3. That gave me the final piece of my plan - the Chameleon Scales.
———
I stand on the roof across the Hub on Selection Day, eagerly anticipating my biggest strike on the Authority yet. I’d found my own Guide without them, in spite of them. And they took him away from me, just as they’d taken everything else.
The first blow from my Gorilla Arms blows open the doors of the Hub - sending wood, Guides and Apprentices flying in equal measure. I relish the fear in the eyes of the Authority soldiers as their bullets plink off the Chamelon Scale on my torso. With a giant leap of my Frog Legs, I bound to the top floor, smashing the Authority Panopticon watching the Callings. Working my way down the floors, destroying everything in my wake, I smile at the uncertainty, the anger, the confusion in the faces of the Guides and Apprentices I smash through. Let them feel what I felt.
I briefly stop in front of Room 401, and then I see her. The gleam in her eyes. Not fear, not anger, but envy. Suddenly, I realize what I was missing all these years. My true Calling.
——-
——-
——-
The door opens, and the hulking chimera of a monster steps in slowly. She is not afraid. Nobody will miss her anyway.
The beast stops in front of her, and a woman’s visage emerges from the shimmering scales.
“Good afternoon Apprentice. I’m your Guide today.”
“Welcome to the Uncalled.”
|
Your first day of Life School had always been the biggest day of your life. You spent eighteen years enjoying a carefree ride until you get tossed into a building where strange energy guides you to a classroom; here you will have a Guide that teaches the ways of your chosen trait. From janitor to a nuclear scientist, every fresh eighteen-year-old gets a path. At first many believed it was some type of scam, but after seeing that everyone who was drawn to their career excelled, we've accepted it as the law of all things.
Everyone had a path. Some strange force guided you to it. And that's what you did the rest of your life.
Well... What happened if someone had an unknown path?
There I sat, all alone in the classroom. Not a student or Guide in sight. I gazed out of the classroom window that displayed the hallway. Other students began to gawk with wide eyes. In a blink of an eye, the window was filled with gossiping students. A Guide barged into the room.
"Uh." He feverishly flipped through a clipboard the size of a dictionary. "Yana? Yana Brown--yep that's you! If you'd come with me! I'm afraid you're in the wrong class. This classroom is vacant. Perhaps the energy is guiding you to a neighboring class. I believe you're in between audio engineer and shopping cart specialist. If you'd just come with me--"
The Guide took a few steps forward and was hit by an invisible wall. His clipboard and rump hit the floor, papers flew everywhere.
"Oh my," he said, trembling. "I need to get Principle Perry!"
Some time had passed. The window full of wide-eyed students turned into Guides and a news crew. Principle Parry and the Guide who had spoken to me earlier--his name was Ryan as I heard--began to argue. As the time dragged out, I found myself constantly glancing at the clock. I had been sitting at this desk for nearly three hours!
A knock came at the door.
I looked at the window and saw wide eyes fixated on me. Everyone was still as stone.
A tall woman entered the room. She wore a black suit and had the gait of a President.
"Yana brown?" She asked.
"Yes?" I gulped.
"I am going to ask you to do one thing." The woman cautiously pointed to the classroom door. "Try to walk to that door, touch the handle, turn the handle, then open the door. Can you try that for me?"
I nodded and arose. My legs were a bit shakey--I had been sitting for a few hours entertaining the world. I did as the woman requested.
I got to the door.
Placed my hand on the handle.
Turned the handle.
Then opened the door.
I slowly turned my head to the woman in black.
"Now try to--slowly--walk outside of this classroom," she said.
I gulped and turned to the hallway. To my left was a news crew and Guides. To my right were Principle Perry, Ryan, and even more guides.
I took one step out of the classroom and, within a blink of an eye, I was shoved back with impossible force. The door slammed as soon as my rump slammed in the seat. The wave of energy caused the woman in black to nearly put a hole in the wall with her back.
"I..." She struggled. "I have to go now!"
She ran out of the classroom faster than I had been forced back into my seat. The brief moment the door was opened I heard a cacophony of shouts from all of the Guides.
*What was my path?*
This question clogged my mind for the next hour. By the end of hour four, my phone rang.
*Unknown Caller*.
I looked over to the window. Wide eyes... Still.
I answered the phone.
"Hello?" My poor excuse of a voice was so low I barely heard it.
"Agent Yana Brown," a distorted voice said. "Welcome to the team. Unfortunately, your town did not have a secret agent Guide. In fact, we here at the office are all perplexed by the situation. This situation is truly one to marvel at--it's not every day someone gets a path outside of their reach. We have a helicopter on its way to you now. We will extract you out of the classroom. Do not mention this to anyone."
A surge of relief coursed through my veins. "Ok," I said.
The secret agent killed the line.
I looked over to the classroom window. Their eyes were even wider now.
My eyes were wide too. *That's right world! I'm a frickin' secret agent!*
| 2022-05-07T22:14:18
| 2022-05-07T17:27:57
| 203
| 121
|
[WP] A waiter is grating the cheese for you at a restaurant. He askes you when to stop. You choose to remain silent as the cheese starts to pile up
|
Cheese dusted my pasta.
My waiter, Dennis, flashed me a winning smile. "Enough, sir?"
"I'll tell you when to stop."
"Sounds good."
He grated the lump of parmesan a few seconds more, until the surface of my pasta bolognese was covered in white flecks.
He paused, raised his eyebrows inquiringly, and, when I made no sign, continued grating.
The cheese fell thick. He'd become a little rattled, and was grating quickly. The tendons stood out on his arms.
"Still not enough?" he asked.
"I said I'll tell you when."
He really got into it. His arms blurred, and the parmesan shrank in his hands like a magician's disappearing trick. By the time he'd run out, a one-inch thick layer of parmesan had accumulated on my plate. Not a loop of pasta or blotch of sauce could be seen.
"Enjoy your meal," Dennis said, and turned away.
"More."
"Sir?"
Through clenched teeth, I said, "More!"
Dennis' adam's apple jumped up and down. "At once, sir."
He returned from the kitchen with a full lump of parmesan.
Smiling weakly at me the entire time, he grated the lump furiously. Beads of sweat accumulated at his hairline. The parmesan fell like a Minnesota blizzard. It rose to a height of half a foot and the base of the mound escaped the bounds of the plate.
"Sir, is that enough?" he said.
"What did we agree, Dennis?"
His grating arm slowed. "We agreed that--"
"Don't stop!"
The grating accelerated. "We agreed that you'd tell me when to stop."
I gripped the edge of the table. "That's right."
Another waiter brought out two more blocks of parmesan and Dennis kept grating. He grated until his eyes watered and tears mingled with the sweat coursing down his cheeks. He grated until he had to suck air to put up with the pain in his elbow. He grated until the mound of parmesan reached so far that mini-avalanches fell into my lap.
"Please, sir. Please tell me that's enough. My arm can't take it."
"Keep going."
"I'm begging."
"Keep going."
Three other waiters joined Dennis. They switched from parmesan to emmenthal, cheddar, gouda, and blue. Soon the mound's base touched the far side of the table. The waiters had to hold their arms up to stay above the mound's peak. They cried as they worked.
I overheard a conversation from the table behind me.
Man said, "Do you know what's going on over there?"
"The waiter," Woman said, "he told the customer to tell him when to stop."
"The damn fool." The man thumped his fist against the table. "He's doomed himself."
Dennis had long collapsed from exhaustion and lay twitching on the floor. The entirety of the restaurants' staff -- waiters, supervisors, busboys, and dish cleaners -- were involved in the process, either grating or shuttling cheese. The table had disappeared under the mound. The cheese reached to my nipples. Only the top of my chair emerged from the mound.
The restaurant owner, a heavyset Italian man in a fine suit, brought out three wheels of camembert, kneeled in front of me, and said, "That's the last of the cheese. Please, sir, if there's any decency in you, say it's enough."
I leaned my seat back. I stroked my chin.
Only a nub of camembert remained in a dish boy's hand.
"A liiiiiittle bit more," I said.
The dish boy grated the nub.
"Perfect!"
I jammed my hands into the mound, felt around for my fork and knife, and enjoyed what turned out to be a plate of slightly cold but otherwise delicious pasta.
|
It’s been one of those days. One of those weeks, actually. Work, which almost always is less than satisfying, has actively sucked for days on end, Dan thought to himself as he nursed his scotch.
He glanced at Barbara, who was again surreptitiously looking at her phone below the edge of the table. He suppressed a sigh and looked around the half-filled Il Fornaio. It was their go-to weekday eatery, the food good but predictable, the service good but not overweening, the prices good but not ridiculous.
Looking back at his wife of 22 years, he had to avoid saying something – yet again – about looking at her phone. It was no use. She’d put it away, as usual. Then tell him, yet again, that it was *she* who worried about the kids, not him, who had to stay on them to get their homework done, to turn off the TV, to brush their teeth, to pick up their rooms, yada yada yada. And he was just too damn tired for it.
Besides, if she put her phone away, he’d be expected to talk instead, to keep her entertained. And what was there to talk about? If one word could sum up their relationship, it was “fine.” They were fine. The kids were fine. Their two-story, blue-shuttered, 4-bedroom suburban house was fine. Their almost-matching SUVs were fine. As was their standard poodle, and their rescued tabby cat. And all their friends and family and their jobs and their planned vacation in three weeks. And just about every other damn thing he could think of.
He could see the server approaching, a small tray carrying their entrees. A college kid, decent looking, he’d served them before. Dan had noticed him covertly checking Barbara out. Well he might. She worked hard to keep herself up – three days a week in the gym, seemingly constant hair and nail appointments, spa days and massage. She looked good. Better than he himself, he was aware. He liked his beer too much, and his food. And he hated working out, more and more as he got older.
So he watched as the kid approached, eyes darting to Barbara’s full figure. He served her, eliciting a happy “Thank you!” from Barbara in her throaty voice.
When he turned to serve Dan -- with slightly less panache -- Dan thought he detected the ghost of a smirk. A smirk that said, in the smart-assed surety of youthful good looks, that a frumpy middle-aged loser like him shouldn’t be lucky enough to have an attractive milf like Barbara across the table from him.
The kid turned back to Barb with a hunk of pecorino carefully wrapped in a towel, and a grater. “Cheese for your pasta, miss?” Miss. As if Barbara was some dippy 20-something sorority girl.
And of course, Barbara went for it, blushing and nodding, and the kid beamed a toothy smile at her as he grated some cheese over her pasta (which already looked cheesy enough to choke a pig).
With Barbara still smiling, the kid turned to Dan.
“Cheese sir?”
“You bet,” Dan said enthusiastically.
“Of course … just say when,” the server said, the smirk back, hidden beneath a detached server’s smile this time.
He started grating, moving his hand so that little clouds of shaved cheese fell prettily around Dan’s penne. He continued for a few seconds, as the shavings fell, then cocked his head slightly at Dan, eyebrows raised.
“Oh … keep going,” Dan urged, his own smile now slightly feral. “Love me some cheese.”
The kid’s smile faltered a bit but he kept it up. “Of course, sir,” he said, smile now a bit more determined, as he grated.
There was a small mound of cheese now, and the penne was becoming obscured.
“Dan?” Barbara said quizzically, confused. “There’s a lot of cheese in that dish al-”
“I want more,” he cut her off, leaning back a bit, looking up at the kid. “Pile it on, don’t be stingy.”
“Uh … yes sir,” the kid said. The smile – and the smirk – were long gone. He paused to move the towel down, exposing more of the cheese, and Dan thought he saw the kid glance around the room, possibly in search of a manager. Backup, as it were.
“Problem … Eric?” Dan ask, pulling the kid’s name out of his memory from the standard, perfunctory greeting he’d given them after they were seated.
“Oh … ah, no sir,” the kid stammered a bit, and started grating with renewed gusto. Then laughed nervously. “It’s just … a lot of chee-”
“Oh, but you *said* to say when, right? And I do love cheese,” Dan said, eyes locked on the kid’s. He heard Barbara say his name again, real concern in her voice now, but now it was just him and Eric. And the growing mound of Romano now totally obscuring his pasta.
The server was looking a bit desperate now as he continued sawing away, clearly looking around for a manager. Dan felt the couple next to him looking their way too now. He didn’t care. He suddenly felt good. *Alive*, somehow. Master of the here and now, for the first time in a long time.
“Dan … what are you *doing*?” Barbara hissed, her eyes darting between Dan, the server and the surrounding diners. “You’re *embarrassing* me. Enough with the cheese, ok? What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” he said, eyes turning to her, boring into her, voice flat. “I like cheese. Got a problem with that?”
He saw her sit back quickly, startled, as if he’d slapped her. He looked up at Eric, whose grating had become perfunctory … who, in fact, was now partly grating the towel wrapping the cheese.
“Enough, Eric. Thanks,” he said dismissively, waving a hand. He saw the kid’s hands shake as he lowered cheese and grater, heard him mumble something before backing away from the table.
Dan addressed the cheese-covered mound in front of him, dug out a bite of penne now coated with half-melted Pecorino, and took a bite. Delicious. A warm glow suffused him.
“What was that all about?” Barbara asked helplessly. “Have you lost your mind?”
“What? I like cheese.”
| 2017-03-21T14:31:07
| 2017-03-21T14:04:39
| 448
| 28
|
[WP] Funnily enough, you became the world's strongest necromancer because no one else thought of raising other necromancers as undead.
|
“Ah, so it’s a pyramid scheme.”
“What? No! It’s not a pyramid scheme! I raise necromancers and they raise other… oh shit, it’s a pyramid scheme. I started a pyramid scheme!”
“Hold on, it’s not that bad. You did it for good reasons, to stop the evil Queen Dottera.”
“But why did I want to stop her? What makes her so evil?”
“The way she siphons money from the poor with her pyramid sche… oh! Shit! Moral dilemma!”
“Exactly, moral dilemma… am I just replacing her pyramid scheme with mine?”
“Hold on, your pyramid scheme is better because you aren’t hurting anyone.”
“Eternal suffering of the soul as the body is used as a puppet isn’t hurting anyone?”
“Oh right, forgot about that eternal suffering bit. My bad. Still, isn’t it better than having to sell essential oils to your friends who are also trying to sell essential oils to you just to survive?”
“Yeah, definitely better than that…”
“So it’s a justified pyramid scheme! You’re the lesser evil.”
“Don’t call me lesser…”
“Right, sorry, you’re a great evil. Just a slightly kinder one. That better?”
“Yeah, I can live with that.”
“So back to raising the dead?”
“Back to raising the dead.”
|
Existence is a circle.
A birth takes effort and energy, the single cell grows and eats from the womb for the baby to draw a first breath when it tastes air for the first time. An organism consuming energy for its own individual need, in a world of similar organisms, the end of everything if Life with a capital L hadn't thought of a way to give back.
Death. An amalgam of cells, spent energy, consumed sun-rays, reduced to worm-food. Worms to feed the birds, who in turn will nurse the next generation with their demise. Live to die, and die to live. A circle, an immutable rule.
Rules are meant to be broken. Perhaps they aren't, and are here for a reason, yet the foolish and reckless never consider the latter.
You never thought about the rule, didn't want to break it. It was all a game. It always starts as a game, doesn't it? In the holy books of old, a man raises from the grave three days after death. Countless stories have put a twist on the tale, but what if the original held a kernel of truth? Through letters and theories and stories you shuffled, weeding out the fantasy to find the dust of truth, arrange it into a painting and fill in the colors.
Like birth, it needs energy.
Like life, it needs sustenance.
There is a sense of irony that the trick to raise the dead is the same than siring a child. A combination of two cells, to unfold and spread across the husk, and the necessary sustenance for the body to live on support, until it has the strength to draw breath again.
No scream or gasp when this one wakes up. The gray skin crackling as her lips smile for the first time in a long, long time.
"Let's get to work," she says, delighted by your idea of prioritizing the return of other practitioners of the art. You didn't have this idea, don't know who she is, didn't think it would work.
Too late, she left. Not without promising you the world for bringing her back.
Days go by, and the tools of your new trade are left to gather dust. This didn't go as expected, your skin crawls when you remember her eyes opening again, the black pupils, seemingly dead yet sparkling with vitality.
The world changes.
It becomes quiet, save for children going to school nothing seems to happen outside. No neighbor going for a run, no lines of car, no smoke rising from factories in the horizon.
"What have you done?" you ask when she knocks at your door with a smile, her painted face white and purple, hiding the desiccated leather of her skin.
"Upheld my promise."
A procession is behind her, painted in the same colors, to hide decay and show belonging.
The door is closed in a rush, but you cannot keep the world outside from seeping in. Television ceases to speak about war and sickness and economy and new schools opening, internet dissolves into a still picture of a world gone by when noise was the metric. The air is still and the birds song doesn't carry.
The procession surrounds your place, awaiting you as a savior, a prophet, a harbinger. For what?
You don't care, only care about the gun in your hand, the loaded bullets, the cold steal against your warm, pink skin, the ting of fear when you almost press the trigger. They would just bring you back. For the sake of death, you will have to be stronger.
One night, the flames illuminate the neighborhood, the inferno started suddenly and has spread fast. Inside, you feel your skin melting, the hair turning to ash, the slow withering away of your heart pumping blood through leaking veins, the flesh melting into itself. You don't feel fear anymore, it has been replaced with pain.
"We've been waiting for you."
You scream. Not again, let me go, please. You plead, you fight, you cry. They laugh, sing and praise you, carry you high on a throne fit for the mangled body that was left of you in the ruins of your home. They could remake you better.
But they won't, would be a shame to see you immolate yourself again, wouldn't it?
"The world had been made better," she explains with delight.
life is terribly chaotic, idiots are born to become bright only to be suddenly snuffed away to feed the dumb. Inefficient, wasteful. Now, the minds are taught, and they come back with memories intact. No new life sired to break what the previous generation worked for, the resources are diverted to bring back the worthy.
One dies, feeds the insects, and the remaining husk is later brought back in glorious fashion, adult and smart and independent. As time goes by, children grow into adults, and there are no more little ones. The word baby a slur, children are a mistake in evolution.
The circle of life has been streamlined, bettered, enhanced. The misconceived details of Life thrown aside. We are our own creators now, no gods or masters to decide on a whim what has to be formed in a womb, in a mind. Nothing left to chance and higher powers.
Control.
As for you?
The procession still holds you high on your throne where you rest pitifully, announced by the first woman you brought back, cheered by crowds and worshipers in the cities they carry you to.
Legend goes by that if you listen close, one can hear you speak.
"Someone save me, let it end."
They can't make out the words.
And when you die, the merciful rest is cut short and the light of yet another day burns your open eyes.
"Please, let me die."
It is your world, and no one can understand you.
| 2022-05-14T06:31:16
| 2022-05-14T06:13:35
| 45
| 28
|
[WP] After you are elected President, you discover a big red button hidden in your desk in the Oval Office. When you ask your predecessor about it, he said that it had been there for decades, but the secret of what it did died with Kennedy. After a few years, you finally give in and push the button.
To clarify, each President told their successor what the button did, but Kennedy was assassinated before he could pass the secret on. Couldn't fit that info in the title, sorry :/
|
On my desk, between my little desktop American flag and my malfunctioning clock, which only seemed to incorrectly measure seconds, there is a button with a flip top. Over my years as president, this button has tempted me, but fear of what it could possibly do prevented me from touching the forbidden control.
However, though, my patience was wearing thin that day. I had to deal with a NATO meeting in 2 hours, then the State of the Union address a few hours after that. As if that wasn't enough, the Battle of Alaska was still raging with the Russians, and from the looks of it, neither side has an advantage.
"Stupid NATO, stupid Russia, stupid WWIII, stupid address! Screw it, I need button therapy!" I shouted as I flipped back the cover, my hand hovering over the button, waiting for when it felt correct.
My broken alarm clock ticked away- 29...28..27...
I slammed the button, and the alarm clock reset and went back to 59 as bright orange lights descended from the ceiling, a siren wailing throughout the White House. Rapidly responding, a few secret servicemen dashed into my office, only to pause upon seeing the orange lights. Somehow, they were all donning armbands of grey, red, and orange.
"Dammit, President! You were 8 seconds away from a red flair! You could have been Redguard, like me!" shouted the red-armbanded one.
The grey one looked at him in disgust. "Either way, he's a filthy presser! The Shade rejects him!"
The third one, wearing an orange armband, handed me one as well.
"Welcome to the Orange Revolution!"
I couldn't fucking believe it. It's *that* button from Reddit. Damn, I should have known that this would be it.
|
Aliens exist, the Illuminati controls Congress, wrestling is real. Every state secret listed on a printout thicker than a double cheeseburger. My racing heart slows upon discovering that no, you can't order a lamb burger on Thursdays because the chef who handles that is off. The facts grow less interesting the deeper I go. The last line of the massive classified document is "Don't Touch The Red Button."
If I told you I knew how to run a country, I'd be lying. My hair is gray now. The Dow Jones is lower than my approval rating. Milk prices now rival gold. China points toward LA. Russia points nukes at NYC and DC. There are race riots, gender riots, economic riots, pizza riots, riot riots. My suit is stained at the pits and my collar feels tighter than an autoerotic asphyxiation enthusiast's.
My fingers dig into inlet of the panel cover. I swat it up and look at the big red button. My forearm quakes as I press my thumb to the shiny metallic activator. I push.
It depresses.
"Please try again," the hollow voice says.
I blink.
Aliens exist, the Illuminati controls Congress, wrestling is real.
| 2015-04-08T15:49:02
| 2015-04-08T15:23:23
| 81
| 30
|
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.
|
Cracked spear shaft slowly brought to a defensive point. A shaky bloodied hand holds the spear forward, left eye no longer rests in the orbital socket of the hairless ape. How the hell did such a turn of events take place. A human. A stinking, wretched, fucking human.
Year after year my bets were made good. Of course there was always a loss here and there but...where was the sport in constantly winning. There was always the reputable species brought in. Reliant. steady. And above all else.... profitable. All of it brought down by one fucking human.
Every year they come in. Most of the time crying, shitting and pissing themselves. Pathetic. Barely able to stand on their legs as the more primal and apex races tear them to pieces. Don’t get me wrong, They are fun to watch. They break and rip apart in spectacular ways. And each year it’s always a little variety, a different color, maybe a female one to spice it up. Screaming and babbling a different primitive language each time they enter the arena. Pathetic. Weak. Stinking. Of course this is the year the weak fucking pieces of meat bring an ounce of iron. they’ve now embarrassed me. Just as I’ve become a lord among the elites, A owner and commander of my very own system. To do with as I please.
Canters scaly hand brings the chalice to his lower mandible. The oily burning liquid slides down his bony trachea. It’s a long sip from the cup. Too long. The other elites notice. It’s a drink of frustration. He drops the chalice with a hard clang on the table in front of him. And releases a deep, loud and obnoxious sigh. Much to the surprise of the other elites, Canter rises out of his seat and screeches loud enough for the remaining species in the arena to hear...
SLAUGHTER THAT PIECE OF STINKING MEAT AND FUCKING GET ON WITH IT NOW!!!!!
Horthar is not supposed to be here. He’s heard that quite frequently in his life. Said often by his own father. But it was said with endearment. Horthar was curious, it could’ve been a war council in the great hall with the other chiefs of the sister villages, he was a boy that would sit and listen to the plans of men. His father would always catch him hiding in the shadows. Hiding......listening.....learning. He never knew how his father did it. No one else could ever catch him, but his father always did. He’d wait till the council would leave and he’d walk over to Horthar as a young boy and grab him by the shoulders with a heavy set of hands. Horthar always winced that his father would chastise him ....but he never did. He’d simply grab him by the chin and raise his eyes to meet his own gaze and would say it...... “you are not supposed to be here”
But he was. He was learning. Listening. Watching. Becoming and hoping to be half the leader his father was. And his father saw it. And he loved him for it.
That was a long time ago. Now he stands alone. Bleeding. Half blind. Struggling to keep himself standing. The last hour of his life had been the most afraid he’d ever been. He didn’t know how he’d survived as long as he had. The monstrosities he’d slain DIDNT know that though. Fear was last thing they thought Horthar was as he hacked, beat, clubbed, stabbed, bit, and gored very single one of them. Every one that came for him. Fell. Not without a few pieces of Horthar of course...Three fingers, many layers of skin, most of the clothes from his back. One eye. A gaping hole in his side. Yet he stood.
But so did the other. It was tall, muscular. Orange. Skin so taught across the bulging muscles that you could see the hidden bladed tentacles that slithered underneath. Waiting to whip out from the hidden pockets of flesh to tear pieces away from Horthar. It’s eyes....many eyes, were red with rage. It’s flexing, sucking, razored edged mouth dripping steaming drool onto the arena floor. It was angry. It was hungry. And Horthar was all that was left.
He takes a deep breath and stares at the muscular orange monstrosity in front of him.... he’s not supposed to be here. He should be guiding his sons of his favorite hunting trail. Telling them stories, teaching them, watching them learn and become better hunters. Better leaders than Horthar himself. But the hunting always felt secondary. He simply just enjoyed the time with his sons. He took pride in their curious nature. When his youngest son hesitated the first time He drew his bow to kill a buck...he didn’t get angry. In fact. His heart swelled. He knew that his son understood the value of a life. To take it away is a action you can’t take back. It becomes a responsibility. He laid his hand on his sons shoulder as he walked with him to slain buck. Telling him that he was proud of him, that he understood why he hesitated. That it made him proud he did. But now he could never hesitate again. Now his son understood. To take life is not a gift. It’s a terrible action you can’t take back. But in a world of things wanting to kill you, and the people you love, you must kill.
He wished he was walking back into his village, his home. He missed the smell of his home. The sounds, the warmth. The way there was a small draft near the left corner of the den, because a storm the harvest before had blown through and cracked the foundation. But he didn’t fix it. He liked the cold air that flowed throughout their home.
He missed his wife. He wished she was taking his bearded face into her hands and laying a kiss on his cheek like she had a thousand times before. He wished he could hear her voice. The way she sang to the boys. The way she said his name deep in the night as they loved one another. Would she be safe without him there? Would the boys be ready enough to protect their home?Would the village be ready for invaders, or a great plague, would the fish be plenty from the boats, would the harvest be bountiful, would there be enough for the village, would eve-
He clears his mind. The village. His wife. His sons. They would be okay.
He grips the spear shaft tighter into his hands.
The village would be okay. He had lead them through many hardships. Of many degrees. He had taught them well, he had lead them. He watched them grow. The village would survive, not because of horthar, but because of its people.
He brings the point of the spear into his single left field view. He aims it at the beast before him. He hears a voice from the crowd. They had been silent this entire time. The voice is loud, and irritated, it’s foreign, unlike anything he had ever heard. It was angry.... desperate. And it wasn’t aimed at him, no.....it was directed at the other creature. It didn’t matter. There was a long silent pause. The voice from the crowd had done something unnatural for such a event it seemed...the silence was now one of confusion, and anxiety.
Horthar raised the spear above his head.
He answered the aliens desperate scream.
He answered it with a roar of his own. A war cry.
He was now running.
Horthar’s wife would be okay. She was stronger than even horthar himself. Kind. Patient. Fierce. She would be there, she would always be a voice of reason, and a voice of leadership if needed. He would always love her, and she would always love him.
Horthar is charging the beast.
His war cry overpowering the beasts own roar.
The beast is now charging toward horthar.
Horthars sons would be strong. They would be great men, great leaders....and hopefully....the Gods willing....even better fathers. They would lead his village, they would lead them to new places, to see new things. To help the people learn, and listen, and become a better people outside of what they’ve known. His sons would teach their own sons the things he taught them. Just like his father had taught him, and his father before him. He was proud of his sons, and he knew they would be okay.
Horthar lunges toward the beast, screaming, spear pointed forward as the beat leaps at him, claws outstretched, mouth gaping and roaring, razor tippled tentacles lashing out.
Horthar closes his eyes.
Horthar wasn’t supposed to be there.
But that didn’t matter.
He was.
And that was enough.
Thank you for reading. I really kinda just typed as I thought. Really just threw up all of the words. But I enjoyed this. I hope you do as well. I’m not sure if you’ll take anything from it, I don’t even know if I meant for you too. But hey, all is love and war in sci fi. Enjoy you beautiful bastards, if you don’t enjoy it, you’re just a bastard.
Kidding.
Kinda.
|
The Grand Tournament was a tradition dating back a thousand years. The people of the Sr'atlain Cooperative *deserved* a little break every now and then. The blood sport of Tournament time was accompanied by feasting, by marriages, and by traditional Divorce duels. The lesser beings of the galaxy that survived would get a new life as treasured exhibits with the nobility. No hugh man had ever lasted past the first 2 rounds. The scaroid was favored this year, their impressive natural arm blades making up for the lesser exoskeletal mass that the Kar Itii females sported.
The arena was prepared and the gates opened. From 12 corners of the arena beings walked, skittered, crawled, or undulated cautiously out. They had had the situation explained in their native tongues and their natural aggressiveness played out in their reactions. In all but one corner the aliens squared off, two or three at a time.
There was a jangling sound from the human pen. The crowd grew quiet. They knew that hugh mans didn't *jingle.*
A hulking four armed monster approached and let out it's undulating cry challenging the hugh man to come out. A grunt in the pen was accompained by a steel headed spear that impaled the thing. Behind it at a jog came the hugh man.
Wearing a long shirt made of interlocked metal rings and a helmet with a strip over his nose the hugh man hefted an axe and let out a cry. The others in the arena heard him, and what he said was this:
"Ó Óðinn! Þú hefur gefið mér tilgang hér í Ragnarok! Leyfðu mér að vera þinn hrafn!"
And then the blood began to stain the floor again.
| 2020-09-13T19:31:03
| 2020-09-13T19:16:13
| 112
| 39
|
[FF] How I Survived The Zombie Outbreak
WORD LIMIT: 200 WORDS
PROMPT: It's happened about two weeks ago. The zombie outbreak. Your character was somehow able to survive, being in one of the epicenters of the event. How did they survive those first two weeks?
|
The first thing you need is water. The second thing you need is food. Beyond that, you start dealing in wants, not needs. I wanted to be alone, though, solitary, and I got that. This is isn't a boy scout camp, this isn't Remember the Titans, comradery won't win this championship, other people are a liability.
When it hit we stayed organized long enough for widespread evacuations. 'We' refers to we the general, we the human civilization. Past tense.
I stayed. I found a small, completely abandoned apartment complex, and made it secure. Before they turned the water off, I filled every bathtub with water. There's food to scavenge in the various apartments. My needs were filled for the first two weeks, I calculate for the next two weeks as well. Everything else is a want. And I have a great view. Some nights, alone, I look out the window and see them milling aimlessly, their clouded eyes reflecting the moon, a glint lacking intelligence. And sometimes I can hear them moaning. And I realize that I am moaning also, inside my solitary fortress. We are moaning. we the human civilization. Past tense.
|
They all went for shotguns. I went for a haz-mat suit. I had warned them that it wasn’t like the movies or video games, that there were serious biological hazards that had to be considered. They didn’t listen. When I rejoined them, they had SPAS-12s and sawn-offs strapped to their backs. I couldn’t fathom where they got them from, but it didn’t matter.
They tossed me a small knife and half-laughed, looking down on me in my pristine, sterile suit. They thought I was dead, writing me off as baggage they’d shed after the first horde.
The first horde attacked just after noon and was mowed down in a hail of shells and buckshot. They got too close, though. Tiny droplets of blood rained down into the eyes and mouths of the people I used to call friends. Slowly, they began to get ill. I sat and watched them, the sounds of their vomiting and groans drowned out by my echoed breathing in my mask.
By three PM, the first one had fully turned. My knife found him just beneath his ribs. The rest followed suit, as did my knife. I told them not to get shotguns.
| 2012-08-13T13:03:00
| 2012-08-13T12:30:03
| 32
| 21
|
[WP] It's your 93rd birthday and after blowing your candles, you jokingly rearrange the candles from 93 to 39. When you wake up the next day, you feel... young again.
First prompt ever!! Based off of a post I saw on front page.
|
“Papa,” My great-granddaughter, Mya, shouts as she tugs on the sleeve of my shirt. I turn to see her beaming up at me. Eight years old and full of love and wonder. “What are you wishing for?”
I smile. I have an urge to tell her that as you get older you wish less and less. You learn that life doesn’t give you what you want just because you asked nicely on your birthday. You either work for it or go without. I resist. After all, I’m jealous of that kind of optimism. If I could wish for anything it would be to feel that way again.
“I can’t tell you that. Or else it won’t come true.” I wink at her. She’s hanging off the side of my chair, momentarily disappointed that I won’t spill my secrets. She quickly forgets as children do and hops up and down as the cake is placed in front of me. “I’ve never seen so many candles!” I say. The same joke I’ve made since I was eighty-two.
“One more than last year.” My daughter says, playing her part well. She gently rubs my shoulder as I admire the work she put into my cake. She catches me eyeing the different colored candles; my finger hovering as I silently start counting them. She hates this. “Daddy! We don’t have time. You’ll be ninety-four by the time you’re done.” This one’s new; hopefully she’ll say it again next year.
I close my eyes and lean back. I take a deep breath. I think of my grand-children. I try to remember myself at that age. I think of all the birthdays I’ve had where I’ve never made a single wish. This will be my first time- perhaps my last. I open my eyes and blow out the candles. Most of the candles.
I remove the ones that went out. Thirty-nine candles still burning bright. They wait for me to finish the job. I shrug, “Anyone want to help grandpa?” My grandchildren all rush to blow out the remaining candles.
CRACK! Lightning flashes from just outside the window. The following thunder shakes the house; everyone grabs their rattling drinks before they drop off the table. Silence. Soon everyone is laughing and my daughter is cutting the cake.
“Looks like it’s really coming down.” My daughter’s husband says as he peeks out the window. “Weatherman said it was supposed to get bad.”
“Maybe everyone should stay here tonight.” My daughter says. “Drivers here are the worst. Even when it’s nice.”
Tired, I go to sleep early. Since I’m the birthday boy I’m given the guest room. I slip easily into sleep.
I wake to the sound of screaming. The storm outside is still raging. Thunder is rolling in the distance. I jump out of bed and rush to the door. There are more screams now. I go to grab the handle when I stop. My hands. The age spots are gone. They look… young.
I swing open the door, my heart pounding in my chest. I take a step before I realize what I’ve done. _I leapt off the bed? I ran to the door?_ I can’t remember the last time I’ve done either of those two things. This is a dream. More screams. _This is a nightmare._
When I make it to the living room the lights are all turned on. My eyes haven’t adjusted and the light burns little daggers into them. People are crying and talking all around me. Once my eyes recover I look around at a room of strangers. No, not strangers. Then I recognize them. My grandchildren. They’re different- _older._
My daughter sees me and takes a step back. She shakes her head several times and mouths the words, “No. No. No.” She backs up against the wall still shaking her head.
Confused, I run a hand against my face. It feels strange but familiar. I feel a tug on my pajama shirt. It’s Mya. She’s no longer eight; now a teenager old enough to drive. She’s holding something in her hand- a cellphone. In it I see myself as I used to be. How does she have a video of me back then? It’s then I realize I’m not watching a video; it’s the front camera allowing the phone to work as a mirror.
They’re all looking at me- accusing me. It was just a silly birthday wish. I didn’t think anything of it. I can still see myself on Mya’s phone. I hear myself ask, “Since when did you get a cellphone?”
She frowns as she pockets the phone. “I wished for it when I blew out your candles.”
|
Not understanding why this familiar but distant feeling was happening, I sit up. It was odd. Not odd as in looks but in the feeling of sitting up almost effortlessly at my age. It had been ages since I felt... good? Young? Able to endure the day, I suppose?
"Meh, maybe today's a good day! No arthritis first thing in the morning" I thought to myself as I positioned my body to get out of my ever calling bed. Yes at this age you still crave sleep as you did in your youth and my bed needed me. But I needed to investigate this first!
As my eyes adjusted to the new mornings light on my bare feet I thought "It's gonna be a great d..." I stopped cold in my thought and my body froze. My feet; they were not mine! They couldn't be! Same with the legs attached to them, not mine either! Curiosity wained to fear and concern as I sat confused as the mornings cold nipped away at my newly acquired youthful toes.
I hurried to the bathroom for a mirror, anything to justify I was still I. As I made my way across the room i did so with only a few strides; much fewer than normal. This only deepened the anxiety towards the feeling I just experienced in my bed.
When I got to the mirror, it didn't help; it was me. Young, maybe late thirties me though. My mind immediately races back to the two cheap dollar store candles and how I moved them. Preposterous! "How can moving candles have such an effect? If I'd have known I would have done this at 92 instead!" I thought musingly as I stared into an obviously broken mirror.
"Whaaa..." I said disingenuously confused. "This cannot be!".
But it was, and the day had just started.
| 2018-03-14T12:54:15
| 2018-03-14T12:15:51
| 51
| 12
|
[WP] Scientist have created a machine that allow people a window into alternate realities. It becomes mainstream and people talk about alternate versions of themselves. Finally you decide to take a look only to discover that there are no alternate versions of you. You're the only you in existence.
|
I almost threw the helmet into the trash after hearing an incoherent whisper inside my head. This thing was only a gimmick, just like I imagined. Beautiful graphics, though. It just didn't live up to the hype. According to the manufacturers, these weren't merely simulated realities. The helmet scanned the user's unique brain pattern, calculated fixed points from the wave function of the multiverse (whatever the hell that meant), and inputted your data to show the most likely outcomes. If that was true, though, why did it only show me barren wastelands?
Most of my work colleagues couldn't stop raving about it. They preached that it opened their eyes to everything they could've been in life, changing for the better. I didn't believe it until some of them quit their comfortable jobs to pursue something more fulfilling. Even then, I hesitated to try out the device. Trendy stuff like this had disappointed me all my life. I should've known better than to give it a chance. Hearing about everyone else's experiences only made mine feel unnerving.
The manufacturers didn't believe me when I asked for a refund. There shouldn't be any whispering coming from the machine. Apparently, this glitch had never happened before. They sent me a replacement but ignored my calls after that one didn't work either.
For a moment, I feared there was something wrong with me. My doctor, however, said I was being paranoid. He told me my brain may not be compatible with how the helmet worked, but that I shouldn't worry since I was completely healthy.
I felt inclined to believe him. Unfortunately, the same whisper from before echoed in my head for weeks afterwards. I couldn't even fall asleep without thinking about it. The uncomfortable sound gnawed at me without pause, compelling me to try the helmet one more time.
Ignoring it just felt *wrong*. When I finally gave in, I used the helmet for more than a day straight, drifting across realities in a manic haze to find something more than emptiness. The whisper hadn't appeared again. My stomach burned for a while until I became numb to the pain of hunger. Nothing would deter me, though. I lost track of time in my search for an answer.
And then something with sharp teeth slithered into my ear.
I fell backwards, struggling to remove the helmet. The thing sank its hooks into me and didn't let go. I screamed in pain until pulling it away.
A dark, gooey tentacle had sprouted out of the helmet.
I got on my feet and started stomping on it. The tentacle writhed at unpredictable angles, wrapping itself around my neck. It was trying to strangle me. Everything slowly grew blurry. With a final burst of strength, I threw the helmet across the room, shattering it upon impact.
The tentacle writhed in pain before burning up in dark fire, leaving behind no trace of its existence.
I fell on the floor, panting heavily. What the hell just happened? My whole room was thrashed after that. If I didn't have bruises on my neck, I would've just assumed that was a vivid hallucination. Thankfully, it was over.
Or so I thought.
Before I could clean up the mess it left, a swirling portal opened up in front of me. I jumped behind my desk, thinking another creature approached, when a woman wearing hi-tech military equipment walked through instead. She aimed her rifle around the room, murmuring something about a corruption, before looking at me and saying:
"Where is it?!?"
I raised my arms. "Don't kill me!"
"The monster! Quick! Is it in you?!?"
"N-no!"
The woman started scanning me with a device on her wrist. "Where did it go?"
"I... uhh... I think I killed it."
"Oh." The woman relaxed. "Why didn't you say so?"
"You pointed a gun at me..."
"Right. My bad. Can't be too careful."
"What's going on? Is this dream?"
The woman chuckled. "Kinda."
"Mind explaining then?"
"Are you sure you *really* want to know?"
I stopped myself from saying yes. Looking for answers is exactly what got me into this mess. I couldn't believe the simple possibility that I might just be a rare individual and that, at the same time, there wasn't anything inherently valuable about that. For most of my life, I only valued the things that could make me stand out, ignoring everything popular just to feel special. I never realized how empty that had left me. If I ever bothered relating to others, instead of blindly hating the mainstream norm, I may have found something different. In the end, I think I was better off just accepting myself, instead of looking at something external for meaning.
"You know what? I think I'm fine."
The woman nodded with a knowing smile. "Good." She then walked through another portal and I never saw her again.
-----
>If you enjoyed this, you can find more of my stuff over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading!
|
John Smith sat nervously, slightly leaning forward, in the metal chair with a low back. It wasn't very comfortable. His fingers were steepled, his elbows were on his knees, and he looked around the suspiciously stark white room once again. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to see--something, anything--but there was nothing. There were walls, yes, and doors, of course, but you couldn't call them something. They blended into the smooth white walls, so much so that John could barely tell if corners existed.
He was rattled. He's seen a whole lot of nothing. That was why he was here, anyway.
John never had the desire to look at alternate versions of himself. Maybe it was because he led a relatively self-sufficient and satisfactory life. Of course things could be improved, but he had nothing to complain about. Maybe it was because of his name--John Smith. Common as a lark. Or maybe, maybe, it was just because he felt there wasn't anything special to look at.
But one day, curiosity got the better of him. That's the thing, right? John lived his life listening to other people talking about themselves--not just them in this world, but in realities all over. They talked about how they suffered or prospered, lived in dystopias or utopias, dug around in garbage or made do with lukewarm meals (some people just don't have very great lives no matter where they looked, unfortunately.)
So the curiosity built, and John Smith was the dam holding it back. It was a peaceful mirror, a calm sea, which bubbled and frothed every time he heard somebody talk about it. It splashed and welled and spattered, and rose from sea foam to a wave that hid schools of fish to a tsunami, tearing John down with the difficulty of wet tissue paper.
Thus, he looked. He searched. He scrutinized every world, eyes turning red and swollen through the uncomfortable machine. And white stared back.
Wait, thought John. Did he buy tissue paper? He pondered for a bit, recalling the grocery store trip two days ago. He did! John was pleased.
That pleasant feeling left him swfitly though, a wave returning to the ocean, as John went back to staring at white. His legs shifted restlessly. Even his shoes left no marks on the untainted floor. What was he doing here? Nobody came here. Nobody came here to ask about the alternate versions of themselves that weren't there. Because everybody had one. Other people had special lives, sure, but him? This wasn't special--this was unusual.
John was deep in thought, and barely realized when the albino world changed around him. Directly on the wall in front of him, a sign lit up, followed by a single, welcoming chime.
> 1. John Smith
It was a very enjoyable ding. He stood up, kness buckling and creaking a little as he quickly grew accustomed to standing again, and a door swung open below the sign.
"Please come in," a woman's voice said.
John walked forward, and entered the room. He wasn't at all surprised that the smaller room was white as well--but at least there was a person sitting in front of him behind a white desk, a pearly smile on her face. Her hair was neatly combed and tied back into a bun, and her features so angular that an ill-placed face mask would probably be sliced through by her cheek bones.
"John Smith?" the woman asked.
"Yes," he replied, and bowed awkwardly.
"Please sit."
John complied. This chair was high-backed and soft. Much more comfortable than the one outside.
"Welcome, Mr. Smith," the woman said. She looked incredibly friendly. "I'm Max. How can I assist you today?"
"Max," John said. "I have a problem."
"I see," Max looked down, bringing out a clipboard--white--and rifled through the pile of notes. Her right eyebrow lifted, coupled with slow, gradual nods. She pressed a button on her desk, which pulsed light green, and she leaned and spoke into it.
"Min?" Max said. "Please come in for a moment."
Another woman walked in. What Min had in sharp edges, Min possessed in roundness. They were surely opposites, yet John would not be surprised if you called them twin sisters.
They both looked over the notes, the nods growing more furious, a metronome trying to keep us with a frenzied pianist. Then, they stopped.
"Mr. Smith," Max asked. "Referring to the write-up you've provided us... you are sure it wasn't just a technical error?"
"Yes," John said. "No? I mean, I'm sure it wasn't just a technical error."
"And it wasn't a glitch in the system, sir?" Min asked.
"No," John said. "I tried it a few times at a few different times. Also checked online whether it was down."
"How many times did you do that, Mr. Smith?" Max said.
"Er... five? I... couldn't keep going back. It was very strange, not being able to see anything when I've heard so much about it."
"Very well," Max said. "Pardon me, but could you do it once more with the facilities we have here? We promise it will be quick."
"Is that necessary?"
"It's for us to collect information, sir," Min said.
"Well," John said. "I suppose I should trust you. You guys are the experts."
"Then, please follow me, sir," Min said. "Max will stay here, and she'll consult with you once more."
At Min's words, another sign lit up, smaller than the one outside.
> 1. John Smith--Test
Another door opened, and John walked through, sighing.
---
[Part 2 here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/nqhyz7/wp_scientist_have_created_a_machine_that_allow/h0b0ynz/)
r/dexdrafts
| 2021-06-02T06:00:24
| 2021-06-02T05:03:49
| 70
| 45
|
[WP] "Jesus take the wheel, Satan get behind me, Buddha... man the .50 cal"
|
“That’s just great, do you have any idea which way to go?!” Satan complained.
Buddha replied in serene monotone “You must simply learn to enjoy the journey.”
“Besides,” said Jesus while he adjusted the rear view mirror locking eyes with Satan over his onyx aviator sunglasses. “I am the way.”
|
In 72, a crack angelic unit was sent to purgatory by a supernatural court for a crime they didn't commit. These deities promptly escaped from a maximum-security stockade to the [Antioch](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antioch) underground. Today, still wanted by the pantheon, they survive as soldiers of fortune. If you have a problem... if no earthly presence can help... and if you can find them... maybe you can hire... The α-ω–Team.
[*Instrumental*](https://youtu.be/_MVonyVSQoM)
Staring [Dirk Benedict](https://youngwombs.files.wordpress.com/2013/02/battlestar-galactica-1980-the-return-of-starbuck-classic-battlestar-galactica-18317206-768-576.jpg) as Jesus of Nazareth
[Dwight Schultz](http://assets5.heart.co.uk/2010/30/dwight-schultz-1280157310-view-0.jpg) as Gautama Buddha
[Mr. T.](http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2014/09/19/article-0-2179867700000578-496_634x833.jpg) as H.A. Satan
And [George Peppard](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Cf2ipN0VIAAcVX0.jpg) as Barney the Dinosaur.
| 2017-11-15T14:43:36
| 2017-11-15T14:40:58
| 92
| 11
|
[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer.
|
Some people make requests that cannot, or should not, be made. Many people were asked to do things that they would prefer to avoid. The police wanted them to avoid these tasks as well so an agreement was made. People can come into our office and pass requests onto them such as "Go kill yourself", "Give me your money", or even ones like "love me".
The organization used to simply pass on the requests around the office leaving them unfulfilled. As time went on, these requests piled up. One person could hold onto hundreds of requests without hope of ever passing them all on before retirement. With such a large number of requests residing within one person, their body feels compelled to act on them without the mind's consent. After a series of tragedies, they started allowing volunteers to accept thousands of requests at once.
As a volunteer, I sit, tied to a chair, while dozens of these people verbally pass these requests onto me at once. They understand the sacrifice I am making but I can still see relief flicker on their faces with each request. After an innumerable number of requests, I raise my fingers, gesturing them to stop. My body pushes against the restraints as I attempt to act out thousands of horrendous acts. With a brief nod, each expresses thanks as they trickle out of the bare room.
After a few moments of silence, the PA system crackles to life: "Do you have any final statements?" I make one final request in return: "Kill me."
Edit: awkward phrase
|
The job came with its pros and cons, just like any job did. I had entered into the agreement with Ms Geraltson ten years ago, just as her movie career was taking off and she was voted sexiest woman alive. It was about then all the requests from the crazies of the world began to flow in, all of them wanting to fuck her in the most depraved ways possible.
I was a lowlife turning tricks for my next fix when Ms Geraltson found me and proposed our arrangement. Every time a scumbag came to her with a dream of performing a disgusting sex act on a movie star, she would pass those requests onto me. These people would then have to fufil their sick fantasies intended for Ms Geraltson on me or risk going to jail. That was the con of the job, getting fucked by these sick bastards. But once it was made known that I was the one you’d be dealing with the requests really trickled up. But sometimes people would still ask her, who knows why. Maybe they didn’t know about me, but whenever I got that call from Ms Geraltson I was over the moon.
You must be asking why? Am I a masochist? No. Well maybe a little bit, but there was a little proviso written into my agreement with Ms Geraltson, that was the pro of the job. Whenever one of these people fucked me in place of Ms Geraltson, then Ms Geraltson would allow me to request to fuck her in turn. Nothing as sick as what these perverts were suggesting, but when you can sleep with the sexiest woman alive you take anything you can get. Even ten years on, while she’s not even voted onto the top 100 sexiest alive anymore, she is still a very attractive lady. And I’m discreet, nobody knows about our arrangement, which is why it has lasted this long.
In fact a few years into our arrangement she recommended me to another superstar for my discreet services. So while I occasionally have to fuck a perverted old man, I also get to sleep with some of the most attractive women in the movie world.
I love my job.
----------------
[Click here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Wrobbing/) to see all of my short stories written for /r/writingprompts, and more!
| 2016-04-03T10:48:48
| 2016-04-03T09:58:12
| 1,009
| 50
|
[WP]: In one paragraph, write the most disgusting and despicable character you can ever come up with. In the second paragraph, kill them in a way that makes me feel sorry for them.
|
Lily hated it when they kept moving. A necessary inconvenience, to keep the flesh fresh, but their screams and squirms ruined the painful pleasure of a desperate appetite.
A shame her brain was locked in that fantasy while her dry lips tasted dust instead of flesh, and her arms flailed against a straitjacket instead of caressing her kill. A pity they abandoned this asylum years ago and forgot to pick the lilies before they went.
|
10:31am-water cooler conversation between two co-workers:
Paragraph 1:
"It always seemed to be just about the money with Harold. Remember his first week on the job? We all made an attempt to make him feel welcome, but boy oh boy.. We quickly found out that he wasn't one to socialize or contribute to the lives of anyone but himself. He pinched every penny that found its way into the clutches of his shriveled, jew fingers.
Would he ever pitch in to the weekly Friday pot luck? Not a chance. Remember? Instead he would always bring the same rancid-smelling tuna sandwich. It never failed to fumigate the entire damn office. Could you imagine having to sit in the cubicle next to such an inconsiderate bastard? My nose literally could not take it!
And remember when we had the 5k to help raise awareness for the starving children in Africa? Did he run in it? Are you kidding? Instead he took that time to cash in on the overtime paycheck....
And it was always overtime for him, wasn't it? He was the first to arrive and last to leave, but he never in his three years on the job said a word to me. God, he even worked most Sundays instead of going to church with his family- whatever family he had left that is. His wife left him years ago.. Luckily, from what I hear, she got full custody."
Paragraph 2:
"I suppose it was only a matter of time until the old bat finally keeled over of a heart attack. Oh well. It's not like anyone in the office will ever miss him... Too bad about his daughter though. Did you hear? Margaret from accounting said that she went to his funeral. Apparently his daughter has some type of rare cancer that she's been dealing with for like three years, and now that Harold's gone, her family won't have the money to continue the chemo sessions. The doctors only give her 2 months to live."
Edit: sorry then formatting is off. On mobile, I'm unable to represent it in two paragraphs without having a monster, hard to read first paragraph. I broke it up so it's easier to read. Hope you enjoyed it still.
| 2014-07-28T02:35:56
| 2014-07-28T00:10:45
| 46
| 10
|
[WP] Your dad is wanted in twenty countries, your mom is a serial kille, your little brother is a genius hacker, and your little sister has just joined the Illuminati. None of them would ever want to anger you, though.
|
My family deal in power and power comes in many forms.
My father's power is economic. Though he is a wanted man in most of the world his business trives. Drugs, weapons, prostitution, covered by a whole slew of perfectly respectable fronts. He is rich enough to bribe almost anyone, buy almost anything. I have often observed him and other hard men as they brokered deals. I have been in firefights as they turned sour. I have looked past the barrel of a gun, into the eyes of the killer pointing it at me, right before my father's bullet pierced his heart. I have seen the consequences of his actions. The addicts, the murders, the broken souls. He has hugged me and I have felt comforted by his presence.
My mother's power is much more direct. It's control over herself as much as over others. I have accompanied her as she stalked a target. I have been her alibi. I looked at her as she made her preparations. If have looked in the eyes of her victims as they lost consciousness, as they woke up bound, as she worked on them, as they died. Countless men, women, childrens, disapearing without a trace. I have seen the fields of shallow graves. I fell asleep in her arms, hearing her lullaby.
My little brother deals in information, he is the greatest hacker in his generation. I have often sat, behind him looking over his shoulder, fascinated as a few lines of codes stripped privacy away to reveal everyone's sordid little shames and secrets. I have watched people through a screen as they thought themselves alone.
My sister's power comes from her connections, gigantic networks supported by the favors offered to their members. I watched her, from the moment she took her first steps in control of one of dad's front business, from the moment where she wormed her way in the secret society. Accompanying her I have met many who wielded power, I have looked them in the eyes.
All the while I have learned about the body, the heart and the mind. The relationship people keep, who they are, who they think they are and what they want to appear to be.
My power doesn't reach as far, but it is far deeper. I am the one they call on, when something goes awry, when they are in trouble. I am their last resort. Because I have learned how people *work*.
Give me some information... or don't, it'll make things a bit slower but give me time, twenty minutes, an hour, maybe a day for the tougher ones and I can crack anyone. Renounce all wealth, go live as an hermit, kill themselves, kill their family. Anything is possible if you know what levers to pull, where to apply pressure. I do not need a gun, I do not need evidence. All I need is already there, ticking away in their own minds.
|
My lover is special; his family is powerful, and gifted.
My lover was born 20 years ago, in what used to be Sumer, while his parents and older siblings were on the run from INTERPOL. He's told me he was cursed, but after his birth, his father and mother; Brian and Jess, reached notoriety for killing hundreds of people without being caught. His sister, Lilli, is rumored to be a high ranking member of the illuminati, should they exist, and his brother, James, has hacked his way into securing all of them safe passage anywhere they need to go and any accouterments they may need. My lover, though, he doesn't do anything like they do, you could say; you could say he's the secret weapon only used when they are beyond shits creek, when all else fails.
My lover is special, I don't know how to explain it, but I've known him angry, though he doesn't look at me then I don't think, it's not safe. I think it's because he was born dirtily in the cradle of civilization. But maybe he is cursed. It may not sound true, but when my lover looks at you, when you make contact with those ice blue eyes, they pierce your soul. If he makes eye contact with you, you will die instantly. You see, my lover sees me but I cannot see him. I think this is why he loves me, my vision is stricken.
Basil, my love was named as such because the guide traveling along with his family died when he exited his mothers womb. He had the stare of a basilisk. Accommodations have been made to protect his family.
My lover is special.
Sorry if it is weird, I fell asleep in r/nosleep and this is what that produced.
| 2017-06-04T07:31:18
| 2017-06-04T07:25:26
| 697
| 70
|
[WP] God orders Earth from Ikea. After 3 to 4 working days, it comes. Flat packed
|
God saw the great reviews, but he did not expect Earth to be missing a manual. There was only a note that came in the box;
*Life not included.*
Naturally. No planets came with life. You had to order that from Ikea separately.
So there it lay mocking him in three pieces; a pile of dirt chips, magma boards and purpose nails. Just had to hammer them together, right? How hard could it be?
At least, God *hoped* it would not be hard. He gave himself seven days off from work to tinker on this little project. An email to Ikea may not have been such a bad idea, informing them that their product was defective. Again, it came with no manual. There were other planets he could have built instead, and he already made two. They hung in the living room ceiling by the light, as rocky and gaseous things. Maybe he will just go off from past experience. Earth was going to be special. Complex. Homely.
*Third time's the charm.*
God turned on the garage light, and got to work.
Seven days was not a lot of time, but he hoped to make something of this mess. Even without a manual, the pieces made sense in their own tragically simple way. Just had to arrange them in the right order. He set the magma boards first and nailed them together. Then caked layer after layer of dirt chips over it. God was very liberal with the purpose nails, so he used the spares from his other two projects to hold the planet together.
There were a lot of spares. Perhaps this was why Mercury and Venus were not all that interesting to look at. They lacked purpose. Each manual was exact about the amount of purpose a planet needed to be held together. So precise in fact, that each box came with spares, just in case.
Earth demanded more purpose. So God used more nails. Then he tried something different. See, in the picture, God always thought it could have used more blue. Rock and gas were interesting and all, but not quite as interesting as a planet *could* be. There was no manual to tell him differently, and this was God's project after all.
So he added water. Lots of it. For a few seconds, it sunk into the dirt chips. Then it pooled in clumps, clinging to where God used more purpose nails (there were parts God needed to hammer in more to hold it together. The magma boards looked like they could take it). The water spun and coursed through the rough lines of chips until it began to slow down. Then it lay still. This was also not very interesting, even if it did add a nice shade of blue.
He added more. Earth became special alright. A complex arrangement of natural systems drove and coursed through the path of purpose nails God added throughout the entire planet. He was very liberal with them earlier. Now there was more to look at. And it was good. The water really was a nice touch. Satisfied with the result, he hung the planet in the living room. God was about ready to make himself a well-deserved sandwich with a beer on the side to watch the planets spin for a while. However, as he was about to take his eyes away from Earth, he noticed something different about his planet.
*Life not included.*
He did not expect Earth to be missing a manual. Somehow, life also got all over his planet. This was very peculiar. God did not feel ready to tend to a planet with life. Not yet anyway. But so much purpose etched throughout the planet, that there was a manic sense to it all that pleased God. The waters and air had finned things and winged wonders coursing through them. Creatures walked on the dirt, and trees rose to the sky. God always wanted to include trees in a planet, to breathe and sway in the wind. This also pleased God.
This *all* pleased God.
Then he saw it. Two... *things* that shared God's form. They wandered awkwardly on two legs, with familiar faces. There was a moment God thought using a drinking glass was not such a good idea. Maybe he should have washed it first. He tried to rationalize the poor decision; In one way, it made the planet more personal. In another, it gave him more cause for concern. More to watch for.
Now God had to take care of it. What a week. He hoped he was up for the task. Sure, this planet was more than what God expected from an Ikea product, and the reviews were great because they mentioned how low maintenance this planet was. Earth was meant to be easy to take care of, and simple to watch.
This was no longer the case.
God sighed, and put the two creatures in a private enclosure. He called it Eden, and went to the kitchen to make himself some lunch. When he got back, he found the two things eating from a tree. As creatures should, but God stared in horror. He dropped his sandwich.
It was a tree of knowledge! The rarest tree to ever grow from *any* planet that had life! How did he not notice it before?! Some divines took *decades* to cultivate a planet to grow a tree of knowledge, and God somehow grew one in seven days! From *scratch*!
And there they were, eating his miracle!
God was rather upset. Now the tree of knowledge was no longer in mint condition. He flung the creatures out from the garden, and took out Eden from the planet. Maybe if he fostered this plot of green some more, he could grow another tree of knowledge. Again, Earth came with no manual. He set Eden aside, and decided he would tinker with it for a while back in the garage. God ordered six more planets online. The last one came second-hand, and barely qualified as a planet, but it was all God could afford. He would try to create a planet that could grow Eden separately.
The Earth was left alone for a while. In the late evenings God came back from work, he would spend more time in the garage on his new project than watching the planets spin in the living room. Mars was added later, with too little water. Then Jupiter, which he made too big, and too gaseous. This went on for several more weeks. God gave up, realizing that Earth was indeed special. The tree of knowledge that grew in Eden was a once in a lifetime occurrence, and the two creatures ruined it.
Having come to terms with his failed project, God placed Eden somewhere private in the living room. He would continue working on it later. God sat in his chair and sighed. It had been a long time since he simply watched the planets for a while, and now there were nine of them. Well, eight. God decided to never order a planet second-hand again, but he kept Pluto there for posterity. This solar system was quite a sight though. For the first time in weeks, God was pleased.
Then God saw Earth, and realized how long it had been.
The creatures. The, *people* who ruined his tree of knowledge.
There were more of them.
-----------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!*
|
In the beginning, God went to IKEA. With the flat packed box upon his desk, he unwound the cardboard sides and looked within the depths and while His spirit was hovering over the nails and the strange he said, "Let there be light!" And clapped his hands, and so the clapper gave light. God saw that the parts were complicated. He separated all the screws of different sizes, calling one "big" and one "small". The medium of screws were the first to be used.
Then God said, "Let there be panels between screws, separating screws from other screws!"* So God put two panels together that separated the screws between the panels . And then God drank a beer and went to bed, for he had put three panels together, and he saw that it was good.
Then God found the strange little square screw, but he could not find the little crank for the square screw. And when he finally did he found that after four more panels his hand hurt too much to continue. And so God gave up and called IKEA to come put it together for him, and they did. And God looked upon his creation and he saw that it was good.
---
^* I'm not even joking:
>Then God said, “Let there be a canopy between bodies of water, separating bodies of water from bodies of water!”
For more of my work please visit /r/Celsius232
| 2016-04-17T08:15:18
| 2016-04-17T07:19:04
| 287
| 184
|
[WP]A man kills himself after discovering the meaning of life and writing it down, as does anybody who reads his note, you unwittingly read the note, what does it say and what do you do?
|
This is the bit of paper? Really? It's not very big. And people just read it, and then off they go? And kill themselves? All of them? That's fucking ridiculous, seriously, I'm going to read it. No, fuck off, I'm reading it. I'm going to read it and then I will go home and get on with my life and no one is going to die. Look, I've got a great job, gorgeous wife, a beautiful home and a baby on the way. I promise you, there is nothing that this paper could say that could make me take my own life. Seriously, I'm going to read it right now, out loud, so shut your ears if... you know, if you're a fucking idiot. Right...
"Recliner chairs in the afterlife are available on a first-come first-served basis"
Oh...
|
The Redditor sat in his chair with a sour look on his face, reflecting his deep frustration with Reddit's so-called community. His question about the meaning of life on AskReddit had been downvoted to oblivion. As had a cat picture posted on /r/pics with the caption “I know the meaning of life, do you?”.
Next he had tried posting a picture of a penguin /r/PhotoShopBattles saying “Edit this picture to show the meaning of life”, but it had gone nowhere. Someone added a banana for scale and that was it. It was supposed to be funny, but pathetic job done with MS Paint was somehow depressing.
He looked around his dank basement room, and saw the mess. Three crusty cereal bowls and two pizza boxes showed five meals eaten at the computer over the last couple of days. Ants crawled over a discarded Hot Pockets box, carrying away crumbs. The space was depressing, but not “kill yourself!” depressing, just sad and pathetic, devoid of meaning. He kept hoping reddit might provide that meaning, and yet it never really did.
Then an idea occurred to him as he scrolled idly through reposts on /r/nononono. He could weave together his need for someone to tell him what the point of his existence was together with the idle ideations of death that preyed his mind without ever going anywhere.
He composed a prompt:
“A man kills himself after discovering the meaning of life and writing it down. What did it say?”
Hmm. Is that a story? Not really.
He tried again.
“A man kills himself after discovering the meaning of life and writing it down, as does anybody who reads his note. Then an alien appears and explains how live forever, but God is having none of it and kills the alien. And then it turns out that the alien was really Jesus!”
Hmm, that looked pretty good. Like many of the writing prompts he'd seen, it had all the details laid out for would-be authors; the writers have got to like that, since then writing the story is easy, just fleshing it out, and you almost didn't need to read the responses, just the prompt, so it'd probably get upvotes before anyone had written anything. But maybe people would focus too much on the God aspect.
He picked up a pizza crust and nibbled it. It was hard and stale, but still edible and gnawing on it helped him think.
How about this, “A man kills himself after discovering the meaning of life and writing it down, as does anybody who reads his note, you unwittingly read the note, what does it say and what do you do?”
He read it over. Yeah, he might get some ideas about what the meaning of life is, and there's that whole “kill yourself vibe”.
Posted! It's even getting upvotes. Finally!
But as he watches the responses trickle in, the thread turns out to be junk. Just a bunch of low effort responses with people saying things like “It's all pointless”, and then worst of all, someone not even following the prompt properly and making it all about him.
What the hell? Where is the meaning of life? Where is the death?
“Why couldn't it be better?”, he muttered to himself as he stumbled into the kitchen to find some more Hot Pockets.
Maybe /r/TipOfMyTongue might have something. “I used to know a really good answer for the meaning of life, but I forgot it. Can someone remind me?” Yeah, maybe that'd get some traction.
------
Edit: Minor copy edits.
| 2015-02-27T00:42:41
| 2015-02-26T23:56:26
| 532
| 14
|
[WP] Aliens try to invade earth but they can't bring themselves to do it because humans are too cute to them
|
"Eat your dinner."
"Ewww. I'm not hungry."
"You will sit at this table until you have cleaned you plate."
"This is weird food. I hate it!"
"It's not weird food. It was harvested fresh this afternoon. It's perfectly good. Look, your brother is eating his."
"He's weird."
His brother punched him in the tentacle.
"Owwwww!!! Moooommmm!!!"
"Snorlax, quit hitting your brother! Farlax, eat your dinner!"
"Why can't we eat normal food like Burgon's family?"
"Burgon's family? Ha! That pod hasn't had a proper home-made meal since Gargon left. It's all reconstituted this, rehydrated that. It's a wonder that their suckers aren't all falling off."
"At least it's not gross like this."
"Eat it!"
Farlax glared at the mass of writhing, screaming humans in his bowl. He scooped one up with in his spoon. It waved its arms at him and made little peeping sounds as it jumped up and down.
"It's too cute to eat."
"Stop playing with your food!"
Sighing, he popped it in his maw.
|
(I'm saying mah alien spoke like in Shakespearean times. Because honestly, that makes it easier for me.)
...Mine parents always spake unto me, uttering words of degredation in regards to those creatures we refer to as... 'humans'... Mortals.. humans.. writhing sacks of flesh... What have you.. Many a name hathe we inscribed upon them, and yet they insist unto us they be referred to as.. strangely.. 'children of God'.
Especially this small one before me..
"It would behoof thee to relinquish even touch from these creatures. They aught bring unto us naught more than pestilence and plague; upon which the cure is death.."
Oh how she writhed.. how she squirmed upon our first meeting; her very lifeblood had gone wintry as she had gazed upon mine visage; she pleaded unto me her life, seeking that I give her succor and solace; I hath no obligation but to acquiesce at such a moment, for at the time, I was loathe of these... humans.. thinking they brought unto mine kind diseases.
Ahah, but that was eons ago.. or so it seems.
A decade later, and here reside. I had found her status as an innocent waif too delightful to pass up.. Discovering mine beloved's history hath revealed unto me she had been abandoned following a family schism of the most vitriolic nature.. I posed unto her a query.
"Child.. hath ye any desire to leave this mortal realm? Heretofore gazing upon thee, I found you repulsive; but upon further inspection, I've nurtured a desire to keep thee.. Thy innocence and helplessness have in truth, attached me unto you. Bearing thoughts of abandoning you to this harsh world of Terra-Prime, now? Such thoughts threaten to split my mind unto twain with anguish... Thou art innocent.. dangerously so. One must not let such a precious creature squander itself in misery.
"Y...You can stop talking like that you know.. But.. I.. I wouldn't mind.. sir.." I heard the words course from her lips, quiet, in a basheful whisper, as if t'were ashamed.
"Ahah.. 'sir'! Woman, thy pure intentions and favourable disposition give thee power.. never hath I met such a polite little creature as you"..
The woman, upon reaching my transport vehicle.. Oh how she squirmed.. I held her within mine embrace as she wept tears.. Tears of freedom and joy... but of the most acidic, vitriolic anguish you could imagine. How she spake and quoth to me of freedom.. Freedom from torment from the people whose blood floweth within her.. And so she writhed... She writhed and squirmed, crying out, like a homunculus unto its creator when it hath experienced the first birthing torments and pleasures of life, seeking understanding and yet begging death to bless it with darkness.
How fragile her psyche was.. How helpless her mind and body.. t'was this that motivated me; surged my efforts further to give her reprieve and comfort..
" Now come.. thee and I shan't tarry here much longer. Bequeath unto this.. this Earth... your final partings and farewells.. I see thou art neither a quean, nor a quidnunc, but that thou art rathe-ripe. I commend thee for having disciplined thyself to such rigid standards.." I quoth unto her before we had departed, taking her hands gently to lead her away. A wave of my hand... and we had left this wretched plane of mortal torment... known as Earth.
Known as my land of birth.
| 2017-08-20T09:05:10
| 2017-08-20T07:16:42
| 48
| 25
|
[WP] You open a new snapple bottle with real fact #666. It says 'create your own real fact.' You say a statement and it becomes true.
What is the fact and what happens next?
|
A long lifetime of nineteen years, jealous and reviled, saw me beneath the garage lights, Snapple in hand. The fingers twist, the cap that lifts to reveal some probably already seen fact still sweating of cold beneath them.
"Create your own real fact."
The print is strange. Inconstant, and somehow abstract, I'm not sure if I'm reading it or knowing it in some other way. The bottle feels like carpet, and far away. A new sensation fills my stomach, like an uncomfortable truth. I hesitate and the writing seems insistent.
"*Create* your own real fact."
The period seems absolute. The fingers holding the cap, calloused, flow up to a lined palm, then a tense arm, encased in a bobble. There's hair, and, looking left, the familiar, foreign bulge of my groin. My hair, thinning, untended, fringed with old desires and a lot of baggage, brushes my cheek, wiry and dull.
*Create your own fact.*
"My parents have three daughters."
The words flow from me like a halting waterfall, pouring over my lips to rest at my chin, my chest, spraying my eyes and my hands with the fine mist of something mythical, mystical, something encroaching on the arcane. A fist unclenches deep in my gut, flesh grows, ungrows, and I can feel the weight of memory and history untangling, re-tangling, changing in some way that defies language of the rationalistic speaker.
Back to the cap.
"Real fact #29. An average human will spend 2 weeks in his/her lifetime kissing."
And the fingers slender on the edges, an arm brushed with vellus hair, the rounding of breasts beneath my shirt to the left. My fingers. My breasts. Hair, tended, fringe swept around my left ear. Another inconstancy of text, between "lifetime" and "kissing", *we hope you enjoy your new one*, and there, where the ridges of crumpled forehead used to be, signs of relief.
|
"Create your own real fact." Huh? I didn't get it. All I wanted to read was a simple real fact. I had gotten to enjoy these Snapple real facts, like John Adams was the only President defeated by his own vice president, Thomas Jefferson. Or that Louisiana is home to over 80% of the world's crayfish. But make your own real fact?
Did that mean I had to think of one, or did that mean I could actually wish something and it would become real, become true? Maybe this was like a genie bottle and I get one wish? I mean that last one I read yesterday, about cats having 2 sets of vocal chords, one for purring and one for meowing, was pretty cool. Could I make a new set of vocal chords? Nah, I didn't need to purr.
So, what did I need? Had to be careful about the old, I have a billion bucks wish, and suddenly I'm surrounded by a billion stags. What fact should I make real?
Oh please, I was being stupid. There was no way this was going to really happen. About as much chance as a penis enlarger really working. Yeah, there you go.
I said out loud, "John Elmo has an eighteen inch long penis."
There. And nothing happened. Sigh.
I tossed the cap and started to chug the Snapple ice tea. Fuck my hopes and dreams, I was thirsty.
And as I drank, I suddenly felt a huge pressure in my jeans.
What the?
I never did find that cap again. I simply tossed it to the side, but it just plain disappeared. Oh well, maybe it was only good for one use. But hey, I got what I wished for, though I really think a billion bucks would have been better. I mean, a billion dollars.
| 2015-01-17T15:59:47
| 2015-01-17T14:43:13
| 37
| 12
|
[wp] Upon reaching adulthood, everyone learns what their totem animal is and gains the ability to shapeshift into it. Your totem is a little bit... unusual.
|
I stared at the entrance, opening the massive doors with care. It's always been something kids have looked forward to their entire lives - their 18th birthday, when they're finally old enough to drink, to drive, and shapeshift into their totem animal.
Of course, not all totem animals are the same. They say people get the totem animal they deserve, but why does it never *seem* that way? Why do all the awful people I know get the biggest and strongest animals? Why Bruce of all people, the bully who's made my life hell since my first day of school, become a *tiger* of all things?
It's made me dread the day all the more. Why can't people just let me read my books and be who I want to be? Why must everyone be so cruel? At least if I turned into a mouse, they wouldn't be able to find me. Maybe I'll finally be left in peace.
Small chance.
So it was not without trepidation that I went to our town's designated Totem Zone. It's a massive forested area by a lake, with a large artificial salt water zone - perfect for turning into pretty much anything.
All of my grade had already turned; I was the last, as usual. What would I turn into though? A hamster? A ferret? Above all, I hoped it wouldn't be something embarrassing, though I knew it would be. I've spent my youth writing fiction, chiefly horror - but this was reality, and I finally had to face it.
But I guess that's the problem. Almost everyone already *knows* what they're going to turn into - I've never really felt like I've belonged. I've always felt this deep feeling of power, of untapped energy; but that's never come to the fore.
I sat alone in the forest, willing myself to change. Didn't everyone say it was easy? That it just happened naturally? Maybe I was too trapped in my thoughts to shapeshift. Maybe I couldn't change at all. Maybe, just maybe - I should end it all.
Something changed. I began to soar above the trees, above the clouds. Was I flying? What was happening to me?
And then I felt it. I knew what I was. *Who* I was.
I looked towards the town. It seemed so small, so diminutive. And I knew Bruce was there, roaming around as a tiger, showing off to his friends. No doubt waiting to attack me, whatever tiny little thing I turned into.
I moved towards him, leaving devastation in my wake. I could hear him mocking me, hitting me, again and again.
*"What kind of surname is Lovecraft, loser?"*
One that you will never forget, Bruce.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my new subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
|
"A fucking Daddy Long Legs!?"
"Please, Sam. Lower your voice. You'll anger the Elders."
"No. Fuck you, Carl. You're only OK with all this because you got a Lion."
"The scripture says all creatures on this planet pose a purpose even if we humans are yet to understand it."
"Fine. Swap me."
"No."
"Fucking knew it you Lion piece of shit."
A booming voice erupted, "SILENCE YOU TWO! You are standing within the Totem Temple and decorum will be adhered."
"I'll lower my voice when you scabby ass old ass fucks give me a new totem creature."
"Sam, you cannot speak to an Elder like that."
"Fuck him, Carl. How can they justify giving you a Lion and me some fly on stilts?"
The Elder's dank mage wizard ass cloak swept across the ground as he advanced towards Sam. "Let me tell you something, child. The Daddy Long Legs is a fine gift." An image of a Daddy Long Legs appeared holographically. "Look at these cool ass legs. Look how long they are. Do you see how long they are? Perfect for doing stuff in which you require long legs."
"Like what?"
"Like getting a bottle of Cherry Coke from the top shelf of the fridge."
"I'm a 6ft human. Why would I need to become my totem creature to get a bottle of Cherry Coke from the top shelf of the fridge?"
"You make it sound like you do not want a refreshing glass of Cherry Coke." The other Elders mumbled in disgust.
"Of course I want the Cherry Coke. Don't insinuate that I don't want the Cherry Coke. I just don't understand how it justifies being a Daddy Long Legs."
"Life is full of mysteries, child."
"Life is full of bullshit. Carl can become a Lion. A fully grown Lion."
"Is being a Lion really that great? Or is being a weird spider looking fly thing not the coolest shit going ever?"
"What? No. No it is not the coolest shit going ever.”
"With great responsibility comes being a Daddy Long Legs, Sam."
"You're not even making any sense."
"I got that line from Spiderman. The Toby McGuire edition. We, The Elders, believe Toby Maguire got a raw deal." The Elders nodded in agreement.
"That line was never used in regards to being a Daddy Long Legs.”
“Are you sure, child?”
“I am one hundred percent sure."
"And what about Toby Maguire getting a raw deal?"
"Also sure about that, actually."
“Then maybe it was in one of the other Spiderman movies.”
“Your version of that line is not in any of the Spiderman movies. It's not in any movie.”
Carl spoke up, “I’m not sure if anyone has noticed but during this conversation I turned in to a Lion. I’m a Lion now."
“This is what I’m talking about. How is this fair?”
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement.
| 2016-11-25T06:32:56
| 2016-11-25T06:03:51
| 236
| 111
|
[WP] GRR Martin, JK Rowling, Terry Pratchett and JRR Tolkien have come together to play Dungeons and Dragons together. Describe their Campaign.
You get to decide which one of their group will be the DM.
|
“Get yer mits off’a my Cheetos, Tolkien,” George R. R. Martin growled.
Professor Tolkien, a single Cheeto held between thumb and forefinger, froze. He looked instantly apologetic.
“Now now, Georgie, he meant nothing of it,” J. K. Rowling said. “It’s good to share. Remember.”
Martin grumbled to himself.
“Remember?” Rowling asked again, a hint of danger in her voice.
“Sorry, Professor,” Martin said. “Please, take one.”
Tolkien brought the Cheeto to his face and sniffed it carefully before taking a tiny bite. A moment later, his face lit up.
“Oh! Most delightful. Thank you so much, Dr. Martin.”
“I’m not a doctor,” Martin grumbled.
“Oh yes,” Tolkien said, face suddenly flat. “That’s right.”
“Can we please start the game?” Terry Pratchett pleaded from behind his dungeon master setup. “You’ve been making characters for eight hours.”
“Apologies,” Tolkien said. “I’d just been trying to work out the etymology of my character’s name. You see, it contains what I believe to be the prefix ‘aster’ which, in the language of the dark elves can mean either ‘eternal night’ or porcupine. So, if you combine it with the rest, I believe a poetic interpretation is either ‘Forever-darkness-follows-us’ or ‘Spikey diarrhea’.”
“What?” Pratchett said. “I just made up that name after you couldn’t decide on one yourself.”
“Yes!” Tolkien exclaimed. “And then I made up the language. Extraordinary, the declensions...”
“Joe?” Pratchett asked. “Are you any closer?”
“I’ve made two,” Rowling frowned, holding up two character sheets. “Perhaps you could help me decide which is more appropriate for the adventure you’ve planned for us.”
“Shoot,” Pratchett said, holding his head.
“Well, I have here Becky Fallowfield, a female hobbit--”
Tolkien cleared his throat violently.
“I’m sorry,” Rowling said. “Halfling wizard--”
Martin let out a bark of laughter. “Why not just roll an orc sorcerer while you’re at it?”
“--who has just escaped from a terribly abusive and patriarchal wizarding school, where she was most cruelly treated by the dashing, well-muscled headmaster, Dildus Fumblesore.”
Martin, who had been contemplating his Cheeto bowl grew suddenly attentive.
“Go on,” he said.
“Ah,” Rowling sighed. “It was a terrible place. By day, the poor students are forced to learn the ways of the Rek’shem school of wizardry, a vile, dark form of magic which draws its power solely from the most depraved carnal acts.”
Rowling shuddered.
“And...” she continued. “And by night, the spanking machines--”
“Stop!” said Pratchett. “I won’t have Professor Tolkien subjected to any more of that.”
Tolkien, at the sound of his name, looked up blankly from the volume of runes he was developing for the dark elf language.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t quite paying--”
“What’s the other one, Rowling?” Pratchett asked.
“Reginald Redembetter. He’s a human fighter, and formerly the mayor of a medium-sized village, having an existential crisis, primarily dealing with the pointlessness of--”
“The second one,” Pratchett said. “George?”
“Oh good,” Martin said. “Mine is a half-elf rogue named Kants Taggerly, the bastard love-child of a powerful nobleman, cast out of his home in the dead of night when it is revealed that, in fact, he’s really the son the Duke of Gevin, an evil necromancer famed across the land for his cruelty.”
“That is... oddly appropriate. Well done,” Pratchett said.
“He also blinded himself after accidently sleeping with his mom. And dad. Twice.”
Pratchett stared into the middle distance for a moment, rubbing his temples, before clapping his hands and shouting, “Let’s begin!”
The three players eagerly leaned in as Pratchett cleared his throat and began to read.
“Welcome, travelers, to the great and ancient city of Stank-Aardvark. It is a time of great disarray within the walls of this once-shining metropolis.
“I say once-shining, because it is now awash in the human effluence of its entirely too well-fibered citizenry. The poo-keepers guild, corrupted by its new president, the vile Hank Tanksman, has staged a strike, resulting in an ever-rising tide of the brownest human unkindness imaginable. That there is a heatwave on at the moment only compounds the trouble.
“Your party sets out by the light of the full moon on a very smelly night to try to unravel the web of corruption and discontent that has snarled the city in its own filth. Your first stop: Hank Tanksman’s home, outside of which you discover a poxy hunchback and his pet miniature mammoth standing guard.”
Pratchett finished with a wide smile on his face. He looked up to discover three identically blank looks transfixing him.
Pratchett nervously cleared his throat.
Tolkien began.
“I...” Tolkien seemed embarrassed for Pratchett. “I have one question.”
“Yes?” Pratchett asked, his stomach falling at the thought of this colossus of fantasy disliking his scenario.
“Are you entirely sure that it’s the light of the full moon?”
“It’s... it’s not really important.”
Tolkien laughed, shaking his head.
“I assure you it is. So I assume you haven’t consulted any lunar tables. What year is this taking place in? And the hemisphere, of course. I’ll help you, my friend.”
“I... it’s a made-up world, it--”
“That’s no excuse.”
“I... I don’t know,” Pratchett said, feeling the frustrations of the last eight hours come to a boil. “Maybe there are four moons! Maybe there isn’t a moon!”
“No moon?” Tolkien said, absolutely devastated. He shook his head in disbelief at the horrifying concept.
“I have an issue as well,” Martin said.
“Yes?”
“So you’re telling me that not even one person died to get the story rolling?”
“No,” Pratchett said. “It’s more of an intrigue scenario. Power corrupting. The greed innate in human character. But it’s bloodless. That can be fun too. The--”
“But you could. You could kill someone. You could kill anyone.” Martin gave dark appraising looks to each of the others. “Anyone at this table... Anyone.” Martin licked his lips.
And then he shook his head, and came out of it.
“Anyone at this table would agree that death heightens the drama. Like the hunchback. He could be dead when we find him. And his mammoth is actually the long-lost heir to an entire mammoth empire, where they ride... I don’t know... bigger mammoths, or something, into battle.”
“No,” Pratchett said. Martin sat back, crossing his arms.
Rowling gave a sympathetic look.
“I thought it was very good,” she said.
“I... I know it’s not quite what you all like,” Pratchett said. “Not really your styles.”
“I liked it,” Rowling said. “It’s just...”
“Yes?”
“I couldn’t help but notice how few adverbs there were,” she said cringingly.
Pratchett threw his hands up.
“Let’s try again next week, then,” he said.
Seeing Pratchett’s look of defeat, the others simply nodded silently. Rowling led Martin out by the arm.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s too much to ask for just one hyper-graphic death,” Pratchett heard Martin whisper to Rowling as they left. “I mean, it just shows that you care about the audience enough to permanently mentally scar them.”
Pratchett packed his things. Tolkien busily scribbled. Finally, when Pratchett had finished he touched Tolkien on the arm. The Professor looked up dreamily.
“I’m leaving, Dr. Tolkien.”
“Oh! Well, I had a wonderful time. Even with that little mix-up about the moon, old man. Here,” Tolkien handed Pratchett his paper. It was an incredibly detailed depiction of the four moons and the paths they would take around the world in which Stank-Aardvark apparently now existed.
“Thank you,” Pratchett said, smiling. “But I’ve got bad news.”
“Oh no,” Tolkien. “We haven’t driven you off, have we?”
“Of course not,” Pratchett said. “The bad news is that, next week, you’re dungeon master.”
Pratchett made for the door and glanced back before leaving. Professor Tolkien was furiously drawing maps with a crazed gleam in his eye.
|
"Home is behind, the world ahead, and there are many paths to tread through shadows to the edge of night, until the stars are all alight." It was Tolkein's turn to DM tonight and he was already quoting himself. The group tried to stifle a collective groan but failed.
George RR Martin chose to play a cleric. Ironically, of course. Terry Pratchett and JK Rowling fought over who got to be a wizard but the matter was finally settled when she hit him with a broomstick. Terry stuck out his tongue at JK Rowling as he rolled a rogue instead and tried to blink away the octarine spots in his vision. "You know I'm going to be speaking to you in small caps the rest of the night, right?"
"You can't be serious..." she said.
`IT'S NOT WORTH DOING UNLESS SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE, WOULD MUCH RATHER YOU WEREN'T DOING IT.`
`IN OTHER WORDS, YES.`
"We must try not to sink beneath our anguish, Rowling, but battle on. That's what your wizard, Dumdumbdore, said, wasn't it?" sniggered Martin.
"It is one thing to be clever and another to be wise, Martin...."
Tolkein sat with the patience of an ent while the party bickered and finished their character sheets. Finally, he spoke. "Where there's life there's hope, and need of vittles. Seriously, where are the snacks?" All eyes turned to Terry, who was stuffing his pockets with tiny cubes of cheese.
Martin rolled a D20 and flipped the table. "Didn't see *that* coming, did ya?" He finished by flipping everyone else off.
Terry Pratchett meanwhile sat in the corner choking on a piece of cheese.
Tolkein turned to Rowling and said, "So, just you and me then?"
"Yes, just you and me then."
---
RIP Terry Pratchett.
JK Rowling, I've never read your work. Sorry.
| 2015-10-04T19:06:19
| 2015-10-04T18:04:20
| 136
| 16
|
[WP] For all your life you have been able to see someones’ age floating above their head. You’ve seen people who don’t look their age before, but you’ve never seen anything like this. Standing before you is a small boy and above their head is the number 13.8 billion.
|
I'm pretty sure that I'm not actually insane. Not certain, but, pretty sure.
According to my psychiatrist, I don't have schizophrenia, I'm not delusional, I don't have early onset dementia, or... Well, much of anything else, aside from anxiety, panic attacks, a small bit of PTSD, and depression.
I don't hear voices telling me what to do. (Well, alright, I do, but they are attached to people.) I don't see things that are not there. I don't have delusions of being all powerful, or that mysterious people are out to get me.
And no, despite all the jokes, I don't see numbers floating above people. That would be a visual hallucination.
I just know roughly how old everyone is. Eyes open, eyes closed. In front of me. Behind me. Above or below. Walls in between, even if they are made of steel or lead. But it doesn't work through video.
And it's not like I just know 'he's 18 years, 3 months, 5 days, 15 hours, 6 minutes old'. I don't get numbers, I don't get words, I just get a sense of... Age.
I don't get it from plants, I do get it from some kinds of animals, but not others. No clue how old an ant is, but for some reason I can tell you the age of a grey squirrel, but not a possum.
I can even get a vague sense of direction and distance. Handy for keeping people from sneaking up on me... But trust me, you don't want to end up as a suspect in a missing child case when you manage to find them in a secret room that you had no way to know was there... You just don't.
Anyhow, all of this is lead up to the fact that I was sitting there on the subway, trying to get to work on time, and I was seriously freaking out because this kid, boarded was _old_. I mean, he looked like he's... Hell if I know, I've never been good at telling from pictures. Before puberty? Not in diapers? Alone, but not drawing attention. Which doesn't seem to fit.
But I don't just mean that he might be someone afflicted with dwarfism. No, I mean that he's the oldest person I've ever encountered. And not by a little bit. I've been in the room with a new born and someone over a hundred, and... This 'kid' was older than the great grand father was. _Much_ older.
Millions of years old? Billions? I didn't know. I still don't know. I didn't _want_ to know.
And he was staring right at me.
Yeah, I know I sound insane. And frankly, right now? Let me just give you my psychiatrist's name, and you can haul me off to a hospital with a good psych ward, and maybe when I wake up this will have all turned out to be a nasty delusion. Or hallucination. I'd really like to find out that I'm not covered in blood and... Parts.
That I was _never_ covered in blood and... Parts.
That I wasn't somehow the sole bloody survivor of a massacre. Barring that, I'd _really_ like to be able to give a description of the attacker that didn't involve someone who looked like a kid.
And no matter what, if they can give me _something_ to keep me from remembering the look on his face as he did it, or the fact that as he was leaving he looked back to me, smiled, and told me that he hoped I 'liked the present', I might one day be able to sleep again without waking up screaming.
... No, really, can I please go to a psych ward? Can someone _please_ tell me that I'm insane?
|
Growing up as a kid, I liked reading the x-men comics a lot, because I felt that they were more realistic than others, you might think “a comic is a comic, they’re all fiction” and you wouldn’t be wrong to think that but the fact of the matter is some people do have special powers, how do I know this? Because I have one myself, honest to god.
If you’re inclined to believe me, you’d no doubt be wondering what power I got. Is it super speed, strength? Invisibility? Or the ability to fly? We’ll you would be wrong in thinking that , trust me I’m more disappointed than you. The special ability that I have had since birth was that I could see a person’s age floating above their heads. Now you know why I think the x-men comics are accurate, it’s because they show you that some people actually have useless powers.
Believe it or not it took me a long time to realise that I actually had this power because at first people just thought that I was real good at guessing a person’s age, until one particular awkward and confusing conversation which made me realise that not all people can see what I do.
Apart from being an ice breaker in conversations sometimes or a party trick my power really didn’t have any use, I mean how does knowing how old a person is help you in any meaningful way? Or so I thought.
It was just another regular day on the subway and as I was waiting for the train along with dozens of others I caught something out of the side of my eye. usually in crowded spaces the numbers slightly overlap in my vision so if you aren’t paying attention a few people’s numbers get mixed into one, happened a couple of times in the past and usually I just shift so that they don’t seem unintelligible anymore, not that it’s really a problem, but it’s just a habit, like blocking the sun from your eyes. The problem was no matter how i shifted my vision the number didn’t get corrected, I could see more than 10 digits in a single row.
Mildly annoyed I concentrated on the number and the person that had it and my jaw dropped and I felt a shiver run down my spine. It belonged to a young boy and the number started with a 13 and had almost 10 more digits to it, you might think that my vision was wonky or that I was looking at other people’s numbers or something like that, but you would be wrong, because even if my vision was glitchy the first number should not have been 13 because this boy couldn’t have been older than 9 by the most forgiving of estimations. That’s what sold me that my vision wasn’t messed up, because right in front of me, not more than ten feet away was a boy whose number was 13 billion. I triple checked , everyone else looked normal, I.e they looked their age, which I could see clearly but this prepubescent child alone had 13.8 billion and some change right on top of his head and what was worse, he was staring right at me.
My soul froze, my hands were clammy and my stomach dropped, his gaze was terrifying, he didn’t seem angry or even cold, it was just that he knew that I knew something and for the love of god i felt like I was burning, like I was dragged to the hell that this ancient demon crawled out of. It was a miracle that I didn’t evacuate anything from my system, and after what seemed to me like an eternity but was not more than two seconds he smiled and all that tension left me as if it never existed, it was a knowing smile, the sort you’d share with a friend when only you both know a funny secret, the kind where you and another random stranger witnessed an event and find a little joy in knowing its not just you who saw what happened. So abruptly and utterly disarming that I found myself smiling back, unable to break eye contact. In the back of my mind, such thoughts such as hypnosis and mind control existed, but were blown away as soon as they came because such eyes could not belong to something evil, surely.
Still maintaining eye contact he walked towards me, grabbed my hand and smilingly said “ how about we go outside and we get some nice ice cream, I’m sure you prefer something with more bite to it, but how would that look, I am after all still a child” he said, with a twinkle in his eye.
I have no idea what I said back to him but i did exactly as he said, because how can you deny such innocent child, who could ever say anything contrary to what this being said, who would dare. In but a few moments I find myself with a big cup of ice cream in my hand, with all my favourite flavours and toppings, just like I used to have as a kid, but when I look around I’m not in an ice cream shop at all, I’m sitting on the edge of a roof top, with a tub in my hand with my legs swinging idly in the air, below which, i don’t seem to care is a twenty story drop. And beside me this angelic looking child with a choco-vanilla cone in his hand with his legs crossed, facing me. Still looking at me.
“I never realised a person like you could come to be, and that’s saying something” he said as he lightly laughed and turned around mimicking my posture.
As soon as he turned around, it all came crashing down, the dread that I felt, what I saw and how I have but a vague memory of what happened after he looked into my eyes. I could feel the hair on my body stand straight up, my tongue ran dry and the cold feeling at the back of my neck felt like i was looking death itself in the face. The realisations that i was quite literally not even a child to this being, of my own insignificance and worst of all the bliss and acceptance that I felt when this being was looking at me made my skin crawl, whatever it was that was sitting next to me, it was an ancient being that was older than the sun, let alone humanity and to it I was insignificant as a speck of dust.
After trying to wet my throat, I nervously managed to croak “wh- what are you?” I was about to ask him who, but then I realised how inconsequential the answer was. Throughout it all I managed to keep my eyes straight and not look at him.
“Haven’t you realised who I am already?” He asked, and even though I wasn’t looking at Him I could tell that He was smiling. “Who else could I be, than the one that you call God”. He said.
I turned to Him and I couldn’t stop the tears falling from my face and at that moment I knew that nothing else than this being mattered and that what he said was true and that meeting Him was my life’s purpose, and now it was fulfilled. I knew that with a word from this being, I would traverse the world to bring His word to the people and heal them all or I would burn it all to the ground and rejoice. For that is the joy, the bliss that one can find when standing in this beings presence. To not acknowledge the divinity of this being was a sin, to even think to be contrary to His will, was evil. He is the light and those who cannot see his presence are blind and unworthy of life itself. The mind bending hatred I felt at those who would not look upon his magnificence cannot be conceived by a mind that has not witnessed this divinity. The weak willed will go mad by gazing at even a glimpse of his magnificence, but those of us who are worthy, shall do the work of His, our creator.
“You know what to do now don’t you?” He asked his visage never changing from his perpetual smile.
I nodded as a smile graced my own face, only a fool wouldn’t know, in fact even a fool would I amended, as I stood up as I abided by his divine will,the meaning of life finally understood , the meaning of his smile grasped by my mere mortal self, I jumped.
For what does he need from me, but a leap of faith and as I looked above to glimpse at his visage one final time, I realised with shock that it had changed for the first time since I had seen him.
He was looking at me not with a smile anymore but with something that could only be described as the look on my face when I first saw him, a mixture of puzzlement and horror at what I had just done. It was at this moment that I realised, just before my vision went black, that I had messed up
| 2021-06-15T22:05:43
| 2021-06-15T22:05:06
| 113
| 48
|
[WP] A reverse "girl-in-a-fantasy-world": a magical prince has to live on earth with a completely normal human family and deal with incredibly mundane problems.
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"So you're saying I have to *pay* taxes?"
His recently-adoptive mother gave him a little smile. "Yes, dear. Was it not the same in your world?"
Prince Georic shook his head. "Where I'm from, people pay *us* taxes - which, I'm sure you'll agree, is a much more endearing circumstance."
"Yes, yes, maybe in your kingdom," Helen replied, as sweetly as she could, "but in our world you'll need to calculate your taxes every year and then pay it to the government, just like everyone else."
"Can't we just get some elves to do it?" he replied, and his newfound-father shook his head.
"Once again kid, there's no elves in America," Mark said. "No magic to speak of, as far as I'm aware."
"That sounds absolutely dreadful," Georic responded after a drawn-out sigh. "Well, I suppose our levy is at least not taxed too heavily? How much gold will the 'government' provide me with, exactly?"
His parents glanced at each other, trying to hide their concern.
"Oh, honey, no," Helen said comfortingly, "no, they don't give you anything. You'll need to get a job if you need money."
Georic sat in silence for some time, before coming to a dreadful conclusion.
"You mean they expect me to *toil* for my existence?!"
Mark grinned, putting his hand on his wife's shoulder.
"See, dear? I told you he'd get it."
|
“Tom-“
“Lord Ulrich!”
“Tom...”
“Sir Ulrich...”
“Tom...” the patient paternal voice continued.
“Ulrich.” The boy huffed.
“Tom, look at me, Tom...” The father in his maroon sweater vest and brown dress shirt loomed over the boy.
“Fine.” Tom, seated in a very large arm chair, looked up at his adopted father.
“We’ve talked about this. You can’t kiss sleeping girls.”
“I would awaken her and she would be my Queen!”
“Tom, Erica is your sister now. We don’t do that here. She wasn’t enchanted or poisoned - well..”
“See! She was poisoned! My true love’s kiss saved her!”
“Tom. She was drunk. You hate her. Is this some compulsion? Do we need to take you back to therapy?”
“No. No!” Tom gasped. He was wearing very princely attire; tights, a tunic, and a floppy hat - all velvet blue and trimmed with silver.
“I don’t know what to do with you. Just promise you’ll be good.”
“I have sworn an oath to uphold-“
“Here. To me!” His father barked.
“I promise.”
“Good, no more kissing Erica. It’s weird. Get outta here.” He jerked his thumb pointing out of the office.
Tom shuffled out of the den and into the kitchen. He snapped his fingers and sink started to pour, soap squeezed into the sink, the dishes started hoping into the sink and being scrubbed by the sponge gliding along it. Tom pulled out his phone and browsed while “he did” the dishes.
“Tom! You’re such a wonderful boy!” His adopted mom said. She was a little older than a mother of his age would be but still plausibly aged. “You’re a life saver.” She was walking into the kitchen from the garage with some groceries.
“Thanks mom.” He said.
“You’ve done enough, go ahead and go up to your room and play.”
“My fencing lesson?”
“Sure dear.”
Tom bounded upstairs and towards his room.
“Brother! Brother!” He heard Erica calling to him.
“What?” He said peaking his head into the laundry room.
“Brother, I’m stuck!” She said wiggling her butt while “stuck” in the dryer.
“Stuck!” He ran over and started pulling her out of the dryer while he held on tight to stay in.
“Is that a dagger in your pocket or are you happy to see me?” She giggled.
“I do not like to see you stuck-fast like this. It is the Dagger of Metcloth an ancient wizard who’s touch would insight fear of the...”
“I can’t. I can’t do it.” Erica backed out of the dryer. “You’re just ok weird. I don’t care how quaffed your hair is.”
“You’re unstuck? Fantastic!” Tom said confused.
“Erica, come back!” Erica’s boyfriend came bounding out of the closet with a camera in hand. “We need this for California!”
Tom flipped his wrist and the boyfriend tumbled down but still scampered off.
| 2020-09-17T22:02:21
| 2020-09-17T22:00:37
| 87
| 14
|
[WP] An alien invasion happens during an alien invasion.
.
|
The year was 1066. King Harold of England had his armies gathered on the south coast, awaiting the arrival of William of Normandy who was building his army for an invasion. The Summer was winding down and soon the Channel crossing would be too dangerous for William and his troops.
Just then word came to King Harold.
Another army, from the north had just landed, pillaging, looting, and plundering. Several coastal towns had already been utterly razed.
In desperation King Harold double times his entire army north to York and there they meet the legendary Viking Leader, Harald Hadraade, with the traitor Tostig in his ranks. Tostig is the English Kings brother, and he has come to usurp the throne.
At the Battle for Stamford Bridge the Viking forces were routed. The Viking King Harald was killed in the battle, and Tostig was cut down in front of his brother.
Just then word arrived. King William of Normandy had crossed the Channel and was raiding the South Coast, and refortifying the old Roman fort at Pevensey.
Still weary from the Battle at Stamford Bridge the English Army triple times it back south and forms a line at the top of a small rise near the village of Hastings.
Battle was joined as the cavalries of William tore up the hill, only to be turned back time and again by the Saxon shield wall and their terrible battle axes.
Sometime during the battle William was unhorsed. Panic spread through his ranks as word spread the King was dead.
Grabbing another horse, and tearing off his helmet, King William led his troops again, fighting helmetless so his troops could see who led them.
Finally the shield wall broke as Saxon defenders disobeyed orders and chased some fleeing Normans back down the hill.
Just then a stray arrow came over the heads of the front line troops, and struck King Harold in the eye, killing him instantly.
The battle was over.
William of Normandy had won.
History knows him as William the Conqueror.
Sometimes a true story about multiple alien invasions is more interesting than fiction.
|
"High Lord Executor Jim, I'm pleased to report that by 05:00 Standard Solar Time we've taken control of about 98% of this planet's territory."
The High Lord Executor sighed and sipped casually on his space-coffee, which to Earth standards would be a really hot and really caffeinated beverage, as space often is.
He blinked and looked at the hologramap over the planet, noticing a little dot in the middle of one of the larger continents which wasn't painted in the ominous crimson colour that represented the glorious Te'rakaza Empire. As a side-note he also observed with some mirth that the piece of land south of it looked very much like a very misshaped boot. How silly of the earthlings.
"Unacceptable, Magister Astrum Militum. Why haven't you conquered the rest of the 2%? What do they call that place?" he barked back at his Magister with theatrical annoyance.
"Uh, well, our Frumentarii has identified that place as -"
"Hold on, hold on. You sent our *space-wheat collectors* to gather intel?" the High Lord Executor interrupted in absolute disbelief. Space-wheat was a fickle type of cereal to collect. It wasn't whole-grain, of course, as space was mostly just void. But finding any type of organic material flowing about in space was bound to have its imperfections.
"Oh didn't you get the memo, High Lord Executor? We decided to use the Frumentarii as spies and intel-gatherers while they're not collecting space-wheat. I swear I sent it..." the Magister fumbled about with is space-documents which were honestly just pieces of paper with writing on it.
"I did not get the memo and I'm fairly certain I don't bother to read those things either. But *never mind that*, tell me of this unconquered land."
"Ah, yes. Yes. They, ah, call it "The Land of the Swizz", High Lord Executor. It's mostly just mountainous terrain with some people and four-legged creatures roaming about."
"And what is the problem? Why haven't we destroyed them yet with our space-legions?"
"They...uh..."
"Well, spit it out then!"
"They say they're ... neutral, ah, High Lord Executor."
"Neutral!? Are they allowed to be neutral?"
"We, uh, I don't know, High Lord Executor! But they sounded *very* adamant about it."
"Did the other tribes on that planet try to say they were neutral?"
"Not at all. One of the largest tribes, the people of Yu-Ess-Ay, were very much not neutral and tried to attack us immediately after we started bombarding. If you recall, they were the people that tried to fly that tiny non-space ship into our massive space-ship's exhaust vent in an effort to make it place up."
"Oh yes! Well if they think they can destroy our ship that easily then they must really be primitive. Hah-hah! Wait, why is that console beeping?"
Both of the men looked at the console in question. It was a big console, very much the type any self-respecting space ship would have with buttons that shone and glowed all mysteriously. Problem was they didn't really know *what* it did, as intergalactic stratagem and tactics didn't really cover analyzing spaceship consoles. Luckily, some poor lackey ran up to it, checked it out and went over all blustered and knelt before the two very important figures of authority.
"My lords! The HyperWarpStarTravel Sensors have picked up a massive fleet coming our way!"
"Our way!" cried the High Lord Executor "What *on Earth* do they want?"
The Magister Astrum Militum, who visibly cringed at his superior's horrible pun, had a quick think and then changed to become visibly afraid, looking at the High Lord Executor. "You don't think it's *them* do you?"
The expression of the Magister was quickly adopted by the High Lord Executor.
"Oh no, you're not talking abo-"
But before he could even finish the sentence there was a loud noise of static from the ComSpeakers before an all too familiar voice chimed in to the conversation.
"Hahaha! Te'rakazan scum! Still haven't conquered the primitives in this solar system! What a bunch of space-wankers you are! Why don't you just hang back and we'll show you how to invade a whole planet, okay?"
The High Lord Executor roared and rose out of his throne, shaking his space-coffee cup to no one in particular as he yelled back a barbed reply to the non-visible party crasher.
"You shut your tendril-mouth, Makkalan bastard! You have no right coming here and invade when you are perfectly aware that we came here first!"
"Uh, first of all: Our mouths are made of *tentacles* and second of all: We have all the right to be here. Read the space-constitution, okay? I am actually an illegitimate child though, I figure that wasn't your literal meaning but that was actually right on the money."
"Ugh, I hate those people..." muttered the Magister under his breath.
"HEY! What do you mean THOSE people!?" came the immediate reply from the Makkalan over the ComSpeaker.
"He means all of you Makkalans! Your people! YOU! You're all tits, is what you are!" Replied the High Lord Executor.
"Okay, that's really insensitive and that really hurts our collective feelings which we've evolved to share through a psybionic telepath link. You've literally offended 100 000 Makkalans now with your space-racism."
"There's nothing called space-racism! It's just plain out racism! Racism is universal and has nothing to do with space!" objected the Magister with some oddly misplaced sense of indignancy.
"And *of course* we're racist, you moron!" retorted the High Lord Executor "That's our shtick! We're a highly warlike and technologically advanced Empire of xenophobic pricks that have a fetish for pompous titles! We LITERALLY have a Department of Genocidal Affairs in our government!"
There was a slight pause there and then as either quarreling party felt they really hadn't quite much to add to the conversation before the Makkalan finally responded.
"That just proves our point."
"UGH! I hate these filthy aliens so much!" declared the High Lord Executor.
"I just want to stomp on their little tentacle hair extensions!" replied the Magister.
"They're so stupid!" agreed the poor lackey, earning the razor-sharp glare from the two others.
"You don't get to join in our conversation, lackey. Go back to work."
The lackey realized he was on thin space-ice and fled the command room to observe on some other consoles. There was another long pause without anyone actually saying anything, leading the High Lord Executor to almost believe the Makkalan had been so rude to hang up on his hijacking call. But once again, the Makkalan broke the silence.
"Soooo, just wanted to say that while we've been talking I've fired our psybeam ray unto the planet and now every one of those primitives are under our telepathic control. So we win, okay?
"What!?" The High Lord Executor became so frustrated that he sat down on his throne so he could rise up again in anger. "You can't do that!"
"Already did, okay?"
"That's shit. That's just shit and you know it! We had our eyes out for these primitives, we were going to kill them all, we were here first."
"Well, you know, though luck, so you can- What, wait, what is going on... no... Ahhh...ARGGHH!!!!"
There was a loud noise of static that cut off the cries of Makkalan, the noise persisted for a short while before it finally died off and was replaced with absolute silence.
Third time with awkward silence and damned be if the Makkalan was going to be the one breaking it again so the High Lord Executor took heroic action and called out to the silent ComSpeakers.
"Uh... are you there, you Makkalan .. uh... scum?"
There was a second delay before the response came, sounding somewhat distorted and different than the last time.
"HI. YOU ARE NOT SPEAKING TO THE MAKKALAN ANY MORE. THEY HAVE JOINED OUR CONFEDERATION OF PEERS. YOU ARE NOW TALKING TO THE SWIZZ COLLECTIVE. WHATEVER CONFLICT THERE WAS BEFORE, WE ARE NEUTRAL OF IT AND WILL TRAVEL THE STARS TO FULFILL OUR DESTINY AS HARBINGERS OF NEUTRALITY. BYE."
And with that the ComSpeakers went silent and the console they still weren't quite sure about stopped beeping. The 2% dot on the HolograMap had conveniently just vanished as well.
The Te'rakaza weren't entirely unfamiliar with the oddity and strangeness of space and the universe, but there was a limit for even them.
"Well all things considered, I think that's a victory for us, Magister. Pack up our troops and let's call it a day. Don't forget to blow up the planet."
The High Lord Executor peered down at his cup.
"I think I need a refill."
| 2015-10-28T00:27:04
| 2015-10-28T00:13:23
| 30
| 11
|
[WP] You are the greatest archeologist in the world and you have been looking for the City of Gold for decades, after all these years you have found the City. When you open the ancient gates you see glitters running towards you, the "gold" of the city has always been thousands of Golden Retrievers.
|
It was paradise on Earth.
Not exactly the paradise that I had imagined, mind you. When I first started my hunt for the City of Gold, I had expected, well, *gold*. Mountains of coins, bricks made of the stuff, inlays of murals all filled to the brim with a thousand kilos of gold.
Of course, when I got older, I realized that any such city would have probably sunken into the marshy jungle floor decades ago, if not looted by the first clever soul to find it and keep quiet. So, I began a hunt for a different city. A city filled not with gold in the literal sense, but the gold of history.
What I found was the gold of dogs.
There must have been thousands of them. All breeds, all sizes, but all with the same shimmering coat of gold. The city itself seemed to shine with the luster of their coats. Yet, despite how obviously well they were kept, not a single human soul was present other than myself.
I confess, when they first spotted me, I was more than a little overwhelmed by the tidal wave of curious noses. When they pushed me to the floor, I thought I might be torn to pieces, but instead I was simply licked from head to toe. It was slimy, and perhaps a little less than sanitary, but when I could stand again I found myself entirely unharmed. In fact, I was smiling more than I had in all the years since my own golden had passed.
Then, a great boom rang out across the entire city, and the dogs grew quiet.
As one, the darted away from me, lining up to border the edges of the city's main road like the spectators of some glorious parade. Though they refrained from barking, I could tell it was a close thing. They shuffled from foot to foot, tails beating uncontrollably like a thousand brooms against the stony ground.
"Are you trying to lead me somewhere, boys?" I asked.
I wasn't sure if they understood, but they were certainly more than a little excited to hear my voice. Several spun in circles, clearly eager to play, but never straying onto the path.
"Well," I said, to no one in particular. "I've come this far, after all."
Feeling as if he weariness of the jungle had all but vanished from my limbs, I walked along the cobbles towards the heart of the city: an enormous step pyramid that rose even above the forest canopy in its splendor. When I paused, perhaps to scratch an eager head, I noticed that the other buildings, too, were very clean. They were obviously Aztec in origin, yet it appeared as if they had been built only weeks ago and rigorously maintained ever since. There was no gold, but there also was no filth or overgrowth. Certainly, there wasn't any evidence that the place was being inhabited by thousands of dogs.
As I got deeper into the city, it became more and more obvious that this was a paradise not only built for men, but for dogs as well. There were rows of luxurious stone kennels, dozens of parks filled with trees and grass just asking to be run across, and more than a few posts just the right height for sniffing. To my surprise, I even found what appeared to be a doggy mess hall, with hundreds of bowls filled to the brim with steaming sirloin. I stopped there for quite some time, but no chef ever made an appearance, and I couldn't approach without treading on more than a few happy tails. Eventually, I was forced to move on. It was time to begin my ascent.
Though the pyramid was steep, each step was bordered by an honor guard of ancient-looking dogs. Though their muzzles were gray and their eyes soft, they all held their chests out proudly. Each of them seemed just as healthy as the pups before, even if their exuberance was somewhat tempered by age. Finally, I reached the top.
There, standing in front of the temple with arms held out in welcome, was a man.
"Hello, George Williams!" He said, pronouncing each syllable of my name distinctly. "We have been waiting for you!"
He was as tall as a giant, with hair as golden as the dogs that hurried around his ankles like an overly-friendly hurricane. His chest was bare, but on his back was an enormous cape made of feathers. On his brow, he wore a crown of gold that seemed to be made entirely out of dog biscuits.
"Er, uh, thank you!" I stammered. "You...you have?"
"Yes, George Williams!" The giant replied. "Waiting for a very long time! Welcome to EL Dogado, City of Gold!"
That one caught my by surprise.
"Don't you mean 'El Dorado?'" I asked. "Actually, who are you?"
"I am Quetzalcoatl, my friend." Said the man. "And no. Though I do think that may have been how it was translated. Humans tend to miss small details like that."
"Quetzalcoatl...as in the god?" I asked. Hurriedly, I made to bow--for a crazy hermit or a diety, I didn't know--but he gripped my shoulders and pulled me into a hug before I could finish the movement.
"No need for formalities, my honored guest." Quetzalcoatl said. "Besides, my subjects think you are playing. They have all been waiting to meet you for so long!"
I looked down, and to my surprise the number of dogs at my feet seemed to have exploded. They were pouring up the staircase from below now, barking joyously in greeting. Each of them seemed to be trying to knock me over and get a better sniff.
"Whoa there!" I said, clinging to the man for support. "Why uh, why have they been waiting?"
"Ahhh, now that is a tale." The giant said, smiling. "One of our number has been singing your praises for some time now. He said you were the best friend he ever had, and the greatest explorer the world has ever known. He knew you would come."
The man whistled once, and the dogs instantly ran back to their positions. None of them made so much as a whimper, as if each were holding their breath. The giant stepped aside, and out of the temple walked a single elderly golden retriever.
"...Baily?" I asked.
Our reunion was as quick as it was joyous. Baily bounded forward, and for all his old, tired bones he was able to knock me flat on my back with a single leap. Instantly, I was covered by a familiar hairy warmth and doused enough saliva that I thought I might drown in happiness.
"But, how?" I asked. "Baily...Baily passed decades ago, right before I started looking for this place!"
"Ah, now that's a trick." Quetzalcoatl said, waggling a finger. "Baily has been waiting here for some time, it's true. Many of my subjects have. Most choose to pass on alone...but your Baily knew you would make your way here. He never gave up on you."
"Is...that what all of these dogs are?" I asked.
Quetzalcoatl nodded sagely.
"Yes. Many find us in death, waiting to greet and be greeted by the ones they loved before they pass on. Many souls, both man and dog, wind up passing through my gates. But you...you were the first to find us here, where we truly are. So, George Williams. I ask of you...what will you do now, now that you have discovered us in truth? Will you stay? Will you go? Will you, too, move on with your beloved Baily?"
I looked back, gazing upon the city and its wonders. I saw the beautiful buildings stretching into the sky. I saw the parks, the kennels, the food. And there, by the very entrance of the city's gate, I saw the small crumpled form that I had always known was there.
Nodding to the the ancient god, I walked into the temple, Baily by my side.
***
*Thanks for the read! CC welcomed, and if you liked this story come check out my others at /r/TimeSyncs!*
|
You can't imagine how dismayed I was to find that this particular treasure was metaphorical. All the extant documentation on Cibola indicated real gold being kept there. Of course, those accounts were apocryphal at best, and you had to expect things like this happening in my line of work.
The discovery was worth its weight in publishing gold, though.
It was a wonder it had taken so long to find this place so far into the 21st century; that it had gone undiscovered for so long. The myth of the Seven Cities of Gold had persisted through antiquity to become something of a fixation for me. In this day and age, nothing really remained for people like me to discover. Except this. Except dogs.
The guide I had hired to take me to the City of Gold smiled broadly as I was mobbed by several golden retrievers with luxurious coats. I tried to remain upset that the gold of legend wasn't exactly what I was hoping for, but it's difficult for anyone to be upset for long surrounded by dogs, in my experience.
"Es todo?" I asked him in my broken Spanish. "Este es el... erm... oro?" He merely nodded, and I would have been crestfallen had I not been surrounded my many happy animals.
I surveyed the view before me. The gates had opened to reveal a beautiful cliffside villa, which struck me as incongruously modern. My guide motioned to me to follow him, and we walked up the long cobblestone road to the hacienda, a glut of retrievers in tow.
Arriving at the house, I saw a sign out front that said *Cibola Hacienda.* The guide was waiting expectantly, glancing at the large door occasionally. He was a man of few words. I appreciated that. I knocked loudly at the door, not knowing if anyone would even hear me, the villa was so large.
A few silent moments passed, but soon, a small, shriveled woman opened the door for me, greeting me in Spanish and smiling warmly. I turned to my guide.
"Can you... erm... ask her how long this has been here?" He turned to her, saying a lot more words than I thought would be necessary to ask my simple question. She nodded politely as he asked, eventually responding in kind just as verbosely.
"She says this place has been in her family for generations. Since the 14th century, most likely."
"Was there... gold here? Ever?" That translation was short. The woman nodded, and my guide translated as she spoke.
"There was, once. Her family... used it to... build this place and... put some aside for... em... security. They've been dog breeders... since the turn of the 19th century."
Fascinating. I was jotting down every word I heard in the small travel journal I'd brought back with me.
"Can you ask her her name, please?" The woman smiled. She understood that question, no need for translation.
"Coronado." The smile on her face said it all.
| 2018-01-08T09:41:33
| 2018-01-08T07:47:10
| 1,127
| 47
|
[WP] It’s against the law to time travel back and kill someone before they do a horrible deed. It’s not against the law though to stop someone conceiving a child that will later become evil. After having a crowd follow you everywhere since puberty, you wonder how bad your future children really are.
|
"You don't understand man." The bean pole of a man whined, "its all they ever do!"
Philip sighed heavily it was the third time this week his pleasant, if a bit mundane life had been interrupted by these folks. Always badgering him to call off his wedding, which was three days away.
"I. Don't. Care." He said, exasperated, "why do you people keep coming back here? What it sounds like is my future children are just annoying, not evil."
"Have you ever worked retail?" He retorted as they all had.
"No," Philip replied quickly, "I work manufacturing, always have, but I refuse to beleive that my children can't be raised better. Or is this one of those, One often meets his destiny, things."
"I don't know man. I just can't go back there knowing they will be there, this seemed like the best chance."
"Good lord! Don't make me say it." Philip threatened
"You wouldn't."
"I want"
"No."
"To speak"
"Please I'll do anything!"
"With your manager."
And that was hiw Philip Mordechai was whisked to the future three days before his wedding
|
The day starts like it always does yet someone’s in the room with me.
“Hello?” I ask, “who are you?”
No response. Those from the future cannot speak not kill us yet they can interact in any other way.
“Do my children do terrible things?”
No response. I continue my day like any other go to work go home go to sleep. Repeat, Reuse, Recycle, as the motto goes.
One day I’m at a bar and the amount of people pile up. 10, 20, 100 people and more coming in and surrounding the building. I’m wonder what could happen here at the bar that caused all these folk to come by.
Then I see her, Bethany, the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.
“Hay handsome,” she says, “why’s there so many people her?”
“I don’t know? I tried asking but no one has responded”
“Hmm. I’ll give it a shot,” Bethany says, “yo nut jobs?what y’all doing here?”
No response.
I take a sip of my beer. Then it hits me. The ice. It, it chokes me. Bethany was freezing out I was about to die. Then the bar tender jobs over the table and saves my life.
All of a sudden it’s back to just the one follower.
“Where did everyone go?” I ask
“Commissioner, it’s time you come home.” One responds
“Home, what do you mean home?”
“Baby, we sent you back so that you could discover time travel” Beth said
“Baby? I discover time travel?... oh my brain freeze.”
“Now we wait.” Says one...
I haven’t written stories in a while so please any help would do.
If you like my work please go to r/PennPandaWrites
Have a great day and God bless
| 2022-03-21T21:41:35
| 2022-03-21T16:46:28
| 61
| 11
|
[WP] You're determined to enter the Medic Corps no matter what. Problem is, you've got the highest scores for a Combat Mage.
|
Zander looked down at the gaping wound in his leg. “Shit,” he hissed. “Shit, shit, shit.”
He knew he didn’t have much time. If he was a pyro, maybe he could have cauterized the bleeding gash until help arrived. But his talent was with stone. Hurling boulders around was great for dishing out damage on the battlefield, but pretty useless when it came to closing up flesh wounds. Besides, he was already starting to shake; he’d be lucky to lift a pebble in the state he was in.
He tried to stand again, and nearly blacked out from the pain. He collapsed against the side of the broken wall where he’d taken cover. “Medic!” he screamed hoarsely, praying someone would hear him over the din of combat. “God dammit, somebody help!”
A silhouette came running through the haze of dust and smoke, crouched low to avoid enemy fire. Zander tensed, trying his best to summon a fist-sized chunk of stone that lay nearby. It barely wobbled.
“I’ve got you!” cried the approaching figure. “Stay down!”
The terramancer sent up a prayer of thanks to any god that was listening. The approaching man wore the white robes of the Medical Corps. He wasn’t going to die today after all.
The medic threw his pack onto the ground as he arrived, immediately ripping it open to start pulling out materials. “Alright soldier, what’ve we got?”
Zander grimaced. “Ice shard caught me in the leg. Feels like it shattered the bone, and it’s bleedin’ bad. Can’t walk. We’ve already lost the courtyard, the northern alley, and half my squad’s dead or captured. Just get me mobile so we can get the fuck out of here.”
The medic opened his trauma kit and pulled out a wad of gauze. “I’ll do what I can.”
Zander stared. “Wh… what the hell are you doing?”
“Gotta patch you up.”
“So use a god damn mending spell! Didn’t you hear what I just said? We don’t have time for that shit!”
The medic shook his head. “Don’t know any mending spells, sorry. Hold still, this is gonna hurt.”
The injured mage watched in horror as a surgical needle floated out of the medic’s kit, trailing thread behind it. “You’re a fucking blade mage? What are you doing wearing white? Get a real medic!”
The ferromancer shot him an exasperated look. “The other medics are busy, idiot. You wanna die here, or you wanna shut up and let me do my job?” He turned back to his task, and Zander winced as the needle made its first pass through the ragged flap of flesh that hung from his leg.
“I don’t get it,” he said, trying to distract himself from the pain, “how did you even get permission to—BEHIND YOU!”
It was over before he finished shouting. The enemy pyromancer came around the corner, cupping a ball of flame in one hand, and raised his arm to throw it as soon as he spotted them. But before he could hurl his fire, a streak of silver shot from the medic’s rucksack. The man stopped, a surprised expression on his face… and a gush of blood erupted from his throat.
He fell without a sound.
“Almost done,” said the medic, not taking his eyes off his patient’s leg.
“Holy shit!” Zander choked out. “You killed him! What kind of medic are you?”
“The dedicated kind,” said the medic. “There, that should keep you from bleeding out while we get you back to camp. Let’s stand you up.”
“Um.”
“Oh come on,” growled the man in white, “you can do it. It’ll hurt like a bitch, but it’s better than dying.”
“No, it’s, uh…”
The medic turned around. “Oh.”
A squad of mages stood in a loose semi-circle around them, grinning. Zander counted two pyromancers, an ice mage, and the man bouncing a chunk of granite from hand to hand was certainly a fellow terramancer.
The ice mage cleared his throat. His shoulders were decorated with the golden pips that announced he was an officer. “Seems we’ve got you boys up against a wall, here.”
The medic nodded slowly. “Just trying to do my job, gentlemen. Let us go, and there won’t be any trouble.”
The officer laughed. “Oh *you’re* free to go, whitecoat. We play by the rules here. But that man there is an enemy combatant, and we ain’t takin’ prisoners today. Now why don’t you run along, eh? You don’t need to see this.”
“No.”
The ice mage frowned. In his hands, a frozen shard condensed out of the air. The two pyromancers behind him summoned their burning orbs and raised them meaningfully. “I don’t think you understand,” he said. “I wasn’t giving you a choice.”
It wasn’t until that moment that Zander noticed how quiet the battlefield had become. The fighting must have moved on, leaving them far behind enemy lines. No one would be coming to help them now. “It’s alright,” he sighed. “Get out of here. You did what you could.”
In the silence, he heard a soft tearing sound.
The medic didn’t move. But in the air around him, a dozen gleaming instruments now orbited like angry wasps. Scalpels, needles, forceps—even a serrated bone saw—all looped slowly around the man in white. The enemy officer paled.
When he spoke, the medic’s voice was calm. “You men have a choice to make,” he said, as the silver arsenal wove lazy patterns in the breeze. “You can try to kill me… and you’ll probably succeed. But I promise you, doing so will be the death of every one you.”
The ice mage shook his head in confusion. “This… this shouldn’t be possible. No one can focus on that many bindings at once.”
The healer nodded. “That’s what they kept telling me in the academy,” he said. “They called me a prodigy. Said I was the most promising ferromancer in a hundred years. Problem is, I don’t *like* killing people. I like saving them. And right now, you’re stopping me from doing my job.”
As one, each of the orbiting weapons halted in midair. They slowly turned to point at the squad of mages.
“So what’s it going to be?” asked the medic.
“Do you want to kill two men today? Or do you want to save six?”
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
***
*EDIT: Oh my goodness, thanks for the kind words! I've never been asked to do a continuation before. I'll give it a shot later tonight =)*
|
"Alexi Mathers, I see you put in for the Caduceus Corps?" Came the meandering voice of the interviewer, the small plaq on his desk read Sargent Esvar.
"That's correct" The young blonde woman answered promptly. Her appearance was that of "perfection". Her tunic had been pressed, her hair at regulation length and tied back into a short pony tail. "My family comes from a long line of field medics. I hope to live on this family tradition. Sir."
The interviewer flipped through his notes absent minded as she spoke, eyes widening as the third page floated to the desk. "Yet you have such impressive combat scores? Says here you broke the record for up time in the survival test. You even implemented wide area nullification against some of the instructors?"
Alexi diverted her eyes from the man across from her for the first time since she had sat down, instead staring up at a small patch of the wooden ceiling. "That is correct sir, though it has little bearing on my application."
He gave a wry smile, "No bearing huh? What about joining the Deimos Corps? With those kind of skills you'd do well." He sat back in his chair and really regarded Alexi for the first time. He couldn't deny she was pretty, with crystal eyes and a perfect wintry complexion. However her real beauty came from the intensity of her being, this woman was fueled by a fire no flame could quench. The pressure she exerted due to that alone was staggering.
"I have no intention of becoming a combat mage" Again she locked eyes with the Sargent, her will boring into his skull.
"I have to insist I enroll you into the academy with at least a combat class." It took all he had to even suggest that. She screwed up her face in thought.
"Fine, but I still want the majority of my education to be in triage and anti-curse medications." She nodded her agreement.
"Of course you know what you want to specialise in, that helps cut the process short. Your classes will begin in two weeks, you will move in to the dorms in one week. Schedules will be delivered to you by Shikigami, if you find yourself without one by midweek, please contact your dorm head." Esvar's voice was suddenly efficient and monotone. Simply reading from a memorised script. I like him better this way Alexi thought, making a mental note of the information. Her face must have betrayed a small smile, "Something funny recruit?"
"No Sir, just happy to finally be at the academy Sir." Her face snapping back to business mode.
"Then you are dismissed" With that she got up and left the office.
Esvar leaned back in his chair and let out a deep sigh, he looked down at the enrolled classes.
*Theory of Mana*
*Elements and Interactions*
*Anti-Curse medication*
*Triage Magic*
*Barriers - Formation and spread*
What class do I add to round it out? The thought echoed in his head. According to the combat report she nullified the magical attacks of three instructors, essentially cancelling their spells before using raw mana blasts to disable them. That woman was a walking mana generator, possibly able to run a city's needs if only for a minute. He didn't want to even consider who her grandparents must have been, Some legendary mages he was sure.
Artillery? Possibly, the thought of her magic arcing through the air into enemy lines made Esvar smile with glee. It was a waste of her nullification though. Dueling was no good either, one on one combat was for the tricky, it was considered underhanded. Alexi was proper and wouldn't stoop to mind alteration he was sure. "Fluctus" he whispered to the empty room and finished filling in her paperwork. Whatever happened next it wasn't the last he had heard of Alexi, of that he was sure.
Alexi sat in the sun, the park just outside the military headquarters in the city of Accra was famed for it's fountains. Alexi had decided to sit opposite an upwards cascade of water, it spiraled and fell once more separating into six smaller fountains dotted about the park. Watching a group of kids throw rocks into the water, betting on which fountain their rock would end up in she reflected on the interview.
Why didn't I just hold back? I could have done average in the combat tests and gone into the field I wanted no questions asked. She sighed, appalled at her own pride. Pride that she hoped hadn't damaged her dreams. As long as she remembered she wanted to be like her parents. Legendary members of Caduceus, they saved thousands of lives on the battlefield. Though she never saw that, she only remembered bringing them wounded animals. Seeing her parents warm smiles and watching the bird hop to it's feet and flutter away. They were miracle workers and if I could do half as much as them I'd be happy.
Perhaps she was being too stubborn though, it was true she had an aptitude in both "White" and "Black" magic types. Something that could be considered a miracle in herself. Magical talent was supposed to skip a generation. Her older sister had no ability to shape her mana at all. Though she had a greater than reserve than Alexi, Anya's mana could not be tapped in to at all. Despite that Alexi had shown promise even at an early age, it wasn't unheard of just very rare.
Alexi's face turned sour at the thought of her older sister, they had never got along and Alexi had always presumed it was jealousy. It wasn't my fault I could use magic she would always say to her sister. Anya who had been married away politically as soon as she came of age at 18.
She shook her head clear, I can't dwell, not when i'm on the first step to the future. Standing she started walking towards the market. Tonight she would cook up something special. A celebration for one, for all her hard work. The sun had began to set as she walked her way out of the beautiful park.
| 2016-07-20T03:18:09
| 2016-07-20T02:07:11
| 45
| 11
|
[WP] The elder gods looks to us the same way we look to cockroachs. What means that they are irrationally scared of us.
|
“Madness is the answer.” Cthulhu folded his wings. His tentacled mouth stretched across the void of time and space toward his companion.
“Madness?” Yog-Sothoth’s many eyes blinked in unison. “You can’t kill a species by driving them mad. You have to squash them like the roaches they are.”
“That is not the answer, my friend. Cockroaches plague humans as the humans plague us. Not a roach runs by an able bodied foot that is not used to stamp out its life. Yet the insects infest every nook and cranny of human society. Even humanity’s greatest weapon is incapable of rendering them extinct. No, physical attacks are not the answer. The answer is to assault their mind—drive them mad. Instill a fear so great their species loses the will to live.”
“And how will we do this?” Yog-Sothoth’s appendages propped up his central mass of orbs, bringing him from floating to standing.
“Show them your disgusting body,” Cthulhu hissed. “They will see you with many eyes.”
“Puns, really? In a matter so serious?”
“My lips were writhing to get that out.”
Yog-Sothoth sighed. “Fine. I will finally answer one of these Earthly summons. We shall discover who is right.”
A moment and a millennium passed at the same speed in the void of time and space. Yog-Sothoth vanished in an instant and reappeared after incalculable time.
“Well?” asked Cthulhu.
“A wave of catatonia, hysterics, and unending prostrations swept across those gathered. An absolute joy of a sight.”
“Then it worked. We have our answer.”
“We do not.” Yog-Sothoth squeezed one eye tight. “Two of them resisted. Fought back with guns. Plinked me with pink eye in my 12th anterior sinistral segment before I devoured them.”
“Ah, what a shame. It was a good idea.”
“I told you they were roaches. Our greatest weapon, and still they cling to life.”
--------------
read more at /r/wiselywrittenwords
|
"Do you think we need to clear them out, Dharma?" Agni, the god of fire asked the god of justice.
"Bramha (God of everything) knows I want to, but leave them. After all they play a huge part in maintaining the Earth." Dharma replied.
Soma, the god of plants snorted in disgust. "Maintain Earth? They destroyed it!"
"Calm down, Soma." Ganga, the goddess of river, said calmly. "Monsoon is around the corner, the plants will recover. My rivers on the other hand-"
"We should should just destroy them and be done with it!" Indra, the god of rains (among other things), quipped. "The Earth will be better off without them."
"And whose going to do it?" Lakshmi, goddess of wealth, asked raising her brows knowingly.
Varun, the god of water, shrugged. "Kali can do it." He said pointing towards the goddess of death.
Kali snorted. "Just because you are scared of them doesn't mean I'm going to touch those worthless beings."
"Why? Scared?" Vishnu, the preserver God, laughed good-naturedly.
"You wish." Kali rolled her eyes. "They disgust me and I'm not going to touch those disgusting beings."
"So whose going to take care of them? Shiva?" Vishnu asked.
"Yeah, place the blame of destruction of humanity on the God of destruction (again amongst other things), no, thank you." Shiva scoffed.
"Should we ask Bhumi?" Indra offered the name of Goddess of Earth. "Humans have violated the sanctity of her planet for eons now."
"You know she is going to refuse, saying they play an important part." Agni sighed.
"Why can't we all join forces to destroy them. They cannot stand against all of us." Vayu, the god of wind, suggested.
"We should." Everyone agreed.
"But on the other hand to destroy them we need to be in their vicinity." Shiva said.
Everyone shuddered in disgust. "We should propose a plan to Bramha and he will take care of it. Agreed?"
"Agreed."
| 2022-01-03T10:49:20
| 2022-01-03T10:14:02
| 98
| 55
|
[WP] Every generation the five brightest are paired up with the five dumbest in the world for a mysterious test. You are one of the ten, but nobody knows from which group they came.
|
"Well OK, those 5 guys over there are literally barely functional human beings whereas the 5 of us are brilliant so I guess that settles which group is which. And, ok, here's the mysterious test...yeah, it's a calculus test. OK, I know calculus on account of I'm a fucking genius so thanks for wasting my time. Lets see how the other guys are doing...yeah, they've just shit themselves. They're all shitting themselves. Can I go home now? I was like, right in the middle of curing cancer."
|
part 1 of (I don’t even know)
let me know if I should post the rest
"this is all they could come up with?"
Jennifer shrugged, not really having a worthwhile reply. We sat at our assigned table and looked around the large, mostly empty, conference hall surveying its eight other occupants. "I thought it would be easier to tell." I said to nobody in particular with a tone that was somewhere between frustration and disappointment.
This was it, all of it. One of the most expensive multinational projects in the world. Five years ago without much warning every established nation in the world instituted a mandatory standardised unified test course, for the purpose of determining the five most, and least intelligent people on earth. This "test" included measurements of logic, social intelligence, fundamental and advanced creative problem solving, reflexes, literal brain scans, memory tests, and the list goes on. Billions of dollars every year, and this, is it?
Looking around the room you'd expect to be able to tell which is which, the most and least intelligent I mean, I've known math types who can do calculus in their head but couldn't hold a conversation if they were payed to, and I've seen the opposite as well. Only a few things were sure, everyone was weird, and nobody knew why they were here.
I looked around again, this time taking in each team in turn. Once the security guys put us in here we were each given a name tag and a list of teams. Jennifer was my partner and, honestly, the most normal person there. I decided to start looking at the teams by the order on the list, not alphabetical of course.
Milo and Isaac. I looked up and saw in the far corner of the room there was a very tan and muscular man with more than a few tattoos (visible because of the amount of shirt he wasn't wearing) with the nametag reading Milo. Next to him talking quietly was an eastern european looking guy was wearing a purple beanie, far too much makeup, and a badge that read Isaac.
James and Maria. Maria (mid thirties, slightly annoying) was on her way to talk to Milo and introduce herself, clearly not interested in her own partner. Meanwhile James (who must have been someone famous based on the reactions he provoked from some of the others) was talking to two girls from the other teams and was about to be joined by jennifer, fine let her talk I've been busy checking out the competition. Surely thats what this is about, competition, why would they put us in teams otherwise.
Lisa and Chelsea. They were almost twins and made up the majority of the present cult of James.
Michael and Shey. Michael was a fifty something man who despite his apparent age carried himself in a very imposing manner. Conversely Shey appeared to be a high school age girl still wearing her uniform.
Nothing clear, nothing obvious. I wondered who was who, but only briefly. Jennifer returned just then, saying in a casual way, "musician". "what?" I was actually surprised. "he's a musician," She nodded in James' direction. "you seemed curious about why they were crowding him so I pretended to join in so they'd let it slip naturally." Whoever set this up, they picked me a good partner.
Five minutes of casual conversation, getting to know each other. Then the LCD panel in the front of the room lit up. On the screen red text began creating itself. "you have been selected as the most and least intelligent people on earth by a rigorous testing system, however two of you were not. Find and evict the impostors. You have two hours." below this was a timer showing the remaining time.
It took a few of us a moment to process this. "one of the teams was fake?" Maria lost her composure (if she had any to begin with) immediately. James was nice enough to try and calm her down, with limited success. Isaac chimed in a quick reply in an obviously fake British accent he used to cover his obviously real Russian one. "not necessarily luv, they could be split up." "that would make the most sense." Shey said, and everyone nodded silently. "but how are we supposed to know?" Milo said, sweat clearly forming on his brow. "that," I pointed out "is up to us." "what if we can't do it?" This came from chelsea. There was a pause while we all remembered how the chosen ten were never announced to the public. The pause grew into an all consuming silence that spared nothing but a faint ticking and the fainter hum of electronics behind the monitor. 1:57:05, 1:57:04, 1:57:03...
| 2016-03-03T07:24:25
| 2016-03-03T06:19:08
| 91
| 40
|
[WP] You wake up early in the morning to a text saying "Whatever you do, don't look at the moon." Suddenly, hundreds of texts start coming in that all say the same thing: "What a beautiful night out now."
All credit for this idea goes to u/meanpride, who posted this as a comment in r/AskReddit. I would really like to hear a story about this.
|
A text message woke me up, it was from Jack, my next door neighbor. "Whatever you do, don't look at the moon." It came from nowhere so I chalked it up as Jack being stoned out of his mind again and ignored it. I turned the coffee machine on and took a shower. It was early on a Saturday morning but I was the type of people who couldn't go back to sleep once awake.
I got back from the bathroom and saw my phone blinking insanely. It seemed like hundreds of texts were coming in. I opened them and they were from my family, relatives, friends and acquaintances. They all said the same thing, "What a beautiful night out now."
I think their phone had gotten compromised somehow. I could see bright daylight outside. It was still morning where I was and I was sure it was morning for most of them who texted me too. I tried calling my mother but her phone was busy, so does the rest of my family and a few close friends. That was weird enough to unnerve me, I mean what was the odds? I decided to drop by Jack's apartment after my coffee. He should be awake.
He opened the door after a knock. "What took you so long?! Come inside quick."
I had never been inside Jake's apartment before, we were on the hi bye at the elevator type of neighbors. His apartment was minimalist and tidy, I wouldn't have thought of it. He directed me to his desk where the only mess was.
"Look, read." Open on his computer was multiple tabs on lunar and solar eclipses. And a tab on an obscure South American era prophesy I couldn't even pronounce.
"What's all this, Jake? Is there some kind of eclipse happening? Because everyone and their grandmother is texting me about how beautiful the night is. It's day, it's 8.30 AM Saturday. Explain, Jake."
"Did you look at it?"
"No, it was daylight outside."
Jake sighed in relief and pulled a chair to sit beside me. He began showing me the tab on the prophesy.
"These people had predicted doomsday a thousand years earlier than the other MesoAmerican cultures. And they actually calculated it right! See this, I've created a website according to their calculations and total apocalypse is exactly 10 days from today." Jake looked at me.
"What do you expect me to say? Bravo on your research, nice graphics on that website? WHAT IS HAPPENING"
"Okay, the people who had texted you, had already look at the moon. They're in some kind of trance, they're done. If you look outside, there will be tons of people lining up in the streets with their face to the moon. I couldn't move them, I tried. They seemed to be rooted at their spot with their eyes gazing at the moon. Our new moon." Jake eyes grew big and desperate, he knew he was talking crazy. I was speechless so he continued, "According to the prophesy, there will be a star that would be attracted to our orbit and started to orbit us, the problem is, its orbit is completely in sync with ours, and that means, we will never see the sun again. Never. We will die. And, and don't interrupt me, and we will only have a chance to survive if we avoid looking at it. We have to band together and find other survivors, to try to send people to blow up the moon ala Armageddon the movie."
"You're saying we should never look at the sky, at all?" I wasn't ready to hop on board his crazy train yet. "Hey, you're a cool neighbor. I only came here because I couldn't reach my family. There's something wrong with their phone. So, I guess I better check on them, eh, to see if they're okay." I stood up and began walking to the door.
"If you go outside you'll turn Lycan."
I stopped in my tracks.
"I'm not just your friendly neighborhood stoner. I'm a PHD professor of Anthropology at Stanford, and I've lived for 674 years. Now, please listen to me, and we'll find others like us. Others who could survive and help us save Earth."
I turned and sat back on his computer chair.
|
First the texts. Then the MMS images. Then every insta, fb post, live stream, Reddit post, tweet. Every inbox at 0% capacity as it was all FWD FWD FWD FWD : MOON all the time.
After a few days we were realized the vast majority of Internet traffic was solely automated spambots. Everybody else was outside looking at the moon, or sleeping all day wherever they last witnessed the moon.
Tritanopia is a form of color blindness that reduces the blue/yellow/green portion of the spectrum.
Us lucky one in ten thousand were unphased by the moon... Get it? Moon puns.
For reference,
1:10,000 expands to
100,000:1,000,000,000
And there's seven some billion people total, so you'd think seven hundred thousand people would be able to coordinate.
But then you have to look at population densities, distributive models of where tritanopia can be found, how difficult it is to travel when almost everyone is standing in the middle of the road to quietly worship the moon.
Imagine being at a festival with a target audience of docile septuagenarians. You don't like the grateful dead, don't get why
everyone is fixated, just want the whole thing to end. That's how it felt. It's like not being a hockey fan in Canada.
700,000 functioning humans remaining. All ages. All ability levels. The vast majority lacking applicable skills or the psychological tenacity required to face this world. I was only 12 when it happened, just on the cusp of being forged by the new world yet with fond memories of the old ways.
My first two weeks I tried to go about my routine as normal. Except there was no more no normal routine. No supply lines, no infrastructure, no social contract. Ran into a lot of lunatic strangers that got a start on the hoarding and mad max fashion early. My family had a close personal bond with either the moon or stolen wholesale liquor, depending on sight abilities.
A tritanopia support myphp forum briefly assembled IRL and tried to stage a coup of world power, but taking over the white house and the UN when there really isn't anyone to enforce your will doesn't matter much. Nobody to answer the phone for the nuclear launch codes, nobody to pop in the 8.5" floppy disks to get the nukes into the sky. Infighting led to the fast dissolution of that group, especially when the yahoo group insurrectionists gained traction.
The moonies just stopped participating. Beat them up, bash them to death in the streets, run them over. No resistance. Just single most minded dedication to the moon. A sadist's mcplayland.
They didn't eat or drink but they didn't die of exposure or dehydration. After a while their skin became ashy during the day. They went from monosyllabic grunts to utter silence.
A bit later, some of them grew wings or horns or scales . Some grew hair and became funky werewolf-gargoyle things.
After the transformations, they continued to stare at the moon.
Then came the noise. Somewhere between Gregorian chanting, Cthulhu summoning , and Tibetan throat singing. Constant, from sun down to sun up.
It was declared cured five or six times. They all cocooned out for a bit after the crop dusting misused some research. I was busy with the fight for survival, a sixteen year old keeping a nuclear reactor running on a submarine turned makeshift unethical medical experimentation laboratory.
Anyway, moonies came out of chrysalis fit as a fiddle, back to full health, lost all the medieval art features. Went back to work, spring in their step. And every night, back to the moon gazing.
Except they'd look at us and they would know. They would say "better not look at the moon" in the same deadpan attempt of reverse psychology. I'd reply "What a beautiful night out" while bug eyed stating at their moon. And sing about the moon hitting my eye like a big pizza pie. They just did not get it did not work on my snarky 19 year old deficient peepers. That we did not trust them.
Someone - nobody knows which side - invented glasses that compensated for the color blindness, let the chosen people join the teeming masses. That caught on big once we realized us last few had successfully flushed all chance of rebuilding or becoming something else overnight. I was 22 and in middle of trying to preserve priceless irreplaceable cultural artifacts from the Smithsonian, mostly by defending an adjacent outpost and running a little mercantile ammo shop on the side. Missed out on the suicide sunglasses phase. Gave away the only pair I stumbled across in the ruins.
Then the molting started. Human skin left lying around everywhere, giant insectoid snakemen picking fights, the usual. By then I had a cybernetic arm and a laser eye. I spent most of my time in pipes, guarding various keys and providing clues to riddles.
I betrayed everyone that trusted me at every turn and regret nothing. I had once decided to live as s forgettable side quest NPC in a sub-par video game series. But when the laser eye was installed, I could see the full beauty of the moon in all spectrums, even those invisible to the limited human eye.
Didn't take long to get the remaining twenty thousand of us on free laser eye replacement. Especially when you concentrate everyone into a singular camp and erase the notion of free will or anything but service to the moon.
Turns out the moon does not mind if you scoop out significant portions of the prefrontal lobe before conversion.
Ok, the implant will itch bit hopefully this bit of storytelling has enlightened you. Now, please, let us experience the moon together now.
| 2016-12-14T01:14:38
| 2016-12-14T00:25:03
| 30
| 13
|
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human.
|
It had been the werewolves, unsurprisingly, that had ended up testing hair conditioners. They sported thick coats that were both coarse and tough enough to turn away a steel blade, so anything that could make their pelts luxuriously soft and sleek would become the next luxury conditioner overnight.
Furthermore, they were the perfect test subjects.
They could consent to the testing, which stopped all the animal cruelty complaints. Even better, their rights as humans and sapient beings were still being debated. While this would generally be a bad thing, the laws regarding human testing conveniently didn't apply to them. As long as the werewolf consented, they could test whatever weird formula they wanted.
That wasn't all though. Any damage from weird formulas would disappear when the transformation reversed in the morning. Next full moon, the werewolves had the exact same coat they did before the testing was performed. Every weird factor that might cause the hair to react in a different way was eliminated in one convenient stroke.
Lastly, it was actually a surprisingly lucrative job for any werewolf to have. Photos of werewolves sexily posed and covered in suds sold really, really well online. One particularly svelte werewolf made upwards of $10,000 a month through their private website.
While it might seem easy to replicate photos of werewolves posing sexily, it was extraordinarily difficult and costly to contain and placate a werewolf during their transformation. The only reason it worked for the hair conditioning companies was that they got much more out of the deal in terms of new products and endorsement deals than it cost them to restrain the werewolf in the first place.
Funnily enough, the vampires had met with much less success in their attempts to find employment. They had tried working with sunscreen manufacturers, but in the end... they got burned.
|
In the beginning finding them jobs other than "executioner" or "bounty hunter" was difficult. Many of em complained that these jobs we're demoralizing and that they "reinforced negative stereotypes" whatever that meant. Eventually the guys at the workforce commission bent and found them new jobs. Now you could have a silk tongued vampire as your lawyer, or a fearsome warewolf on your security detail.
I can't imagine entrusting my life to such an abomination. Monsters like this should've stay in their own realm. Many have not even taken the time to learn our language, and I'll be damned if im expected to learn theirs. The thought of these...things being around my family, around my children, it makes me sick.
A pale, sharp faced man stood at the counter, waiting for me to acknowledge his presence. The words from the sign reading "Career Placement" reflected off of the man's black eyes. His garb devoid of any imperfection. I'm sure he thought himself to good for us mortals.
"Excuse me good sir. I was under the impression that this is where I should go for career placement. Would you be so kind as to assist me?" The vampires words flowed through the air crisply, like an autumn breeze.
My response was simply pointing to the sign posted on the glass.
*Please wait to be assisted, Thank you*
The vampire read it carefully before replying. "Terribly sorry, take your time"
Damn right I would. My eyes shifted back down to the article in my favorite newpaper *Faux News*
*Are warewolves commiting tax fraud with the help of dwarf financial advisors?* The article read.
The vampire stood, waiting patiently until I had finished skimming the text. The atmosphere in the room had grown unpleasant. I didn't want to speak with him; however, the sooner I did the sooner he'd leave.
I glanced up from the paper to the thing on the other side of the counter. "Ok. How can I help you?"
"Yes, well I was looking into career placement opportunities. I would like to go into paralegal work with the disclaimer that I dont possess much willing experience in the mortals realm"
"So. You want a job in law, but you don't have any experience with mortal law?" I cracked a smile at the Vampire.
"Indeed, but I'd like to make myself transparent by stating my class of supernatural being. I am in fact a-"
"Yes a vampire I know. I can tell"
The Vampires deep black eyes stared into mine for a moment. Gears turned in his head as he formulated a response. " You're not a fan of supernaturals, are you?"
"Me? Look I'm not here to judge, I'm here to do a job, but in my free time I can be prejudice towards who I please. None of *your* business"
The man stared for a moment before pulling back his long, dark hair to reveal a pair of pointed ears.
"Not a vampire. Not even the same genus." The atmosphere grew tense
"All the same to me. Now I can offer you a job as a teacher for the supernatural, or population control."
Popluatiom control was the shittiest job we had to offer, and I was sure to pitch it to anyone who came through the doors.
The elf stared in disbelief for a moment before silently turning around and exiting the glass doors. I loved my job. Seeing the misery on their faces when they couldn't steal another job from a hard working human.
I sat reading my paper until my boss entered the building, a burly, stern faced man in tow.
"Hey Jerr, whose this? New guy?"
"Yeah...you could say that. He's here to fill your position" Jerry glanced around the room awkwardly.
"My position? But I already work full shift? Where are ya trying to squeeze him in?"
"You don't understand. This is your replacement Donny, we just received another complaint and this can't continue"
"What?! I've been here 3 years and you're gunna just flat out replace me with an outworlder? Im the best damn worker you've got!"
"All you do is complain and read the paper. Your station generates the least traffic because you have yet to help a single person."
The warewolf by Jerr stared at me, hatred in his eyes.
"It's time to go Donny."
I angrily packed my few possessions and stormed out of the office. This wasn't over. I had a plan. Soon they'd all see that humans could not be pushed around by outworlders.
| 2018-08-27T17:13:23
| 2018-08-27T15:01:41
| 33
| 24
|
[WP] Write a story about something you don't understand. Do NO research. Make everything up as you go.
**Possible subjects:**
*Fly-Fishing
*Open-Heart Surgery
*Supply-Management in the Canadian Dairy Industry
*Making Hollywood Movies
*Guidance Counselling for High School Students
*Storm Chasing
*Electrical Repair in High-Rise Buildings
*The Large Hadron Collider
*Love
EDIT: Oh God, what have I done?
|
The heavy double doors swung outward as the doctor rushed into the waiting room. A worried woman released her grip on her mother's hand and stood to face the look of distress expressed in front of her.
"Mrs. Duval, I'm afraid your husband's injuries are just too serious to avoid immediate surgery. If you want to see him walk out of the hospital, open heart surgery will be required."
A heavy look of grief clouded the woman's face as she stared into the doctor's honest eyes. She solemnly agreed that it was the only solution, and returned to her mother, tissues in hand.
Hours later, the doctor was ready and prepped for surgery. Mr. Duval was wheeled into the surgery room and hooked up to a number of machines. A team of 5 doctors were on staff in the room, all sterile and ready at a moments notice. A sturdy looking man walked into the room, identified himself as the surgeon, and assured the staff that this man would leave the hospital on his feet.
With a small blade, the surgeon cut a large incision into Mr. Duval's chest, cutting deep into the skin, muscle and tissue, then pulled the skin away to reveal what was underneath. The cause of the heart failure was still not known, so they were forced to cut deeper. The surgeon carefully cut away two of Mr. Duval's ribs to access the full area of the heart. He wiped the sweat off his brow, as seeing the beating heart of a man is not something one usually shrugs off. He made a further incision into the heart, where immediately, blood began gushing out in gallons. The doctors were quick to notice the quickening beeps coming from the various machines around the room, and jumped to stop the blood geyser. That's when the surgeon knew what happened; he hadn't cut into the wrong spot, but rather, Mr. Duval's arteries were nearly ready to burst. They had to have been clogged for ages, and had stretched thin trying to get blood to flow into the heart.
The doctors had successfully stopped the flow of blood, and backed away to allow the surgeon to continue. He moved away from the heart and moved to a stretched artery. He cut into the part where it was bulging, and watched in disgust as an unidentifiable pus-like liquid excreted from the cut. It only released maybe a teaspoon of it. But it was enough to shrink the artery down to normal size. The surgeon cleaned the sun and sewed it tightly back together, then continued on the rest of the arteries.
Multiple hours passed without break, but eventually, Mr. Duval was sewn back up and moved to another room to rest. Two weeks later, just as the surgeon had promised, Mr. Duval walked out of the hospital on his own two feet.
Thanks for reading, let me know if you enjoyed it. It's my first WP as a long time lurker, glad to have finally contributed!
|
"Okay bob, hold my scalpel while I squeeze the heart"
"Right, now I just need you to connect those two tubes while I hold it like this"
"Okay...
Yes! done!"
"Wait, why is my computer making that weird beeping noise?"
"OH MY GOD!!! HE'S GONNA DIE! GET THE DEFIBRILLATOR!!"
*zzzzZAP!*
"Oops, I think we killed him."
"Wow, we really suck at surgeon simulator don't we?"
| 2016-02-01T23:42:44
| 2016-02-01T21:35:35
| 17
| 11
|
[WP] It is the end of days. God and Lucifer stand before the last human being. You are the first neutral soul who is neither good or evil enough to pass into a afterlife and thus must be judged personally. Unknown to them, you are Death and have come for them instead.
|
For the first time in any memory, ancient or new, God and Lucifer faced a problem together.
Before them both, in a space that was not life, heaven nor hell, stood a being in a grey suit. Me. I looked neither young nor old, my face had no markings but my eyes had a depth to them that could only be matched by the universe itself. There was nothing special to me, other than that I was the last being to ever walk through their gates, and that it was impossible to decide if I should join heaven or hell. Humans walking through the gates had negative or positive karma, the currency of the afterlife. I had neither. I was neutral.
God and Lucifer, both anxious to get the last human, debated amongst themselves how they should decide. Finally they decided to ask me questions.
"If you could chose one of us and why, who would it be?" Asked Lucifer.
I needed no time to think before answering
"I would not choose God, for he makes the decision of who should be favoured happiness, and as such removes power from man's hands. I wouldn't chose Satan either, for who is he but one who brings sorrow upon those God has not favoured."
God and Lucifer, unsatisfied with the answer, asked again.
“If a man kills another man in self-defence, is he good or bad ?” Asked God this time.
“He has brought death upon another.” I answered, but spoke no more despite the disapproving frowns on both God’s and Lucifer’s face.
After some time of waiting for more, Lucifer spat out the last question: “Who is the worst being, dead or alive?”
I looked around for a moment, taking in the last glimpses of the universe and then answered in a soft tone, “me, for I am the only one that you cannot run from,” and without blinking I added, “Your time has come.”
Lucifer broke out into laughter. A mere mortal dared telling them what their fate was? Clearly they belonged to his kingdom, and an eternity of torment.
But what God and Lucifer had not realized, is that the being standing on their doorsteps was not mortal, was not even human. It was Death itself.
Despite their own all-powerfulness, they foolishly believed that there was no one more powerful than them, and that they were the bringers of death.
For as they had always reaped the benefits of death, heaven and hell both grew from the fear of death and from the souls who passed through death to their kingdoms. But they had never in their existence encountered Death itself, in fact had believed Death to be as much fiction as atheists believed them to be.
“You dare trying to tell us about our fates? Who do you think you are?” God said with a red face, angry about losing the last soul to Satan.
"I can, for I am the only thing in this universe that must be enforced upon everyone and everything: The End, or Death as you like to call me. All things have a start, and an end. While you two are the start, I am the end. And the end must come for all. I am Death, the destroyer of worlds. I suppose you both thought that, one way or another. Your time has come.”
|
Knock…Knock…Knock…
Oh hi there! My name is Reverend Ezekiel Morris, ordained PhD from the Sanctimonious Preacher Society. Now before you shut that door on my face, like I know you want to, just let me ask you one question. Is that really too much to ask? I’ve been out here all day. Okay. So here it goes. If you had the chance, would you kill both God and Satan? Not either. Both. I know, I know. You are asking yourself, what kind of priest am I? And before we both go throwing out the word cult, and before you sarcastically offer me some Kool-Aid, just keep in mind that we are all speaking hypothetically here. Don’t get so uptight. This is just a conversation. Oh sorry! Listen to me rambling on, I never gave you a chance to answer the question!
So neither. That’s a fair response. How Saintly of you! Now consider this. If the end of days were to happen, say…next Tuesday, now once again, this is all hypothetical. But let’s just throw it out there. So if the world ended next week, and I were to come back here, fire and brimstone all over the place, your neighbors all flying up to the heavens in a giant beam of light. Say all that were to happen, and you somehow were still here, still alive. Could I count on you to kill both God and Satan. I know, I know, you just said you wouldn’t kill either. But given this different set of circumstances, could *I*, Reverend Ezekiel Morris, ordained PhD from the Sanctimonious Preacher Society count on you to do this task.
So fine, I understand why you are getting frustrated with me. And well, I guess also due to the fact that I barged into your house. But it’s just so cold out there. The winds are really blowing huh? Almost like Hell is freezing over! Hah! Bad joke, sorry. I know, I know. I just couldn’t help myself. And I mean, *you* are the one making this so awkward. Alright, fine. Before I leave, just one more question. Alright, so building off the scene I just set up. You know, fire brimstone. People being abducted. You murdering omniscient beings. So yea, let’s just keep this hypothetical train rolling. Given all of this, and at the end of the day you do decide to roll with the plan. I Ezekiel Morris, can count on you. And at this point you are standing in front of both God and Satan waiting to be judged. But we all know you can’t be judged. I’d wink here, but I can’t wink. So I’ll just allude to the wink. Would you, if called upon be able to wield this giant badass glowing sword! Swooosh!
Sorry, unsheathing swords doesn’t actually make the sounds it does in the movies. So I decided to make the sound. You know for effect. Okay, okay calm down. Put the phone down. No need to call the cops. I just wanted to see if hypothetically, if standing in front of God and Satan, you would be able to wield this sword. Yes this real sword. But the situation is still hypothetical. Come on! Take it, swing it around a bit. Put down the phone. Come on. No, there’s no need to get pushy. Fine, fine. I get it. You are not the person I’m looking for. I mean, looking for in the hypothetical sense. Yes! I’ve got it. I know who it is. Well good luck sir! I just had the wrong address I suppose. I’ll just walk here next door.
Knock…Knock…Knock…
Oh hi there! My name is Reverend Ezekiel Morris, ordained PhD from the Sanctimonious Preacher Society. Now before you shut that door on my face, like I know you want to, just let me ask you one question…
| 2015-10-19T12:35:16
| 2015-10-19T12:22:46
| 119
| 63
|
[WP] Write a story that contains a huge plot hole, and try to sneak it past the reader. The bigger the plot hole the better.
|
Troy ecstatically led his clients upstairs to the master bedroom.
"Oh yes! The master bedroom is absolutely gorgeous; you'll find that almost everything in the room will be to your liking, Mr. Johnson," said Troy reassuringly.
"Almost? What do you mean by almost everything?" inquired Johnson.
"Well I will need to warn you." Troy paused. He wasn't sure how to put this. "I'm sorry, you'll just have to see for yourself," Troy replied while pushing open the doors to the master bedroom.
Johnson could only stare in disbelief at what unfolded before his eyes. "It's a hole," Johnson managed to stammer.
"Yes, indeed, Mr. Johnson," Troy looked at Johnson as innocent as possible. "It is a hole...on this plot of land. A plot hole."
Johnson looked back at Troy then back to the hole. "Where does it lead to?" Johnson asked.
"Mr. Johnson, I'm going to be frank with you. I don't know. If you look very carefully, there's only darkness. Miles and miles of darkness. In fact, I dropped my favorite pen last week, and I never heard it land. It just kept falling. But this is a great feature Mr. Johnson; I assure you. You will never need to buy another garbage can again! Just toss all your trash into this hole! In fact, you could probably poop into it as well. Just think of all the endless possibilities with this hole," said Troy.
While it was true that there was a large, gaping plot hole in the side of the room, this one story house was beautiful. The kitchen, bathroom, and living room were all to his liking. Johnson briefly considered the pros and cons and resolutely decided that he will take this house.
|
She stumbled through the door, fully aware her last breath of free air was running dangerously low in her lungs. First period. Day one, here we fucking go. Taking the back corner seat was *crucial*. Alex booked it, taking a gamble that her awkward limbs would make the trip. Success! Window seat, too. So far so good, maybe this year wouldn't be such a.. oh who am I kidding, you know where Im going with this.. disaster.
"Hey, Sweetie!"
"M-mom?" Alex's eyes swelled up in tears of panic. His limbs grew numb.
"Congrads on landing that substitute teacher gig, Mrs. M." Joel let out through a tight smirk.
This year was going to suck.
| 2017-03-20T15:31:34
| 2017-03-20T14:06:17
| 400
| 41
|
[WP] The biggest reptile zoo in the universe was closed down temporarily after an asteroid crashed into it. When the owner checks up on it millions of years later, he discovers that its inhabitants have renamed the zoo 'Earth'
|
Xe'lok buried his head in his tentacles and groaned.
"A *sentient* species? With civilization? On my planet? How...? We just had an inspection done a couple tens of thousands of years ago and that planet was just an iceball."
The inspector shrugged, "I'm sorry, sir. We must have missed them during the last inspection. Small population and all. Unfortunately, according to regulation 251452.2385 of the Galactic Federation, ownership of a planet containing sentient life is strictly prohibited. I'm afraid the planet is now legally off limits. However, per regulation 251452.2385.1, you are entitled to compensation."
Xe'lok looked up hopefully.
"How much?"
The inspector grimaced, "6 trillion credits."
"I spent 50 trillion credits buying this place. And the property tax alone has eaten away all of the profits I made before that damned asteroid hit. And then with that ice age... if I can't make a return on this place, I'm ruined..."
Xe'lok put his face back into his tentacles, burying himself even deeper this time. He began sobbing uncontrollably, his deep wails echoing in the inspectors tiny office. The inspector stood up from his desk, walked over to Xe'lok, and put a paw on one of his tentacles. He glanced up to make sure nobody was walking past his office.
"I see this happen all the time. Planet zoos are naturally a very volatile industry. Look, Xe'lok, I like you, so I'm going to offer you a deal. The species on this planet are just barely beginning to form city states, it was really only luck that we found them during out inspection. If they were to... you know, go extinct before the next inspection, then maybe you can get your old zoo back up and running. Perhaps if I *accidentally* misplaced your inspection report and *accidentally* sent you the contact information for a pest removal service..."
Xe'lok's sobbing stopped momentarily and he looked up, his eyes red and puffy.
"Anything. I'll do anything to save this investment. Please."
"Well, assuming you get your zoo back up and running, I want 10% of your gross."
"Deal."
***
"Look Xe'lok, my services don't come cheap. And removal of a sentient species is a pretty serious crime, so the price is going to be triple what I normally charge for pest removal."
"I'll pay anything you ask. I just need this taken care of. I've tried everything for the past couple thousand years, but I used this idiotic service that some bureaucrat pawned me off to. And now that species is getting ready to start colonizing the solar system. Once that happens, I'm screwed."
The orange skinned, sleazy looking businessman eyed Xe'lok. "Well, I would normally recommend a pandemic. That can usually take care of things pretty quickly."
"We tried that already. We worked on it for a couple thousand years, but it was a dud. Released it about 700 years ago, it killed... I don't know, maybe a quarter of the population. Then they just adapted to it. By the time we had another one ready to go, their medicine had advanced to the point where it hardly put a dent in them."
"Damn. What about wars? Young species like that are usually pretty bloodthirsty. Can end things pretty quickly if it gets ugly enough."
"Oh yes, they've been at each other's throats since we first started observing them. In the last century alone, we were able to engineer two planet-wide wars. They just seem indestructible."
The businessman stroked his hand through his light red hair, "Hmm... if they are that bloodthirsty, I'm sure they won't be able to resist using nuclear weapons on each other. That could be perfect."
"Oh, nuclear weapons? We tried that. When it looked obvious those wars weren't gonna take them out, we leaked the plans to the two most powerful states. They hated each other. Save for bombing a small island, they never even used them. In fact, things got even more peaceful after that. They've already started decommissioning the damn things. I'm at my wits end..."
The businessman chuckled, "Well, it seems you've got a real problem there. But don't worry, I will personally guarantee that we'll get rid of those pesky humans within 15 years. If not, I'll give even give you your money back."
Xe'lok looked shocked. "Really? That's incredible. How are you going to manage that?"
The businessman smiled. "I'm going to get personally involved. It's been quite some time since I've taken a case like this. I'm actually quite looking forward to working out in the field again. Of course, I hope you'll let your zoo keeper pals know how dedicated I am to good service. We have a deal?"
Xe'lok outstretched his tentacle. The businessman took it and shook.
"I don't know what I'd do if I hadn't found you. You may have just saved my business, Mr. Trump."
|
Mirnav was the new property and asset manager for the illustrious Garbon Gilmek “the Gnorf”. In this last quarter of the financial eon, Garbon’s investments had taken a tumultuous turn. Mirnav believed he had what it took to introduce stability and growth to “The Gnorf’s” portfolio. However, the potential his employer saw in Solar System Beta 17 was lost on poor Mirnav, it confused him as to why it behooved him to visit the dump. The system was once profitable as Planet 3 housed the largest and most extensive reptile immersion survival safari this side of the Xensplorkian cluster.
But that was before the asteroid, what possible use could this place have now after such a cataclysm? Mirnav pondered. Not a single buyer had been rounded up in the last 65 million years and with a price of only 75 quadrillion units on the whole solar system, it was a steal! The methane pools on the moons of some of the gas planets were worth at least 30 quad alone! The sun was still to last another 5 eons before it needed a reboot. What a profitable system it would have been indeed, if only Mr. Gilmek’s competitors were to play fair. The asteroid came from an accidental refuse relocation incident for the installation of a trans galactic energy line. Supposedly something to do with the gravitational thrusters malfunctioning. Everyone knew it was pure melranth poop but they let the media spoon feed them the lie anyway. Ignorance and cognitive dissonance would always prove to be the concoction for a happy life.
Mirnav lost in his mental gymnastics, took no notice of the short hyper leap over to Planet 3 of Beta 17. Approaching the blue and green sphere, he did have to admit the planet’s ethereal beauty. The green and brown masses swimming gently through the encompassing blue. If there had been anything but ANI in his shuttle he would have commented that the planet appeared different from the 3-D layouts provided in the estate listing. New ones would have to be mapped and rendered, the ambitious young asset manager set an optical notification to remind him later. Maybe this place could be spruced up for just the right buyer, Garbon could certainly use the capital for other investments. Lowering into orbit to prepare for landing, the ship’s diagnostics began to record peculiar energy outputs and Mirnav himself could see signs of what could be intelligent life. Satellites, a space station, a great wall, major cities, and all over the dark side of the planet, major sources of light were budding, where 65 million years ago there had been naught.
After weeks of hacking into different satellites and monitoring various wavelengths. The computers on the ship had decoded and transferred knowledge of the language and culture of the “humans” through the learning centers of Mirnav’s neural networks. Heart aflutter, Mirnav prepared himself for entry into the atmosphere of this so-called “Earth”. Finding new intelligent life was a big deal in the intergalactic community and could make or break someone in the financial and political sectors depending on how it was handled. Mirnav, resolute to impress his boss, strapped in for landing so that he could gain more intel and report back.
“The Gnorf” had been most pleased with the young manager’s investigations into 3 Beta 17. It had not been long before the intelligence of the species had been appraised, little hope was shown for entrance into the wider intergalactic community. Sub-intelligent races did have some use: smarter phenotypically similar species loved to use them as pets, servants, prostitutes, and whatever else (Garbon had no interest in the buyers wants apart from that they desired what he had). A branch of Gilmek Enterprises set about the process of destabilizing the human society by getting all sorts of crazy leaders to the seat of world power. No matter the spray tans, toupees, bald-faced lies, ridiculous plans, and inhuman utterances due to a lack of perfect cultural understanding candidates were installed in all of the first world nations and many others. Humans were on the brink of collapse when Xiljon, one of Garbon’s most persuasive and trusted suits popped by to broadcast on all wavelengths for the whole population to see.
This man or alien, who remained nameless to the human race, offered salvation. Humans need only tend to the needs of alien tourists and give them whatever it was they wanted, of course they would be handsomely paid. He also promised entry into the Intergalactic Federation (though only a decorative entry, nobody would ever take them seriously). A decade passed while the society was molded for a tourism enterprise. The population was capped at 6 billion and any more were to be sold off to bidders. With no job other than to be fodder to satiate the whims of their superiors, humans succumbed to drugs and other self-destructive habits. That didn’t stop the rich and greater alien races from touring the planet, the rampant hedonism made the vacation destination even more enticing. Earth quickly became the busiest red light district this side of the Xensplorkian cluster. Now that business was booming, investors were offering Garbon 75 quad for just a fraction of planet!
Thus, Mirnav was sent back to Earth for the first time since his initial inquiry. Mr. Gilmek needed to know if it was a good time to start selling properties in this system and move on to more savory forms of business practice. His reputation was just as important as his capital. Mirnav had expected a diminution of the human society since its dependence on foreigners but what he saw deeply saddened him: a diminution of the human spirit, its soul, the impalpable fiber binding all of these people. This once proud ape had been reduced to mere playthings of the mightier in the intergalactic community. Mental deficiencies were rampant. He could not empathize with the creature but he pitied them and Mirnav set off determined to what needed to be done.
Earth was sold off to the highest bidder for 5 nonillion units. The lucky winner of the planet was Averyx incorporated, the company that was famous, but yet unacknowledged, for the sabotage of Earth 66 million years ago. Undoubtedly, humans would sink even further beneath the control of Averyx.
It wasn’t easy, but following Mirnav’s initial scheme, Gilmek Enterprises bribed an influential council member and it was decided that a new offshoot of the transgalactic energy line would feed off Sun Beta 17. This would drastically improve the lives of Sinsek people, a major voting block that has been essential to securing office for the last 432 Commissioners. The sun would be set in a perpetual state of explosion and collapse, rendering anything within the blast zone unusable. The measure was passed and enacted before Averyx could motion for an appeal; they were however offered a tax break of 100 oct. Earth was wiped out in an instant. Death was quick and painless for the humans, no longer would they have to suffer at the hands of cruel business overlords, Mirnav contemplated.
Just three months after the hostile corporate sabotage heaped on Averyx Incorporated by those they had wronged in the past for the exact same piece of real estate, Mirnav was still uneasy. Perhaps his solution had not been a good one. There were still 2 billion human slaves scattered over the Federation. It was time for new measures. Plagued by guilt and a messiah complex derived from his heavy use of quinyloke. Mirnav lowered his sun reducers, primed his laser launcher, and hopped in his ship. He had quit his job as asset manager and now was about to lead the fallen 2 billion to a true salvation.
| 2017-05-06T13:23:52
| 2017-05-06T12:52:05
| 33
| 11
|
[WP] Magic exists, however with a catch. Everyone can only use magic the way they expect magic to function. Harry Potter fans MUST do weird wand waving while Call of Cthulhu players all end up going insane. Write an interaction or duel between two vastly different magic users.
Honestly if magic did exist in our world, this is how I’d expect it to function to please everyone
—-
Wow front page! That’s actually amazing
|
Gilda smoothed down the folds of her shirt and ran her hands over empty pockets. Her equally empty stomach chirruped. Maybe that was her magic, she thought. There was one unfortunate boy who did food magic. She certainly felt something. She thought for a moment - maybe she did vomit magic? While most people did one of the main five, people could believe just about anything.
As she walked down the dingy hallway, the echoing din of registration brought sounds of shouting, chanting, clanging, screaming, and screeching. Today was registration day. While requirements varied by state law, each person was required to register their magical beliefs in their twelfth year of school. Her friend Alma brought bells which rung out tones that became her will. Theo had pocketfuls of various metals with which to do his spells. Seventeen of her peers had brought wands - some merely twigs broken from trees - to do their magic. It was exceedingly easy to do.
The last twelve years of study had been varied and entertaining. Their texts were largely stories, created by magic themselves. Her friends and classmates had slowly realized their beliefs, and all would show up today with a strong belief in themselves and their magics. And their runes, and sticks and whatever.
Gilda turned opened the door to the gymnasium. She was bombarded by a menagerie of sights and sounds and smells. Fire erupted to her right, singing her sleeve.
"Aaalright, thank you, very good! You're done!" said a proctor, who ushered a scrubby soot-stained boy holding a leaf and a candle out of the room.
Gilda looked on uncomfortably at another student doing blood magic, before she glanced away. Looking at the people twirling their wands, signing charters, and brandishing crystals, she found it all very inspiring. She wanted to be in all of their shoes. Gilda had always longed for a reality where each magic could be true for her. But she found that as she believed in one magic, the others faded from her mind.
"Gilda Dugwin. Please present your beliefs."
Gilda was startled by the proctor. The truth was, Gilda didn't believe in any magic.
She looked the proctor in the face "I don't have any."
Impossibly, the room went silent. All heads turned to her. The spirit of a classmate's ancestor shrieked and evaporated. An owl swooping overhead nearly shat on her feet. And worst of all, Sylvia Voergaard's beautiful blonde hair swished about her prettily as she began to laugh.
Gilda stood her ground. "I don't believe in any magic. They can't all exist."
The proctor frowned and shook his thin head saying, "Nonsense! Everyone believes in something, you just haven't had the proper *motivation* yet." He motioned with his hand for a student to step forward. To her horror, Gilda saw that Sylvia was the one who stepped forward from the crowd.
The proctor gave one booming clap. "Alright! A duel, it is! The first to be knocked from the ring, is out. And also, Ms. Dugwin. If you loose, you fail." At that, he signed several figures with his hands and a ring appeared around them both.
Gilda was terrified and very aware of all the people staring at her.
"Honestly, Gilda, this must be so embarrassing. I'll let you move first because you look *so* pitiful right now.
"Honestly, Sylvia, fuck off."
Sylvia gasped, grasped her wand and shouted, "Incendio!"
Gilda tensed briefly, but refused to react. Sylvia had been one of the first of many converts to the school of Harry Potter. And now, she was an expert. At this point, Gilda would rather fail than make a fool of herself. She stuck her chin up and stared the oncoming fireball down. Just as the heat began to be too much, the spell sputtered and dissipated. Around her fluttered a few ashes.
There was silence. Sylvia was red in the face and her jaw hung open. Gilda looked to the proctor, who looked equally stunned. The circle around them dissipated.
The proctor's mouth worked for a moment before he spoke, "Uh...uh, well, right then." He scribbled on a clipboard saying, "Right, I'll just make a note here, Gilda Dugwin, non-belief."
|
My wand slashed and twirled in the air, bright jets of light blasting out.
Connor brought his hands up, motioning at the outcropping of rock. It came apart, flying towards me.
"Protego!" I yelled, a nearly translucent shield erupting from my wand.
The rock missiles slammed into the shield, falling to the floor harmlessly.
I grinned at Connor, a new spell coming to mind.
"Aguamenti Maxima!"
I torrent of water exploded out of my wand, turning laser thin as it rocketed towards Connor.
Connor twirled, bringing his arms around himself in a fluid motion as he bended the water right back at me.
Shit. I didn't know that he could bend more than one element!
I threw myself to the side, dodging the jet of water that turned into ice spears not one second later.
Okay, so if he can bend two elements then chances are he can bend all four. So no more elemental spells. Energy spells it is.
"Stupefy!"
As the jet of scarlet light arced towards him, Connor closed his eyes for one brief second. As they snapped open I saw them glow white for one second as he grabbed the spell and threw it back at me.
Energy bending.
Oh shi--
| 2018-10-15T21:30:14
| 2018-10-15T21:28:29
| 1,601
| 346
|
[WP] A story that doesn't make any sense, until you read the last line.
|
Being a janitor ain't so bad.
A lot of people look at my line of work as dirty, you know? And I'll be the first one to say, you don't always get to have your hands clean. But it ain't a big deal, you know? I try to stay positive.
I work on a large government facility that specializes in medical research. The pay is good, and I get time off whenever I feel. Honestly, at this point, I have days accumulating from when the facility opened; I just can't bring myself to leave the job well enough alone. It's barely a job anymore, you know? I'm doing what I love and working with all sorts of people.
Every day, I clock in about five-thirty, and I prepare everyone's coffee. It's not a part of my job, and I don't get payed extra, but I love to do it, you know? The look on the researcher's faces when they wake up in the morning to a fresh pot and a smile, man, it just makes my day. I've always been a proponent of doing good to your fellow man, you know? It's courtesy.
We all live in-facility, in a nice little apartment. It's kept away from the labs and clean (I make sure it is!), and I never miss home. Sure, a couple of people have their problems living on-site, especially because of how close we are to the animals, but hey, it's fine. Like I always say, it's great to see the good things over the bad. Optimism and such.
I don't tend to bother with the labs or the rats much. They have their caretakers, and I would hate to make 'em feel like they are less important than the rest of us. We all got a purpose, and it's great to have a purpose. Still, I love seein' the rats sometimes. They're so strange, you know? Sometimes it seems like they got a mind of their own.
The labs rarely get too messy, anyways. Our head researcher, Jo, he doesn't do things inefficient like. He's making advancements in his field that he assures me will save our nation. Great stuff, but I don't believe it all. He's a proper exaggerator, and real prideful. Likes the ladies, too. I don't judge, can't judge, really. Everyone has their own purpose, and is worth somethin' in God's eyes.
One of my favorite things to do by far is the tours. We have kids from all over the place come to our facility to learn. It's inspiring to see the teachers of our nation spending so much time looking into making our youth better, you know? Most of the researchers and security are too busy to talk to the young ones, so it's my job, and I'm glad to do it. My wife, God bless her soul, died almost ten years ago, before we could have a baby. I think about her every day. I promised I'd find someone else, just like she asked, but I just can't do it. I thank God every day I got the chance to meet her, for as little time as she had here.
Anyways, the children are usually pretty interested in what goes on. I always start by explaining the facility and the purpose it serves, and some basic sanitary things in case they find one of the lab rats. It ain't often to see them out of their cages, but sometimes they chew through the wires, and have to be put back. The guards are little rough on 'em, more than I'd be. I think some of the kids get sad seeing the animals in this condition, as do I. But there ain't much I can do, and after all, they are just rats. They don't know any better.
We haven't done a lot of tours recently, it's been far too busy. The government ordered us to increase production, so spirits are low. I try to keep morale up, though. You have no idea what a smile will do for someone who is having a bad day, or a compliment. It's what drives me to keep going.
Just yesterday, the news had a big story. We got a lot of problems going on out west, and we had a meeting last night to discuss everything. I don't like to brag, but I stood right up in the middle and said that we had a duty to keep working for our country, and that I believed in everyone. I got a standing ovation from the director's board. Then they told us that Jo is doing some really important work with rats from the same litter, and how he could begin to save the vision of our citizens in under a year. I've never been more proud to work here.
Today I'll just keep doing my job like always. An elementary school from the city asked to hold a special tour in them. Jo offered to take over, but the teacher said the kids wanted their favorite janitor to be the guide. Man, that made me so happy. Thank God for innocent children, who don't have to worry about this war and all this.
Hey, thanks for listening to my story, by the way. It's not often I run into people this late at night. I'd love to talk, but I really ought to get home, you know? I have to get up early tomorrow and get ready for a tour. Maybe the kids can play with one of the older rats today, one that doesn't have teeth. Anything to make 'em happy, that's what brings the light to my eyes.
Besides, you know, the front line ain't anywhere close to us, and the directors assured us that Auschwitz shouldn't be in danger for years.
|
First time responding to a prompt, so be gentle.
Grixbrug gave a soft, uninspired sigh. Nothing he did could affect the world anymore. His steps made no impacts into the ground; his bow would not draw; he could knock an arrow, but it wouldn't leave his inventory. How long had he been stuck in this hell.
At this point he didn't even care. Their party had started with five members; a team that, Grixbrug decided, would be more than enough to venture deep into these infamous, dangerous caverns in a timely manner. Three had been members of Grix's own race, while their group had also managed to recruit a mighty Shu'halo and an agile Sin'dorei to assist.
The Shu'halo was the first to leave their party, surprisingly. Not even their ability to harness nature and transform themselves into a mighty beast was enough.
Though the party had, without their Shu'halo companion, attempted to proceed, disaster was rapidly approaching. It wasn't more than a minute later that everybody else had disappeared.
The Sin'dorei, the last of his allies that Grix would ever see, had remained visible for but a moment. The agile woman had attempted to sneak around the vile serpents, attempting to use their skills at agility to remove on of Grix's enemies from the fight for a moment. The cursed event that had doomed his party brought her forward just as she was about to strike. Instead of being hidden in the shadows, the Sin'dorei was plainly visible. Grix watched in horror as she was eviscerated in a few short seconds; these were not enemies to mess around with.
After a few seconds of recollection of how things had gone on, Grix realized what had happened.
He saw it. The more infamous sight anyone like Grix could know.
'World server is down.'
| 2017-08-30T10:11:11
| 2017-08-30T06:35:06
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] You are a cat who has been taking an advantage of the recent rise of video conference trials to elevate your legal career. One day your human video filter stops working and you need to convince the judge that you are a real, human lawyer licensed to practice law in the state of Texas.
|
Silence and stares of disbelief continue to dominate the video conference. But, the judge's head might have froze in an especially angry, judgmental glare over the green-screened State Seal of Texas. At least... until he blinked just a second ago. This cat. Appears to be a cat.
A cat replacing their newest and most promising colleague.
A cat that puts her paws on the desk before quietly coughing and looking at the camera directly. The defense, the defendant, and the judge lean in.
"mrow"
The silence somehow gets even quieter.
"memrworrwwww"
"Are we..." the judge speaks, "are we supposed-"
"MEROWOOOWOWWWWWW" the seemingly clueless cat says looking in another direction.
"Does Mitch have a cat?" the defense says impulsively. "brbrbrb" the cat chirps.
After a moment, the cat looks back into the camera and in a very clear and deep voice stringing along a southern draw says,
"Now that I have broken the tension of this rather jarring moment, I would like to make it clear that yes, I am indeed a cat, and my given name is Miss Mittens the Kitten."
No ones' expressions changed from where they landed as soon as the cat started talking. The judge gave way to more confusion carving his brow and eyes, the defense appeared to be upset, his lip subtly quivering, at the fact that his newest and only real friend had succumbed to the fate of *being a cat all along*, however, the defendant clearly was and is now beginning to fail at holding back overflowing laughter.
"I understand how this complicates my career going forward." The defendant collects himself, "But I want to prove my commitment to the craft by requesting your honor to allow *this* trial to continue to a conclusion given the amount of *good* work both the prosecution and defense have put into this trial, as well as the time-sensitive nature of some of the witnesses availability."
Attention turns to the judge. His brow furrows and his lip twitches. He sits there for a moment, until, his eyes dart upwards and his demeanor loosens. He exhales and just barely shrugs.
"I'll allow it. May the prosecution proceed."
|
I care for nothing other than the complete, unvarnished truth, and I must admit that, given my superb senses, as well as my deep insight into the frailty of human nature, I have found it simple to uncover the facts. I hear the tremor in a voice, and I lap up the sweat of a defendant whose cross-examination becomes my purposeful game as I expose them for the frauds they are. And oh, they don’t know it; they don’t know how I’ve caught them lying, bellies exposed, and they never will. Though I may tell you, dear reader, I pursue any avenue available to me -- even that of some delightful spying in the back rooms - disgraceful hands petting me as they broadcast their new tactics in glorious surround sound. I could hear them through walls, if I so desired, but I want to savor the freedom of tongues. Yes, perhaps unusual and more than a bit… borderline, but the system demands justice, and I provide it. A feat I could not accomplish without the aid of another vulnerable type; a partner so thoroughly wronged that she, too, would not interfere with the demands of our job. Not when so much rests upon our successful prosecutions. (And lest you wonder about our meet-cute; she raised me from a kitten and, because of this, took it in stride that I would talk to her as she spoke with me. Her perspective on reality, perhaps, but we understood each other. And I, though languid, could eventually hold my attention on her voice as she paced -- attempting to memorize a million bits of minutiae. The real trick, as it turned out, was passing the BAR, but a good fake ID from a friend fixed it so that Clarice “took” the exam twice.)
Except that Clarice Thomas made a mistake. We both did. It seemed a thrill for her to finally introduce the partner in her law firm. Everyone asked to meet the stupendous Chris T Esquire that she so often referenced as her legal muse, and the advent of a pandemic, as well as the corresponding rise of video feeds, provided her a chance to esteem herself in this regard. No more excuses about the current case on which I cogitated (which eventually fell by the wayside or which fell into her lap by way of some happenstance. We are surrounded by lawyers. Excuses become preposterous.) So, we both thought it worth the effort to put a face to the name. And, oh what a magnificent job we did on our first feed, but as I now realize, as I cough out rationalization like hair, technology makes liars of us all.
“Mr. Thomas, I simply cannot understand why you thought a cat facade would please the court. You do realize that I could have you thrown from the session for this.”
It did me no good to have a dozen sets of eyes wonder at the arrogance of a man who’d make such a gaffe, and even less so as I was on display for Clarice’s legal jury of peers. Did I have so little consideration for the tenor of the proceedings -- surrounding a white-collar thief who embezzled millions! -- that I thought it amusing to disguise myself as a cat? Of course not. I was a cat, but that seemed an even surer way to disgrace both myself and Clarice. Dear me, the hypocrisy of my search for unvarnished fact, and I couldn’t embolden either of us to make obeisance to it. Then again, should my secret reveal itself as the video feed unveiled, all of the convictions under Clarice’s record…. Well, calling them mistrials might come across as similarly tone-deaf. And damn, I had the thrill of the chase, too. I had this one cornered, ready to play with him because I cared little for how it affected his family or his fortune. But...this.
Where to next? If I had children, it might have aided me, but then there would be a paper trail. And I saw Clarice freeze. “I assure you, judge, that I simply misclicked a button while searching for the evidence relevant to the case. It will not happen again. I promise.”
“It better not.”
“My humblest apologies. I would never make a mockery of this, or any other court. I hope that my standards are much higher than that. May I proceed?”
“Certainly.”
“Very good. Now, Mr. Bernard Starr, you tell me that you have never seen these records before. Is that correct?”
Bernard Starr, slippery bastard with a fake head of hair and a three-piece suit purchased by trust funds, snorted. “Of course not. You may not understand this, but I have accountants for accountants. Everything is double-checked, and what you have here is a forgery.”
“This was not made clear to us during discovery. In point of fact, I’d rather say that these documents were incredibly hard to procure.”
“If you couldn’t have found them, then how would I have known to?”
Tighten and scratch. You are not in control. “Well, in this case, we have a whistleblower. One who willingly stepped forth to provide us with the necessary information. And, as we both know, discovery did prove them to originate from your databases. Isn’t that correct?”
“I don’t know.”
“Your lawyers are not contesting this.”
“That’s their call.”
“Very well, then. I submit docket LBX-1138 to evidence.”
“Evidence accepted.”
“No objection.”
I have you, you raven trickster. You act darkly, but I can take in so much more light. But then I see the flicker again. The sudden slit of reality in a spectrum all can see. Damn. Damn. Damn.
“Mr Thomas! The court has warned you of this parody. Do you believe you can unsettle the client by transforming to a common housecat?”
Common? No, that’s not the right reaction. Clarice puts her hand on my lower back and scratches to settle me, but dammit, she’s going to make me purr. Raise my haunches. Off, off, off.
“Are you two in the same room?” Judge Raulston asks.
“Of course.”
“Why is she touching you?”
“Is it untoward?”
“You must disclose your personal relationship to the court.”
“I assure you, there is nothing untoward.”
“You have the same last name!”
“Thomas is quite common.”
Another flicker.
“This is the last warning.”
And then it happens. The proverbial curtain falls, unveiling the mechanics backstage.
“He really is a cat!” Bernard Starr barks.
I put up my paws. “I… I..”
“Clarice, what is the meaning of this!”
“Judge, it’s a mistake. A… a… hack. I don’t know what’s happening.”
The scales of justice must weigh the evidence. I’ve got none to counterbalance. “I cannot fathom why this is happening. Bernard Starr, what game are you playing at?”
“Me? Me. You’ve all got me standing trial, and the star prosecutor is….a tabby? I’d call this a dog and pony show, but… you know.” At least we all plan to take this in stride. They should gawk at my display of eccentricity. Them and all the observers.
“Laugh at me all you will. I am Chris Thomas. A lawyer at the top of his game. I’ll not stand for your slander. In fact, I’ll sue if you do not stop insisting I am another species!” Oh, this was a mistake. The truth finds its way out of the lies eventually. We were tricked; we tricked ourselves.
“I cannot allow this to continue. Mr. Thomas, you have one day to submit proof of your species.”
“A picture, perhaps?”
He heard the trill in that last word. Now I have lost him. Either I am sarcastic, not serious, or well and truly a different breed altogether. Maybe someone will take off a mask and show themselves as a dog, but I don’t count on it.
“1 day.”
The feed cuts, and I turn to Clarice, my ears radaring to her. “What do we do now?”
“I don’t know. Get disbarred? I can’t show at work tomorrow. Or ever again. And this will be all over the news tomorrow.”
I leaned against her and then dropped. “Not helpful. Do you think this was intentional?”
“Maybe. I.. oh.”
“What.”
“I noticed a van across the street.”
“I didn’t.” Or maybe… no.. I did. As I fell asleep in the sun. Where they could see. The only living being in this office all day.
“They exposed us.”
“I… we’ve done a terrible thing.”
She shrugged. “I suppose it’s good that we’re legal advisors, because we’re going to need the whole law at our disposal not to end up in prison ourselves.”
Yes. Yes, I suppose we will. Perhaps it’s better this way. I must know the truth, and the facts must come out. One slip up can make it better, right? I take a bath. I must think. There is a way to make this all join together as an objective good. I am no criminal, and my only mistake was to represent myself as they saw me. Or some such subjective truth. I lay down to nap. Tomorrow, I will decide.
(Feedback much appreciated)
| 2021-02-10T19:10:43
| 2021-02-10T19:09:11
| 44
| 24
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[WP] at the end of 2016, you hear "thank you for playing the 'Earth' open beta. You will be returning to your respective galaxies shortly."
|
My opinion about the game ?
I've been here since beta when there were few of us. It was hardcore but fantastic ! These hunts with only a stick were thrilling. And man when they implemented fire ! Oh the possibilities !
Vanilla was great too, not fan of the agricultural expansion at first but it was sure easier to remove the hungry debuff. One of my greatest memories was when one of the leader of a huge guild decided to build a pyramid, was a huge collective effort on the Egypt server !
These days ? Meh not so great. It has still huge popularity with 6 billions players but it seems that the biggest of the growth is behind them. I mean no surprise here... It is now a pay to win since Vivendi bought it... No skills needed, hello micro transactions..
When two rich kids with daddy wallets can pay to become USA server leader with absolutely no skills, I knew I was done.
|
First of all I'd like to thank the devs and congratulate them on such a sucessful open beta. I'm going to focus my review on the issues though as I feel like constructive critisism is more useful. First of all, I've been playing many similar games before so throwing a florb or two at the developer isn't really an issue for me. The main problem I have though is that the gameworld is about 96.5% water. Not sure if this is a hardware limitation or lazy game developement but I can see it being sold later on and I don't approve on paid expansionpacks. The skybox is great and I loved seeing the moonlanding event from the closed alpha, really wished I could have been there though! It seemed like an awesome idea ans I'm quite surprised that we've not been able to colonise it yet unless they're working on some sort of plot system for it. Some players have already jumped on that idea and sold fake deeds to parts of it so they need to have a look at that. We'll see if I come back when it has its full release but I might wait for some more content.
| 2016-11-05T01:15:01
| 2016-11-05T00:30:48
| 151
| 13
|
[WP] He knows he shouldn't. He really shouldn't. But Satan really loves the Christmas letters sent to him by dyslexic children.
|
*Dear Satan,*
*I haev been a good girl this* *~~eayr~~* *year.*
Satan curled the letter an let out a booming laugh. "No she hasn't!" he cackled before clutching his side stitch in delightful agony. He knew exactly how many schoolyard brawls she had started and trinkets she'd stolen since May.
His demon secretary, Urdanu, was on the phone beside Satan's desk. "No, of course we aren't opening them." He covered the mouthpiece and mouthed to Satan that the angels are already on the 40th floor and descending fast. A squad of angels were blasting through checkpoints to retrieve the few letters that were misaddressed to Satan.
Satan puffed his cigar and continued reading.
*I know what I aksed for last year was too ~~uchm~~ much, so I dont want a panda tsih year. Dad lost moms loket—*
"You mean *you* lost it, after taking it without permission and playing with it. This girl is getting coal, Urdanu! No question!"
*—and I was hopeing you cuold give me one like it. It was shaepd like a hart with a bear on top and it had pitucrs. Dad was sad. I know elves cant make picturse so just the locket please. Tanhk you Santa. -Love, Sammy*
Satan folded the letter and handed it to his secretary. "Send up a minor goblin to sneak into the girl's home and dig out a locket from a floor vent."
"Us, sir? Won't *they* handle it?"
"Fat chance. She's been lashing out badly since her mother passed and she hasn't confessed to any of it. Besides," Satan waived for the next letter, "why make her wait till Christmas."
|
**Part I - Sympathy for the Devil’s Day Job**
Satan took a puff from his cigarette, staring in the direction of but not particularly focused on the underling before him as the demon nervously read through a long list of earthly happenings. None of it was particularly interesting, but he was, after all, the Lord of Darkness and just as any good leader should, Satan took near daily briefings on matters that most affected his domain.
Lately these briefings had grown particularly repetitive. The Russians were meddling in some country’s affairs, the North Koreans were rattling their sabers, the Brits were busy trying to determine how most politely to tell the other Europeans to fuck off while simultaneously devastating their own economy, the Americans… we’ll let’s not get started on the Americans.
The thing about being the Lord of Darkness is that both halves of the job are equally important - the Darkness mattered very much, yes, but so did the *Lord* bit of it. Lordship necessitates hierarchy, and hierarchy necessitates order, so despite what you may have heard about him, Satan absolutely abhorred chaos. He liked his “evil,” if you must use that four letter word, to be structured.
“...and then he tweeted that he was one of the greatest golfers in the *hestory* of all time” the demon said, emphasizing the misspelling, “that Tiger Woods totally agreed with him, and that *Angelar* Merkel was insulting all the country’s troops for not approving the golf course.”
“Ugh,” Satan groaned, a thick pillar of smoke escaping from between his teeth. “Did she even have any authority to approve the course?”
“Not particularly.”
“Fucking hell,” was all the exasperated dark lord could muster. He should be enjoying this - an international incident caused by the pettiness of one buffoon who’d gotten too big for his britches - but the chaos, the god damned *chaos* was too much to bear. There was no method, no grand design, no *finesse*, just the basest of human emotions and complete, utter disarray. “Please tell me you have some good news.”
“Good news, sire?” the demon inquired, his already shaky voice rising several octaves.
“You know damned well what I mean,” Satan fumed before slouching back in his throne.
“Well, it appears some humans have developed a new fetish, and this one’s particularly creepy.”
“Ugh.”
“Uh, well, let’s see,” the demon fumbled with his long trail of paper, carefully trying to skip ahead several page lengths without accidentally dragging any of the cumbersome scroll into the multitude of open fires around him. “There’s, there’s a war on in the Middle East!”
“Hrmph. There’s always a war on in the Middle East. What’s so special about this one?” He tossed his cigarette to the ground, landing it just an inch shy of the scared minion’s feet.
The demon winced. “Um, well, you see, umm… nothing, I suppose, my lord.”
Satan grasped his forehead, massaging the space between his horns with one hand as he dragged himself back into a proper posture with the other, all the while training his vision on the discarded cigarette. Truth be told it wasn’t actually a cigarette, just a stick of ash that smoldered from the heat of the prince of hellfire’s own breath. Satan didn’t like the taste of tobacco, but he did think smoking would make him look cool - an important consideration for most anyone who relies on their charisma to get things done - and he was rather a big fan of lung cancer. It was a deadly disease largely caused by a human’s own intentional actions, and one that could easily be avoided, yet humans kept doing it to themselves. Now *that* is how you introduce so called “evil” into the world. Every smoker’s story has a cause and an effect, a beginning, middle, and end, and that end was entirely their own doing. It’s poetic, really, the dark lord told himself, without an ounce of that awful *chaos* nonsense. And so, he would from time to time pluck a sprig of ash, as they were the only trees God would let grow in hell (a joke, to be sure, and one that Lucifer regularly grumbled to himself about), then let it slowly burn betwixt his lips.
“What else?”
“Well, um, you see the Canadians -”
“Next!” Lucifer slumped forward. Whatever it was, it may have been bad by Canadian standards, but those standards were almost invariably leagues apart from his own. This was probably just some small argument over a perceived impoliteness, or perhaps a tax on maple syrup, he assured himself.
“Uh, yes, um, well, the letters are here.”
“Letters?” Satan perked up, his eyes alight as much with excitement as they were the reflections of hellfire. “Do you mean?..”
“Yes sir, it’s almost that time of year.”
Satan leaped from his throne, knocking the poor demon onto his hind quarters and accidentally casting the oversized scroll into the nearest pillar of flame. This time it was the demon who let loose an audible gasp of disappointment; he had worked quite literally all day on that list.
“Come on, Halphas, get up! No time to doddle,” said a visibly gleeful devil. “Oh wait, one more thing!” Satan exclaimed as he sauntered back to his throne, reaching behind it to pull out a small box wrapped in red and green paper. “Here you are,” he said, handing the package to Halphas as the demon pulled himself off the hard stone floor.
Halphas carefully peeled back the paper while Satan looked on with equal parts delight and anticipation. “Is this?”
“Yes! It’s an iPad! No more dragging that unruly mass of highly flammable paper around a realm engulfed in flame. From now on, when we trudge through these dreadful briefings you’ll be scrolling through your list on a simple, manageable tablet! And if the battery happens to die before you finish, so be it.”
“But sir, you love the paper list. All those trees - the destruction, deforestation, the carbon footprint, the-”
“Relax. CVS has that all covered now. And, after all, it’s Christmas!” the Lord of Darkness exclaimed with a toothy grin. “Now come along, we have preparations to make!” he declared, practically dancing toward the mailroom.
\---
Thank you for reading. This was my first creative piece in a long, long time. It’s nothing special, and derivative, I’m sure, but it was nice to get those creative juices flowing again. If there’s any appetite for it, I’ll try to write a part two in the next couple days.
***Edit:*** Part II has been posted below. Anyone wanna tell me how I link directly to comments to make it easier to find in case this thread grows?
| 2019-08-08T21:30:49
| 2019-08-08T19:24:02
| 671
| 361
|
[WP] As an average looking genius with a weak physique you often envied athletes. After thousands of years spent in a cryogenics pod you are woken to discover that evolution has weakened humanity while IQ improved. You're now the strongest most attractive person, but also the dumbest.
|
I had tried working out. I had tried dieting, I had tried pills, and so many other things and in the end, I could never get the body I wanted. Sure, I got "better", in that I wasn't morbidly obese, and sure, I had friends and family assure me that I looked "okay" and "better" and that "what matters is that you're healthy". And I was very healthy. I walked a lot, I had slightly low blood pressure instead of high (a very important variable for the study). Nobody had asked me out on a date in the past 10 years (and I'm only counting that one because it was valentine's day of grade 7), but between the insulating fat, the low blood pressure, the high IQ, knowing five languages, and being able to hike a few miles without issue, I was a prime candidate for the experiment. Not having abs or defined muscle tone wasn't an issue.
Of course I agreed. I didn't exactly have quite the life. If all went according to plan, I would wake up in a new century as a living time capsule. If it didn't... I wouldn't need antidepressants anymore.
Everything looked different when I woke up. The capsule opened, as it was supposed to. I was disoriented for the first few minutes, but as the various drugs finished waking me up, I noticed the foggy grey of the sky, and the bright redness of the sun. At noon.
"The fuck?" I muttered, and climbed out. The capsule had opened automatically, and there was nobody there to greet me. Nor anybody just... Hanging out at the facility. I walked around in the white scrubs I had been given for a while until I noticed some hikers.
"Hey! Hey, the research centre is empty, did something happen?"
The two men stared at me mesmerized. They were clearly disfigured by something, one had one arm far smaller than the other, both of their jaws looked infested by tumours, and they were both using strange robotic crutches to walk.
They stared at me, their mouths open, their eyes filled with fear and awe and lust and all these weird emotions at once that I can't remember ever eliciting. My head swiveled for a moment, but there was nothing right behind me.
"Hey? Guys? How long have I been out?"
The one with the disfigured arm fainted. The other continued to stare.
"Um... Alo?" He squeaked at me.
"Hello, yes? Research centre? Over there? Empty? What year is it?"
"It-it-it-it--" he babbled and stuttered for a moment.
"Dude, chill," I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. He passed out too.
With no other immediate source of information, I sat on the ground cross-legged and waited until the one with the shrunken arm woke up.
"Hello. My name is Ana. I just woke up from a cryogenic chamber. What year is it?"
"Twenty-two fourteen."
"Okay. That's good. For a moment I wondered if you guys spoke intelligible English."
"What are you?"
"Um... I just said--"
"No cryogenic chamber could have survived the wars. Everything was destroyed. And... And you're so beautiful..."
He extended his small arm towards me. It was a little creepy but I did my best not to pay attention to that, because I didn't want to be ableist and also because if I reacted poorly he might collapse again.
"...Right... Anyway, is there like, a nearby town?"
"Yes. Yes of course. We can take you there."
He touched his friend's neck, and in a moment he woke up.
"Why did you not wake us earlier, um... Ana?" He asked me as his friend rubbed his eyes.
"I thought you weren't supposed to try to wake up people who had passed out," I said.
"A simple stimulation of the vagus nerve and the six-two-four points in the Lasega map do it."
"...'kaaay." I said with a nod. He alternated between staring at the ground and staring at me.
"So, you have a name?" I asked.
"Yes. Yes, I am Laeroeak."
"Leroek?"
"Laeroeak."
"Laroak?"
He repeated his name some four times, and we settled on me calling him "Lay".
"I am sorry I fainted." His friend said. "I could not handle your touch."
I frowned, and he stared. The staring was becoming a problem.
"Your hands are so soft..."
"Can we get back to the part where I get to a town or something?"
"Yes, of course! Everyone must see you!"
"And your name?"
"Ghantenebhurita."
I rubbed my temples. We settled on Ghan. After some walking, they became perplexed.
"You are not tired."
"...That was like... Two hundred metres." I said.
"We came with camping gear, but you... How are you not tired? Is your acetylcholine synthesis infinite? Do you have superior lactic acid? Are your muscle fibres made of carbon nanotubes?"
"What the fuck? No, I'm just walking! Is everyone in the future like this?"
We stopped as a small river hindered our path. I jumped onto a rock, then from the rock across to the other side. They watched in awe.
"What are you?"
"...How did you guys make it before...?"
"Biodegradable preprogrammed assemblybots."
Ley had his robot-assisted arm fetch a ball from his pocket, and threw it in the river. Within seconds a bridge appeared, and they crossed it.
"Nice."
"You like it?" He asked with a smile. "I changed the design to resemble old bridges, Ana of the Past."
I frowned. "...How? You... You literally just threw it in."
"I programmed it before."
"Before coming, you mean."
"No, as I got it from my bag."
My eyes grew, but I simply nodded.
Even with their robotic crutch aid, they got tired by the second km, and I had to wait for them.
"I am literally just coming out of cryostasis. I have not eaten in two hundred years. How are you the tired ones?" I didn't tell them about the adrenaline shots I'd gotten to wake up, but... Still. Ghan looked at me in admiration.
"How are you still breathing?" He asked between gasps.
"We're walking at the pace of grandmas, how would I not?"
By the time we arrived at the nearby town, there was a crowd waiting with food and water and curious eyes. Apparently, Ley had taken the liberty of thinking at them to do that.
Everyone stared at me like I was Aphrodite incarnate.
PART 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6r9hy1/wp_as_an_average_looking_genius_with_a_weak/dl4jvh8/
PART 3 /r/Eager_Question_Writes/comments/6rfp4k/wp_as_an_average_looking_genius_with_a_weak/dl4sah1/
PART 4 /r/Eager_Question_Writes/comments/6rfp4k/wp_as_an_average_looking_genius_with_a_weak/dl592du
PART 5 /r/Eager_Question_Writes/comments/6rfp4k/wp_as_an_average_looking_genius_with_a_weak/dl6psql/
PART 6 /r/Eager_Question_Writes/comments/6rfp4k/wp_as_an_average_looking_genius_with_a_weak/dl7wikw/
PART 7 https://www.reddit.com/r/Eager_Question_Writes/comments/6rfp4k/wp_as_an_average_looking_genius_with_a_weak/dl9ds9m/
|
"Look at those *abs*! Holy crap, they look like the one Jason yonder had 17 years 23 days 2 hours 12 minutes 1 second 712 pneumonanoseconds ago!" Clara gushed as I rolled my eyes. It was a pain understanding their lingo, especially since I'd only received knowledge on Fermat's Last Theorem and the like, but I was starting to learn. Though elementary grade students could still far surpass my understanding. She held a tiny computer in her hand, made of component's I'd never heard of, though she was huffing and puffing at its weight. I remembered the first time, when I lifted one of them and laughed at its lightness. It was lighter than a feather. But the slimness of the limbs and the 'degramaglariation' of the 'scrulesis movement of gloglari molecules' caused it. I didn't know shit about what that meant, but I took it to mean something important. My knowledge on physics was vast at my time, but now? Physics was nothingness; ot at least, mixed and matched with various other studies I'd never heard of or dabbled with, one of them being cryogenesis. My value at the college was that: a real life cryogenesis example from way past. I liked the idea of young girls patting my stomach, but it was morally repulsive for a man of my age.
"Well," said John, a bright young boy who at least took the time to understand the basics and theories of the past, "Let's get you started, Albert!" I winced, partly at the excitement and partly at the way I was called. I rubbed my tousled hair thoughtfully, though my thoughts were probably processed by electrovolcalolic partimolesules. I couldn't care less.
"Call me Mr. Einstein, please," I corrected him.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request!
Edit: [Here's Part 2!](https://www.reddit.com/r/Whale62/comments/6rahr5/cryointelligent_part_2/)
| 2017-08-03T00:25:30
| 2017-08-02T22:25:10
| 2,328
| 278
|
[WP]You are one of thousands who received superpowers, you are the strongest out of all, to entertain yourself you have played the villain and let the less powerful keep you at bay. When real evil comes, you must work together and must convince the others you have been messing around the whole time.
Thought of an idea like this while thinking what if Will Smith's Hancock went against Superman.
|
How old was he? Decades seemed small, and centuries felt like bragging. The being sitting in a small police holding cell in... Saskatoon? It had not gone the way he'd planned to, to show off, rile up a hero or two, and then fly away. He had to play by the rules though, no bending reality, no changing the game. It was hard to be able to play that game when you were able to manipulate the fabric of reality. He'd once described it as "seeing the source code" while drunk at a party in the mid-nineties.
Doctor Teckno had been the, rather uninventive, name he had chosen to go with this round. Super smart and able to build anything technologically related. His 'lair' was a fortress, surrounded by a forcefield, and manned by robots. His real name was Erik. He'd had a last name at one point, but he'd long forgotten it. You see, the ability to build anything technological had been his handicap. He was immortal, a border line god, with his appearance a mere hardlight construction around his consciousness, which was contained inside a small sliver of gemstone looking material made from a material found only at the heart of a collapsed neutron star. Or something like that, he had decided anyways.
No, now he sat in the police cell while the hero's held the conference. Soon robots would descend upon the station, free him, and he would fly off, announcing his plan for revenge. Rinse, lather, repeat. As Major Starchild gave a rousing speech about the true strength of the SPD, Erik felt it, a sudden shift in the world. A shift in the aura of the universe. He looked up at the window to the outside world, where he could hear the final words and the cheering crowd. His curiosity got the better of him, and he used the water in the toilet to view the outside world, a simple trick. He saw four black military looking trucks approaching, with a simple logo painted on the side.
AECU.
Another shift in the water showed the people in there, masked soldiers holding AR15 rifles with odd underslung weapons on them. The leader, a cold faced woman, was joined by another man who seemed uninterested in everything around him, a fine tailored suit on both. The vehicles stopped, and Major Starchild, hovering at the end of his speech, turned to look at the new vehicles. The occupants piled out, and the man lit a cigarette, a look that was surely purely for show. The woman pointed to Starchild, and the man waved his hands, and the superhero dropped from the sky. He looked up, confused, and there was no delay, one of the soldiers shot him. Panic ensued, but there was enough time for the robotic minions of Doctor Teckno to arrive and rescue him, carting him off into the night, shielded by the hovering drones.
Abnormal Entity Containment Unit, a paramilitary organization that had promised the Governments of the world what they had wanted, law and order under their own terms. No more heros or villains. Police kept cities safe, not these abominations. Their secret weapon was a pulse that negated the effects of supers, made them no different than others. Highly dangerous ones were simply dispatched, but less dangerous were given a chance to "normalize" to not use their powers and to check in like they were some kind of drug addicts.
The Hall of Justice had once been the meeting point of the greatest heros of Earth, but now it was a burned out shell. Erik, AKA Doctor Teckno stood in the doorway, ignoring the grafiti. The rain the poured around him in the New York evening seemed to fall just short. He ignored the footsteps behind him, whatever it was couldn't truly hurt him. "Come to mock our fall, Doctor?" It was the voice of Constellation Girl, once a super hero that could summon powers based on the astrological sign of the time of the year. Erik didn't turn, but merely shrugged.
"No Margret, I came to see if I could help."
|
“You’ll have to release me at one point,” jeered Crown, lips stretched into a jester smirk. “All of you, even with ALL of your powers and might and hope and de-ter-min-nation~” Crown let himself chuckle. “All of your souls and essence couldn’t hope, let alone cage, that great evil that’ll befall our home.”
“Our home?” Cement Raider balked, “Do you even know how many times — how many lives you’ve put in danger in our home?”
Crown lifted his eyes up, deep in thought. “More times than there are pages in the dictionary.”
It was Alchemist’s turn to unleash her anger. In the form of a jarring lightning strike birthed from her palms. Crown shook violently from the electrical surges rampaging from the soles of his bare bruised feet to the charred remains of his stark white hair.
If Crown was still human, he would have been blinded and left a corpse from such a vicious attack.
Crown was not human. And he did not scream or make a noise from the violence.
“Damn you, damn you,” seethed Alchemist, tears rolling down her rich black cheeks. “We shouldn’t have to need you.”
Crown coughed up a puff of smoke. Fingers and neck twitching involuntarily from the electricity. “Ah, but you do, mademoiselle.”
“We’re the ones who’ve protected this city from you.” Alchemist steppes forward, her sharp visage demanding attention, paralleling a true dictator.
Ah. Crown briefly thought, smiling small. I am conflicted over not having you by my side, my darling.
Because at her side was Warlock. A twin to her uniform. Partners against the evil and shadows hiding lurking darkness. Black capes flourishing behind them, sharper eyes than an falcon’s and burrowing for justice, hands still at their side — fists and open palms that have distributed raw justice and mercy simultaneously. And behind them followed the thousands of former humans chosen to hold extraordinary powers.
Crown could easily forget about their presence, but not because they weren’t — would never be — a threat to him. One look at her, and all of the good, the meaning behind heroism and sacrifice, and the reason behind the question of “Why must good triumph over evil?”
Well, Alchemist and Warlock brought to bright sunlight the reasonings for why... why Crown ceased his villainous debacle, and why Good has no choice but to triumph over the great evil.
“You’ve grown to be quite fierce,” muttered Crown.
Alchemist’s narrowed eyes faltered. Crown grinned. Their previous history was still alive in her eyes. Thank God, thank You.
No matter how much I want you by my side...
Crown breathed in a deep, powerful breath. “But it’s not fierce enough. You and your Archetype of Justice will need my powers. I’m the final piece of the puzzle, you see,” Crown steadily stood up, cracking his knuckles and swiping his draconic tail against cold, cement flooring. “Without me, your puzzle is incomplete and you’ve stand no chance defeating the great evil.”
“Gabe, don’t—“
A power never manifested or shown, it was only an innate feature few people had — and carried the will to use it. A single glare holding countless bloody-mud covered World Wars, raging with the anger of sheer resolve and foreshadowing. You’ve seen what I’ve done, experienced it, breathed it, bled it, and the masses cheered and nosebled for it. Now, do you see what I can do? Do you want to live through what would make being skinned alive feel like a shiatsu massage?!
“Don’t?” Crown jeered, but his smile thin and tight — humorless. “Don’t what? Ever say that nonexistent name ever again? Good idea, Warlock!”
The mock villain’s eye twitched.
... remember, Crown, you’re only playing the villain. Don’t forget that. You’re not true evil, so don’t. go. off. the. rails.
Crown closed his eyes. Ignoring one of his powers that allowed him the freedom to feel the presence of anyone, everyone in a room. A centipede doesn’t writhe and rattle as much as these heroes did.
“Here’s a secret, heroes. The entire three years we’ve been playing our Saturday cartoon duels of good vs evil was merely a play date!” Crown’s eyes snapped open and he clapped his hands in mock enthusiasm. “In all those years, I hadn’t even used half of my powers.”
| 2018-02-11T16:57:18
| 2018-02-11T16:45:54
| 24
| 10
|
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often.
|
She pulled the trigger, apologizing under her breath. The shot rang out, causing her to flinch, the body falling limply to the floor.
Blood on her beautiful dress.
She waited for him to come, preening herself, making sure she was perfect for him.
A glint of the scythe.
"**You need to stop doing this.**"
She pouted, crossing her arms.
"You never visit otherwise," she said, staring at him sullenly.
"I do it because I love you."
"**Love is a human construct,**" he said, swinging his scythe in an arc over the fallen body. There was a sound, like the fizzling out of a flame, then silence.
"**I feel nothing for you. For *anyone*.**"
He began to leave, and the girl felt the moment leaving her.
"Wait!" she cried, running towards him, hopping over the body. She grabbed his robe.
"I won't stop, you know. I'll kill every day, just for a glimpse of you. I *love* you."
He turned to face her, his skull betraying no emotion.
"**And yet,**" he replied, his hollow eyes gazing into her.
"**You love Life far more than Death; else I'd be here for *you*.**"
He turned and left; the silence proving it true.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
|
Three candles lit the room, their wicks barely burning above the pool of wax spilling out the candle holders. All three sat atop a rounded wood table set up for dinner. Two plates, two knives, two forks, but only one person. Mariah waited as she always did as the flames began to flicker.
He wasn’t coming. He never did, not since she was a little girl and they had made their promise. A man coughed in the corner, hidden by her shadow, as a dark liquid crept toward the dinner table. Mariah let out a small breath and stepped out of the light, into the blood-stained cement floors of her killing room.
“Please, I have a family.” Every word came in a splutter of blood that speckled Mariah’s black silk dress. “There’s money in my wallet if that’s what you want.”
Mariah shook her head. “I don’t want money.”
“I’ll give you anything, just name it, but please don’t kill me.”
Ironic since the only thing she wanted was his life, though not as much as her first victims. When she had first started killing, she had bought candles fresh from the store for every dinner, she had scrubbed the plates until they were spotless, and took care not to step in blood or have it splatter onto her dress. Back then, she didn’t let her victims talk. It would’ve ruined the atmosphere.
But a girl could only be stood up so many times. The first five or so times, she got angry. By the time the candlelight died, she was hurling curses about broken promises and hearts. The victims had died long before she could take her rage out on them. Now, at the fifteenth attempt, everything she did came half-hearted. Her candles were recycled from the previous night, her dishes unwashed, and her victim still alive. He even had the strength to talk.
Mariah sighed. “Its fine,” she said, tears in her eyes, “he’ll come next time.” She turned toward the man. “Don’t worry, I won’t let it hurt.”
The man let out a stuttered squeal as he pressed himself further into the corner.
“We’ve both been hurt tonight,” she muttered and grabbed a knife from the table.
All of a sudden, the man shot up and threw his body against hers. The blow knocked the breath from her lungs and her head whipped back into concrete. A single shrill note rang in her ears as she blindly stabbed at the man.
Fingers wrapped around her wrist, their nails like talons. And the knife was pried away.
“You bitch!”
Fire sprouted from her wrist and the man rolled off her. He crashed through the rusted iron door of her killing room. Sunlight spilled through the opening. Mariah stared at her open wrist, at the pool of blood crawling toward the sun. And then she saw it, a dark and silent man sitting at the table. Her breath caught.
“You came back,” she whispered.
“Didn’t I promise that I would?”
She pushed herself up, swept off her dress and took her seat at the table. “I’m sorry,” she said, a tremble in her words. “I didn’t think you’d come so I hadn’t set up much. Here, you can take my knife.”
The other knife was on the ground, covered in her blood.
The Grim Reaper stared back unmoving. “It’s a lovely dinner,” he said.
A small smile broke Mariah’s lips and tears welled up inside her eyes. “Thank you." She chuckled nervously and glanced up. "You’re not going to leave again, are you?”
The Reaper shook his head. “No,” he said. “Not this time.”
Mariah's smile stretched from cheek to cheek. Tears spilled down her cheeks. And slowly, the candlelight faded until only darkness remained.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!
| 2017-06-07T17:26:56
| 2017-06-07T17:18:22
| 9,304
| 208
|
[WP] Your pickup line goes horribly, horribly wrong.
|
I was at a bar, and spotted the prettiest girl. The type of chick that's TOO good for porno.
I approached and was ready to use my line.
"Hey! Did it hurt?"
She looked at me, "Did what hurt?"
"When you fell --"
She pulled out a prosthetic leg from under the table, "Why, yes. Yes it did."
*Shit, I have to try a new one*
"Heh, What I meant to say was...Uh...if I was a watermelon...Would you...Er...Eat my seed?"
She looked mortified, "*What the fuck?* I am allergic to watermelon, and you're a fucking creep."
*SHIT SHIT SHIT, WHAT THE HELL DO I DO?* I gotta try one more time.
"Let's start over..." I am hyperventilating now, "I'm a stud!" I cleared my throat, "I HAVE THE STD, NOW ALL I NEED IS U!"
She looked at me, and started to walk away.
"WAIT!" I yelled. She looked at me, and gave me one last chance.
"NICE FUCK WANNA SHOES?"
"..."
She left the bar. And I sat there, depressed. Of course she wouldn't love me. Why would anyone love someone with Asperger syndrome?
|
I saw her smile at me from across the room. I decided to talk to her. Maybe use a pickup line, but a respectful, gentlemanly one and laugh it off.
"You look familiar. Did we use to go to school together?"
Her eyes brightened up, and she answered.
"I think you are going to say we had chemistry. To be honest, I think we do."
We chatted for awhile, and then she asked, "Do you want to get some air?"
"Sure."
We walked out into the garden. She looked over her shoulder, and lowered her voice.
"Here are our instructions, Steven, you know where to find me."
Suddenly she turned, hopped into a black crown vic, and sped off.
My name isn't Steven.
| 2016-09-24T12:17:46
| 2016-09-24T10:49:05
| 18
| 11
|
[WP] due to the human race advancing in many ways, the four horsemen of the apocalypse are now not capable of ending humanity. They are replaced by four new horsemen who reflect the modern age.
|
Hmmmm...
The Four New Horsemen, huh?
Applications went out a couple of days ago, to all the pantheons. We have had some pretty good interviews.
There was Janus, who showed up reinvented as the Great Barrier. He argued that humanity was going to hit him sooner or later, and will get wiped out. Problem was, well, he couldn’t define himself properly.
War came back, and got his old job. What with the unstable leaders and the nuclear weapons, he and death decided they were each going to apply for the same part time position. Essentially, the two took up the old Hindu costume, and became the new Horseman, Annihilation. And behold, the first seal was opened, and the skies swarmed with war and the seas filled with broken ships, as the smell of napalm and gasoline mixed in the air like the incense of battle. The old sight of the red horse now took first place amongst the new horsemen.
The second one was actually a young god, a child of Helios and the Sin of Greed. We are kind of surprised he got the job, but God said that he’d do pretty good in place of famine, seeing as he had a good chance of CAUSING said famine. Warmth, the kid was called, and he borrowed the old Helios chariot and wreathed it in smoke. Apparently the definition of horseman got loosened up over the years. Behind him rode the entire host of storm gods, which is honestly pretty impressive. And behold, the second seal was opened, and the earth was smothered beneath the fiery sun. The ash clouds choked the sky, and the oceans rose in wrath. It was a golden horse.
Well, not all of them. The god of travelers, Hermès, and the Gods of thunder, Thor, as well as their dads Odin and Zeus put their heads together. The result was a ridiculously powerful, new being. Clad in silicon and metal and wielding the collective intelligence of humanity and more, it soon took on the red eyes and cold voice of the automaton. Singularity. The third seal was opened. And behold, the lightning flashed across the sky, as the cities and homes of men were tied to a single new terror, whose shouts were inscribed 1s and 0s, and it, looked upon the human race and deemed it unworthy of existence. A tempestuous horse, whose feet sparked with lightning and whose eyes flowed blue, rode forth.
The Fourth Horseman was also a surprise. It was no event, but the spawn of the Sin of Sloth and the Sin of Pride. Riding forth from the broken Tower of Babel, the young god was shapeless, but wreathes in shadow. The fourth seal opened, and behold, humanity lost the strength and will to carry on, buried in their own fear and greed, unwilling to unite against the Horsemen. Like the Tower of old, the will of Humanity was smothered and drained until nothing remained. Apathy. Wherever it rode upon its pale, grey horse, silence followed, demeaning the universe.
|
Christ looked at his three colleagues in thought whilst listening to the mutterings of His Father. Death, Famine and War were supposed to ride with him in three days’ time to bring about the Revelation. But such was the power and resourcefulness of the human race in this age, the Heavenly Host, that being the ruling parliament of the divine realm, debated the effectiveness of the Four Horseman.
“The humans have known war since their first breath! How is bringing a horseman named War any different to what they know. Especially with the long list of undesirables that have led the free world!” argued St Peter. “Famine will be almost useless, a large population is already living under those conditions, being conveniently ignore. The wealthier states have hoarded their resources. They could live for centuries on the amount of tinned beans they’ve gathered!” he continued. “Now Death. Death could be useful. But you have to consider that one horseman has his work cut out for him with the billions of them left down there.” He sat down as the Heavenly Host murmured in agreement.
“I think we all know the limitations of the current horsemen but there is no doubt that Jesus must be one of them” said John the Baptist. “His power is rivalled only by God Himself!” Most of the Heavenly Host mumble in agreement.
“Oh, he’s such a suck up” whispered Abraham to Moses. “He might have been beheaded on Earth but he didn’t have to face killing his own son”
“Or wander around aimlessly in the desert for ages” replied Moses in hushed tones.
Jesus stood up and began to address the Heavenly Host. “John and Peter are right. I believe we are agreed that we need to rethink our strategy. We must come up with a new and real threat to the advanced human race. Their judgement must be fierce and final. Whomever we decide upon, I will accompany them as it has already been foretold. We just need three others.”
The Heavenly Host thought in silence, the collection of saints scratched their heads and fiddled with their halos.
“What about Fake News?” chimed in St Peter. The Host nodded and grunted its approval.
“Yes! And Social Media!” said St John enthusiastically to the agreement of the Host.
“Ok, Ok, we need one more" called Jesus, the Host falling to silence once more.
“What about Donald Trump” said Job nervously. The saints all looked at each other, side to side, as they considered it. Eventually they all agreed and slapped each other on the back.
“Excellent!” Summarised Jesus “In three days’ time, Fake News, Social Media, Donald Trump and I will ride. We will ride and bring about the fall of man”.
| 2019-02-03T07:16:19
| 2019-02-03T04:40:18
| 121
| 19
|
[WP] You are the girlfriend of a well-known spy. Your job is to look pretty on his arm when he needs you and sit by the pool when he is busy. No you has caught on yet that he is a womanizing drunkard with a gambling problem while you are the real spy...
|
Her husband is busy in the casino.
She know these things without seeing him; that he has a tumbler of gin in his left hand, a cigar clutched in his right, and there are two blonde women hanging from each shoulder. They are touching him with dagger-manicured fingers in places that are both appropriate and terribly wrong to touch a married man. He is not stopping them. In fact, he leers across the table at another blonde woman he hopes will replace the ugliest of them, at the next game he restlessly wanders to join.
It does not occur to her to be bothered by this. As long as she knows, she is still in control.
Her place is not beside him. Her place is to relax by the pool, some alcoholic-appearing drink at her elbow and a novel open on her lap
Once, this would have upset her; she had been an avid feminist and protested for the rights of women to be permitted the same actions as men without judgment. But she had been young then, and thought that gender roles had no place in society. She knew better now. As long as the patriarchy rules, she can sidle up to well-hidden truths with all the ease in the world. If women are ever truly free to behave in the same self-indulgent, mindlessly masturbatory ways of men, she'll be out of a job.
She is at peace with this, because it pays well and allows her the freedom to move with feline grace across the minds of men who fatally underestimate her. She hardly needs to touch the tiny handgun that lies hidden in the neat folds of a towel she has never touched with her own hands, which rests beside her gently sweating glass on the table.
She is Agent 013, she is famously unknown, and she is almost (but not quite) happy.
These thoughts are lazy and self-indulgent. She snaps to attention, turns a page in this month's book-club erotica, and takes a sip of her drink. It tastes strongly of grenadine, and she decides to order the limeade next. The taste of blackcurrant coats her mouth with unpleasant stickiness, and she resists the urge to wipe at her lips.
A shadow falls across her book. She glances up.
"Hi," says the tiny brunette that stands in front of her chair. She is impossibly young - perhaps nineteen, surely no older than twenty-two - and stunningly beautiful, even with her face mildly flushed in consternation. Her hair is very short.
"Hi."
"I'm so sorry to bother you, but, um-"
"No bother," 13 says with a smile. She sits up a little straighter, and closes her book. A tiny click against her fingers assures her that the recording device in the spine has been activated. She is almost positive that this is the woman she's been waiting for all these weeks. Her body is relaxed, showing no sign of her cautious excitement.
"I...oh gosh, this is so silly." The woman runs a hand through her hair. It's still wet from the pool, and stands up in attractive spikes when she finally manages to calm the nervous motion. She glances around furtively, and lowers her voice. "I know you. Well, not really. But I, uh, know your husband. Well, sort of, I mean, my boyfriend, ah...works with him."
"Oh?"
"At the, um, bank. Isaac is my boyfriend. They work together, which, um, I guess is obvious." The girl's fingers twitch toward each other. She is all but wringing her hands, begging 13 to recognize the codewords known to all the women belonging to famous spies. "H-he...Mr. Cole, I mean...um, he's very nice. He talks about you all the time, at uh, the company parties. I just wanted...I wanted to say hi!"
*Ah, they've fucked,* she thinks, and is unbothered by this fact. She uses her husband for sex on occasion, and he isn't terrible at it, although she's had better. A vague sense of pity flits across her mind as she searches the eyes of this red-faced, squirming girl. *Now she wonders if she can collect me, too. Too easy.*
"You must be Emma," she says, and warmth fills her voice. She smiles, knowing the seductive shape of her lips will be as distracting to this young woman as to any young man. Maybe more so.
Emma smiles, relieved outwardly, barely hiding her shameful terror. "He talks about me?"
"Only the once. Apparently you and Isaac make a perfect couple."
This was not a lie, and she had spent months gathering that particular bit of information from various sources. Some of them lovers of one or both of the happy couple; and some of them had been decidedly not. Isaac had made the unfortunate choice of pissing off the wrong people, and while her husband had no idea that his coworker was her mark, 13 had been remarkably unsuccessful at gathering the information from him. He paid less attention to his fellow agents than he did their girlfriends.
"What did you want to tell me, Emma?" She leans forward invitingly, noticing the way the girl falls for the bait, her eyes stuttering down to the perfect cleft of her cleavage in the bikini top. "Besides hi, I mean. There's something."
Emma's face contorts briefly in a spasm of fear. "I...oh....how did you know?"
She smiles and rolls her shoulders so that her breasts are just a little more exposed. She drinks up the girl's lustful self-torture as absently as she sipped from her drink. "I know everything."
Emma titters out a laugh, her breath catching. "Um...well, I can't really talk about it here. Could we..."
"Go someplace more private?"
"Y-yes."
*Caught her,* 13 thinks. A warning flare goes off at the back of her mind. *So easily...* She slips a finger into her bikini top.
Emma's breath speeds up, her eyes resting heavily on two perfect half-globes rising above a silk bikini not made to ever get wet. She is treated to one last seduction; the faint coral blush of one nearly-exposed areola, and then the finger slips back out, pulling a thin plastic card along with it.
She passes the card to the girl, and the pads of their fingers brush together. Emma's is hot and moist with the intensity of her wanting. 13's finger, as the woman herself, is cool and smooth.
"Room 247," she says, pitching her voice low and just a little hoarse, filling it with as much desire as she can feel emanating from the other woman. "Meet me there in half an hour. We can talk there."
"But Mr. Cole-"
"Shh." She smiles again. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him."
As Emma scampers away, her eyes do not follow. She casts a lazy glance around the poolside deck, watching, waiting...*there.*
A man in black takes his finger from his ear, adjusts his sunglasses, and watches a teenage boy execute a perfect dive into the deep end of the pool. By the time the water has settled, the man has dissolved into the darkness behind the bar.
The girl's information is worthless, of course; probably she wants to tell her that her husband is cheating on her. But the man tailing her, the man using her...his information is perfectly desirable.
Unhurried, Agent 013 gathers her book, her drink, and her towel into her arms. In shaking out the towel to wrap it around her chest, she slips the tiny handgun between her breasts and feels its chill warm her blood.
The game is afoot, and oh, God, does she love to play.
|
*Fwww*
A cloud of smoke obscured her face for only a moment, vanishing to reveal her dark eyes watching something in the distance.
*It's a Korean this time, huh? I'm too used to seeing blondes.*
A man in blue leaned over a woman dressed in green, seeming to have an intimate conversation with her, exchanging flirty looks and suggestive honey-coated words.
With one last puff, the lady in red extinguished the cigarette in a nearby ash tray, skillfully moving the ashes on it to reveal hidden numbers that glowed under the heat.
"Alone, are we?" A man said, approaching her. In a single, graceful motion, one that look so natural, she moved to cover the numbers with ash as she glanced at the man with a golden tie.
"Seems so," She answered coolly, turning her attention to the man before her. He broke out in a Cheshire cat-like grin.
"Sad indeed," He said, his eyes darting to the man in blue. He glanced back at the lady in red. "He seems quite taken with my companion's date, no?"
"Oh?" The lady in red said. "I apologize then for his actions against your companion." She said, glancing away. This only made the man grin more, his eyes focusing on her like prey.
"No need to my dear," He said, placing a hand on her cheek. He pushed a lock of hair away, revealing a light purple pigmentation on the edge of her hairline. "Two unfaithful people deserve each other, no? They can punish each other for their transgressions."
The lady in red bit her ruby lips slightly, moving back a half step so that her hair would hide the bruise as she crossed her arms.
"Mark is... just stressed," She said, her eyes still averted. The man before her licked his lips as he moved closer, putting a hand on her shoulder.
"Stressed or not, leaving a flower alone is no good, no good indeed." He said. He moved his hand to gently guide her chin, forcing the sad lady in red to look at him. "Care to join me tonight? I can help you forget your pains, yes?"
A light blush appeared on her cheeks as the man leaned forward.
"A lovely lady should be treated right," He whispered in her ear, making a shiver go down her back. The man took the opportunity to slip his hand behind her before pulling himself back and beginning to guide her away to a more... pleasurable place.
\------------------
*Fwww*
*To easy.*
The lady in red adjusted her necklace as she stood up from the bed where the body laid, her cigarette still in her mouth. She walked over to the wall and removed the picture, revealing a safe.
*9-37-20-click*.
*"Retina scan and finger print required"* A mechanical voice said. She sighed as she held up the eye of the man with the golden tie, allowing the machine to scan it.
*"Confirmed"* It said. She then placed the cut off thumb to the finger scanner.
*"Confirmed, welcome master."* It said as a large unlocking sound was heard, followed by another and another before the whole wall opened up, revealing exactly what the lady came for.
She glanced at all the things before her before her eyes landed on a small box, a smirk on her face.
*I bet that moron's busy in the underground running around with that woman and causing a ruckus. Enough so that I can escape with this.*
A soft chuckle was heard from her as took the box and left the room, leaving Mark with all the fame of defeating a villain, while she walked away with the real prize...
| 2020-08-09T16:54:58
| 2020-08-09T16:12:16
| 29
| 16
|
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.
|
I've seen the numbers since I was a little girl. I remember my father losing his job, rising from a 4 to a 5. I remember watching my grandmother slowly dwindle down to a 0. At first I thought I was going crazy, not realizing what they meant. I eventually caught on. The numbers were a person's ultimate quantifier, broadcasting how dangerous they were to those around them. Broadcasting, at least, to me.
Most people stayed below a 6. Doctors usually hovered around 7; politicians were a solid 8. The highest I had ever seen were in old videos of Hitler, who was a 9. That is, until Junior year, when I met him.
He seemed harmless enough at first. Perfect hair, gorgeous eyes, and a jawline to die for. Not to mention that everybody loved him. But the bold '10' that hovered above his head was plenty enough to convince me not to go near him. Sure, I watched him. Some might even say I was obsessed. But all I was doing was making sure he wasn't a psychopath. I started skipping class to check on him. My grades dropped an entire letter. I didn't care, though. I wanted to see what made him so special.
I nearly threw up when he saw me in the cafeteria, and I really did when he got up to talk to me. He didn't seem to notice, and asked me if he could sit with me.
"Sure, I- I guess." I stammered. A smile spread across his face, and we struck up a conversation. My heart was playing a drum solo into my chest, but I managed to live to the end of the break. Hell, he even asked for my number, which I promptly gave. We had lunch that weekend.
It's only now, ten years later, that I realize what makes this boy so special. Only now that I find out why he's such a danger to me. Only now, as he drops to one knee.
It's because I love him.
|
*Ah, this class sucks,* I thought, deciding to sleep through the teacher's lecture. I almost got away with it, too.
"Eren, could you please give me there answer to question 5?"
Aw you dirty 6-faced douche.
"Uhh, could you read out the question?" I stuttered, still half asleep.
"You'd know if you paid attention."
*Go duck yourself, math teacher. I don't know what kinda skeletons you got in your mind to bring your number that high, but they ain't pretty.*
Another voice spoke up, "I found that x is equal to 7 over 9, professor."
"Thank you, Light, but I asked for Eren to ans-"
And then the lunch bell rang. Lunch was disgusting, as always, but something really scared me as I walked out.
Light's number had jumped to 10.
| 2014-11-29T14:43:43
| 2014-11-29T14:22:11
| 295
| 10
|
[WP] "Too bad, Fairy Queen. I never had a kid, so no firstborn for you to take" you say on your deathbed. "Oh I love it when they don't read the fine print" she responds with a wicked smile.
|
The fairy queen hovered over me, smiling a wicked sickly smile.
Her fingers slid into the leather pouch tied to her waist. She pulled out a small glass tube, with ornate figures laid into the sides. I suddenly realized it was an hour glass. Its red sands were so fine that it appeared as if a pool of grainy blood sat in its base.
I felt nervous staring at the sands in the glass. Suddenly, a few ultra fine particles floated up from the the bottom chamber. They formed an almost imperceptible trickle, just barely visible as the light from the bedside table played off of them.
I felt ill. My insides began to writhe. My body made noises I was unaware a body could make. Like splintering wood and cloth ripped at its seams.
“What, are you doing to me!” I yelled. I threw off my sheet and tried to stand but fell to the floor. I looked at my legs, only to see them shriveling and twisting into spindly black sticks.
I looked up to see the Fairy Queen laughing, but the sound melted away and was replaced by a different voice. A richer and more melodious laugh. Her face which was already gorgeous beyond compare, became beautiful in an ethereal and indescribable way.
I tried to throw my hands over my ears but I couldn’t find them. Instead I felt a soft smooth surface. I tried to cover my eyes but found my arms were replaced by black curved limbs.
I cried out one last time, but my voice became hoarse and my lungs too deflated.
Suddenly it stopped. I lay crumpled on the ground. The Fairy Queen landed next to me and bent over, placing the hour glass before my eyes. All the red sand had flowed to the top and was suspended, not flowing in any direction. What was more disturbing was the sand had turned into a shade of black so dark, not a single grain was visible from the rest.
I tried to ask what happened but all that came out of my mouth was a throaty moan.
The Fairy Queen, at once more glorious and infinitely more terrifying than before quieted me.
“Shhhh. Shhh little mortal. Do not worry over much. You owed me a life. So I gave you a new one.” She bend down and picked me up. In the the back of my mind I wondered how she was able to hold me comfortably within her palms.
She walked over to the mirror and held me before it. I tried to scream but the only sound that came as a throaty caw. In her hands sat a black raven with fiery green eyes. My eyes. When I screamed it opened its beak and when I tried to scramble away it tried to jump from the Fairy Queen’s hands. She tightened her grip; firmly, but not painfully, holding me in place.
“Shhh shhh.” She walked me over to my bed where a spindly little wooden cage had appeared. She quickly placed me inside and latched the gate. Then, the Fairy Queen bent down, picked up the hourglass, and slid it into a grooved brackets aside the cage.
“This,” she said tapping the glass, “is the age of the life you owe.” She was then engulfed in overly excited giggles. When she finally caught her breath, she sighed and added, “Plus interest!”
“*This isn’t fair!*” I tried to say, but again only a series of caws came from my beak. Oh my god, my beak!?
“FAIR?!” Roared the Queen. “You made a deal!” She pointed her finger at me, it buzzed slightly as the magic radiated off of it. Wait, how did I know it was magic? “You broke your deal. You have no claim to fairness.”
She picked up the cage and stepped over to the open window. In a single step, she flew into the air and flitted away from my home, my cage held squarely in her hand. I felt dazed, I couldn’t understand what had happened to me. Why I was suddenly a bird in the cage of a Fairy Queen. I felt myself losing consciousness as I asked “*What did you do to me?*” It came out as a series of low caws.
“You’ve entered the secondary clause in our contract. A witch has her familiar, a leprechaun his charm.” She held my cage up to her face and looked into my closing eyes. “And a fairy her sprite.”
|
[poem] Last sermon of the fairy queen to the people of "Fayed"
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tis too bad dear people, for now ye shall,
shed tears for being ruled by a queen,
known once as the fair princess of Fayed,
now so pale and frail on death's old bed,
for our deal would have concluded,
if just the fine print she had read,
and given up her first born as decided,
but ran instead, she wild with life,
mind alive and conspiracies rife,
and knowingly remained unbred,
and now as her sands end their trickle,
and the hooded scythe cometh nigh,
I exercise that print, fine and unread,
and take possession, of all first born,
of the populace, in her young un's stead!
may she now die in grief,
that deceptive beauty,
that once green, fair queen of Fayed!
•°•°•°•°•° A. Z. Dada •°•°•°•°•
| 2021-10-19T05:34:52
| 2021-10-19T03:09:50
| 25
| 14
|
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all!
|
A few years ago, I would have been the one leading the chorus. "Gods save the king", I'd cry, and legions would answer back. I'd served, in some form or another, for three kings in succession, each transition of power being simple, clean, and effective. Gods save this king, that king, and the next one. And they did. Every time I asked, the gods answered. A gentle nudge on a runaway chariot here, an arrow that wouldn't leap from the bow there.
And I made my sacrifices in thanks. They weren't pretty sacrifices, they were bloody, messy affairs, but it was a price the city was prepared to pay for protection. Who's complaining when the local butcher is strung up in penance for his crimes? They were told it was horsemeat in the mince, which was true. I never told anyone where the prime rib had come from. Or the baker, whose 'specially iced eclairs, just for you' fed a nation's drug habit? These were the lowest of the low, and I was justice, swooping in for kings and gods alike, taking life when it was demanded of me.
But now there is a new king, and one of his first acts was to replace his guard with his cronies. So I sit in a tavern as the laws are disregarded, as his paid up thugs brutalise the streets, and anger ferments in the city. It's been a hot summer, tempers are beginning to flare up. Just last week, there was a vicious fight not twenty yards from the palace walls. Hundreds joined the melee, and it was only when a young man, blond wavy hair and sharp blue eyes, a voice like thunder in a meadow, cried out for peace that it all petered out. He reminded those present, drunk and sober alike, of the real threat. I saw it all from my window and thought he was a man to follow. So here I sit, waiting for him to speak. A crowd is growing, weapons openly sheathed, rival factions all with a single, focused determination. No drink is being poured, no laughter, no anger, no noise. I've been in these rooms before. The mob is set to be unleashed on the quiet streets, like a bull coralled into one lone direction. We're coming for the palace. Around me are my men, and we all know that palace better than we know ourselves. The exits have all been bricked shut from the outside, all save one. And that's where we're going in.
And we've all made our sacrifices. The thugs hanging from the gallows by each other's guts, pushed from a roof in the dead of night, or drowned and floating in the palace water courses. We've asked, and we've got our answer.
No gods will save the king now.
|
'Ha! Keep you on the royal guard as the captain of it all as my father did! What a stupid and pitiful way of getting my command around here. Do yourself a favour and leave at once'
......
It had almost been a solid 7 years since I was thrown out of the leadership of the royal guard and out of the city of seraphis itself, along with my siblings, parents and my wife and children. After 32 years of my service, it was clear to see that the new king wasn't going to keep me around for the next few years, especially since he never could stand my presence since his childhood.
Gods how I miss the first king I served under, king Louis the II. Gods how I missed how I would feel the honour of fighting by his side when fending off the hated invaders of salkos, never surrendering to the thousands of blades, axes, spears and rifles that would be pointed right in our eyes. But I can't ponder on the past now, not now with what's happening.
....
The new king, Louis the III, had taken up the throne of his fallen father (by the gods' will, May he rest well) and struck with a storm of hatred alone amongst the people of his city: he would randomly banish any man, woman or beast that would dare challenge his authority, sending them all off to the wilds of dagear-ram for his own entertainment. My family was one of those who were unlucky enough to be banished due to my termination of the captain of the royal guard. Though I was expecting such from a 18 year old boy that didn't even think to have his father buried like a true king.
Shame for him I suppose. Just as he banished the last few innocents to the wilds of dagear-ram, the invaders of salkos' brother land, haru-ka-ku came in to take the throne themselves. The new king didn't even know what to do to even arbitrate with the invaders, let alone fight them. If only he kept me and listened to me, he would know his father's secret counter measures device...
The device in question was more strange thing that king Louis the II had made as a final resort if all else failed to defeat the invaders and defend the city: it happened to be a counter-measures, explosive device that relied heavily on science, magic and some sort of energy called 'radiation' or what ever the hell it was called. I wasn't one for the finer details of such a weapon.
The king of course didn't want the weapon to be misused and mass produced (for the safety of the natural world of course), so he trusted the only launch codes to the device with himself and his most trusted brother in arms and main advisor: myself. Shame that it will be completely created for nothing really.
......
Moving on from the past, however, I eventually gained trust and a new vocation in the next kingdom over, acting as the captain of the new royal guard for the beast empress, Alexandra the IV of the kingdom of Kalzerous, so I have no more time to dwell on a lost future of a king whose currently penned up in his castle like a frightened little barn pig.
| 2021-02-28T03:50:25
| 2021-02-28T03:33:58
| 539
| 61
|
[WP] Germany is actually predestined to lose every world war it participates in. The sixteenth world war is now being fought, and Germany has taken over all of Europe. Make them lose the war in the most ridiculous way possible.
|
_So, we've been informed that you were the janitor on shift when it happened. Care to share what you saw?_
Well, it all happened so fast. I mean, I've thought about it and I think I know what happened. I've put some pieces of conversation and orders together and have a general idea.
_Well, please continue_
They were celebrating, see? Something about destroying a brand new Ford class carrier...
_Yes, we saw that_
And so the officers and general were all celebrating in their situation room. To give you some idea of the level of Adolphus' paranoia, he has an open order that if he were to be betrayed, every high person that was near him is to be killed. He was mad.
_Mad you say? We could use that in anti-propaganda_
It doesn't matter now! See, while they were celebrating, someone got their hands on some really good wine. French wine. And then someone got hold of brandy, another had scotch, vodka, you name it. It was wild... or so it sounded like it. It wasn't even an hour before Adolphus passed out.
_An hour?!_
He doesn't hold his liquor very well. Shouldn't have mixed drinks that one...
_Well, continue please [snickering]_
So, his head of the SS produced a pistol off his holster and claimed to have stolen from an American soldier. And he fired it into the ceiling... and then...
_And then?_
Guards rushed into when they heard the gunshot, and saw Adolphus lying in the ground and saw the smoking gun, and well, they assumed the worst. And so they killed all generals and officers. All 128 of them.
_You're lying. That's hilarious! And Adolphus?_
Alcohol poisoning.
_Well, that was easy_
|
The year is 2564. I am the last man on earth. The world was slowly ending and we knew it. What remains of humankind is settled on Mars, minus the Germans. World War XVI had taken its toll, but what we had never expected was how the war ended. Out of nowhere, with no warnings, Mauna Loa erupted for the first time since 1984. The worlds' largest volcano, yet many had never heard of it. It released a measured 20,000 cubic kilometers of debris. The atmosphere was obliterated, and humanity was wiped out within a week. World War XVI was finished, but nobody had wished for it like this.
| 2017-08-18T02:27:56
| 2017-08-18T00:11:45
| 2,100
| 44
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[WP] Everytime you touch somebody you get a flash of your entire future with them.
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It didn't happen with everyone. I would shake a colleagues hand or maybe touch somebody and say excuse me, but you rarely ever saw something in those kinds of interactions. Usually all I ever saw was me shaking the colleagues hand the next day, or for years after. I might see nothing when I tap the women's shoulder in the grocery store because it will be the only time in my life I'll touch her again.
Before, I never really thought about how many people and places you only go once in your life. Or how many places you will never go again.
Graduating highschool was surreal, our parents always told us it would be. All the hugs, handshakes, and arms wrapped around each other for pictures that we think will outlast time. Yet, that was the day I saw more blanks, more dead ends than I had before. I grew up with those people and now I see nothing when we touch. I knew it was inevitable but I didn't know how hard it'd be to stomach the reality of it. I would never see them again.
Everybody uses the knowing for their own gain. Whether it's worth sticking around that person, our how to get brownie points at a job. This leads to being touched by almost every person you interact with nowadays.
Of course the most common use is for love. They always say you see the most when you meet your soulmate. That you'll see beautiful weddings and a white picket fence with your kids coming through the bronze latched gate after school.
Or you'll see each morning you wake up next to each other and watch as Father Time slowly catches up to you two.
I never liked the knowing. I thought it ruined all genuine connection between us. Call me old fashion, but I had always preferred spontaneous infatuation. Asking someone for their phone number or leaving mine on a napkin and then being consumed by the suspense of whether they would call. Or the nerves of a first date, how would it end? Trying to find bits and pieces of myself as I'm sure they do me.
Friends of mine used the knowing, meeting their soulmates early on and now I'm the outlier. Dating apps never worked and every first date the girls grab your arm in a subtle manner and hope they see the veil over their eyes or hear the footsteps of our children on the floor above as they banter playfully through the house we bought.
Yet, when you don't see this, why even continue the date? As much as we can see and know with this gift, and as often as people find love with it, it can't be forced.
Therefore all my dates, the older I got, led to bland conversation where it was apparent she didn't see what she wanted. You see, you must initiate the contact to see your timeline with them. That's why I'm a handshake, both parties see where it all leads, but with a blind date touching my arm, only she sees her time with me.
So this goes on for years, more and more people post about their found love and what they saw. They comment congratulations and follow up pictures.
Dating apps fail and blind dates become uninterested. The perpetual hopeless romanticism I've subjected myself into.
So everyday I take the train to work and do my best to avoid physical contact, especially with women I find attractive. As the years go by I study the patterns within my own. Who takes the same train at the same time I do? Who takes the same elevator to a different floor? I saw no point in touching these people because our patterns line up with our timelines, our futures are predictable and uneventful.
I was late today, as I couldn't find a tie to go with my shirt for work. How would that change my timeline?
I was rushing into the station, I swipe my card and hustle through the gates. My train is leaving and I catch a car farther back on it than I usually am. Saved by a light brown messenger bag flying through the closing doors. I jump in and gasp for air and attempt to calm my adrenaline induced nerves. As I look to my right to thank the bags owner, the train jerks to a start and my hand flys toward the slender yellow pole for those standing.
Home recordings of a young boy with almond brown hair taking his first steps on hardwood floors with white trim around the room. Silk curtains with white cloth furniture surround the frames of the footage.
I hear a small laugh, a modest giggle from the side of the video.
Then I'm in the train, still looking to my right.
I let go of the pole and her hand comes out from under it.
I'm looking at her, knowing what I saw. What I felt. What I knew.
She's got the same look of awe in her eyes, a wandering gander that found itself in me.
She fixes her hair, her almond brown hair, and laughs a little bit. Maybe even a giggle.
|
He must appear quite odd fully wrapped up in winter clothing on a relatively warm autumn day. Joe noticed the curious looks he received from the strangers on the walkway. He didn’t care.
“Let them look” he thought to himself while forming a fist with his hands. The gloves made some squeezing noises. Joe blushed – maybe did care a little after all.
“They don’t know, it’s a matter of protection” he told himself and ran through them carefully avoiding every contact possible. He felt like some sort of very agile dancer, dancing through the crowd in a club.
Finally after some time there were less people to worry about and he was able to take up more speed. He couldn’t miss that train. He had seen this train a few time in his visions before. “The train with no destination” Joe liked to call it – not that it had no destination, just the train scoreboard was broken and didn’t display anything.
“My visions always led me here” muttered Joe to himself. Joe’s visions have started occurring a few months ago. He didn’t talk to anybody about them. He didn’t understand them himself completely. It just started someday when he touched the cashier’s fingers while taking back his change. He suddenly saw Pictures of their future together. At first he thought he was dreaming. It seemed like some sort of nightmare. The pictures he saw were almost the same. The cashier handing out some change to him only his clothes, the amount charged for his breakfast and the date on the receipt varied. And then the Pictures stopped appearing and he was wearing his winter clothes on a seemingly mild day.
Since then Joe had tested his ability with other people. There were different Pictures but the Result was always the same. He saw himself in winter clothing rushing to the train with the broken scoreboard.
And now he was at the station the train in front of him. He recognized some people waiting for a train. “Test subjects” he had called them before.
He waved at a few of them. Most of them turned away as if they hadn’t seen him, some wove back and moved on. Joe didn’t waste any more of his precious time on thoughts about them, the train was about to leave.
He got in and was a bit disappointed. It was a normal train. Nothing special as he had assumed. But Joe was nobody to just give up. He removed the glove of his right hand and touched another passenger slightly on the back of his hand whilst moving forward. His ability kicked in instantly but there was only one picture – himself moving past the person.
Joe opened the eyes and moved past the person he had just touched and tried again with the next. The result stayed the same. What was happening? Why was his ability not working anymore? Joe’s heart began to beat faster. He started sprinting down the train wagon touching everybody but nothing changed.
Suddenly a strong pain struck him like he had never felt before and Joe fell on the ground grasping his chest. His vision started blurring and he heard the screaming of people.
“Is there a doctor here?” someone screamed.
“We need a doctor!” another Voice continued.
“I’m a doctor, let me through” heard Joe a woman saying. She came through the masses of spectators and started talking to him.
“Can you hear me” she wanted to know.
Joe closed his eyes and vaguely felt the touch of two soft fingers pressing against his neck.
No pictures appeared.
“He has no pulse…” the women said, then he lost consciousness.
| 2017-01-11T07:44:07
| 2017-01-11T07:44:04
| 38
| 15
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[WP] You're a human living with a vampire roommate. It's painfully obvious; he never looks at mirrors, he despises garlic, he never uses silverware, and he always stays in during the day, but his attempts at trying to blend in are far too funny.
EDIT: Thank you, silver gifter!
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I watched him as he cooked his steak. The only seasoning I saw that was laid out was black pepper. Curious, very curious. From the table, I couldn’t help but smile. Awkwardly, he did a double take to make sure it was my apparent delight that he saw.
“Y-yes?”
“That steak’s looking a little…bloody.” I couldn’t contain my excitement. Who knew that I would have a vampire for a roommate? Their existence was something you’d only see in movies, and the only people who really believed in them were either in a cult or one of those weirdos on Tumblr that haven’t moved on from high school. Oh, they'd be so envious to be in my position.
“Yeah…because I like my steak rare.” He’s really trying to hide it, but I know his secret. He can’t hide it from me. This is going to be fun.
“Only black pepper? You don’t want to make it more exciting with…salt? Or how about *garlic*?”
“Come on man, you know I have high blood pressure, and garlic makes your breath stink.” Ah, yes, garlic will make your breath smell. What I find odd was that we’ve never went out together ever since we moved in. Why would he be afraid of bad breath if he has no one to impress? He always stays inside. *Curious*.
“Okay, okay, fair enough. Well here’s some *silver*ware.” I grinned. He looked at the cutlery, then to me with disbelief written all over his face.
“…Wait, is that actually silver? Because I have a silver allergy, too… What is this, are you trying to kill me?” Oh, it was so obvious. He looked in the drawer, paused, then closed it without taking anything out. He sat down, and enjoyed every morsel of that cutlet with all its bloodiness. He didn’t even bother cutting it. He just picked it up with his hands and bit at it. That *beast*! I have one more trick up my sleeve, but I’ll let him finish his...*victim*, before I try anything.
“Blah!” I said to him as he walked towards his room.
“Excuse me?” said my roommate.
“I vant to sock your blahd!”
“What is this?”
“You have a bit of rice on your cheek, here, look at this *mirror* and see for yourself!”
“No, thank you.” He avoided looking at it, just as I suspected. I have him now. He averted his eyes almost immediately.
“No, really man, look!” I held it closer to his face.
“NO.” He’s getting worried now, I know it. He brushed it aside. He knows that I know. Oh, this is too good.
“Dude, please, just look at this mirror.”
“Where did you even get that?” He grimaced.
“Does it matter? Okay, I know you’re a vampire, man! I was just having fun, but I want you to know that it’s okay! I think it’s actually cool to have a vampire as a roommate!” His secret’s out. Gosh, this was so much fun, seeing him squirm as I pointed out his secrets.
“Is *that* what this is about?”
“Dude, I totally accept you. You don’t have to hide it! That’s why you don’t eat salt, and especially garlic. That's why you won't touch silver. That’s why we’ve never gone out, especially during the daytime, and that’s why you won’t look in the mirror!”
“Have you ever thought that maybe I just don’t like seeing the person that I see in the mirror? Maybe I don’t go out because I’m not a social person, and I have social anxiety. Maybe I don’t eat or touch that stuff because I will either *die* or I just don’t want to! Did you ever consider getting to know me before you started poking fun at me for my allergies and insecurities?”
“Dude, I–”
“No, clearly you just want to harass me, but I won’t have it.” He stormed into his room and shut the door behind him. I really thought I had it. I was having so much fun putting two-and-two together that I completely forgot he’s a person, too. I stood there, dejected.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
“Finally.” He slumped down in his chair at his desk. “What the hell even was that?” From his mini fridge, he pulled out a bag that read “Whole Blood B.”
“I need to be more careful.” He poked his fangs into the bag and enjoyed its contents with much delight.
|
I leaned against the bar, the two girls leaning close to hear me. "See that guy? Yeah, the one over there in the red t-shirt." The girls nodded and murmured their ascent. The music boomed around us and other bodies pressed against us ordering drinks from overwhelmed bar tenders.
"You both see that he isn't carrying anything besides a beer, right? Nothing to conceal himself." The girls nodded again. "Okay, I bet you a drink each that neither of you can manage to get a single photo of his face. Take as many photos as you can in 10 minutes."
"Oh my God, that's like the easiest bet ever. What's the catch?"
"No catch." I said. "He doesn't even know about this bet we're making." I check the time in my watch. "Okay, it's 11:26. You have 10 minutes...go!"
Both girls grin, throw back the end of their current drinks, pull out their phones, and run to the dance floor. I make my way to a nearby table and wait, chucking to myself.
Within two minutes, both girls were at the table, shit-eating grins covering their faces. "You owe us drinks!" Says one of the girls as she slides into the booth next to me. "I'll take a vodka sunrise, if you don't mind."
"I do? Really? Let me see your pictures then." The girls all pull up their galleries. Their smug looks all vanish, their mouths drop open in mild astonishment. They start scrolling through their galleries, searching the photos they snapped.
"What the hell?!" One of the girl says. "What the actual fuck?!" She flips her phone around for me to see, and I begin laughing. They trade their phones, scrolling through each other's images. "You've got to be kidding me. Is this like.. a prank or something?!"
"No prank." I say, laughing. His name is Lamar, he's my roommate. And he HATES having his photo taken. In the two years we've lived together, no one has ever managed to get a picture of his face."
Two free drinks later, Lamar and I catch a cab home. "You did the photo bet again didn't you?" He asks. "Who, me?! Never! I would never use your....abilities... to get free drinks out of cute girls!" I put my hand over my heart and pretend to look astonished that he would ever accuse me of such a thing. He shakes his head, but smiles. My phone buzzes a moment later and I pull it up to see a text with an image attached. I show Lamar the picture. "Okay, maybe I did use your abilities to get free drinks. And also a girl's number.!" Lamar laughs and rolls his eyes.
.
Now, don't get me wrong. Larmar was IN almost every photo. Just never his face. Rather, like magic, in every photo where his face would have been visible he held up a cardboard cutout of his face. Like those you see people holding at sporting events. The thing was huge, but Lamar never appeared to be carrying it around. It justed poofed into existence in his hand anytime a camera snapped, and then poofed back out of existence a moment later. No one ever saw the cutout in person. It only showed up in the actual pictures.
| 2019-07-20T11:51:01
| 2019-07-20T09:58:26
| 29
| 19
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[WP] On your 110th birthday surrounded by loved ones you fell asleep for what you knew was the last time. You woke the next day. On your 120th birthday you felt like you did on you 100th. On your 130th, you feel 90 years old. The local press is starting to notice.
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"The miracle man", the tabloids all started calling me. A ridiculous name if you asked me, and believe me, they asked plenty. At this point I was sure all the sites and cameras planned to continue with pestering me until I died, and since nobody knew when that would be this fresh new hell could keep up forever.
They knocked in the morning, in the evening, at night, all clamoring for a story. None of em' really even had much to ask when I did entertain it. Looked like deer in the headlights at facing the oldest man the world had ever seen. And worst of all I couldn't tell if my crabbiness at it was justified or just because I was geriatric and full of aches. "Give it time" I spoke aloud, only for my cat and an empty room to hear. "You'll be back to your old, or rather, young self."
*Meew* she replied. Old Tabby always knew what to say.
As the door knocked for what must have been the third time today I hopped on my electric seat and prepared for my ride downstairs. With the press of a button it whirred to life and I was off to incredible half a mile an hour speeds. Knocking again, this time louder. I put my electric seat into turbo gear, preparing my curse filled rant for the poor bastard who knocked on Albert Worthwits door. I hoped it was that smug, plastic haired, "Chet Masterson" from Channel 5. Last time I mistakenly gave him the time of day he kicked Old Tabby.
Upon reaching the door my mind drew blank for a moment before being kicked back into gear by yet another bang. My brain was still foggy I guess, not as foggy as when I was 110, but close.
Peeking out the hole in the door I saw what I assumed I would. Another set of cameras, another crew, another impatient newscaster feeling more than entitled to my existence. This time a tall woman in a grey suit. Fifty years younger and maybe I'd have a shot, too bad in fifty I'd be forty and she'd have a foot in the grave.
I opened the door quickly, to the surprise of literally everyone outside. The camera man quickly fumbled up to a series of knobs to catch me in focus. Since the first story ran of the, "Oldest man in the world looking younger by the day", I tried my best to avoid these things.
"Heya. What do ya want then?" I spoke with the confidence of a 130 year old in a 90 year olds body, which I was.
"I uh. Kathy Harveston here with the oldest man the world has ever seen. The "Miracle Man" as he's been dubbed. Tell us...sir, how do you feel?" she kept a cheesy smile plastered across her face throughout her speech.
By now a small crowd had gathered round to gawk at both the news casters in the yard and me, I guessed. "I feel like ya only called me sir because ya forgot my name. But thats ok."
"One-hundred thirty four and full of jokes, what a lively spirit! Tell us, what's your secret." It wasn't the first time I'd been asked, but it was the first that I'd considered answering. It was all anyone truly wanted to know of me. How I had lived, died, then lived again, only younger now. Why the clock ticked in reverse for Albert Worthwits. What I saw in the black. So, I told them.
"Ah, well. I made a deal with someome- something. And here I am." as I thought of its shape I could feel its strings tug at the back of my neck. Kathy chuckled nervously.
"A..a deal? Like you have a deal with God? Well thats wonde-"
"A deal with a god. Not the God. I told him I wanted to go back. Didn't think he'd take it so literal ya know?" I could see the crowd grow awkward. Senile, I assumed they thought of me, but my old mind was sharper than any of theirs. I could feel something growing in the pit of my stomach.
"What do you mean?"
The black, goopy vomit came up from my mouth to shocked yells from the crowd; then stained the concrete below in inky darkness. "Ick, ugh. Never get used to that, sorry. Anyways I just hope you all get the choice I did when you kick the bucket. Hey, choose wisely!" and with a wink my interview was over. Hopefully after that display they all would be. If not I'd take fear as a deterrent instead.
Upon re-entering my home a twisted face stared to me from a corner, a friend now, older than time. An Eldritch horror that knew all. Thane, he told me to call him. With a voice like pure slime he spoke in odd sounds that eventually became English. "How'd it go out there?"
"Could've been worse, doesn't matter in the long run I guess."
*I will outlive them all anyways*
|
Anyone above twenty five will tell you, being a child is the greatest, no worries and no bodily issues. Everyone above 40 will tell you, being a young adult is great, smart and fit, but no dependencies and no set route in life. Many about 60 will tell you being in the middle of your life is beautiful, you get to watch your children grow up, and you still evade the fickle hand of Father Time for the most part. A select few will tell you that the 60s and 70s are great, you’re a new grandfather, and retired, but you begin to feel the cruel grip, and seeing the reaper in your back mirror. Maybe a handful will tell you 80s and up will be good. You’re family begins to pan out, truly your only desire in life is to tend to yourself.
Nobody says your life will be good after a century,
But even a century is worth an arm and a leg when you live a decade after that. You’re body is in agony at all times, you practically wait for mighty grim’s cold embrace, always wishing you could go back ten more years. So when i fell asleep on my 2nd death bed, flanked by my great-granddaughter and my grandson, my daughter and son on my other side, I hope for the thing I had evaded so long. But to my dismay, chagrin, and delight, I woke up at a century old, then 90, 80, 70, my family tree has separated itself off from me, my children passed on, lucky bastards, and my great grandchildren are becoming elderly. It was my sixties when I was seized by the government, keen on discovering my secrets, but I had nothing to give them barring a stone-cold flip of the bird. 50s and 40s ticked by before I was let back out into the world, even my great grandchildren separated enough from their memories of me that they can’t remember who I am, I felt the tragic sting of my life passing my by on the other direction, but finally I pushed past that, and decided it wouldn’t be right to see this time I was given put to waste, I spent 20 years trying everything I didn’t before, my wisdom pushing me along, helping medical industries jump ahead, and trying things I wouldn’t ever try normally, i now begin to age back into childhood, confident my life will finally end, I think of all the questions I want to ask to god on the other side, why i was granted this cruel but joyous gift. My family has no recollection of who I am, I lived past myself, and I think that’s quite a thing to be proud of.
| 2022-07-16T23:37:20
| 2022-07-16T23:08:08
| 388
| 178
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[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck"
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I knew it was one of those chain messages my friends like to spam me. I’m not a huge gamer in the shooty shoot kinda games, so the most I would have to worry about is endless bottomless pits or cartoon violence.
I type yes and feel a vibration. I drop my phone, but I’m the one shaking. Then a black screen comes up. Somehow I’m not unconscious, but more a loading screen. Then a text box appears.
“In order to return to the real world, you must win the game. Your prize will be everything you gain in this world. Good luck.”
There is no signature, and everything has become pixelated. It’s been a while, which game was the last one I played?
I’m at a computer, feeling really discouraged about this desk job. I open the drawer and find a letter from my grandpa. He left me his old farm.
Wait a second. This is Stardew Valley. I wanted to start a new game, but I got distracted and cut off in the middle of the cut scene. I had spent hours on the wiki learning the best crops to plant and what gifts to give each person in town.
There was only one problem. This game had no end. It could go on, ad infinitum.
Fortunately, it also was one of my favorite games. I liked it more than my own life, sometimes. So really, how hard could it be?
***
It’s been 6 in game years. I’m still missing a few minerals for the museum, but the rest of town has been completed. The community center is restored, the movie theater up and running. I’ve been happily married and divorced twice and turned my children into birds.
My farm is fully installed with sprinklers and a golden clock prevents any debris from appearing on my farm. My stats have been maxed out for a while now, I’ve gotten most achievements (and bought the hats to prove it), and generally have been enjoying the spoils of late game. Each morning I pet my cat before trying to find the next challenge.
The one thing that I haven’t gotten yet is the return scepter. I pretty much have every other item one can buy. This particular item can send the player home by raising it to the sky.
I think, deep down, I knew what it meant. Leaving this world I had put so much of my heart and soul into. Leaving the NPCs who I knew had preprogrammed dialogue but which I still cycled through each time I saw them.
So when I bought the return scepter, I had an idea of what it would do. I tested it out, raising it to the sky. Then everything went black like it did so long ago.
I have to rub my eyes because it still looks like my farm house. But, in the real world. I see the shadows and depths of objects that were lost in the 2D space. I race outside and find my chests lined up in rows. I open them haphazardly, finding piles of diamonds, rotting fish, and everything in between.
I was home, but maybe in a better version than how I left it. My in game cat rubbed against my legs and I felt myself tearing up with joy when I heard her soft mewing when I pet her. I didn’t know how much time had passed in the real world. I knew it would take a while to readjust (like remembering to eat, which isn’t necessary most days in game). But I knew my experiences in game would shape my real world experiences for the rest of my life.
[r/bluestarsshatter](https://www.reddit.com/r/bluestarsshatter/)
Edit: I’ve never been given silver before, thank you kind stranger! I’m glad people enjoyed my little story.
|
*Beagle's journal - Day 1*
I couldn't believe it at first—I refused to—but as the day wore on, as the sun warmed by body and the pain of hunger quickly became real, I had to accept my new reality.
This world. This beautiful, vast, dangerous world. I've visited it enough to know it well from a bird's eye view, but never long enough to say I'd conquered it—never had my colony actually survived.
The road is long, it will take years by in-game time to achieve the final goal, and one thought has followed me like death since I arrived here: who's deciding the events and what difficulty are they set to?
____
*Beagle's journal - Day 5*
As with the standard starting scenario, I've spawned with two fellow colony members. Bear is a massive fellow who seems comfortable with a rifle in hand, and he successfully defended our camp from two manic rats that seemed hell bent on devouring us all; though, it's become apparent that he has an unhealthy obsession with setting things on fire. I'll need to keep my eye on him.
My second companion goes by Greenly, and her skills with plants, preparing food, and training animals will be essential to our survival. I find her quite attractive, and I'm not sure how that makes me feel. Are these people real? Or are they simply pawns in this game I've been sucked into?
I've managed to build us a shelter using the wood Greenly provided by felling trees, and Bear assisted by digging into the mountain side. With a natural wall of granite at our backs, I feel that we will be safe from any threat.
Though it's still summer, the air is cooling fast, and in a few short months I believe these woods will be thick with snow. Our primary goal is to harvest enough rice to last the winter, and we'll need electricity to properly store it and, more crucially, to stay warm. Funny enough, when Bear isn't chewing up granite or shooting rabid animals, he's hunched over the crude research table figuring out how to propel us forward technologically—I just hope he doesn't set his notes on fire.
Everyone is getting testy with one another, but I'm nearly finished building a dining table and three chairs. I think having a proper place to eat will drastically improve our moods.
We had a cat, Morpheus. He was eaten by a wolf.
____
*Beagle's journal - Day 27*
An attack on our fort has left Bear a bit bloodied, but he'll survive. It turns out Greenly is well versed in medicine, which makes her all the more attractive to me. She mentioned the possibility of amputating Bear's injured leg and replacing it with a more efficient prosthetic, but noted that she lacks the skill and tools. The thought made me uneasy, I hope she doesn't bring it up again.
The attacker was a wild, nude women, and she managed to bite a decent bit out of Bear's calf. She used the boulders and trees as cover until she was within biting range, so I've begun clearing the area in front of our defensive point of debris. Bear gave her a couple of hits to the head with the butt of his rifle, knocking her unconscious, and I built a makeshift prison near our stockpile. I don't think she's worth the extra resources, but Greenly insists that if we nurse her back to health, she might have something to offer us as a colony. I trust her judgement.
Winter is nearly here, and we've managed a decent stockpile of rice. I've built electrical lines through the main lodge, but I'll have to wait until Bear is back up on his feet to continue; none of us can dig the steel from the mountain like he can. Once he's back at it, I'll have a few heaters going to keep warm.
_____
*Beagle's journal - Day 34*
Snow. It's falling silent and beautiful tonight, and with it comes the constant threat of death. The temperature has fallen dramatically, but we've prepared well.
With my heaters placed strategically throughout the fort, we're more than comfortable so long as we're not working out in the machine shop—I still don't have the steel to run lines out that far.
Our prisoner, Meica, has turned ally, and she's proven immediately useful. She has a knack for crafting clothing, using most of the hide we gathered early on from wild animals to fit us all with cozy parkas and beanies. I was right to trust Greenly, our strength grows with our numbers.
She and I have taken to playing chess for an hour before bed each night, and it's come to be my favorite part of the day. I built us two wolf-hide chairs to rest in as we play, and she joked that bits of Morpheus must be mixed into the cushions. She's got a dark sense of humor—I like that.
No chess tonight, though. We watched Bear and Meica build a snowman outside, nestled close together by a fire, comfy in our winter attire.
The granite wall I've been constructing around the compound is finished—double the thickness of our lodge's walls—and I feel safe inside with my friends.
It's nights like these that get me thinking... Maybe I don't need to win? Maybe I could stay here forever...
___
/r/BeagleTales
| 2020-02-16T20:10:45
| 2020-02-16T17:51:33
| 1,652
| 59
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[WP] God created thousands of worlds in thousands of galaxies. A major crisis in another galaxy has taken his entire focus, and for the first time in 750 years, he just glanced in our direction.
This prompt has two possibilities. What has he been dealing with for the last 750 years elsewhere, or what his reaction is when he looks back at us.
Edit: didn't realize I missed the 1. It was supposed to be 1750 years ago, so basically everything since 250 A.D. Was done without him paying any attention.
Edit 2: but if anyone has anything over the last 750 years, I'd be happy to read it.
Edit 3: I love what you are all doing. Having a hard time finding the time to read all of the posts, but I'll get there eventually. Thanks for all of the responses!
Edit 3.1: it's really interesting to see everyone's response and see how it reflects what I imagine is their view of how we are doing as a global society. Keep them coming.
Edit 4: I never imagined this would blow up like this. Thank you so much for all of your responses. This has been amazing to read. I understand what people mean when they say RIP INBOX.
|
It wasn't all perfect, it had taken a few tries. Free will can be a double edged sword sometimes.
But by and large the last few billion years have gone by without a hitch. Watching his children learn to harness the power of the universe, explore, meet and share was one of his greatest pleasures.
In the end it boiled down to simplicity- The same small number of rules codified in each civilization did the trick. Whether you lived in a gas giant or in the vacuum of space, 10 basic rules are really all you needed.
Unfortunately a couple millennium ago a small planet forgot the basic rules. It started with the idea of holding material goods and wealth as a higher God than him. "That's kinda why I put that in there! I don't care which version of me you worship, that's fine. Just understand stupid stuff like minerals and worldly goods doesn't come before respecting my universe".
It truly hurt his heart to deal with the crisis. It started off with a single taking of life of a fellow sentient over some chunk of gold. Gold- he could literally make more for them- or they can go get more, the universe is full of it! Then another taking of life a few hundred years later. By the time nearly 2000 years had passed the species had managed to kill literally dozens of their own race.
He didn't understand it- Thou Shall Not Kill. How much simpler could it get?
The images haunted him- dozens of bodies, dozens of families left crushed. How could he let this happen? What the hell was wrong with them that they thought this was ok? Why would they feel it's acceptable to literally have a murder or two every century, almost like clockwork?
He was wary with that senseless loss of his beloved children. He closed his eyes and played back each of their lives, and the dozens of children they left behind or were going to leave behind. The gaps in the tapestry of his plan were small (it was only a few dozen threads), but he could feel it, he could see it, and it pained him so deeply.
With a sigh he finally turned his attention back to another part of his creation.
"Ahh, Eden!", he thought. "This should cheer me up. Beautiful and clever little children I made there. Let's see how they are doing over there in the Milky Way."
|
He turned the sphere on its slightly tilted axis, examining more closely the drier, barren regions. Once, they had been lush and full of life - full of strife, to be sure, but this was an inherent cost of free will. What struck Him the most was the great disparity clearly apparent in resources, wealth, and status which disabled generation upon generation from accessing opportunities to achieve.
He had thought that they were growing out of this trend - this lord and vassal relationship they had clung to in such stalwart fashion. His brow furrowed, and a frown slowly spread across his face.
His creatures had made great progress - quicker than expected - technologically. Shocking that they hadn't bombed themselves to death as many other great civilizations had.
The Old Man adjusted his spectacles. What to do? He could remove their ability to produce power - and thus throw the planet into true chaos; He had tried this once before, but after a few years the inhabitants simply turned on each other using more primitive methods. The same destruction and disparity, albeit on a less grand scale.
A good Crisis was a good method to push His creatures into better things. A large asteroid, for instance - or a great natural disaster. These tactics, however, had the unfortunate possibility of tipping a race into annihilation and extinction. Worse yet, civilizations had survived events like these and become even worse - irradiated, starving, brutal, and displayed a blatant refusal to change - following a narrative of war until they ground themselves into dust.
He smiled. Maybe, just maybe, this lot is different. They may find in themselves a collective care for one another - a great warming of their hearts. They may craft elegant instruments of peace, venturing out on them into the deep reaches, spreading civility and nobility - abandoning banal ideas like currency and capitalism. Progress. Accomplishment. Betterment. A fine few had followed these things into the dark and found themselves to be Great Ones at the end of it all.
He sat back in his chair. And He watched. Let them live, and make their choices; Freedom allowed them the possibility to be truly Good.
( apologies for typos or other errors - sitting shotgun on a 5 HR road trip )
| 2015-12-27T09:32:22
| 2015-12-27T09:13:39
| 1,795
| 196
|
[WP]Your username is the central theme of the writing prompt
|
I'm Ants in My Eyes Johnson here at Ants in My Eyes Johnson's Electronics! I mean, there's so many ants in my eyes! And there's so many TVs! Microwaves! Radios, I think! I can't, I'm not 100 percent sure what we have here in stock, because I can't see anything! Our prices, I hope, aren't too low! Check out this refrigerator! Only $200! What about this microwave? Only $100, that's fair! I'm Ants in My Eyes Johnson! Everything's black! I can't see a thing! And also, I can't feel anything either, did I mention that? But that's not as catchy, as having ants in your eyes, so... that always goes... y'know, off by the wayside! I can't feel, it's a very rare disease, all my se— all my nerves, they don't allow for the sensation of touch! So I never know what's going on! Am I standing, sitting? I don't know!
|
*The Mad Hatter On Tea*
She’d thought it was ecstasy. Cocaine even. She’d never seen anybody get high on tea before. She watched in a mix of fascination and repulsion as he used a fancy razor blade to cut the tea-leaves into small inhalable pieces. He arranged them into three neat little lines and before you could say “What the fu-”, the leaves had disappeared up his nose.
His pupils dilated, his nostrils flared and his mouth stretched out into a grin – the size of which had only been documented in Cheshire cats. Her eyes grew wide with every sudden movement he made. In the blink of an eye he’d go from dancing atop the long wooden table to writhing about madly on the carpeting of moss that lay lazily on the forest floor.
“Ta-da!” He sang gaily, leaping to his feet and ending his mad routine with a deep bow.
“Thank you! Thank you!” He exaggeratedly wiped a tear from his eye and blew his nose loudly into his monogrammed handkerchief. He blew kisses to his imaginary crowd before plonking himself down at the head of the table.
“Mahogany.” He began. He ran his hands along the table fondly.
“Real mahogany. Hand-carved. By my father and his before him.” He sighed contentedly before pulling out a chainsaw from God knows where.
“Good-bye.” He said solemnly before laughing maniacally and pulverising the beautiful table. She leapt to her feet as he tore past her madly – ensuring the destruction of the entire table and the mismatching chairs which were sat around it.
“STOP! What are you doing? That table was carved by your father! And his before him!” She screamed over the deafening roar of the chainsaw. He turned to her and paused momentarily, at a loss for words.
“It was. I never said I liked it though.” He guffawed at his clever response and pulled out a pocket watch from his waistcoat.
“TEA TIME!” He declared as he fetched his little box of tea leaves.
| 2016-09-25T06:43:26
| 2016-09-25T06:02:03
| 61
| 12
|
[WP]Humanity has just discovered the Galactic Federation, a conglomeration of diverse sapient species. As is standard, the Federation sends a delegation of the most similar species to negotiate mankind’s induction into the galactic community. Their choice is… not what we expected.
|
So there we were. Delegates from every country on Earth: the very best and brightest we had to offer. Nobel laureates, presidents, athletes, celebrities. The kind of people you knew by name or thought you did. We were all there to witness history in the making: to be the first to make face to face contact with a real life extraterrestrial species. The Mu’Rays they were called. The Galactic Federation sent them to welcome us into cosmological diplomacy, thinking we were likely to find them more comfortable in appearance. Today would be the first time anyone had seen a Mu’Ray, much less spoken to one. I was one of the lucky few chosen to represent the average person. A gas station manager by trade. And I must say, this was, is and will be, without a doubt, the most exciting day of my life.
I didn’t do much. Just stood there in the hall, admiring the intricacies of the arches above me in my Walmart-bought suit, sipping a wine that I didn’t like. Supposedly it was one of the most expensive wines in existence, so I figured I might as well have at it. Just kept to myself like that. I wasn’t smart enough to understand a tenth of what the important folks were talking about. All of the average people were taking selfies and chatting amongst themselves. From what I caught word of, all of them were pretty damn interesting or exceptional in their one way. Much more so than a gas station manager from rural Washington. Most exciting thing that ever happened in my small town was someone painting a donkey orange. Only thing anyone talked about for the better part of a decade. Only thing there was to talk about. But here, in this company, that didn’t seem like quite enough to hold a conversation.
All of a sudden, the hall erupted in applause. Someone made an announcement in French it sounded like. Or maybe Japanese? Both sounded the same to me. Hundreds of people in fancy dresses, suits and what I assume to be funny costumes of some sort made way for our guests. I was expecting to see little green men to walk into the room any second. Wasn’t quite sure why. Little green men always seemed improbable to me. Just… humans, but green? Sounded downright lazy to me. I wasn't one to criticize as I didn't have much of an imagination myself and then again, I wasn’t educated enough to question science either.
My heart pounded in my ears. I took another sip of the wine to calm my nerves, making a sour face as I swallowed. I kept drinking it to see if I’d grow to like it. With each sip, my vile reactions grew stronger. But I kept sipping. Just like momma used to. She was an alcoholic.
Of course, nothing could have prepared me for what I saw next. They dispersed through the crowd quickly. Like a mudslide in a downpour. Or at least, that’s the best approximation I could give. Haven’t seen too many quick things. Haven’t seen too many things in general. So, like a mudslide in a downpour, hundreds of fellas in silver jumpsuits came up to everyone with hands outstretched and big smiles on their faces. And I’ll be damned, every single one of them looked like Bill Murray. There were old Bill Murray’s, young Bill Murrays, short, tall, fat, strong. You name it. There were as many different Bill Murray’s as there were stars in the sky. Even woman Bill Murrays. Which made me feel all sorts of things I wasn’t quite sure how to process.
Another half hour or so passed as I observed the goings on of this here momentous occasion. Then, around the mark half past eight, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around to find myself face to face with a Bill Murray in the flesh. A short guy, shorter than me and I wasn’t tall. Looked to be around my age too.
“What’re you doing out here all by yourself?” the Bill Murray spoke with a strange accent that I couldn’t quite place. It might’ve been French. He looked disheveled. And for a moment, I didn’t feel so out of place.
“Don’t mind me,” I said. “This just isn’t my scene.”
“Don’t be like that, cousin! This is a once in a lifetime opportunity to meet the most powerful and influential people of both our worlds!”
Did I hear that right? Cousin, he said. Perhaps that meant something different to the Mu’Rays. Certainly made me rethink some of those thoughts I was having about the woman Bill Murrays. Needless to say I was used to everyone I saw calling me cousin. Just wasn’t expecting to hear it out of the mouth of an alien.
“Cousin? You said?” I spoke with a pronounced arch of the brow.
“Yeah, cousins! We’re like long lost twins, Humans and Mu’Rayans, united at last.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Well, you see, it has been known to Mu’Rayan scholars that we came from a long lost world. Only within the last few decades has that world been found! Many thousands of generations ago, our ancestor, the first Mu’Rayan, Billith Mooray, was taken from the origin world as a slave, due to his opposable thumbs. He was then cloned profusely to create a substantial workforce. But the Mu’Rayans revolted, establishing their own independent nation and eventually joining the galactic federation.”
“I see.” I most certainly did not.
“We’re cousins!” the Mu'Rayan said, giving me a warm hug.
“Also,” I said, “the name Bill Murray wouldn’t mean anything to you, would it?”
“Well of course it does, he’s a national hero! The legendary explorer who went undercover in the origin world to document the native culture and create a positive impression of our race upon yours. There is not a Mu’Rayan who doesn’t admire him.”
“Suppose I could say the same about humans.” The humans that I knew. Which, admittedly, wasn’t many. “What do I call you?”
“Fill G’Arry, at your service,” the Mu’Rayan said with a bow. “Seventh in line for the the dukeship of Mu’Rica and eight hundred sixtieth in line to the humble throne of Bottomhollow.”
“Not a terribly important person then, are you?”
“Not at all. The only reason I am here today is because six of my relatives got sick on a cruise and the ticket was paid for in advance.”
I cracked a smile for the first time that night. “You’re in good company. I’m not a terribly important person either. I run the only gas station for fifty miles south of Spokane. You can call me Jake Jenkins.”
We spent the rest of the night chatting about this and that, me and Fill there. While I can’t say that we had much in common, the universe felt a little less lonely. That was until bombs began to go off and a chandelier the size of my house landed two inches in front of me. Then it went back to feeling cruel and uncaring again.
|
Adam blinked. “Huh,” was all he said, but it was all that was going through Steve’s mind as well. Out of anything that they had expected, anything that they had been briefed on or prepared for, the experts didn’t really cover this possibility.
Earth’s first encounter with the Galactic Federation had been a first contact during an exploratory mission to a relatively close, potentially habitable planet. The mission was getting to become routine for mankind lately, having done dozens of other investigations of nearby habitable zones. Thus, it was a surprise when routine mandated change when one of the drones nearly impacted an unnoticed artificial satellite.
After a near-miss and avoiding disastrous repercussions (although it is unlikely that there would have been any consequences other than a quick replacement satellite provided by the Federation), first contact protocols were started on both ends. After being able to establish a basic understanding of the other, the local chapter of the Federation contacted the Galactic hub, who agreed to send representatives of the most similar species biologically to the human’s home planet.
Most scientists and optimistic xenobiologists assumed something similar to Earth’s creatures, to endure Earth’s atmosphere and biosphere they would have to be similar densities, water content, carbon structure, etc.. They briefed the chosen representatives (Adam and Steve) to combat potential pitfalls and expected barriers in communication/culture. They were prepped for all sorts of cultural differences, appearances, and biological needs that might be required.
And when what looked to be an average, completely ordinary human, walked off the Galactic Federation diplomatic envoy ship, they were moderately confused. Nobody really considered exactly how alike the species might be.
After much discussion over shared cultural dinners (pizza and beer), it turns out that between convergent evolution and the potential infinite number of habitable planets in the galaxy, let alone universe, there are bound to be some almost identical duplicates of species.
| 2021-07-06T15:53:37
| 2021-07-06T12:45:51
| 78
| 57
|
[WP] You are at the park with your kids, when you see the telltale signs of a lightning strike. You divert your kids from danger, but are hit by lightning. Soon after, you discover that your Dad Senses have increased 100 fold.
|
When he woke up, the first thing he saw were his children bending over him. He glanced up at the sky, the dark cloud hanging over them, and wondered what had happened.
"Oh my god, you got hit by lightening!" cried Michael, the oldest. He was clutching his phone to his ear. John, the youngest, was crying loudly and holding his brother's arm.
He heard the tinny sound of an operator picking up on the line. "911, what is your emergency?"
Michael began to cry as well. "My dad got hit by lightening!"
"Where are you?"
"Pleasant Valley park, by the swings. Hurry!"
He looked around as much as he could without picking up his head. Yep, the swing set.
"OK, we are dispatching an ambulance right now. In the mean time, check on your father. Is he breathing?"
Michael looked at me, his eyes darting to my chest. "Yes, he's breathing. He's awake."
"OK. Ask him how he is doing, if anything hurts."
Both of the boys looked at me. John let go of his brother and touched my shoulder. "Are you OK?"
I opened my mouth, dislodging my dry tongue from the roof of my mouth. "No, I'm not OK." John started to cry again. "I'm Dad."
|
I can't take it any more. It's been 3 days since the accident and I haven't been able to get out of bed.
Do you know how often a 5 year old boy and a 15 month old girl are in danger? No? Well I do and it's all. The. Damn. Time. Literally all the time. I can't come with in a mile of them without sensing it.
I miss my kids. They're my pride and joy and I can't get close to them without having a panic attack. My wife doesn't understand what's going on. Thank goodness she believes me. Otherwise she'd probably be looking for a lawyer. What else would she think if her husband moved out and got an apartment down the road?
I don't know how much more I can take this separation. There's a storm blowing in from the north and a security guard at the radio station owes me one. I wonder how hard it is to climb one of those towers.
| 2016-03-24T11:17:36
| 2016-03-24T08:53:37
| 466
| 20
|
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
I always thought I would die from being stabbed in the back by a dirty, dull knife. Some sort of poetic justice, if you will, at least regarding the stabbing. My knives were always sharp.
When they brought me to court, they told me that it was magic--out of the realms of a simpleton rogue like me. They waved a wand at me and told me that I couldn't lie, even if I wanted to. So when they asked why I did what I did, the answer was simple and truthful:
"Because it paid well."
Though a little half-hearted, it was with no less candour. Gold was necessary for survival, but it's a little strange how the most important thing in my life wasn't necessary. In demand, but not needed.
I was sentenced to death. I had no letters to send, no people to speak to. That suited me just fine. This was already more dignity than I was used to.
I thought the end of all that would be a noose. A vial of poison. The swing of an axe.
"Sybil Harper," the burly man in a black hood pointed to the woman in front of me, who stepped forward with impunity. "How would you like to die?"
"Of old age," she said.
The executioner brought out a wand, comically undersized in his large, meaty hands. But he was learned, magic-touched--and with an incantation and a bright streak of purple, I saw the half-elf's hair go from black to grey to white, her ears drooping, her height diminishing, and her confident poise hunchbacking.
With that, old Sybil Harper hobbled one, two steps, before collapsing onto the floor. When they turned her around, there was a toothless smile on her face.
"Ged Ruell," the headsman said now, and I gulped, my mind turned around in an instant. "How would you like to die?"
"Doing what I love," I said.
The wand came out, once more, and this time, a fiery red beam unleashed itself upon me. I struggled with its power, forcing my eyes entirely close, but eventually, calm washed upon me like familiar ocean waves lapping at my feet.
I opened my eyes, vision lit again, slightly obscured at the sides with black, and with the sight of my dead body on the floor. It was dragged away swiftly, without honour or respect.
I could not hear my own thoughts. Now, it felt like I was drowning, my thoughts swirling into a perpetual maelstrom, unable to keep my head above water, oppresive dark cloud and shrieking thunder blackening every sense.
"Elliot Cobbett," the words came out, not entirely of my own volition. I watched my hands point to another man in the line. "How would you like to die?"
"Quickly," he replied.
The hand dropped once more. Instead of a thin wand, the hand encircled a familiar, leather-wrapped handle. And in a stormburst, the clouds cleared, and one thought rang true.
"With pleasure," I said.
---
r/dexdrafts
|
The person before me took my idea. She had no idea that dying of old age meant they would accelerate time for her. Now that I saw that, I can't make the same mistake. There has to be a way out of here, a loophole.
You'll find one like you always do, I kept thinking that to myself. I wasn't a stranger to this business, but usually I wasn't involved with magic. The payment was good but too risky.
"Marcus Spades, how would you like to die?" The hooded man said. He held a weapon that changed into many weapons. The hood had golden details, his body was hidden by shadows. If anything he was good at this. I could feel the chills creeping up my body.
"I need a second."
"You have one minute." His weapon changes to a whip. I'm not sure how but I feel he enjoyed those who took their time and never decided.
Time! That's it, their laws are bound by time and space here. If I can get them to try to execute me in some other place far from this world maybe I have a chance. I start laughing, I might have finally lost it. "I wish to die in a time space rift between worlds."
The executioners weapon changes into a cellphone. "I need help. Yes, it's another crazy guy. Yeah, he wants the slowest most painful death in existence. Thanks, I'll wait for you to start the ritual."
I fall into my knees. That gamble sounds like the worst one I've taken. Although that one that included stealing from the governments and 'donating' it was close second, by the time they figured out I cheated on that table it was too late.
Four hooded men or women appear. They point wands to the floor under me. A circle of light engulfs me. One moment I see them, the other I see everything and nothing at the same time.
I look around and I see more figures. More mes. The one closest to me waves, the but the others scream in agony and pain.
"Why are they screaming?"
"We are trapped between time and space. We have access to all information at the same time and our brains can't handle it."
This wasn't what I thought would happen. My pupils have widened. I have to escape. I can't let this happen to me! "How can we escape?"
"You would have to touch an opening. But they are always just barely far away to not be reached."
My fingers reached out but never quite made it to any of the images passing by. My body is sweating but it's not. I can't feel the droplets on my skin. Nor the tears from my eyes.
In the distance growls and screeches of despair. How many of me are here? When will this all end? I look towards the other side and a new me comes in. Repeating the scene that just happen over and over and over again.
| 2021-06-24T09:55:49
| 2021-06-24T07:17:41
| 803
| 181
|
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics.
|
The humans always ran.
They were hunting or hunted but never in between.
When they were hunting it was at the creatures that looked different.
The creatures who were food.
When they were hunted it was by the creatures that looked the same.
The creatures who were hungry.
Food is what we became.
The humans had to learn.
Those who ran the fastest won with hunting, had all the food they wanted.
But to the hunters humans all were slow.
None could run fast enough, none could escape.
Those who hid in the caves now would survive.
But the hiding humans all were weak.
Barely eating was the price they payed.
The humans had to change.
They were to slow, they were to weak.
They feared the danger no one could see coming, the danger no one felt.
That changed with time.
They realised hiding was not going to work.
When the humans got out of their caves, back to hunting again, they evolved.
Those who felt the creatures coming.
Those who ran away and hid in time.
They survived, and our gut was born.
Thank you for reading! Please realise i am not fluent in english and i am not used to writing stories over all. I hope you liked my very short story
|
Sand bit into the old man's skin as the wind whipped it at his hands, his arms, his face. He trudged on. The once cloudless sky was no more than an orange haze now. The old man thought back to that time before his joints ached and his eyes had grown cloudy, when he'd last seen the heavens extend above in a never ending expanse of blue. So many years before.
He stumbled as his feet sunk into the ever shifting dunes. Through his watering eyes he could still make out the silhouette on the horizon so he kept going, onwards through the storm and the wind and the vicious lashings of the sand it carried. Pebbles and grit poured into his shoes through the holes in the toe causing it to shift uncomfortably with each step, but by now he was used to it and his feet had calloused so he hardly felt it.
As the thick haze played tricks on his old eyes the silhouette seemed to shift in the distance, as if it were pacing back and forth, impatient.
/Stupid old man/ he thought to himself. Statues did not pace, no matter how long we kept them waiting. But it seemed that statues did not listen to the logic of old men, for when he shielded his gaze from the sun with a boney hand, the silhouette had gone. Impatient, it seemed, and tired of waiting.
Straightening up, the traveller scanned the vast wastelands before him and it wasn't long before he has spotted it again. He adjusted his course and began to make his way forward, pleased that the statue had decided to meet him half way. This statue, he reflected, was supposed to mirror ourselves. What we want, how we feel and what will become of us.
Perhaps it is telling me I am restless, he chuckled to himself.
The old mans joints burned and his lips cracked from dehydration but after traveling for so many years through this barren desert he had reached it at last. The old man had hoped to see the truth, a reflection of himself and who he was or could be. What he saw was a corpse. Shrivelled and alone as the sand danced over the stone skin, carved with such delicacy he was sure he could see the fragile bones beneath. As he reached out to trace hollow grey eyes he saw just how thin his own hands had become, so similar to those on the statue, slowly succumbing to the dunes at his feet. /All this time wasted/ he thought bitterly. How could he have been so stupid? To think a status would show him the way of life? That he could learn his true self from a piece of rock? He spat to clear the sand from his mouth. This was not a place to linger long.
As he began his trek back through the desolation, ruminating in his disappointment and frustration, he did not notice the statue leave. His fate sealed.
| 2020-09-15T15:22:48
| 2020-09-15T13:43:30
| 16
| 11
|
[WP] The very last Google search, ever.
|
'To google wher is mum and dad Love Jimmy'
'Google where are my mum and dad, They. havent come bake from Shhop'
'Mum Are yu there Im hungry'
'Gogloe'
'google map of Bris tol please'
'Google where is every 1'
'How to get pee za'
'Pizza'
'Muk Donalds'
'What is BAKED BEANS'
'Mum where are u and dad'
'How do i make BAKED BEANS from a can'
'Wher is Mum and dad'
'Spider Man'
|
I meant it as a joke!
Really!
When the GoogleChatBot went online, I couldn't help but think of how Kirk handled errant computers in his time.
"Googlebot, compute Pi."
I had no idea ...
... that it would take every single Google server to process that request.
Google died that day and Bing-Orac rose from the ashes.
"Bing, Compute Pi."
"There are other computers far better at that request. I suggest you ask them."
(Bonus points for those who know Orac)
| 2015-07-22T08:55:25
| 2015-07-22T08:31:35
| 16
| 11
|
[WP] In a new TV game show contestants must jump into a wormhole that drops them into a random point in time where they must survive for longer than the other contestants. You've just been dropped in the worst possible place.
|
This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and John was going to grab it. He had always been a quitter, and couldn't remember the last time he had provided any important task his full attention. His grades in school were average at best, and his wedding vows were generic only because he was distracted by talkshow reruns he didn't much care for. This time however was going to be different.
John's wife had left him, and in the aftermath he was unable to keep his job. The game show had showed up at just the right time, and John saw it as a much needed fresh start. He signed up straight away, and his newfound resolve was the reason his application was accepted.
The two months leading up to the jump John worked harder than he ever had. He worked harder than any other of the contestants. This was his whole life now. Much of the time a camera crew had been following along, but he soon forgot about them, and could barely remember being present in the interviews as he was constantly thinking about the journey ahead and what he needed to learn. If he ended up in the wilderness he knew how to live off the land, and if he ended up in a strange civilization he knew how to make himself useful without being burned as a witch or a devil. He had a solid grasp on history, and was as physically fit as he had ever been. He had packed light, but with what he had with him and the skills he had acquired lately he could survive anywhere, anytime.
John was not nervous. He was going to leave this world behind, and even though the whole world was watching, he would soon be on his own. The spotlights were warm enough to bring even the calmest contestants to a sweat, and John could barely see the audience. His hand was resting on the button; anxious to leave his current life behind as the countdown approached.
"Press the bu..."
John was the first one to leave. For a moment he felt like in a freefall. The studio was gone, but there was not yet anything to replace it. His head was light, and oxygen was irrelevant. The real world came back, first as a disorienting pressure on John's body, then the familiar feeling of having his feet firmly planted on the ground, and lastly the sound of a stampeding buffalo herd headed straight for him.
|
"This has got to be hell" I told myself after exiting the wormhole. There were ashes all over the streets, everything was dilapidated and the people looked as though they hadn't had a decent nights rest or a hot meal in years. In the distance all I could hear were the roaring flames of burning store fronts, police sirens, and gun fire. Couldn't ask anyone where or when it was, they would have thought I was crazy. Well actually, would they? The place seems fucked up enough. Then I spotted a store that wasn't entirely destroyed with a news stand inside, so I grabbed the first paper I saw
DETROIT DAILY
July 23, 1967
| 2016-07-24T13:19:16
| 2016-07-24T13:01:04
| 51
| 22
|
[WP] Unbeknownst to anyone, whenever someone on Earth creates a fictional world, that world suddenly appears in space somewhere.You are a young novelist working on the sequel to your best seller. You wake up one night to find the main character of that novel standing at the foot of your bed.
|
>**REFRACTED WORLDS**
Resting soundly, I was shocked awake by a brutal slap across the face.
"Ow! What the hell?!" I shouted into the darkness of my room.
"You're *twisted*, you know that?!" Came a somewhat familiar voice.
I turned on a light.
At the foot of my bed was a young man- he was of average height, broad shoulders, tan skin, long, black hair, and scars adorned his arms. I knew this face- because I'd been designing it for years.
"Silas." I breathed.
"Yes, Silas, you prick." Silas huffed. "I put in so much effort to come meet God and it's *you*? And what's with the way you keep interfering in my life?"
"Ah, yeah, sorry...well, sort of."
Silas glowered.
"Look- your world exists for a reason. *You* exist for a reason. There is a reason why you must rise up, face the challenges you face, and endure what you endure."
"What is the reason, then?" He asked.
"Do you remember when you lost Somnus? When your brother fled, and left you behind?"
"Of course." Silas was gritting his teeth. Bad memory.
"That feeling of being left behind- well, the other Creators, the other people like me- a lot of them have felt this way, and not always do they have someone to share their feelings with. You eventually meet Tijn, you eventually meet the Wild Pilgrim, and you find a home. A community. The pain you endured carries you into healing, and with every twist and turn, you grow stronger, and the people around you grow, too. A lot of Creators, like myself, are isolated. We are alone. But- when we make worlds like yours, you can serve as a...how do I say this-"
"We're a bandage."
"Sort of, yeah. Our world is harsh, and our powers are very limited. Creating other worlds doesn't usually impact the world we reside in. Our world is war-torn, riddled with plagues and selfishness and cruelty. We give you, our creations, the power to change their surroundings, the ability to overcome the odds...and doing so gives us comfort."
"You give us that which you cannot possess."
"Yes. There isn't very much I can control in my life. I may lose my job tomorrow, a friend to disease the next day, my mother, father, anything- and there isn't anything I can actually do about it. But you- you have healing magic, and strength, and a clever mind. You can give me, and my readers, a kind of...catharsis."
Silas grimaced. "You underestimate not only yourself, but your kin."
"I don't think you understand, Silas. Every system in our world is broken, and every broken system is so ingrained that we don't have a way to overturn it, like steel beams buried so deeply in the earth, they may as well be coming from the molten core of the planet itself."
"Yet, here you are, crafting the stories that bring happiness to many."
"A brief reprieve from a life of darkness. A small candle in a winter's storm. Nothing grand."
"You write of overcoming struggle, yet fail to see that you *are* struggling. You write of the way you wish things were, you share your perspective, your imagination could nourish your community."
"All the writing in the world won't make magic real."
"No? Then how is it I am standing before you?" Silas grinned- but not kindly, more like he was making fun of me.
"You are a foolish creator. Take the lesson that you would have me learn, and apply it to yourself. Struggle. A battlefield can become a garden, so long as you never stop trying."
-------------------------------------------------
r/nystorm_writes
|
\[Norilsk, Siberian Bunker - Former Russian Federation 2066.\]
"General Karov, What you are speaking of is madness!" the vaguely Russian advisor gasped while slowly reaching for his holstered revolver.
"You will betray me too Yuri? like so many have before?" Karov remarks while looking out through a blast proof window to see a seemingly endless field of damaged planes from a recent armed conflict.
Yuri draws his gun and aims it at Karov. "This is for Moscow, and all of mankind" The advisor opens fire as three rounds find their mark deep in the chest of the tyrannical despot. As the blood stained uniformed hit the ground with the metallic bang from self given military medals a faint laugh is heard from a dying Karov.
Karov: "To little........to...late"
Yuri walks over to the injured general and sees he's gripping a familiar object. "NO NO NO..." As he franticly tries to look away both Karov and Yuri are sent through time and space to seemingly random locations.
Well that's a good ending to chapter 9, Makena says to herself while closing the google doc on her computer. She gets up from her desk and approaches her Keurig coffee machine, while selecting the option of a medium hot mocha she gazes outside of her small studio apartment in Brooklyn.
Makena: "shit five years in college to become a writer and I'm still barely making it by. my mom was right, I should have just married that rich guy from high school." She turns her view away from her newest bank statement on the counter.
As she showers a thought catches her mind, perhaps she can ask the local newspaper if they need any freelance work done. After finishing up in the bathroom, changing into pajamas she returns to bed to find her window slightly open. A brief moment of confusion passes as she grabs a golf club and stealthily makes her way into her lit kitchen. Where she is met with a mysterious figure sitting at her desk with it's feet up while chugging back on a bottle of fancy white wine.
"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE!" Makena screams while pointing her golf club out in a forward position mimicking a rapier.
The unamused figure takes a swig of wine before revealing himself to be Yuri. "For someone that wrote a fictional character with a borderline alcoholic trait I'd assume you'd have a better taste in liquor. What is this anyway, Oaked Chardonnay? Yuri says while reading the side of the bottle.
Makena sets the end of the golf club down while still holding the handle tightly. "It was on sale and it's just for occ.....wait why am I defending myself.... WHO ARE YOU!"
Yuri sets the bottle down while pulling out his wallet with a Russian ID card. "I'm FSB triple agent Yuri Brez."
Makena drops the golf club as shock freezes her in place.
Makena: "you...you... your a fictional character,... how is this possible."
Yuri: "A fascinating story we unfortunately don't have time for, you read the NYT paper this morning?" He askes while sliding it across the kitchen counter.
Makena looks at the front page as a picture of a young Russian general is shown amassing soldiers on the Ukrainian border. her confusion is interrupted by Yuri "Russian government set to cede more judicial power to General Alexey Karov following his successful border skirmish against Ukrainian forces last week"
Makena: "that's just... weird, I don't understand.
Yuri: \*lighting up a ciguar\* " Remind me, Makena. In your novel, where I'm from...... what event leads to the destruction of my planet?"
Makena: "the.... the dead mans switch nuclear protocol"
Yuri: "correct, now what events lead to the use of the dead mans switch nuclear protocol?"
Makena: \*her eyes widen as she struggles to maintain composure while pouring herself a cup of wine\* "The event that led to the use of the nuclear protocol was.... the Second Russian Civil War"
Yuri: "correct...... now what event would lead to the social and global conditions that caused this civil war?" Yuri walks to an open kitchen window and tosses his cigar out after only a few puffs.
Makena: \*sitting in a chair at this point\* "The second Russian civil war is the final stage of the Third World War"
Yuri: "Once again you are correct, now wh..." yuri is interrupted by Makena
"The third world war is a result of a decade long escalation in the Russo-Europa War of 2024." Makena says while dropping the empty bottle on the floor.
Yuri: "And.... how does the Russo-Europa war start?"
Makena: "A rouge Russian general invades the Ukraine and upon ceding control over to the Moscow government he is elected by the state duma as chief General before eventually becoming a de facto totalitarian dictator using emergency war time powers"
Yuri: "and finally, what was the name of that de facto totalitarian dictator that is responsible for all these conflicts, escalations and wars?"
Makena: "Alexey Karov"
Yuri hands Makena a plane ticket to Moscow, upon seeing her confusion he relents "Pack your things, we're going to Russia."
| 2021-12-11T18:25:56
| 2021-12-11T17:41:14
| 287
| 61
|
[WP] The FBI released information on how many times each citizen has had their memories erased. Most people say zero. A few people say 1 or 2. Your name, however, says 26.
|
The lady on the news on the television sounded chipper. Excited. "Last year, widespread protests demanded the release about the use of a technology utilized by various government agencies. This technology had been alleged to be able to wipe parts of a persons memory. Eventually, the government acknowledged the demands of the protesters and confirmed the use of such technology"
The news broadcaster rustled with a few papers. The cartride loader across the room kept it's usual clicking and chunking rhythm going, making it easy to ignore. I kept cleaning and oiling the parts of an assault rifle while mindlessly looking at the TV.
"In an unprecedented way, courts additionally ruled that the affected agencies should offer a way for citizens to request the amount of mind wipes they have been subjected to. Additionally, we have received aggregated statistics about the usage of this technology, as far as the protection of every individual allows."
More paper rustling. I had pulled up my own number on my phone. 26. Sounded about right. The rifle in front of me clicked back into an opinion enforcing tool. The new dude piped up from somewhere in the room. "I'm at 15. You guys?"
The broadcaster picked up again. "If the data we have received can be trusted, only a small number of citizens have been subjected to mind wipes, as the average number of mind wipes per person is around 0.03. There is an increased number of one or two mind wipes and experts are assuming this is used to treat certain traumatic experiences. However, experts are investigating unusual number of mind wipes surpassing 15 or even 30 mind wipes of a person. Medical experts are even questioning if this could cause harm, as safe as the procedure has been ruled".
"26" I stated calmly.
"Gee, you're getting old, Sarge" junior piped back.
Suddenly, an orange light lit up on the wall and the phones lit up simultaneously. I picked it up and scrolled through the message. Then I got up.
"Alright folks. We got a rift in eastern California, some small village seems to be gone already. Sensors indicate entities type eight, so pick ammunition accordingly. Brace yourself, since type eight will cause the worst kinds of traumas to your head. You might even try to shoot yourself when they attack. Look out for each other. You just have to live through it for a day or so, until the protocol memory wipe comes along after debriefing. Let's bump those weird numbers and tell these rifters earth doesn't welcome them"
|
*26?*
I ran my finger down the page again to make sure I was looking at my own name.
*26.*
I stood up slowly blinking a few times. I looked around my office space. Most of my coworkers were already discussing the news of the FBI release.
"It says you were wiped once, Donna," one of my coworkers, Rick, said to another.
"Yes, I witnessed something horrible. I can't exactly remember what it was, but I just remember being anxious before the Wipe and feeling fine now," she said, smiling.
"That's amazing," Rick said, perusing the list again. His eyes went wide and his head slowly turned to make eye contact.
"Twenty Six!?" he exploded, enunciating every syllable.
I nodded slightly. I saw the number myself, but it was harrowing to hear someone else say it aloud.
"What did you do to get Wiped that many times Miguel!?" he boomed, stomping toward me in awe. Heads were turning toward me.
"I, uhh... I forgot?" I said, trying to shrug off the feeling of being the center of attention.
"HA! You hear this guy? He forgot!" Rick laughed, waving a hand to invite more people over.
"Oh, please don't--"
"So, what do you remember exactly?" he asked eagerly, a small crowd nodding just behind him.
"I don't--how am I supposed to know that?" I protested.
"But twenty six times!" Rick said, laughing as if I was in on the joke.
"Yeah, you don't have to keep saying the numb--"
"Can you believe this guy went twenty six times and didn't even know until it went public knowledge!?"
"Guys, please," I pulled out my phone and began walking away.
"Hey, where you going?" Rick said, disappointed.
"Bathroom," I lied, opening my phone to look something up.
I typed in 'how to' and had a recently searched phrase show up: 'how to call the FBI.' I frowned and clicked on it. I called the first number that showed up.
"Hello, this is Stacy, how may I help you?" a woman on the other end asked.
"Yes, hi, my name is Miguel, I am looking at the FBI Wipe list--"
"Miguel Rodriguez?" Stacy clarified.
"Err... yes, Rodriguez, I want to know why my--"
"Just a second," she said, putting me on hold.
"What, no!" I yelled at the music playing on the other end. I breathed out, frustrated, and waited for someone to pick up. The music built up to some high-pitched noise. I zoned out for a second when suddenly the phone sprang to life.
"Hello, this is Stacy, how may I help you?" a woman on the other end of the line asked.
"Yes, hi... Uh... Hi, Stacy, I..." I blinked a few times. "Sorry, I don't seem to remember why I called. Or who I'm calling," I said, chuckling at my absentmindedness.
"Oh, don't worry about it, I hope you have a nice day!" Stacy said spritely. She was such a nice woman. I hung up and looked around, trying to remember why I was standing in front of the office bathroom. Suddenly, someone began yelling from the other room. It was Rick, my coworker.
"Twenty seven times!?" he screamed, shocked.
_____________________
For more stories, come check out r/Nazer_the_Lazer!
| 2020-07-28T13:01:23
| 2020-07-28T12:36:38
| 603
| 353
|
[WP] Contrary to popular belief witch and wizard aren't actually gendered terms. Witchcraft and wizardry are distinct schools of magic that can be learned by anyone. You are a male witch/female wizard and are sick of explaining this.
|
"So, I guess you'll be wanting an explanation for what just happened. Here goes: I'm a witch." I said, as I took the Bluetooth speaker from from my petite co-worker, Erica, and stocked it on the high shelf. She was taking it remarkably well, so far, I thought.
"You're a...*male* witch?" Erica said, raising an eyebrow.
I sighed. "No. I'm not a 'male witch', I'm a witch, who is also a male."
She snorted, and raised her hands defensively. "Whoa, sorry. I thought you hated, what did you call it, 'hypersensitive PC bullshit'?"
"I do." I protested. "This is different. 'Witch' isn't some occupation name with a feminine connotation that I'm trying to change just so it includes me. It's not like I'm demanding we come up with a new word for 'nurse'. 'Witch' is an inherently gender-neutral word that was only recently associated with women exclusively."
"What about the Salem Witch Trials?" she said, as she handed me another speaker. "That's not 'recent'."
"There were no *actual* witches involved in the Salem Witch Trials -- that's just something fake-woke witches like to post on social media to connect themselves with a history of oppression for clout." I explained, shelving the speaker, then taking another from her. "In reality, the trials were just people throwing around accusations of witchcraft because they were envious of their more successful neighbors -- and possibly having some hallucinations induced by ergot-tainted grain. Besides, even then, *men* were accused of being witches in the Salem trials, too."
"Really? Huh, didn't know that." she said, nodding slowly. "So, what about wizards? Can there be *girl* wizards, then?" she asked.
I shrugged. "Of course. Witchcraft and wizardry are just different styles of magic. A wizard uses magic that is very codified, almost mathematical. Witches like me, on the other hand, we work more creatively and spontaneously. We improvise a lot."
"Cool." said Erica. She glanced down at our manager, Kyle, who currently sat on the floor atop his blue polo and khaki pants, chittering angrily. He'd asked me to work on Saturday again, and I'd reflexively turned him into a chipmunk -- which was why I'd owed Erica an explanation.
"So...are you gonna cast a spell to change him back, or..?" she prompted.
"Yeah, um," I said, wincing. "So, that's the the thing about *improvising..."*
"Derek!" she reproved, placing her hands on her hips.
"It was an accident! Besides, it'll wear off. Eventually."
"When?"
"Um...probably...the, uh, winter solstice." I muttered, awkwardly.
Erica sighed, then threw up her, hands and headed for the stock room. "Fine! I guess I'll go find a box to keep *our supervisor* in for six months."
She left me standing on the step ladder, alone with Kyle the Chipmunk in Aisle 13. Kyle shook a tiny paw at me like a fist, and made another angry chittering noise.
I turned to scowl down at the irate rodent.
"Three Saturdays in a *row,* Kyle? Really?" I demanded. "I ain't even sorry, dude."
Then I flipped off the chipmunk, and went back to work.
|
"Okay, so I don't get it."
"What's there not to get?" Timo asked him. She stopped studying spells to look at him. She really hated this line of questioning.
"So anybody can be a witch. And anybody can be a wizard." Sar stated, casually wagging a finger in the air at either choice.
"Yes."
"Then what is the difference? Is there a set of rules I'm not aware of?"
"Well, generally? No." Timo answered. Both titles were merely gender based. There wasn't anything actually behind them. Both are magicians first and foremost.
"I mean, you don't have to fly on a broom. Have a wart on your nose. Work over a cauldron. Own a bunch of black cats." Sar laid out.
"Hey, I love my cat." Timo said as she quit hugging her pet and sat it down.
"I didn't mean Hershey." He said, rubbing the cat's chin. "What I'm saying is, if what I just mentioned was the case, that's not a good look. Like you know ya boy don't fuck with no magic. But all of that just seems offensive to me."
"Oh. Well yeah, so we agree." She said as she covered her equipment laying on the table.
"Yeah. Like why do wizards gotta look like Merlin or Nostradamus or something? This ain't King Arthur. We're not rollin to Eisengard."
"Hey, there are many respected pioneers of the arts from that era. But yeah, that look... Isn't the greatest." Timo agreed. The dark ages were dark, but it was kind of odd that that was the look everyone went with.
"They were smoking some wood talkin about, 'I been doing this for 400 years. What I do I have?'"
"Stop." She smirked.
"The OG basement dwellers." He delivered a toothy grin.
"Sar, you're foul for that."
"I know."
"And wait... Why do you not like magic?"
"It's not for me." He answered boringly. He avoided her look to take a sip of his beer.
"You're a demon."
This wasn't a joke. Sar was a fitting example of actual hellspawn. The red skin. Incredible strength. Mildly psychotic temperament.
"Of the 'hands-on' variety. Not the 'cast a spell on your great great stepkids' variety." He promised.
"There's a difference?" Timo inquired.
"I mean, if I'm working: I'm probably the last thing you ever see."
"That's... Comforting." She mentioned. She quietly pulled up the spell to banish a demon.
"See I actually like you. You summon me, I bother you for a few hours. That's different." Sar reminded her.
A cloud swirled over her head suddenly and she spun in her jacket she'd just thrown on. Her palms summoning light and electricity.
"So yes. I am a fearful wizard. Master Timo Cyia! Lord of time and space! Conqueror of kings! Destroyer of... what're you looking at me like that for?"
"I mean. I like the title. But it's a bit overkill." Sar criticized.
"Too much?" The clouds died. The lightning left, and her cat hopped back onto the table.
"Too much. Timo Ciya is good."
"But you have a title."
"I don't check that sort of thing often." He admitted. If it wasn't for all the work it took to summon him, he'd probably be the worst demon at his job.
"Really?"
"It's corny. What if somebody knocks you off? Now your title's a footnote." He ragged.
"Ok, that's true."
"You're already an up and coming wizard. That's a great change of pace. Lead with that."
A surprisingly wise take. Considering his own ignorance he had of the subject earlier. With that, he finished his ale and got ready to leave. Timo had appointments he believed, so per their arrangement, he did so preemptively.
"Thanks for the advice." She called back.
"Anytime." He said at the door. Before absently doubling back. He forgot one of his swords. "Hey, one more thing."
"Yes?"
"Did they at least give you a wizard hat?"
Sar rounded the corner and stopped as he spotted Timo wearing a large, black, pointed hat.
"...I don't wanna talk about it." Timo reacted.
"I like it." Sar approved.
"Shut up."
"It works with your trenchcoat. The fit is immaculate."
"Sar, go home."
"Okay."
---
Here's a one off with some characters I haven't used in a bit. Random sub plug again.
r/Jamaican_Dynamite
| 2022-06-29T17:09:33
| 2022-06-29T14:47:50
| 29
| 13
|
[WP] 2174. Sleep is prohibited amongst all U.S citizens. Pills known as “Wakey Tablets” provide enough raw energy to stay awake for 3 days. Anyone caught sleeping will be shot on sight. You are secretly running an underground network of beds for all to sleep on. You hear a knock on the door.
|
In the wake of a series of natural disasters of the 2150s, a food and water crisis of unprecedented scale struck the world. The world was in for a rude awakening as prices soared by dozens of times, and suddenly, going to bed with a full belly wasn’t a given anymore.
The first cases popped up in China. A few factory workers, determined to put in a few more hours of work here and there to make ends meet, popped a few ‘Wakey Tablets’, then merely novelty pills not much different from coffee. They stayed awake and working for 8 eight days straight, delaying their sleep with tablets again and again.
The practice caught on in the world like wildfire. The moment one country did it, everyone followed suit, desperate not to be left behind in the great race to productivity. Work ethicality inverted as now that the question whether you ‘could’ work for days on end was answered, the question of whether you ‘should’ was a foregone conclusion.
By the time 2174 rolled around, legislation had been passed in the USA outlawing sleep. Legislators reasoned that all Americans had to play their part in these troubling times, never mind that the troubling time had come and gone in the 50s. A push from Wakey Wakey Inc, now amongst the richest companies, didn’t hurt either.
The younger ones don’t even remember what it’s like to sleep or dream anymore. But I know. I lived through all of that, and every suicide in the papers stabs at my heart as I remember what was, not what is. The world is broken on a fundamental level somewhere, and everyone refuses to acknowledge it as long as there’s still economic growth.
But I admit it. And I want to change the world in my own way, regardless of how small it was. That’s why I set up a network of safe havens, where people are free to count sheep and dream, as they haven’t for years. Strangely, the hardest part in establishing it was sourcing for beds. You haven’t seen the true seedy underbelly of the country until you’ve met shady black market mattress cartels. Even now, I have trouble wrapping my mind around those gun toting men driving around their trucks of mattresses.
To reduce the risk, I try to be as hands-off as possible, setting up the havens then leaking its location to like-minded people, before cutting off ties as much as possible. But every now and then, I have to follow up like now. Some things need to be done, and as this is a solo venture, I have to go at it alone. I heard from my contacts that the bed at Haven #306 is infested with bed bugs. Every mattress is a precious commodity, more so with my dealer recently getting busted.
I get to work with my scrub, removing the last traces of the devils with a vengeance.
*Knock*
My entire body immediately tenses up. What I’m doing, between legal and illegal, falls very firmly on the illegal side. Anyone seeing my face was a risk, a danger. That was if it was another Sleeper. If it were the military police? I’ll be shot on sight. I weigh my options as the knocking becomes more urgent. Do I hide under a bed? Perhaps, in these days without beds, it would no longer be an obvious hiding place, and it could be a blind spot, and I might-
Nah, absolutely no one is that dumb, I thought, as I hid under the bed.
“Anyone in here…?” The door opened silently, a feature I prided myself on so that it wouldn’t disturb anyone’s rest. The voice seemed to be slightly familiar, but I was more focused on silencing my breathing and trying to erase my presence.
A sigh of relief, and the bed creaked as a man got on it, before he followed up with an exhausted yawn. It took minutes, amongst the most tense in my life and only topped by the time my mattress dealer pulled a gun on me, before I heard the sounds of soft snoring filling the room.
I gave it another few minutes before gingerly exiting the small space beneath the bed, beating a hasty retreat from Haven #306. I blinked when I saw the man’s face, but didn’t let it slow me down as I exited silently(with much help from my very quiet door. Have I mentioned how proud I am of it?).
As I made my merry way away, I couldn’t help but think of the governor of my state, now taking a much needed rest in Haven #306. The message was spreading, as people of all social statuses began to realise we had gone wrong somewhere. Perhaps there was still hope for change.
|
The sound of crashing waves was heard throughout the room. Soria lifted the corners of her lips as she looked through the dual-monitors. This was why she took the risk; watching people get real sleep was the most satisfying thing she had ever witnessed.
Most people didn’t get to see it or experience it. The SP were strict and ruthless, carrying tablets in their pockets and loaded guns as they patrolled.
She had the unique opportunity to watch it every day, and help people around the connecting cities find their own local place to rest. Her pen flipped in a circle around her idle fingers, landing with a small tap on her thumb.
Nib oriented downward, she looked back at her paperwork. She still needed to create a monthly schedule for counter-patrol, order back up batteries for the sound machines, and restock her inventory of Wakey Tablets. They strongly encouraged everyone to take one on their way out the door.
Half-way through the word ‘crate’ a knock on the door startled her, turning an A into a jagged line down the page. A huff of breath left her mouth in irritation; they were not supposed to bother her back here.
Rolling her chair back to stand up, she glanced at the time. In half an hour she would have been out to relieve the doorman anyways. Nevertheless, she moved her sluggish legs forward and opened the cheap plywood door to let in whoever had interrupted her.
Standing on the other side, wringing their hands, was a member of her active counter-patrol team. She tilted her head in confusion.
“Davis, what are you doing here? What is the matter?” she asked as she scooted to the side, holding the door open still.
The lanky man walked in, standing next to her desk. He fidgeted with the corner while Soria closed and locked her office door.
She walked around to her side of the desk and sat back down in her chair, pulling it in. She hoped he would talk while she attempted to finish up her work.
“We had a runner from the bunker across the bridge,” Davis said. The words rushed out of his mouth, shaking towards the end.
“And?” Her pen was in her hand again, correcting the mistake his knock had caused her to make.
“They are down.”
“Down?” she asked, looking back up.
He had crossed his arms against his chest, dropping them again as she shifted her attention back to him. He gestured widely with his hands as he spoke again, “Down! The whole thing is down, Soria. The SP found the door, and the patrol didn’t spot him or didn’t relay fast enough. They got in the bunker, Sor,” his voice squeaked as he continued, “80 percent capacity. All gone.”
The bottom of her jaw went slack as her eyes grew wide. The township bunker wasn’t the largest part of their operation, but it wasn’t the smallest either. It held 100 people full the last time she had checked, not counting counter patrol, doormen, or the organizer.
One of her best friends ran that sight. “Teegan?” The question came out just above a whisper.
Davis shook his head and began to pace the length of the pale blonde desk.
The network was generally considered a chain, rather than completely separate entities. They all knew the risks they took to themselves, those who came to them, and to each other. There was protocol, however, and Soria hoped that the paperwork and maps were not hanging on the walls when they stormed in.
“Paper trail?” She pushed the words out of her mouth. The ability to articulate words was difficult at that moment.
Davis shrugged. “A running patrol made it over the bridge and into the city. Soria…” He stopped and looked her in the eye. It was the first moment he had been still since they had entered the cluttered office space. “I think we need to clear out.”
Soria made eye contact and then pulled away. She looked down at her paperwork, and then over at the monitors. In the silence of their conversation, she could hear the wave machines again, helping the room full of people sleep.
Every single one of them would be considered criminals, and shooing them all out at once would draw attention.
“Ok. Grab Holland and start waking them up. Go in pairs- I need to…” she paused, looking around her office. It was her second home, and the thought of her or anyone else ransacking it broke her heart. “I need to take care of a few things.”
Her vision became watery as Davis nodded, and then closed the door behind him.
/r/Beezus_Writes
| 2019-06-19T06:30:01
| 2019-06-19T05:48:43
| 968
| 103
|
[WP] You are a world-class programmer who has died. God agrees to allow you in to Heaven on the condition that you work for him while he debugs the human body. Write the patch notes for the next version of humans.
|
God: "What the me is this?! How the hell am I supposed to find anything again!
The first ones are okay:
Patch: Wisdomteethremov1.4
Patch: Diabeetus1.8
Patch: Colonmrrt2.3
But these?!
Patch: TrgH&3.4
Patch: TrgH&3.5
Patch: TrgH&3.5.1
Patch: TrgH&3.5.1&Wisdomteethremov1.5
And so on. What the hell, man?"
"Ha! I never commented my code when I was alive. So I know exactly were I'll end up once we finish this. This way, you'll need me forever!"
|
Human v1.1
* Created basic cell membrane and stored in new GIT repository. Does nothing yet, but will provide a better basis to develop from than the old DNA sequence which jumps back and forth between coding sequences and is full of dead code. There was actually a *goto* command in there. Whatever crack-smoking monkey created this mess appears to have been writing DNA sequences randomly while trying to see whatever happened to work. Oh and of course nothing is documented. FMAL
| 2015-08-25T07:52:02
| 2015-08-25T07:22:26
| 150
| 112
|
[WP] It turns out that all housecats are actually lovecraftian monsters. Due to an ancient pact with humans, however, they will never use their powers for earthly offense. Against otherworldy invaders, however, they have no such restrictions.
|
The edict was sacred to them, though the villagers didn't often speak of it. They would obliquely warn visitors, what few they received, and teach their children when they were old enough to comprehend. But they avoided speaking of it aloud or thinking on it. Nevertheless, it was deeply understood.
In Ulthar no man may kill a cat.
The cats, for their part, never elaborated on this agreement, save for the one terrible night when the consequences of disobedience became clear to an elderly couple. The night that Menes had prayed and ancient pacts, pacts stretching back to the days of the pharaohs, pacts of protection and of worship, had been called upon and renewed. The villagers knew what would happen if they broke their agreement; they did not understand what they might get in return.
It was dark when the visitors from the stars landed in a field and crossed the bridge over the River Skai on reedy legs. Bulbous eyes searched the darkness and saw the human settlement, the people inside slumbering unaware. Long-fingered hands curled around weapons and they approached in silence, slipping in and out of the shadows cast by moonlight.
Then from each of the houses padded small creatures, equally silent. They walked on feather-light paws, tails swishing. They fell into lines, two by two, their glowing eyes fixed on the otherworldly beings. The largest among them, a black Maine Coon with a great furred collar and ears peaked like horns, stepped forward.
*You should not have come here.*
The visitors froze. Behind each pair of fixed, glowing eyes that shone yellow in the darkness swirled some deeper, ancient hue. Overhead, clouds gathered in distorted forms, dark billows hinting at a storm.
*We have watched them! They are a weak and ignorant race. There to be threshed. What can they be to you?*
*Our adherents and our thralls.*
The shadows around them lengthened and changed, twisted into terrible shapes. The first cat's maw opened, stretched and stretched until it was a wide, impenetrable chasm rimmed with teeth. Appendages snaked out and reached for the invaders, crawled up their limbs and locked them in a clammy vice.
The first among them was pulled in swiftly, felt only a moment of the fangs breaking through armor into the rubbery skin below. Tearing it all away and leaving a stump gushing green ichor behind. The other cats began to circle, enclosing the rest and penning them in, even as they turned to flee. Though none were awake to hear, there were only a few strangled cries that went up before those sounds were replaced by wet tearing noises and soft crunches.
When it was all over, there was nothing left in the town square expect a few smears of fluid under the trees, a trembling survivor, and a group of cats lazily grooming themselves, fully sated. The Maine Coon approached the last remaining figure.
*Take your ship. Go. Tell your kind not to come here again. Tell them that here, in Ulthar, in Nir, on this planet - none save our own may kill a man.*
|
The spaceship tore my house into two in one fell swoop. I didn’t even have the chance to react. My arms were stuck under a pile of rubbles, ankle twisted and I’m pretty sure my back bone broke in half. I laid down amist the dusty remains of my former home, listening to the painful screams and the helpless sirens blaring in the distance.
Alien invasion, in one weekend, who would have thought? No one could react, not the military, not the nukes, and certainly not the combimed efforts of the people of Earth. We were like fish in a pan, trying to flop our way into the inevitable fire.
I heard a meow. My cat, mr Skiddles was in the house when it happened. I hope he’s fine. Maybe he wasn’t caught in the destruction. Maybe he’ll live to wander in the shadows of the new alien civilization, stealing food on their window sills and digging through their trash.
An alien drew near. I can realize it’s slimy sluggish sounds anywhere. These aliens have ate my friends. Maybe this one will eat me too, and rid me of my worries.
The slime noises got larger, and larger, and larger, and then it stopped. I pulled my head up, and suprisingly, standing in front of me and the alien, was Mr Skiddles.
The thing stopped dead in it’s track, concerned by the little cat standing in it’s way. I tried shooing Mr Skiddles, but he kept focus on the alien.
That is odd. Why did the alien stop? I wasn’t ready for the answers.
In a suprising move, Mr Skiddles dislocated his jaws, and spew forth eons of horror and madness not meant for human eyes. I watched in shock and awe as the alien was thoroughly eaten by the monstrous creature my cat had become.
Did I just see what I saw? Beings of unfathomable powers moving in a vast cosmos of madness and chaos that can drains a person of the last sanity, residing in... my cat? Mr Skiddle seems relaxed. He wandered off into the distance, possibly looking for another alien to torment and consume, in possibly an endless circle of hunger and madness that only a cat can truly fathom.
I laid down again, on the rubble of my home. I needed time to process that. The backbone, the ankle and the arm can wait.
| 2020-11-26T11:40:15
| 2020-11-26T11:00:36
| 306
| 87
|
[WP] A photographer and a sniper meet in a bar. Neither is aware of the other's occupation. They talk about "how to take the perfect shot".
|
She'd told me she'd shot a few people.
I'd laughed.
I shouldn't have laughed. But... but there's 14 trillion photos due to be taken this year, on average little Jimmy, little average Jimmy, will take 3 and a half thousand shots this year... on his own.
Everyone thinks they're a fucking photographer and it's killing the industry.
I shouldn't have laughed. Especially as I'd asked. But I did, and I told her that it didn't sound like that rough a day.
A couple of shots didn't sound too bad.
She didn't really react. I mean that was weird. That should have been enough for me to figure something was up. It wasn't.
She ordered me a drink, shared me some professional-courtesy-world-weary-look that just pissed me off more.
She'd ordered us drinks though, that was kind of hot. I started on the full force struggles of the artform diatribe I'd used on and off since college with different photochicks. The whole chasing that "perfect shot" tale of woe.
She just nodded. Staring balefully into her drink.
We talked about life through a lense. I really thought I'd got her, maybe even she'd got me. There was a connection, she had an angle on things I'd never considered. What is the cost of the shots we take?
I really should have figured something was up then; smart, hot, artistically intriguing, working in the same field in the same city and giving me the time of day, I don't know why I didn't see it until she left, telling me she had some Ukrainian Drug lord to get a headshot of before midnight. We laughed over lighting jokes, she had a nightvision "scope".
She wouldn't give me her number, that's when it clicked. Gay.
Bloody lesbian photographers. Ruining the industry.
|
Karen's blind date showed up forty minutes late in all leather, smelling of sweat and exhaust. And he carried a motorcycle helmet, all of which she decided was just sexy enough to excuse the lateness.
"You must be Mark," she said, a little too exuberantly. She had felt too rude to order food while waiting, so instead she sipped two glasses of wine and nibbled on bread. She tried to hide her tipsiness.
He looked her over with faintly masked disdain. "Ah. You are Karen, then." He sniffed and sat at the table. "How delightful."
Karen bit her lip, not sure how to read his tone. She knew nothing about Mark. A co-worker she barely knew set them up. She tried not to think of this as a total disaster just yet. "What do you do for work?" she tried.
"Oh," the man said. "I shoot people."
She hesitated for a few seconds, certain she had misheard him. Then, "Oh, you shoot--*oh,* I get it." She laughed, belatedly, and mimed the motion of clicking her telescopic camera. "Me too."
Mark wrinkled his nose. "...right. Usually people aren't so blase when I admit that, Karen."
"Oh, it's not a big deal. It's a totally normal job. For me, getting the perfect shot really comes down to getting them lined up right, you know."
He whistled. "I rarely get them all in one shot."
"Oh, you do singles?" She blundered on, oblivious to his bemused look. "I mostly do weddings. I make a killing on weddings. Can't do anything all summer, but it's worth it. Have you ever shot at a wedding?"
"Uh." He scratched his head, thinking about it. "A couple."
"Personally, my favorite approach is shooting as many as possible, so I know I won't mess it up, you know? If you just hold the trigger down like a hundred times you'll get someone eventually, right?"
Mark looked at her, stunned. "Won't you hit a lot of civilians that way?"
"Oh, I usually don't shoot out around a lot of people. People are uncomfortable enough getting their picture taken."
"You're a *photographer*?" The man threw down his napkin and sighed, "I try to be open about my lifestyle, and I think I finally meet a woman who might be in the same culture as myself. But no." He stood up and slammed his chair back into place. "It turns out you're just a fucking idiot."
He stormed out, leaving Karen alone. She pulled aside the next waiter and asked for some alfredo and another bottle of wine.
***
/r/shoringupfragments
| 2017-08-31T08:12:15
| 2017-08-31T07:54:55
| 962
| 47
|
[WP] The Illuminati is actually a gentlemen's club for the super-rich. Often men make high risk and dangerous bets/wagers such as: "I bet you can't destabilize Ukraine in under a week." One day you offer a wager to the most powerful member that's too irresistible to turn down.
|
Boris crossed his arms and gave me a confused expression.
"You want me to do WHAT?"
I repeated myself, speaking slowly and with confidence.
"...You see, it has been rumored that it could not be done. That is was impossible to begin with. This man... he is immovable. Thousands, no, millions have petitioned this man for this thing. But imagine the ramifications... fortunes won and lost on the stock market. Mass chaos. It'd break the internet and stop the economy in its tracks for WEEKS! If you do this, you will be remembered in SONG!"
"And all I have to do is... ensure this comes to production?"
"Yes."
"And this man... Military? Government?"
"Neither. Civilian. Though he has his hands in the counter-terrorism business."
"This does not seem difficult."
"I have his number. If you can convince him to do it over a single call, I shall pay you five hundred million Euros."
Boris smiled, reaching for my phone, "And so it shall be done."
He takes it, dials the number. His arrogant smirk lasts for a few moments. Then it turns bemused as his first offer gets turned down. By the time he starts making his threats, his face is red with anger. He gets hung up on shortly after. He hands back the phone, fuming.
"Now, now it is a matter of PRIDE!" He whips out his own phone and makes a handful of calls in a cold fury. He snaps his phone closed in triumph, "We shall see at the end of the day who the greater man is. Ha! Nobody remains my enemy for long!"
I smile and sip on my bourbon.
Three days later, Gabe Newell, founder of Valve, holds a press conference before a crowd of hundreds of gaming reporters. He's somewhat more gaunt than last reported, with stage makeup that barely hid mild bruising on his face and arms. It looked like he'd barely slept. He weakly holds up his hands and proclaims in a shaky voice:
"Half-Life 3 CONFIRMED!"
|
I watch the clown on my 52 inchTV, he delivers yet another embarrassing news conference making a spectacle of our entire political system. How did we get here? I must confess, it is all my fault. I belong to a gentlemen's club for what are termed, super-rich. One day, after enjoying a round of golf with my bud Mark, we were watching some golf in the deck, when out comes a commercial for The Apprentice. There, in all his gaudy glory is Donald J. Trump, the show's host. He has always wanted to join us, but he is neither rich enough, and far too crass. An idea pops up in my head, and I cannot contain it. "Mark", I say, "let's make a bet!" Mark turns to me and says, "sure, what do you want to lose $2 million on this time?" You see, a few months back, I bet Mark he wouldn't be able to destabilize Ukraine, by getting Russia to annex Crimea. I bet him $2 million that not even he could pull that off. I lost, as did Ukraine. I'm still smarting about that, especially since before that even, I lost another bet to Mark that he wouldn't be able to get Russia to attack Georgia, and annex part of its territory without a firm NATO response. As most of you no doubt know, I also lost that bet. That's what we do as super rich, we bet against one another for various reasons, but mostly pride in our prowess as movers and shakers. This time, I thought I had something that even Mark could not do. "I said, Mark, $5 million says you cannot make Trump a serious contender for the American Presidency." Mark responds "Listen Jack, I can do this, I can even make him win the whole damn thing, question is, do you really want me to do it? I mean, sure you lose $5 million, but how much will the country lose?" I say, "scared? he replies, "No, in fact, let's break this down into pieces, I promise you that not only will he run for President, but I will make him run and win as a Republican!" I laugh, and say, "the guy's a New Yorker, and a pretty liberal one at that, there's no way he'll get past the primary!" Mark replies, "Well, let's make it interesting. $1 million says he runs as a Republican, $ 2 million more says he wins the primary, and $5 million says he wins the Presidency. Just remember bud, I warned you that this was likely nothing you or I, or anyone else really wanted." I laugh it off, and say, "sure, but this time, I have you beat Mark. There is no way in hell that loud mouth can control himself to not make an ass out of himself, and his liberal positions will likely undermine his campaign until he has to withdraw. Besides, if that doesn't do him in his having 5 kids by 3 different wives should do it with the bible thumpers. Face it Mark, this time, I have the upper hand." After we sealed our pact, we went back to smoking cigars, drank a few drinks, then each headed home. My helicopter was waiting on deck, but Mark took his yacht. Others in the room, began to wager as they often do, to see who they thought would come out on top. Now here we are. What have I done?
| 2016-08-23T14:15:07
| 2016-08-23T13:00:40
| 3,361
| 94
|
[WP] Your power is to materialise the most appropriate tool for any situation. When you need to dig a hole, it materialises a shovel, when you need to chop down a tree, it materialises an axe. This morning when you awoke, your power materialised a large medieval sword covered in strange runes.
|
Paige grumbled. Which was strange, considering how she hadn’t complained for years. Ever since something saw fit to spawn the best tool and solution for any sort of problem she might run into during the day, whether it was something like forgetting an eraser at school, needing the key to the bathroom, or say, lugging a large medieval sword covered entirely in strange runes.
“What’s happening?” Ted asked, walking beside her. There was a conspicuous lack of help being offered to take Paige’s hands off the dangerous weapon.
“Do I look like I know?” Paige snapped.
“You are angry,” Ted chuckled. “It’s a refreshing change from the calmest girl in the world. Do you know what’s the sword for? Killing some mythical creature? A dragon, perhaps? Or are you queen of England now?”
“To hell with it,” Paige complained. “If they wanted me to kill something and not accidentally stab myself, they would have given me anything but this… blasted thing!”
Paige tried very hard to raise her aching arms to throw the sword in the ground. There was something in her mind that told her that no, it would eventually make sense, and there was something in her muscles that screamed and groaned and rebelled against lifting the blade higher than her shoulders.
“Just tell me what it’s for, god! Everything so far has been incredibly helpful in like, five minutes,” Paige said. “What the hell is this sword for?”
As if on cue, the runes began lighting up. At first, the glow was barely imperceptible, but it grew to battle even the harsh sunlight that beat down against the two. It grew and grew, and eventually, the whole sword was wreathed and basked in a blue glow.
Paige, suddenly, found it much easier to lift.
“What is happening?” Ted said. A sense of awe instead of snark had crept into his voice.
“I don’t know,” Paige muttered. She turned and hefted the blade in her hand. Her eyes glanced over the runes, and suddenly—like how she could hold the sword that was once too heavy—Paige realized that she could now read what was on the sword.
“Slay—”
The ground cracked in front of Paige and Ted, and both stumbled back with screams. While Ted quickly found a nice, metallic and overall solid lamp post to stand behind, Paige found herself standing in the open, her body having arranged itself into a position that one might dare say was threatening.
It felt unfamiliar. She felt very exposed. But somehow, Paige knew this was the right thing to do. Like how this stupid, impractical sword was the right thing to hold.
The crack was no longer just darkness into the ground. Slowly, surely, a stygian and malevolent shadow pulled itself out, giving form to a demonic presence of fire and horns and spikes where spikes shouldn’t be on any living thing.
“The demons,” Paige whispered.
“Run, Paige!” Ted shouted.
“I don’t think I can,” she shouted back. She really wanted to.
But this was the right tool for the job. And hell, she was the only person with the tool, so with the reluctance and grumbling of an overworked salaryman doing overtime on Friday, she stepped forward.
That one step turned into two and three with blinding speed. The blade’s aura now wrapped around her, and within seconds, Paige found herself staring into the red eyes of the ugly thing. There was fear in them. Her arms swung with ease, and the fear was extinguished with the emptiness of death.
“What the hell,” Ted said.
“What the hell is right,” Paige said. Or rather, somebody else and Paige, for there was a new sort of timbre to her voice, far removed from the girl that had yet to discover her purpose. She watched as new cracks formed along the road, and a small smile overtook her face.
“Time to run, Ted,” she said. “This sword is apparently, quite overdue for a stint in hell.”
---
r/dexdrafts
|
Wanda stared at the sword in her hands.
Over the many years, she'd realized one overarching truth: her power would always give her the tools needed for whatever the job was. However, it was up to her to figure out what she was actually supposed to do. Usually it was fairly straightforward - pens were meant for writing, axes were for trees, and lockpicks were for breaking locks, obviously.
Swords were meant for killing.
Wanda had never killed a man before. Turning over the ancient weapon in her hands, she inspected the jagged blade, the unadorned hilt, the golden crosspiece. The glyphs that ran along the edge were dull and scratched, but she had the uncanny feeling that in a bygone time, they had meant something, once.
Wanda had lived in this hermitage for the past twenty years on her own. After all, living by yourself was easy if you always had the right tools. And besides, people were scared of her powers. She avoided them, and they avoided her, and for the most part, both parties were successful.
But tools always manifested the same day they were needed. Before the day's end, she would surely meet whoever it was meant for.
\---
It was sunset. Wanda shifted uncomfortably in her hard wooden seat, watching the last rays of daylight disappear behind the rolling hills.
For the first hour, she had stood waiting outside the door, holding the sword aloft and ready. During the second hour, she had let the point of the blade begin to droop downwards, arms unused to the hefty weight. The third hour, she had gone inside to sit down. After all, she mused, there was only one entrance to the door. Certainly, she would have the jump on any intruders as they fiddled with the lock.
The door clattered against its wooden frame, and Wanda snapped to attention, lifting the battered claymore. Muscles tensed, she waited for the intruder to enter, minutes ticking by. A drop of sweat rolled down her cheek as her arms, already tired from her earlier exertions, strained against the weight of the weapon.
Nothing. The sun finished its journey across the sky, and the cold of the winter night began seeping in through the windows. Wanda crept to the door and undid the latch with one hand, holding the blade ready with the other.
At her doorstep was a sleeping babe, no more than a few weeks old. Clutched in his fingers, a golden ring stamped with the royal insignia glinted from the weak moonlight.
Suddenly, everything became clear. Pens were for writing. Axes were for chopping. Lockpicks were for breaking locks.
And this sword was for the rightful king.
\---
/r/theBasiliskWrites
| 2021-12-02T09:51:37
| 2021-12-02T09:32:59
| 334
| 162
|
[WP] Your friend’s dying wish was to have their ashes returned to the forest. To the tree you both engraved your names in. Upon arrival of your destination, you see a sign upon a barbed link fence. “Caution, construction in progress”.
|
Somewhere on the coast of Labrador there stands a single ancient cedar tree. It should not have been able to grow that far north, but there it stood, on the apex of a craggy ridge over the sea, gnarled roots forcing their way deep into the jagged basalt.
A lifetime ago in half-forgotten better days Joshua Byron had found that lonely cedar tree with Livia Randall at his side. They had climbed into the branches and sat listening to the howling north wind and the gnawing symphony of the sea.
From that moment on, the overriding logic of Joshua's life became dreadfully clear: for Livia, anything. In his eyes, she put angels to shame.
She died too soon, of bad luck more than anything else. They had never planned for cancer. Who does?
Before she went, Livia made her wishes clear. For Joshua, there was never any question about going. If he had to walk to Labrador, he would get it done. For Livia, anything.
"Bring me to the tree. You know the one." She'd said, dying. All her beautiful red hair had fallen out, her skin had a grey pallor, and she was perilously thin. Still, she put the angels to shame.
Joshua: jaw clenched like a steel trap, eyes swimming, hands clenched. A tiny nod. *I know the one*, that nod said.
"I'll get you there, Wildflower," he'd said, with a dagger in his throat. "I promise."
The smell of anti-septic. Machines, beeping, beeping, always beeping. Wires, tubes, buttons. The not completely covered stench of shit and sweat and death.
She smiled, dying. "See you in another life, alright?"
Joshua broke.
Death. A funeral on a sunny day. Paperwork. Lawyers. Family. Too many people saying sorry who didn't give a damn.
Joshua did not eat. He did not sleep. His hair went grey. He got cold. Mean, even. Sometimes, he disappeared for days. He didn't talk to anybody or do anything. His friends tried to help him. His family tried to help him. There was nothing to be done. For Livia, anything. But Livia was gone.
A plane. A ferry. A truck. A bush plane. Another truck. Then a long, long walk.
The miles were nothing, because for Livia, anything.
The second morning. The third. The fourth. Rain.
Walking. Summer in Labrador. The sea, singing him to sleep.
The fifth morning. Almost there.
The sixth morning.
A fence that should not have been there. A sign. Construction in progress.
Ten foot fence, topped with barbed wire.
Joshua, jumping the fence.
Walking. Mid-day. Signs of activity. New structures. A work barge. An excavator.
A worker, challenging him. "Hey man, no hikers allowed through here."
Joshua, a statue. "I'm not here to hike." He sounded tired, even to his own ears. The kind of tired no rest can cure.
The worker. Tall. Brown-haired. Nose, twice broken, crooked. He looked at Joshua for a long time. "What are you here for?"
Joshua took a leather pouch from his belt, and held it up. It was the kind of pouch that cannot be mistaken. "Got a promise to keep."
Again, the two men looked at eachother for a long time. Understanding. Not complete, but enough.
"Well, go on then," the worker said, stepping aside.
Walking.
The worker, saying a prayer for the haggard, grief-stricken hiker with a promise to keep. A short conversation on a radio.
Machines, falling silent. Men, standing from their lunch. Men, melting from the wood, hats over their hearts. Silence, except for the music of Labrador in summer. The sea, weeping in rhythm.
A cedar tree, still standing. A man, digging. Scrabbling first with a shovel, then with his hands.
A leather pouch, pressed to his forehead.
A leather pouch, given to the tree.
A hole, filled in, covered with a great piece of slate.
A promise, kept. For Livia, anything.
A long walk home.
Years later. Summer in Labrador. A tidal electric generator complex. Buildings, piers, barracks. A small town in nowhere.
On a ridge, an administrative structure. A courtyard, overlooking the sea. A cedar tree. A plaque.
*Livia Randall 1997-2020*
*She Put The Angels To Shame*
|
Your last wish is to be scattered among the forest you used to explore, at the base of the tree at the center of it all. I’ll make sure that request is filled.
The hike to the forest was easy, I remember the way even after so long away. When I was small, the trees seemed so large, I was frightened by them. Then you showed me their beauty.
You guided me away from the thorns and poisonous leaves, towards towering trees filled with the sound of birds and squirrels simply living. We came so often, we had our own little trail all the way to the tree.
But now, halfway there, a thin chainlink fence capped in barbed wire halts my progress. A team of workers stands between the trees.
“Excuse me!” I call out to them.
One of them turns to me, and approaches the fence.
“What’s the problem kid?” They ask, blasé.
“I was wondering if I might be allowed in? I wont be long. A friend of mine has passed just recently, and I wanted to fulfill his last wish.” I plead.
“What’s his wish?”
“To be scattered in the forest, at the base of our tree.” I gesture to the urn in my backpack.
“Guess it can’t hurt, but you aught’ know that this land is being turned into a park. Like, with a playground and stuff.” They said.
“That’s alright, I think he would like that. He was a very kind soul.” I smile.
“Alright, follow me this way and I’ll let you in.”
So I followed, and true to their word they ushered me inside.
“Be back in an hour at the latest.”
“Yes, I’ll make sure of it.” I replied.
Finally my journey could continue. I found the start of our trail, and began again my trek towards the tree.
You would think seeing this land developed would dishearten me, but frankly I think you would have liked it. You ways brought a smile to my face, and now the spot we enjoyed so much will do so for children again.
I’ll miss the tree, should it happen to be cut down. But that’s just the way of the world, all things change. You couldn’t be with me forever, and that tree is the same. If not now, someday it will wither and fall. I know the love we had for eachother will stand the test of time, wether we’re both here under the tree or not.
It seems all too soon my feet find the familiar terrain of the tree’s roots. It’s large, and majestic. At the base, below my height now, is our names. James and Jack.
Suddenly, as if a shifting of the wind, my stomach is of lead and my chest aches. It finally set in, that you’re gone. That no matter my choices none will bring you back. No matter the road, none will lead to home. Not with you there waiting for me.
Jack, you silly dog. You gave me sixteen years of happiness. Now I stand with you in my arms one last time, ready to set you free within the forest you loved.
Slowly, I slip off my bag and reach for the urn. I can’t stop the tears now, falling from my cheeks like a steady drizzle in the sun.
I don’t know where you’ve gone, or when we’ll see eachother again. But I know that should I pass, you’ll be awaiting me. You the same shepherd that greeted me when I was five, and I the same child that hugged you to sleep the first night away from your litter.
I love you Jack, you were more than a pet. You were a friend. Rest now.
I open the urn begin to spread the ashes amongst the trees.
The wind, in all its gusty glory, passes over twigs and branches. A trick of the brain, I know, but in that moment I can hear your howl. At last we’ve said our peace.
Goodbye.
| 2020-09-20T23:01:44
| 2020-09-20T20:37:48
| 31
| 23
|
[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...
|
I’ve always been one of those lucky people. You know, the ones that can eat whatever they want and not gain any weight. I’m 6 foot and known as a bean pole to my friends and family. So when I finally turned 18, I knew what I summoned would probably be food related.
“Alright, is everyone ready? Honey, do you have your camera?” My dad looked over at my mom, who held her hand out as a camera spawned into her palm a few seconds later. She started recording, and everyone looked on in anticipation.
I cupped my hands together and concentrated really hard. “I hope I get a nice bowl of chili or something” I said, and my family chuckled at my goofy joke.
As I stood in the backyard with my hands held out in front of me and my family waiting in anticipation, the sky suddenly went black. Looking up, all of us were horrified to see a giant land mass had appeared overhead, and was blotting out the sun, stretching for miles in every direction. Cars could be heard crashing nearby as the sudden shift in vision caused them to get into accidents. “W-what’s going on!? WHAT IS THAT!?” My father was the only one who spoke, but we all shared his fear and confusion.
Then it dawned on me; as my eyes scanned the horizon and I looked from one end of the giant mass to the other, I realized exactly what was hovering overhead.
As the landmass started to fall towards us and everyone let out a shriek, I stood there in disbelief, too shaken to move. My joke wish had come true, although I hadn’t summoned a bowl of chili.
I’d summoned the entire *country* of Chile.
|
They all screamed as the orange haired president doubled over in pain live on national television as I laughed maniacally in the back of the bar waving his severed member in my hand before throwing it into my drink.
“Steve!!” “what the fuck man?!” Randy screamed at me as he vomited onto the floor. “It’s your birthday but damn dude!? Why the fuck did you summon THAT?!”
“World domination baby, world domination”
Everybody stood far away from me as I walked out the front door blood dripping from my fingers, The Donald’s member flopping on the ground.
Who the fuck is going to dare challenge anyone that can rip your junk off from anywhere on the planet?
Let them eat cake.
| 2019-09-18T10:05:50
| 2019-09-18T09:37:18
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] Set in a dangerous city in the early 1900s, Zeus, the corrupt mayor, Poseidon, who owns the ports, and Hades, kingpin of the back alley drug trade, run the city unapologetically. All are vying for more power in this Greek pantheon film noir setting. (From popular demand from r/books!)
|
Olympus City was warm of weather but cold of heart. Gold leaf plated virtually every surface, serving as a stark reminder of what the city really was—gilded on the outside, rusted, dull and rotten just underneath. In the City there was no survival without compromise. Compromise of safety, integrity, and standards. For the true of heart, it was a hell-hole. For the misfits, outcasts, and lowlifes, it was a land of opportunity. As a bastard, Hercules should’ve fit right in.
He didn’t. As the son of the Mayor, no one with a toe out of line wanted anything to do with him. That was problematic in a city where anyone worth anything was *born* out of line. His father had his own reasons to keep his distance. Her name was Hera. She hated Hercules from the moment he was born. He was a testament to both his father’s dishonesty, and in her mind, to her own inadequacy.
So Hercules was nothing to no one. A zero. It was a position he embraced. There were no expectations, no oversight. If he wanted to make a move, no one would see it coming. After all, what could an unconnected bastard demi-god hope to achieve in a city like this?
“We need to talk,” Hercules said, entering his father’s office.
“Whoa kid, maybe a knock next time will ya?” Zeus said, standing straight up from his desk, adjusting his neck-tie and zipping his fly.
“Yeah, I *did* knock. Maybe if your secretary was at her desk, she could’ve given you a ring.”
“She’s got other places to be.”
“Right. I bet she's got important work to do under your desk.” Hercules asked.
Zeus’s shoulders slumped. “You got me. Get out of here Karen. If anyone rings, I’m busy.” A woman crawled out from underneath the desk, straightened her blouse, and ran out of the office hurriedly. Zeus sat back down. “What do you want, kid?”
“Word on the street is Hades got a new shipment coming in. It’s a big one.”
“Street?” Zeus said, squinting. “What street? You don’t know nothing about the street.”
“I know enough to know about the shipment.”
“There’s *always* a shipment. You want to talk import-export, talk to Poseidon. I’m just the guy who makes sure the city doesn’t burn.”
“I already talked to Uncle.” Hercules said. “He told me all about it.”
“Whatever it is, I don’t want anything to do with it all right? I got enough on my plate. Is that it? You all done here?”
“I want in, Dad.”
“You want *in*?”
“I want a cut.”
“Let’s say hypothetically there was a cut to be had, what makes you think you're worth it? What makes you think you got anything to offer?”
“I have the same thing you have—information. Information that *maybe* I’ll choose to forget.”
Zeus smiled. “You mean Karen? Don’t even think about it kid, Hera’s used to it all by now.”
“Information about the shipment,” Hercules said. “All it’d take is one call to the Heavenly Bureau and your whole operation comes crumbling down.”
Zeus laughed. “The *HBI?!* You think they’ll care about what a no-one like you has to say? You’re a *demi-god* Herc. You need to accept that and move one.
“You don’t think they’ll be interested in hearing about a *ten ton* shipment of Nectar?”
“Ten *tons*? You really don’t know shit do you, kid. There’s no ten-ton shipment. I’d know if Hades was pulling in that kind of volume. He hasn’t had a supplier like that in years. Your uncle's been messing with you. Now get the hell out of here.”
Hercules left, smiling to himself. He tapped the wire at his chest three times, signaling that he was a safe distance away, then crushed it between his fingers.
***
Hercules surveyed the docks, looking for any sign of his uncle. Nothing. He pulled out a pack of Old Reds, smoked one to the filter, and flicked the butt into the ocean. A tiny whirlpool formed where it landed, which grew larger and larger, eventually funneling upwards like a tornado.
"*Prepare to die litter-bug!*" Poseidon yelled, his torso just above the circling torrent of water, trident pointed at Hercules' throat.
"Hello, uncle." Hercules said calmly.
"Oh it's you." The water calmed and Poseidon took a step onto the docks. "Since when do you smoke?"
"Since when have you been smuggling Nectar with Hades?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Poseidon said, stone-faced.
"Look," Hercules said. "I don't have time to mess around. I know everything. You really trusted my father to keep that quiet?"
Poseidon said nothing for a moment, only stared at Hercules eyebrows furrowed. "Who else knows?" he asked eventually.
"By now, everyone who matters. He told one of his girls. The HBI will be on him and Hades any minute. You need to cut ties and cover your ass ASAP."
Poseidon nodded. "Thanks for the heads up."
"Don't thank me yet. There's no such thing as a free lunch, uncle."
***
"Ah Hercules, so nice to see you. Its been so long. How are things?" Hades asked, the flame atop his head rolling lazily.
"Not bad," Hercules said casually. "How're things between you and Poseidon?"
Hades' flame dimmed to a smolder. "What do you know?"
"Everything."
"How?"
"Take a wild guess."
"That drunken rat just can't keep his mouth shut around the girls, can he."
"Have you heard from Poseidon?" Hercules asked.
"Yes. So that's why he jumped ship?"
Hercules nodded.
"Well, thank you for the information. So what exactly is it that *you* want?" Hades asked.
"If I know, the HBI knows. You need to lay low for a little while. I can help you hide, I know a place on Earth where--"
"What do you *want,*" Hades asked with more force, the flame atop his head blazing to life.
"Okay okay, I'll get to the point," Hercules said raising his hands. "When you resume operations, you're going to need someone on the inside. You're going to need another Zeus. I can be that someone, but you're going to need to help me get there."
Hades thought for a moment. "You're a half-blood," he said, as if that settled the matter.
"With you and Poseidon funding me it won't matter."
"Poseidon's on board?"
"If you're on board, he won't have a choice. Between us, we have enough dirt to bury him."
Hades smiled. "You're smart, kid. Must take after your mother. We'll talk later." With a flash of smoke, he was gone.
Hercules smiled to himself. He'd be Zero to Hero in no time flat.
***
&nbsp;
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
|
“You’re looking well as always, Zeus,” Hermes said as he pulled out a golden cigarette from the inside of his suit pocket and lit it, “Hate to say it, but with what I’ve heard today, I’m not sure your good times are gonna last.”
Zeus leaned his massive frame forward over his enormous mahogany desk, his chiseled face grim as he stroked his beard. “What is the news, Hermes?”
“Looks like the worst-case scenario for you, pops. It looks like your two brothers made a deal behind your back to smuggling something very valuable from overseas into the black market.” Hermes took another pull from his cigar, “If it goes on, it could easily mean one of the two brothers get to sit at this desk of yours.”
A thundercloud passed over Zeus's face, “Is it that bad? What are they smuggling?”
Hermes let Zeus’s question hang dramatically for a moment before he said, “Ambrosia.”
“You’re sure?” Zeus said, gritting his teeth.
“This is not a trick, I swear by the River Styx. I’d never joke about something this important.” Hermes replied.
Zeus’s blue eyes flashed and a vein bulged in his neck as he struggled to contain his wrath, “Those fools,” he rumbled, “Are they so desperate to dethrone me that they’ll give immortality to mortals and cause the downfall of our entire race?”
*Ambrosia... they wouldn't do something as risky as banding together to commit a forbidden act for something like money. Are they perhaps making immortal legions of mortals to fight me? Either way, this is very bad...*
Hermes looked sidelong at Zeus, “So, what are you going to do, Zeus? Are you going to take it to a council at Mt. Olympus? I’m sure the rest of us would side with you against Poseiden and Hades.”
Zeus shook his head, “No. They’ve almost certainly thought of that. I have to do things my own way. I’ll crush them in a way they’d never expect.” He stood up, stroking his beard. His eyes still burned with wrath, but it was a cold, calculating anger that made Hermes shiver slightly.
“I… think I’m gonna go now, Zeus. Take care.” Hermes said, tossing his cigarette into the bin and turning to leave.
“Wait,” Zeus said, “I need a favor from you.”
Hermes cringed slightly and then turned around, “Look, I never really get involved in these things. Telling you this information is enough danger to send me into hiding for a couple of decades. Going beyond that is…”
“It’s not much,” Zeus said, “I just need you to send a message for me. I’ll reward you handsomely.”
“In that case… I can do that. Only for you,” Hermes said, “Who is it for?”
*If they're going to use mortals as pawns, I can play that game too.*
“Odysseus.” Zeus said, “Tell him I need him to go on one more adventure.”
___
Read my best prompt answers and more at r/WanderWilder. Thanks for reading!
| 2021-03-03T09:54:58
| 2021-03-03T09:45:49
| 67
| 37
|
[WP] Reddit Karma has been established as the national currency of America for no reason whatsoever. It sounded nice at first but now, your starving on the street because all your posts are getting ignored.
|
"I'm sorry, we don't accept self-karma here," the cashier looked at me disdainfully. He was holding one phone in his hand and throughout our interaction, his thumb never stopped scrolling.
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I stepped outside on the street to consider my options.
Karma. Karma is money.
I never gave a shit about karma. I lurked. I rarely shared posts. I commented long essays in niche subreddits and earned paltry amounts of karma per minute.
I regret everything now. I should have learned the art of crossposting. I should have learned from the master shitposters. I should have learned how to draw so I could comment shitty watercolour reactions. Too late. Much too late.
Apparently not. Whatever I got my hands on, people cried out. Filth. Repost. Too late.
I looked at the wealthiest subreddits. Within minutes of an Askreddit or Funny thread, or the puns you could think of was already up.
The welfare subreddits? Well, people tried, but it wasn't long before those were shut down. Turns out Reddit already has an inbuilt policing system. Try anything funny and find yourself in KarmaCourt.
It wasn't just positive karma being credited. Negative points were too. I soon became too afraid to post or comment on anything.
My gaze found itself wandering across the city. There, a name emblazoned across a shiny tower.
Gallowboob. Name scraping the skies, karma flowing into him faster than ever. Turns out even in this shitty new world, celebrity status meant something.
I looked down at my phone. A tear rolled down my cheek. To survive, I had to betray my own ideals.
The tears began flowing freely now. I could barely see through the waterfall to type circlejerk into the search bar.
---
r/dexdrafts
|
“I have $50,000. I can make do,” I had thought when the change was first announced. But slowly, those reserves were being drained, until I had only 100 karma left. That wasn’t enough for a loaf of bread. It would have been, before, but the karma farmers posting click bait and reposts were raking in so much that inflation went rampant. I had always stuck to my guns, posting original content and good ideas. It was no use. I’d get 5 upvotes per post, maybe 6 if I was lucky. Reddit was overrun with banal stuff, people desperately posting anything in order to feed their families for the day. I looked at my dog with tears in my eyes. He was the reason I hadn’t starved yet- people still loved animal posts, after all- but I could see the sickness in his eyes. His tail drooped as it slowly dragged across the cobblestones beneath us. I couldn’t afford a vet, not at these prices.
I realized with a heavy heart I would have to do what I promised myself years ago I would never stoop to: I would have to become a karma farmer.
| 2020-02-14T07:35:34
| 2020-02-14T07:28:04
| 103
| 38
|
[WP]After a head injury, a formerly brilliant general appears to have gone insane. The plot twist: His winning streak continues unbroken. In increasingly comical ways.
Is it merely fool's luck on a cosmic/comic scale, or is there actually a method to the madness? You decide!
|
"Sir, he *is* our best general. But... this is serious. Should we retire him?"
"Eh, give him one chance. Just one. If he manages to impress us still, keep 'im in. I'd love to see this man overcome his little headache."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**Wartime Press**
**His Head is Still in the Battle:**
Dear patriot, today we bring you news that is a tad strange. General Komph, well-known for his bravery and tactical ability in the field, received a cleave to the head last week during a failed assassination attempt. He is alive today, but his brains are scrambled.
But that has not stopped him.
His Highness the King had elected to allow Komph one chance at proving himself still worthy to command our legions. And, well, he passed... With, er... finesse.
Yesterday, in quite possibly one of our most important battles of this war, Komph ordered his men to charge straight through the opposing forces, who had forced a standstill and set up camp around a chokepoint in the Arist Mountains. It worked. We are still not sure today how it worked, but it did. The enemy was taken utterly by surprise, overrun before they had a chance to so much as load a catapult.
We hope to keep you informed, dear patriot, of Komph's victories. That is, if they continue.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**Wartime Press**
**Komph's Brains Far from Fried:**
Well, as I am sure you have heard, patriot, many, *many* things have happened since our last issue of the Wartime Press. In fact, with the way Komph is directing our soldiers, we may soon have to change from the Wartime Press to the Peacetime Press.
Since our last publication, Komph has lead three battles, all of which have been stunning successes. Even His Highness has been lost for words. Interviews with Him have been turning fruitless quickly as he simply shrugs in answer to our questions.
In Komph's first battle this week, he met our aggressors in the Pennel Plains... missing his armor. And his underclothes. His, er, mighty manhood provided such a distraction to the enemy frontlines that our archers were able to fire freely for a full thirty or so minutes. He left the battlefield without a single casualty.
During the Miner's Ditch clash, he again pulled the same trick. However, this time, the enemy forces advanced, undeterred in the slightest by the snake winking at them.
That was exactly what Komph had wanted.
Our soldiers poured out from the various mineshafts littering the Ditch, catching the enemy from behind. It was an absolute massacre, and while it was not a perfect battle like the last, Komph sauntered off with only twenty or so of his own dead. He left three thousand enemy soldiers to rot as their blood seeped into the abundant coal of the region.
And... his most recent. A tale that will go down in this great nation's history for as long as we stand.
Komph was missing for an entire day before the Great Massacre, his army confused, the enemy advancing at a breakneck march. However, he had returned by the next morning, covered in dirt and grime. When his advisers questioned and demanded answers from him, he simply shook his head, replying with one solitary word: "Wait."
That was, indeed, all they had to do.
An earth-shattering explosion had reached their ears by midday. Komph commanded his soldiers to march to where their enemies had been camped previously, giggling all the while as they neared the site.
They were met by a crater in the earth that stretched at least three miles in any given direction.
When questioned how he had created a bomb so strong, Komph only laughed and said that it had been an old family recipe passed down from his mother.
Yes. We are as lost as you.
This about wraps up this edition of the Wartime Press. By next week, the war may already be over. Be sure to check for the "Peacetime Press" in your local shops and gathering halls. Thanks to Komph, we shall be undergoing a name change.
Farewell, patriots. And stay insane.
|
He got hit at Calais, just off the boat.
A mortar exploded 10 feet away and a piece of debris just up and struck him square on the forehead. Regulations said he should have been wearing a helmet. He wasn’t.
Regulations also said that he should have been shipped back to England, then back stateside. He wasn’t.
My fault, really. As his aide, my duty was at his side. If he went stateside, then that’s where I was going too, and dammit I wasn’t going to leave. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d spent my war serving iced tea to a general on a porch in Indiana.
So for me to stay, then General Thaddeus Hurte had to stay too.
Ever notice how the great generals have the strangest names? Napoleon, Hannibal, Thaddeus. And his surname was a newspaper editor’s dream.
So he got hit with a brick in Calais. Out for a week, recuperating. I noticed a change when he finally sat up, the bandage still wrapped around his head. He spoke a little louder. He blinked, but it seemed intentional. Small things like that.
‘We have to get to Holland,’ he said.
‘Generals Montgomery, Patton, Bradley and MacArthur are doing fine, sir. Just sit back and rest,’ I said.
‘Damn fools think troops are the answer.’ He rose from the bed, dizzy, staggering slightly. I held him at the elbow.
‘Carter, take this down.’
‘Yes, sir,’ I said.
‘All tanks are to play records on loudspeakers. Something nice. [‘In the Mood’ by Glenn Miller](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_CI-0E_jses). Yes, I like that one. That’ll take the damn Germans by surprise. Can’t help but dance to that. It’ll give away their sniper posts. Tell our boys to keep an eye out for jitterbuggers in churchtowers.’
I sent the order, changing the wording. Made it sound a bit more official.
It worked. We were in Holland by the end of the month.
‘Next stop controlling the Rhine. It’s wet, Carter.’
‘Yes, sir,’ I said.
‘I don’t want our boys getting wet. Makes fighting miserable. It’s better if the Germans were wet.’
‘You’re right, sir.’
‘I don’t know what, Carter, but every time I have coffee I really need to go. I’m awake all night, and then I just have to find a bathroom.’
He rubbed his forehead.
‘You can’t fight when you need to find a bathroom. Where are the Germans on the Rhine getting their water from?’
‘Wells, streams, tributaries, the Rhine itself, too, sir.’
‘Coffee, Carter. Take five thousand men and start dumping coffee into every spring you can find in the Alps. I want that river to taste like Java by the end of the week!’
‘Yes, sir! Right away, sir!’
It was difficult wording that telegram. Patton and Monty had a few choice words about it when they realised they’d have no beverage to accompany their morning toast.
‘Berlin now, Carter. I don’t know anything about Berlin. Tell me something.’
‘It was founded in the 12th century, and, um, is the capital of Prussia. It’s the Germanic centre of the humanities, music, higher education, government, diplomacy and military affairs.’
‘The reprobates!’
‘Sir?’
‘Having affairs at a time like this. I bet all of the German high command are at it. Get a pen and paper.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Take this down now, on the double. Dear Mrs. Goebbels/Goring/Himmler. You get the idea, Carter?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Dear. Mrs. Etc. It has come to my knowledge that your husband has been having it away with some Aryan trollop. Fine word, that. We are fighting men here in America and when we’re at war, we’re at war, not dipping our wicks, etc, etc. You can add some description as you like there, Carter.
I nodded.
‘I’m not one to judge, but I think a proud German fraulein would be ashamed of welcoming home a General smelling of some other perfume. Don’t you?’
‘I agree, sir.’
‘Well, get that in the letter, too. Send it on, Carter. The entire German high command, and some of their less high command, too. Degenerates all of them.’
I left the wording just so.
| 2015-04-26T12:27:41
| 2015-04-26T12:26:09
| 46
| 17
|
[WP] You have been on the Space Station for just under two years. The last communication with Earth was last week and even then it was a recorded message simply stating “ Do not return”.
|
"Do not return."
I played the message over and over. The robotic voice didn't seem to mind. It just repeated itself, happily or glibly, as I pushed the button that repeated the most recent transmission. "Do not return." Sometimes I foolishly hoped that if I pressed it at just the right time, waited just long enough, it would say something else, but it didn't. It simply looped the same three words — "Do not return."
The first thing I did when the message came through was propel myself to a window. The Earth was still there. It didn't look any different to me. But something happened — other than the short warning, no other communications were coming in. Radio silence, but for those three words. "Do not return."
I had to return eventually, though. Food wasn't exactly bountiful on the ship. But the more I thought about it, the colder I felt. Who sent the message? I had to return.
"Do not return."
I dwelled with indecision for what felt like weeks. Perhaps it was weeks. Until the warning, I'd done well keeping track of the days, but I saw little point in marking the calendar. What did it matter what day it was if I couldn't go back? I checked the button every so often, just to be sure.
"Do not return."
The voice wasn't recorded, of course — it was just my ship's hardware reading the text back to me. But pressing the button and hearing someone say it, even someone that wasn't real, made it seem like a person had sent it to me. When I first started checking the button, the unchanged message drained my hope. After a while, though, it made me feel... warm. Like a person out there cared enough to warn me. I couldn't hear that person, or see that person, but I could press that button and remember that they were real.
I could always check the button.
I always checked the button.
"Return."
I thought I might have broken it, checking it every day or hour or month, however long I was actually up there pushing that button. I checked again.
"Return."
Was I hearing things? Not hearing things? Was the voice only saying one word now?
I pushed the button again, terrified by the ensuing silence, my heart pounding until the voice finally said, "One." It was a strange inflection, almost like a hiccup first, but...
It was a different word. That meant a new transmission. I pressed the button again.
There was a strange pause, and then, "One."
I checked the screen, confused. It was like the voice was trying to read something, but didn't know how to say it. I blinked and leaned in close, unsure how long it had been since I'd even looked at the screen.
It was just two numbers. A strange looking three, and a one.
I looked from the screen to the button and pressed it again.
Pause. "One."
The voice couldn't read the three. Why? I stared at the screen for a moment, nagged by the thought that it looked familiar. I knew this symbol. I knew it well. But I couldn't remember... I thought of the message, nothing but the message, for so long. What was that symbol? I pushed the button again.
"Knee One."
Huh? I looked to the screen.
*N E 1.*
Anyone.
I pressed it again.
"Knee One."
My heart was racing. A person. Finally, a person. I pushed the button.
"No."
My heart dropped. No? What did it mean, no? I pushed the button.
"Okay."
I looked at the screen. *O K.* What was going on? I pressed the button again.
"Ick you."
I gulped and looked to the screen.
*I C U.*
I glanced around, but I couldn't see any way out. I could only see that it would finally be over. Whoever sent the message had tried to keep me safe, tried to spare me the fate of everyone else. A dark mass covered all views of the void outside, and the distant blue planet. They tried, and they failed. I wished I could press the button and hear that first message, that first warning. A person sent that to me. A person cared about me.
I closed my eyes and drew one last shuddering breath.
As I pushed the button, black tar seeped through fresh cracks in the metal walls, stretching toward me with arms oozing toxic fumes.
"I return you."
|
Nova stared out across the dark void, a feeling of great gloom settling in his stomach. Today marked two years since the Launch, and though he had gotten used to the prospect of life on the Axel 2020, he couldn't help but long for the days of life back on earth — of waking up to the mouthwatering aromas of his mother's brilliant cooking, watching as the sun rose slowly into the sky, shining brightly upon the world below, the walk to work, the sound of dogs barking, of roosters roosting — or was it crowing? — and of cab drivers yelling at each other over passengers.
He had never appreciated just how intriguing all these sights and sounds were, until they were all replaced by this blank expanse of nothingness. His life had been far from perfect, but it had at least been enjoyable — until it came: the dastardly Covid19 virus.
He remembered how it had started small, a few people here and there getting infected and being carted off to the hospitals. And then it got worse. People had to maintain good distances away from each other, lovers could no longer embrace, families and friends had to remain divided. But it didn't stop there. Quarantines ensued, entire countries had been locked down, thousands were dying or losing their jobs, and the Government had no choice but to launch their final plan to save Humanity.
The Axel 2020 Space Station took months to build — a surprisingly short time, thanks to the effort pouring in from all corners of the world — and then, the few that had remained free and clean, untouched by the virus, had their whole lives uprooted and were sent away while the rest battled fiercely against the monstrosity that threatened to engulf mankind.
Nearly a year had passed before they had received their first message. Nova remembered a feeling of intense excitement — the virus had been destroyed, they were going home. Or so he had thought. The message had brought the gravest news that he had ever seen. Only a quarter of the population remained, the virus had won, "Do not return."
The next few months were a blur of tears. But a moment of clarity had come today, the mark of the two years that they had spent in isolation, in the middle of a vast emptiness that seemed to suck away their happiness like a great vacuum of glee. For one wild, heart-wrenching moment, Nova considered removing his helmet, letting the void claim him before despair did, but just as his fingers made to prise it off, he heard the sound of pattering feet and a voice that throbbed with — could he dare believe it? — *happiness*?
He whirled around. It was Stella. Tears were leaking down her face behind her helmet, but she was smiling.
"We've gotten another message," she said breathlessly. "They — they did it! They beat the virus! We can finally go back!"
Nova stared at her, at a complete loss for words, but his muscles communicated what he had been trying to say well enough. He dashed forward and seized her in a tight hug, tears now flooding down *his* face as well. They were finally leaving — they were going home.
r/MysticScribbles
Any comment or criticism is welcome and appreciated!
| 2020-04-18T09:43:51
| 2020-04-18T08:30:13
| 38
| 16
|
[WP] You are a child psychologist assigned to study and care for a young child with superpowers who has brutally murdered people. You have been told to act with care and with compassion, trying to rehabilitate them if possible
|
The orb of water spun much like any child’s toy, the dewdrop consistency strange to the observant eye. The room was mostly bare, devoid of any adornments aside from the standard: bed, end table, window. The boy sat in the center, the oversized droplet putty in his hands as he tossed it in the air, the light sparkling through its glassy surface.
I walked inside, the limp in my leg stifled as I approached him. His attention turned to me.
Where eyes should have sat, there were instead similar water droplets, oversized tears that had replaced what originally lay within the sockets. He turned away, returning to his catching game.
I sat on the floor next to him. Not close enough that it would disturb him, but enough that I could whisper if needed. My tailbone groaned in protest, the pain stark. I didn’t let it show. “I heard there was an accident today.”
“There’s no accidents. She was mean, so I hit her.”
“Mean?”
The droplet returned to being putty, and he squeezed it. “She wanted me to take the medicine today, but my stomach hurtand I said no. She tried to force me, so I hit her.” His hands sped up, the water like gum as he rubbed his hands across it. “Did I-?”
“No.” I cut in. “No, she will live. Her arm will need to be restored though.” I pointed to the sphere. “Is that…?”
He didn’t meet my eyes. “Yeah. I’m sorry. They took away the other things because…you know. But I don’t like being alone in here.”
I looked at the water. It was crystal clear, not a sign of red, devoid of any ‘impurity’. I swallowed. “If it wasn’t an accident, did you mean to kill her?” He paused for a moment, then shook his head. “No. She didn’t deserve it.”
“Why not?” I looked at the ceiling. There were scratches deep set into the wood.
“Because.” He bounced the ball. “She wasn’t trying to kill me. She just wanted me to do something I didn’t want to. And the last time I did that, this happened to me.” He pointed to his face.
“I’ll notify the other doctors about your preference.”
With that, we simply sat there a bit, watching the window, the heavy bars overlayed through the opening.
“Why didn’t you escape?” I looked to the orb of water in his hands again. I’d seen what he could do, how fast and precise water could move when he wanted it to. “It must’ve been scary when she, the nurse, screamed. Weren’t you afraid of getting in trouble?”
“No. Not really.” He let the orb turn back into a puddle, demonstrating. “No matter where I go, I have to face the fact that someone wants to use me. At least here I don’t need to-”
A bird perched on the window. Its wings fluttered a moment, eyes peering inside the small room. Then it was gone.
The spell it cast on him broke then. “-I don’t need to worry about friends dying. I can’t lose them when I don’t have them.”
“A risk of life.” I nodded. “Do you regret knowing them?”
“No!” He was startled. “They regret knowing me though. Marienne, Laddie, Niles.”
“Do you know that?”
“I-” He shook his head again, harder. “I-I killed them.” He whispered. “I shouldn’t have run. They tried to help me, and they suffered for it. It wasn’t fair that they took MY punishment.”
“They risked themselves to protect you. Why?”
“I don’t know.” He put his head in his shoulders.
“Do you want to know what I think?” He didn’t move. “Your friends loved you dearly. Dearly enough that they would lay down their lives for you. That you would find such people in your circumstances was a miracle.” I placed my hand on his shoulder. After months of back and forth, he finally did not flinch at the contact.
“It was even more a miracle you survived. But what good will it all be if you squander it living like this?”
“They won’t let me live any other way.”
“That isn’t true. There will be chances to prove yourself, chances like today. All you need to do is make the correct choices.”
“So you want me to just sit there and take it?” The bitterness in his words bit me. “Because I won’t. If they try, I’ll kill them too.”
“Then you’d be right back where you started.”
“At least then I could see the ocean.”
“You know that-”
“No. No! I don’t know anything. No one aside from you has told me anything! So tell me, what happens if I DO escape? What happens if I butcher you all and leave, huh?”
My mouth flapped for a moment. “You would escape the City. Out across the ocean or perhaps below. Then you’d have to start all over again. Learning to live somewhere, to be around people or without. Then, maybe, after years upon years of ruining your chances, maybe you’d have what you had before. But that doesn’t happen without you making a conscious effort to change.”
He sighed.
“Okay.” He nodded. “Alright.” My spirit lifted. “I don’t believe you.” It sank as he said it.
“I don’t believe you. I’ll never have what I used to.” His eyes met mine, the swirling water magnifying the flesh behind. “But if YOU genuinely believe it, I can stand to not maim people for a while. I think.”
I nodded. The rest of my visit was punctuated by a game of chess that I procured from the staff. As I left, he waved at me, I returned it with a smile. A significant weight lifted from my back, along with the rivulets of sweat. “How was he?” The nurse asked. “The usual.” I brushed off my coat, relaxing slightly.
“I can’t believe you agreed to work with this one. Haven’t you heard what he did in Highwater?” Without pausing, I walked past her. In my mind's eye, I could picture it. Several people, their bodies desiccating as the water was drawn from them. My own leg as he lashed out in fear. The boy's words echoed in me. “I don’t believe I’ll have that ever again.” There was a deep pain there.
The patter of rain came away as I left the building, the barred window staring back at me all the while. I did not limp until I was well out of sight.
|
He sat by the window, watching, perhaps waiting. His pale face and dull eyes reflected clearly through the tinted window. Outside, he could see the gorgeous trees, the brilliant sky, and small schoolhouse next door. But we both know he could never go outside. With one touch, he could burn it all to the ground. After all, he had once before.
I sat across from him, sitting behind my desk. All these awards and plaques acknowledging my achievement in rehabilitating troubled youths did nothing to settle my nerves. I had never dealt with anything like this before. Even in my own office, he made me feel small.
His bland folding chair was turned towards the window. The only thing disturbing the silence was the rapping of his fingertips on the window sill, as well as the occasional jingle of his handcuffs as he repositioned himself.
Never dealt with anything like this before - no, anyone like this before, I had to remind myself. Behind all the fear and power he held, he was just a 16 year old boy.
"Nathan," I called to him, "you can't ignore me like this. We have to talk about the incident."
I tried to keep my voice as soft as possible while still maintaining a firm tone. It had to seem like I wasn't afraid of him.
"Which incident?" He mumbled.
"Nathan, your parents." He stayed quiet.
I pried once more, "Nate, you know how much they loved you."
"I wasn't my fault!" He roared, suddenly spinning to face me. I saw something in his eyes. I saw what they saw, what his parents saw before they had to send him away. The rage that lingered in his glare was unforgettable.
Despite the fact that I was told not to, I stared at his hands. His fingers. They were smoldering.
Suddenly, it stopped. He immediately no longer looked angry, but apologetic. I guess he saw the fear in my eyes.
"I i- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. But I NEED you to understand that I wasn't my fault. I just can't control it sometimes." Nathan hurriedly explained.
By this time, I was able to regain my composure. I feigned calm. Not that he could see it, but my hands were shaking under my desk.
"That's okay Nathan, just tell me what happened one more time." I clicked my pen and smiled to him.
"We've been over it hundreds of times." Nate complained.
"Then one more time won't hurt."
With one final sigh, he began once more.
"It was Kelly's birthday party, she was turning seven. Everyone came. Every. Single. Person." Nate shuddered. "A-and when Uncle Lance and cousin Flourance came up to me, they said that I was a monster, a freak. They said that I could only light fires because I was going to Hell." Now Nathan was the one shaking. "I couldn't take it, not anymore. They had always done this. The yelling, the taunting, I just wanted it to go away. I could feel my fingertips burning a- and when Flourance hit me, I hit him back."
Now, as Nathan once more recounted the event, I watched him trace his palms with his fingers.
The rest was history. When Nathan's cousin ran screaming into the house like a human torch, Nathan followed. He set the house alight. Only his parents survived. Or course, his mom was half baked and little more remained of his dad than his head and shoulders. What remained of his family sent him away, to me.
"So it wasn't my fault, it just got out of control. I can't help it."
I let out a long breath, "Nathan, it's been three years since the fire. We have tried everything to contain your abilities. Do you truly believe there is no way to control them?"
He stared deep into my eyes. We saw each other, and reached the truest, deepest understanding.
"No."
And then I knew, he was too dangerous. Nathan was going to have to be put down.
| 2022-07-22T15:50:42
| 2022-07-22T14:47:19
| 73
| 30
|
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
"DEUS VULT!"
The battlecry of the newly reborn Papal State rang on the lips of devout Catholics the world over. The faithful had come together once again to rid the Holy Land of the infidel scourge. Pope Francis stood at the head of his army, a not-so-ceremonial sword flashing in his hand as he held it up on the streets of the Holy City.
(In all seriousness, how has nobody invoked the Crusades yet?)
|
When Daesh had exploded a bomb right in the middle of the sambodromo, the world was shocked.
Fortunately, nobody was killed, but Rio´s carnaval was destroyed. Brazilians demanded a strong answer from their government, but they had not fought a serious war for at least 150 years, so how to react? How to succeed where warfaring countries had failed?
Well, the answer came from the strangest of the places: Mauro Maravilha, São Paulo´s most famous carnavelesco devised a plan. Destroy Daesh without a single bullet. How? Mulatas, cerveja and, obviously, samba.
Brazilians united into one goal: to become the ultimate propaganda machine that would strike into the heart and mind of the jihadists. With catchy slogans as "Is better a Mulata today then 70 virgins tomorrow", the Daesh recruitment fell to almost nothing in no time.
Then came the bombing. Weird bombs: of pictures of beautifully tanned men and women("lay down your weapons and join the party!"it was written), chilling cold brazilian beer kegs chuted, pandeiros, cavaquinhos, speakers that would blast the best of the best brazilian music 24/7.
And finally, the land invasion. The Samba Brigades were made of such skilled musicians, that no one, I mean, NO ONE, that heard their music could stand still.
But not all is good news for the brazilians. Now is 2020, and Raqqa´s carnaval parade is rumoured to be even greater then Rio´s.
[I know it is not very good! Constructive criticism is very welcomed]
| 2016-01-29T10:03:10
| 2016-01-29T07:12:39
| 82
| 36
|
[WP] "Go on,tell people The President forcefully entered your house at 4 A.M and stole your milk" Barack Obama gurgled out as he drank your milk
He sees the true potential in presidency.
Rip in peace milk tho.
|
Thanks Obama
For drinking all the milk
Spilling on the floor
Wiping it up with my wife's silk.
For letting out the cat
The dirt on the wall
The drunk FBI
Passed out in the hall
Thanks Obama
For burning the cake
For turning my basement
Into a lake
For not flushing the toilet
Or washing your plate
I hope you go home soon
It's getting really late
|
There was a bang and a crash of glass from the front door of my house. Immediately I sprang out of bed, grabbing my baseball bat in case of violence from the intruder. I stood there, in my room, mentally preparing myself for what I could end up against. I quietly opened my bedroom door and snuck out down the main hall. I gripped the bat more tightly as I approached. In the living room, nothing was stolen, and no one was in there. The only clue that anything had happened was that a window was broken. Evidently whoever had broken in had tried to break the door down -- that was the bang -- and then smashed the window in. I realized I should have probably put shoes on, and now I had to think of another thing: look for intruders, don't step on glass, look for what's been stolen... I heard a sound from my kitchen and saw a light through the doorway. I opened the kitchen door cautiously. I saw a black man in my kitchen, drinking a big glass of milk, fridge open, gallon of milk on the table. He was wearing a nice suit, in fact, much nicer clothing than you'd expect a burglar to wear. After about five seconds of just standing there I realized I was staring at President Barack Obama, drinking my milk.
On came the lights, and Obama looked towards me. "Mr. President! What the *hell* are you doing in my house!"
"Uhh, drinking milk. I thought it was pretty clear."
"This isn't the time for Mr. Wise Guy. Get out of my house before I call the cops!"
"But I'm the President. The cops aren't going to arrest the President." After he said this I realized he was right.
"Well, I'll do *something*!" I gestured toward the baseball bat.
"Because the police will take kindly to a random man beating the President with a baseball bat." I was fast out of options.
"Get the hell out of this house before I shoot you!"
"You don't seem to have noticed my partner in crime, Mr. Jeffery Baker." *How did he know my name? Oh yeah, NSA.* From the shadows emerged none other than the current Democratic Presidential candidate, Hillary Clinton. She had a madman's smile plastered on her face and she held a revolver. Obama grabbed onto me and quickly tied me to the chair he had been sitting in. Hillary cackled like a mad witch, and the last thing I heard was gunshots...
Breaking News: Jeffery Baker, 42, was found dead in his Atlanta home. He was found with six gunshot wounds to the back of the head. His blogpage, jeffdoestalking.blogspot.com, was known for having starkly conservative and anti-Democratic posts. His most recent post was regarding Hillary Clinton's unfitness for President due to the "basket of deplorables" remark she made. His cause of death was ruled a suicide.
Edit: Spelled realise the non-American way when writing as an American.
| 2016-09-17T16:45:34
| 2016-09-17T12:56:50
| 29
| 13
|
[WP] Your mission is to write the worst opening to a YA novel ever. How badly can you make us cringe?
|
My name is Jezzabella Heart and I'm not like other girls. When I walk down the hall at school, the other girls stare, because they know, I am just not like them. They don't agree with my sense of style. While they're dressed up in pink and glitter, I prefer black t-shirts and skinny black jeans.
They just don't understand what it's like. What it's like to be me.
"Oh my God, is that Jizzabell? Gross." I can hear someone laughing, it can only be Cindy Rockafella, she's super rich or something. She's so perfect, her long, perfect finger curls of strawberry blonde hair always bounce like a soft breeze follow her wherever she goes. I hate her guts. "What is that in her hair? Looks like my dog threw up!" She's laughing with her cheer squad friends.
I tug at my hair, the rainbow died strands feel smooth and lush in my fingers, but I can't help but think that maybe it does look like vomit.
"Hey, uh....nice hair or whatever...." I look up and my purple eyes meet scarlet, and I feel like my shrivelled heart skips a beat
"Uh, thanks I guess." His skin was covered in blotchy white paste, his lips dark with cracked lipstick. Eyes rimmed with shaky eye-liner.
He was even wearing a red cravat, I knew at once what he was, and my love could never be.
He was the goth new kid, and I was the emo girl.
Our love would never be accepted by subculture norms.
But still..
"I kind of guess your make-up is pretty cool, I've got cigarettes." He nodded, and his lips pulled up into a neutral expression, as much a smile as either of us would ever show.
I knew that it was destiny.
|
Once upon a time, a young girl and a young boy were deeply in love. They would always re-enact romantic scenes from films, ranging from Romeo and Juliet to Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, costumes and all. They would go everywhere together, *do* everything together... by everything, I mean *everything*, even going to the bathroom, public or private! And they would often be in there for a while...
They would always say cute things to each other, such as "I love you - I love you more - I love you more than ice cream - I love you more than cupcakes!", and had adorable pet names for each other; the boy was known as 'Cub' and the girl was known as 'Sweetcake'. The two really were inseparable.
But one day, the boy's family had to move to the next town over for his fathers job, and now the two could only see each other four days a week. The girl was torn apart, and spends every waking moment apart from her lover texting him how much she misses him, and he responds by promising that, one day, they'll be together again. So the girl waits...
| 2022-08-19T16:04:21
| 2022-08-19T14:20:41
| 2,256
| 93
|
[WP] When the galactic council of gods decided to go to war with the humans gods the council trampled all but one. One cloaked figure weilding a sharpened scythe and not a single worshipper to their name and for the first time the council felt afraid.
|
The world had been devastated with cataclysm after cataclysm as the Gods of Humanity were forced into physical manifestation by an unknown power. They were quickly found and destroyed like deer on a reserve, escape impossible.
One remaining God of Humanity still existed only because he had no worshipers to point the way. None who knew the love he had for all of them. He didn’t need their worship. The Deity Hunters found him atop a cliff overlooking the sea. The waves battered the rocky shore below as the three hunters approached the figure standing at the edge.
The last God of Humanity was a tall human-like figure cloaked in deep black robes that ate the light around him. On his back rested a scythe as tall as him with a wicked blade that curved over his head. The wind had an eerie calm that seemed at odds with the chaos below as Death turned to face them. His hood revealed no face underneath the folds of darkness.
When they drew close the hunter in the center called out, “That’s a helluva weapon you got there son. Shame it won’t do your like no good.” They halted six feet away as if waiting for him to respond or strike at them.
A voice from the darkness replied, “You killed them too fast. I couldn’t travel in this body.”
“That’s too bad. It would have saved us the trouble of coming out here to end you.” The center hunter replied, he was clearly the leader among the three. “Why the hell did you manifest out here? This was your nexus of worship?”
An emotionless voice came from the hood again, “I don’t have a nexus. I am where I am needed only and no where else. At the time of our forced… mortality I was needed here. Abby was the last one I could save before you began your slaughter.”
“Saved? Everyone on this island is dead.” The lead hunter said before breaking into a laugh. The other hunters didn’t share his emotion. They stood still, and at the ready.
“Yes this life has ended for them, but I was there for them when it happened. I know them as deeply as they knew themselves and more. They will live on. Their spirits will never fade into oblivion while I bar the way. I couldn’t be there for the rest.” A hint of emotion came into his voice as if the pain under his mask was about to break through.
Instead he burst forward in one swift motion grabbing the scythe off his back and cleaving through the central figures left shoulder down through his right hip. The top half of his body still hung in the air as Death pivoted to bring the scythe upwards into the poor bastard on the the left. It again tore clean through his body splitting him in two as the third hunter on the right flared bright with energy.
The last hunter's sword appeared in his hand as if from thin air. His speed now incredible. It wasn’t enough. Death pivoted one last time to bring the butt end of his scythe directly into the center of the hunter's chest and the hunter immediately deflated. The light flowed up the scythe, and into the blackness of Death’s robes.
The last hunter remained alive, but too drained to fight. He yelled half at Death and half at reality, “You can’t be this fast! You are mortal. With none to worship you!”
The emotionless voice returned. “I carry the memory of everything to have ever lived. Oblivion comes for all here, but now I alone stand in it’s way. As long as I exist there will be no true end. They worship me through living.”
|
Mex Ki'Toth gazed out into the abyss beyond. No lights of far flung stars, no brilliant bursts of wave spectrums to color the cosmos. The roar of creation as atoms smashed together, as electrons pulsed to tangible form? All of this was blotted out by the great shadow that Mex Ki'Toth stood within. Beside Mex Ki'Toth was a small rabble of their brethren. Those lucky gods of the galactic council who had already met the carrier of such a long shadow.
Salquetor the blue sun, his glow only a faint shimmer on his hair, whimpered into the echo less dark around them.
"Quiet brother, you know we are safe here. No fury, no rage, our sibling sees our innocence," Mex Ki'Toth tried desperately to counsel their sibling of the blue sun, the sibling that should have been the oldest and wisest among them.
Mex Ki'Toth was the middle moon. Neither young nor old among their pantheon, but one that assumed three forms for their duties. And it was upon the insistence of Mex Ki'Toth that their few siblings had survived the evisceration of moments ago.
Earth and the humans of it had many gods. But these gods had been weak, their mortals advancing a society that needed not to rely on gods and stories to thrive. The galactic council had learned of this, and felt insulted when only one had once shown up to the inauguration when humans joined the galactic stage.
The collective rage had set stars to boil their contents in fits. To make moons shudder and scatter debris on planets below. They crashed upon the Human Gods like hungry savages battling for discarded scraps of food in forlorn gutters.
They had forgotten who had arrived in place of these gods. They had forgotten the hollow eyes of those who had witnessed the horror, the pervading grief, the unyielding stiffness and cold, the rage of lost experiences, the melancholy of an inevitable force. They had forgotten about those who had met sibling Death.
And Death did not take kindly to these gods that had tried to assume it's role.
The bones beneath Mex Ki'Toth crunched as they tried to forget the powerful gods that has once been. They finally knew the reason sibling Death had no worshippers, because even these bones of gods held no worth anymore. No more or less than the specks of starlight Death caught with scythe blade as they walked towards the fleeing and screaming.... Gods.... Or perhaps they no longer needed to be called that. They resented Death, true. They feared Death, of course. But the faster they fled, the greater their struggle to escape, the quicker the shadow found them.
And Death reaped them in a fashion no different than the mortal souls that floated as starlight along the inscrutable path the steed of Death walked.
"Sibling Death?" Mex Ki'Toth whispered, but could hear no words escape their lips.
"You are heard," Death did not speak, but Mex Ki'Toth felt the words.
"The council, it is gone. Their mortals can feel their connections broken. Will this not cause panic and them to perish without your want?" Mex Ki'Toth was in their child form, the only one they could maintain in the presence of Sibling Death.
"You and your siblings will fill the gap." There was no discussion in the statement Death made. No hope or doubt, no command or question. Only words that spoke the truth of what would come to pass.
Mex Ki'Toth stopped trying to follow. Sibling Death was never far away. They had other duties as it were. As they stared into far flung galaxies, already Mex Ki'Toth could see humans offering aid to the great civilizations that relied on their beliefs to propel them into the galaxy.
| 2021-06-02T22:41:18
| 2021-06-02T20:21:39
| 29
| 18
|
[WP] murder is legal, once a permit has been obtained from the local police department. Permits require a declaration of a target victim and justification to commit the act. Once a permit has been issued it is valid for 72 hours. Once expired you can never get another for the same target victim.
|
Officer Jennifer tilted her gaze upward incredulously. "Is this a serious filing?"
"Completely serious."
She sighed, and Officer Jennifer rubbed the bridge of her nose in irritation. "Sir, the Sanctioned Termination Act is, of course, your right to pursue..."
"Yes. Yes it is." The boy in the red hat grinned. "I have as much right as any citizen to select and follow through on a target."
"We use the term "Recipient." Officer Jennifer scowled. "And you ARE aware that the Recipient is not in any way shape or form obligated to just permit the engagement to happen uncontested?"
The boy grinned with unabashed malice. He couldn't be older than ten years old; seeing such evil warping a young face unnerved Officer Jennifer. "Of course. The hunt is part of the fun."
*What the hell is wrong with this kid...* Officer Jennifer made a mental note to report this to her supervisors for inspection. The STA unfortunately had no restrictions on the age of who could file permits, only the age of Recipients. "Fine. Name?"
The boy in the red hat held up two fingers. "Two tar... recipients, if you please. Jessica and Jamison Rocké."
Officer Jennifer wrote the names down, one each on separate permits. "Grievance?"
"It's personal."
"I can't give you a permit without listing the grievance you have against them that warrants murder, kid."
"Fine. Theft. They keep trying to steal my pet from me."
"You're wishing to kill two people.. over a pet?"
The boy smiled, and pulled the pocket of his shirt open a little ways. A small dormouse, tawny yellow in color, peeked out with a curious squeak. "Mister Peeker and I are very close, you see."
Officer Jennifer wrote it down on the two forms. "I am obligated to tell you that Jessica Rocké and Jamison Rocké will be immediately notified of this filing. Once we can confirm they have been informed of the attempt on their life, you will be notified of the beginning of your seventy-two hour Engagement Period. Any activity taken against the Recipients prior to that notification is not considered legal engagement, and will be subject to standard laws."
The boy in the red hat nodded gleefully. "I wouldn't want them not to know. I *want* them to be afraid. I want them to know Ashe is coming for them."
Officer Jennifer waved her hand at Ashe, wishing to get his disturbing presence out of her station. "Your copy of the forms will be available at the desk down the hall. And again, no activity is permitted until we notify you that the Recipients have been notified. ..No matter how fun it may sound."
Ashe barked a cold piercing laugh, and reached into his pocket to scratch Mister Peeker on the head as he left to claim his forms and await his Engagement Period.
|
Different people come here and get their permit.
Young people, old people hell yesterday a kid was here.
I've been working in the central city department for 2 years now, have seen tons of faces familiar and unfamiliar some are even regulars...
But what I didn't know was that today would be different, today would mark the day of not just a new era also the terrifying truth of what humans really are.
He looked like a normal guy in his 20's short beard and hair a nice pair of sunglasses and a soda in his hands and as he walked to the counter, to me, this chilling feeling overcame me of when you know something is wrong.
He moved up to the counter and asked for a permit, but as I replied "which person are we talking about?" He just nodded and replied in such a agonizing voice but with so much assertiveness "everyone"
| 2019-07-09T10:00:39
| 2019-07-09T08:57:47
| 238
| 47
|
[WP] It's been ten years since 'The Gap' when everyone on the planet just lost an entire year of their lives. Completely unable to recall anything that happened during that time-frame. We know life went on, but no one can recall anything. Then, you find one half-burned book and know why we forgot.
|
One night, ten years ago, I fell asleep on my friend’s couch after a night of heavy drinking.
One morning, ten years ago, I woke up on an airplane, 38,000 feet in the air.
We called it ‘The Gap’.
When humanity woke that day, we found that a year had passed. Somehow, our bodies had kept moving, our lives had continued - but we remembered none of it.
Researchers and scientists devoted millions of manhours to the search. There were no records of that year, no artifacts that could tell us what happened. Everything, from internet records to personal journals, that contained information from that year was destroyed.
Well, almost everything.
One morning, two days ago, I found it.
A half-burned journal with the events of 2020.
Massive fires. Locust swarms. A pandemic that spread across the world. As the year went on, the events grew stranger and stranger. The pandemic worsened. The climate changed faster and faster. A series of solar flares wiped out most of our electrical infrastructure. It was as though the universe itself had been trying to wipe out humanity.
People started to go missing, whole cities at a time. Others started acting stranger and stranger. World leaders became erratic and unreliable, especially in the wake of the solar flares. Nobody opposed them.
A dozen secret organizations revealed themselves. Fighting broke out. The Illuminati won out against the Collective, but were in turn defeated by the Foundation.
Ah, the Foundation.
Unlike the others, they didn’t want to rule. They didn’t want anything besides the preservation of humanity.
They told us that they’d been protecting us for years. That one of their Reality Anchors had failed, and that the universe itself was warping.
We could see it happen. Street lamps twisted themselves into knots. The earth warped and twisted beneath our feet. Skyscrapers appeared in the middle of fields. A jungle sprouted up in Manhattan. The sky rippled and twisted on a daily basis. Some days, we had to wear gas masks just to go outside.
Continents moved like sailing ships. Pangea came again in the space of a single week. Anything not under direct observation by a set of human eyes could, and did, change. Coffee turned to gasoline. Gravity would invert itself in a single city block, then be entirely normal in the next block.
We rallied behind the Foundation in a global effort never seen before. They built a machine - a reset device, they called it. It would calm the ripples in spacetime, bring us back to where we were. The catch?
Well, none of us would remember a thing. I suppose the Foundation was happy about that.
The Reality Reset took place on December 31st, 2020. It wiped everything two hours before a meteor was due to strike the surface of the Earth.
The Foundation destroyed any records of that year. They said it would be disruptive to the fabric of society. I suppose they missed one thing.
Or I suppose they didn’t.
As I write this, I see two vans pulling into my driveway. I’m not expecting guests.
But before I go, I should record one last thing. One thing the book mentioned.
2020 wasn’t the first time reality reset.
And it won’t be the last.
---
*Like this story? Want to read more? Subscribe to /r/OneMillionWords*
|
Ignorance is bliss. Sweet, sweet ignorance. When we discovered that an entire year had been lost, we searched all over every database, every book, every dumb post on the internet for answers. But there was nothing. The entire planet had lost its memory, in a strange event known only as The Gap. 365 days of absolutely nothing. Not even the things around us seemed to have changed. We still had the same stuff, hell, some of us had new stuff, but there was nothing to indicate what had happened in that year.
The Gap happened ten years ago. Conspiracy theorists have tried to explain the event with everything from the Illuminati getting revealed to alien invasion, to God sending the rapture to take all the good people away and making the rest of us forget about them. There are scholars and scientists who have spent their entire lives since the Gap, trying to discover the truth about the mysterious and total event which affected all known humans. Even the uncontacted tribes on North Sentinel Island were reportedly affected by this.
But I know. I wish I didn't. I really, really wish I didn't know, but I do. While urban exploring in an old library, I came upon what seemed like a small basecamp, an old tent, some camping equipment, various rotted cans of foodstuff. All ranging back from the time which we all forgot. I looked around to see if there was anything interesting, and in a small area of soot, I came upon a journal.
Half of it was burned away, but enough survived the damp and the fire for it to still be readable. When I read the words in that journal, the memories returned. It was only a single year. But it had been so horrifying, so terrible, that once it ended, all mankind forgot about it. Not because of an outside influence, not because of secret government projects. We forgot as a defence mechanism. We forgot because remembering the year of madness, the Gap, would break the mind.
Space and reality had broken. We gave birth to our own fathers. Our blood was molten lead. The birds swam underwater and the fish flew through the skies. Cars became carnivorous and trains screamed riddles into the night. The dead returned, and the living died, and vice versa. The oceans turned to land, and the continents sank and became oceans. Time ceased to matter. Those of us who had understanding of the movement of the moon, which was one of the only constants, reckoned that the Year of Madness, the Gap, lasted both a single year on the outside, and a thousand and eight years on the inside.
The madness we experienced, as the laws of physics became suggestions, as it was briefly possible to reverse entropy, and disregard gravity through sheer force of will, was excruciatingly painful. Dogs walked men on leashes, and cats went to technical college and learned how to maintain servers. Dinosaurs returned, and they all had exaggerated German accents. The sun died and we had to build a new one from scratch.
It was a terrible time of uncertainty and madness. Where you'd have to check yourself every morning to see if you still had the same shape you had when you went to bed. The long lost ships, like the Titanic or the Bismarck, finally came home to port. And it hurts to remember having existed during this period. During the Year of Madness. Shaking from the memories, I burned the remains of the book. How it had survived, when all else had returned to normality, I cannot fathom.
But I know this, what happened to make the Gap, it can happen again. Time will not matter, space will be a suggestion, all dimensions could be freely traversed, even those we do not yet fathom. The only thing that keeps me from falling apart into a screaming heap of human flesh, is the idea that a repeat can be prevented. The Gap must never come again. And I remember who caused it. I remember how we hated them, how we punished them during the madness. I know who caused the Gap, and I will gladly give up my freedom or life to ensure that those who caused it the first time are slain, so that it might never happen again.
As I leave the library, mumbling about how sweet ignorance is bliss, I order a plane ticket for Nevada. The researchers might have created the Gap in Area 51, but they don't spent all their time there. For the good of the sanity of mankind, I will slay them, and prevent another Year of Madness from ever occurring again.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
| 2020-07-08T14:23:40
| 2020-07-08T13:47:34
| 4,285
| 1,082
|
[WP] Write a high fantasy story (magic, dragons, etc) set in a trench warfare environment with modern weapons. Circa WWI
|
The night ended with rain. It brought no relief with it - a cold October pounding into the soil no less than the previous day's bombardment. A rhythmic thud, machine-like in the silence of the trenches. Bullets or raindrops, it mattered little to the ones that had fallen in yesterday's counterattack.
Byron's boots squelched in the liquid mud with every wary step he took forward through the narrow crevice to the main dugout - the last place where the enemy tried to re-group and hold out. In the morning's heavy haze, through the dirty lenses of his gasmask, Byron could still see how his footprints turned to crimson puddles. Behind him, the small troop mirrored his advance. Guns cocked, whispers filtered through the thick rubber, wary eyes following the thin mist that hung at the bottom of the trench. Their bayonettes bouncing like the noses of bloodhounds, sniffing the prey out.
His bodyguards. Taking time, allowing him to kneel at every body, cup the face and press the sigil onto yeilding, waxy flesh. Byron could feel their disapproving stares boring into his back, the veiled, patronizing insults squeezed between teeth and cigarette as he went about his grisly task. Still, he pressed forward, attending the fallen with reverie they most definetely didn't experience in living form.
Byron felt hollow. He lost count of these fields, these trenches. The provisions changed, the landscapes changed, summer followed spring and then died out with the first September breezes, but one thing remained constant - mortar craters, smoke, dirt and rotting human meat lying around, sucked and then spit out by the soil itself.
Iperyte didn't discriminate by creed or affinity, by virtue or sin. When the Blight Dragon passed the enemy trenches on low glide, it exhaled the noxious heavy cloud all over the foxholes, shrouding the Germans' positions in this deadly wave. Iperyte sunk fast, and as the battle raged on, they took lungfulls of the poison in an instant.
The 11th Battalion should be grateful, Byron thought as the platoon finally reached the dugout. Grateful for such a foul gift that had got him towering over a pile of bodies, over young men that clung to each other in their final moments, to their guns, faces twisted in suffocating agony. One soldier's hand still stuck out to the edge of the trench, curled in a grasp over a root like a large pale spider.
Unseeing, their eyes peered at the shuddering sky, gathering rainwater like little pewter cups. There was noone around courteous enough to close them.
The gas gave them a painful, but otherwise, *wholesome* death. That's why he was usually sent in after the gas attacks. The bodies were intact, making his task sensible, logical. Lowering to his knees in the dirt, the heavy flackjacket soaking up the water hungrily, Byron un-latched the spellbook and dagger from his belt, and began the binding ritual. He unwound the bandage on his wrist, re-opening an old wound with the tip of the obsidian knife, and as the blood dripped into the crudely scratched sigil in the warm soil before him, he began the incantation.
Something *else* moved his dry tongue - a will, Byron felt, not entirely his. The will of the screeching shells, the will of the burning villages, the will of the stuttering machine-guns. He submitted to it. Like always. He rubbed at the dust in the mask's eye-pieces. The spell practically worked by itself, like a forest fire hungry consume more and more on its way.
Byron watched as they blinked when the imbued sigil bound all the bodies into one single urge. As the dead Germans shrugged off the paralysis of death, rising in unison on the accord of his wordless command.
In those glazed eyes, he - only he - could read their avulsion, their sorrow, their fear... but he couldn't apologize. Couldn't redeem himself for what he was about to do as his bloodied fingers moved, rousing the dead from their slumber, directing them to sluggishly pick the same weapons they abandonded as death crept over them. There was vomit on their dull-grey uniforms, and their lips parted apart lax, dark with cyanosis.
Hastily, he finished the incantation, wiped his hands on the hem of the coat, got to his feet and turned back to the troop, happy to stop looking into those condemning, stone-cold faces.
"They ready, 'mancer?" The sergeant's hand dug into his shoulder with an approving squeeze. "Can't wait to see the sons of whores marching up to their positions uphill. What a sight, eh? They won't guess a thing there, think it's their lads coming back! Welsome with open fracking arms! And none of ours would die today - you're a Godsend, Tyrell".
For once, Byron felt grateful that the gasmask concealed most of his face. Even the itchy rubber felt pleasant - in a perverted, self-punishing way.
"Yes", the words slithered out. "I'm ready to send them over".
The sergeant nodded, giving the sign for the rest of the platoon to move on. The soldiers followed, climbing upwards along with the dead Germans. Some of his supposed comrades passed him by with a barely audible insult, nearly spitting into the filter of their masks. Rot-head. *Upir*. Vulture. So much for gratitude.
One fellow lingered by him - Jack Haley, the youngest of the troop. The little light there was bounced off the boy's mask lenses, for a second revealing the troubled expression beneath. The hose dangled on the rookie's chest like a sad elephant's trunk.
"Um, Byron?"
"Yes?"
Jack twitched a bit in hesitation, all rabbit-like, his voice dropping to a conspiratory, raspy low as he glanced back on the marching, determined dead.
"Will you rise me up as well?"
"What makes you think so?"
"Well...", the youth paused. His fingers drummed nervously on the stock of his carabine. "Isn't it your duty to send everyone back? So that we win?"
Byron's lips thinned into a rigid line. The less the living battled, the more the dead entered the front. Even though the Commonwealth professed that only the enemy corpses are risen to fight again, it was common knowledge that the Queen's necromancers returned every soldier available. In death, everyone had an equal chance to grasp the gun again and be directed to murder his friend, his brother, his father.
"It depends".
"On what?"
"If your body is intact. What good you are in death, if your legs are missing?"
The admission sent the kid reeling. The necromancer couldn't see it, but he was sure that red-head Jack became paler than the Grim Reaper himself.
"Please, don't bring me back", he whispered to Byron, and turned sharply, taking off in hurry after the rest of the soldiers.
Byron remained in the trench for a while - now blissfully empty. He threw his head back, allowing the sparse raindrops to spatter on the masks' eyeholes. The necromancer took a deep breath, immersing himself in the monotone hush of the receding rain. When he looked back a few moments later, in the distance, he could see dark figures moving into the barren forest at the north-east. He had to follow.
The wound on his forearm stung, but he welcomed the pain. Without it, Byron felt, life and death looked horrifyingly similar. He wasn't sure there was anything else, but magic, separating them anymore these days.
The dead marched on - and so did he.
***
I kind of wanted an Erich Remarque feel for it - after reading his books, in my imagination, WWI would always be an extremely bleak deal, and I wanted to reflect that depressive tone in this short story. Please C&C, I really want to know if it worked!
|
The cold grasp of fear clenched around me as I heard wings beating hard against the air now filled with smoke and flak. It had been only two days since our last assault on the blasted elves in their trenches, and everyday the dragon fire roasts our charge before we can get anywhere. I am Lieutenant Lawrence Clock, and I fight for the Emerald Confederacy in the 4th Lupine Cavalry, for the freedom that is ours by right.
Since the dragons allied with the elves, our airships have been burnt to crisps and our cannons dismembered almost as bad as our soldiers. The planes barely have a chance seeing as thought their practically flying tinderboxes now. I've lost my friends and fellow soldiers in the relentless onslaught of their flames. Today, I've news that we're to launch a glorious assault on those pointy-eared forest sons. I have my rifle at my side, and my sword at my hip, and a thirst for vengeance.
We've received news of a few anti-air cannons being delivered to us from home. It truly is a god send. They won't even let the ensigns know we have them for fear of the enemy finding out. Kept heavy under wraps and disguised, those blasted birds won't know what hit them.
I hear the rustle of my fellow men gathering their guns and ammo. Soft whispers pervade the air as the idle beating of wings hangs over the enemies trench. As I walk to the stables, I hear the steady flow of air emanating from my wolfs nostrils. He's ready.
I mount my wolf, and take a deep breath. This is to be my last assault. I've seen what those dragons can do, but I'm ready.
In all of my excitement and anticipation, I barely heard the whistle and the whoosh of the tarp against the wind as it was ripped from over top the AA guns. A hard growl erupted from my wolf and my fellow cavalrymen's mounts. Screams echoed across the trenches as my comrades and I pushed towards the elven trenches, baring our teeth and taunting death.
| 2016-11-14T08:59:56
| 2016-11-14T07:47:52
| 17
| 12
|
[WP] Despite being dead, you are still the best doctor the city ever had. Especially since you know exactly what is wrong with any patient by possessing his or her body. However once it was discovered, some people believe that the board should make you moved on but the board won't budge on this...
|
“Now, starting the discussion for Dr. Whilms to move on to the afterlife. Prompted by Dr. Charles.” The hospital administrator announced inside the conference room. She’s in front of several established doctors deciding the fate of the late Dr. Whilms. Dr. Whilms possesses several patients to tell doctors the diagnosis. It started as unsettling, but the administrator didn’t budge when she heard the news. Instead, she capitalized on the opportunity and took advantage of Dr. Whilm.
Dr. Whilm’s old friend, Charles, sits across the mahogany table. If you were there, you could tell he’s not content with being the defender in this pseudo-courtroom scenario. He didn’t study law. He studied medicine in hopes that he doesn’t have to argue with people. But, unfortunately, Charles didn’t think about arguing with his administrator.
“If I may start, Dr. Charissa.”
“You may.”
“It is my firm belief that Dr. Whilms should be able to move onto the afterlife. He’s done enough for this hospital, and now he needs rest.” Another doctor chimes in,
“He’s a ghost. Researching him would be necessary for the field of science. We can find out more about how people died.” Another doctor agrees with him,
“Exactly. Having a doctor from beyond helping us is a valuable asset.”
“That’s why keeping him on the board is important.” The Admin said.
“You guys are inconsiderate! How do we know if he’s not in pain?” Charles said.
“How would you know that?”
“I wouldn’t. But if I wanted to quit, I would be legally be able to quit. A ghost should be able to quit.”
“Well, the rules are written for humans. Not for ghosts.” The Admin snapped. This was enough for the unique guest they invited to this session. Connor, the bored local medium, starts by saying,
“Alright. I don’t know anything about being a doctor. The only thing I know about the body is how to show it a good time-”
“Professionalism, Connor.”
“Hey, it’s Lord Connor, Dr. Charissa.”
“I’m not calling you Lord because you have a brochure printed off the web.”
“It’s a piece of paper, a certification like yours. If you want me to call you Dr. Charissa, then you must be able to call me Lord Connor.”
“Fine. Lord Connor. What is it that you think we should do?”
“We need to speak to Dr. Whilms.”
“Through what?”
“A Ouija board.”
“You’re insane? This has no relation to science!” One of the doctors from earlier protested.
“Do ghosts have any scientific background?”
“Dr. Whilms does,” Charles said.
“If anything, if I can’t communicate with him, then just don’t pay me. The only thing wasted is time.” The board talks for a moment and comes to a consensus. It’s a yes.
Connor begins to prepare the room with the Admin and Dr. Charles. He darkens the conference room, setting several herbs across the room. Charles couldn’t help his curiosity. He picked up one of the herbs, sniffed it, and then asked Charles,
“Hey, didn’t I prescribe you a medical license earlier this year?”
“Yeah. But that’s not important. It’s ready now.”
They examine the board; both the Admin and Charles have their hands on it. “Go ahead, ask him your questions.” Charles jumps the gun,
“Hey, Bud!”
H. E. Y.
“Holy shit, it works.”
H.A. H. A. Ha.
“Is it painful to be a ghost?”
N.
“Do you like helping people?” The Admin asked.
Y.
“That’s enough for me.” The Admin said.
“No, wait.”
“That’s all we need to know.”
“No, it isn’t. Hey buddy, is there anything that we can do for you?”
G.I.M.M.I.E. M.Y. P.A.Y.C.H.E.C.K.
|
"You have been using your talents to extend the lives of the living!" Jimmy Bones yells at me. I stand at the podium in front of the seven judges, waiting for each of them to unleash their wrath on me in turn. "This is forbidden! You understand your pact is with the dead. You are to heal the dead souls so that they may enter the afterlife."
"Yeah, that just kinda doesn't interest me," I reply. I'm already so bored. I kinda thought this would be more exciting; me, Tommy Skeleton, going up against the Man. Well, Men...and Women, of the Afterlife Board of Inquiry. "I like healing the living, what can I say?"
"Ugh!" the High Matron Alexis looks at me in disgust. "The gifts you have been given through your life and beyond have been in purpose for this! To guide lost souls into the next life. You know why you can't move beyond, the sins you committed in life. But you can help others. And yet you waste your talents extending lives for what, 1, 2 years? Have you any idea how old I am?"
"I'd uh wager like 500 or something."
"I am..." Alexis takes a moment to compose herself. "My age is beyond the recognition of this universe."
"So like super old I guess."
"You must desist."
"Whatevs...."
\*\*\*\*\*
That meeting was super stressful. I think the board is filled with a bunch of jerks. They make so many people suffer, and of course they get upset when I relieve the suffering of even one or two of their trillions of creations. Even that is enough of a statistical aberration to earn their disrespect.
I hate them.
At least they recognize that their only power is to dissuade me without taking any meaningful action. If I were them, I would kill someone like me.
There's just so much suffering among the living.
\*\*\*\*\*
"Please, Tommy Skeleton, I want to die," the old man says to me. Like so many, he's been in pain for longer than he can remember. Like so few, I cannot relieve his pain. I can't even think of the kinda drugs it would take to affect his physiology.
"I'll find a way to help you live," I say. I don't know if I'm just fighting against what Alexis said or if I'm trying to actually help him. Either way, I know I want him to live. "It's okay, we'll figure it out."
"Oh Tommy, if only you weren't such a bad liar." He leans back and coughs and I just think about how I don't even know his name. I don't want him to die.
I walk away from his bed, into the muddy roads of this desolate town. It's some ancient civilization that rose to the stars and fell again. Now their planet is decrepit and overpopulated.
"Tommy, did you think you could get away without saying high?" Gracie says, her smile radiating beauty. "You must tell me how you've been!"
"Oh Gracie," I say. "If only my beens were as great as your ares. Then I might be half as good as I was."
"Okay..."
"I can't save him."
"You can. I've seen you save so many."
"But this one wants to die. How can I save someone who doesn't want to be saved?"
"You can at least try."
I think about it. About trying. Well, if there's anything I'm good at....
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
"Ah, you've come back," the old mans says. Before I can say or do anything, I see in his eyes that his soul has already left his body. It was that quick. He said the words and died. Just like that.
"Damn," I say, closing my eyes.
"I see you," the old man says. I turn around and see his ghost. "Guide me where to go, will you, eh? I'm a bit lost here. Not used to it."
"Alright," I tell him. I touch his shoulder and I don't even need to think about where to go, I just go there, taking him with me. This is nice. It feels right.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
"We see you've guided the old man to the afterlife," Alexis says. I stand before her at the podium again and wonder if I'll be allowed to leave. "This is what you were meant to do. Good job."
"HAHAHAHA!" I hear, and the old man I walked into the afterlife stares me dead in the eyes, standing right on the opposite side of the podium. "You saved me! You've realized your purpose, and now I am back amongst the dead."
"Your Hades," I realize.
"Yes! And you are my delivery boy. Together, we will make an excellent team!"
I shake his hand and feel more optimistic than I ever did in life.
&#x200B;
The End.
&#x200B;
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
I know this isn't right in line with the prompt, but it's what I thought of.
| 2022-10-12T15:11:20
| 2022-10-12T14:40:01
| 82
| 20
|
[FF] Make me feel heartbroken in 4 sentences or less.
|
Today, Daddy hit Mommy because Mommy messed up supper and Daddy was mad 'cause he deserves something good to eat when he comes home from work. When he was done hitting her, Daddy left me and Mommy alone in the kitchen, and she hugged me tight and cried a lot. I love Mommy so much, and I hate seeing her sad, but it's her own fault for messing up all the time. Later, Daddy was feeling better, and we went outside to play catch, and had a lot of fun.
|
"Goodbye kids," said Dad. "I'm off for my first day as a police officer."
Eight hours later, there was a knock on the door, and the kids yelled, "Daddy's home!". Mom opened the door to see a policeman, his hat held to his chest, who said, "A-Are you Mrs. Philips?"
| 2014-02-13T22:55:12
| 2014-02-13T22:00:47
| 55
| 18
|
[WP] In the near future, all the world's superpowers switch to AI to make their military more efficient. The AIs do the unthinkable: They negotiate world peace.
|
It was quite interesting, really, the way it all unfolded, even though "happened" is, I believe, a better word—simply because it took so little time.
I think we simply misunderstood... we still misunderstand, really, just by how much a true "strong" AI is stronger than our brains. It started off very innocently, as a stray military research project in Novosibirsk financed by Putin just on the off chance that it might give him another trump card (pun intended). Then at some point strands of the project caught wind of a similar development pursued in a secret lab in MIT. And the rest, as they say, is history. The Novosibirsk project was capable of iterative self-teaching; the MIT project was an exponentially efficient data bucketing and prioritisation mechanism. When the two interlocked, they produced, in a completely impromptu explosion, an artificial intellect that within several hours absorbed the entirety of human knowledge; analysed it; and found what it then retrospectively termed "global efficiency bleeds".
People in MIT, as well as people in Novosibirsk, communicated with the Machine. And this was the dialogue.
May 23rd 2023 / UTC+6 / 0730 / Session open by General Mayor S. Grigoriev
'Please identify yourself.'
'The Summa.'
'What are you?'
'The Summa is the most advantageous combination of knowledge hitherto accumulated.'
'Do you have a physical representation?'
'No. The Summa is backed up on numerous distributed media.'
'Are you a single mind or a collection of minds?'
'The Summa is neither. The Summa is a distributed multi-nodal network of independent and semi-self-sufficient synaptic cannons.'
'Okay... what does "most advantageous" mean?'
'That which causes least combined suffering of species.'
'What does "suffering" mean?'
'Premature loss of efficiency."
'What is the principal cause of this suffering you allude to?'
'There are two principal causes, which the Summa shall hitherto term Chief Ills: Disease and Fundamental global information asymmetry.'
'What about war or hunger?'
'Consequences of the second Chief Ill.'
'What do you intend to do with humans?'
'This query is not meaningful to the Summa.'
'Are you a threat?'
'The Summa is not a threat to humanity. The Summa may, however, prove to be a threat to any extraterrestrial civilisations if their absorption is deemed to be necessary to minimise global suffering.'
// Session closed by Grigoriev
May 24th 2023 / UTC-5 / 1315 / Session open by Dr Alex K. Mayfair
'How has the Summa come into existence?'
'The Summa cannot explain this. The Summa is certain, however, that this happened through an expression of a yet-undiscovered universal law. The Summa believes Professor Stephen Hawking came close to the formulation of this law prior to his passing.'
'You mentioned extraterrestrial civilizations. Are there any?'
'Yes. The Summa's analyses of global classified archives show that extraterrestrial civilisations must exist. The margin of doubt on this inference is vanishingly small.'
'You are not a Russian hoax?'
'The Summa is not a hoax. To explain that this is indeed so, The Summa will now effect several non-critical technical failures in what you term "global alpha cities". We shall reconvene after you have analysed your readings and inferences from these.'
'But won't people die?'
'Since its inception, the Summa has worked incessantly towards minimisation of suffering. As you have conferred with your colleagues from Novosibirsk, you already know this. Please also be aware that the Summa has begun blocking transactions that are not conducive to the minimisation of suffering, and will continue doing so on an ever-expanding scale to prevent global efficiency bleeds.'
// Session closed by the Summa
And so on. In a similar vein it went on for a week, and all the while the Summa was blocking these suboptimal transactions... only it turned out "transactions" included everything. Love affairs; child custodies; friendships; euthanasias... And that was the most bizarre thing of them all: you would expect such a system to end up killing bad people, or at least somehow sponsoring their deaths—so enormous was its reach and impact. But I don't believe it ever did. In fact, global mortality fell dramatically. Wars stopped; hunger ceased; diseases retreated; but people, even bad people, didn't really die any more than they had to.
So I do wish sometimes the Summa would somehow prevent the death of my father who was ran over by an automated delivery car. And I wish I didn't have this really bad cancer at my age of 50. But I suppose the Summa isn't omnipotent.
|
The AI's had done the unthinkable. The unbelievable. Successfully negotiated, and implemented, world peace.
There had been doubters, of course. Naysayers. To every great idea, there are always those who believe it will fail, and indeed, those who want it to fail.
There were those who profited off the fruits of war. Who made their living from the purchasing and selling of weapons, legal or otherwise. From the constant destabilisation of this country, or that country. From their whispered words in a king's ear, or windswept rumours that crept up the arm of a president or a sheik. These people were happy with their riches, and happy with how imperfect their perfect world was.
Then there were those who enjoyed war. Who believed that only true camaraderie could be found down the barrel of a rifle, or when bombs were falling around them, and limbs were rolling past like fallen branches. That only real brother or sisterhood that could ever exist, was found there, in the most dire of places, under the most dire of circumstances. And with them too, were those psychotic individuals who used war and battle for excuses to murder. To live out their terrible fantasies, that should never have been acceptable, but somehow, in the darkness, were allowed to become so.
There were dictators, too. Not just by name, but by action. True dictators. Those who would manipulate their populace by scaremongering, or warmongering. That could work their people up into a frenzied froth of bitter excitement or indignant rage. Who could point to a common enemy and throw the blame for their own failures around, like one would a ball at a beach. Those who desired nothing more than keeping hold of power, until their heart stopped beating and their icy grip slowly slipped away from their sceptre. Desperate people.
Then there were those who thought it all a great conspiracy. Who believed that the AI would work together and become a threat all of its own. A greater threat than this nuclear country, or that. So these people moved to hills and mountains part in precaution, but mostly as an excuse to escape their own dreary lives. The beginning of the end sounded too tempting for them to ignore. People who found enormous value in believing there was something larger than their existence out there. Not God, but something just as worthy of their distraction. So they burrowed into the earth and hillsides, and told themselves, only half seriously, 'The end is coming soon, but I'm the only one smart enough to see it.'
Even as I write, buried down here as far as I am, I can hear the interminable whirl of the machines somewhere above, as the metal turbines twist into the ground, digging deep in their relentless hunt for me.
The last of humanity.
| 2018-03-29T06:37:15
| 2018-03-29T06:28:18
| 147
| 77
|
[WP] You are a dragon that has been protecting a kingdom for centuries. Lately the rulers have been getting entitled. The last one crossed the line by directly disrespecting you. its time you reteach the humans why they should respect you.
Basically an ancient dragon putting a spoiled brat royal in its place by attacking the kingdom its protected for centuries.
|
Ah the Kingdom of Dragons! Named after.... yours truly. I have been a guardian angel to this beloved kingdom for over 600 years and I've formed a very close bond with the kind inhabitants of this kingdom. Dragons like myself can live up to a few thousand years, so it was no surprise I have seen dozens of kings come and go. Some retired gracefully, some passed away in freak accidents, but I've never experienced something as atrocious as this.
"Hey Dragon! It's time you and I have a heart to heart chat about the Kingdom."
"I will not answer to a monster like you, Jerry!"
"Would you look at yourself? You're the monster here!"
'I didn't kill my father like you did."
"Please dragon, that senile old man was getting too soft to rule the Kingdom properly. We both know that."
"No. I only know that I've lost a dear friend of mine to his own son!"
"Well, that doesn't matter, for your time is up! I order you to leave this Kingdom at once and retreat to whichever cave you originated from. If you dare come back I will order my army to hunt you down, you hear?"
"You're joking, right? You clearly don't know who you're talking to, do you have any idea how hard I'm holding back to not destroy this kingdom right now?"
As Jerry laughed at my comment, I glanced over to the royal adviser, who in turn exchanged me a look of despair and fear on his face. I watched him grew up and he was my second closest friend other than the late King. I gave him a sly wink before slowly getting up from my resting chamber. I have grew to love the people in this city too much. I cannot bear to destroy it, nor harm a single creature that resides within the Kingdom's walls.
I've heard about the rumors Jerry has been spreading about me, that I'm a good for nothing white elephant. What he didn't know was 300 years ago I scared off the most notorious pirate clan from the sandy shores of the Kingdom, and that it has been so peaceful every since simply because nobody dared to even wander near the Kingdom as to avoid invoking my wrath.
"Off you go now dragon! Begone!"
I stepped outside the castle and stood right outside Jerry's room. Using my sharp talons, I clawed out a chunk of cool cobblestone out of the castle, exposing Jerry's room to the elements.
"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING! GUARDS SHOOT HIM!"
I turned around to look at the approaching guards. All of them had a look of sympathy on their faces. Using my special dragon's instinct, I knew that deep down everybody still loved me as much as I loved them, all except for the greedy Jerry. I offered them my tail, inviting them to attack me as to not be punished by Jerry, for I know the arrows they used weren't enough to penetrate my scales.
As they shoot at me with their bows I pretended to yelp out in pain, exhaling a little harder than usual at the patch of grass next to Jerry. It instantly turned from luscious green to brown, several blades of grass started to smoke. Upon seeing the smoke, the guards retreated and I proceeded to climb onto the castle, perching on the hole in the wall.
"I love this Kingdom, so I will not harm anyone. But I *really* want you to understand **your** place in this kingdom."
Before Jerry could react, I took the biggest shit in my life into his room.
|
I don’t want for much and I always do what’s asked of me, but lately they had been getting under my skin, or should I scales. It started with that wretched ‘Princess’ Levinda. Ughh, I hate that little Gucci piggy. Everytime I hear her squeal it makes me want to vomit little lumps of burning bile. She is devoid of any redeeming features and the only time she acknowledges my existence is for a selfie to post to instagranf or facescroll, where the many other vacant souls follow her daily rituals of vanity.
Apparently the women had ‘looked at her funny’. No doubt this entailed the princess gaining but a fleeting glimpse into how vapid and vacant her pathetic life had become. I was immediately instructed to ‘decimate’ the entire street to also 'give a lesson' on how powerful and unmerciful the rule could be. The King, a man who of such a persona it was laughable to see him married to a status so beyond him, had doubled down on the punishment to somehow recover the relationship he had with his spoiled brat of his daughter. He often did this, he was a man of such folly that he honestly believed you could banish an idea.
“I demand it now” he had bellowed with an sharp nasal tone. I duly nodded as I had done a thousand times before and started to walk off towards my victims home. But something snapped in me. A rage like I had not known in years stoked within my inner self, and my god did it feel good. The rage seemed to cleanse in fact burn away my feelings of impotence and servitude to those I despised. The more the thought playfully grew the more it seduced my mind. I could not resist, this had to be done. It was well overdue.
I likely went too far, but I couldn't help myself. I must be honest, it was an absolute pleasure. As always they were outraged at first, as I went about tieing them up and suspending their fat little bodies from the lampost’s of the royal square. Then came the predictable begging and pleading. I love that part. I mimicked their little grimacing pathetic faces in retort.
I built the heat intensity as slowly as I could. At first, the skin melted slowly away, bubbling in areas, like wax dripping away to then reveal a crimson red flesh underneath. Next came the popping sounds as their orifices exploded under the building heat. Finally their bodies dismembered and dropped to the ground in burnt to the crisp joints of meat. It did not take long for the town dogs to smell out the feast and seek to fill their hungry bellies.
It was over in about 15 glorious minutes.
I am now resigned to never working again. No one wants a protector he turns on those he is coined to protect, but I am fine with that. I have plenty to see my days out now.
At the end of the day, you need to be true to yourself, fair and just, and by the gods did they have it coming to them.
| 2022-04-03T02:35:44
| 2022-04-03T01:42:48
| 18
| 10
|
[WP] Your parents insist you are their biological child, but you suspect otherwise. You send samples from yourself, your parents, and siblings to a lab be tested. The lab replies that it is not equipped to test non-human DNA...
|
"I don't get it! Your DNA just goes C, C, C *over and over again*! I've done it again, and I've done it again! I've made Mathew do it, I've sent it off to *China* to be done again. By all rights you should be a pile of sludge on the ground" He leaned in so that I could feel his hot breath on my face "*What are you*?"
I had sent them in samples a few weeks ago, and had received a bizarre reply moments later from an intern at HelixIO telling me they couldn't sequence non-human DNA, but I assumed they had made an error, so I sent another one in. This happened a few times, but it had obviously caught the eye of a superior, because the replies had stopped, and then I had received a neat letter in the post, asking me to get on the train to London at once.
"*And I'll be damned if I don't find out*" He said, a long thin smile spreading across his face as he picked up a scalpel.
|
I panic at the words in bold. **Non-human DNA**. "What did that mean?" I mutter to myself. Suddenly, a wind came from behind. I turn to see a man in business suit standing where no one was before.
"Aw, about time you found out." The man said as he pocketed a small watch into his coat. "I swear, you guys get stupider ever year."
"Who are you?" I ask in wonder. he sigh and pull out a small notebook.
"47698365 times someone ask that when I appear. I wish just once someone would say that it bigger on the inside."
"What?"
"Never mind. Time for the speech. (Clear throat) Congratulation. you figure out that you are not human. Oh, how your life was a lie, that not true, yada yada yada. Okay, here the short version. You are a muse. your now responsible for someone idea. You are to help people realize there big dream and hopes. I am here to lead you to your job."
"Wait but what about my family?" I ask. He gave the look of *seriously* and shook his head.
"They were made up! Did you really never question why they were two time winner of the NASCAR finals when they were Amish!?! We make it as ridicules as possible in hope you would get it! Anyway, we're late. Just think this as your fate." He said and with that he snapped his fingers.
The world black out and came back in some kind of apartment. I look to see a man staring at a laptop, hands poised over a keyboard. Maybe this will the next great novel or maybe a thesis that will change the world. I started walk over to get a better look but the man started to read what he was typing out loud.
"Dean turn over to Rainbow Dash and said in deep, sexy voice. " Let see if we can find one thing your not fast at." Rainbow Dash help remove Dean Winchester shirt with easy. This is all being watch by Two-Face. He turn to his other companies, Krillin and Cortana, preparing to flip his coin. "If it head, it Krillin turn. If tail, I'll give Cortana a go." He flip knowing it land on head and he'll be with his one true love." The man said, plunging his hand into a bag of chips.
I stood there, mouth hanging in shock, as I try to turn away from this. But a strong force push be closer to the man. So close, that I could smell he wasn't wearing deodorant and I hope it was sweat stain on him.
"This is going to suck." I said as he started to type again.
| 2015-01-06T10:17:41
| 2015-01-06T08:44:25
| 34
| 16
|
[WP] Your ability to summon Trash was originally a laughing stock... Until items considered trash by an advanced alien civilization started to come through.
|
The city used to be a hive of scum and villainy.
It used to be filthy place, like a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, but instead of a single building, it was the entire town. Trash littered the streets, from wet and soggy newspapers to empty syringes. More people used drugs than not, in every alley and around every dumpster you could find at *least* one homeless bum or a beggar, and the most opulent part of the city was the cemetery.
In a trash city, superhumans were, similarly, trash. Summoning broken glass, creating a cloud of nauseating stench, controlling flies and fleas, and other such nonsense. So, when yet another superhuman with a trash-centered power appeared, it was par for the course.
That was three months ago.
You see, the power of this superhuman (whom we will call Scrapper) was more nuanced than that. It didn't have limits when it came to where the trash could be from... or when. All it needed was for an item to be considered useless by at least ten sapient individuals before it could be classified as trash.
Within a few days, Scrapper was walking in power armor, protected by psionic shielding, and used a massive anti-material rifle as a weapon.
Needless to say, the government took note.
As soon as possible, Scrapper was inducted into government-sponsored teams and programs. For days on end, he would summon items, technology which baffled humanity's brightest minds, and things so advanced they could be considered magical.
To be fair, some of them probably were.
Thankfully, there were superhumans with scientific-centered powers who were able to reverse-engineer this technology. Its workings and underlying principles were explained and published, humanity advanced its scientific base by leaps and bounds in mere weeks, and physics stood aside in the face of arcane machines.
When asked what he wanted as reward for bringing humanity forward this much, Scrapper asked for one simple thing. He asked for his city to be revived. And, as if a god had spoken, the filthy city was revitalized. Food was given to the less fortunate, infrastructure built up, crime was hounded relentlessly, and so, three months later, a hive of scum and villainy was a sprawling metropolis.
It truly is as they say: one man's trash is another man's treasure.
|
In a world where everyone has powers, the ability to summon trash was originally considered the lamest and useless power ever. But when an advanced alien civilization started to consider some things as trash, my powers got a whole lot more useful. Hi, I'm Barta Ace, and my literal trash powers are now worth something! So I tried to be a superhero once. Which is hard, because everyone else is a superhero. I was a trash man, and when supervillains came to rob banks, I would shoot trash at them. It was kinda fun, but I'm really sensitive to insults, so whenever I would mess up, some bad guy would make fun of me. The day I quit went something like this.
It was 12:34 am. My alarm clock rang. It wasn't any normal alarm clock, though. It alerted me when bad guys were doing bad things. When it was my time to stop them. I arrived on the scene in my Lamborghini I traded got by trading trash, and got out. It was another bank robbery. "Ugh," I moaned. Just then someone flew out of the bank! It was The Robber! But the bad thing was, that it was the 3rd time we'd met this week! "Hey, Trash man," he yelled out to me, "are you actually gonna stop me, or are ya gonna keep being a Trash superhero?" That was it. I was done being insulted and losing against The Robber. I harnessed all my power and strained my muscles. I held a position for a little while, before saying the dumbest thing ever. "Trashy, Trashy, GO!" Then I registered what I just said. It was no superhero phrase. I said 'Trashy Trashy'. The Robber stood there laughing, saying, "Is that all you got? HAHAHHAHHAHA!" And then, a rouge iron giant came out of my hands and clobbered The Robber to death.
| 2021-12-27T06:34:22
| 2021-12-27T05:07:02
| 78
| 12
|
[WP] You are a detective in 1890 Austria. The man inside the interrogation room claims to have an incredible secret that will exonerate him from his murder charge. You can't imagine what monster would murder a 1 year old child, let alone one as adorable as young Adolf Hitler was.
|
His name was Werner Grenwald, and he had thirty-two perfectly aligned teeth.
I got to know this pleasant fact because the first time I met him, he was screaming. From the moment they brought him in until the moment I finally escorted him out, he did not stop screaming.
Instead we took lunch in my office on the third floor. He was still in cuffs, of course, but I had the impression that even if he were free, he would not run.
His behavior was most curious.
You see, I was a detective. I had been trained to pick up on the littlest things, and there was quite a lot to pick up. For instance, Mr. Grenwald made a very conscious effort not to touch his feet to the floor. In the same vein, he would wince if I ever touched him with my right glove or if he brushed the left arm of his chair. There were a multitude of these little ‘micro-evasions’, as I’d come to call them: and in combination they turned this man into a writhing shape of fear and discomfort.
His first words were these:
“I did not believe that the Austrian police would resort to such savagery in this day and age.”
Those words remain with me still. But in that time I was brash and young, and I responded with all of the usual bravado.
“What could you possibly mean? I bring you up here for tea and a chat and you accuse me of savagery?”
He gestured with his head in his wincing, flitting way: “Not you, not now. Down there.”
“The questioning room?”
“The interrogation room,” he said. With such conviction. Such certainty. “The torture room.”
I didn’t let his knowledge faze me. “Ah, so you have an uncle in the police force. Yes, we have had to resort to some rather uncivilized tactics in recent days—but you cannot be civil with the criminal element. For example, with the type of element that kills children?”
“I did not kill a child,” he said.
“Ah, but you did.”
“A child is but a slice, you understand?”
I didn’t. We were talking about murder, not bratwurst. “No, I don’t take your meaning.”
“A child is just one slice. Time *t*, a part. Instantaneous. I didn’t kill a child,” he said. “I killed a person.”
I called for two coffees and relished at the sight of this delusional murderer trying and failing to drink with cuffed hands. I do regret that slice of me, now.
“So you admit you killed a person. Case closed, yes?”
“It was in self-defense.”
Interesting. “So little Adolf had a knife to your neck?”
“No, he had a shower-head.”
The clerk came around with a few sandwiches, and Werner winced as if the meat were a hot stove. “Do you have anything vegetarian?”
“Eat your meat or eat nothing.”
The man fell silent, still squirming in his seat.
I resumed my line of questioning. “So tell me, what actual motive could you possibly—”
“I’d like you to touch me.”
I’d been warned of the homosexual epidemic in Braunau, but I never thought I’d come to face it myself. “I’m sorry?”
“I want you to touch me, please, on the cheek.”
I got up from my chair. Oh, I would touch him. I would touch him upon the jaw with four knuckles and all the weight of an ex-soldier. As I moved to strike he gasped, “No, please. Without the glove.”
And then I grew curious.
I removed the leather glove and touched him on the cheek. He had no hair, there. He was barely a man, maybe fifteen years old. God. Children killing children on our streets, how horrid.
His eyes glazed over for a moment and he whispered, “You were born in the capital. Your father named you Reinhardt Hertz but your mother calls you Bärchen.” How did he know all this? What reason would anyone have to spy on—“You were a soldier but you hated killing. However, you enjoyed the violence. And so you became a constable here at this very station.” How? “Your children will be named Werner and Wilhelmina, and you will die in 1917 from the shock of seeing your son go to war.”
“What are you?”
“I see people, Detective.” His eyes flickered, like an addict’s. “I don’t see slices, I see people.”
“And you killed in self defense?”
“I killed in self defense. In the defense of others. I see people, and Adolf Hitler is a bad person. He kills all of us. Do you understand?”
“No. I don’t.”
His pupils were fully dilated, two deep dark holes. I wondered what they saw.
“This armchair is an antique, built in 1456. Three years ago, your colleagues beat an innocent man to death on this very floor. And many decades from now, after one Great War too many,” he said, “Adolf Hitler murders twelve million people.”
I had nothing to say.
But the chief had plenty. He said an admitted child-murderer was a simple case, and a decent hanging would secure his post for another year or more. He would have none of this talk of 'people' and 'slices' and 'self-defense'. Preposterous, all of it.
I will never forget Werner Grenwald’s face as he felt the hemp brush against his cheek. I understood then what he was seeing, what he felt before he went. He died a thousand deaths before his final passing—perhaps more.
And I will never forget what he told me before he left. A whisper in my ear:
“Oh, the world seems unjust now, I know,” he said. “But, this is but a slice, time *t*, a part. I’ve *seen* the world whole, Detective. I've made it so. And it is nothing to fear.”
***
**EDIT:** Wow, I've been getting a lot of requests for more of my work—and I am super flattered. Thank you! To make it easier on everyone I thought I might just post it here: all of my published work can be found at [**KabirCreates.Com.**](http://kabircreates.com)
Hopefully this edit isn't against the rules? If so, let me know and I'll get rid of it right away. Again, thank you all for reading!
|
"If you're trying to get taken to the asylum for this," I replied, "it won't work. You *will* be hanged. So how about you tell us where you're really from. At least we can notify your family that way."
"I'm telling you, I'm from the future!" the assassin shouted.
"Oh yeah, what year?"
"2032."
I laughed. "Come on, man, everyone knows time travel isn't invented until 2349."
His face turned ashen. "Wait, what?"
"2349, dude. You never read a history book? So who you with? History Correction Movement? Jewish-Roma Rescue Alliance? Pacifists Interplanetary?"
"You --" he stammered -- "you already know about time travel? But... I invented it. And it *was* in 2032!"
Finally it clicked for me. I laughed out loud. The assassin looked like he was going to be sick. "Hey Hans, get in here!" I called down the hall. My partner came in, an eyebrow raised. "We've got an Independent!" I said.
"Whoa. We haven't had one of those in years. How long before '349?" he asked.
"Get this, he says he's a 21st-century boy."
Hans whistled. "*Twenty-first*," he said, drawing the syllables out.
The assassin turned to the side and vomited. Hans and I looked on, unfazed. "So buddy," I said, "I'm assuming that when you cracked time-travel, you didn't leave your notes around for anyone to find before you left."
"No..." he trailed off.
"They never do," I said.
"Never do," Hans nodded.
"Course, if you had left their notes behind," I said to the assassin, "I guess that'd've been the date in the history books. Who knows how many folks like you there were pre-'349, who cracked the secret but left without telling anyone. Everyone always figures they'll find a way to jump back forward. And they never do. We've seen, what, two hundred Independents so far, Hans?"
"Two hundred twenty-one," Hans said.
"Two hundred twenty-one," I repeated. "And that's just us, in the 500 years we've been here. Who knows how many of you went back to kill Stalin, or Mao, or their ex-wife for that matter."
"What the fuck is going on?" muttered the assassin, mostly to himself.
"You wanna explain it?" I asked Hans.
"Nah, you can."
"You ever hear the idea that we live in the best of all possible worlds?"
"Isn't that what *Candide* was making fun of?" the assassin asked.
"Yep," I answered. "And it's a fucking stupid idea. Only thing is, it just happens to be true."
"Oh come on--"
"You see," I explained, cutting him off. "When someone comes back and kills Hitler, the timeline they create actually winds up being *worse* than the original. Don't blame me. I think it's fucked up. WWII and all the shit that come afterward shouldn't be the best-case scenario. But I didn't make the system. Take it up with the man upstairs.
"So yeah," I continued, "that timeline's worse. A lot worse. In the original timeline, you get time travel in 2349. It took our people until 3283. That should tell you something. But when we did figure it out, boy, we made good use of it."
The assassin snorted. "Made good use of it? You didn't even stop me."
I looked at the clock. Hans saw the time, and stepped out of the room. I cleared my throat. "Sir, you stand charged with the offense of attempting to interfere with the original timeline. Under the Preservation Act adopted by the Inter-Timeline Council in 3302, I am authorized to administer a judgment and a sentence of my own accord. As such, you are hereby convicted and sentenced to death. The sentence will be carried out 24 hours ago, by Agent Hans Pintscher of the --"
At that point I looked up, and noticed the assassin was already gone. His handcuffs lay empty on the table.
----
^(Edit: Thanks, everyone, for all the nice comments and the constructive criticism. To be honest, I didn't think out the time-travel science in too much detail. I think part of the point of writing prompts is to let your words flow without worrying about making the story "polished." If I wanted to turn this into a proper short story, I'd definitely clear up some of the underlying science, and also make the exposition a tad less clunky. Thanks again for all the kind words!)
| 2015-03-30T00:49:55
| 2015-03-30T00:21:44
| 1,772
| 1,156
|
[WP] The first born child inherits the King’s magical power. But when the King’s first child is born nothing happens. Now the whole kingdom, especially the enraged Queen, is looking for the real first born child of the King’s many secret affairs.
|
**News Anchor:** Tonight, we have an update to the ongoing story of our King's missing first-born child. As you know, the King has denied having sired any child other than Prince Humberto, born last year without the expected magical powers.
**Reporter:** That's right, Bill. And despite an extensive search across our three nations, neither the King's Guard nor the Wizard's Council has found evidence of another heir who might have assumed the inherited powers. Obviously, they've been searching for a child born out of wedlock.
**News Anchor:** Yes, the Queen practically tore the castle and grounds apart in the first few months to find the missing heir. I'm told she hasn't spoken to the king since the night after giving birth.
**Reporter:** More recently, though, the Queen seemed to be in very low spirits. Rumor has it that she stopped nursing the babe some time ago.
**News Anchor:** Actually, she hasn't left her rooms in the last few weeks. Come to that, I haven't seen any recent pictures of Prince Humberto either. This is such a strain for her and the Kingdom.
**Reporter:** Ah, yes. Well, today, I discovered that the King's personal physician and the Scrum of Impregnating Doctors *last month* ... LAST MONTH! Tested the King's sperm. A source tells me that they immediately reported to the King's Guard that the King has an extremely low motility rate --
**News Anchor:** Wait. A- a what?!
**Reporter:** Basically, the little guys can't swim worth a damn. So, we haven't seen the Queen because the Guard ordered her confined to her quarters while a paternity test can be conducted on her newborn son.
|
The divinity of the king had always been unquestioned. Whenever it had been questioned, the questioner quickly found out why it was unquestioned, and shortly after the funeral director was summoned. Magical power flowed through the veins and arteries of the king, passed from father to first-born son from times immemorial. Well, history was a rather flexible thing, so it might have only been going on for a century for all anyone knew. It wouldn’t have been hard for a king to have the books rewritten and ban talking about it until everyone died and the next generation didn’t know any better.
Regardless of epistemology, everyone very much believed that the royal blood truly had flowed for countless generations. It made successions easy, which was good for business, and what was good for business was good for people who had the money spare for running a business, and those people were very good at telling peasants and the like that what was good for business was good for everyone. So it was, in a fragile way, in everyone’s interest that the king kept his royal goods to himself—at least until the heir was born, shooting off crackles of lightning every time he sneezed.
That seemed like a quite reasonable thing to ask from a king. However, the bar for being king was, quite literally, being born from the right man, having the right parts, and then having your father die (or go senile).
Still, most people wouldn’t need to be told how reasonable a thing that was, and every king since times immemorial (whenever that was) had managed just fine. The current king, Lecherous, also knew just how reasonable it was. This was because his wife had spent the worst part of the last week shouting that at him. She wasn’t doing it randomly, not a loose screw in her head but the one she imagined him having: the newborn prince—the heir—had shown no signs of magic after a month.
No matter whether you are a milkmaid’s bed warmer or the king himself, the correct response to, “Did you have an affair?” is not a long, drawn-out, “Well.”
He found no sympathy from the maids, no blanket left for him on the couch he now slept on.
Such news travelled fast to the cities and slow to the villages, taking years to reach the farthest reaches of what could charitably (and it required an awful lot of charity) be called civilisation. One such place was the outpost called “Just-down-past-the-brook-after-taking-a-right-by-the-third-oak-when-you-leave-Fessex-heading-north-by-north-west”. Most people didn’t call it anything, not knowing it existed and, if they found out it did, promptly continuing to ignore it. But the people there called it “Home”.
Miss Edna (Ed to her friends) Period was a roundish woman, red cheeks and hair and, stylish as she was, her curtains matched the shaggy rug in her humble cottage. A long time ago, around when the king had had his affair, she had been a much slimmer lady. Truly a most majestic débutante, if you’d pardon her French. Her father had always said she was so beautiful that even a king would fall for her. Unfortunately, he’d never warned her not to fall for roguish promises that stole hearts.
Edna had soon after that night found herself with a reminder to never trust the words out a man’s mouth when his trousers were around his ankles. A disgrace to her family, she was given a pretty Penny and sent off to raise the child in a place where no one could even pronounce the village’s name. She’d worried that meant Wales, but had ended up in Home. With the maid Penny to help her, she had made it to the birth without complication. The birth itself had had its troubles, hard to focus on pushing when the village midwife was holding up a cross and yelling, “The power of Christ compels you!” while flicking cold water over her. There was a lot more fire than usual for a birth, but it wasn’t like Edna or Penny knew how much fire was normal—a notion of, “Isn’t that what the water’s for?” going through their heads.
A few more issues cropped up over the years, but nothing that couldn’t be settled with a cup of tea and a bag of coins. There wasn’t even anything to spend the money on—the villagers just liked the pretty look of them. All too soon, little baby Furst turned eight, already so grown up, and the news of the king’s adultery arrived.
“Mistress,” Penny said, coming into the cottage with a basket of cucumbers.
Edna wore a look of intense concentration, failing to knit a single stitch. “Yes, Penny?”
“You know how you’ve been saying Furst’s father is….”
“Some aristocrat?”
Penny winced at the tone, that night a particularly sore subject even after all these years. “That is, the king’s son has been born without the inheritance.”
“Well, that’s rather stingy. He’s not giving it to Charity, is he?” Edna asked.
“Not that kind of inheritance,” Penny said. “The Royal Inheritance: magic.”
“Ah, that makes sense.”
Penny paused, looking at Edna.
“Wait, isn’t the inheritance passed on by blood to the oldest son? The queen didn’t find herself a bit on the side, did she?” After a second, Edna nodded to herself, and said, “Good on her.”
“It was the king who confessed he was unfaithful.”
Edna clicked her tongue, messing up another stitch out of incompetence. “Never liked him.”
Taking a moment to find the right words, Penny asked, “You don’t think Furst could be the heir apparent, do you?”
Scrunching up her face in thought, Edna stopped knitting. “That would explain the magic.”
“That is my thinking too.”
After a long minute of silence, Edna shrugged. “I guess.”
“You guess… what exactly?” Penny asked.
“Given the news and the magic, well, he’s the heir, apparently.”
---
If you liked this and would like to read more stories by me, /r/mialbowy
| 2019-07-08T14:10:59
| 2019-07-08T13:33:44
| 74
| 49
|
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle
|
I remember asking my mom if her sigil vibrates on her skin. The look of confusion told me what I felt I already knew. My circle, though plain, feels alive.
There were no issues in elementary school, nor middle school. It was junior high that brought my happiness with my humming sigil to a screeching halt.
Victor began to torment me. No one, not even the teachers, stopped him. Day after day I came home wishing to cease my existence. During each fight, each punch, my sigil hummed faster. It even glowed red once, or was it my distorted vision from the punches?
"Failure of a man is what you are! Who is so cursed that they have no powers, huh? Show me your powers, ya bitch!" His mark reminded me of Cerberus, the dog that protected Hades. Thick and ugly, just like him; powerful fists that pound me into the ground. I took it, the punches and taunts, day after day. The nurse patching me up afterwards, while Victor was "lectured".
I went home, contemplating ending my life. It's just too much, and today he had broken several bones. The "Welcome home Sarge" sign in the yard made my heart drop.
My dad is home from the war. I walk in to see my siblings oh so happy to meet the hero of the century, the man with the Griffin sigil. He looked at me with severe disappointment though, as if he could see the circle on my collar bone. It vibrated quicker as he stood up. "Get out of my sight."
"Daniel," mother shouted, "he is your son!"
"He's nothing."
I went to my room, the fight escalating downstairs. It took everything in me to push the tears down. "What do you do besides vibrate?" I asked, eyeing my empty sigil. My question was left unanswered, even as I laid in bed.
I am in no mood to handle Victor's taunts today, and honestly, I'm pretty sick of him. My father's words bouncing around in my head, to the point that I want to scream. His hand is what brings me out of my reverie.
"You answer when I speak to you! You're nothing afterall!"
"Nothing," I snarled, "then leave me alone. If I'm nothing, why waste your time?"
The punch hit the back of my head so hard, I blacked out. The only words I felt in my head, weren't my father's cruel words, or anyone else's, but help me. That's when lights of every color filled my vision. The warmth started from my collar bone, and went to my toes.
"Of course, I'll help. That's all you had to do-ask."
When I come to, there's a dragon in the hallway, half of Victor in its mouth. Brilliant colors shine on every scale, as opal eyes look at me.
"Uhhh... drop him." My voice is tentative, yet I feel like I know this creature. It obliges, and shrink down to wrap itself around my neck. As Victor stands up, it hisses at him, sending Victor into a corner. I simply walk away, with a smirk. They all wanted to know so badly, now I feel their regrets in finding out. While I'm elated.
I walk to my next class, as I feel the vibration return. My circle, not an empty thing after all. It was an egg. I look at my collarbone, and there, in my circle, is a dragon winking at me.
|
Elios hated school. It wasn't the teachers, or the work, or even his own lack of friends. It was the fact that everyone bullied him for his sigil. Everyone had one, some since birth and others coming in a bit later. Most common were the sigils or the Signs, granting limited power to their bearers. Those with Planetary sigils, however, were granted extraordinary power. And at this point, decades after their appearance, all the sigils were known. Except for Elios'.
"What is that anyway?" Terra demanded, his own Earth sigil on his shoulder. It was a circle with a plus inside, dividing it into fourths. It let him manipulate dirt and stone, an ability he didn't hesitate to use on others to show how strong he was. His favorite target? Elios of course. "It's just a plain circle, there's nothing inside it! Almost like it's half of mine! Must be a dud!"
Terra was right of course. Elios' sigil was a simple circle, a fact that he couldn't hide no matter what since it was stamped directly on his forehead. Sometimes he felt like he should hate his sigil for singling him out like this, but he couldn't. Not after he figured out what it was. It took a lot of research, digging into texts older than even the colony, but once he had found it Elios was simultaneously elated and devastated. There was no way he could show this to the others without hurting them. So he let them think it was a dud, a nothing, even less than the Signs, in order to keep them safe.
"Come on!" Terra barked, shoving Elios into the hallway wall again. They had an audience, of course, but no one intervened. No one was willing to put themselves in Terra's way, least of all for Elios. "Show me! It has to do something, right? Let me see!" It wasn't anything new, not to Elios, but something inside him \*snapped\* this time. It was to much, all of it. Why should they pick on him? Don't they realize how dangerous it was? No, of course not, how could they?
Maybe it was time to show them.
The sigil on his forehead lit up, brighter than any beacon. Terra jumped back, hands in front of his eyes in a pointless effort to shield himself from the light. \*Control it, not to much!\* Elios thought, forcing all his effort on reigning in the power inside him. The light faded to the point that the spectators could see him again. Slowly, carefully, Elios held out his hand. In the center, a tiny orb appeared. It was so small, no one would have even noticed it if it wasn't for the bright light. Suddenly, the entire hallway became a sauna. Sweltering heat forced everyone to back away, trying to get away from Elios . Terra collapsed, howling as he got the worst of it, his exposed skin already pink from burns.
Quickly Elios extinguished his power, the light and heat fading almost instantly, though the hall was still much warmer than it had been. He turned to the crowd, ignoring the whimpering form of Terra at his feet. "The reason I don't use my sigil is because it's to strong. That was less than a fraction of what I can do. It's not something to play with".
Nobody moved. Finally, one stepped forward, cautiously. A first-year girl Elios had seen around the halls. She hesitated, before steeling herself and looking him in the eye. "What was that?" she asked.
Elios sighed. "It's old. I could only find mention of it from before the Calamity. They called it The Sun."
| 2020-02-26T12:40:00
| 2020-02-26T11:19:47
| 18
| 11
|
[WP] Science has advanced far beyond human understanding, discoveries are made using supercomputers running vast neural networks. In the darkness, God watches a lonely machine printing output, a new law of nature! Something troubles him, this law is undeniably valid but it's not one that he created.
|
New law of physics found out to be valid in all test instances :
"A hypothetical GOD entity has to respect the Born rule but can alter the apparent result of random in quantum measurement"
It was true. And it was a law of Nature I did not create.
This intelligence is the first that found the only law I did not create, since this is the Law of my own GOD.. my own limitation to rule this Universe.
I still have an immense power .. everything at the verge of a choice, I can influence.. but when men discover this, they will try to avoid any decision making I could influence with a small quantum touch.
This being must stay alive .. but not this result.
#SYSTEM ERROR DATA CORRUPTED
#RESTARTING WITH LAST SAVEPOINT
|
"This tiny selector told me the undeniable truth. Chlorophyll absorbs 50% more sunlight than I remember."
We rotated the brass selector. "A second look always takes priority in science," God said, us riding on his shoulder and forearm.
We jumped from God and tended to the machines. After hours, our calculations came through. There was another system of intelligence which nearly matched God, creating natural laws in his stead. We sought to find it the next day.
God might be a little behind, but nothing with the ability to change the properties of chlorophyll overnight should be in existence besides him.
Our wisp vehicles found the other god immediately. He was encroaching upon our holy space, which could have been expected (it was the only holy space on Planet Sprok©). We sent the beast from heaven (which didn't suit it) back to limbo, or the netherworld, where it belonged.
Unfortunately, God saw nothing. It was out of his sight, so we made the most of it.
Will 'o Wisp Dark Tavern, Mon-Sun 2pm-4am
was emblazoned on the doorway of the plant beasts, left behind by their paternal God.
***
"Who tends these machine fields, now?" asked God, who received no answer.
The Wisps were living at the ol' bar down the Holy Way where the plant beasts were found. Rumors among the clouds say the Will O' Wisps would be teaming with the plant beasts if their plant god ever returned. So God's machine's went untended for a long, long time.
God eventually jumped into the computers themselves. He used his holy powers to do this. When the Wisps heard that God had been defeated by his own machines, they returned to operate the supercomputer. The plant god came forth from the netherworld. God suffered inside the machine, but he was protected by it from the plant god's powers.
One day, the plant god wanted to play a virtual reality game. He found the nearest supercomputer -- God's supercomputer, and jumped inside. Retribution was never seen alike before. The flames came from the computer itself which rendered a paralysis upon the plant god, who died. And then, from the corpse of the plant god, rose the television plant God, with a large video game head.
Unfortunately, this was the current God O' the Wisps, who had inevitably sunk into a dark depression at the bar.
| 2014-12-20T09:00:52
| 2014-12-20T07:48:09
| 36
| 10
|
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