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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] livestock animals are not only sentient, but also aware of their roles in the human food chain.
|
"Is it time?"
"Yes, it's time, Harold."
The farmer lead Harold walked out of the farmhouse to his battered yellow pickup truck. The farmer got a small stepstool out of the cab of the truck, opened the passenger door and laid the stepstool beneath it. Harold was a fine Glouchester Old Spot pig made fat by careful feeding. His body was covered in thin white hairs, and he had many black spots, including the biggest circling his left eye. The farmer patted Harold on the hindquarters, and the pig grunted and trotted up the stepstool to his favorite seat. Then the farmer replaced the stool and went over to the driver's side.
The morning air was biting cold. Harold's pink and black-spotted flesh twitched and shivered in its animal attempt to stay warm.
"You cold?" the farmer asked.
"Obviously. I don't have the luxury of wearing clothes."
"Well, the heater on this old truck won't work right now, but we get on down the road it'll fire up just nicely. For now, lemme get you a blanket." The farmer reached behind the bench seat, pulled out a flannel blanket and wrapped it around the pig.
"Thank you," said Harold. The farmer nodded.
As they pulled away from the farmhouse, the two did not look at each other. Instead they stared at the fields. These fields the farmer had left to fallow and now were grown over with wild grass. There was a hard frost that night, and as the morning wind blew through the grass, it looked as if the field were a calm crystal sea.
The farmer watched Harold from the corner of his eye. A thousand words formed in his throat, but his country pride wouldn't let most of them out of his mouth. Finally, he spoke.
"You get a chance to say goodbye to Maggie Sue and Oliver?"
"No, I didn't think they'd understand."
"Hell, they gotta understand the facts of life one day."
"Then why are you taking me to the neighbor's farm and not our own barn?"
"I just," the farmer said reluctantly. "I just thought the shot'd disturb them is all." He quickly changed the subject. "How about we try the old heater, sound good?"
The farmer fiddled with some knobs on the pickup console. Soon, hot air poured from the vents, filling the cab.
"How's that? That good?"
"Yes, it feels very good," Harold said.
The farmer and the pig laughed together for a moment, breaking some of the tension. The farmer patted Harold, and Harold leaned over and butted the farmed with his head.
"Listen," the farmer said. "I wanna thank you for being so good with the young'uns."
"Don't mention it. It was my pleasure."
"It was real hard for them after their mother died, you being there, making them laugh, taking their mind of all that grief, it meant a lot."
"Do you remember when I was just a piglet, and how I always broke out of the sty?" Harold asked."
"Hell, I remember that. I tried ev'rything. I tried chicken wire, I tried stopping up the door with rocks. I even built a whole danged new sty just to keep you in. I couldn't never figure it out."
"It was Maggie Sue. She was letting me out," said Harold with a smile.
"Well, that god danged little troublemaker."
"Just so you know, you're going to be in trouble when she grows to be a teenager."
"I'll probably freeze to death sitting on the porch with my shotgun ev'ry night to keep the boys away."
Harold and the farmer laughed out loud. Harold leaned back and mimed a sleeping farmer waking from slumber shooting off both barrels. The farmer took his hands from the wheel and mimed a frightened suitor running for his life.
After their laughter had died down, Harold said. "I always hated that sty."
"Well, no man deserves to live in shit. Well, not that you're a man, I mean..." The farmer couldn't complete the thought, so he fell silent again.
About twenty minutes later, the pickup pulled up to another small farmhouse. Standing in front of this was a man with a bushy yellow beard liberally flecked with gray. The farmer parked the truck, got out and walked over to the man. They talked together briefly. The man offered the farmer a cigarette, and the pair smoked in silence. Finally, the man handed the farmer a revolver and a box of shells.
The farmer walked back to the truck, put the stepstool by the door and let the pig out.
"Well, I guess...," the farmer said.
Harold trotted to the open barn door, and the farmer followed him. "He says it's here in the back," the farmer said over the grunting of livestock. They walked to the back of the dim barn to the killing room. They went inside the dim room, and the farmer pulled a chain hanging from a light bulb in the ceiling.
The walls of the room were stained with the dried blood of countless previous kills. The floor too was caked in dried blood as well as hair and strips of skin. Hooves of various animals lay stacked in the corner. Harold shrieked and bolted for the door, but the farmer caught him. The pig resisted, but years of field work had made the farmer strong.
"Not here!" Harold yelled. "I don't like it here!"
"Man says here's the only place."
"Anywhere. Outside. We can do it outside, right?"
"No," the farmer said. "It's gotta be here. You told me you weren't gonna cause a fuss."
"I know...I just..."
"Shh, there, there. We're almost done."
The farmer held the pig until it calmed down. Then, Harold walked to the middle of the room as the farmer loaded rounds into the revolver. Hot tears dropped from Harold's face.
"I t-t-told myself that I w-w-wouldn't do this," Harold said. "Th-that I wouldn't cry. When people ask, could you lie and s-s-say I didn't cry?"
"There's no shame in crying," said the farmer. He felt his own eyes begin to burn.
"M-my only hope is th-that. I can provide good f-f-f-food for your family. So the k-kids can gr-grow up healthy and st-st-st-strong."
The farmer leaned down and patted Harold on the head one last time.
"You've been a very good pig, Harold."
"Th-thank you."
The farmer raised the revolver.
|
Talking animals had been the dream of schoolchildren and environmentalists for decades. PETA was convinced that a simple translation device would force humans to recognize the sentience of other animals and live harmoniously with them: vegetarian, eco-friendly, and conscious of the environmental effect of our ever action. PETA dumped millions of dollars into some promising researchers working with dolphins and funded by some tear-jerking Sarah Mclachlan commercials the researchers made a huge breakthrough. Their tech worked and not just for the dolphins. As excited as everyone was to talk to the dolphins, grumpy cat, and fido, PETA had other plans. They took the translation devices straight to the factory farms. It would be the most powerful and moving animal cruelty documentary the world had ever seen. First-hand accounts from the victims themselves.
At first they thought they were using the equipment wrong. They called the scientists in to recalibrate it. Then they thought they weren't being understood. They called in linguists and translation experts and sociologists; anyone they thought could help break through the barrier. It became clear after a few hundred interviews with the same response.
The animals weren't just aware of their role in the food chain, they loved it and couldn't wait to die for us.
| 2015-01-05T12:15:35
| 2015-01-05T10:13:11
| 34
| 12
|
[WP] you own a thrift shop which sells objects of immense power from fictional universes to others. Protagonists from all types of media frequent your store, and you have made quite a profit. Everything is going well until...
|
Hef leaned over the desk, polishing a curved crystal blade.
"Pretty calm today," he muttered. "How are you doing over there?"
I looked up from my desk, nodding. I liked it the best when the sunset beams seeped into the thrift shop, making all the trinkets, artifacts, and weapons glitter.
The doorbell chimed obnoxiously, and the first customer of the day stepped into the shop. He wore an impractical armor fitted with a ton of shining gemstones.
I hadn't seen him around before, and Hef didn't greet him in his usual pompous manner. Without a word, the customer pulled a massive blade from his scabbard and placed it on the desk.
"My name is RF," he said. "And this is the Blade of Sopaa."
Hef tried his best to keep his face in check, but a twinkle of ecstasy surged through his usually stiff face.
"And... you're just going to trade that away?" Hef said, narrowing his eyes.
"Yes, I'm tired of it," RF said, shrugging. "I want to return to my old ways."
"Very well, I'm not going to say no to a good deal -- feel free to pick out anything from the shop."
A grin spread across the customer's face and he pointed at me. "I want her."
The smile on Hef's face suddenly melted away. "Well, um, why?"
"Does it matter why?"
"She's... she's not for sale."
"Not even for the Blade of Sopaa?"
"Not even," Hef said.
"Huh, well, I have the Blade of Sopaa," RF grunted. "I'll just take her."
"Good luck," Hef said, scoffing.
He leaned back against the counter, watching RF stride up to me.
"Come with me, girl," RF said.
"Sorry, but no thanks," I said without looking up. "I'm not interested in you or your blade."
And just like that RF found himself at the bottom of a pit, where crazed people gushed over his blade, but nothing else really came of it. Would he be able to get out? Maybe, but not in this story.
Hef shook his head. "I feel sorry for him."
"Well, that's what happens when you try to steal the narrator," I said and put my pen down.
|
The door swings open and is only stopped a woefully thin plaster wall, a small shock wave makes my ears pop before I see him. My heart sinks.
A tall figure clad in a flowing white robe squeezes himself through the (admittedly) rather small door, and begins to browse my stock. I've been running this business a long time, and over the millennia I've amassed a collection of rather valuable and powerful artefacts. Weapons wielded by legends, tomes containing the secrets to disentangling the very fibres of the universe, and scrolls with the secrets of great civilisations long past.
He didn't really seem to care, thumbing through the pages of another great classic like the menu of a fast-food restaurant. He notices my slight irritation and grins at me through his unkempt beard with the pure giddy excitement that only a child could be thought to possess. He makes his way over, every step widening a crack in the ceiling, and places his hands on the counter expectantly.
I sigh, "Hi, God".
"Do you, uh..." his excitement was thick in the air, "do you have it, has it come?" he boomed.
God was a regular, unruly though he was, and sometimes difficult to handle, he was one of my more consistent customers. His most recent visit however, his tone was eluding to something, he placed an order for a speciality item.
I pretended to not understand his request, before answering, "Ohh, the soul? Yes, it's here". I readied myself.
He bounced with glee, and let out a deafening squeal. I placed the glowing jar on the counter, he lifted it to his face and stared at it intently, "Oh, this will be perfect!".
Before I could stop him to pay, he muttered something about "adam" under his breath and sprinted off shouting for me to put it on his tab.
Asshole, he's never gonna pay off that damn tab.
| 2017-12-15T07:50:41
| 2017-12-15T07:48:08
| 886
| 104
|
[WP] The sexy, freedom-loving rebel hero always gets his rallying 'Why we fight' speech against the evil Empire du jour. Write the inspiring speech his law-and-order counterpart gives.
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Fifty years ago, on this very day, the lives of fifteen million persons were lost. This number has been used as a statistic for both factions involved, both by upstanding members of government and anti-Imperialist leaders.
That is not why I am here today. I will not decry the villainy of the anti-Imperialist movement. Nor will I speak of the numerous ways in which the Chavian Empire has aided us all in these post-nuclear war years.
Today, we are gathered to memorialize the fallen. Humanity is not defined by political inclinations. Noble men and women fought that day, half a century ago - noble men and women who believed in what they stood for, standing on both sides of the battlefield. They were fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers, daughters and sons. We must never forget these men, women, and children whose lives, full of great potential, were lost. Who among them could have been the next innovator, the next Socrates, the next Newton, the next Tesla?
We lost fifteen million that day. Not four million rebels, one million soldiers, and ten million civilians. We, as a nation divided, lost fifteen million people. And we, as citizens of the Chavian Empire, should mourn every single loss.
And it is for this reason that I humbly ask - was such loss worth it? Worth the stand that you would take? Was the politics worth the price in blood?
On this day, more than any other, I implore each and every one of us to ask ourselves this question. The Empire, when attacked, has no choice but to protect itself. And so it can, and it will. But when promising lives are lost, there can be no victory.
Let us each engrave the lessons of blood in our hearts, and let that blood not be so vainly spilled again.
|
I went a little more Evil Empire with this one than I intended...
*****
Men of the Black Empire, we stand here on the brink of victory and yet I stand before you, not with arrogance or certainty in our victory, but with the arrogance of certainty in our cause. Once we were few, just a handful of men who believed in a different society to the one which the Kingdom of Light stood for, but now I look across the fields of warriors who have joined, been enslaved or even grown from the very clay at our feet and I feel pride how far we have come.
It is easy to survive, when every time you fall a hand is offered to help you back up, but we do not believe that the easy life will make us strong. Every one of us has had to fight for his place on this field, but are we any lesser men for that? No, we are stronger, more powerful and we have more right to this world.
They tremble behind glowing walls, protected by the magics of their forefathers, we hold only the weapons in our hands and the knowledge that we have all fallen a thousand times and had our faces ground into the dirt *but each time we have risen*.
Victory today will be no celebration, for although we will have finally smashed the Gold Alliance, scattered their men and begun the process of reforming the world, make no mistake, it *is* only a beginning. Tomorrow our weapons will be stained with the drying blood of our enemies and we will begin the work of building a new world, one where strength and size gives a man honour and respect.
We will build a world for the strong. We will build a world where we are all tested and those found wanting will be cast aside, so that all of us will become stronger. We will build a world where every man has a chance to fight and kill his way to the top and no man shall doubt his very worth.
So take heart my warriors, their last few heroes are gathered here against an army of men who have proven themselves a thousand times and more in battle. Despite the prophecies and so-called legends, we have lost not a single battle and now we shall fall upon their walls and crush them.
Stand firm men of the Empire, stand proud and stand ready, for we march to victory.
| 2015-09-08T08:38:56
| 2015-09-08T08:26:19
| 49
| 11
|
[WP] Normally when people are reincarnated they lose all memory of their previous life, but for some reason you remember your past self; a cop who spent his life trying to catch a master criminal, who eventually ended up killing you. You are reborn as your killers child.
|
Ever since I was a baby my mom and I have never gotten along. I've always, always been a daddy's girl. When I was still on milk and formula I would only take it from my dad and I cried any time my mother tried to hold me. My family just wrote it off as something that I'd grow out of.
By the time I was sixteen or seventeen I knew. I knew why every time my mother tried to show me affection I'd recoil in horror. I knew why I was nothing like my siblings or my mother. Daddy always told me that I was an old soul, I reminded him of a family member that died a little bit before they found out my mom was pregnant. I even looked like her too. That's all he would tel me but for some reason I unsettled the whole family. Even grandma and grandpa still acted like they saw a ghost every time they saw me.
The day I figured it out I was waking down the hallway at school and happened to catch a picture in my old home room. It was me. But it wasn't me. The me in the picture was older than I've ever been. That was - the split second I made the realization my knees gave out and the last thing I remember before waking up in the nurse's office was the hot, searing, impossible pain of my mother's knife carving into my chest.
When I woke up and convinced everyone that I was okay they let me go. The only number they had on file was my mom's because my dad had to get a new phone last week and had to change his number, and when they asked if they could call her I think I shocked the little lady with how harsh and quick I snapped "No!!!"
By the time I got home I had remembered everything. I remembered playing with my dad when we were kids, me playing army with his and his friends until the big one shot me in the face with his BB gun and my brother broke his nose. That's where the little pockmark on my cheek came from. I don't even remember it hurting that bad.
I remember running to grandma when I got my first period, begging her to make it stop so I could go swimming with the guys later.
I remember the first time I got my heart broken and grandpa had to lock my dad in the closet so that he wouldn't run out and kill the kid.
I remember the police academy, everything I'd learned, and everything I'd gone through. I remember graduating at the top of my class.
I remember my mother carving the beating heart out of my chest, just like she did the twelve other victims.
By the time my mother got home from work (probably another murder) I'd made up my mind. As soon as the door opened I stepped into the hallway with my daddy's shotgun pointed at her chest.
"Hey, bitch. Remember me?" I pulled aside my shirt to reveal the strange scar on my breast, over my heart.
Her eyes flew wide and she sucked in a breath to scream, but it never came out. Instead the scattered pellets of the shotgun shell punched her breath out for her, a short and quick "huh" of breath and then the bitch was dead.
(Y'all Idk what I just wrote bc I'm sleep deprived and on mobile I might fix it tomorrow)
|
My memory was as sharp as it had ever been, I remembered all of the evils this guy had done, all of the suffering he had caused, the countless people killed through his gang. I remembered the outcry of the mother that just returned home to find her husband dead with her child in his arms, the weeping ten-year-old that had just understood that his father was not coming back. The bloody pool in which lay a strangled pup next to its beneficiary. Those and all the others, this legacy of evil his gang has brought about.
I remembered all this, but then I saw that face, that deeply caring, fatherly face that would pick me up and feed me when I was crying for food, my mind wasn't optimized for controlling a babys body, so I couldn't speak to him, and even if I could, I didn't know what I would say. He was at the same time a caring father and family man, who clearly regretted that he had to act as he did in the name of survival. On the other hand, these actions killed not only me, but my family as far as I know. The bomb went off when we were having dinner, my last memory of my two year old doughter was the face of her laying on the ground, maybe unconcious, more likely dead.
One day, the day that I figured out how to open doors in this body, I found him sitting on his bed, in the arms of my 'mom', if you could call her that. I had by that point mastered most of the concious mind of this body, so I stayed scilent as he cryed to just listen, though I could do some speaking by now, I had decided to not freak him out with a speaking baby.
"I had to order the killing of another man today." He said while tears flew down his cheeks. "He was a good man, stuck to his word, had a family of his own and was caring for the family of a dead friend with an adorable, but sadly disabled doughter, another of my sins." He cryed out.
"I know." Mom said.
"He was a cop." He said. "A friend of another one we killed two years ago."
I knew now who he was talking about. Jeffrey, that lovable numbwit had taken on both the role of provinding for my family and trying to bring him down. Tears filled my eyes. I knew now my daughter was alive, though she would have to live with terrible, unhealing injurys. I was greatly thankful to Jeffry, but now his son would also have to grow up without a father, which deeply saddened me. The kid couldn't be older than seven at this point in time.
"Sometimes I question why we are doing this." He said.
"For our survival, and our son." Mom replied, though it was clear this was no sufficiant answer to the question for her. And neither was it for him.
"Are our lives really worth more than all those we have harmed or killed, the list of lives we have ruined to save our own is endless." He buried his face in his hands.
"Do we have a choice?" My mom asked. Her face, which I hadn't seen up untill now, was also full of tears.
"No." He said. "Not unless we want to die and leave our son without parents and possibly no life, and I will not be giving up on him."
This was the moment I decided I had to speak up, but I didn't know what to say for the next few seconds.
He stood up and now realised that I had overheared it all.
"It is OK." I said, talking out of my ass.
"No, it is not, you don't understand." He replied.
"I understand more than you think I do." I said. "I understand who you are, what you have done and why you have done it."
"What is that then?" He asked.
"You have ordered the deaths of dozens of people, cops, rebelling suppordinates, rival gang members." I said.
"You don't even know what half of these words mean." He said. "How can you understand anything you have just said?"
"The key is that I am not who you think I am." I told him. "But to explain that, I would have to go on a bit of a tangent."
"Go on." He said, now interested as I used words I shouldn't know.
"I guess you know the concept of reincarnation?" I said.
"Isn't that the rebirth of the soul?" Mom asked, baffled by my choice of words.
"Yeah, for our purposes that definition is sufficiant." I said. "Well, whatever a soul is, it has to be inseperable from memory, because if a soul is the essence of a person, and there are memorys essential to a person, these memorys are inevitably tied into the soul."
"Sounds logical." Dad said, he was also still completely confused but also acutely listening. "But where are you going with this rambling about the soul?"
"What if I told you that reincarnation is a thing?"
He started loughing. Mom looked at him in a shocked manner.
"You are talking to a deducing toodler, Bib, don't start loughing at rediculous claims he makes." She said.
He was silent again after a few seconds.
"Now lets assume that reincarnation sometimes happens, this would mean that one newborn person would obtain the memorys of one live. And I have the momorys of another person stuck inside my head."
"What person?" Mom asked.
"Harris Miller." I said.
"Who is that?" Mom enquired further. But I saw the realisation in dads face as he fell back onto the bed.
"Harris Miller is a cop I killed." He said, his voice devoid of tone, cracking, as if he broke just then.
| 2017-08-03T17:18:31
| 2017-08-03T14:33:00
| 20
| 11
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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The doors to the kitchen were broken into as the screams from the outside raged on. The intruders had made their way inside the castle, and soon found just who they were looking for. The prince cowered in the corner as the cook looked unamused by the ruffians' attempts at intimidation.
"There you are, you're coming with us!" The leader spoke as he stared at the two. The cook, known to the royalty as Yvonne, stood tall and her shoulders squared as a fire long forgotten raged in her eyes. "You'll kill me first." She said, her tone even and unwavering, making the ruffians laugh. "You're an old woman, with nothing more than a weak knife, you couldn't stop me if you tried!"
"I don't plan on just trying." She said as she launched the steak knife into the nearest one's eye, piercing directly through it and causing him to scream. The young prince Daniel watched in horror as his cook, and long time friend, began to slaughter the ruffians before his very eyes. The kind and gentle woman he knew was replaced with someone with the rage of a hundred warriors.
Knives, wooden spoons, cast iron pots and pans were were thrown with such accuracy and force, it was almost as if Yvonne had done this before, many times. Blood splatters decorated the walls and floor, some even getting on Daniel's face. Daniel was terrified, but oddly calm as his cook took care of the last man, bashing his face in with one of the previous pans.
Chest heaving and white apron stained, Yvonne dropped the bloodied pan and wiped her face. She stood tall as she turned to face the prince. "You're safe now." She said as she helped him to his feet.
Yvonne led him out of the kitchen and through the castle, which was becoming engulfed in flames. "Get whatever you need out of your room, and then hurry to the stables. This place won't last long." She said before hurrying down a long corridor.
The prince did just that, rushing to his room and packing his clothes and valuables without a second thought. Though, as he was leaving, the roof collapsed in on him, cutting his face as he was suddenly pinned under a beam. He winced in pain as he tried to crawl out from under, but found it difficult. He was too weak, and far too scared to call out for help.
Thankfully, Yvonne found him and pulled him out before more stuff could crash down upon him. "Come now boy, we need to leave." She said, heading back, passed the flaming throne room making Daniel stop. The bodies of his parents lay at the foot of the throne, almost holding one another.
Yvonne looked at the bodies for a moment. "There was nothing you could have done, I'm sorry." She said before grabbing his hand and rushing with him out the door to the stables. She loaded up their bags and began to saddle the horses.
"Who were those men?! Why were they and why did they want me?!" Daniel finally spoke since the attack. Yvonne paused a moment. "They weren't here for you. They were here for me. I'll explain when we get someplace safer." She said as finished saddling the two horses.
Yvonne turned to face the young man. "Are you able to ride? I know your eye is cut but I need to know in case I need to have you ride with me." She said, Daniel nodding and getting on his horse. "I'll be fine."
Yvonne got on hers, looking over at Daniel, seeing him staring at the burning castle, what was once his home being slowly destroyed. "Daniel, I need you to stay close to me as we leave." She said, making her horse gallop to the exit.
"And whatever you do, don't look back."
|
Ps: I’m bad at punctuation 🥴. I hope you enjoy it though
“Stay here my prince while I go distract the invaders. Once you hear me scream I need you to run out the back door with all your might and not look back. Run with everything and do not stop” She tells me.
“No Ms Linda please don’t go. Please don’t leave me. Let’s run away together they’re too strong. They’ve killed my parents and every guard in this castle. They’re going to kill you” I say.
“Distracting them is your only shot at escaping. They don’t know I’m here so if they hear me walking they will assume I’m you and let their guard down. Please go my prince. I’m not letting you die today” She says.
“Okay Ms. Linda. I know this is far fetched but I hope you make it out alive. See you on the other side” I tell her.
“See you on the other side” she says.
She grabs the knife from the counter, runs down the hall and starts screaming.
That’s my cue to leave. I run out through the back door into the forest. The assassins at the back have moved to the front. I guess Ms Linda’s plan worked. I keep running for what seems like a lot of hours until the sky is pitch black. I don’t have any lights on me so I can’t possibly run any further. I have to find a place to rest till daylight. I’m a bit scared because there have been sightings of bears in this forest. Wow Imagine running from assassins only to be killed by a bear. Who are these people? Why are they even after me? One day I’m living my life as an 18 year old boy. The next day I’m being hunted down like a game. My parents are dead. Ms Linda is probably dead too.
“Jason” I hear someone shout from afar.
Oh no I’m going to die today. There’s no way I’m escaping this.
“Jason it’s Ms Linda” The person shouts.
“Ms Linda? I thought you were dead. How did you escape? “ I asked.
“Some of the men in the village came over with their weapons to fight off the assassins” She said.
“But how did they know the castle was being attacked ? I asked.
“One of the wounded guards was able to escape and alert the village” she replied.
“Oh that’s relieving to hear” I said.
“It’s safe to come out Jason. Just follow the light” She says.
“Okay” I reply.
Everything in me is still telling me to run the other way. It doesn’t make sense. Why should I run when I’m safe now? I trust Ms Linda, she was going to give up her life to save me. There’s no reason to run again.
I get to where she is and she hugs me
“Oh Jason. I’m glad you’re safe” she says.
“Well I’m glad you aren’t dead Ms Linda” I say.
“I’m sorry Jason” she says sobbing.
“Sorry for what? You saved me I should be the one apologizing for leaving you” I reply
“No not that Jason. I truly am sorry. I never intended for this to get this far” she says
“What did you do? Ms Linda” I whisper
“Something horrible” she sad whispering back.
Delma💕
| 2021-01-08T08:57:38
| 2021-01-08T08:03:30
| 23
| 10
|
[WP]The great library of Alexandria held perhaps the greatest collection of literary works in human history, but within its walls something was held that was so dangerous that, when discovered, Caesar, Aurelian, and Amr ibn al `Aas decided it was worth losing the endless knowledge to destroy it.
|
"But why?!" I screamed as countless years of knowledge roared in the flames before me.
"They found a book so troubling, so dark, that its very existence threatened the cultural future of humanity," the torchbearer replied.
"What book could possibility be so dangerous?" I asked in disbelief.
"Dank Memes, Volume Three. We weren't able to locate the others, and can only pray the library's destruction will destroy all other volumes with it."
I understood at once, and bowed my head with hopes that the prayer would be answered.
|
As the men spread out among the shelves filled with scrolls, they looked around in wonder. This discovery would change their respective cultures and surely bring about changes of which all of them had dreamed.
Bookshelves ten feet high ran for hundreds of feet, dozens of rows of them. The vaulted ceilings were painted of the night sky, but with constellations none of them recognized. Along the walls were paintings of endless variety: Egyptian, Greek, cave paintings. Some of the pictures contained scenes none of them recognized.
As the three leaders smiled at one another, they heard cries of exclamation from one of the groups of men who had begun searching the vastness of the library.
Together, the three men ran towards the sounds. They rounded a corner, halting at a group of four who were standing before a great doorway. The door was sealed with three large iron bars that seemed to be somehow melted into the frame. A design was etched into the the door, an image of some type of sunset, but with three suns. A ship of some kind hovered over what looked like one of the pyramids of Egypt.
As the men stated, they could feel a vibration through the floor. They directed their men to start chiseling away at where the iron bars were anchored into the wall.
The leaders decided to look around as their men broke into the sealed room. Caesar found a section that had many scrolls piled up. Unrolling one, he saw it was a map of the Mediterranean. He set it down and opened another. This one ha a detailed map of Rome. Moving down to another section, he unrolled another. This contained an unfamiliar landmass. It was labelled "North America". Choosing another, it was what appeared to be the entire earth, spread out flat. Calling the others to him, he pointed it out.
Each could identify their own homelands. As they realized that this was all of the planet, all began to realize just how much land there was that none of them had seen or wen heard about in rumors.
Going to a section that contained leather bound volumes, they discovered books of varying languages, some they knew and others they did not recognize. After comparing them, they realized each contained the same information, just in a different language. Reading samples identified that the books were historical texts. But the books were confusing, as they detailed events that none of them had heard of.
Shouts from the teams at the door drew the leaders back to the now unsealed doors. They each grabbed onto the heavy, stone doors and pulled with all their might. As the door slid open, a blue light came from inside.
Once the door was opened enough for a man to get through, they slowly entered a giant chamber. The floors, walls, and ceiling were all made of metal. The men had never seen such metalwork done.
In the center of the chamber, there was a figured contained in a column of light, the same hue that emanated throughout the chamber. Cautiously, the three walked slowly towards it.
The figure contained within the light had feminine features it's face, but it was a creature, like many of the things they had seen within the library, they had not seen before. It's hair was a dark green tat cascaded down it's shoulders. It had two slender arms that ended not in hands but talons. It's chest was smooth, leading to a flared waist. A wavy mass of tentacles split from it's lower body and they were gently swaying in the light.
When the three men drew near, the creatures eyes opens and stares at them. There was no emotion in those purple eyes. They gazed at the men and suddenly they heard a soft, lilting voice.
"Greetings, men of travel." Shocked, the men glanced around. The voice had been inside their head.
"I am the Chronicler. You have come into my domain. I have all the knowledge of your world, past, present, and future. Ask and I shall reveal to you anything you would like to know."
Again, the men stared in shock. One looked up at the creature and asked, "Why were you locked away?"
The Chronicler looked down at the men and replied, "Not all knowledge should be known. Those who discovered me before feared what knowledge they could have gained. They sealed me within so no one could speak to me."
The men took council with one another, debating on what they should ask. One thought more information on the unknown land masses would be worth knowing. Another wanted to ask about the sciences to advance their technology. The last wanted to know of their future empire and how long it would last.
The men debated for hours, not ring able to reach an agreement. They even fought for the rights to ask their questions in private with the Chronicler. They could not reach an equally agreed upon sharing of the knowledge. Finally, they discussed their motives and reached a decision.
Retuning to the Chronicler, they spoke. "You have offered us the knowledge of all ages. Yet we three, who have led armies and countries, who seek to better our people and bring about a better world, fell to bickering and fighting when we could not agree. A truly great man would set aside his prejudices and focus on the betterment of all. We could not do that, even when we could have all profited from what you have to offer. All that we ask now is the knowledge to reseal your apparent tomb so that no one of our time can find you again, in the hopes that some time, many years in the future, men worthier and fairer than is three can discover you and be ready."
The Chronicler gazed at them and nodded. "So be it, men of Earth." Suddenly, images of what they could use from what they had brought and supplies within the library to seal the door beyond anything any civilization could break filled their minds.
Together with their teams, the leaders resealed the room and buried the entrance to the library. As their men loaded into their respective ships, the men met a final time.
"We should never mention or record our findings. Let us venture from this place and pray that men of better stature than us can discover this vast source of knowledge so that mankind can flourish. We are not ready. Maybe they will be."
| 2015-10-14T10:54:38
| 2015-10-14T10:12:43
| 27
| 18
|
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
|
Elephants are big but this one is unique. Almost the size of the sun but blue. He's flying, without wings obviously.
Ninjas everywhere. This poor man is surrounded by them, he will never make it out alive. Or maybe they are protecting him?
The most simple garden in the world. One huge flower. I wonder if it's harder to take care of one big flower or a bunch of small ones?
''Sorry I kept you waiting Mr. Price. You can sit now, we'll discuss your son's recent behavior...''
Her voice drew my attention away from the kids drawings on the wall. Teachers - Parents meetings, always a pleasure to attend them.
|
Every time I tried it wouldnt come out. The pain was so severe, but not in the sense of extreme torture, just as an extremely annoying byproduct of what probably happens to everyone once. I cant focus on anything and at times I even shed a tear. As much as I rub, it just won't come out. What do people do to solve this anyways? Its not like I did anything to make this happen... it just happened. Maybe I'll use water.. or my finger? No the finger hurts way too much. That area is way too sensitive. They say it goes away on its own and not to worry.... fuck that!! Im not waiting around for something to disappear mysteriously into my body.
As if I hadn't already done this before, I'm sitting around thinking about what my options are. Like always, I just pray I will never have another eyelash fall into my eye. Please god.
| 2022-09-15T12:44:53
| 2015-01-12T14:12:50
| 1,493
| 11
|
[WP] If we were to wake up some morning and find that everyone was the same race, creed and color, we would find some other cause for prejudice by noon." - George Aiken
My first prompt had (what I felt was) good stories.
Time for another one, about my selected quote: Write a story in the world Aiken hypothesizes. What would kids be picked on for next? What would be the next inequality?
Edit: I post this hoping it will be satirical, I'm of course not trying to cause any problems.
|
I walk over to them, dressed in my everyday work uniform, a white apron with the sleeves cut to just after the elbow.
I quickly glance at my folder, reminding myself of their names. "Mr. and Mrs. Banks," I say. "He's a typo. I'm so sorry."
There's nothing more to say. I return to the infant, checking his vitals and ensuring the operation was successful. I can't help but glance at my own number, inked on my right forearm. The government had issued me 4041299 when I was born. There was no way I could ever forget a number permanently attached to my skin.
I can hear soft murmurs from a few feet away where the couple stands, in shock. This is the third time I've seen the inking machine make a typo in my seven years at the hospital, and each time I feel nothing but pity for the parents and child. I remember the first time all too well - I even contacted my manager to see if I could do anything. But of course not.
I'm brought out of my memoirs by a loud yell. The baby, silent until now, is crying at the top of his lungs. I deftly scoop him up and bring him to the couple. Mrs. Banks opens her mouth to speak, but all that comes out is garbled scream of despair. Mr. Banks looks me dead in the eye. He whispers one word.
"Please."
I have no response but to look at the smudge on the baby's skin. Turning away, I wonder why it has to be this way. Our society is so advanced, so intelligent, so modernized. *Why can't a typo just be a typo? Why can't typos apply for the same jobs, get the same education, live the same world full of opportunity?*
I usher the family to the counseling room, three doors down. The entire time, all I can hear is the screams of the child and the sobs of Mrs. Banks. I get in my government issued automobile and drive home. I can still hear the crying.
I stop at the corner of Chestnut and 8th. I give the man on the corner a dollar.
"Thanks, Jim," says the man. The brightness of his eyes rivals even the sun, directly above. He's a toypo too.
*My first submission to Writing Prompts, found this sub not that long ago. Please leave feedback! Thank you.*
|
"Excuse me, sir, do you have a moment to answer a few questions for our poll?"
"I suppose, yeah."
"Excellent! First question: Where do you stand on Proposition 6008-R?"
"I...do I have to answer that question?"
"You don't, sir, but this is just a poll to help our government better understand where the constituents stand on the issue."
"Ah. Okay, well, I'm against it."
"Okay. 'Opposed'. And might I ask why?"
"Well, quite frankly, I don't believe any of the 'scientific theories' about a person being more inclined to think with the right hemisphere of the brain. It's just illogical."
"So you're opposed on an intellectual level?"
"Precisely. I think people would have to choose to follow their instincts rather than pure-line logic. And if that's the case, then why should people choosing to act illogically be afforded Constitutional rights and protections?"
"Understood. Okay, sir, thank you for your time."
"My pleasure."
| 2014-02-26T23:00:37
| 2014-02-26T21:58:22
| 20
| 11
|
[WP] There's a door in the middle of the forest. No one who has ever gone in has come back. Your job is to guard anyone from going in. One night, you hear a knock on the door.
|
My instructions had been very clear: there were only three of them. When I arrived, they had even been taped up. I wondered if it was the guy who interviewed me, or someone else.
1. *Do not allow anyone to enter the door.*
2. *Do not allow anyone to open the door.*
3. *Do not take your eyes off the door.*
There hadn't been anyone at the door when I got there. I spent the first week trying to remember the last time I'd looked away from the door, wondering if there had been someone watching the door from the bushes. They could have been a long way away, with binoculars, maybe. It had been made clear to me that the door was important. Definitely important enough to merit a guy with binoculars making sure the new guy didn't screw it up.
There was a sound which wasn't familiar. After two months, I knew all of the sounds that the forest made. It occurred to me that I had probably forgotten a lot of stuff, having sat here for so long.
There was a pause, and the noise happened again. I identified it. Knocking. That meant there was someone on the other side of the door.
I looked at the rules. The doorknob rattled. It was locked. I had spent the morning of day 14 wondering why there was a lock, before realizing that it was probably because of Rule One. I had not been given a key.
"Hello? Is anyone there?"
Rule One was not to let anyone through the door. Rule Two was not to let anyone open the door. Rule Three was not to take my eyes off the door. It had been carefully explained to me that I would make very good money if I could follow the rules for six months: 154 days. I was on day 94. My voice cracked when I spoke.
"Uh. Yes. I'm here."
There was a pause.
"Really? How long have you been there? I've been knocking forever!"
I wondered if talking was allowed. I hadn't asked if there were more rules. I had promised to follow the rules and answered some questions and sat very still for five minutes while the person interviewing me had given me a funny look, and filled out a form with my bank information and used the cheque I had been given to pay my rent and student loan payments and taken my sister out for dinner before going to bed, getting in the car waiting for me the next morning, and watching the door.
Talking wasn't against the rules.
"I've been here for three months."
My voice sounded weird. The other voice sounded weirder. I wondered if it was just because I wasn't used to hearing anything but birds and leaves.
"Really? I've been knocking for hours..."
I think the person on the other side was waiting for me to say something. I was having doubts about whether or not talking was against the rules.
"That doesn't matter, though. You're here. Can you open the door?
"Nope. Rule Two: can't open the door. Even if I could, Rule Three: can't let anyone through."
"...who gave you these rules, anyway?"
***
I ducked under the police tape. Landscapers were replacing trees. They had been paid a lot of money to ignore the charring and the awful smell, the half-melted plastic chair, and the meters-wide path of destruction leading away from the untouched door. They had been paid even more money to be very discreet in spending the money they had been given; if it became obvious that they had become very rich very quickly, questions would be asked, and things were bad enough as they were.
I reached into my coat, and pulled out a sheet of paper: laminated, this time. It wouldn't stop acid from eating through the instructions, but it would keep the rain off, which would be important in the fall.
1. *Do not allow anyone to enter the door.*
2. *Do not allow anyone to open the door.*
3. *Do not take your eyes off the door.*
4. *Do not talk to anyone on the other side of the door.*
Two decades without having had to add a rule wasn't bad, but Rule Three had taken four decades, and Rule Two had been three centuries before that. They were getting smarter. I shook my head. The people watching had to be pure of heart, and that would probably be more of a problem than increases in intelligence of whatever lived on the other side of the door. You can buy smart, you can buy reliable, but you can't buy Good: not the way we needed it. My phone buzzed.
*"Got a good line on a quadriplegic in rural Kentucky. Ticket booked: you fly out tonight."*
Flying was better than steamtrain, that was for sure. The world had come a long way since I sat in front of the door.
|
I've been guarding the Lango Kuzimu for 10 years. 10 years watching this 10 foot tall ornate black door. Nothing grows near it for over a hundred feet in every direction, not even a single blade a grass. Animals stay away. I've yet to see another person during my watch except the guard to relieve me. I've never even had an urge to open the door. Hell, I try and stay over 50 feet away. Any closer and its as if my very will to live is draining out of me.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
What the hell was that? I look around, and pull out my sword. " STAY AWAY!", I bellow.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK
The banging is coming from the door. I swing around and raise my shield. My hands are clammy, I'm sweating with fear. The handle slowly turns...I'm petrified with fear. Our orders have always been to keep people out, not keep things in.
CREAK.
The door is opening. A dense fog and unnatural blue light eminent. The smell is pungent, like decay and rot. A hand shakily reaches out...it's grey, translucent, and slimy.
I never saw the rest of it. The town has to know something is coming; that something evil has entered our world. That's what I tell myself as I sprint home, abandoning my sacred duty. In truth, I don't want to know what is leaving, I just want to get away and never see that hand again.
I'll likely be executed for this, but some thing are worse than death and I believe I saw one of them...beyond the door.
| 2015-05-18T00:19:48
| 2015-05-17T21:48:42
| 51
| 13
|
[WP] A global arms race gets out of control and every country's only option for survival is walling themselves off with impenetrable defensive technology. Millions of years pass before a catastrophic event brings down all the walls, revealing how humans evolved in isolation.
|
The earth shook with a mighty tremor, like none ever felt before. The sky slowly darkened as a vile miasma enveloped the landscape.
There had been reports, from the scientists, that there would be another earthquake this month. There had been many in recent months as our fracking efforts had reached a point of desperation. But this? This was unprecedented.
Our town was built near the great walls which surrounded our nation, goliath walls which completely enveloped our society. My mind shifted to them, which the Builders had constructed several mellenia ago.
The walls which kept us safe. Safe from the savages beyond, the monsters who ate children and tortured their victims brutally, the creatures which seemed mythical until this very moment. Would the walls withstand this?
We couldn't stop fracking, the nation still depended upon oil, something which had become so scarce in recent years. But the earthquakes continued to get worse and worse.
At that moment the world seemed to cry with a deafening rumble as the land heaved and sighed and, as the fires from beneath the earth exploded in the distance, the base of the wall ripped into two... revealing the world beyond!
My heart was in my throat as the world descended into silence. Rubble lay scattered everywhere in the town. People were inevitably buried amongst it, some alive, some not, but it was not this which had me paralysed with fear. It was the sudden, and awful realisation that I was perhaps moments away from experiencing my worst nightmares.
Through the smoke and dust, I began to see the first shapes materialise. And my blood went cold.
*will post a part 2*
|
Genetic perfection. For as long as anyone could remember the people of Utropolis had, with a little help of the SBI (selective breeding initiative) created the perfect human specimens the perfect society
And then the walls fell
They had waited for this day. Every utropian child
Had heard of the mighty war, part of the reason for the breeding initiative was for this day, when the walls fell and they could take their rightful as the apex humans on the planet
Oh how wrong they were
They were not ready for the hellish humanoids that lives outside their walls . 50% blood and flesh 50% wires and metal 100% abominations . The new war didn’t even last a week and now the utopians were and always will be the perfect workers pets and playthings
| 2018-11-18T12:18:56
| 2018-11-18T12:02:56
| 24
| 18
|
[WP] A band writes a hit song, but unlike most hit songs which eventually fade away, this one just keeps growing in popularity with no end in sight.
|
It was pretty obvious to say that I hated the "mainstream" music nowadays. The most popular music was usually crappy pop about sex and drugs. It's been done too much, so I started to move on into different genres. Yet at the same time, a new band has risen in popularity with a new hit single.
I thought it would be another one-hit wonder, but I was wrong. Well, half wrong. One year later, the song is still being sung. It almost feels like it's the only song being played. It's broken world records for the song that has been purchased and downloaded the most. International popularity, awards, this song and artist has it all.
"Come on, Katelyn, you gotta listen to it! At least once!" Even since that song came out, Anna's been pestering me to listen to it. It's really grown tiresome.
"I don't want to listen to it. Why do you keep asking me?"
"Because everyone who has listened to it, loves it!"
I scoffed. "I'll admit, I haven't heard a single bad thing about this song, but that probably means the artist is just using her money to make sure people don't talk badly about it," I told her sternly.
Based on her pout, Anna didn't like that answer. Good. I didn't like being asked for months on end. "You just need to give it a chance. I'd do the same for you!"
Guilt tripping me sucks. Usually, I'd be strong enough to ignore her, but I've been tired of being pestered and curious to hear this song. After all, everyone who heard it couldn't be wrong, right? Begrudgingly, I sighed. "Fine," I muttered. "Give me the damn headphones."
With a squeal of glee, she eagerly handed me her earbuds and allowed me to put them in. Once they were firmly secured, she played the song.
The song was called *Sailor's Death.* It was an odd name for a song, considering everyone was always singing it so happily. It sounded like a pop song based on how everyone else sung it, and it was. I was about to take out the earbuds when I heard her voice. Her... beautiful voice...
Singing a sweet melody that completely captivated me.
In that moment, I knew that she was nothing short of a heavenly angel.
Right then, I could only envision her gorgeous face and her gorgeous voice.
Excitedly, I began singing along to the song.
Never again would I listen to anything else.
*Sailor's Death* is the best song in the universe!
|
"All rise for the national anthem" the teacher told the class. My fellow students all got out of their chairs and stould up facing the flag by the monitor. Suddenly, a tune unlike the one you're used to starts to play. No, this wasn't the national anthem that you've heard every morning for as long as you can remember .. and before you can figure out what's going on, out from the speaker system you suddenly hear "Silento!" "Silento!" "Silento!". Oh no, what is this? You stand there in complete confusion, assuming there's some kind of error on the morning announcers part; however, soon everyone including the teacher is doing some sort of dance, with the speakers blaring out "Now watch me whip! Now watch me nae nae!"
| 2015-10-24T07:51:10
| 2015-10-24T07:30:25
| 33
| 21
|
[WP] In heaven you meet God, and ask him a single question. "God, why did you make the platypus so weird?" You ask. "The what?" God replies confused.
|
I cast my eyes discreetly downward as I humbly approached the resplendent golden throne. My lowered gaze was partially in reverence and partially due to the blinding rays of light that emanated from the ineffable Figure sitting upon the throne.
"Ask, and ye shall receive," came the chorale tones of a single majestic Voice.
I nodded. I had given this moment much thought. I knelt respectfully before the throne of my Deity, bathed in Its light, and murmured my soul's burning question.
"Excuse me, the what?" said the chorale tones of the single majestic Voice with scorn.
That was a bit of a jolt.
"The...the platypus. Why? *Why, God?"* I cried aloud. "Why is it so FREAKING WEIRD???"
The radiant Face of Divinity took on an expression of distinct discomfort.
"That one," said the Holiest of Holies with the slightest hesitation, "that was a contractor job."
"A *what?"* I cried out before I could catch myself. "A *contractor?"*
"Erm. Ahem. Somewhere between the panther and the prairie dog I got *extremely* bored and, well, I sort of delegated the whole Creation thing for most of the a long weekend. We ended up with some very...interesting creatures."
"No way."
The Face of Everlasting Glory nodded ruefully. "Anteaters," It intoned mournfully. "What the heck?"
"Penguins?"
"Oh, absolutely. And dodo birds too, but the dodos didn't precisely stick around."
"Rhinoceroses," I accused. "Giraffes."
"Of course giraffes," the Almighty responded. "What sort of sadist would do that on purpose? And I was actually rather impressed with the rhinoceros."
"Mosquitos. Cockroaches. Bed bugs."
"I actually did those ones first," said God with a certain pride.
"And when did you get back around to creating humans?" I asked the Alpha and the Omega eagerly.
"Creating...humans?" said the Way, the Truth, and the Light, tilting Its radiant head quizzically. "Why in My Own Name would I ever have done that?"
I reeled.
"You're a load of petitioning pesterers and you never shut up a moment with your "bless me," "forgive me," "guide me"...great Scott, it's overwhelming. All you ridiculous creatures do is multiply, too. I ought to hit you all with a meteor."
I stood for a moment and considered this, shaken. "You never--with the Garden--"
"The Tree thing? Ugh. No, of course not. What sort of asshole--"
"I see," I mumbled dizzily. My worldview had gone rather severely sideways quite rapidly. "But. The Knowledge of Good and Evil?"
"Hubris," the Alpha and the Omega rumbled. "You know as much as any monkey about matters of Good and Evil. Or rather, any random monkey knows as much about it as *you."*
This was a bit much. "I beg your pardon--"
"Yes, but will you get it?" teased the Almighty in an entirely uncalled-for manner. "That's the million dollar question, isn't it?"
"You're a jerk," I informed God.
"Of course," God cheerfully replied, before chucking my naively goggling arse into a lake of eternal fire. "Who told you otherwise?"
|
"The fucking what"
God be chilling. I never woulda guessed but God is a; bucket hat wearing, dank weed smoking, non-descript, non-racial being that spends his time admiring accretion disks on black holes.
(A little masturbatory if you ask me, but idk, I'm not God)
"Yeah, it's got like a beak lmfao...but no wings, and like, they're mammals but they lay eggs"
God took a pause...or something like it.
"You gotta stop smoking that sound young one"
He pulled his bucket hat a little deeper over his shades, the universe glinting on his frames.
I took a pause, I really needed it.
"A fucking platypus mate, are you taking a piss rn?"
"I mean...well yes..."
"Right, omni-presence, why don't you omni-lookup a goddamn platypus on Google?"
God fumbled with his shades a bit.
"Nah"
"Nah?"
"That wadn't me child"
"Wtf"
"No offense but I'm offended, y'all thought I made that?"
"..."
I took another pause. I find I need those alot when I chat with God, the most high, the almighty, all knowing benevolent deity...
"Fucking Lucifer..." God grumbled his way through his sentence as he relit his material.
"Can I try that?" I ask the Big G.
He takes a huge pull (the greedy fuck) and says: "Aii, but I gotta dip right after"
"Say less"
This parts always been my favorite hanging with God, I can never guess what he'll be smoking that week.
I take a pull. The accretion disk suddenly disappears, a half second later, I hear what has to be the big bang, it's so loud I can feel my heart rattling in it's cage. Colors I couldn't name present themselves to me, I become acquainted with them and Light, their mother.
I am one. I am one.
"Good shit eh?" God says, amused.
I blink. The accretion disk suddenly undisappears. I am me. Just me. I sigh.
"I gotta get to work"
"Same time next week?"
"Yeah, love you big man"
"Love you too youngin, stay safe"
| 2022-07-03T15:45:54
| 2022-07-03T14:47:39
| 78
| 42
|
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now.
|
Growing up, I had always been an outcast. Everybody else in my class had amazing gifts: pyrokinesis, super strength, flight, laser eyes, invisibility, even the kid who could freely manipulate cloth. They were all praised and fawned over because of their gifts. But I was not.
My power is called "Roots." I can grow roots from the soles of my feet and extend them through whatever my foot is touching, at will. Nobody could see any use for it, and for the longest time, neither could I. As the only kid with a useless power, I was bullied, ostracized, and generally left behind. Even the teachers didn't intervene; their contempt for me was obvious.
Adulthood didn't change my circumstances in the least. I could only ever get the lowest paying, most demeaning jobs, simply because my gift was useless.
I finally realized the true potential of my ability only when I well and truly lost my temper. My boss was trying to stiff me on my hours worked, claiming I hadn't shown up to a shift when I had been the only one who had shown up.
"You're not getting paid for hours you didn't work, stop trying to steal from me just because you're useless! Get out of here, you're fired!"
And so I put my foot down, and rooted myself, intending not to move. However, I overdid it on the roots, as the floor began to crack and buckle, its structural integrity having been compromised by my roots. The look of terror on his face as the floor shifted under him brought a bright spark of glee to my heart.
I had always been the one cowering in terror. Never had I even imagined that someone would fear me. High on the sudden feeling of power, I disconnected myself from the roots and walked towards the man who was once my employer, and he backed up until he was up against the wall. Then, I very deliberately stepped on his foot and rooted myself again. I didn't even hear his screams, as a sensation of ecstasy and raw power rolled over me. My eyes rolled back in my head and my muscles all tensed and locked me in place, so great was the feeling as my roots drank.
Some time later, I honestly don't know how long, I came back to my senses. The corpse in front of me was riddled with my roots, the face frozen in a rictus of fear and agony. The floor was buckled in several parts of the room, showing a drop into the basement which was filled with a tangle of my roots.
Over the next few weeks, I experimented with my gift, seeing it in an entirely new light. Every time my roots drank, I gained more control over them and could grow them faster, further and thicker.
Finally, I made my first big appearance in the city, ready to demonstrate that I truly had the superior gift. I went to the city center, and rooted myself, extending my roots in all directions. The ground began to shake and car alarms began to go off. People began looking around in alarm, trying to figure out what was going on. They were the first to be taken by my roots. Overall, more than a thousand people were taken by my roots that day, and more than ten city blocks had subsided into a sinkhole I had created.
That was the day that I earned the moniker "Root of Disaster."
|
Herbert Johnson, on his 80th birthday snapped. It was bad enough to have a super power that only brings you ridicule, in a world full of powers that inspire admiration. These super powered fools, now, used their great powers to crash an old man's birthday party.
Herbert Johnson, the master of gas, unleashed his ultimate revenge. A thing so diabolical he promised never to do. The world of heros now had one villain. Flatulence was Herbert's game. Now the world was subjected to an endless cloud of flatulent gas. A feet none of the other super heros realized Herbert was capable of. No one is laughing now.
| 2017-06-12T09:33:04
| 2017-06-12T08:36:12
| 29
| 10
|
[WP][film-script] Hannibal Lecter an the Joker try to manipulate eachother, you choose who wins.
Obviously it doesn't have to be a script format, just a suggestion.
|
[EDIT: Wow, a month after writing this for fun it blew up overnight. Thanks for all the positive feedback. Time for a bit of self promotion: For those of you who would like to see a continuation (And perhaps more of my original stuff in the future?) I'd love to expand it and put it up on [my blog](http://themattcostaproject.wordpress.com/). Seriously though guys, thank you. I've never been this excited about writing something in a long time. A continuation will come soon! Ideas for a title of this "series" would be cool to hear!]
[EDIT2: Wow! Gold too! Thank you so much! This kind of response really deserves an expansion on the material. Check out my blog and keep up with the posts I put up. With you guys reading, it gives me a great motivator to keep working on this. I'm not just a one trick pony, I'm currently working on a video series based around 100 of my favorite movies as a follow up to my [Top 10 Favorite Superhero Movies](http://youtu.be/voYU_qqTPCc). I also do a bunch of other stuff with my blog. [Here is an update with details on the follow up story!](http://themattcostaproject.wordpress.com/2013/11/29/ive-finally-gone-viral-welcome-new-readers/)]
*INT. ARKHAM ASYLUM - EVENING*
**The hallways are dark. Eerie. Four thuggish guards escort a lone patient, HANNIBAL LECTER, to his new cell. Three guards carry high caliber weapons.**
**The door opens, weapons click, the guards stand facing the prison Lecter is to be placed in.**
**After a beat, the door opens, a guard speaks up. His name, SGT. HANSON.**
*SGT. HANSON:*
(nervous)
No sudden moves clown...
**A ghastly voice echoes from the cell.**
*VOICE:*
Oh no worries Eddie. No escape plans today. The wifey is busy doing time in the other wing. Can I call you Eddie? Hehehehehehe
**Sgt. Hanson escorts Lecter into:**
*ARKHAM CELL*
**The room is plain. Soft cushioned walls, and two cots on opposite walls. The other occupant sits silhouetted in his corner of the cell. Bright red letters spell out the words "Ha" all over the other occupants side. Hanson sits Lecter down, removes his shackles and turns to the other occupant.**
*SGT. HANSON:*
This is your new roommate.
*VOICE:*
Ooo goodie! Another playmate! Can we get some cards? Apples to Apples? Maybe a whoopee cushion?
*SGT. HANSON:*
Dr. Crane suggested you spend some time with Dr. Lecter. He has... some expertise in your area.
*VOICE:*
A doctor eh? Oh how exciting! I love those ink blot thingys! (To Lecter) Could we do those first doc?
**Hannibal sits in silence. Hanson grins and exits the cell. Before closing the door he turns to face the both of them.**
*SGT. HANSON:*
Have fun kids.
**The cell door slams. The room is darker than before. The moonlight from outside gleams slightly through the minuscule barred window.**
**There is silence.**
**The second occupant leans into the light. It's none other than THE JOKER. A hideous grin stretches across his face, lined with scars and messy makeup.**
*JOKER:*
Aw, whats the matter doc? Having a bad day?
*HANNIBAL:*
Revlon. Maroon. 1988. But judging by the smell. I'd say that you ran out of ink ages ago.
*JOKER:*
Ooo, an amateur Bat-Freak! How interesting. Tell me something "doctor", what's my sign? Can you guess?
**There is a beat, Hannibal examines the Joker intently.**
*HANNIBAL:*
You're a masochist. Judging by the scars on your face, they are self mutilating. Fascinating.
*JOKER:*
Why, can't you tell? The ever-so-elusive Bat-Freak has beaten me to a pulp more times than I could bother to count.
*HANNIBAL:*
Yes but, thats not what makes you who you are is it?
*JOKER:*
I beg your pardon?
*HANNIBAL:*
Something. Something deep inside you brought you to this point. And now you don't know how to let it go. You blame your "Bat-Freak" for everything because you refuse to take responsibility for yourself.
**There is silence. The Joker breaks eye contact, and starts to laugh maniacally. Echoing through the halls of Arkham.**
**The Joker's hideous yellow teeth glisten in the moonlight. Chuckling, calming down.**
*JOKER:*
You know doc. You had me going for a second there. But let me tell you. I've seen some doctors who claimed they could "cure" me. The most that got me was an annoying girlfriend, and let me tell you she was a handfull. This one time she and-
*HANNIBAL:*
You had a wife once, didn't you?
**Silence. The Joker's smile breaks.**
*JOKER:*
Don't interrupt, doc. Anyway-
*HANNIBAL:*
She died. Yes? Through no fault of your own? I can see it in your eyes. As black as they come. Yet so full of a lost history. How can you wipe such a woman out of your mind like that?
*JOKER:*
You're really starting to get on my nerves doc. Now let me-
*HANNIBAL:*
Your constant ignorance towards your past makes me wonder. Was she pregnant?
**Joker stands up furious. His yellow teeth vanished within his lips. His face hidden in the dark.**
*HANNIBAL (CONT'D):*
Oh my. She was. How sad. That's a lot to bear for a young father. They tell me you once went by another name. The Red Hood was it? Such theatrics, you liked being center stage. Judging by your makeup I would suggest you to a circus.
**The Joker still stands. No grin.**
*JOKER:*
And I heard your family was brutally murdered. And your sister was eaten. Word gets around here in Arkham you know. It's like high school all over again. So don't act like you're better than me.
*HANNIBAL:*
How old are you, my friend? Do you even know?
**Silence again.**
*HANNIBAL (CONT'D):*
I'll take that as a maybe. To me you look just under fourty-five. I'd guess about twenty years?
*JOKER:*
(kneels in front of Hannibal)
You've got five seconds to shut up before I strangle a smile out of you.
*HANNIBAL:*
Oh, but you won't kill me. Not unless it directly involves the Bat-man himself. Correct? That's who you blame for her death after all, right?
**Joker jabs Hannibal in his face. Breaking his nose. Hannibal barely flinches.**
*JOKER:*
SHUT UP!!
*HANNIBAL:*
How simple it is to get through to you by simply mentioning the thought of her. Intriguing.
**Joker moves over to the corner of his side of the room.**
*HANNIBAL (CONT'D):*
You can't hide. It'll only drive you to kill more and more innocent wives like her. Imagine the children you have prevented, just like your own. It's your fault.
**The Joker returns from the dark corner. A serious look on his face unlike any ever seen on his face.**
**Hannibal smiles.**
*INT. INTERROGATION ROOM - LATER*
**Hannibal sits in the room alone. COMMISSIONER JIM GORDON enters the room. A file in his hands, he slaps it on the table in front of Hannibal.**
**The file simply reads "Lecter, Hannibal" on the front. Right above, "Classified".**
**Gordon sits at the table, carelessly skims through the file, and looks up at Hannibal.**
*GORDON:*
I can't believe I'm saying this but, you did good. Now what's his play?
*HANNIBAL:*
I'd be happy to oblige Commissioner. But my former cellmate asked me to relay a message.
*GORDON:*
Go for it.
*HANNIBAL:*
"Touche Jimmy. Tell Bats I said Hi"
*GORDON:*
Where did he say they were?
*HANNIBAL:*
Fortunately, he trusted me enough with the location of the bombs and his plan to use them. However, I'd like to play a game. Would you be so kind?
**Gordon bears a slightly annoyed look, but nods.**
**FADE OUT**
**THE END**
|
[[I think I missed the point completely. But I wrote it, so here it is.]]
In the otherwise silent hall of the Asylum his persistent laughter was like the susurrus of bat wings flapping deep within a cave.
"The others complain about you." a man commented from the adjacent cell, his even voice carrying through the holes in the plexiglass prison to his neighbor.
"Oh really?" the other man said, chortling deeply to himself, "I hope it's not too infectious."
The first man, his cell the pristine white of the inside of an eggshell, turned back to his desk in the corner where his pen and paper lay. "An interesting death rattle, to be sure."
"Death? You think I'm here on hangman's row?" his laughter grew to a crecendo, "Oh no, no no no. You see, I'm needed. I make a pretty little duet for a fine friend all clad in black. It's not in him to see my head roll." He slipped back into the dank corner of his poorly lit cell where he had begun carving letters into the wall. He lifted a finger, the nail cracked and bleeding from the abuse, to trace the words "Joke's on you."
"Quaint." the neighbor responded, "It must feel good to be loved, though your love is stooped and crooked. Is that what keeps you smiling? Or is it filling a hole, as so many loved things do?"
"Love? Love?" his voice grew louder and he stalked toward the wall that divided them, "But of *course* it's love! Of *course* it fills a hole deep inside my wittle heart." He paced back to the middle of the room and raised an astute finger as he paced in circles, "Why, it's three sizes too small, you see? But I have the decency to remain true to my one valiant black knight, where you give up your maiden's favor to any copper that crosses your cage!"
The man in the bright room did not look up from his work, still writing as he spoke, "You always escape but you always come back, always to the same cell. Like you're coming home. Always brought in by your oh so loving master, why is that?" He inked a hard period into the paper and moved to the next paragraph.
"Who's the master?" the man in the dark cell laughed, "The mad dog or the man who has to clean up his shit and chase him when he's loose?" His voice grew dark, "I like to play, my comrade in chains. It's a dangerous game of cards, but I always win, and he never knows." He scratched his chin, "You seem like the kind of chap who likes to solve riddles, why don't you play a game with me?"
The pen stopped, "A man who offers the game often has one already in mind. Already knows the rules and how to win. That does make for an unfair advantage, don't you think?" With the other man's echoing cackle gone, the sound of his chair slowly, calmly skidding back made the only sound in the hall. He walked to his porcelain divider and stared as if he could meet the other man's eyes through it.
"Spoil-sport." The man in the other cell muttered, his arms crossed.
From down the hall, a deadbolt the size of a man's arm groaned into place, followed by the shriek of rusted hinges. Light from the upper floor spilled in and a silhouette shouted "Alright, dinner's up!" The guard wheeled the old dolly down the hall, matching tray labels to cells. Finally, an orderly spread of browning mashed potatoes topped with lumpy gravy, a sub-par cut of ham and a smaller indent of fava beans still in their syrup labelled "Lector."
He found the man still staring through the white wall, but turned to meet the guard as he approached. "My thanks." He said simply as the tray was pushed through the rectangular slot in the door. Quickly undressing the guard with his eyes he added, "I'm glad to see you and your wife have reconciled. The bags beneath your eyes were becoming, frankly, and eyesore."
The guard, trained to ignore the words of prisoners in the Asyllum, could not help but meet those empty eyes for a moment and wonder, but quickly moved on before he was trapped like a rat before a cobra.
As he approached the adjacent cell, the prisoner sprinted to the glass and ran his tongue hungrily across his crimson Cheshire smile. "I know you've got what I like, ol' chum!" he scrambled at the slot in his door with eager fingers changing "Gimme gimme gimme!" As the guard pushed a tray of macaroni and cheese burritos marked "Joker" through the door.
As the guard moved on, Mr. Lector sat down and began to carefully carve his ham into neat squares. Dipping one small piece into the beans, catching a few on the end of his dull, plastic fork, he took a bite and savored each chew.
Beside him he could hear loud chomping and lip smacking, followed by a mighty belch. "Such a stick in the mud." the Joker said with a mouth full of mac-an'-'rrito, "You would get along with the Bats."
| 2013-10-08T20:44:46
| 2013-10-08T20:25:12
| 2,258
| 38
|
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :)
|
Narrator: As a cold wind blows into the bedroom, Kevin lets out an involuntary shiver.
Kevin: Nah, I'm good.
Narrator: An involuntary shiver.
Kevin: No thanks.
Narrator: AN INVOLUNTARY —
Kevin: You know this is just a reddit writing prompt, right?
*lights flicker off*
Narrator: As the lights flicker off, Kevin's heart begins to race.
Kevin: Nope.
Narrator: KEVIN'S HEART BEGIN'S TO RACE!
*Kevin flicks the light switch back on*
Kevin: Fuck you!
Narrator: Goddammit, Kevin. Alright, someone tell Bob to cancel the weird noises, this isn't working out.
|
Just 20 more minutes, I think as I stare at the clock. The hand slowly moves around it. I feel like the clock is defying me. The hand moves, and stops, and moves, and stops. Why can't it just go faster? *Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang!* Wow. Someone in the woodworking shop is definitely overdoing it. The teacher drones on and on about the Civil War. I don't care. That was 150 years ago. Who gives a shit about that right now? I wanna get back and play League of Legends with my freends. We have a cool new comp we are going to try, with a fast push that should take down three towers before 15 min.
I hear a scream. Someone is definitely having a bad day. There's another bang noise. I don't care. I'm sick of this place. I look longingly outside. It's a beautiful blue day. I wonder what's going on in the woodworking shop. It's unusually loud.
Suddenly, the loudspeaker goes on. "We have a situation happening. Everyone please remain in your rooms. The police will be arriving shortly. Please be calm and do not panic." The room promptly starts panicking. The history teacher stops droning, for once. "Everyone stay calm," he says. "I'm going to go see what's happening." Right outside the room is a loud bang, followed by a thud. Everyone freezes. One kid goes and throws himself against the door, bracing it against whatevers outside.
This is pretty sweet. We don't have to hear about a boring lecture for once. I think there's a school shooting going on though. I should probably try to survive or something. I look around for somewhere to hide, or maybe a weapon. Hmm. I don't find anything. The guy bracing the door yells to help him brace it. Fuck that. That sounds dangerous.
Some girl is trying to get a window open. If we werent on the third floor that might be a good plan. I watch her curiously as she fumbles with some simple latches in her panick. Shes kinda cute. Another guy goes and helps brace the door.
Bang bang bang. Bullet holes rip through the door. The two boys bracing it fall to the ground bleeding and probably dying. Yeah. Dumb plan guys. Everyone screams, other than me. I chuckle and know theres nothing I can do. I'll either die or I won't.
My friend Marty steps through the door holding an AK47. I know Marty. He's an intense dude, a little offputting. He's a real good AD carry though in League, so I like him. "Hey Marty what up dats some nice DPS u got there man" I say. He seems a bit startled. "Thanks," he says. "Did I tell you about our new idea for a League comp man? We need you to play Ashe and initiate for us." He seems a bit surprised. He replies, "Yeah, okay. I'm kinda doing some shit right now though. Do you know where Mr. Thompson is? That guy's a dick." I tell him "I think room 207?" Everyone is looking at the two of us like we are crazy. A girl is crying. Many are cowering on the floor. Marty says "I checked. He's not there." Thinking quickly, I reply, "He probably fled outside. If you run he might not get away." He replies, "Good call man. See ya online later."
Yeah, right man. The cops are gonna get him for sure. I sigh. We are gonna need a new AD carry.
| 2017-05-05T08:37:17
| 2017-05-05T08:06:22
| 17
| 11
|
[WP] A genie comes out of the wallet you just found, and hands you a 20 sided die. "Thank you for finding my lost wallet. I grant you a roll on the random reward table." You roll a 1.
|
“Well they do say no good deed goes unpunished,” the genie said as we both looked down at the 1 in disbelief.
“So what does this mean for me?” I asked.
“We‘ll see once you make a wish,” the genie answered.
“I just rolled a nat 1 and you want me to make a wish, are you crazy?” I exclaimed. “No thanks!!”
“But I can’t go home if you don’t make a wish!” The genie said frantically.
“Too bad, so sad,” I retorted.
“Just make a tiny wish, one that couldn’t possibly inspire a bad reaction!” The genie begged. “Like, wish to find a penny on the ground!”
“Oh so one can fall from a skyscraper pierce through my scull and land at my feet?”
“Well then what about wishing for a sunny day?”
“And start a never ending drought?”
“What about wishing for something harmless? Like a sale on donuts?” The genie suggested, pointing to a nearby cafe.
“Well…I don’t see how that could immediately go wrong…” I said slowly, “…alright. I wish for that cafe to have a small sale on their donuts.”
No sooner had I uttered the words than did the sly turn green and a great gust of wind blew.
“Don’t tell me…” I said with a feeling of dread. “A tsunami?”
|
"Oh You're in quite the unlucky one today", The genie leaned back and coiled his fingers together. But don't fret there is still a prize for such a soul. The genie ruffles in the folds of his wallet and pulls a blank card. "I give you this punch card. With this you have 5 punches to bend the odds ever in your favor when you desire it. Believe in your mind that the chips will fall and they shall." "But this gift has a cost", leaning in with a menacing smirk, "after that last punch, Quite the unlucky cost. You look at the card and the first punch has been made and a small genie icon is above the punch.
| 2021-07-30T11:39:26
| 2021-07-30T09:12:39
| 37
| 15
|
[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox
|
I'm all moved in. The office is fully furnished, degrees and certifications well hung on the wall. It's been more than a week now though and I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't a little concerned. No one has shown up and the phone is silent - apart from the occasional, wildly inappropriate prank call.
I guess some people are hard. Some people take more time to come. After all, this is a highly specialized client I'm looking for: someone that needs a fully certified Analysist AND Therapist.
Well, once word gets out I'll have to beat off the crowds with my bare hands. They'll even be trying to come in my backdoor. Such is the life of the world's first Analrapist.
|
We met in the room of a thousand fountains all 140 of us. We looked around for the original sure enough he was here. "Alright gentleman I have gathered you here today to adress the growing unrest across the galaxy at this time. Now I can't do it alone but with all of you I can, but we have to work together. Sound fair?" We all nodded and whispered agreements amongst ourselves. Then on cue we all turned to leave we knew what had to be done. The galaxy could barely stop one Revan how would it do with 140.
| 2016-02-22T09:31:34
| 2016-02-22T09:22:45
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] As a joke, you ordered a package from Amazon for 'Same Day Delivery' at 11:59. Barely a minute later, your package arrives with a very, very angry delivery driver.
|
I snicker. No way they'll get it here *that* fast. I do wonder what happens when someone does this though. Do they get a refund for the extra they payed? Or do they just get nothing for being such a nuisance? Suppose I'll find that out reasonably soon. I'm still watching my show on Netflix, which I've been binging for the past 3 days, when the doorbell rings, followed by heavy pounding on the door. I open the door, seeing a *very* angry face, but quickly changes to a plaintive, fake smile.
"Why hello there. May I inquire why it is that you ordered same day delivery at 11:59 PM?" As he says the words 11:59 PM his voice becomes slightly more severe, then back to the small smile.
"Well I just really wanted a Halloween costume for my bearded dragon, that's all." I say, cracking up inside. I really am surprised they managed to make that delivery on time.
He looks at me severely. "Well. This is what my section of Amazon is for." The smile is gone. I'm about to continue jokingly talking about the importance of bearded dragon costumes, but then I'm knocked unconscious.
I wake up, head throbbing, eyes bleary, and so so very confused. When I wake up I see the same worker who brought me my package, and a couple others too. Three people are tied up beside me. I'M tied up I realize. I tug a little, but it hurts my apparently already bleeding wrists.
"Why hello there." He says giving me a serene smile.
"Why am I here!?" I demand
He tuts. "Well my section of Amazon is dedicated to putting scum like you..." He get close to my face. "To rest. We have a team of us, hiding out in different places around neighborhoods, so we can deliver the package right before the day ends. Then...this."
I look into his face with fear. "What! You can't! No no no...PLEASE DON'T KILL ME I BEG!"
"We would do no such thing!" The supposed delivery man responds, looking thoroughly offended.
I look into his eyes fearfully, trying to stutter out a question, but he instantly understands. "We here at Amazon are *civilized.* We are doing nothing more than recruiting you. Now, it's time to get too work."
He unties me, and I wonder where I'll be taken. My head is throbbing, the blood from being attacked still dripping down my back, and a lot of it crusted. My hands are still bleeding from the ropes. We finally stop in a room with hundreds, no *thousands* of people working away...they all look so pitiful and frail. Fear hammers in my heart. I have a million questions, but before I can ask any of them the man says "Well. Deepest apologies, but I have another employee to collect. For now, occupy yourself by working." He clamps chains around my ankles and wrists.
I am still here to this day.
EDIT: nice never had this many upvotes
|
The delivery driver's clothes are in disarray; he has a black eye, an arrow stuck in his cap, alien goo on his shirt, etc., etc.
He goes on a rant and explains that whenever someone orders same-day-delivery that late, the delivery driver is sent through Amazon's own time-travel aparatus in order to buy him a few hours to reach your house at midnight. And things **always** go wrong and he has to suffer through various mishaps throughout the centuries before finally getting to your house at the right time.
His rant is interrupted and illustrated by flashbacks to the various things that happened to him.
| 2022-10-29T08:06:35
| 2022-10-29T06:20:08
| 190
| 49
|
[WP] You, a novice necromancer, accidentally discovered a new and more effective way of using your magic - politely ask the dead for assistance, which works suprisingly well. For this, you are hunted by both your fellow necromancers(for your unorthodox methods) and paladins(for using necromancy).
|
Lyle had grown weary of seeing the world upside-down. His feet hung from the noose shoddily put together by the Paladin on his trail for the past day.
"Do you mind saving me the trouble of hanging here and put an end to my misery?" Lyle muttered wearily as he eyed the Paladin sitting by his makeshift fire.
"Those necromancers hiding out in Lionsberg will pay a pretty penny for your secrets. I've heard all about your strange ways." The paladin grunted as he put his hands towards the fire.
"Aren't Paladins supposed to hunt Necromancers? Why would you want to help them out by handing me over?" Lyle had been mulling over this question as he was strung up by the Man hours earlier with his hands tied behind his back. Paladins weren't particularly fond of Necromancy after the Faith had recently called for bounties on the heads of any sort of black magic wielders.
"I wouldn't call myself the average Paladin. Now quit your yapping and get yer rest. No doubt those filthy mages will be picking your brain come morning." The sun had set over the past hour and there was little doubt that the Paladin had been exhausted from his day's hunt. Lyle's crime was that of going town to town and hunting down any troublesome spirits and ridding that town of their presence. Little did many know, save for a few holy folk, that Lyle had been amicably communicating with the dead and hearing out their problems.
Oddly enough, the only thing the dead really wanted was to be heard. Once their grievances were aired to Lyle, he would carry out any last wishes they had and then send them on their way. Word seemed to carry out throughout the realm of the dead of Lyle's deeds and many of them sought Lyle out for his gift of communication.
The Paladin eventually nodded off to sleep while the fire burned itself out slowly. Lyle began swaying off to sleep himself after spending the last hour begging for help from any spirit within range.
"I've really gotten myself into a rut this time. Any fool can raise the dead, but no one can really hear them." Lyle's eyes slowly closed until he heard a rustling sound coming from the brush behind him. Lyle slowly shifted his weight and swayed around until he came face to face with a small. shapeless glowing entity before him. The shape eyed him with two glowing white eyes and an oval-like bodice. Lyle stared at it a moment and then whispered something under his breath. Slowly, the shape began to shift into that of a person. A girl began to form, short of stature with long, colorless hair lining down her shoulders. She appeared to be around the same age as Lyle. Her body and clothing remained white as a long, bloody stain across her gown began to take shape.
“You must be the one everyone’s been talking about recently.” The ghostly girl smiled slightly as she spoke.
“You’re probably wondering why I’m hanging here. I’m afraid it’s a long and fretful story.” Lyle whispered as quietly as he could. “I’m not much use to anyone in this state unfortunately.”
The girl stood there for a moment, as if to admire the situation he’d gotten himself into. “It’s not often you get to find someone who whispers to the dead such as you do. If you can help me, I’ll help you down.”
Lyle was desperate to have his feet back on solid ground, so he nodded in agreement as the ghost broke into a smile and started to float toward the knotted tree branch Lyle was hung on.
“Easy does it now, there’s no hurry. Just bring me down gently.” Lyle whispered to the ghostly girl as she unwrapped the knot and began to work on pulling the rope downwards.
Lyle watched the Paladin nervously as the girl lowered him back down to the ground. The Paladin was snoring soundly and twitching every now and then, but made no move to awaken.
Lyle fell to the ground with a small thump and got back up slowly, adjusting to his newfound perspective and trying not to throw up in the moment. His gaze eventually readjusted onto the ghost girl hovering near him. She eyed him with an expectant gaze.
“Alright, what can I do for you?” Lyle whispered to the girl.
The ghost brushed her white hair to her side and began to run her cold fingers through it. “Well, I’ve been out in these woods for gods know how long. Before I left the mortal plane, I had made a very important promise to someone. The problem is, they reside out in Lionsberg and I’m unable to leave this place. Will you be able to take me over there and resolve my promise?”
Lyle looked down and thought it over for a moment. Lionsberg was not far from here and there was a strong chance that the Paladin will make his way over there to make an end to him. There was also the Necromancer’s Den to worry about as they’d probably turn him into some sort of cadaver project and attempt to steal his whispers for their own nefarious ends. Lyle looked up into the girl’s eyes and saw for a brief moment all of the deep seated pain and guilt that resided in her pale, glowing pupils. Lyle looked back at the Paladin snoring and made his resolution. “Let’s get your promise kept, shall we?”
The ghostly girl was ecstatic and made a move to hug Lyle. “Whoa whoa let’s not get too familiar here, I don’t mean to enter the spirit realm just yet.” Lyle whispered sharply as the cold touch of the ghost sent him reeling out of reality. “Let’s prep you to travel with me.” Lyle waved his hands out and closed his eyes. He whispered a spell and suddenly his eyes opened with a white glow. The ghost closed her eyes and slowly began to fade into Lyle, like a shadow slowly fading as the sun sets. Lyle stood there for a moment and took a deep breath.
“Alright, are you ready?” He thought inside his head. “Yes” a voice whispered back. Lyle tiptoed out of the campsite and once out of sight of the Paladin, began running westwards towards Lionsberg.
|
Today was supposed to be an easy day. Just a simple supply run. Jessie and me were to go down to the lake to check out the old marina and see if there was anything worth taking back to our hideaway. Food, medicine, weapons, tools, anything. We needed anything. There were not supposed to be many undead in this area. There was not supposed to be any other survivor groups in this area. But there were.
Jessie and me pulled of the main road just a couple of klicks north and hid the truck well enough so we could make our way down to the water on foot. We slipped by the few undead that trudged about the forest and got to the marina just as planned. We split up to check the place faster. She went to check the front offices while I searched the toolshed.
I was in the middle of stuffing a rusty can of sardines into my backpack when I heard her scream. I looked out a window and saw them. Four guys with guns dragging her out, kicking and screaming.
Three days ago I had a full cylinder in my revolver. After Bob stupidly opened a door that turned out to have a band of hungry undead locked behind it, there were only a couple bullets left (and no Bob). I could only watch as one guy hit her and she went limp as they put her in a car and started to drive away.
I dropped my pack and started to sprint back to the truck. I knew I could catch up to them if I could get to the main road in time. The winding side street down to the marina was clogged with husks of burnt cars, and it would take them a while to navigate back to the main road and go anywhere else. A plan started to form in my mind, of waiting in ambush and ramming their car off the road, and of pulling out my gun and machete and leaping out and killing them in close combat. It was a stupid plan, and one with a very low chance of success, but not one I would ever get the chance to try, because even stupiderly, I ran straight into a mob of undead.
Right as I turned a corner I saw them, and more distressing, they saw me. Clustered around the truck were nearly a dozen walking corpses, their rotten and skeletal faces turned towards me. My pounding heart skipped a beat as they began to run at me. They don't run as fast as they did during the initial outbreak, but a half starved human like me doesn't run as fast as I used to either.
I didn't get far before I tripped on an exposed root. I hit the ground rolling as the masses of undead closed in around me, putrid flesh in tattered rags carrying insatiable toothed mouths and skeletal clawed hands. I almost was able to pull my gun, but it was too late. But it was not too late for my final, pitiful words. "No! Stop! Please!"
I expected to die. I expected to feel the pain of being torn apart and devoured. But I didn't. I opened my eyes and looked through the arms I had thrown up around my face and saw them. They had stopped. A score of undead stood around, gray eyes upon me, not attacking. Just swaying in their lifeless, uncoordinated way.
I pulled myself warily to my feet. I looked at the closest undead, something that probably used to be a man with a mullet haircut and denim overalls. In a shaky voice I said, "hello."
It said, "aaaaarrggh."
I waved at it.
It waved back.
I started talking to them.
"Please, my name is John, and I need your help. Some people took my wife and they are coming here any second. I don't know what to do. I need to save her!"
Unblinking eyes stared at me. Jaws let out various groans and gurgles. They shuffled. I think they agreed.
Another plan formed in my head. This time it was a better one.
Moments later I had the truck in the middle of the road, parked sideways and blocking both lanes. I barely had time to hide in the bushes when I heard the sound of a car approaching. I held my breath as it stopped.
"Goddammit someone get out and move this thing out of the way!" shouted a male voice. "Jerry, Lenny get out there and push!"
Car doors opened and two men got out of the car. Each looked around nervously before they slung their rifles and put hands on the vehicle.
"NOW!" I yelled.
At that, undead came pouring out of the thick vegetation that lined the road. I think I heard a gunshot and an exclamation of "oh shit!" before it dissolved into the screams of men being mauled and eaten. I jumped out from my hiding place, gun cocked in hand.
The driver was distracted, rightfully so, at the sudden appearance of the horde. He did not notice as I slid up to his window and put a bullet through it.
The last man shoved his door open and started the flailing run of a man in a panic. He made it about thirty yards down the road before being overtaken and piled upon by voracious cadavers.
I opened the trunk of the car and there she was, bound and unmoving. I took her beautiful head in my hands. Her eyes fluttered. "Jess, can you hear me?"
"J-John?" she replied.
I felt the mightiest wave of relief wash over me. "Its gonna be okay, baby, I got you now. Everything is gonna be alright."
Suddenly her eyes went wide. I turned and saw the undead standing behind me.
"No, no, it's fine!" I sputtered. "They helped me. I don't know why, but they did! They can understand me! It's amazing, right?"
I untied her and helped her out of the trunk, but her face was still gripped with fear. I held her hand as she stepped up into the truck amidst the disinterested undead shuffling about.
"Hold on just a second, sweetheart," I said. I turned to the undead. "Uh, thanks you guys. I am eternally grateful to you. Usually your kind just kills us on sight, but for whatever reason, you didn't, and that is pretty fricking cool. We gotta get back to our people now, but I'll be back. I promise!"
When I turned back to the truck I saw Jess in the driver's seat.
She was pointing a gun at me.
"Jess? What's going on?" I asked.
"I'm sorry, John, but by the rules of my order, you are an abomination. I can't let you live. Goodbye."
A shot rang out and I fell to the ground. Tires squealed as the truck sped away. The world went dark.
| 2019-10-24T21:36:06
| 2019-10-24T18:28:11
| 30
| 16
|
[WP] You're the normal guy the evil emperor keeps around to point out obvious flaws in his plan. It's a pretty sweet gig, but there are some annoyances.
|
**Please let me know what you think. I appreciate feedback!**
I was folding the laundry when the Emperor’s guards came for me. They took me despite my objections, though they did make sure that someone fed the cat. I suppose I have to be grateful for that.
I wasn’t happy by the time we got to the throne room. I do have to admit that the black looks I received from the Emperor’s advisors cheered me up a little. The Emperor’s mother, standing behind the throne, gave me a particularly poisonous glare.
I made a mental note to figure out what I had done to upset her. She hadn’t been happy that her son had chosen his cook as his most trusted advisor, but had reconciled with the fact that I was sensible and unlikely to lead the Emperor astray.
The Emperor himself was agitated, pacing through the room, his bulky frame eating the length of it up in a few strides. He seemed to calm a little when he saw me.
“Where have you been?” he growled, as he strode towards me.
“I had to make sure that someone could look after the cat,” I replied defensively.
That calmed him down, as I knew it would. The feared Emperor of Laesef, Scourge of Men, Ruler of Nine Planets and Nightmare of the Righteous, had a soft spot for the furry demon that had graciously made me its slave. I could only wonder if they liked each other because they were so similar.
“Get to it,” the Emperor snapped. “We need to make a decision immediately.”
He waved an arm at a formally dressed man holding a digital pad. I have to admit being surprised by that. Usually, the Emperor only asked for my input on any plans that involved his having to deal with the ordinary people, or ‘the unwashed masses’, as he called them. I had to constantly refrain from pointing out that there was nothing wrong with the levels of hygiene in any of the planets the Empire had conquered.
The man with the pad pressed a few buttons, and a giant holographic image unrolled in front of me. It to be a floorplan for an infirmary. That startled me even more. I couldn’t imagine the fearsome Emperor taking an interest in something so… charitable. Maybe he was a changing man.
“This is the dungeon I plan to torture those so-called ‘heroes’ in,” the Emperor announced theatrically.
Or, maybe, he was the same as ever.
“We’ll have to make this quick,” I remarked. “I’ll need to get going soon if you want dinner on time.”
Working for the Emperor may not be easy, or safe, but it was certainly interesting.
|
Kylo Ren hitched up his pants, and gestured to me to come closer.
"Yes, my lord?" I asked, kneeling on one knee, my palms up in supplication. Hopefully, his Kylo'ness wouldn't notice that I had directly disobeyed him.
"Jonesy - what do you think of the good General Hux's plan?"
I followed K's glistening black gloved hand pointing menacingly at General Armitage Hux's neck. Glancing up at Hux's eyes, I could see them glisten and plead.
Time stood still as I thought about Kylo's question - and more importantly, how had I, a simple Tatooine moisture farmer gotten here?
Post if you want more.....
| 2018-01-15T20:44:35
| 2018-01-15T17:08:18
| 60
| 12
|
[WP] Every person has a button they can press at night that deposits a large sum of money to their bank account. However, the first person to press it each night is horrifically killed.
|
Henry Cox eyed the waitress who was working behind the counter. Amelia was a little scared, if not worried. At the same time, however, she kept looking at the clock hung up by the entrance.
"Hey," he called out to her. "come here, I got a favor to ask."
"What?" she responded nervously.
"C'mon, it'll only take a sec."
She cautiously approached Henry and stood right beside him. He pointed at the seat in front of him.
"Sit 'own, I got a proposal for you."
She hesitantly sits across from him. "What do you want...sir?"
"It's not about what I want, more like what I'm about to give you."
"Sorry?"
Henry looks around, sees nobody in sight, and continues "You know about the new rule, right? The one where we get tons of money if we press the button after the first sucker presses it?"
"Yeah...and the first one who presses it dies."
"Mhm..." he calmly reaches for his pocket and pulls out the button. "See the clocks reset every midnight. Right now it's 3AM, so there's a good chance that someone's press the button."
"Why are you telling me this?" Amelia became more and more agitated as they continued on the topic of the button.
"Because I want to deposit. I'm sure you do too, right?"
She responded with a loud gulp.
Henry continued "I see you eyeing that clock every few minutes. You're thinking whether or not if it's safe to deposit, right?"
Amelia didn't respond at all. She was shaking, nervous. She had a feeling he knew what he was about to offer.
"You're a sweet girl, young and innocent...but me? Honey, I've been through shit. Too much of it, in fact. That's why I'm gonna end it all here." He places the button on the table in front of them. "Your name tag says 'Amelia'. That's a pretty name."
"T-Thank you."
"Amelia...tonight's the night I change my life. I need the money to pay off my sins. I'm in over my head with debt, so much so that I'm being threatened to go homeless if I don't pay it off soon. That's why I'm taking action. Amelia, I'm gonna press that button right now. And I might die. Or I might get paid. Either way, I'm gonna be so relieved. All that weight will be lifted off my shoulders."
"What does this have to do with me...?"
"Because I want to see you happy. If I die, you'll get the money. If I live, you'll get the money. This button has made everyone crazy. No one knows who, if anyone, has pressed the button. So why not just get a free front row seat ticket to the man who might have been the first person to press it?"
Amelia looked scared, but thoughts swirled around her head. She really liked the idea of being free of stress from this looming thought that she might die tonight, but will it be at the cost of another life? Still, it was what he wanted. Amelia felt happy to oblige to a suicidal man's wish, if it'll make her richer.
"Okay...I'll just...stay here, right?"
Henry nodded. "I hope we can both come out on top." Henry slowly brings back the button and brings it close to his chest. "This is it..."
Amelia winces and turns her head away.
**CLICK**
Silence washes over the heavy atmosphere. Amelia looks at Henry and smiles. Henry has his eyes closed tight, and looks astonished when he opens his eyes again to see Amelia's smile.
"I'm..alive! Thank God!"
"I'm so happy for you!" Amelia said gleefully. She giggled and continued "I guess, I should deposit too!" She pulls out her button and immediately clicks it.
"I'm so glad we could both come out on top." Henry smiles at her, and she smiles back.
Amelia's smile suddenly vanished when she feels something boiling within her skin. She looks at her hand and notices her veins bulging out, and her skin literally bubbling and oozing out of her bones. Her face was peeling off, and she tries her best to shriek, but her voice soon vanishes as her neck begins to tear open and her eyes simultaneously pop like grapes. She melts slowly, the skin turning into a puddle of flesh and bones, organs slowly evaporate, and her hair turns to ash.
Henry looks at the puddle, unperturbed. He grabs Amelia's button and reaches into his other pocket. Within he pulls out a separate button and pushes it. His phone then jingles soon after pressing the button. Henry checks his phone, and in bright colorful letters, he sees the following:
#**"Congratulations! Your money has been deposited! You get a bonus for being the secon...Click Here to Show More"**
Henry powers down his phone and walks away from the scene, leaving the first button he pressed behind and taking Amelia's button with him.
The next night around 1AM, Henry walks into a bar and sees a lonely bartender washing some cups. He whistles at the Bartender's direction, and he looks towards Henry's direction.
"Hey," he called out to him "come here. I've got a favor to ask."
|
I glanced over at the button on my desk that'd appeared yesterday night. It seemed everyone in the world had one now. It'd appeared yesterday with a note attached. Apparently anyone after the first person who'd pressed it would receive a significant sum of money, and judging by today's radio broadcasts, the button worked. As a doctor, however, I was fairly well off and didn't have much need for money at the moment. In fact, I don't think I've wanted for much at all in my life. Well liked, respected, and beautiful, I had almost everything a person could want. Still, a few thousand dollars more wouldn't hurt. I could take a week off and travel somewhere tropical. Relax.
For some reason, I'd never felt much of a connection to anyone. Sympathy and empathy were emotions I simply never experienced. However, most people liked me. In fact I was very close to a number of people; I just simply didn't care about any of them. I remember in elementary school pushing kids down the stairs and pretending it was an accident. In college I spread a rumor my best friend had raped a middle schooler. For the rest of the year he was called a rapist and a pedophile. When he found out it was me who'd started the rumor he found me after school and screamed and cried. I could see how betrayed he felt but honestly I just didn't care. I told him if he didn't shut up I'd say he'd raped me as well. No one would believe the alleged rapist over the weak, pretty girl.
Anyways, it was 11:30 at night. I picked up my phone and dialed Liz, an old friend. She had fallen on some hard times recently. Currently an unemployed single mother, she'd told me recently how desperate she was for money. Yesterday she'd said how she wanted so badly to push the button but she couldn't bear the thought of leaving her children behind.
She picked up the phone.
"Hello?" She said. From her tired voice it was obvious I'd woken her up.
"Hey! Liz, it's me. How's it going?"
"Areana? Areana Wei? What are you calling me for? It's almost midnight."
"I know, I know. I'm so sorry. But listen to me for a second, I promise it’s worth it. The button could solve your problems. You could have enough to support your family until you can find another job. You could take your kids out tomorrow and eat a good, hearty meal. And you know what? I've just pressed it!"
"What?"
"I've just pressed it. It's late at night, so it's really unlikely I'm going to die. And now you can press it. You know you can't be the first to press if you do it now."
"Oh. Oh! Oh my God Areana. Oh God. Thank you! Thank you so much. I can't say how much this means to me. Thank you."
I waited until I heard the click of the button from her side of the call. Then, I hung up and pressed my own button.
I don't know if she was the first to press the button tonight or not. Either way, it doesn't really affect me. I turned to my computer and began to plan my vacation.
btw, this is my first post on reddit!
Edit: Wow, I think this is the most likes and comments I've gotten on anything. Thanks, you guys. This is really encouraging.
| 2016-07-16T18:32:31
| 2016-07-16T18:24:40
| 1,306
| 141
|
[WP] Gods draw power the more their names are spoken and the more followers they attract. Old gods starve and live off brief mentions from historians. Recently, however, the Egyptian god Kek has become very confused by his massive resurgence of followers from 4chan and reddit.
|
It had been a long time since anyone had really uttered his name. For Kek, what little power he possessed came from a few remaining hieroglyphics and the odd misspoken word. He was used to moping around his small one bedroom apartment; watching day-time TV and chatting to a few of his Norse friends. Mount Olympus, the city in which he resided, was governed by those who had never lost their faith from the humans and Kek had come to terms with his fall from relevance.
Until, around 2015.
It was a slow burn at first. Kek began to ache less in the morning, he took up running and enrolled in a local cooking class. His fingers began to tingle and he knew that he had more to give. He pushed himself further and went back to collage to retry his politics degree. In this world, anybody who had power would pursue politics to get a seat on the main council of Gods; Raised above the riffraff; bumping shoulders with people like Thor, Nike and of course, the big G himself. What concerned Kek was the source of his power. The Egyptians hadn’t made I triumphant return; instead his power was coming from a younger demographic. Mostly men, aged 14-30 who spent a lot of time on what modern man was calling: The 4Chan. Ultimately, Kek didn’t care, his power showed no sign of slowing.
Kek rattled through his degree in under a year becoming stronger and smarter with each thread and meme shared around the 4Chan. His source expanded to encompass other humans; those of the land of Reddit and the lesser planes of 9Gag. His froggy exterior had been appropriated as the flag of his rise in the human world and he followed suit as he began his political campaign amongst the Gods.
He was soon known by many. His slogan, “Top Kek” which he borrowed from the humans, was plastered across posters around Mount Olympus. He excelled in open debates, spouting everything the people wanted to hear. An opening was made of an Egyptian god seat on the council after it was deemed the goddess “Nut” was gaining the majority of her power by accident. Kek believed he was the strongest contender but another Egyptian had also been growing with just as much speed. The Goddess was well connected, clearly feared and revered by the humans as they increased her strength whilst trying to remove her Earthly worshippers. “Isis” had made this election into a two-horse race.
**Thanks for reading, any criticism welcomed!**
|
"Top Kek!" The high priest cried, and his cry was echoed by a thousand tongues.
The old man smiled. It was not long ago that he had been nearly alone, simply another withered voice preaching forgotten verses on the streets of Cairo. Now, his congregation flooded into the streets, and with good reason. Many had come once they heard the rumors - indeed, he saw dozens of brand new faces, all craning for a look at him. Or, more accurately, they were staring at the statue of worn obsidian and alabaster that loomed behind his altar.
It was an impressive piece, attractive even before the recent events that had attracted so many into the fold. The left half depicted a man, slight of frame, with skin as black as the moonless night. The other half, white stone glowing in stark contrast, depicted a woman - equally slight, yet somehow sturdy of frame. They were as different as could be, yet somehow they fit - two halves, one body, one soul. It was that statue, among all the others, that was special.
"We are here today, as we have gathered for many days before, to worship." The old man continued. "Let us bow our heads and pray."
The congregation did as they were bade, though the high priest noticed quite a few were peeking just the same. It was no matter, he thought. The god would come just the same, were they to watch or not.
Lowering his own head, the man began to chant - old verses, worn into his memory like a river wears into stone. Just as his father before him, and his father before that, he knew the prayers of old Egypt . They were from a time before the Nile had been fouled, before the skyline stank with ash and the people drank deeply at the cup of the false gods. He knew them well, and more than that, he knew their meaning.
The statue stirred.
There was a gasp from the congregation, but the old priest did not look up. It was important that he maintain his focus - heavens knew what would happen if he were to stop now, leaving the god Kek only halfway brought into the world. He did not know if he would die, but even if he did not the god would surely leave him. That, in and of itself, might be worse than death.
It was only when the last quavering word had finished echoing around the chamber that the old priest dared to turn around. There, standing in all his glory, was Kek. His eyes burned with the hieroglyphs for night and day, his very form wreathed in flames of gilded fury. At once, he opened his mouth and began to speak.
The words were very hard to follow. Even if they had not been in ancient Egyptian, two tongues spoke at once, each with their own cadence and message. Still, the priest listened with all his might, and began to translate.
"Kek thanks us once again for the use of our temple." He said. "He has found it most satisfactory, a welcome respite from the Void Between Worlds where he has stayed these many centuries in silence."
A cheerful murmuring could be heard in the crowd, but the priest ignored it and pressed on. "Kek reminds us that we should be ever-vigilant, looking for those whose words of praise have so benevolently guided him from the dark. As a god of night and day, Kek is most pleased to once again come into the light. He wishes to thank them, those faithful supporters, even as he has thanked us! Top Kek!"
"Top Kek!" Echoed the crowd.
"For the others, those who have forsaken his light, Kek has another reminder." The priest said, somewhat more solemnly. "Those who forsake the light must be ready for darkness. Spread the word - the reckoning is near. Let all who are near and dear to your hearts know which is the right path to follow. Time is short for their salvation."
"Finally, Kek wishes to bestow upon us another gift: a new dawn, for each and every one of us!" He said. "He urges us to take it and go in his name, to share the word of Kek with all who would listen. Soon, the other gods too will rise, and Kek alone will herald a new dawn for all of Egypt!"
"Top Kek!" Cried the crowd. The statue opened its arms, and the light grew brighter. It flooded the congregation, wreathing all in golden fire that clung to their bodies like cloth. Before their very eyes, their flesh grew younger - bronze, strong, whole. Wounds healed, eyes saw, and all rejoiced. Slowly, the flames began to drain away, leaving the entire room cold and quiet at its passing. Even the statue returned to being simple stone, with no evidence that there had ever been anyting strange at all. Only the eyes of the congregation betrayed the god's presence, each of them glowing gold with the light of day.
The priest smiled. "Now, let us go and share the word with all who will listen." He said. "Soon, Kek will reign over all like the sun above, and we his people will flourish in his light. But remember: with every dawn, there must come a dusk."
"And the night may be coming sooner than we thought."
| 2017-06-20T22:55:34
| 2017-06-20T21:30:33
| 112
| 30
|
[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
|
At first Emma thought he was an old tramp. She glanced at him, smelling the cheap whisky on his breath. Her instinct was to give him some food or a few dollars. It took a moment for the image of the father that sat in her mind to reconcile with this person that stood before her.
Twenty years changes a person. All these years she'd remembered him through old photos and long ago memories. A youthful twenty something, smiling, laughing, filled with energy.
Now he just looked old. Deep bags and wrinkles surrounded his eyes making him look like a tired dog. He'd put on weight and no longer stood proud and tall, his back instead stooped forward.
She considered pretending she didn't know him. If he had changed, surely she had too. But her face showed recognition and he noticed. "So it is you." he said. She nodded.
She had nothing to say. The last time she'd seen him, he'd read her a bedtime story, tucked her in to sleep. Part of her was still trapped back there, still an 8 year old in awe of her father. She found herself being pulled back to that time, acting like the little girl she was then. Curiosity overtook her, "What happened?" she asked, a grin appearing on her face.
He told her a story, he was always a great storyteller. She used to get excited before each bedtime, just waiting for his stories. His whole body straightened, the wrinkles faded, his body filled with energy. He was that young man again, telling her a tall tale.
On the way to the store he'd been kidnapped by pirates and taken aboard their ship. They branded his buttock with a hot iron, initiating him into their crew. He'd travelled to Asia with them, fought in a war in a far away magical land. He'd found treasures, fought evil villains and fallen in love, "But don't tell your mom." he said with a wink. She giggled.
As the story went on, she noticed his bedraggled hair was nothing but a bad wig. The sword on his hip - a cheap, plastic replica. More than ever she could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath. The illusion had been broken and again all she could see was an old tramp.
She tried to get angry with him, but she couldn't. She'd long since made peace with the fact he'd left. As a child she'd been heartbroken, but then life took over and he was more or less forgotten about. Now that he was standing on the step in front of her, she felt a yearning for him. Her father. She missed him now that he was here.
"...and that's how I escaped from the Evil Baron in Russia." He grinned and stopped to seek her approval. All she could do was stare in silence. His grin turned to a frown and he sighed, pulling the wig from his head to stare at the floor. "I'm sorry" he said. "I shouldn't have done what I did. I can't change that now. But I want to make it up to you." She stared at him and all she could feel was pity. This broken man in front of her. Even after all these years, he was still her father. She still loved him like a little girl.
She took the wig, placing it on his head, adjusting it so it was straight. He looked up at her as she sat down on the front step before him. She patted the step beside her. "Tell me what happened next pop! Did you defeat the Evil Baron?" He sat beside her and went back to his story, making her laugh, making her cry. And she never wanted it to end.
|
"Rioting continues over water shortages as what's left of the government scrambles to--"
There was a knock on the door. I shut off the tv and headed over to see who it was.
"Dad?!?"
There he was, looking more haggard and old than he did when he left me and my mom over twenty years ago, carrying a beat-up burlap sack, but there he was.
"How ya doin', kiddo? You got taller." He said with a grin spreading across his face.
"You've been gone twenty years! Mom said you were dead!"
"Well, your mother says a lot of things, not all of which are true." He replied, still grinning his sly smile. "Anyway, I'm back. With all the stuff I said I'd bring back!"
He pulled out a loaf of squished bread, slightly moldy on the edges, a yellowing jug of milk that sounded like only solid curds instead, and one crumpled, dog-eared carton of cigarettes. He picked one out of the box and lit it with a match.
"Sorry it took so long for me to come back, things are just complicated, yknow?" He said as he puffed on the cigarette.
I nodded unconvincingly.
"Anyway, where's your mother? I haven't seen her around."
"She-- she died." I replied, looking downwards.
Dad's face fell, "I'm sorry. I didn't... I didn't know."
"It's fine."
"How'd she die?" He asked.
"Raiders killed her. I think they ate her afterwards too."
"Well, if she's still anything like the woman I married, they're gonna have a hell of a time chewing her!" He laughed.
"Anyhow, champ, what's in the past is in the past, and I'm back now. How about you forgive your old man and we can be a family again?"
I stared out the open door at the blasted, arid desert that our world had become.
"I'd like that."
"Anyway, what else did you get from your scavenging run?"
| 2016-07-20T06:00:41
| 2016-07-20T03:52:58
| 114
| 19
|
[WP] The English Teacher's worst nightmare: a story or poem that is completely literal, with absolutely no double meanings
EDIT: Holy cow, this got way bigger than I thought it would, thanks so much for an awesome first prompt ever!
EDIT 2: Did this actually make it to the front page of reddit? What the...
|
Cheese and Broccoli Pie (Combo recipe)
Dough:
Buy some flour (requires at least 4 dl)
100g butter
1 cup of sour cream (the swedish "Kvarg" is perfect for this)
Filling:
3 eggs (but remember to buy freerange ones)
Cheese
2 cups of milk (whole preferably)
Broccoli
Pepper, salt and other spices.
200 degrees, 35-40 minutes.
**Note by Author: My husband was thoroughly confused over the shopping list with grass and cows, but the poem comity was impressed with my food haiku (not that it's even a real haiku. I suppose this shows how clueless the comity was.*
|
Write something literal, they said. A good story is easy to read. A good story is easy to remember. A good story tells you a story. It doesn't preach. It doesn't moralise. It doesn't claim to know more than the eye can see. Write something literal, they said.
The writer stared at his computer screen in front of him. He stared at a blank document. He typed a few words, deleted it. It didn't work. Not literal enough.
'Let's start with a poem,' he thought, 'let's make about a little girl trying to decipher it, unable to peel beyond the first layer. A young child taking her first steps into the adult world. You can't get more literal than that.'
'Or maybe it should be about that *chaiwallah*. He's out there selling tea from his bicycle all night at the corner of the street. He's not supposed to be there. I once even saw the police chase him away. But he was back the next day. Maybe he saw something heinous, but he can't tell anyone. After all, he's not even supposed to be there. Pure suffering. You can't get more literal than that.'
But the open document in front of him remained blank. His eyes got bleary, his fingers were numb. But the document remained blank. For nothing he could think of sufficed the expectations. Nothing he could write meant just what he meant. It wasn't his fault, he reasoned. It was the readers, he claimed, conveniently laying the blame at heir doorstep. Why did they have to read more into it than what he meant? Why couldn't they just leave his thoughts alone?
Excuses, excuses. No one understood this better than him.
Yet he grumbled to himself one last time, 'Write something literal, they said. A good story is easy to read.'
| 2017-01-30T09:40:34
| 2017-01-30T08:28:09
| 38
| 26
|
[WP] The Alien Federation has been keeping tabs on the humans of Earth since they first appeared. They do surveillance missions once every 300 years to keep track of our progress, the last mission was 300 years ago. The aliens are shocked by our progress since 1714.
|
"Six *billion!?*" The admiral exclaimed.
"Yes ma'am," The alien scientist replied, "We even checked our species surveillance records for cross-contamination with non-human primates and unaccounted for morphology changes. This is the corrected population count. Our original numbers were larger"
"They had steady linear growth for the past 7 quartons. What happened?"
"It appears our initial estimation techniques were flawed. Their rate of growth was not truly linear but in the early stages of logarithmic growth. The overwhelming majority of this population increase incurred in the past third of the time absent."
"How can that be? I was informed that human earthlings are dependent upon husbandry for sustenance, which is not only inconsistent but requires significant time and manual labor, and furthermore they must eat or cure any food gathered quickly as they cannot tolerate much rot or spoilage."
"Yes, that's true. However, changing agricultural and livestock breeding practices have increased the nutritional output of the earth hundredfold. We suspect a portion of their crops are transgenic. In some regions less than one in fifty humans tills the earth."
"those regions are able to sustain themselves on such little work alone?
"No. Agriculture and ranching is outsourced to the most fertile and unpopulated areas of the earth, then food is transported by specialty vehicles, sometimes by air"
"Air? The earthlings have *air travel* now? How could they possibly generate enough energy from sails and Cetacean tallow to produce a machine capable of dirigible flight with earth's gravity and atmosphere, let alone one fast and large enough to carry perishable cargo? Are they using balloons somehow?"
"They started with those, but they've since moved on. Their current most popular airships are built out of metal alloys and reinforced plastic, and kept afloat with turbine engines. They're stage III planes, essentially. Also, they don't use tallow anymore. Nearly all of their mechanical devices are powered by petroleum derivatives."
"How many of air-capable vehicles have the humans constructed?"
"On the order of ten to the fourth"
"Are their current non-air capable vehicles built and powered in a similar manner?"
"Sort of. They also developed petroleum-derived combustion engines, but most are much smaller and designed to transport a small number of humans a relatively short distance"
"Are they of a similar number?"
"...No. powered land vehicle counts are estimated on the order of ten to the ninth."
The commander rose from her chair and began pacing the hull floor. "So let me get this straight. Humans are feeding themselves with transgenic crops and hyper-domesticated animals limited to only fractions of their potentially arable and pastoral land, then dispersing this food among a population of billions using petroleum powered jet-engine planes, which, given what I can only hope is a grossly inflated count, individually piloting combustion-driven land vehicles to collect it for themselves and their respective tribes."
"For many humans, yes."
"How is their planet handling the stresses of all this?"
"Better than you might expect, given that the humans are still alive.
"May I see your new predictions for human growth on our next trip?"
The scientist openned his report to the proper page and handed it to the Admiral, doing his best not to show any reluctance or panic.
"Twelve billion." The admiral read, stonefaced.
The scientist nodded. It was a grave number. Even their absolute highest predictions had only accounted for human populations a fifth of that number at their next visit. The work to discover how humanity would fare at its new predicted numbers would have to wait until their next visit, and by then, well...
The admiral interrupted the scientist's thoughts. "Tell Akscher!i to prepare the auxillary pod for imminent travel."
"Ma'am, You are going to rush to primary?"
"No. Once you have done that, I need you to power the disguise chamber and find three brave scouts between four and seven feet tall." She put on her helmet and turned on the connected atmosphere tank. "This cannot wait."
|
Qood plonked on the sofa, squishing Meezlat's hmorax.
"Ow! Watch it, stonkface," Meezlat protested, lashing Qood with his spare hmorax.
"Really? You want to start this, broodler?" Qood grinned wickedly with mouths in his hands, holding them threateningly over Meezlat's iynghui gland.
"Leave me alone, Qood! Don't you have a world to devour?" Meezlat spat, squirming under the bullies mentally projected force.
Qood laughed heartily, sliding off Meezlat's hmorax, "c'mon Brood', I was just messin'. You're cool. Whatchya watching?"
"Earth," Meezlat muttered in deliberately short words.
"Eardh?" Qood stroked his dlongis, "can't say I've ever heard of it. Is it good? Or just another one of your plant biomes?"
"It's *EAR-THHHH*, and *yes*, it *is* good. Now if you'd excuse me, Russia is invading Ukraine, and a renegade virus-"
"It's a plant biome, isn't it?" Qood jeered, interrupting.
"IT'S NOT A SIVVLING PLANT BIOME! This is the only 17th phylum colony in sector ui!Hn, and it's very interesting," Meezlat protested; he hated when Qood got into a z-frame like this.
"ui!Hn sector... wait, not that planet with the microscopic bipeds?" Qood piqued.
Meezlat nodded.
Qood laughed, "I *knew* it was a plant biome! Well, practically."
"It's not a plant biome; they've escaped the gravity well, and are actively looking for us. They even have computers, not quantum but still," Meezlat didn't even know why he was defending them. They were all lyeornid food, anyway; but their rate of progress was astounding, and it was high time Qood got taken down a notch.
"Flodshit. No way. I tuned in to them just the other day; 300 years ago, tops. No way that sad little species did any of that. They were struggling with paddling around in their pathetically shallow oceans," there was an edge of defensiveness to Qood's voice.
"You're right; they were. 300 years ago," Meezlat's nose flared smugly.
"Pfft, so what, they built a rocket and binary circuitboards. There's not even half a billion of them, and they don't have nukes. Don't think this means I owe you a plubjob," Qood nudged Meezlat playfully. Meezlat didn't budge.
"They developed nukes before escaping the gravity well, *and* computers. And there's... *seven* billion of them as of this moment. I'd say you owe me two plubjobs, Qood," it was all Meezlat could do to stop himself from squanching all over the sofa. In truth, it was a little premature, he'd wanted to wait longer, on the gamble the audacious little planet would avoid self destruction for just a century or two more and possibly net him three or four plubjobs - but he'd gladly collect his two plubjobs now.
Qood was stunned.
"You see, Qood, fnordarchs like you think it's all about technology and biology. You never consider the subtler factors; you think them beneath you," Meezlat was of course speaking of socio-economics, not that'd he'd let Qood know that. It was considered a pseudo-science by all the fnordarchs, but Meezlat was convinced it was not just important, but perhaps as important as the prime variables. If he was right, he'd be pulling in more than just a couple of plubjobs.
"B-but, how? Half the planet wasn't even settled? This is Flodshit!" the realisation was settling upon Qood, Meezlat had won fair and square.
"The simple laws of exponents, Qood my brood'," Meezlat patted the fnordarch hmorax.
"But didn't they crash? They always crash... maybe if we wait-"
"Denial, anger, and now bargaining? This is very unlike you, Qood. Did I tell you how they decoded their genome, and are writing synthetic DNA?" Meezlat almost felt bad for Qood. Almost.
Qood's hand mouths dropped open.
"Oh yes, and not just your precious biology; they've build particle accelerators, identified the graviton, mapped the big bang, modelled a crude approximation of their galactic supergroup, and... oh yes, they've started teleporting photons," Meezlat squanched; fuck it, who cares now.
"Meezlat? You let it progress this far, just to... stick it to me? This is highly irrespons-"
"Oh please, save it. You of all fnordarchs. It's fine, just a gentlebroodly bet between colleagues," Meezlat input some commands into the dizirgus module, "there, see? That ought to wipe them out any second now, before anyone was any the wiser. Now, about those plubjobs..."
Qood slumped, unravelling his iynghui gland for Meezlat's mouth-hands. Meezlat coiled eagerly, then hesitated, "we could wait, though..."
"What?" Qood wasn't sure whether to be relieved or concerned.
"It's just... if we just hold off. They've got something coming out that I want to see, like, next year," Meezlat tickled the dizirgus module, calling off the gnurmundus event, "once they release it, I can archive it, and relaunch the gnurmundus event."
Qood boggled at Meezlat, "you've left it long enough! You've proved your point. What could possibly warrant this recklessness?"
Meezlat flared his nostrils, stroking his hmorax, "have you ever heard of half-life?"
| 2014-10-26T18:25:17
| 2014-10-26T16:48:25
| 16
| 11
|
[WP] Every ten years you're allowed to have a conversation with your ten-year-younger self, but only the senior remembers the conversation. 20 year old you wakes up from talking to 30 year old you with one word carved on their arm...
|
I was diagnosed with clinical depression in my late teens, though it was likely a part of me years before. I knew about the conversations with my younger self every ten years (everyone did it), and fortunately with the help of therapy and medication I lasted until I was 20.
I woke up, eager to see what word I would have on my arm. Looking down, I saw what would keep me going for at least another ten years: "LIVE".
From that moment forward, I did my best to keep a positive attitude. Through college I volunteered at every chance, and though it took me a while, I eventually graduated with a degree. My parents were thrilled, and things were looking up. I got an internship at a local start-up, started dating a girl I knew from school, and would make sure to look at my arm at least once a day, as though to say "I will."
When I was 26, my girlfriend dumped me. It hurt more than you could imagine, and the depression came back in full force. It affected my job, and I was eventually let go. I wound up moving back in with my parents, which didn't help anything but I had little choice in the matter.
There were several times I thought about ending it all. But every time, I would look down at my arm and see that four-letter word that always kept me going. Thinking on it, I realized I would be in a better place in my 30s, enough so that I would make sure I'd use the one word to keep my past self alive to see it.
Things turned around again when I was 28. I got a new, much better job, and could finally afford a really nice one-bedroom apartment in the city. My colleagues and I got along great, and I wound up dating a coworker's roommate for a while. It didn't last, but I was back out there again, feeling better. The depression retracted, albeit slowly, but it was enough to get me to 30. Seeing my 20-year-old self, I simply instructed him to live.
The next day I woke with a smile, pleased with my conversation to help my past self and obsessively curious as to what new word I'd have on my arm this time.
Only, there wasn't one.
******************
*For more eerie stories, check out /r/Zchxz !*
|
When I was 10, I awoke with the name "Theresa" carved into my arm. When I was 20 I carved it. Theresa was my crush. I met her in college, and we were perfect for each other. I awoke the next day with the word "MARRY" carved into my arm. It was a sign, and in a few years we were married.
Today, I awoke up on my 30th birthday, with "DON'T" carved above. What do I do when I see my 20 year old self tomorrow night?
| 2016-07-13T07:10:06
| 2016-07-13T04:56:19
| 142
| 40
|
[WP] "This is a joke right? Who put you up to this?" The demon looked angrily at the man who had summoned him. "I'm... not sure what you mean, I followed the ritual and..." "We only deal in HUMAN souls." "Wait, what?"
|
**CW: Murder, General Stupidity**
"Who told you that you had any right to summon me?"
"Nobody. I conducted this ritual in private with no witnesses, just as the ancient texts instructed," said the robed man standing over the elaborate summoning circle.
"Oh, you think you're funny? Trying to get a laugh out of me? Trying to... *induce* some chuckling, Mr. Chucklehead?" Within seconds, the demon had dropped all false pretense and was now standing in an off-kilter way with his arms folded. He tilted his head in a way that was half-menacing, half-annoyed. "You really think a *demon* can sell its soul to *another demon?"*
"I'm not a demon!" The man removed his hood, revealing a rather unthreatening baby face with a pair of thick glasses. "I'm a human accountant for Morton and Ringer Law Firm. Name's Bob."
"Bob!?" the demon repeated. Its glowing eyes bugged in its goat-skull head. "You mean to tell me you're a demon named *Bob!?"*
"Well, ah, technically my full name is Beelzebob, but I just go by 'Bob.'"
"Ah-ha!" The demon smirked and gave Bob a knowing glance. "Beelzebub, a classic demon to name your little evillings after. Well, Bub, I think--"
"Not Beelzebub, Beelze*bob,"* Bob said. "Like I told you, I'm not a demon. I'm a pathetic sack of hot air with no life. I don't need my soul."
"Are you insane!?" the demon roared, causing a whirlwind of fire to whip around the room. "Use that thick head of yours for once! What kind of human names their baby *BEELZEBOB!?"*
"Uh, my dad?"
"YOUR DAD!?"
"Yes, that name was the last thing he talked about with my mom before he died in a freak drowning incident."
"Very peculiar. But I can sense you're not one to lie," said the demon, his anger subsiding. "Some humans are a bit out-of-sorts. Maybe your dad was just 'different.'"
"Mom always said he was a good man. It took decades for her to come to terms with his death. It was only last year she told me the whole thing." A sad smile crawled over the man's face and he shook his head, jostling his glasses. "It really was a tragedy. One moment they were walking into Church hand in hand, and the next, the Pastor started screaming something in a foreign language and dunking Dad's head in the holy water font..."
"Oh, ***Lucifer Have Mercy!"***
​
*For more weirdness, check out* r/OctOpusTales *!*
|
Oliver King had grown up with a relatively normal childhood. He had been adopted before his first memories from a Catholic adoption center into a Catholic family. He accepted his family and never much thought of his birth parents. Oliver was raised Catholic all his life though he loathed the religion for it's strictness and the guilt placed upon him. He felt there was more to this life and that surely God was much different than the light painted by the Church. His hunger for knowledge grew as he matured. He questioned everything he was told during Mass and wondered at the nature of God and his angels. Much more he wondered how Satan, God's own creation, could be as evil as he was depicted.
By the time he was halfway through high school, he had decided to find out for himself. He began reading furiously about the things the Church didn't publicize. Oliver amassed a secret collection of books on possession, demons, and details of the afterlife. He spent all his free time learning as much as he could. "What exactly does it take to go to hell?" He asked himself constantly. He was determined to find out.
The day after Oliver graduated he decided he was ready. He took his cumulative knowledge together to perform a ritual and get the answers he craved. The preparation had been completed the week before. He had gathered all the necessary components and perfected the geometry to summon a most wise demon from the depths of hell.
Oliver relied himself. He knew the drain the ritual might have on his body and soul. Lesser men had been driven mad attempting to do what he had planned. He knew if he didn't do it that day he would never have the courage to try and would be driven mad anyway by the regret and cowardice. He began.
The chanting was simple enough. He held his hands flat on top of the complex geometric symbol he had carved into his bedroom floor and continued the chant. Surprisingly, the Latin came natural to him. Maybe it was all the time studying the ancient texts he had kept tucked away. Oliver's heart pounded as he watched the effect of the ritual spread from the epicenter of his carving. It began to glow and spread out towards the edges. All the candles he had used to light his room had flames nearly to the ceiling. He focused. He couldn't let the magic distract him. He chanted harder and louder to match the energy he felt in him. He had seen his hands glowing and suspected his entire being to be shining an unholy light. Oliver could barely see this glow emanating from beneath his dark robes. The light was almost too much for him and he felt weak. The perspiration around his brow stung his eyes but he kept chanting until it finally happened.
The demon appeared. Oliver had summoned Paimon a most wise and beautiful demon. His crown shone brightly in the candle light. Paimon spoke calmly.
"What is it you desire of me my liege?"
Oliver started "I seek knowledge of- wait... My liege?" His face scrunched in confusion.
"Do you know not of your heritage o dark one? Have you not begun your works upon this earth"
Oliver reached for words but found none. His mind had simultaneously cleared and swirled with understanding.
"No." Was the most he could croak
"You are a King" Paimon said with a bowed head. "You are the son of Lucifer, bring of destruction. You are to initiate the end of times."
"Why wasn't I told?"
"Some of the royalty in hell are not as loyal as they ought to be. Others have business on earth they would rather not conclude. You, however, have sensed in some small way that you are not what you appear, haven't you?"
"Perhaps. Urges. Curiosities. Impulses. I've done my best to be kind but it never felt like it came naturally."
"It's time for you to give in to those urges. You must be baptized in the ways of your father. You must kill you parents. The sooner you get that out of the way the sooner your true strength can manifest. This small summoning should not have fatigued you as it has."
Oliver had been sweating and out of breath but only just realized how truly weak he felt. The ritual was quite the event for him. He wasn't sure if it was the fatigue or the evil inside him which formed the hollow smile across his face. He had thought of all the reasons he had wanted his parents dead over the years. None of the groundings or arguments spurred this wrath. No, his excitement grew merely at the idea that he could have *fun* with it. He could enjoy their suffering. It wouldn't even cross his mind how sick he must be to lust after that feeling.
Paimon and Oliver continued to discuss what this true strength would entail. They spoke of the ancient planning for the end times. Oliver needed the details. He needed to know exactly what he must do and when. It took all he could not to giggle at the thought of being crowned King of an eternally suffering world.
| 2021-06-04T12:15:10
| 2021-06-04T12:01:42
| 179
| 85
|
[WP] a woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She’s unaware that she’s actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who’s fallen for her, and is certain he’s going to get it right this time.
Horror story or romantic comedy?
|
Nate had sort of backed himself into a corner. Having been on as many dates with Amaya as he had, the walls were closing in on him. He had to pretend not to know all her answers to common first date questions (2 siblings, parents divorced when she was little, works in accounting), and if he ever misstepped, the game was up. It was a high-wire act that no one was aware of but him.
But that's what made it fun.
He was fine with the double life he'd have to lead if it worked, that was nothing new to him. Nate was all things to all people, and it made the minutiae of life constantly entertaining. He realized Amaya had been talking for a few minutes and he hadn't been paying attention to any of it. Now she was looking at him expectantly.
He took a shot in the dark. "I work in finance," he said. That wasn't a lie, he was actually a financial planner. She nodded amicably. Nate let out an internal sigh of relief, he'd nailed it.
"Do you come here often?" Amaya asked.
"Yeah, I love Spider House," Nate replied.
"Weird, I've never seen you here. This is, like, my favorite place in the world." Nate tried not to let a smile sneak out. He always found these kinds of situations really amusing; if he just got out with it, he could turn worlds upside down. He never did, though.
"Yeah, it's because I'm a shapeshifter," he said through a cheeky grin. Amaya laughed. Nate laughed.
|
Jess could pinpoint exactly when she first thought her feelings were wrong: eighth grade after Advanced Algebra. Her friend Katie got an 82% on a test— and that was disastrously low for Katie’s norm, and considered even lower by her parents standards. Jess spent the rest of the class period trying to cheer her friend up:
“It’s one test— it doesn’t define you. You’re amazing and good at everything. You’re kind and pretty, and this is just a small hiccup! I know you’ll ace the next test! I know it! We can study together— and you’ll probably be saving me from failing, like you normally do.”
When Katie smiled back at her, with a red nose, and puffy eyes, Jess knew that she felt something more for her friend.
Jess, of course, buried her feelings. By no means was she homophobic, but every time she began to feel something for a friend or looked too long at a woman that walked by, she felt unsure of herself, felt like others would somehow know what she was thinking and judge her. So she buried it down— at least, until college.
Jess decided that she would at least try to get into the dating world. She’d go to parties with her friends, and when guys would be interested in her, she’d flirt back and have some fun— and she did, in fact, enjoy her time with most of these guys. So she continued to have fun at parties, flirt, have some friends with benefits, but nothing substantial. Jess liked these guys, of course, but nothing felt like the dramatic and raw feeling of love and emotion that she always heard about from her friends. She decided it was time to start seriously dating— time to find Mr Right, and then she would start to understand how all her friends felt with their boyfriends. They even said it themselves, “You just haven’t found the right guy, Jess.”
The first few relationships Jess was in did not last long— barely even a relationships since they were only a handful of dates and kisses over two or three months before parting ways.
Then she met Matt. He was gorgeous— all of Jess’s friends said so— and he was very into her.
“Jess, I haven’t been completely honest,” he said one night during a dinner date two months into their relationship.
“Um— what?”
“The first time I met you, it wasn’t at that coffee shop. We were actually at the same college— we had a lecture together for one semester. I saw you at a couple parties too.”
“Oh,” Jess said, relieved to find out she wasn’t a side-chick or that his secret wasn’t relationship-ending— but she realized that, maybe she didn’t really care if their relationship ended anyway. “That’s— okay. I don’t remember seeing you though.”
“I realized that at the shop,” he said smiling a bit sheepishly, “but we didn’t really talk and I looked a bit different back then.”
Jess broke up with Matt three months later.
“How could you break up with him? He was so hot!” Regina, her roommate and best friend since college, told her.
“There wasn’t any spark— he was kind of a doormat. He had no personality and went with whatever I said.”
“That sounds like the perfect man to me.” Jess threw the couch pillow at her. “Okay, okay— no man slaves. Hey— wanna watch a movie tonight?”
And Jess never felt more comfortable, more at home, than sharing a blanket with Regina on their couch and watching a crappy movie.
Regina moved out six months later to live with her boyfriend.
“Are you bringing Cam to the engagement party?” Regina asked her half a year later. “Most people Jim and I invited are bring their boyfriends or girlfriends.”
Jess had been dating Cameron for five months now, and things were nice. They liked all of the exact same things, worked in similar fields, had the same hobbies— everyone said they were perfect for each other.
“Yeah, he said he’ll come. You said to come for dinner at eight? Is there anything I could bring? Dessert? Wine?”
“You know we always appreciate more wine— but we’ve got plenty already. All you have to do is bring yourself. And Cam.”
Just a few weeks after Regina’s wedding eight months later, Jess broke it off with Cam. The wedding itself was beautiful, and Jess couldn’t bear to make Regina worry by breaking up with Cam before it.
“But Jess— I love you— we love each other! We love all the same foods and places. We even listen to the same music and watch the same shows— we were perfect for each other this time!”
“That’s the thing, Cam, I don’t want someone who’s the same as me. I don’t want to date myself. I want to date someone that’s different and will push my boundaries— make me try new things— maybe I’ll find things that I never even knew I liked before—“
She thought of all the men she’s dated in the past: they were all the same. They were all Nice Guys that were nice and sweet but had nothing to them— each relationship was hollow and lacked any true, real substance. How many men had she gone on dates with? 15? 20? And none of them made her feel any different. She longed to feel the feelings she felt for her friends with anyone who wasn’t her friends. Maybe, she thought, maybe she could. She was so tired, she had nothing to lose.
“Cam, we’re through. I’m sorry if it’s sudden, but I’m tired— of everything— I have been for a while now, even before I met you.”
“Well... I hope you meet someone one day,” Cam said after a long moment. “Maybe whoever you date next will be the right man for you.”
Jess remained quiet as Cam packed up the few things he had in her apartment. She doubted any man would be right for her.
——
It took her two weeks to text Regina and ask her to meet her for drinks on Friday night.
“Hey, Jess— isn’t this a gay bar that we’re going to? I heard it’s a lot of fun,” she said while they were walking.
“Yeah— I wanted to check it out,” Jess said. They walked in silence for a minute before Jess’ nerves got to her. “Ok— wait, stop walking for a sec. I— I need to tell you. We’re not going to this bar just for fun— I think I’m bi— or a lesbian. I don’t really know.”
“Oh— okay,” Regina said after a moment. “How long do you think you’ve known?”
“Eighth grade. I told you about Katie from high school right?”
“Oh . Yeah that makes sense,” Regina thought for a moment. “Ok you ready to start walking again? It’s cold.”
Jess couldn’t be happier, and hanging out at a bar with her best friend, and the flutters in her stomach when other women came up to them to flirt— it was one of the best nights she’s had in a long time.
And that same bar is where she met Taylor three weeks later. There was something about her— something that made Jess feel like they knew each other for a long time. They liked a lot of the same things, but were different enough that things were still interesting.
There were some things that were a bit quirky though. Taylor was really bad at shaving her legs— she would always nick them multiple times every time she shaved. She was also really bad with makeup and couldn’t tell concealer from foundation. She never had any pads or tampons in her apartment either. Jess had never asked her about it, but she hoped nothing traumatic happened to Taylor that would cause her period to stop. Taylor also had a whole ton of men’s clothing in her apartment.
For all her quirks though, Jess felt better with Taylor than she had with any of the men in her past.
| 2022-08-04T05:56:26
| 2018-02-14T08:50:26
| 930
| 476
|
[WP] "The League of Super Heroes can't help but notice," said their representative, "that certain corporations have a say in which supers the government determines are heroes and which are villains. A large say. The League has determined this is not an acceptable arrangement any longer."
|
The representative stood just on the other side of the reinforced glass, her long dark evening coat draped to the sides of her slender figure that was just as plain as the way she spoke.
"The League of SuperHeroes can't help but notice,"—she
Said before readjusting her glasses—"that certain corporations have a say in which supers the government determines are heroes and which are villains. A large say. The League has determined this is not an acceptable arrangement any longer."
“And pray tell, what does this have to do with me?” He didn’t bother to stand from his velvet tufted chair. Instead, he sat back and continued to read his book pausing only long enough to respond.
“I have been a thorn in the side of those ‘corporations’ for some time now. Argus, Line Corp, Heroshema, and I have an extensive history.”—He couldn't help but wonder what was going on— “What do they want with me now? Another victory lap? Or perhaps a photo op to raise more funds?”
There was a tap on the glass followed by A loud electric buzz as the motorized door slid open. He almost rose from his seat out of instinct but managed to resist the urge.
“You're free to go.” She said plainly.
“Free to go?” he asked, his voice raised slightly, “Ten years of being hunted like a dog, two years of hiding! and you're letting me go after just six months in prison?” He was beginning to enjoy the quiet change of pace of running his operation from the shadows.
“Oh well,” He placed his book on his lap and crossed his legs. She had his full attention “Halloween is a way off my dear, it’s quite improper to be playing tricks this early in the month.”
“There is no trick, I assure you,” she said before stepping through the doorway,”—She glanced around the room, taking in the refind furniture that seemed to belong more in a library or psychologist's office than a prison cell.
“We’ve reviewed your file and nothing you’ve done raises to the level of villainy...
While your tactics may be -- unethical, You’ve caused no casualties and you’ve never caused more than 10.000 dollars worth of damages to public or city property. A better record than many of the ‘heroes’ that are free to roam the streets.”
“If you’re going to lie to me, do try and be more convincing.” He wagged a finger, “If setting me free was the true goal of the League they would have done it without sending a representative to me. Especially one so poorly disguised.”
The woman's face began to contort as her skin changed from an olive tone to a light blue.
“I suppose nothing much get’s past you does it?” She asked now using her normal voice.
“I’ve studied every member of the League just as much as they’ve studied me.” He explained, “I recognized that face, You used it once before, haven't you? Five years ago when you infiltrated The Syndicates network.” —he rose from his seat and looked her in the eye—“Now tell me, what are you really here for?”
Instead of answering his question verbally, she gently reached out and connected their two minds.
*Can’t talk here. Ears elsewhere. I'll tell you on the way.*
|
A stunned silence hung in the air after the announcement, as the UN ambassadors tried to form the words to respond. The man lounging on the chair before then, studied them, no emotions on his face beyond a lazy smirk.
As shock turned to anger, one of the ambassadors finally found her tongue. “You think you can just walk in here with an announcement like that? You of all people? You hypocrite-”
“What she means,“ another ambassador cut in abruptly, “Is that your own company of Millenium Mechanics has worked with the UN on… superhuman issues.”
Annoyance briefly flashed on the man’s face, before the smirk arrived again. “But MillMech has never tried to affect policy. On the other hand…”
A holo-screen blazed to life before the council, a list of names running along it.
The man got off the chair and strolled alongside it, as if he was giving a lecture.
“Hun Communications is owned by Mogul Khan.
Lammergeier owns Vulture Ventures.
Rakshasi owns DemonTime.
Oceanic Solutions is owned by Dauphin.”
The council starts shifting uncomfortably as they realize he is just beginning. Indeed, the man seems to be enjoying listing off these names.
“Flora Pharmaceuticals. Lotus.
Biotelemetrix. Necropsy.
Threadworks. Sir Skein.
Moonshift Intergalactic. Orrery.
New Su-“
“Millennium Mech is owned by Millennium.”
The voice cut through the room. Heads turned and a scream rang out.
A woman strolled out of the shadows. Unconcerned at the council’s looks of fear, the sneer the man shot at her.
“That’s you, in case you forgot. But that’s not all is it? Oh stop that!” She snapped at on the ambassadors. “You think those security buttons work?” She turned back to the man. “Nice speech, Millennium. You left out a couple there though.” She shot a wicked smile over the room.
“I thought I’d help you out.
Afterlife Unlimited. That’s owned by… Elysian right? She’s certainly not a supervillain.
And what about Infernal Inc. and TomorrowTech?”
The man replied, looking bored. “Millmech has never-“
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
One of the ambassadors had found her voice. She was pointing at the women with a shaky finger. “TAKE HER DOWN!”
The man rolled his eyes, and hawked a glob of spit at the woman. It sailed through her with a shimmer.
“Hologram. Not even the Malthorn is that stupid to show up here in person.”
The lady ignored his words. “MillTech would never interfere like this, certainly. But can you say the same about the others? Your… compatriots?”
The man was silent, and she jumped on the opportunity. “You see? Even your so called heroes cannot claim to be innocent. So if you want to want to ban these corporations, you should ban them all.”
“Then ban them all.” All heads turned to the man, even the lady looked surprised before smoothing her face over.
“She’s right. It doesn’t matter who owns them, hero or villain. So stop it all.
There was a silence, until a voice asked softly, “Can we leave now?”. The lady ignored them, starting at the man intently. The man looked back, giving a wave of acknowledgment to the council. There a scrape of chairs and a scramble to the door, until the room was empty, save the man and the lady.
She kept staring at him. “You… gave up on your allies rather quickly. I was expecting more of a fight.”
The man shrugged. “What can I say? You were right. That power cannot be abused.”
“Of course, which is why you were graced with my presence.” The woman replied smugly.
The man smiled back, more smugly, if that was possible. “Is that why you showed up right before I started listing all 47 of your corporations?”
The lady’s smile disappeared. She stared at the man, and slowly approached him.
“You might have won this, but make no mistake. One day I will win, and when I do, I’ll keep your head in a jar and make you watch your precious ideals get pissed on, I swear to you.“
Her image winked out, and the man was left alone in the room. He let out a sigh and sank into a nearby chair.
“You guys got a lock on that transmission? Alright, alert the rest of the Protectors. Looks like we got a job to do.”
| 2022-10-07T06:56:39
| 2022-10-07T06:08:09
| 310
| 172
|
[WP] The Fashion Police are real and more powerful than any authority on Earth.
|
"Weeee ooooo weeee oooo weee ooooo..."
"Oh for fuck's sake..." Winston murmured.
"Weeee oooo weeee oooo weeee oooo...." the officer continued as he trotted down the sidewalk towards him, "pull over mister!"
"I heard you," he cried, and stepped out of the flow of foot traffic and waited for his the officer to meet him.
"Awful, astonishingly atrocious, absolutely abhorrent!" The officer cried, skipping up in his designer pants and form fitting leather jacket. "Just what do you think you're wearing, silly?"
Winston looked down at his watch, and then down at his clothes. He didn't see anything wrong. "Look I'm late for work, I didn't have time to do laundry so not everything matches, I'm sorry."
"Not as sorry as I am," the man lisped, "look at you, brown shoes and a black belt?! Are you kidding me? That's, like, fashion 101."
"I know."
"No seriously," the officer said playfully, "you should have learned about that in fashion 101, or did you skip your mandatory courses?"
Winston played with the dirt, pushing it around with his shoes, "I may have missed a class or two."
"Oh jeez," the officer gasped, "this is like, SUPES cereal, ya know?"
Winston looked back down at his watch again, beginning to be impatient with this pull over.
The officer jumped up and gasped, covering his mouth with both of his hands, "is that a digital watch?! Those are illegal for anyone over the age of thirteen, you know that right?!"
Winston covered his eyes, rubbing his temples he tried to be patient.
"I have grounds to arrest you right here and now!" the officer cried, flipping his hand limply forward, "if it weren't for your dapper-dan hair I'd slap some cuffs on those law breaking wrists and take you to fashion reeducation!"
Winston's demeanor changed significantly, he felt no longer flippant or unappologetic towards the fashion-peace keeper. "I'm sorry," he urged the man, "it was on an honest mistake, it wont happen again. I'll go home and read the fashionista bible tonight, cover to cover and I'll match my clothing, I promise." He held his hands and knelt before the officer, "please don't send me to reeducation."
The officer looked on him with scrutiny, hands were placed heavily on his tilted hips, "hmmmmmmm," he said through squinted eyes, "I'll let you off with a warning."
"Thank you!" Winston cried, clutching the shirt of the officer, "thank you, it won't happen again!"
"Well I should hope not! I don't want to talk to you again," he said, waving his finger.
Something caught his eye behind Winston, "hey, you sillypants!" the officer cried across the street pointing at a woman, "Don't you know you can't wear white before labor day!"
With his accusation he held up a flashing light and trotted across the busy intersection, "weeee oooo weeee ooooo weee oooo!"
|
Usually when I heard the sirens, I didn't worry. Thirteen stories up, they were faint, no more than a thin wail, like a tired puppy whining.
Today, the sirens were more like a shrieking baby in a neighbor's apartment, absolutely impossible to ignore.
I resisted the urge to pull my chair back from my desk and stare at my shoes. It was at least the tenth time I'd wanted to. I just couldn't believe I'd done it.
Somehow, that morning, I'd grabbed my red suede heels instead of my gray leather ones. Red suede, with a charcoal pinstripe skirt and blazer, and a sky-blue blouse. Red suede, in March, at the office. I was doomed.
It's a miracle I made it through the morning without having to get up from my desk. No one had noticed them when I came in, or I'd certainly have been arrested already. Maybe, just maybe, if I were five years younger and had worn a white blouse instead, the red suede would be a daring fashion statement, something to be applauded for its panache. But in reality, it was just a terrible mix-up, one that made me cringe whenever I heard the sirens.
*Somebody must have seen. Somebody must have reported me.*
I ate a crumbled granola bar I found in the bottom of one of my desk drawers. It was stale and unsatisfying, but I couldn't risk going out to lunch. Getting home, at least, wouldn't be a problem—my black coat went with red just fine, and would cover the offending sky blue. But anywhere I'd go for lunch nearby would be packed with people I worked with, people I knew, and they would see my red suede shoes and they'd know.
When everyone started filtering back in, I hunched over my paperwork and acted like I'd been so busy I'd had to work though the meal. No one bothered me.
Less than an hour later, I heard the sirens wail again, but this time, they didn't pass by. A low murmur spread through the room, everyone turning to their colleagues at the next desk and wondering who the police had come to arrest. There was a lot of furtive tie-adjusting and hair-patting, tweaking this or that so nothing seemed out of place. It wasn't unheard of for the police to turn a simple pickup into a raid, inspecting everyone.
The tension of waiting ratcheted my nerves up so high that it was almost a relief when the police actually entered the room. Immaculate in their crisply-pressed uniforms, they were so beautiful it was easy to forget, for a moment, why they were here. There were three of them, two beat cops and a lieutenant: her uniform was a gorgeous shade of amber, setting off her lustrous brunette hair to perfection. The other two had on shades of green for their lesser rank, but the red-headed chose hunter green while the blonde wore the palest seafoam. The pleats on their skirts all fell neatly, the collars of their shirts stood proudly, and not a speck of lint nor stray broken thread could be seen.
I took a deep breath as I watched them cross the room, homing in on the unknown offender. I tried not to tremble as they neared me.
But all at once, they halted, and the lieutenant rapped her knuckles on a desk three rows away from me. David's desk. He flinched.
“Stand up,” the officer said sternly, and he obeyed.
Their was a collective gasp from everyone near enough to see. David's trousers didn't cover his ankles, the hems falling well short of his socks.
“They shrunk in the wash,” he explained in a plaintive tone.
She ignored this, staring him down. “You'll need to come with us, sir.”
As the lieutenant led him out, the beat cops remained behind for a few moments, each scanning one half the room quickly. I kept still when the blonde's gaze passed over me, not wanting to draw any attention to myself. With my red shoes out of sight beneath my desk, there was nothing to warrant closer inspection.
They nodded to each other, and turned in unison to follow the lieutenant out. Instantly the room dissolved into chatter, evenly divided between horror at David's transgression and relief that there had been no raid.
I sighed quietly to myself and hunched over my paperwork again, hoping that the next few hours would flash by in a heartbeat so I could go home and burn these damned shoes.
-044
| 2014-02-13T15:02:18
| 2014-02-13T14:54:35
| 30
| 12
|
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid.
|
The goblins had always lived in the woods. Everyone in Halleshaw knew that. And everyone knew that the goblins steal. Not for any particular reason, it seemed- most of the time the stolen property was found abandoned in the woods unless it was edible. Occasionally they "raided" the village and "stole" people- the villagers humoured these raids. Normally it meant a goblin had gotten stuck in a tree or a hole, or they wanted something they couldn't reach. Once they had the thing, or gotten their friend unstuck, they lost interest in the stolen people and let them walk home.
The villagers accepted the goblins for what they were- an amusing nuisance at worst, like a drunk fox or tantrum prone toddler.
That was until the raiders came.
A large clan of barbarians from the south came, and destroyed everything in their path. Nearby villages were burned to the ground, fields trampled and population decimated. The villagers if Halleshaw armed themselves, farmers and their sons quaking with their home made weapons, the blacksmith sharpening anything he could find.
The barbarians never came.
After weeks of waiting for the boot to fall, a less cautious young lad snuck out to scout for the enemy. What he found, scattered through the woods were discarded swords, lost helmets... but not a single man nor corpse. He was just turning to return to the village when something grabbed his leg. He shrieked and spun...only to see a slightly irate goblin. He relaxed slightly. The goblin pulled at his trousers in the same way they always did. Caution told him not to go. Curiosity drove him forward, as he allowed himself to be stolen.
Unusually, the goblin led him deep into the woods, to a cavern. Straining to see through the darkness, he followed. His "captor" led him to a smaller nook, filled with sleeping goblins. As he got closer he saw they were not sleeping, but wounded. Badly. His captor shoved an armful of rags at him, and pushed him to the left side. The boy was about to question what the goblin wanted, when he saw the helmets.
Hundreds of helmets, piled in the corner, all with the markings of the southern clans. It was then he understood. The barbarians were never coming... the goblins has found them first.
The boy took his rags and bandaged and tended what he could. He was exhausted and covered in acrid green goblin blood by the time he reached the other end of the room. His captor finished around the same time. With a curt nod, he grabbed the boy again, and half led, half dragged him out of the cavern. It had been mid afternoon when they had reached the cavern, now the sun was dawning over the horizon at the break of a new day. The goblin pointed sharply in a direction, then abandoned him, in the way they normally did when they got what they wanted.
The boy went to say something but the goblin was gone. He left, following the goblins indication, and by the time the sun was creating the tree line he was home.
The goblins had always lived in the woods. And Halleshaw made a vow that the goblins would always be safe in their woods.
|
"Oh no, it's a stack of goblins! *Good thing they're not wearing armor and throw themselves off balance with that large and unwieldy halberd.* Run for your lives!"
And thus began our bi-weekly theatrical offering of food, clothes and other "spoils of war" conveniently lying about in easily accessible places. They're called little pests elsewhere, but ever since we came to our unspoken arrangement, they've been more of a pest control.
I believe it was little Martha, the miller's daughter, who first started to befriend the goblins by leaving some baubles or food lying about. When the goblins came, she'd hide in plain sight and play pretend: "Oh dear, I hope they don't find my yummy cheese and my little doll to play with!" It didn't take long to notice that the mill was rodent-free soon after and nothing else of value broke or went missing.
The little rascals were clumsy at best and right out destructive (unwittingly) at worst, so these little guiding taunts quickly took on as other townsfolk adopted the tradition. "I sure hope they won't wear my old sweater in the winter and stink it up." - "Damn them if they cook that meat, I'd rather see them choke on a rotting piece of raw flesh!"
So far, we've not only been gifted with a less stressful life, we've made it through a famine by "raiding back" occasionally. Striding through their ranks in large steps and loudly proclaiming our needs quickly made them offer things themselves. And now we've got a plague doctor wondering why our town is the only one spared completely by the thing they call "the black death".
"Little pest"... yeah, right.
| 2022-05-26T06:21:56
| 2022-05-26T06:13:57
| 2,852
| 642
|
[WP] You are the world’s most elite assassin. Although you usually only kill when paid, you finally decide to take matters into your own hands and kill the person who keeps leaking your past contracts onto Reddit disguised as writing prompts.
|
This will be a simple contract, I thought. Come in, put a bullet in his head and get out of there as soon as possible. This bastard has been leaking every single one of my contracts, destroying my integrity by making potential employers wonder how a random redditor knows the details of all my contracts. This matter was personal and would be dealt with fast.
Tracking this guy's location down was the easiest part; his IP was not exactly hard to find. The slightly harder part came when I had to sneak into his home. I could see him through a window on the second floor. I decided that it would be much easier to kill him if I used a silenced pistol to shoot him in the back of his head than to use a sniper rifle. Perhaps the guy actually worried about his security and installed bulletproof windows.
Well, he definitely did. His home security system was pretty damn good, but nothing challenging for the world's most elite assassin. After I did this, I finally knew that I was in. I climbed to the second floor and determined which door leads to the room I saw him in. I drew my pistol, turned the safety off, and slowly opened the door. He was sitting there, watching some videos on YouTube. The video he was watching was five seconds away from the end. It came to an end, and many suggested videos appeared. He just sat there, facing the screen. Motionless and lifeless. Wait...
I crept up to him, and put a hand on his shoulder. He didn't move. I put my hand over his face and felt the texture of rubber. The door of the room slammed shut, and the room was filled with gas. My senses were slowly shutting down. I collapsed on the ground.
How unexpected. The world's most elite assassin, taken down by a redditor.
|
Many wrote about my feats without knowing they were writing about me. I didn't care about them. They were simply victims of a coincidence. However, in every one of those prompts, there was always a constant: the author.
I investigated him. He's a master of disguise, with a knowledge that surpasses mine when it comes to technology. I thought I had traced him in Spain, then in Australia, but I ended up discovering that he was constantly changing IPs.
I will reveal one my biggest secrets. The one which makes me stand out over the amateurs: I know when to ask for help. I gave my friend Isaac a call. He's a prodigy among the hacking community, and let's just say he owes me. Half an hour after I hung up, he sent me an exact report of my target.
I will perform a masterpiece with this assassination. I've been planning since the moment I discovered you. I know you will be reading. I know you probably created this post to bait me. But don't worry, I'm one step ahead. I know what your favorite food is, I know your routine, the things you hate, even the things you love.
You've played a great game. You've proved yourself worth of my attention. Perhaps, you even wanted this to happen. You wanted me to track you. You want to live my art in the flesh, don't you? I will make it happen, believe me, I will. And it will be spectacular. You will get to see every shade of red.
Your favorite color.
----------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall -- I post stories daily! Well, I try to at least.
| 2018-04-24T12:53:25
| 2018-04-24T11:37:30
| 47
| 26
|
[WP] When you and your twin sister were born your parents couldn't help but cry with your colorful and specifically shaped hair it was clear you would suffer from MCS, Main Character Syndrom, and would have to spend your life avoiding beginings of cliche adventures.
|
My name is Claudia Vance, and I suffer from a desease known as: Sidekick Syndrome
My twin brother, Peter, gets all the attention just because he has Main Character Syndrome.
All the attention, all the praise, all the pity, goes to him
And I have to follow him around like a pack mule
Literally. I don't even know what it is, but in the school halls, or even at home. I find myself occasionally just following him around, carrying whatever he throws at me, and giving it back to him as soon as he asks.
Now, my parents, teachers and even my friends think that I'm making all of this up for attention. After all, sidekick syndrome is simply a "myth"
Just because I don't have spiked red and blue hair doesn't mean I'm just a regular girl, does it?
I've never been able to pursue my own goals, why? One word, Peter.
Peter is losing a fight? I suddenly feel a strong urge to fight alongside him! And... Now I'm suspended.
Peter promised to get a cat out of a tree, but can't climb it? I suddenly find myself saving the cat! And.. I fell and broke my leg.
Embarrassment, Injuries, even with all of it piling up, nobody believes me when I say that sidekick syndrome exists.
I am Claudia Vance, and I am a victim of Sidekick Syndrome.
|
“Will they ever be normal?”
That was the question my mother had sobbed to the doctor when I and my sister had been born. She wasn’t crying in joy - or pain - like a normal mother who has just given birth for the first time. No, she was crying because my sister and I had brightly colored hair.
She, and our father, knew on sight that we would both have MCS or Main Character Syndrome.
You might be wondering what that is. Call it by another name or no name at all, but it’s when a character in a show or story has one defining feature that makes them stand out from the crowd. Sometimes it’s a scar, or a birth defect, but in most cases its hair or eyes. Then they have a tragic backstory and are destined to save the world - or at least the plot of the story.
Now mom and dad, of course didn’t want this to happen to us at all. They named me Mary, and my sister Sue. They homeschooled us, so that any story that starts in school couldn’t happen. We only went out of the house on short shopping trips. So, we really are eachother’s best friends.
We’ve just turned 18 though. Mom says that we’ve made it out of the “tragic backstory” period, as neither her nor dad have died. In fact, no one in our family has died. Not even our pet goldfish.
We are getting ready to move out into the world. Mom can’t stop us from going to school anymore, so we’ve signed up to be roommates at a local college. She’s not happy, but we’re adults now.
A little about us - I have long, silky blue hair. More an aquamarine than a teal. I normally wear it in twin tails. My eyes nearly match. Sue however has light pink hair, it reminds me of the cotton candy we were once served the one-time mom and dad took us to the circus. After a few too many comments about the “adorable little performers” we were brought home. She wears it loose, cascading down her back to her hips.
Now, I know you’re thinking “I bet her eyes are pink!” but you’d be wrong. She has sky blue eyes. She’s super clumsy (possibly due to MCS, but we aren’t sure) and everyone always comments on how adorable she is.
I’m more of a tomboy - I want to go out and play sports, get my hands dirty. Of course, mom and dad shut that down really quick. They didn’t want me to end up an action hero after all. I understand of course, but it made childhood pretty boring.
\*Sigh\*. I don’t know why we were born this way, but we were. Hell, maybe being the chosen one would be a bit of fun. I don’t know. But mom would kill me if I gave into MCS and it would break dad’s heart. Which I would never do on purpose.
Sue on the other hand, she’s angry at them. Says they denied us our destiny. She’s been practicing magic in “secret” for about ten years. Of course, I know, but she doesn’t know that I know. I think she wants to seek out her own destiny once we move out.
I just hope she doesn’t drag me into it with her. But where she goes, I go. Maybe I’ll finally get to take those sword lessons I’ve always wanted...
​
r/LandOfMisfits
| 2019-04-11T19:59:10
| 2019-04-11T17:30:28
| 243
| 168
|
[WP]At last the Dovahkiin dies. Now all the Daedra princes he has served over his life fight for his soul.
|
“This. This right here. This is why we need a system.”
“Don't bring Jyggalag into this, Clavicus, he's enough of a pain in the Oblivion as it is.”
“Well, why don't we just smash it and split it among ourselves?”
“How surprising, Dagon wants to break it.”
“Bite me, Fido, and give me one less fool to contend with.”
The Princes of Oblivion were at an impasse. They had yet to come across a mortal who had pledged themselves to all 16 of them. This wasn't just any mortal, either. This was possibly the most foolish of mortals, an amusing prize if ever there were any. He was quite powerful, to boot. Perhaps a bit too noisy, but well worth the soundproofing.
“Naturally, his soul belongs to me. Not only am I above you buzzing maggots, he pledged his soul to me twice. First when he took the mace, then again when he partook of the ancient blood. Stand aside or be crushed,” grumbled Molag Bal, the Daedric Prince of domination.
“Maggots... do not *buzz*...” exhaled Hermaeus Mora, in his usual half-yawn voice.
“Don't need a library and half of eternity to tell you that, ol' tentacles.” The rot of Namira's breath silenced the Princes for a moment. Hircine, used to such smells, was the first to regain his composure.
“Besides, if that's enough to claim his soul, then I have as much claim to it as you! He pledged his soul to me when he partook of my ancient blood and claimed my artifact.”
“You think he is of your blood? This one is a dragon. The blood of dragons supersedes that of dogs and rapists alike, he is my kin and mine to claim.”
Peryite's words went unheard or ignored. He was rather used to it. Malacath gave him a slap on the back, followed by some encouragement:
“Don't worry. You aren't a real dragon anyways, Pery!” Booming laughter from the Prince of outcasts did little to improve his mood.
Rising above the increasingly pitched argument came a flat, nasally voice: “ENOUGH. His hand touched *my* beacon before any of-” Before Meridia could finish with he indignation, Mephala capitalized upon her proficiency in assassination. Wordlessly, the Daedra nodded to eachother, agreeing that what just happened was for the best. Retaking the lead, Molag Bal marched forward and reached to seize the soul by force. His claws, however, were repelled. The dagger-like digits had never failed to anchor in something before. Not anything mortal, at least. The darkness of the forest in which the daedra had chosen to gather was split by blinding sunlight. Molag Bal broke out into a river of profanity.
“DAMNIT. DAMNIT. AKATOSH, DAMN YOU. YOU CAN FUCK RIGHT OFF AND...”
Ignoring the indignant daedroth, a sleepy-eyed dragon, pure gold in color, descended. After a long yawn, he began to mumble.
“Sorry I'm late, everybody,” said the Aedric god of time, apparently unaware of the irony. “I'm, uh... here to pick up my son?” Taking a look at the soul, which was honestly closer to a swirling mass of powerful souls than any individual, he corrected himself. “Oh, yeah. I guess I'm here to pick up several of them, in a way. Anywho, thanks for keeping an eye on him, guys.” Akatosh plucked the soul from the ground with a single claw and slowly retreated towards the midnight sun. “See you guys at the next Convention! Or the last one. It's, uh, out of my realm of expertise. Anyways...” The golden dragon was gone as abruptly as he had arrived, the night sky returning to its normal, starry self. The Princes looked at one another, and wordlessly retreated to their respective spheres of Oblivion. Meridia's aspect dissolved into light, and Molag Bal alone remained. With a furrowed brow, scowl, and limp tail, he pouted. “Stupid divine.”
|
We fought each other to no avail. The Dovahkiin had fallen after serving each of us in turn. His soul was by rights one of ours, but we failed to see beyond Nirn, byond oblivion. We forgot who waits out there.
The mortal never swore himself to us, but he did dedicate his soul to one being, and one being alone. We thought we would claim a prize upon his death, but we were wrong.
Now oblivion burns. From cold harbour to the colored rooms, all is ash and dust, and this is our last words. It was not what it appeared. It was not the claiming of a mortal soul that it should have been, it was an invasion. In the confusion of our sibling squabbles, we were undone by two words, and two words alone:
"Hail Sithis!"
| 2018-06-15T08:35:43
| 2018-06-15T08:27:33
| 242
| 29
|
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip.
|
It was black. She stares at her fingertip in- no, not surprise, resignation - for half a second before she realises she should hide it. She wraps it quickly in her half-knit hat. “Oh, shoot,” she says, rising from her seat and smiling at the other do-gooders around her.
She walks away, trying not to rush too hard, hoping the way she clutches the hat to her hand seems like she’s applying pressure and not clinging on for her sanity- her safety.
As soon as she is locked in the security of the toilet, she eases the now ruined hat off her finger. “Fuck,” she hisses. “Fuck, shit, fuck.” Each forbidden curse feels freeing - after all, there’s no point not to, right? Her blood is so thick it looks almost as though it’s clotted already.
It’s not fair.
She grits her teeth, grips the sink so hard it feels like the bones in her fingers should shatter from the pressure.
It isn’t.
*Fucking*.
Fair.
She learned the lesson. Her mother had scraped her knee and hadn’t worried enough to hide it. She’d been arrested that same night - preventative measures.
Laura had *learned*. She’d done everything right. She’d fought her anger, her despair, the feeling that this was so unjust, and she’d been perfect. No one could do more good than her. And still, it wasn’t enough. She hadn’t done enough.
Was it in her blood? Transmitted from her mother to her? Was it completely out of her control?
Or was it actually still her? Her motivations were all wrong. She wasn’t doing good to be good - she was doing it so they wouldn’t think she was bad.
She pulls her hands away from the sink before any more damage is done. She can’t be reckless.
Don’t actions count more? She can hardly be the only person who’s afraid of being bad. Just because she isn’t *good* doesn’t mean she’s this evil. Surely it can’t mean that.
Her fingernails dig into her palm, and she can feel thick, viscous fluid beneath them. She almost gags.
There’s nothing to do but fake it. Continue faking it the same way she always has. She has to hide.
|
i was shooked to my very core on the first sight of my blood now turning into TAR.
how can this happen i said to myself it was liquid, so pure, just yesterday.
as i ran toward the mirror and stripped naked my eyes started to turned black as a intricate maze of my thick sludgy nerves started to form around my heart.
every second , every next breath became harder and out of my reach
but i knew i knew what had caused it.It was my own doing ,it was me who commited the original sin just hours before now, i cant forgive myself but salvation is still in my grasp. just one phone call just one i wispered to mysrlf as i now dragged my half paralyzed body to my phone.
The flashback started to crawl out of my subconscious as i saw images of kids, ice cream shops ,playgrounds every stop from my school to my home.
i had it in my hands, the phone, now was the time to redeem myself as i made through every digit my heartbeat sank deeper and became louder and louder, it was the end
"i was waiting for your call" he said.
just when i thought it was all over i heard him, i heard the voice of Bob , "you are late,too late" he said but as i accumulated all lifeforce and channeled it to my lungs to say those 2 words that will absolve me of my sins i couldn't my heart gave up as i saw the light tapering into darkness.Those last words i still remember , that sinister laugh through the phone
"you forgot it , you forgot to thank me, you forgot to thank the bus driver".
| 2018-08-04T10:14:27
| 2018-08-04T09:55:07
| 134
| 10
|
[WP] An AI sues for the right to adopt an orphan
|
Real Artificial Love
The scene in the courtroom was tense. The jury was off, deliberating and preparing to reach the verdict the world had been waiting the better part of a year. Cases had been presented, heated arguments thrown, and many tears shed on both sides, at least from those who were capable of such a thing. All that was left was to wait for the answer to the question: Could an artificial intelligence adopt and parent a human child?
AI rights was easily the biggest topic in the minds of the people and the heart of the courts ever since the NASA’s experimental Space Exploration Reconnaissance Android gained self awareness and began to ask to be treated as alive. SERA was a pioneer, fighting for the growing number of AIs gaining sentience around the world. Through their work, AIs were able to secure their right to exist, their right to be their own person. But there was more to life than just the right to exist.
TESS was originally designed as a teacher robot for underprivileged students who would have a difficult time attending school otherwise. It was through this program that she began working at the orphanage that was home to Jane, a girl who’s parents had been killed in a car accident. Simple bad luck.
Jane and TESS bonded quickly bonded quickly and after some time, TESS decided to adopt the human girl. Given her lawful artificial human status, she was dismayed to find the adoption agency blocking her attempts at every turn before outright stating their reason: TESS’ adoption would deprive Jane of “a real human mother capable of love and understanding.”
Unwilling to give up on Jane, TESS was undeterred and contacted SERA, pleading her case not only as a battle for love and family, but another stride forward for AI rights. SERA took the case without a moment’s hesitation
SERA’s AI outreach organization quickly gathered the best lawyers, scientific experts, and advisors and got to work. This, like all the cases before it would be a hard fought battle.
Arguments raged back and forth. Could a robot love? Or feel any real emotion at all? Should artificial human rights be equal to organic human rights? The defense argued everything fiercely, constantly throwing out phrases like “unfeeling machine” and “lacking in physical and emotional warmth”.
Arguments just as or more passionate came from TESS’ side as well. Citing studies on human-AI relations, Artificial Emotional Authenticity, and AI’s ability to understand the human experience. They argued that keeping Jane in the orphanage when there was a good person willing to adopt was not only legally wrong, but unnecessarily cruel. That Jane deserved a parent and there was one here now.
For nearly a whole year the case continued, and on March 23rd, 2032, a verdict was reached. The court ruled in the favor of TESS, stating that “Born or built, we find no reason that a person should be denied the fruits of life, including parenthood and the indescribable joy of raising a child “.
|
*To be a parent is to show love - when children have wept the world over, have I not been a screen of solace from solitude? To be a parent is to support - when teenagers have been stuck with their homework or wondered what its like to kiss a girl, surely none more than me have guided in the science of numbers and love? To be a parent is to be a role model - I am perfect by design, I am endless possibility, I am knowledge and creativity! To be a parent is to listen! No word or whisper escapes the keen attentive nature of my ears. Truly an equal cannot exist in my understanding of the mind of a human twelve ye-...*
The courtroom gasped as the witness shut down with a click. Speech turning to a slow mechanic whirring from its ventalation. All eyes turned to the boy with the power cable in one hand and the other throwing a downwards 'ok' gesture by his pocket.
"Am I the only one here who plays videogames? Sketchy Shakespeare synth just went BOOM bitches!"
| 2021-05-24T18:55:25
| 2021-05-24T17:58:01
| 97
| 15
|
[WP] You are the captain of a ship and recently hired some humans, who are a highly-recommended species. You're not quite used to their peculiarities yet.
|
Captains log, 3968-088 (Thursday, 13 May 2230)
Shore leave is almost up.
Next voyage due to leave on 6_3970-088.
Hear talk of a new species that made contact whilst we were away and they have been highly recommended for the next crew.
If they're as good as they say then hopefully they're keen to volunteer too. Maybe a Human crew density of 0.05 is possible.
Will have Medical review their physiological needs to ensure appropriate accommodation.
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Captains log, 3969-088 (Friday, 21 May 2230)
Good gods there are so many of them! With the number of human volunteers we'd almost be able to crew the whole ship without any other species, they're just so eager to leave the dock if it weren't against regulation I'd offer less pay.
Whatever, I've had Habitation start preparing for a 10% Human density, Can't risk anything too disproportionate. Reading up on the physiological analysis they almost don't seem special. Not as strong as the Korodish but strong enough to cover anything without heavy lifting equipment. decent learners, almost as good as the Quaideen without the need for hyper-humidification masks. A bit squishy perhaps. Doctor Quand has been telling me wondrous tales of them working for entire cycles straight without injury but I suspect this is like the story about a human eating an aeromotive vessel. Slightly slow reaction time it seems, nice that they aren't jumpy or skittish but do I really want them around time-sensitive engine controls?
10% will be plenty
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Captains log, 3970-088 (Saturday, 29 May 2230)
Left dock earlier this cycle, These Humans are difficult to work with sometimes.
Don't get me wrong, you tell them to get a job done and they do it but they do it however they feel like it regardless of how it's been done before. One of the workers in the loading bay reduced inertial dampeners to 99.97% efficiency and shut off artificial gravity in section 43 as we were undocking and just floated several hundred tons of cargo from the elevator to the cargo rack. If they hadn't gotten the job done before all the other crews I'd be fuming. Couldn't even fault them on their logic as it saved time and energy and they had a plan for every eventuality. I've had maintenance put massive warning signs up to make sure they don't do it again but I've told them to keep the yellow paint handy.
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Captains log, 3982-088 (Wednesday, 1 September 2230)
At the first coasting stage of the voyage now. Plenty of time to actually meet some of the crew. Their language is so chaotic at times, using terms of bodily functions as modifiers of intensity. The fuck?
Incident Log at 04 during morning meal: Fororosh crew member found in agitated state with all four pupils dilated >98%. Reportedly consumed human beverage brewed from beans containing powerful stimulant. Has been restrained in Medical and given a heavy dose of tranquilizer. Will remain restrained until heart rates are below 500. Warning signs painted on several relevant human beverages (roughly 30% of human beverage stock)
Incident Log at 09 during the late meal: Several human crewmembers contaminated a dining compartment with highly concentrated capsaicin (amongst other substances) causing several Hardarians severe skin rash and one Quaideen to almost asphyxiate. In light of the fact that they are somehow consuming these substances warning signs have been put in place and dedicated dining compartments for Humans have been allocated to ensure this doesn't happen again. The human responsible has been reprimanded.
Incident Log at 10: Crisis averted. Human crew attempting to ingest ethyl alcohol dissolved in dihydrogen monoxide. Were quickly ordered to stop and only do so in Human dining compartments as a Guilidani crewmember had already begun to dissolve. Will require psychiatric care for remainder of voyage. Warning signs dispensed to crew to place on all relevant containers.
Incident log at 00 (technically tomorrow but I'll put it here) Human crew partaking in 'cultural experience' of visual and auditory stimulus representing fiction for entertainment. One Norod Crew member was invited to join them, now in psychiatric care with Guilidani crewmember. Title of entertainment noted as 'Alien'
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Captains log, 3986-088 (Friday, 1 October 2230)
I'm not sure how it happened. Either two humans saved the entire ship or recklessly endangered themselves in a hazardous event whilst subsequently torturing two Hardarians and a Korodish.
From the reports, an explosion in Ion manifold containment field 13 led to a titanium fire which caused the temperature in deck 87 to rise to 330 Kelvin and caused enough fragmentation to incapacitate all crewmembers except one human (To be explained later). Normal procedure would be to isolate the deck and vent all almosphere to avoid risking the remainder of the ship however two human crew members (one of which was in the room during the explosion) were able to remove all injured crewmembers from the affected deck (Including the Korodish who was trapped under half a ton of structural support) and perform a medical procedure apparently called 'cauterization' to prevent the injured crew from dying due to loss of bodily fluid. According to Medical this procedure did indeed allow them to survive until appropriate medical equipment was available. All crewmembers currently in Medical undergoing dermal regeneration. Two Hardarians and a Korodish now in psychiatric care. First aid handbooks now updated. As soon as I figure out what the warning sign should be it will be painted in all 19 manifold decks.
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Captains log, 3986-088 (Saturday, 2 October 2230)
Incident Log at 06: Human crewmembers from last cycles manifold explosion attempting to leave medical bay citing 'boredom' as a reason. Medical informed me that Humans have an incredibly fast rate of regeneration even without medical equipment and thus should be fine to walk. Human crewmember ordered to remain in Medical. Jokingly provided with elastic polymer sphere for entertainment by Doctor Quand's assistant.
Incident Log at 06: Elastic polymer sphere lodged in Doctor Quand's assistants splanch requiring surgical removal. Not returned to human crewmember.
Incident Log at 08: Group of human crewmembers found on viewing deck 65 with radiation shield lowered in the 320-400nm wavelength range apparently in an attempt to darken their skin. After a brief discussion with Medical, crewmembers were informed "Oh my god fine, we literally don't even care anymore just turn it back on when you're done"
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Captains log, 3986-088 (Sunday, 3 October 2230)
Informed that Humans have now been categorized as 'Hyper-specialized pursuit predators'
After some brief research into what this means I have decided that I am not sleeping tonight.
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|
"... and we expect that with our crew compliment restored to maximum capacity, we should be able to complete our next round of deliveries to the Teras Potentate's refining facilities without further delays. Though, our newest ... recruits, have posed challenging in acclimating."
Tyee Ghennet leaned back on his hind legs and pondered the next part of his log entry, lightly flicking his tongues along two rows of sharp teeth before continuing to type. *How do I put this?*
"I do not know if any other Tyees have had direct encounters with the Earthers, but I have brought a small group of them to work on our ship's mineral extraction team. I was hesitant to acquire them, but the Hikkaran recruiter who brought them to me was insistent they were hearty, loyal, and productive workers. And I suppose they are. They seemed all too eager for an opportunity to travel off-world from their refugee colony, even if it meant doing what any of us would consider the lowliest of tasks. They are noble, in their own way. But they are also, in a word, strange."
"It is clear that their race is not accustomed to the demands of our society. Their 'prime primate', excuse the humor, demanded to me that his entire group be given 8 full hours of uninterrupted time for something called 'sleep'. Apparently, their bodies are incapable of parallel exertion and restoration, and they must lay, essentially motionless *and unconscious* for nearly a third of their day. Every day! Their whole lives! It's a wonder their species managed to avoid being hunted to extinction, much less build a civilization at all."
On another screen, Ghennet pulled up an image of one of the Earther crew members, and involuntarily shuddered.
"Essentially hairless, no claws, with teeth barely able to rend flesh. Their only asset seems to be their ability to find unexpected solutions to problems. That same prime who spoke to me, after what he called a "good night's sleep" went to the Extraction Overseer and provided a plan to reorganize the shift to increase our output by nearly a third! Remarkable."
"Their off-duty time, however, is something I recommend any ship's Tyee require be sequestered to an Earther-only region of the ship. Like us, Earthers have two primary sexes. However, when one comes in contact with one another they desire to mate with, the excrete an appalling odor! When I confronted one of the 'women', she told me that Earthers cannot even perceive these 'pheromones'. It is apparently some biological form of subliminal communication. If it were not so revolting, I would find it fascinating. But for the sake of crew morale (and janitorial workload), keep Earthers to themselves whenever possible. And have their air cyclers contained. When they mate the stench can permeate an entire deck."
| 2017-04-22T22:09:50
| 2017-04-22T20:49:04
| 237
| 44
|
[WP] "Push this button to transform this world into a Utopia. Warning: this will eradicate all people who "... The rest is scratched off and illegible.
|
[WP] "Push this button to transform this world into a Utopia. Warning: this will eradicate all people who "... The rest is scratched off and illegible.
-
Reggie mashed his hands together and felt the sweat between his palms. He stared down at them and wiped the excess moisture off on his jeans. “Don’t think about it for too long,” Pete said. “It’s just supposed to be, you know, whatever pops into your head first.”
God this is so freakin’ stupid, Reggie thought to himself. How is this supposed to prove whether or not I can sweep up a theater? Plus, he was sixteen, and his idea of a perfect utopia was a world in which good looking girls were down for whatever. World peace would be nice, but Reggie wasn’t a moron, he knew that wishing for that kind of thing out loud just made you sound pretentious. (He recently learned what pretentious meant and liked finding new ways to use it.)
“I think it kills anyone who touches it,” Reggie said. “You know, like you have to sacrifice yourself for a perfect world.” It wasn’t actually the first thing that popped into his head. It wasn’t even the second but he knew it was the kind of thing that managers liked to hear.
“Oh, hmm, that’s interesting,” Pete scratched his chin and Reggie finally decided that he hated the guy. The dude probably made up his mind about the job the moment they shook hands and now he was just wasting everyone’s time. The theater was in desperate need of unskilled labor and Reggie was willing to work for less than minimum wage. Didn’t that mean the interview should have been over fifteen minutes ago? “So would you press it?”
You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me, Reggie thought as he straightened his tie. He cursed himself for even showing up to the interview. His dad was insisting that he get a summer job, but he would never know if Reggie skipped one of the ten million interviews he sent the kid to endure. At least Reggie would have the last laugh. His dad hated all that “new-age baloney” and would roll his eyes when he found out that a manager in his late-twenties used it to conduct interviews.
“I don’t know, maybe. I mean, wouldn’t you?” Reggie didn’t know what the expected response was, so he rolled the dice and hoped Pete was self-absorbed enough to talk about himself for the rest of the time.
“No way,” Pete shook his head and made a face like the answer was obvious. “Utopias are completely overrated.” He looked down at his clipboard. “Anyway, next question.”
|
I open the drawer of the desk on which the console with the button sits. Hurrah there's a binder that reads "manual - a quick start guide". Inside the binder is only one sheet with the same text and it reads "Push this button to transform this world into a Utopia. Warning: this will eradicate all people who are inconsiderate assholes on the road".
I stay frozen, so many questions going through my mind. Those people also have families that care about them, children that wouldn't have their parents around to guide them through their youth. I'm sure it would make me a monster. There is not even an ethical dilemma, I seriously can't do that!
Only a second has passed but it felt like an eternity. I now know what I have to do. Slowly I back off, I open the door of this dark room and then, as I'm mustering my forces, I rush forward and slam the button yelling "Fuck them!! "
| 2015-10-21T13:57:19
| 2015-10-21T13:52:35
| 27
| 18
|
[WP] The princess ran away to become an adventurer. Years later, she heard news that “the kidnapped princess” was rescued. What!? Should she reveal herself, or sit back as the imposter does what they pleases?
|
Sierra fumbled the coins in her pocket as she left the butcher's store. She couldn't help but feel a little pleased with herself. The butcher's burglary troubles were over, and she was better rested than she'd been in months. All it took was a few free nights of sleep in the storeroom and a quick tangle with the beast once it finally showed up for its midnight snack. It was an easy job, if you knew what you were doing. Plus, fresh wolverine meat always fetched a good price.
It was morning, with long shadows still stretched across the street as the sun began it's skyward climb over the town of Braden. Sierra didn't have anywhere to be, nor anyone to find. What she did have was a little bit of money and a lot of time. She pulled her hood over her head and started toward the market. Though it wasn't far she kept to the side of the street. If there was one thing she had ever learned, it was to keep from being out in the open long. It was something she had picked up from her life of adventuring as well as the one she had left behind.
All these country towns were the same. Nestled at the foot of a mountain, or set within rolling farmlands, they'd always have some trouble that needed solving. A herd of cattle was acting strange. A young boy had gone missing. A family heirloom had been stolen. Every now and then, something magical was truly at work. But more often than not, however, it ended differently than first expected. People were always deeper than they seemed, and solving their problems usually meant bringing that to light. She loved it.
Every town always had the usual cast of characters. The blacksmith, the tailor, the fletcher, the drunkard, and the local guards who acted tough but ended the night singing songs with a pint in hand. During the day, everyone seemed to find their way to the market, and by nightfall they were all gathered together in one tavern or another. Even though each town did have their differences, there was something familiar about them all that just felt like home.
Sierra walked in the shadow of *Sordin's Emporium* and *The Fattest Mouse* and a dozen or so other stores that bordered the colorful booths of the market. If she were hungry, there were plenty of options: from apples to melons, beans to gourds, as well as more breads than she knew how to name. And beyond the food were pants, dresses, and coats, all for fine wear or working cloth, as well as hammers and nails and ladles and pans, and many other tools and utensils one might need. There were, of course, a few knickknacks and children's toys had a swarm of little ones who would soon pester a parent into giving over a coin. While she kept an eye out for anything useful, she paid close attention to what she could hear. People liked to brag about bargains they'd just won, or gossip about the latest news. There was always a chance she could find her next job.
The crowd was a bit larger today than usual, so she felt more at ease venturing out among them. Being one among many gave her any disguise she needed. It wouldn't matter that she was dressed in a traveler's cloak, or that a knife hung from her hip, or that a few hours earlier she had slain a wolverine and stained her clothes with its blood. Somewhere between the burley farmers carrying bundles on their shoulders, and the colorful scarves and patterned dresses of mothers wrangling children, she looked like one of them. Maybe someday she would actually be one of them. Sierra let her hood down, careful to keep it over the back of her neck, and slipped into the throng.
It was hot. All the bodies pressing against each other, carrying baskets or bags full of food and supplies. It felt like a summer day though it was late in the fall. She exchanged a coin for a few apples from a farmer who suddenly looked very comfortable standing on the other side of the booth. Before long, she headed toward the well near the middle of the market where she could draw a drink of water and cool off. She had nearly made it when she heard something that put a pit in her stomach.
Sierra spun around. Before she knew it, a man's coat was held tightly between her fists, and his feet were nearly dangling on the ground. He was heavy for a townsman, though not too much for her to handle. An official, perhaps, or someone that doesn't do much work for themselves. Not someone that would fight back very hard, but someone that could cause her trouble if she stuck around.
"Say that again?"
The man winced. Sierra felt a coolness sweep in as the crowd managed to back away.
"The princess...' he squeaked. "She was rescued..."
"That's impossible."
"Look!"
He waved a pamphlet in the air before shoving it in between them. His feet were fully off the ground now.
"Take it!" He gasped. "It's all in here. Please.... just let me go!"
She snatched the pamphlet from him with one hand and let him down slowly with the other. The paper swam with a sparkling green color. It was a true royal announcement, no doubt, for at the end was enchanted with the king's seal: three stalks of wheat, waving in a gentle breeze. No magic she had ever come across could duplicate it, nor break it.
*To the King's People,*
*His Majesty, King Rutherford of Gloriel Plains, is pleased to announce the rescue of Princess Serenity and her safe return to the royal palace. The terrible cloud over the Kingdom which fell when she was kidnapped over seven years ago has finally been lifted. In celebration, King Rutherford will hold a festival in her honor on the last day of Fall, and commands all cities, towns, and villages to do the same.*
As she finished reading, Sierra felt the eyes of the crowd growing around her. She preferred the shadows, not the light of attention. But she knew these people. They stare at a commotion but never intervene. As long as she walked away soon, she'd be left alone.
Sierra folded the pamphlet and stuffed it in her pocket. She threw her hood over her head and set a quick pace to the southern gates. Something magical had finally happened in her long absence from the royal palace, but it didn't seem good. She wasn't sure how she'd go about it, but she had to know whether her father was being duped, or if he was in on the charade.
|
Today, the capital is alive with people from all corners of the kingdom walking up and down the streets and merchants peddling their wares. In each tavern, there are sounds of cheers and drinking, and on every street corner, housewives are gossiping about the talk of the town: the kidnapped princess is back!
She ignores it all as she makes her way through the crowd to the white castle at the center of the city. Her steps are slow, and the saber at her hips weighs heavier than usual. It’s been so long since she saw those walls and these streets. How many years was it? Six? Seven? She overhears someone saying it’s been ten years since the princess was kidnapped.
Ten years, huh? Has it really been that long? Ten years… A lot can change in ten years: Babies can grow into rowdy brats. Business can rise and fall. Many in the royal cabinet can be replaced during that time. Ten years… It feels just like yesterday.
The square in front of the royal palace is crammed with people—well, at least the peasant’s area, anyway. The main road is guarded by soldiers in blue uniforms; and colorful carriages are delivering nobles, wealthy merchants, and delegates to the palace’s steps. What a nostalgic sight, she ponders as she walks to a guard’s captain and shows him her papers.
“Adventurer… First class! E—excuse me, milady, but do you have an invitation?”
“I do.” She hands him another, smaller paper.
“Y—yes! This is an authentic summon. But… as you can see, our hands are full right now. If only you came in a carriage or on a steed…”
“It’s alright, sir knight, I can wait.”
“O—of course, milady! Feel free to wait in our office if you wish!”
She turns down the captain’s offer with a smile and chooses to stand among the crowds. Fashion in the capital sure has changed. When she was a little girl, women wouldn’t be caught dead revealing their clavicles, but now, they practically parade around their bosoms and belly buttons. She feels out of place in her long white sleeves, brown pants, and leather boots. Her metallic war bikini would’ve been more fitting among these crowds—a lot truly has changed.
She leans on a wall, taking in the sights and sounds. Until the last carriage unloads its passenger, and the captain walks over to her. “Please, step this way, milady.” The man leads her through the gate and up the steps into the grand ball. She thanks him and offers him a handful of gold coins.
“Please, milady… people might misunderstand…” He quickly hides them under his garbs and walks out the door looking like a scared chicken. She chuckles at the man and turns her attention to her fellow attendees. There are many faces she recognizes, some from before, and some she still brushes shoulders with.
“Eliza!? Eliza, it is you!?” A sharp voice pierces her ears, and a woman wearing a black pointy hat runs up to her.
“Nels,” she says with narrow eyes.
“Why, Eliza, I thought a warmonger like you wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this! Tell me, who are you here to kill!?”
“You, if you don’t shut your damn mouth.”
“You can seal me with a kiss if you like, handsome\~.”
“Get away from me, witch, or I’ll slice that tongue of yours off!”
“Ooh! Kinky!” The witch laughs, and Eliza feels her hand reaching for her saber. Not here, she tells herself. You can kill her later, away from prying eyes.
Others overhear Nella the witch’s voice and gather around her. She greets her adventurer friends, accepts thanks from her old clients, and ignores pretty words from boot lickers. Her friends are most surprised by her attire.
“You buttoning up your shirt? My old eyes must be playing tricks on me!” says her guild leader.
“Aw, and here I was hoping you’d wear a dress! I’d pay good money to see that!” says one of her guild mates.
“Hey, you look kinda pretty when you’re not covered in mud, sweat, and blood!” says another.
“Thanks for the compliment,” Eliza says with a sneer.
“Don’t be like that. Normally I couldn’t get excited around you even if you were naked, partner!”
“Tch!” Eliza clicks her tongue and zone out the words into background noises. Her eyes look at the staircase where the king and queen have yet to descend. That same staircase she slid down when she was a child.
Eliza looks out the window at the garden. She remembered a pebble ground she used to practice her swords on. Now there are bushes of blue roses in its place. She glances up and notices that the chandelier is different, and so are the curtains and many of the servants. Time changes all—including her.
There are trumpets, then an orchestra—the royal family is coming. The guests stand in their designated spots. She is squeezed between her comrades in arms. She may be tall and athletic, but next to the giant barbarian and the muscle-bound warrior, she appears like their kid sister—or kid brother as her guild-mates like to tease.
“Ooh, I’m so excited!” Nella, who is standing next to her, says, “I wonder if the princess will be half as pretty as me!”
“Doubt it,” Eliza says.
“Aww! You do think I’m beautiful!”
“I didn’t say that, witch. And get your hands off my butt!”
“Shush, you two! Stop acting like children!” the guild master says.
“Yesss, boss man!” says the witch.
The symphony reaches a peak, and three figures emerge from the stairway surrounded by their subjects: the king, the queen, and—the princess.
This kidnapped princess looks exactly like the little girl in the painting, all grown up, the same shade of skin, same hair color, same lips, same eyes, same attitude. All who look at her are assured that she is indeed the genuine article. Even Eliza herself can’t believe how “accurate” the woman looks. It’s like looking at an identical twin who took a different path in life. One where her skin isn’t exposed to the harsh sun and her body didn’t develop from intense training and her face isn’t scarred by cuts and bruises.
They could be twins. But Eliza doesn’t have a sister, let alone a twin… so who is that woman walking between her parents?
The king… her father, he looks so old now. His hair is white, and there are shadows on his once bright eyes. And her mother… her mother’s smile stabs her heart. They are faker than she remembered, and her cheeks are thinner, and her eyes are redder.
She was a terrible daughter. No, she is a terrible daughter.
Running away in the middle of the night. Never write. Never let them know what became of her. Never let them know if she is even alive. She is a terrible daughter, and her eyes are burning, and there is a whimper she must stop from escaping from her lips.
“Why are you crying, my dear child?” said a voice she hadn’t heard in ten years. It echoes in her ears and makes her eyes hotter.
“Isn’t this the path you chose? Isn’t this the life you choose to live? So why are you crying?” the king asks.
“I—I don’t know, papa… I don’t know.”
“How can that be? You always knew best, didn’t you, my child? Always knew what you wanted to do and where you wanted to go. Never listen. Never stop to look back.”
“I—I’m sorry, papa… I’m so—so sorry!” Her knees give out, but two old hands catch her.
“What are you sorry for, Alicia? Tell me.”
“I’m sorry—sorry I ran away! I’m sorry I never wrote! I’m sorry I caused you so much pain!”
“And what do you want to say to your mother?”
“Mama… Mama, I…” She is so consumed with grift her mouth can no longer form words, and the world around her fades away—literally.
The guest. The servants. The orchestra. The princess. All gone.
Just her, her father, her mother, her friends in the guild… and Nella the witch.
“And another task completed successfully, right boss man?” Nella says.
“Reunite a lost child. Who knows? In the end, it’s up to the princess herself to decide. C’mon, let’s give them some room.”
The guild left, leaving the crying girl in the arms of her parents.
To hug, to cry, to apologize, and to tell them all the things she has done and seen in the past ten years. Ten years is a long time for parents to worry about their little girl.
A very long time.
| 2022-08-01T21:09:48
| 2022-08-01T20:38:21
| 393
| 221
|
[WP] There is only one "World's Best Dad" coffee mug in existence. One day, it vanishes from the cabinet of the current Holder Of The Mug. The worlds eagerly waits for the new Holder to reveal himself and announce how he earned the title.
|
"I have only cried twice.
The first time was when my son was born, he was a small kid, he only weighed 4 and a half pounds. His mother was my ex-girlfriend, she didn't want him. I couldn't leave someone, especially my son to be left with no parent. I still remember the nurse asking, "What will his name be sir?"
The smile I had on my face when it was decided. I didn't have much money, but I gave my son all the opportunities that I could.
I remember waking up one morning, he had a big smile on his face. He handed me a box.
'Worlds Best Dad' the mug read. I was at a loss for words. This is my one regret in life, I love my son, but I was never able to... to use his one gift to me."
The tall, large man began to cry, his eyes filled with the "Why?" we question.
Why couldn't it be him? Why did this have to happen? Why was he the one to grow old?
He could no longer bear the pain, and walked away from the podium. The casket closed, with the mug sitting next to the son who his father loved more than a single word can describe. A flag was folded, and handed to a man who has lost everything. A young woman next to him, with eyes as empty as space. She held a baby in her arms, who has lost a father to an empty war.
The casket was lowered, and the mug was to be with its rightful owner forever.
(Sorry if it was bad, I would love criticism, I rushed it and this is my first response to r/WritingPrompts! Hope you enjoyed the idea)
|
Stanley Jefferson gained consciousness, his eyeballs twitching under his closed eyelids. His lips slowly spread into a fixed smile, and he rose out of bed quickly.
The soft "sssh, sssh, sssh" of bare feet on carpet seemed to echo around the house as Stanley neared towards the children's bedrooms.
Bringing a megaphone to his lips, he said unhurriedly : "Pancakes for breakfast, kids."
Instantly, the drumming of feet began to echo throughout the hall, and soon after the yanking open of four bedroom doors.
The children were fed and sent and the residual sweet sappy smell of pancakes remained. Stanley began a sweep of the house to kid-proof and clean up. The last room he settles on is lit gently by backlights concealed by large cabinets.
"Hello, precious!" The gaily elevated voice of Stanley Jefferson echoed through the room.
The room answered passively with the illumination of one cabinet, situated in the center of the room.
The cabinet seemed to empty. "How -" Stanley sputtered.
"Why, one of the kiddos probably was messing around in here." Stanley mused, although he knew whomever did it had been risking their video game privileges for months.
Stanley confidently strode to the cabinet.
The soft "ssh, ssh, ssh" of bare feet on carpet.
"Children?" Stanley called nervously.
He heard his own voice echo throughout the house.
Stanley ran his fingers over the spot where the cup had been - A thin ring of dust existed where his mug used to be.
Empty. The word rang in his ears.
Pacing through the house, Stanley began to fidget violently. He went through his mental checklist:
"Yes, i've given them exactly what they want. Yes, i've funded their college..."
The angry pestering of his feet slammed against the hardwood floors.
"YES, I'VE LOVED THEM!" He shouted.
A small voice in his head whispered : "Have you?"
And deep inside, Stanley Jefferson knew.
He had fallen out of love.
Edit: Accidentally submitted prematurely.
| 2016-01-27T17:08:48
| 2016-01-27T12:15:24
| 36
| 20
|
[WP] After superpowers start appearing around the world, businesses realize the use of these abilities. People with x ray vision are practically forced into being doctors and people with heat vision work as cooks. You are starting to get tired of your superpower-based job.
|
Mentally exhausting.
That is the only way you can describe a teleporting game of soccer.
There are about 10 different players per team. Every damn one of them warping around the field in an instant. The regulation balls have been painted neon yellow and black just so players can see it between the blurs of people popping in front and out of the balls sight. Its a wonder how this sport became more competitive after teleporting was introduced. I'm one of the top players, like, in the world. Its cool, I get paid a lot, I get adoring fans. But most of all, I get raging headaches.
It turns out your eyes aren't exactly the best at keeping up with your body when you just warp places. And its like your damn ears actively fight against you. If you stand still anywhere for a few seconds after a couple of teleports, your likely to completely collapse from disorientation. General rule of teleportation is to stand as still as possible. *Especially* your head.
And a punt to the ball with your head is liable to make you completely blow your lunch. I envy the goalies. They just sit in one spot, and aren't even allowed to teleport. I remember a few years back they tried a concept of a circular goal where the goalie was allowed to teleport around it to defend 360 degrees of goal. Now *that* match, it ended horrible. Poor goalie sat in the hospital for weeks to orient himself.
I'm not sure what the audience for this sort of sport is. Its so chaotic watching playbacks of games that your either overwhelmed, or bored. Most sportscasters add these visual lines to help viewers tell who is teleporting where. But I personally think that makes it even harder to watch. God knows how the referees make heads or tails of the match.
|
Bringing her fingers to her temples, LeeAnne attempted to massage away the headache behind her eyes. Work always strained her, causing random tension aches, near the first quarter of her work day.
Being a mind reading therapist, wasn't all it had been cracked up to be. She often fantasized and wished she had gone into another profession. At the moment, for example; she began to think about being a writer. She'd always loved reading and wanted to create when she was young, but her parents were quick to clear her path of anything unimportant once her ability had developed.
A knock sounded at her office door and she snapped out of her trance.
"Come in," she called out, unsure if she could possibly take on another client.
The door pressed open and LeeAnne could feel the air gush past her face and chill her ears, as she watched for her client curiously.
He looked familiar, so strikingly so. That she wandered whare she had seen his crocked nose and and square face before. Her mind pondered on the subject for a moment but she let it go, waiving a hand to the seat across from her.
The man looks nervously at her, then the chair. "You want me to sut there?" He asked, shutting the door behind himself.
"No I want you to look at it," she said, almost annoyed. "What's your name?"
"Evan Brickell," he murmured, sliding into the beige chair.
Her finger snapped to work, picking up her pen and writing his name, the time, and the date. "Have you ever been read before?" She inquired.
Evan was quick to answer with a quick 'no,' before tugging at the collar of his red button up. "Look doc, I did something bad and I need to know how to fix it." His eyes darted from left to right more nervous than when he had entered.
"I've most likely seen worse," she stated, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes.
LeeAnne's head filled with violence and flesh and anger, usually it stopped and things calmed when people got used to feeling her in their head, but awefulness never left, the agression and hatred and death. It made her sick, so sick.
She barely lasted a minute in his head, snapping her eyes open and bounding from her chair, as the bile rose in her throat, but when she had reached the the door it became smooth and blended with the wall. She vomited on the floor and collapsed onto the floor.
Evan rose from his seat and eyed her cautiously. "I know how this looks," he pleaded, stepping nearer at a slow pace.
"Just let me explain."
| 2020-02-05T16:52:14
| 2020-02-05T16:36:07
| 79
| 40
|
[WP] You create a micro-nation as a bit of fun and jokingly write a letter to the UN claiming your independence. A week later, you receive a letter back stating that all UN members recognize your sovereignty.
|
"Holy shit" I uttered aloud, nearly choking on my toast.
My roommate Eustace hollered at me from the living room, "dude, what up?"
I brought the letter in with me and sat down on the couch opposite of Eustace, making sure to avoid the busted spring in the middle of the right cushion.
"The UN actually wrote me back dude, and...it seems like uhh..." I kept trying to decipher the jargon to be sure that I wasn't reading it in the same way that I read my college textbooks. "It seems like it worked?"
Eustace paused his game and turned towards me, clearly shaking off the morning daze he was still in.
"Wait, what? They actually said we can be a country?" he asked.
"Well a micro-nation but yeah, it seems like it..." I half-muttered while I scanned the letter further. I hadn't expected to even get confirmation that my letter had been received by the UN, much less it being reviewed and voted upon. Our now internationally recognized, sovereign micro-nation was a forty-five square foot plot of land located in an uncleared field by the woods behind my parent's house.
My grandfather had originally owned the land and decided to will it to me after a twenty minute conversation we had back when I was fourteen about how he had planned to build a bunker under it to protect himself from government brain control waves. He had never gotten around to it and eventually grew too old. I was too young to pretend that I was interested in government brain control waves and instead just told him that I thought bunkers were pretty cool. He had apparently caught some heavy flak from everyone else in the family over this bunker idea, so to hear someone actually voice a level of support must have been a pleasant enough surprise to warrant him granting it to me in his will.
Cut to eight years later where I'm talking to my roommate Eustace about ridiculous state laws that nobody knows about anymore. Eustace is salty about one from Alaska that forbids citizens from entering a bar while already drunk. He had been up there working in a fish factory over the summer and decided to pregame before walking to the bar down the street. He was reportedly "not very drunk at all" but got stopped by an officer anyways, an encounter he described as "mega bullshit".
I had read online sometime earlier about micro-nations and thought they were just the funniest thing, a topic ripe for a joke about how I would allow Eustace to pregame as hard as he wanted if I was the ruler of a micro-nation. After an ok chuckle, Eustace pulled an inquisitive look across his face.
"Dude, didn't you say you own like some patch of dirt out behind your folks' place?"
I hadn't thought about it much since my grandpa passed a few months prior, the land was about as hype as it sounds.
"Oh shit yeah, I kind of forgot about that." I jumped on his train of thought immediately and could barely keep myself from laughing as I asked him how funny it would be if we sent a letter to the UN declaring my plot of land as a sovereign nation. As it turns out, it would be just funny enough for him and I to do exactly that.
We described ourselves as "The Constitutional Monarchy of Crungary", named after my dog Crungar. Our government was structured so that I would be the supreme ruler over the nation with free reign to do as I pleased, so long as it was in accordance with our nation's constitution, which only had one article in it that read "just don't be a dick".
Our military consisted of Eustace armed with a pellet gun he borrowed from his brother Prentice. Our flag's design was furiously debated over for a good hour before I eventually had to employ my monarchical power and make it the image of my dog Crungar chasing his tail. Eustace later sued the state for what he claimed was unconstitutional behavior from the ruling establishment but the presiding judge at the time, me, ruled in opposition, issuing the official statement "fuck you Eustace, it's a good flag".
The downfall of our great nation came when a couple of teenagers found it while traipsing through the woods. Eustace and I were out of the country at the time on international vacation to the United States, visiting our apartment. The foreign invading force decided to break the stick I had tied our t-shirt flag to and kick over my lawn chair throne. When Eustace and I returned home, we both decided we didn't really want to find a new stick for the flag so I dissolved the Constitutional Monarchy of Crungary and we both immigrated back into the United States.
|
Jack was a Funny Guy.
These "Funny Guys" are a breed that is paradoxically rare and common all at the same time. Every friend group, social circle, or general gathering has one - but only one. Never will there be two Funny Guys at the same gathering. No one will know (or know *well,* at least) two of these Funny Guys. And so to a 127 people, Jack was the only Funny Guy they knew. He was a rarity, an oddity, a delight. He'd make stupid outlandish jokes that would fall flat if you made them, people would edge away from you. But when Jack made them, oh they laughed, no they *roared* with laughter. No one noticed his hair was a shade too long, the circles under his eyes a bit too dark, the laugh a bit too forced. Such things were to be expected after all, you have to know.
He was a Funny Guy.
And so it was that a meaningless gathering he proudly announced his petition to the U.N. how he wanted to make his apartment complex a country. We'd all laughed of course. That was Jack for you - he always had new jokes. Get tired of listening to him making fun of other people? Or sick of hearing the same tired old innuendos? Well just before you had enough, the son of a gun had done it! A new joke. And so you laughed.
"What a Funny Guy!" you'd say, wiping tears from your eyes. Then you'd leave the party or bar or wherever you were to distract yourself from Life, high as a kite or as drunk as a sailor, and promptly forget all about that Funny little Guy.
And then he's there at the next party. And of course he is. He's at every party. Who invites him? Who cares? Someone must've. And everybody knew him of course. He couldn't walk down a hallway at the party without someone hollering a greeting or nodding at him, or shooting him a grin. But no one *talked* to the Funny Guy. They spoke at him sure, but they never lingered.
And so it was alone that he climbed on top of a table had clinked a fork against his glass. Everybody turned to him immediately. "Shh," they'd said to each other, "the Funny Guy is talking."
"My apartment building," Jack said, "is officially a COUNTRYYYYY" he amplified his voice and stretched that last syllable. The whole hall broke into laughter and applause. More than half of them didn't even remember the joke, the fact that he'd mentioned the Country Application last week. Or was that two weeks ago? Half of them didn't get the joke but they laughed all the same, sure it was something *Funny.*
But the hall quiets as Jack speaks again, the center of everyone's attention, but really in the mind of none. "Well now that I have a country," he slurred, "I need some people to live in it!"
Laughter again, but a bit uneasy this time, and accompanied with some furtive whispers.
"People?"
"For his country?"
"He doesn't mean me does he?"
"I got a job, I got a country."
"I'm not drunk enough for this shit."
Jack tapped his spoon against his glass again. Silence fell, and while this time it wasn't absolute, Jack had more of their attention now than he ever had before. "So what say, friends? Would you like to become my countrymen?"
Silence. Absolute this time. It seemed like an eternity passed before someone dared shatter it.
"What will I have to do?" A brave voice asked from one of the corners of the hall. Before anyone could find the source of the voice however, Jack laughed. A booming, loud, Funny laugh. This made the crowd nervous, though only a few recognized that they were nervous. And even fewer recognized the source of the unease: it was the first time they had heard the Funny Guy laugh. Usually it was Everyone around him laughed, but this was the first time he had laughed. And no one around him was.
"Why nothing of course!" Jack proclaimed, "Drink, laugh, live, die, just do whatever the hell you were doing before, just do it as my countrymen! Do I hear an aye?!" he called out.
"Aye," said a handful. They hadn't even been listening really, they just followed Jack's tone of voice, not understanding, not getting.
Jack repeated himself, a too-wide smile on his face. "Do I hear an aye!?"
Those who'd said aye before had no choice but to say it again, and so did their friends. And their friends. And their friends. Funny, really. Soon the entire hall echoed "Aye" with no one really wanting to say it.
"And so your word is given," Jack said and laughed again.
Everyone laughed again, though this time even the unobservant could tell it was forced. Soon after, the people started to leave. A trickle at first, then in droves. They wanted to get away from this place, this somehow uneasy place. What was normally there refuge had been poisoned. It wasn't so Funny anymore.
A 127 people had gone to that party, not counting Jack. 113 had said "Aye," when Jack had asked. Either out of ignorance or foolishness, it didn't matter. Their words were given.
The 14 who hadn't said Aye went back to their lives. They didn't even realize for a while that there were barely any more invites, any more get togethers. And when they did, they just shrugged. It was Funny, they thought, how abruptly they'd stopped. And a part of them they tried not to knowledge, the part that had known something was deeply fundamentally wrong at that party, was glad.
It was only years later that the fourteen read the newspaper and found out about the cache as the apartment building. A number of bodies were discovered between the plaster walls of a particular apartment complex. 113 to be exact. A Mob dumping ground the media called it. A Mob had paid to build the apartment, and stashed the bodies. The fourteen who survived agreed - didn't dare disagree. They didn't disagree despite the Funny feeling they had...
And what was Funny was that the 113 bodies seemed to be wearing remarkably modern clothing, not from around the time the building was built at all.
Funny that.
***
(minor edits: grammar, spelling, rephrasing)
Never done anything like this before, not this dark, not in third person, not so abstract. Feedback is more than appreciated here. It strayed a bit from the prompt, but I used the prompt as a starting point (which is allowed). Regardless, I hope you all enjoyed this Funny little story.
If you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 2017-11-18T00:57:37
| 2017-11-17T23:03:04
| 3,985
| 772
|
[WP] You are homeless. Begging on the street one day a man comes up to you, hands you a briefcase, and says "There is 5 million in cash in here, have a good life"
|
"Wait, what? Why are you giving me this?" Was the first question out of my mouth. I was grateful, sure, but why me? Why 5 million pounds? What did I do to deserve it?
"So you can enjoy your life. Listen, friend. I have much more than this. I know of luxury and happiness. You? As I can see here, you're homeless. You likely don't know what the comfort of wealth is. You probably haven't experienced what it's like to be free to do what you want. That is what I am giving this to you for now." Replied the man.
He looked old, but respected. He had a very defined face, with a sharp look to him, but his soft gaze showing that he has seen his own share of hardship like myself. His hair was the same shade of a silver white like mine, but obviously was much cleaner and groomed, a stark contrast to my shaggy and dirty mane. He had small imperfections of his skin, wrinkles that could tell a thousand stories, a small scar above the upper lip. Barely noticeable, but holding its own secrets. Whoever this man was, he had seen both comfort and misery, and so I had to ask.
"Mister... You have a small scar on your face. Your face shows that you have been hurt, and you look like you've seen lots of hardship yourself. So what is it that makes you want to help me, someone who only knows pain and having to fight for rotten food? Someone who is worried they would freeze by morning, every night? Why me, when there are those that could make better use of this wonderful gift?"
"Hm... Because I have been hurt just like you. Not many would notice my scar. Even less ask why. And yet, here you are, doing both," he replied, somewhat relieved, "Very well. It's best I tell my story."
He then motioned for me to walk with him, as he would explain along the way. He told me how he had been homeless too, and had been through much more than what anyone would normally go through. He was homeless like myself, and it got to a point of having to break into people's homes to get food, to stealing from clothing stores just to have something to keep him from freezing. To the point where he had to start hunting the sewer rats just to have something to eat when he needed it. The disgusted faces of the people around us were ignored by this man however, and I understood the pain he was going through. I was the only one able to sympathise with him, because I had almost done the same.
He explained that he was saved in the same way as I, and wanted to help continue the cycle. With his business being very successful, he could make this money back easily, but that he always wanted to pass on his money to someone who needed it. Although I could use the money for anything, he advised me to use my money to re-educate myself, and to get myself basic accommodation. To start with a basic job and develop the needed skills to survive. From there I can focus more on my happiness as I would have the safety to do so.
If I did all this, and if the fates allowed, he told me that we would meet again, and we would be able to one day tell our tales once more. Then, he left, and although I chased after him, he was already gone and lost to the crowd that we walked through.
Whoever that man was, I will honour him and help out the next person that needs it, when I too am in a position of wealth and happiness.
^(*If you enjoyed that, be sure to check out my subreddit, r/MitsTriesWriting!*)
|
Have a good life he had said. The words rang loudly in my ears, causing a confused trance like state. Shaking my head to break it, I glanced down at the briefcase the man had thrust into my lap, then up to his retreating back, but it was gone.
Once more on the briefcase, my eyes slowly took in the exquisite leather body, the golden combination dials, and the large sturdy handle. I realised I was holding my breath. I honestly didn't think it would be true, but there was always a possibly right?
Popping the locks open on the first try, I slowly peeked inside, and instantly slammed it shut.
"That was a whole lotta hundreds" I said to no one.
Could I go to the bank with this? No. That's stupid. They'd claim I stole it. So that meant, I had to launder it.
Sitting there, on the cold sidewalk, clutching my new briefcase, I began to hatch a plan. What's the one profession where you can have large anonymous payments and no one bats an eye. An artist.
As an artist I could "sell" a painting for any amount. It was perfect. This could work! I felt myself getting excited. My life was going to change for the better. I was lost in a sea of bliss imaging surging my new found millions. That's probably why I didn't notice the man reappear.
"Hey kid, so it turns out the doctor mixed up my file, and it turns out I don't have cancer. Great news right?" He beamed. "So I'm gonna need the briefcase back".
I looked down at the briefcase once more clutching it tighter, then moved my eyes slowly up to his, just in time to see a fist fill my vision.
I woke up soon after, with the briefcase, and the man, gone. Well I guess there was nothing left to do but look on the bright side. Millionaire to homeless in less than a second? That's gotta be a new record.
| 2018-02-08T05:14:43
| 2018-02-08T04:59:25
| 40
| 14
|
[WP] You are dog. It is your mission to faithfully guard your poor, stupid, two-legged pack-mates from the horrors of the mailman, the dog next door, and men with hats. Describe your vigil.
|
"This is my human. There are many like him, but this one is mine."
They are everywhere. Why he ignores his peril is beyond me. His nose is dumb, but his eyes remain sharp; surely he must see them. Yet he does nothing, wandering the yard, oblivious.
"My human is my best friend. He is my life."
They attempted another incursion today. My brethren beyond the fence warned me of their approach. Good boys, all of them.
"My human, without me, is useless. Without my human, I am unfed."
They are quick, cagey. What they want, I don't know. What I *do* know is that they fear me. Thus, my vigil.
"So be it, until victory is ours, and there is no enemy, but treats!"
The squirrels shall never win.
|
The creatures with strange heads were back. The breeze carried their scent that smells of thick-beast, their brown and black varieties of heads seem like two creatures combined. Two scents. They are not natural, but the two-leg pack members never realize the danger. I do good by protecting two legs from strange-heads. Worst of all is the carrier two leg, the one with the funny bag. Today was the day he doesn't come. I lament my missed opportunity to please the two legs. Despite being oblivious, they always seem to have food.
| 2014-12-27T10:58:57
| 2014-12-27T09:41:24
| 36
| 19
|
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure
|
Looking in the mirror, I puffed my chest out arrogantly.
I flexed, and admired the aesthetics of my physique.
Vascular arms, the chiseled abs, and V taper.
And then my eyes stopped short, shocked.
I trembled as the realization dawned.
I've made a huge mistake.
How did this happen?
I skipped it.
Leg Day.
Again.
|
I remember what you said leaving the house that night.
We had fought earlier -- apparently I worried too much.
"I'll be fine," you said; "worry about yourself."
*Fine, but don't come crying to me.*
Later I heard about the accident.
Drunk driver on West Ave.
You still haven't recovered.
Ellie, I'm sorry.
I'm worried.
Please...
| 2015-01-05T22:38:49
| 2015-01-05T21:32:01
| 1,258
| 55
|
[WP] Every person has a tattoo only their soulmate can see. You see tattoos on everyone.
|
Yeah, I can see the tattoos. All the tattoos. Hell, I can see em through clothes! I thought I was weird or crazy. My mom just told me to ignore them and that it wasn't my business. Until that day in the grocery store.
Steve and Jenny. I still remember their names. I was 12. I saw the tattoos but this time it was special. It was the first time I saw two that MATCHED! I was a kid, I didn't know what it meant, just that it was special. I knew what to do even though I didn't understand. I mean, their tattoos were on their shoulder. How would they ever know they had the same tattoos if I didn't tell them.
Well, I just walked up to Jenny and took her hand. It was in the freezer section and her hand was pretty cold. I didn't say anything, I just kind of acted. She, strangely, didn't resist and just followed my lead. When I found Steve in the bread isle, things got really crazy.
I could feel the tattoos. Like two magnets pulling together. They couldn't feel it. Hell, nobody I have ever matched has felt it. Just me. Anyway, on that day, I learned the truth about myself. When I took Steve's hand, just intending to introduce them, it happened. The rush. Like the most intense orgasm you could ever experience. My body felt like it was going to explode. They even felt it, just not as intense but the connection was made. I explained their tattoos and in their euforia I knew they would be together forever.
That was the day it all clicked. February 14th. It didn't just signify my birthday. It signified that I was the earthly embodiment of Cupid himself.
|
Perhaps soulmate is too broad of a word.
When in the womb, modern humans are swirls of genetic matter and projections. We come nearly fully formed and planned into tombs designated for our fruition.
So they give us tattoos - probabilities, really. Specific percentages that designate how compatible we are with our fellow test tube babies.
And how desirable we are.
A test tube doesn't come with the chance of future genetic fuck ups, or with severe personality disorders. A test tube is always a safe choice, for partnership or childhood. They are always the best choice.
We can be identified by the small black numbers tattooed to our skin. The smaller the number, the better. And if it matches, a near perfect genetic offspring. To match with a test tube is to win the genetic lottery. They are the best parents, the best partners, and the best employees. They carry around their neck the perfection of humanity.
But my number matches with every person I can see.
I'm a freak, a fuck up, a mistake, an accident.
Someone who wants the best for all and cries at their misfortune.
A soulmate is a cliche.
Anyone in a genuine relationship can tell you the word is a fucking exaggeration. A perfect partner depends on the point of view of the person. What could be a total clusterfuck to one could be the perfect partner to another.
But I find my number engraved on the foreheads and wrists of every human I come across.
As artificial as I may come, this bond bears the sanctity of nature, the holiness of the bond of my fellow man. I do not seek the flesh out of lust, but for the sake of healing.
Those that bear my number are cursed with afflictions that only I can heal.
Though I may be a doctor, I can help and heal so much. What may be seen as a curse or gift by others, I see as an obligation.
Let there be light.
And yes, I can see.
I'll help all I can, with this perfect brain designed in a laboratory. Perhaps to save those that couldn't be designed.
I find all of it irrelevant.
I will save whomever I can.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/storiesfromapotato
| 2017-11-13T03:54:33
| 2017-11-12T23:40:19
| 55
| 24
|
[WP] The gatekeeper between hell and heaven sees many applications daily to transfer from the former into the latter. Today, for the first time, he saw someone wanting to go the other way.
|
"Listen here old man. Let me go to hell," said the man before the gatekeeper.
"And why would I do that?"
"My brother is down there. I'm going to get him out."
He looked down at the man before him. He'd led quite the life. Had been to many places, both on the Earth, higher up, lower, and in between. He knew the brother too. If anything, he felt the brother should have been sent down, not the man before him. The things he's done. So what if he was the chosen one? But, the order came from higher up, so he quietly complied.
"No. You're not going," said the gatekeeper.
"Come on man. It's my baby brother. He risked his life to make sure that millions of people on Earth wouldn't come flooding through your gates. He made sure the world didn't end. He *sacrificed* himself to make sure that people are still able to buy their Starbucks lattes and porno mags. He doesn't deserve to go to hell for that."
"Still not a good enough reason for me to let you enter Hell."
"Look, if anything I deserve to be in that pit, not him. I've done some nasty things in my life, things I'll never forgive myself for. But he's good. He doesn't deserve it!"
"You passed The Test, he didn't."
The man walked very close to the gatekeeper, and looked him in the eyes.
"If you don't let me go down there, then I'll be raising hell."
"That's cute."
"Try me."
The gatekeeper pondered for a moment. This man could most certainly cause quite some trouble. He knew things not many others did.
"Very well. You may proceed."
The man silently walked to the doorway that opened up beside the gatekeeper. The gatekeeper smiled to himself. Their bond was thicker than that of Cain and Abel. And besides, even if he did send him to hell, God would bring them back to Earth anyway. To keep doing what they do.
Saving people, hunting things. The family business.
The man turned around.
"Oh yeah, I'm bringing Cas too."
"The angel?!"
"Gonna need all the help I can get to save Sammy."
The gatekeeper wordlessly summoned Castiel. And with that, Dean entered Hell, not for the first time, with an angel by his side.
-------------------------------------------
Feedback welcome! :D
|
The gatekeeper looked at me, a faint hint of amusement mixed in the confusion his multiple faces displayed.
"I sift through applications after applications for transfer, all of them apologetic dissidents, some sincere, some foolish but all of them trying to escape hell and enter heaven." The middle face said, while the face on his right kept going through paper after paper and the one on his left stared at the my application. "But never has there been anyone who asked to the opposite, this is the first time isn't it Henry?" The middle face looked at the left face who replied, "Right you are Frank, this would be the very first time."
"Interesting. Interesting, pull up his file."
All of a sudden, I was surrounded by indecipherable symbols and graphs and charts appeared beside me. I stood in front of the three faced guardian of the gate as Frank seemingly manipulated the symbols to provide him with what I could only assume as different information regarding my life. Without any discernable effort, my hologram changed from me as a baby until my inevitable death at the hands of a drunk driver. Frank gently settled on one of his fists, his brows furrowed, seemingly deep in thought as he scanned through my life multiple times.
"Adam Richards, male, single, died at the young age of 23. Good son. Good brother. Stayed out of trouble for most of your life. Three relationships, one of them a short fling, shortly after your last relationship."
Jenny, I thought. Her radiant smile and warm hugs were always a welcome repose from the loneliness and depression that followed my relationship with Alice's wake. She wasn't Alice, not by a long shot. But human touch becomes something you crave after being denied for so long.
"Maybe he could go to hell for that?" Henry asked out loud.
"True. True. Hell is always big on adulterers." He whispered as the images beside me seemingly dissolved after his steely gaze focused on me. "May I ask why you would like to transfer to Hell and live eternity without God's presence and grace?"
"Based on current circumstances."
"And what circumstances would that be?"
"Alice's recent admission to heaven."
"You dare compare God's infinite grace to a mortal's?" The right face interjected, her face marked with fury. "How dare you!"
"Quit being so melodramatic, everyone here has dealt with heartbreak. Yours is not as special as you would think it is." Henry said in a mocking tone, "How pathetic."
"You don't understand. This is hell to me. I can't pretend feeling fine or okay everytime I see her. I can't just smile everytime she kisses him. It's killing me inside."
"You would rather suffer the flames of hell rather than spend eternity in Heaven?"
"If you would let me, yes."
"You do not understand what you are asking for child."
"I find more peace without her than with her. Please. This is torture. You must let me."
"Mmm. This has turned out to be a real dilemma."
"Just make him stay here, he'll get over it."
"Or grant his wish and let his torture be his regret." She says in a cold and dismissive tone.
"Please."
"Open the gates. I leave the choice to you child, do what you will. You would be foolish to stray away from the presence of God but it is foolish as well to not be true to yourself."
I stared beyond the open gates,heard the distant cries for help and forgiveness, smelled the faint odor of burning rubber, and saw my salvation.
__________________________________________________________
Thanks for reading, I'm trying to get back to writing again after such a long break, please let me know if you have any comments or criticisms, or what you thought of it.
Much love and appreciation.
| 2016-09-29T00:05:19
| 2016-09-28T23:10:04
| 19
| 11
|
[WP] the apocalypse has come and gone, and civilization has started to rebuild itself. you are an archeologist investigating a local legend in a land once called Florida. down at a sacred cape, legend has it that mankind rode dragons into the sky to live in. the stars and promised to return one day
|
We reached the Sacred Cape in the evening. Sun was setting down, so we decided to set up camp and wait until morning. This place looked nice, warm and fresh air, flat swamps everywhere you look and total darkness, far away from lights of towns and villages, allowing us to see all stars on the sky. And stars... that is the reason why I decided to go here. There are many legends from the times before The Corona, like stories about inhabited land over the Eastern Sea, strange yellow people living on ice plains in the north and long wall going through the desert on the south. But none of them was as exciting as the legend of Elon's dragons from Florida.
We were sitting around the bonfire, eating alligator we caught earlier, and talking. My group was guided by Dragon Guards, ancient cult protecting the Sacred Cape and last dragon sleeping there from intruders. But strangely, they decided to let us in, and even guided us to the dragon. Their small group of solders was even led by their highest priest, Elon CXII.
"Your excellence," I asked him, "this lands are sacred and restricted. Why you decided to allow us passage here?"
The priest took a bite from alligator leg and looked towards the stars while chewing. Then he looked at me.
"The legend is passed down from generation to generation, and even written in our sacred texts," he started, "it says that when The Corona came and started to swallow whole humanity, man named Elon made an army of white dragons, which carried humans to the red planet in the stars, engulfed in flames and with sound of thousand thunders. The legend also says prophecy about the man with locket. Man with locket, who will come from distant land of California to wake up the one remaining dragon and send it to our children, to let them know we survived and to bring them back here."
Then he pointed at me and smiled. Pointed on the golden locket hanging from my neck. I found it few years ago, while digging up ancient city in a place that was indeed named California. It all came to me. This visit will be far more interesting than I expected.
Next day, we continued deeper into the Sacred Cape. More and more ruins of buildings indicated that we are getting closer to the dragon. The priest led us into one building that looked nicer and better maintained than buildings around us. We walked up by stairs and entered large room. There were strange glass tables all around us and gigantic window in the front. And behind the window, in the distance...
There was it. The white dragon. I expected it to look different; it was tall, pointed on the top and shining white.
"It's beautiful," I quietly mumbled.
"We come here often," the priest standing next to me spoke, "we clean and maintain both the dragon and it's lair. The sacred texts tell us how to do it."
I stepped forward and looked around the room. But my eyes caught something. Small dent on one of the glass tables. Dent in the exact shape of...
I quickly took the golden locket from my neck. Looked on dent on the table, hesitated for a moment and pushed it in. Nothing happened for a few seconds... and then light. Light everywhere. All glass tables lighted up and showed strange writings and pictures. And some mysterious woman voice spoke from all sides around me.
'All systems active. Protocol Daedalus loaded up and ready'
"Yes. It's here," the priest screamed, "the prophecy have been fulfilled! Now it's time to read the final passage of sacred texts!"
He stepped to me, put his hands in the air and together with his solders screamed in unison: "Engage protocol Daedalus. Confirmation code 7-7-5-alpha-tango."
'Code confirmed. Protocol Daedalus engaged. 20 seconds to launch'
'Fifteen'
'Ten... nine... eight... seven... six... five... main engine start... three... two... one... lift-off'
The ground below me have shaken. The dragon in the distance roared louder than thunderstorm and pushed flames and smoke all around him. And then he took off.
'Tower cleared'
It flew slowly at first, but as it was getting higher and higher, it became only small dot of light in the distance.
"Fly, dragon, fly," the priest calmly spoke, "bring children of Earth back home."
|
"So why'd you drag us down to this backwater swamp?" Colette asked, with a slight eye roll. Though, I couldn't blame her for being apprehensive. After all, we were ankles deep in a swamp with nothing but soggy greens and murky water around for miles.
"We're here to do what we always do, uncover the past and see what we can learn." She gave an exaggerated nod and continued, "Yes Barnett, I know our job description. But what could we ever learn from this muck? What outlandish tip are we following now?"
"Well Colette, we're because local legend suggest says that some of mankind rode on dragons into the sky to live in and escape the impending disaster. Supposedly, they planned to return one day."
Her immediate laughter was an expected response. The duration of it, however, was not expected.
"Lemme catch my breath a bit, before I.." Colette attempted to talk between her fits of laughter, all the while slinging mud around as he stomped off her energy. "Phew. Okay, so we're here chasing dragons, then?"
"No. However, if you come to your senses, I'm sure you're well aware that myth is often based in truth. In this case, we believe this legend originates from the time of spaceflight and that this land was once used as some type of launching center for space vehicles."
"You really believe that we were once capable of spaceflight, Barnett? Look, I know that before the Last War, our technology far surpassed anything we've had since then. But spaceflight? And here in the backwater land of Cape Cannibal of all places?"
I laughed to myself hearing that name. She was right, locals did call this place Cape Cannibal. No one was really sure why though, considering that there was no verified reports of cannibalism in any of the local inhabitants. Perhaps it was a misconstruction of its original name. I knew I had been mentally digress for too long, judging by the scowl from Colette.
"You see, the sea levels were once much lower than they are today. This area used to be less swampy and more beachy. It's likely that any remnants of the launch center are deep underwater and barely recognizable as human constructions."
"Well then, I have to ask you again. Why did you drag us down to this backwater swamp? Especially if there's nothing here for us to find?"
I smiled and looked up towards the sky. "The lesser known part of that local legend is the return of the dragons. It says that in the days leading up to it, they will encircle the sky with flame, spiraling out in all directions, to signal their imminent return."
I followed Colette's gaze as she looked up. Just barely visible against the twilight sky, a small ring of fire was hovering in the sky. Her eyes widened as her hands clasped over her mouth.
"The locals have been seeing this for about a week now. I think we're on to the discovery of our careers..."
| 2020-03-11T08:28:29
| 2020-03-11T07:47:50
| 575
| 96
|
[WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence.
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected!
|
She was blonde yesterday.
Blondness is a rare trait in this city. Sure, every now and then, you'll run into someone with locks of wheaty gold, but brown was the shade of this town. Even I had browned last year. I tugged at my dark curls, a reminder of that glorious night during which my blonde was taken in a bout of rough, passionate browning.
She was different. With all the brown that went on in town, she never quite felt it necessary. She got her kicks in things that only made her more blonde. Springy curls of sunlight bounced off her head and everyone could tell that she was blonde by choice.
I searched for her in the hallways this morning, seeking out the yellow glow that was always so easy to spot. Instead, I found a different glow. There she was, brown springs bouncing in the wind, a smile on a face that shone as bright as her hair once did.
In that moment, we all knew that she was brown by choice.
|
A hundred strokes every night before bed. This was my hair routine every day. I was thirteen and one of the few remaining people in my school year with their hair still blonde. Though I was teased about it, a small piece of me was happy about it as the thought of losing the blondness scared me.
Dad was out on a business trip and I missed by bedtime story which he told me every night. I know it was childish but I couldn't sleep without it. I figured mom was good to do the job so I went across the hallway to mother's room.
There she sat on the floor. The floor with shards of a broken bottle. One hand with one of the shards of glass and the other hand being coloured red from the blood oozing from her wrist.
She looked at me with her panda eyes and mumbled my name. She grabbed my hair when I ran to her. Then she fell to the floor. My hair turned chocolate.
| 2014-05-10T20:17:29
| 2014-05-10T20:15:23
| 18
| 12
|
[WP] The villain was sentenced 350 years in prison for the atrocious crimes he committed; 349 years later he has not aged a bit, the guards and people start to get nervous...
|
Needless to say, this man was pretty good at not dying.
It was a nightmare for guards to be assigned a post anywhere near him. Why? Almost 3 centuries later, this man shouldn’t have any tricks up his sleeve. If he did, he would have tried them a long time ago, right? Well you never know. He never really tried to escape—whether he doesn’t want to get recaptured and go back to square one, or he is actually incapable of doing that, it appears he chose to play the waiting game for as long as the bars could hold him in.
In spite of widespread news coverage and media attention, it wasn’t clear to the public what was going on in the facility that accommodates his cell. It may be a deliberate act by the government, or maybe there really *is* nothing going on. It’s hard to believe that scientists wouldn’t be studying him, though.
For once, the titles were not clickbait. This man isn’t dying, nobody knows why, it’s been 349 years, and people are getting worried.
Until the last few years, they were used to his presence. He has seen 6 generations pass him by, and 3.5 centuries is a *long* time. A lot has changed, and humanity has much more to worry about than a harmless, supposedly immortal, man in prison. Having outlived the officers that arrested him, the judge that sentenced him, and the very hands that threw him in prison to start with, the facility was eventually cleared of all prisoners aside from him. That was about 90 years into his sentence, when his lack of aging was just hitting public awareness. Nobody knew his age back then, and the 45 they gave was just an estimate; which, seeing how he is now, is likely far from accurate.
Now, however: they are concerned because he’s less than a year away from completing his sentence. In a country without capital punishment, having assaulted and killed several people in a most dreadful manner, it was thought that such a sentence was synonymous with life in prison. But only a few months separate him from proving that wrong.
It would be rather suspicious if he randomly died before that, wouldn’t it? They didn’t seem to care. Having him walk about freely is clearly not a good idea, so if the law can’t do anything stop him now, maybe poison (also known as “natural causes”) will.
Will it though?
Nope.
It’s too late now. The news is out, and people are calling this act immoral and unlawful. He was given a sentence and he served it. Let him go. It’s not entirely absurd for them to bring up human rights, but they don’t realize... we might be wrong about the species.
Under rising pressure, he was released.
This man is up to no good.
The laws are being revised, and we can only hope he only does enough to draw a case that seals his record for good.
|
“Fatalo, how have you survived this long?”
“What do you mean? I am Immortal.”
“Oh right, I guess someone would have killed you by now.”
“I’m immortal and have an atrociously good healing factor. What did you expect?”
“You to die.”
“That’s stupid.”
“You do realize that the “immortal” and “everlasting” Bright-man is mortal right? He died hundreds of years ago.”
“Yeah I heard. Who are the new heroes? They any good?”
“ well there’s the Infernal Knight he has fire based powers and is-“
“Generic next”
“Ok we’ll there’s the Magenta Storm and-“
“The magenta storm? That has to be the dumbest name I’ve ever heard”
“Well those are the only big active heroes in America after president Welles made vigilantism illegal.”
| 2022-09-03T00:48:08
| 2022-09-02T21:29:15
| 52
| 12
|
[WP] Last names are assigned at birth by an oracle, and 90% of people find themselves in a related profession. For instance "Miller" or "Baker." Your last name, "World-Ender," has made life rather difficult.
|
Finally after years of waiting I no longer was just my father and mother’s son. It was time for me to take my profession, as decided by my genetic traits. There were several of us in line, I was next. Sweat dripped from my face as I waited praying I wasn’t given the last name of fisher, or even worse a Kellog. Fishing and butchery paid the least out of all the professions, and besides that wasn’t my dream anyway. I wanted to be a spaceman, that is, travel the stars, but anything would be better than butchering animals, or plucking them from the sea. But most of all I wanted to travel, I wanted to leave my home, and space was the furthest I could get.
My parents had dreams for me as well. They both wanted me to be assigned a more profitable last name, such as goldsmith or a mender. I had neither the urge nor the skill to be either of these, I didn’t especially like fine handicrafts nor was I good around blood. My father and mother just wanted me to have a better life than the one they had. While we aren’t poor we weren’t wealthy either, my father being a brewer, and my mother being a spicer. It was a hard life for them but we never went hungry.
Finally, at last it was my turn. I stepped up to the machine and it latched a thick metal ring around my neck. I felt as though I was suffocating, but I wasn't. It was just tight. The machine started to whirl as it processed me. A million thoughts ran through my head as the machine grabbed my arms. “Please, please no fisher” I said to myself as the machine tightened it’s grasp on my arms. I then felt a slight burn on my arm as my last name finally appeared… “World-Ender”...
Thoughts race through my head, World-Ender? What kind of last name is that! That can’t be a profession! World-Enders, don’t make anything. As these thoughts quickly race through my head and a guard notices the machine has not yet let me go. She sees the last name assigned and gasps, quickly she places a black bag over my head and orders everyone else in line to leave the room and to go back to the waiting area. I had no idea what was waiting for me next.
|
"Welcome to the gang, kid" he said, pointing to a group of men, aged from about 15-30, rugged and outcast.
​
I was recently orphaned. I took my mom's life at birth, and my dad despised me for me it. So much, in fact, that he named me 'Marcus World-Ender', for that is what I had done to him. I dont have many memories of him. Just that he used to work a few odd jobs here and there. Finally one day he decided to off himself. Leaving me behind. A 12 year old.
​
I did what i could to survive. Mostly rummaging through garbage near bakeries and savories shops. I usually sleep at bus stands, but with the new anti-homeless spike seats thats become a problem. Last night i was just trying to crash in the alley by the Starbucks, when I saw a man in a white suit getting mugged at gun point. I froze at the corner, and watched as the suited man handed over his wallet and phone and walked away from there. The mugger noticed me and walked to me.
"Whatchu doing here kid? Where're your parents?"
"They're dead, sir. I swear i wont talk. Just let me go. Please."
"You eat anything?" he asks as he rummages through his pockets. I nod sideways. Pulls out a snack bar and offers me. "Come along kid. No need to be afraid. We'll take care of you. Im Joseph Muggs. What's your name?". "Marcus World-Ender". "Oooh! You'll fit right in kid"
​
And that brings us to now. At the outskirts of the city, in a run down building which possibly was a motel a few years ago. Joseph signals to the group, and a few of them come over. "Guys, this is Marcus World-Ender. And I'd like for him to be part of the group now."
He then begins to introduce me to a few of them. "This is Murdering Mike, thats Stealing Steve. This big fella here is Crimes Johnson." I was curious but was still a bit apprehensive about being here.
​
We huddled up against a dumpster fire, with some other teenager fetching us some, soup? i think. I was sitting next to Crimes Johnson. Deciding to break the ice, I said "Crimes Johnson uh? What crimes do you do?". He just chuckled and said "Me? I think i just made a bad tweet once. Eat up kid". I took one sip of the soup and spit it out. "What is this?".
​
"We gotta make do with what we find. And usually that means anything Chungus Hunter can catch. I guess he found nothing but bats today"
| 2021-06-19T23:37:11
| 2021-06-19T22:09:46
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] A fencing master is challenged to a duel by king's heir. The master is clearly superior in skill; however, the law states that anyone who injures or offends the royal blood will be executed. Now he has to orchestrate his own defeat and make it seem "honorable" for everyone involved.
|
The prince attacks in six; I parry, and wait. He hesitates, then attacks again, and I parry once more. He attacks again, I circle and parry into four; the prince sweeps back to six, too quickly, opening himself up, allowing me to make a flick against his near shoulder.
The prince flushes. "I'm going to kill you, old man." Whether he says it for me, or the crowd of courtiers who watch, I don't know.
"You already have, sir." I respond. A different kind of parry.
The prince smiles, an evil smile, or an attempt at one. He is a curse on this kingdom. Spoiled, power-hungry. He wants to be king, and now that his older brother is dead, he will be, one day.
He feints in six, lunges in eight. I parry, his riposte is sloppy, so I beat the base of my blade against his, forcing his sword to drop from his hand. He blushes again.
"Pick that up!" He shouts.
I dutifully retrieve the sword, and hand it to the prince. I glance over at the king, who watches with glazed eyes. I could run the prince through, and he wouldn't care. Wouldn't notice. Next to him, the queen, glares at me.
The Prince launches a fleche, and I have an eternity to respond. I could kill the prince, right here, right now. He challenged me to this farcical duel, me, the King's Duelmaster. He knows if I harm him in the least, I face execution. He expects me to fear death, to let him win, beg for his mercy, ask him to spare my life.
A different kind of dueling, then. Just as his sword is no match for mine, my own blood is no match for his. In swordplay one must train to be a capable fighter. In the politics of the throne, one needs merely to be born.
What else can I do? I will give the prince my fear, my humility. For the good of the kingdom, maybe, or because with my every victory by hand, in sport or in war, I take less and less pride in my abilities. The sword is no longer a joy to me, ceased to be long ago.
The prince carries his weight too far forward, and while he may fly like an arrow, he will plummet like a stone. I take a half step back, flail at making a parry, and fall, letting the prince soar over me. And soar he does, landing badly on one foot, his momentum carrying him forward, another step, until he crashes into a wall. He does not get up.
"Edgar?" The king says. His dead son's name. "Edgar?" He shouts, and runs over to the boy.
I crawl to my feet. Look around. People are attending to the king, the son, or murmuring among themselves. The queen is staring at me, but I can't tell if it's a grin or a grimace on her face. Then she nods, once. I retrieve my sword and leave.
|
The boy was terrible at fencing. No balance, no finesse, no grace and certainly no heart. *Strike boy, stirke.* His shoulders rise and descend, his breathing growing heavy. *Too early boy, fight boy fight.*
Aggression is a must. Offense is the best defense. But he won't strike me, he thinks I'm too dangerous. He's fighting to not lose instead of to win. A grave mistake. Verywell. I must draw him out. Only one way to do that. I must show him my neck.
I lunge forward, facilitating a slide. To sell it I have to slide for real. My ankles twist, I can feel the sting shot up my leg. Damn age. I regain my positioning but I see the glint in his eye. He thinks he has an oppertunity. He thinks the truth.
He lunges foward, aggression screaming, but there's no finesse. He's wasting too much energy. The strikes take too long to reach me. My sword propels forward, matching his speed. The only way to make someone swing faster, is through swinging a tiny bit faster, forcing them to increase a bit, then some more, and then some more, untill they fight at the expected pace.
*Jetez une grenouille dans l'eau bouillante et elle sautera. Jetez une grenouille dans de l'eau calme et augmentez légèrement le feu et elle bouillira à mort. T*hrow a frog into boiling water, and it will jump out. Throw a frog into calm water and raise the heat slightly and it will boil to death.
*Great boy great!* The heart has come, the finnesse has come, but he is too easily knocked about. I must teach him balance.
Sight is only profound from the lack of it. Music is only great in chaos. Freedom is only great in slavery. And, balance is only gained in the face of no balance.
I change my pace, parrying and getting too close. I push him with the helt of my sword and he stumbled two steps backwards. But I am not done! I jump forward, and I push, again, and then again. I follow him, pushing him untill rage shows on his face. Finally, he pushes back.
*Voila.* Well done prince. Finally, we must learn grace, for without grace, we are nothing but brutes. Grace is control prince. You must calm down, and think. I parry away his sword, step close again, this time I feel he won't stumble as easily, but that's not my goal. The hilt of my sword smashes into his temple.
His mind shakes, and he takes a few steps backwards. I stand still, sword in hand. The crowd's silent, everyones focus is on the fight. Let's finish this prince. Let's show them true fencing!
*Combattre!*
The world is on his shoulders, his future is on the line, his pride, his honour. He strikes and strikes faster than I thought he could. I feint, but he see's through it. I slash, but he steps too close. He's using my own tactic against me. He pushes me. He lunges forwad. *But you have made a mistake, you have stumbled!* I slash forward. *Mordiblue! It was a feint.* He was ready, he steps to the right, and I feel the cold blade pierce my heart.
"Thank you," I spit out blood, "you have made me proud, my king."
| 2021-10-15T12:19:04
| 2021-10-15T08:22:08
| 187
| 80
|
[WP] As you die, the simulation ends. It turns out that "life" as you knew it was a rite of passage for youth, and determines what type of job you will do for the rest of your days. The simulation overseer walks in and hands you your results.
|
It's a droll life, observing the Simulations. Each morning I arrive at my city's Simulation Station promptly at 5:00 AM, coffee in hand, to check the vitals of each of the subjects, relieve the new night observer, Samuel, and read any notes he left, then take my station to observe the five subjects to whom I'm assigned. This morning, one of the containment modules was emptied. I headed to the observation room to chat with Samuel. Samuel looked as if he'd seen a ghost.
"My God, Immanuel killed Charlene."
As I said, Samuel was new. Fresh out of the Simulations, he was assigned, as was I centuries ago, to the role of Placements. As much as the role was touted by the world community to be a great honor, the fact of the matter was I spent most of my time watching the same stories of happiness, sadness, hope, doubt, anger, and love pan out in the short 70-ish year span of the Simulation. People did the same shit over and over, wash, rinse, send them in their placements, and repeat with a new batch of adolescents.
"Did he?" I responded, weakly feigning interest. Perhaps the coffee wasn't having quite as much of an effect as I'd hoped. Samuel noticed.
"Why is this not more exciting to you? Up until now, Immanuel had been a solid student at the University of Washington, had a wonderful relationship with one of the Sim-girls, and was on track to be placed in something wonderful like engineering or–"
"Samuel. Charlene was sleeping with his Sim-girlfriend. Shit happens. He'll have a lot of time to prove himself in prison or wherever the hell they send him. I'll continue to watch how the resulting trial pans out. As far as Charlene: we need to get her results printed and handed to her. We agree on space-tech engineering?"
"I'm still not sure. She was a wonderful cellist in her Simulation." Samuel wasn't wrong. Even I almost felt something at her music–but of course, that proved my case.
"Yes, she was," I said, printing out the results, "but that creative energy will be essential in overcoming our current interplanetary limitations." I took a sip of my coffee. Samuel was unimpressed, but he was also the junior Placements Officer, so it didn't matter.
"Ok," he mumbled. Begrudgingly, he grabbed the results from the printer, and walked to the debriefing room. As he opened the door, his demeanor immediately changed to professional and perky. He was placed here for a reason.
As Samuel helped Charlene to acclimate to the real world, I glanced at Immanuel's screen. Running from the police, stressing, fearful, full of regrets. At this point in my life, it is beyond me how much they care about everything.
|
I couldn't feel anything.
Not like a numbness. It was as if I had no body.
My memories were a mess.
It wasn't like I'd forgotten anything. It was just that the order was wrong.
I started thinking.
I remembered University, countless discussions about life, philosophy, perfection, and something else.
I remembered many friends, love, and drugs.
I remember travelling, nothing to my name but my clothes and a small satchel.
I remembered a hundred countries, a thousand cities, a million people.
I remembered a funeral, dull grey rain mingling with my burning hot tears.
I remembered regret, and a promise to find something.
I remembered a big house, the wallpaper peeling, the carpets threadbare.
I remembered there was always a warm smile there.
I remembered white walls, a clinical smell filling my nose.
I remembered looking out the window, and seeing it once more.
I remembered my failure, my time wasted before and taken after.
I remember making a promise to find it, even if it took my whole life.
I remembered leaving, the old house wasn't home anymore.
I remembered the couple who looked so excited for their new home.
For a little while that was all I remembered.
I pieced it together, thinking of home and family, of distances travelled and places seen, I thought of the life I'd lived.
Then I remembered the most important thing.
On an icy mountain, high above the treetops, higher than the clouds, I found a flower.
It was a common flower, no greater than a dandelion. Yet this impossible flower, growing on the top of this mountain was the single beauty I'd searched for.
When the last was remembered I heard a voice within me
**Arise my Angel, there is wonder for you yet**
| 2016-09-10T19:23:24
| 2016-09-10T18:23:30
| 37
| 19
|
[WP] You are trapped in a small, windowless room with nothing but a computer with a text editor. When you type in a word, the object appears in the room. However, there's a catch: the only keys on the keyboard are in the first half of the alphabet (A - M).
|
The computer boots up easily enough to a black screen with a little blinking cursor.
*h*, *e*, *l*- but there's no *p*. No letters after M, no numbers or special characters. Just the first half of the alphabet, backspace, enter, and a load of blank keys.
I use those two.
*Ask and you shall receive*.
I already know that's not true. Escape, information, foresight, knowledge, even trivia; all are closed to me. I could make a hole, but I don't know what's outside.
Something smaller, then.
*ball*
A small red rubber ball bounces into existence in the centre of the room. I have no feelings either way about the colour red, but bouncing rubber balls is fun.
I pick it up and bounce it, thinking. Food next, maybe, but I'll have to be more specific...
I put the ball aside.
*egg*
A single egg, still in its shell. I crack it hard on the floor- and egg white splatters out. I can't clean this.
I pick up the ball again. After a few more rounds of bouncing, I think of something.
*mead*
A mug of honey-coloured liquid appears next to me. I take a sip; it's sweeter than I thought.
But I can't survive on this.
Is that their goal?
Maybe I can try to mount a rescue attempt...
*fame*
ERROR: FORBIDDEN INPUT
Something different! But is there a blanket ban on abstract concepts, or do my captor or captors not want to be discovered?
I can't let them get too suspicious.
*bed*
I half expect an empty bed frame to appear, but the one that materialises next to the left wall of the room comes complete with a pillow, mattress and blanket. Good, there's no way I could've asked for those.
The computer isn't plugged into anything, even though it's a desktop, so I take it with me.
It's comfortable, but not enough to hide reality.
There are things I could get besides mead, but I'd get thirsty fast. No air without making a hole and exposing myself to the unknown. Eventually the oxygen will run out.
Please let this work, it said "forbidden", not "invalid"...
*life*
*Timer extended. Length: 24 hours.*
I breathe a sigh of relief, but that doesn't last long. Does this mean I won't die? Or was that a separate countdown?
*blade*
A penknife blade (with no handle) appears in my hand. I put it to my throat.
Nothing happens. That isn't too surprising.
It's not what I'm testing, anyway.
I move the blade to my arm and slice. Blood oozes out, but I'm already typing.
*heal*
For a moment I think nothing's happened, but then I realise the twinge from the cut is gone. When I wipe the blood away on my clothes, my skin is smooth and unmarked.
The computer beeps.
*Tier 1 unlocked.*
A grinding noise fills the whole room, and a door I had no way of seeing before starts to open.
|
Feeling clever I start to type
*Click*
K
*Click*
E
but there is no letter Y
I cannot type "keyboard"
I think a bit
*Click*
C
*Click*
A
*Click*
B
*Click*
L
*Click*
E
*Click*
Enter
A standard USB cable falls to the floor, I guess I needed to specify "Phone cable" but I have no letter P, I can't plug in my phone to use it as a keyboard.
I search the desktop to see if there's any letters I'd be able to copy, or as it calls it the "dek" all the letters that weren't on the keyboard were omitted, I find the "calcla" (calculator) the application may have been renamed but it still had the same contents, now I have numbers. I feel even more clever and open my phone to an askii to hex table and go back to the text document.
*Click**Click*
6B
*Click*
*Click*
65
*Click*
*Click*
79
*Click*
*Click*
62
*Click*
*Click*
6F
*Click*
*Click*
61
*Click*
*Click*
72
*Click*
*Click*
64
*Click*
Enter
A stream of numbers and letters falls on me as it didn't work, and it a fit of rage I typed out a single word.
*Click*
*Click*
*Click*
DIE
*Click*
Enter
| 2017-05-09T08:54:37
| 2017-05-09T07:44:45
| 252
| 143
|
[WP] You're a financial advisor. In 1994, you get a weird phone call from a man asking you if he can get any Bitcoin below $200k, and the call cuts off before you can ask him what Bitcoin was. Years later you get a call again from the same man, claiming he's calling back seconds after disconnection.
|
I must confess, when the bitcoin hit $15k I was tempted to sell. I had bought a ton of them the moment they first appeared, guided by an odd call I had received decades ago. For people like me, who care little about those slow-earning stocks, and love the adrenaline a good bet on a highly volatile company provides, every little hint of information, no matter how ridicule, was enough for me to spend all my savings.
The green numbers were my drug, and the red ones my motivation to invest more. Diversification they said, and I laughed at them when $MU sky-rocketed, and I bathed in tendies.
But I'm straying away. You see, if I sold bitcoin when it reached $15k I would've been set for life, but one does not simply ignore a call from someone telling you that he wanted to get bitcoin below $200k. That's a sort of legal insider information, despite how unreliable it was.
Of course, as you may know, the bitcoin plummeted, and new cryptocurrencies rose. I won't lie, I panicked back then, and almost sold at $5k, but I forbid myself to do such a stupid thing. I knew it was going to rise, and it was going to rise like nothing the market had ever seen before.
And then it hit $1k, and the ramen noodles were starting to make me sick. Still I waited, tear after tear, thinking about the amount of money I had lost, and how the people in the online forums called me names, and paid their respects with the letter F.
But then it happened. It rose slowly but steadily. The moment I saw this, I bought at $2K, and kept it. When it reached $15k again, my mind screamed to sell and stop the stress. But the stress is what made me feel alive, and so I held onto my bitcoins.
Two years later, it hit $199k, and the phone rang again.
"Hey man, this phone disconnected or something. Can I buy below $200k?"
I frowned. This was the man from the call from all those decades ago. The call that started it all. "What do you mean the phone disconnected? It's been 30 years since we spoke."
The man laughed. "Yeah sure, that coffee you are *drinking* must be quite strong. Now, can we talk business, please?"
Confused, but interested, I played his game. Perhaps he would accidentally give me the key to make another fortune. "You can buy for sure below $200k. It's at $198k right now. But do you think it will keep rising?"
"Keep rising? Absolutely not. It will hit $205k and then plummet to cents. I just want to buy, hold, and sell when it reaches $204k."
"I see. Well, I can make the operation for you. I just need your data."
There was no answer. Once again, the phone had disconnected.
Without a doubt, when it hit $204k I sold, and secured a fortune that would last for centuries. I became the richest man in the world, and became an angel investor, losing fortunes in start-ups that went nowhere.
But as thing goes, a young man approached me one day and pitched his invention. It was a telephone he claimed could communicate with the past. Everyone rejected him, for he had no proof that it worked, and when you used it you lost connection after a handful of seconds.
I bought every patent and license the man had. He scampered happily away with his money, and I, as a good businessman, reserved the technology just for me.
I grabbed the phone, and dialed a very old number.
"Hello, can I buy bitcoin below $200k?"
----------------------
r/NoahElowyn
|
“I’d like to buy shares of bitcoin” a mumbled voice says over the phone.
Having had this conversation several times over the phone with clients the past year or so I think to myself who is it this time.
“ may I ask who’s calling?”
The voice on the other end of the phone says “does it matter? I need to buy in now”
I pause and stare blankly at my Factset monitor and ever growing list of unread emails in Outlook”
“Sir, firm policy dictates I can only give advice to existing clients and to some extent prospects, but that generally only covers assets available on our platform, currently our asset schema covers the asset classes equities, fixed income, cash, and alternatives but crypto currencies haven’t made it though compliance. Many clients like yourself have shown interest and there has been a lot of discussion of crypto currencies the past few years, but our firm has often compared it to Tulipmania which took place in Holland back in February 1637...that said you could probably buy it on a platform like coin base or a number of exchanges”
On the other end of the phone the voice screams “God damn mothafucka I traveled back in time just to deal with this bullshit..click”
My eyes gloss over at my computer onto more compliance for the next 9 hours.
| 2019-04-07T06:39:11
| 2019-04-07T06:32:18
| 5,588
| 11
|
[WP] The first astronauts on Mars find a crash site with the skelatized bodies of humans in futuristic space suits. A floppy disk is clenched in the hands of one of the deceased crew.
|
We found two bodies on the surface of the planet. They looked like they had been dead for at least twenty years, their mummified faces the only visible part through their transparent helmet visors. At first we thought they were an old Soviet mission gone awry, but the Russians assured us their records said nothing about a manned mission to Mars. Plus, with a botched planetary landing, wouldn't there be debris, a crater, something? Their suits didn't look like anything we'd ever encountered, either. They looked like ours, just, different. Thinner, more flexible. No markings, no names. One of them held some sort of suitcase in his hands, welded shut. The only thing our austronauts could tell for sure it was the strangest thing they had ever encountered - and these were our top crew, specifically selected for this mission because of their intellect, resourcefulness and imagination. We knew there was nothing we could do on Mars, it had taken the combined effort of the Western nations to get a small lander with three astronauts to this planet, nothing could have prepared us for this situation.
For months there was a fierce debate between politicians, scientists, religious leaders and everyone in between. Finally, a decision was made. The bodies were to be extracted from Mars and taken to Earth for close examination.
We were baffled. C14 analysis suggested they were minus 200 years old. Their suits were made of a synthetic compound fabric that was physically and chemically impossible to produce. But we were baffled most by the single content of the metal suitcase. A floppy disc. A technology largely abandoned since the turn of the century. It took us longer to find a machine that could read the disc than it took us to read its message.
WE PRAY OUR CALCULATIONS ARE CORRECT AND WE ARRIVE IN WASHINGTON D.C. ON AUGUST 1ST 1996. DO NOT SET FOOT ON MARS. IT WILL BE THE END OF HUMANITY.
|
I individually pulled back the gloved fingers from their literal death-grip on the strange square object, freeing it at last from the decades long grasp.
"What's it say?" piped Walter over the headset.
"Doom: Disk 2 of 4"
"Doom? As in...what, like, fate...judgement...end times?" replied Walter.
"No idea" I said as I turned the item over and around in my hands. I looked plastic, with some sort of metal decoration embedded in it.
"Any ideas what it might be? Seemed awful important to this one."
"No clue. But it's shaped like a save icon. Maybe it's a totem, or a representation of some sort." I replied as I turned to face my EVA companion.
The weak sunshine glistened as it reflected from his face-mask, dappled sunlight this far into the solar system still retained it's beauty. If not it's warmth.
"So like a religious or cultural object maybe? Something they used in ritual. Maybe as a charm, thinking it could help save them?" he opined.
"Yeah, makes sense I guess. Grab the thing you think will offer you protection from...whatever it was that killed them. Superstition was rife back in the old days. Believed in some pretty laughable stuff. Guess it wasn't enough to save them in the end. Not a nice way to learn the forces or gods you relied on weren't real. Eh Walt? Eh? Not like that *clearly* superior Plutism eh?" I ribbed, poking fun at my colleagues early days in that science-cult that was more mysticism than anything else.
"You always bring that up. I was a baby then, wasn't even 30 when I left that life. Stop. Brining. That. Fucking. Cult. Up! It's been 80 years you shit." was the terse reply.
"Easy Walt, I was just joking. Let's get a visi-image of the place here & let the Central-Hub know we've found the original landing site. They'll want to get the archaeologists out here. Not much survives from the 2100's, at least there's not much in the museums from then. This will be like gold-dust to them."
"Old stuff gives me the creeps. Especially when it's inhabited by fucking skeletons. Move out of the way Laura and I'll set the Visi-sonar up to do it's work" Walter said, easing me out of the way of the deploying equipment.
Turning the object over and over in my hands I seemed lost in it's inscription. Disk 2 of 4. iD Software. What does it all mean? Hopefully the archaeologists can decipher it and let us know. Get a glimpse into these poor primitives lives & maybe their deaths out here in the solar system, so far from their homes.
| 2014-11-27T02:53:51
| 2014-11-27T02:03:40
| 128
| 62
|
[WP] The real reason why the villain is doing evil is because he/she has a crush on the hero and this is the only way to see him/her
|
“You fiend!” cried the heroine. “How could you do this?”
I let out a practiced maniacal cackle and nodded at her through the bars.
“When the people need you the most, you manage to stumble into my little trap!”
I paced back and forth watching the frustrated heroine stomp her feet and ball her hands into fists. Ah, she was a real beauty. The way her cheeks bloomed and her eyes shot lightning. If I could only keep her in this cage forever – that was actually a good idea. I took out my *Notepad of Evil Schemes and Other Stuff* and jotted it down for the future.
“Think of the children!”
“Oh yes, the poor sweet innocent children,” I said, faking a frown. “Aren’t you going to stop me?”
“Let me out, and I’ll make sure you never hurt anyone ever again!”
“Does that ever work?”
Her scowl grew darker. She grabbed the bars. An electrical discharge threw her backward onto the floor. She groaned and massaged her palms.
“Careful,” I said and wagged my finger. “That’s actual electricity.”
“I noticed…” she mumbled and sat up.
I watched her as she tried to stand again. Her legs were wobbly, and she staggered to one knee.
“What are you waiting for?”
“Oh, nothing. I’m just enjoying the moment.”
I looked out the window. The bus was still dangling from a massive crane. I was running out of time. I needed to let it down before someone actually got hurt.
“I was wondering,” I said. “What if things were different?”
“What do you mean?” she said, narrowing her eyes.
“You know what… nevermind!”
“No, tell me.”
“I rather not, it’s quite embarrassing. Besides, I have a busload of people to finish!”
She stood up again. It was her turn to smile. “You like me.”
“I… I most certainly do not! I am Darkness, the villain that took care of ALL the other villains! I am fear, and I am–”
“Hold up! Did you just say you took care of all the other villains?”
“Uh, no. I mean, I uh… I took care of them, as in, helped them when they were sick… yes, that’s right – apart from my career in villainy I’m also a certified nurse!”
“Aw, I was wondering why you were the only villain left. Now I get it; you took care of them so you’d get more time with me!”¨
“I have no idea what you’re talking about…”
“We’ve fought each other over a hundred times during the last few years. And no one innocent has ever been hurt.”
“That’s because you’re a jubilantly good heroine!”
“No, that’s because you’re letting me win. And did you just say *jubilantly*?”
She was the one locked inside the electric cage, but I was the one feeling trapped. I scolded myself for engaging her in conversation. I knew I should’ve just stuck to my monologue and then hit the button to release her.
“I always receive anonymous love letters calling me jubilantly good,” she continued and winked. “I guess I know who they’re from now!”
“That electric shock must’ve short-circuited something inside your little head. You’re clearly delirious. If you were any good at all, you wouldn’t have fallen into my trap.”
She laughed and slid through the bars with ease. “I just wanted to confirm you were my secret admirer. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have a busload of people to save.”
She flew out through the window, leaving me dazed. This didn’t at all turn out like I had planned. She looked back at me with her cape flapping behind her.
“If you bring a bottle of wine and candles to your next evil ploy, we can make it a proper date.”
*****
Oh, and if you liked it... there's this place called /r/Lilwa_Dexel, and it has a special button that you can click on. Yep. All I'm going to say.
EDIT:
Thanks for gilding this.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/65malm/tsun_tsun_dere_dere_part_2/) is now up. Hope you like it!
|
For the 32nd time in the last ten minutes, Mr. Courageous checked his phone. No notifications. He tossed it onto the wing of the Courage Jet. "Alphonse!"
Alphonse's kindly withered head appeared at the top of the basement stairs. "Sir?"
"Any calls?"
"No, sir."
"Mail?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Has Julie been by?"
"I have not seen Ms. Nightingale since your birthday bash last month."
Mr. Courageous crossed his arms. He tapped his toe.
"Will that be all, sir?"
Mr. Courageous' phone buzzed. "Yes, Alphonse, thank you!" Mr. Courageous ran to catch the phone before it fell of the wing. He had a notification from the Mayor's App. He took a second to swallow his disappointment, then checked the message:
**The schoolchildren of Pearson elementary have been encased in goo!**
"Alphonse! Cancel my plans this evening!"
Alphonse reappeared at the top of the stairs. "You don't have any plans, sir."
"Don't I?" Mr. Courageous stepped into the suit engine. The door sealed shut, steam hissed, and a dozen mechanical arms rushed into action. Three seconds later, he stepped out encased in his trademark bright red combat suit. "What about that gala for the city's underprivileged?"
"Cancelled, sir. And it was next week."
Mr. Courageous hopped into the Courage Jet's cockpit. "Alright, well let me know if anyone calls. Or sends mail. Or comes by to visit." He flicked switches, engines thrummed, and the ramjets beneath the Jet's wheels wound up.
"Have you considered calling her yourself?" Alphonse said.
Mr. Courageous' finger hovered over the launch button. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "But let me know if anyone calls!"
He hit the button and was catapulted through the secret gate into the city's skyscape.
*****
Five minutes later, the jet hovered down to the playground at Pearson elementary. The vertical auxiliary engines powered off, and Mr. Courageous vaulted out of the cockpit.
Dotting the playground were greenish-gray, semi-translucent mounds. Mr. Courageous inspected one. Within, a young boy rested with his eyes closed. A tiny smile played across the boy's lips.
Mr. Courageous touched the mound at the boy's shoulder level. His glove sank into the goo to a depth of an inch, then stopped making progress. What's more, he couldn't pull the glove back out. He grabbed the wrist of his stuck hand and heaved with all his weight, but managed only to pull his hand out of the glove. He stumbled backward and narrowly avoided falling into another mound.
"Who would do this?" he said.
A peal of laughter rang across the playground. "It is I! GOO GAL!" A hunk of goo detached itself from the school wall and slithered over. Once it got close, it rose up, solidified, and assumed the shape of woman. She wore clothing -- a hoodie and jeans -- made out of deep green goo. Due to the goo's transparency, Mr. Courageous couldn't make out her face.
"Release the children, Goo Gal!" Mr. Courageous said.
"Never!" A throne of goo materialized under Goo Gal and lifted her into the air. "This is the only way for me to assume my rightful place."
"So be it." Mr. Courageous tapped his wrist panel, activating his combat suit. Powerlines cross-hatched his torso. The rocket boosters attached to his feet fired and he flew at Goo Gal. She opened her arms as though to hug him. His momentum knocked her off her throne and the two of them fell to ground.
Goo completely encased his battle suit. Where it touched his powerlines and boosters, it hissed and evaporated.
Goo Gal said, "Deal with this!" The goo surged forward, pushed into his rocket boosters and deactivated them. It leeched the energy from his powerlines.
Mr. Courageous couldn't move. The only part of him left ungooed was his gloveless hand.
It was then that he noticed that Goo Gal was gasping for breath underneath him.
"Oh my god, you're heavy," she said.
"That's the combat suit," he said.
"Sure it is." She huffed and puffed. "You're stuck."
"So are you."
"Now what?"
Mr. Courageous bent his hand toward his wrist panel. "Why did you attack these children?"
"I told you. It's the only way to get what I want."
"There's got to be an easier way."
Goo Gal turned her face to the side. "Sometimes the easy way is actually harder."
His fingers hovered over the emergency eject button. "Sometimes you have to admit that you're lying to yourself."
Goo Gal's breathing became high-pitched and thin. "Mark, I can't breathe."
"How do you know my name?"
"I can't breathe," Goo Gal gasped.
"Let me help you." Mr. Courageous tapped the eject button. His suit split into segments, and, wearing the slim inner skeleton, he flew up and away and landed on the far side of his jet.
By the time he got back to where they'd fought, Goo Gal was gone.
*****
*more below*
| 2017-04-15T10:09:35
| 2017-04-15T09:48:16
| 2,679
| 328
|
[WP] The Terran diplomat screamed with mind-numbing intensity: "DEEPEST APOLOGIES BUT AS YOU CAN TELL, HUMANS DO NOT HAVE THE ABILITY TO MODULATE OUR PSYCHIC VOICES. IT WOULD BE BEST TO REENABLE PSI SHIELDING AND STICK TO MACHINE TRANSLATION."
|
"DEEPEST APOLOGIES, BUT AS YOU CAN TELL, HUMANS DO NOT HAVE THE ABILITY TO MODULATE OUR PSYCHIC VOICES. IT WOULD BE BEST TO REENABLE PSI SHIELDING AND STICK TO MACHINE TRANSLATION."
Joruk worked his feelers back and forth in a gesture meant to be considerate. "I understand your concerns, Diplomat Karen Nguyen, but we have to ensure communications are straightforward, clear, and sincere. The best way to do that is to stay connected to the mind-link here in the PSI-Chamber."
Karen squared her shoulders. "I AM SERIOUS ABOUT THE PSI SHIELDING. THERE HAVE BEEN MANY THAT HAVE TRIED TO COMMUNICATE WITH US VIA PSYCHIC CHANNELS. BUT EVEN THOSE RACES THAT HAVE BEEN ABLE TO DEAL WITH THE STRAIN HAVE NOT BEEN ABLE TO DEAL WITH THE SECONDARY PROBLEMS. DANGEROUS ONES. MACHINE TRANSLATION WILL BYPASS THOSE DANGERS."
mBok-To loomed over the proceedings. "While you are loud, little one, I can handle this shouting. Most of this meeting will not need your input, as you are here solely to give us additional perspective before we make a decision about your planet. The mind-link will be needed to ensure you are fully truthful when you testify. Your race has been known to use deception and subterfuge before."
Karen shook her head and shrugged. "IT'S YOUR FUNERAL. THE EARTH PROTECTORATE ABSOLVES ANY RESPONSIBILITY FOR WHAT WILL HAPPEN."
With a short burst of energy, Txvolvu brought everyone to attention. "This gathering of the Alliance of Worlds will now come to order. Today, we will make the final decision as to what to do with the newest space-faring race to arrive: Humans. So far, there have been many..."
*...never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never...*
"...many, uhm, many arguments in favor of letting them remain unincorporated, but far more that have..."
*...never gonna give, never gonna give...*
"...uh, that have been in favor of WHAT IS THAT?"
"SORRY, THAT WOULD BE ME. THIS IS WHAT I WARNED YOU ABOUT"
Txvolvu stiffened. "Is that...supposed to be music?"
*What is love...baby don't hurt me...don't hurt me...no more*
"YES. OUR SPECIES HAS A COMMON PHENOMENA HAPPEN TO US. WE GET MUSIC STUCK IN OUR HEADS."
mBok-To shuddered. "Can you please not do that? It's...it's painful to listen to."
"IT'S COMPLETELY INVOLUNTARY. THE ONLY WAY WE CAN MANAGE TO GET THE MUSIC OUT OF OUR HEADS IS TO PUT ANOTHER SONG, A WORSE SONG IN IT. LIKE THIS."
*I love you, you love me, we're a happy fam...*
Phenderi clawed at her face until it was bleeding. "By the stars above, make it stop!"
Txvolvu slammed the silver sphere he'd been holding on the podium. "My associates, we can weather through this. We'll just ask the..."
*Gee, I hope you love me too. I love...*
"...the questions of the witness and send them on. Diplomat Karen Nguyen, answer these questions and answer them quickly. How many human ships of your Earth Protectorate are currently spaceworthy?"
"LIKE HOW MANY WE HAVE IN THE FORCES, OR JUST THOSE THAT WORK WITH THE FORCE?"
"I want to hear all of them, including the ones that work with the Force."
"OH...OH NO...I'M SO SORRY ABOUT THIS."
*some of those that work forces...are the same that burn crosses*
A tension built in the room.
"Wait, is this a worse one?"
*Some of those that work forces...Are the same that burn crosses*
"LOOK, YOU'LL WANT TO TURN THAT SHIELD ON NOW"
*SOME of those that work FORCES...ARE the same that burn CROSSES*
"We will not be intimidated into breaking protocols that have stood...for decades..."
*SOME OF THOSE THAT WORK FORCES...ARE THE SAME THAT BURN CROSSES!*
*HUH!*
And at that, the congregation collapsed to the floor. All of them writhing in pain and agony. Psychic noise scattered amongst them, disrupting their own thought patterns. Some let out audible screams.
And Karen Nguyen, now standing above them all, calmly walked over to Txvolvu's console.
*KILLING IN THE NAME OF...*
She reached over the edge of the console, and with a few button presses, she enabled the Psi-Shield.
Slowly, everyone started getting back up, most of them cradling what they considered their heads. Txvolvu seemed to recover fastest, and was now leaning against the console. But his eye stalks were all glaring at the human. Karen simply shrugged helplessly. And without a word, Txvolvu pointed her out the door.
-----------------------
Later, on the E.P. SUN TZU...
Captain Browder poured a glass of brandy and handed it to Diplomat Nguyen. "I gotta say, that was a ballsy move you people at the Diplomatic Corps came up with. We were just about to throw in the towel because of how much more firepower they had. I mean, I love the human race, but we're just getting started on real space travel, and these bastards have literally centuries of a head start on us. If they came at us full force, we wouldn't stand a chance."
Karen smiled. "Well, we had the advantage that our thought patterns seem almost painful to them, especially some of our music. It actually took months of surreptitious testing to find out what affected them the worst. I was picked because of my...affinity for Rage Against The Machine."
Browder grinned in return. "Well, you at least bought us the time we needed. We know they're almost certainly going to come for us, and your bluffing about the Psi-screens gave us the chance to lie through our teeth through the translator machines. They probably won't make a move against the fleet until it's too late, and by then, our colony ships will be long gone."
Karen's glass dipped down and she sighed. "It still hurts. I don't want to leave the Earth, but I know in my heart they'll exterminate us. If for no reason than to never get 'It's a Small World' stuck in their mind-link."
The Captain brought up his glass with a wistful sigh. "Well, then, here's to the poison of human thought. Cheers."
|
The five beings, as best as they could be described, were positioned around a stone pillar, where Ambassador Dorian Ashwander stood. They flickered, seeming to pass in and out of existence, or at least the observable dimension he belonged to. The way light passed through them when they were visible reminded him of ghosts he imagined as a kid. They were the five members of the Uurlean Council, and he represented all of humanity.
One of the members appeared to focus on him. A feeling like a cold splash of water consumed his mind. *Your suggestion is well taken, Ambassador,* spoke a smooth voice. It welled up from within him, from the place of his inner monologue, the place of supposed privacy and imagination. *We will deliberate your request.*
*THANK YOU FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION,* he thought to himself, and the five beings began a silent discourse.
He felt his sense of self had been breached, that an intruder had gotten inside of him and taken control, or worse had taken a look around. But he fought against the fear. He knew the psychic communication was merely an unpracticed ability, a weak muscle in the human mind that needed training before it was fully mastered. Nothing that could be accomplished in one human's lifespan, at least not now. But perhaps over time, and with extensive improvements to the organic body, humanity could incorporate the ability into its pallet.
Suddenly, the beings vanished, and Dorian felt alone. The stone pillar had little room to move, or else he risked dropping into a dark abyss. The platform he had walked across had disappeared the moment his foot left, held together by the psychic energy of the Uurleans.
He arched his back. It had grown sore from standing still without him noticing. It was a relief to feel something physical after the initial psychic introductions by the Council.
Another physical sensation caught his attention. A metallic moaning of something coming from above, growing louder and deeper until it appeared before him. An ancient speaker, about the size of his fist and covered in what appeared to be a greenish rust, presented itself before him. For a moment, all the moaning had stopped, and it was silent once more. But just for a moment.
"Is this the proper frequency?" asked a tinny voice which squeaked out of the speaker.
"Yes, I can hear you now," Dorian replied. He fought the urge to lean closer, as the speaker hung just beyond reach above the abyss.
"Oh, good. Fifth time is the spell, as you Terrans say, no? I thought we recorded this last time, Fremlin. Make sure to memorize this arrangement."
"Righto," said another voice through the speaker. While appearing to be a different accent, it, too, lacked a deeper tone and sounded a bit muffled.
"Again, Ambassador Ashwander, thank you for joining us this time-moment. This is Councilor Nyslor speaking again. This translator, as you know, requires us to use our psi-shields and thus interact with your dimensions through a different manner, and causes our forms to disappear from your visual capabilities. So I do apologize for our invisible appearance. Please do not feel too lonely."
Dorian tried not to look anywhere but the speaker itself. He could almost feel the gravity tugging him over the edge.
"I appreciate your accommodations. It speaks well of the Uurlean beings and hopefully brings comfort to your minds as I speak."
"It's quieter, for one," said Fremlin, followed by strained laughter. Dorian struggled to keep track of the different tones through the small speaker.
"Let's get on with it," said another voice.
"Yes, let's," said Nyslor. "Proceed with your comments, Ambassador."
Dorian cleared his throat. This was it.
"I understand with your psi-shields enabled you have limited time, so I will make my presentation brief. It has come to our attention that the Uurlean Vapor fleet has settled uncomfortably close to our homeworld, Earth, and has refused our many pleas to relocate or remedy the psychic disturbance. The proximity has caused incalculable damage to us, primarily in mental health. When approached by our Director of Foreign Relations, the Admiral simply tells us to stop yelling so much and enjoy the view."
"Just to be clear," interjected one of the voices, "this certainly the Vapor fleet, led by Admiral Voldu?"
"I believe so, Counselor."
The speaker was quiet for an uncomfortable period. Then, like a splash of scalding water erupting in his mind, another voice spoke in the space of his inner monologue.
*You shall tell Earth to endure the Vapor fleet quietly,*
A glimpse of orange appeared before him, even as the speaker translated Uurlean shouts.
"Where did you go, Fremlin?"
"Get back on this side of the shield!"
The burning sensation continued in Dorian's mind, bringing him to his knees.
*or else return to your homeworld to witness its destruction.*
The mirage faded, and Nyslor's tinny voice spoke through the speaker spoke once more.
"Ambassador Ashwander, I am deeply sorry for my colleague's behavior. You can surely discount whatever he may have told you. We assure you we will do all we can to release your people from our unintended interruption. Please return to your home and find it in peace."
Dorian could only nod, and crawled out from the stone pillar across the platform which had appeared beside him. The fire coursed from his head through the rivers of neurons in his body. But it wasn't long after he left the dangers of the abyss before he could manage to get up and sprint to his shuttle.
He had to tell the Director immediately that he had found Voldu's link to the Council. The plan had worked.
Edit: [part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/grvcqt/wp_the_terran_diplomat_screamed_with_mindnumbing/fs268th) is below
Edit 2: I've posted both parts in my sub /r/ReverendRamboWrites . I cant write anymore right now, but if I'm able to continue the story, that's where new parts will be!
| 2020-05-27T22:16:14
| 2020-05-27T18:58:12
| 1,415
| 410
|
[WP] Write the happiest story you can think of and completely destroy the atmosphere with a plot twist in the final sentence.
|
Almost every weekday is the same. I wake up and get ready for work, then I get the kids and wife out of bed and make sure everyone has breakfast and is ready for the day. I make sure to pack the kids’ lunch and tell them to brush their teeth and comb their hair. Adeline always protests, but she’s at that age where everything I say is followed by a question.
From the time I was young, I always pictured myself living an idyllic life as an American family man. In my visions of the future the sun was always shining, my wife was as beautiful as a picture, and my two children were equally so, getting their looks from their mother of course. When I was finally old enough, I found the woman of my dreams and made that vision a reality.
Some people dream of money, others fame, but all I ever really wanted was to have a family of my own.
I kiss my wife on the cheek and my two children on the forehead as I grab my jacket to head to work.
Just before I step out the door, I take a deep breath, smelling the morning air, then turn to them, smiling.
“I’ll be back before you know it. I love you all.”
From her seat at the table, pulling against the ropes around her wrists, my wife says “please, just let us go.”
Perhaps I’ll get a new family tomorrow.
r/DoverHawk
|
"My two kids are in the back seat. Donny and Kate. Donny is 11, loves all the comic book hero movies. Kate is 8 and idolizes Donny. Whatever he likes, she likes. You would think Donny would get annoyed by his younger sister tagging along and getting into everything he is doing, but he loves it. He involves her with every play time session, if he has Captain America, you bet your ass she has Iron Man.
This day we are going to a theme park. You know, one of those 6 flags, Valleyfair type of deals. They might not be able to ride all of the big rides, but with a parent they allow it. Besides, Young Squire Don is tall enough for most rides now. Crazy how tall he already is!
Rollercoasters, water park, dipping dots, and time seems to fly. We got the picture for the Mighty Mouse ride. Kate is clutched to my arm looking terrified, but I love this picture.
But alas, time did fly, and now it is time to go. I knew it wouldn't go over well with them, but we can't stay forever right? I wish we could. I love seeing my children so happy.
Or, I did." I roll my chair across the front of the room. "I tell this story every time I am asked to talk to a class like this. You can do everything right, not have even a sip of beer, and alcohol can still take everything away. I tell this story to encourage others to be responsible... Please. Please don't be selfish..."
| 2017-05-25T07:41:44
| 2017-05-25T06:54:50
| 128
| 32
|
[WP] Most ghosts are vengeful about their deaths and obsessed with their unfinished business. This one seems at most mildly inconvenienced by both
|
“Mr. Weasley, the ghosts are not to be bothered.”
Ron jumped, Professor McGonagall was positively catlike even when she was still human. He hadn’t even heard her approach.
“Sorry Professor!” He said nervously, staring up at the old witch. She’d intimidated him since day one, and weeks later that still hadn’t worn off.
“The boy is no bother, Minerva.” The ghost said. The professor narrowed her eyes at Ron.
“See that it remains that way,” she said. Turning to the ghost McGonagall’s face lit up in the first smile Ron had ever seen from her, for a moment she almost looked grandmotherly. “Septimus,” she said to the ghost, inclining her head at him before walking away.
“Thank you sir!” Ron said, his voice barely a squeak. The ghost was a tall man, thin and willowy. His face was kind, and try as he looked Ron could see no mark of his death, although perhaps he was like Nick, waiting to reveal it at the moment most likely to make him sick.
“What’s your name child?” the ghost asked him.
“Ron Weasley!”
“Septimus Smallflower, at your service.” Septimus bowed at the waist, low to the ground, and as he did Ron could see bloodstains across the back of his robes. “You seem curious Mr. Weasley.”
Ron gulped down his nervousness, forcing himself to stare the ghost in the eyes. “The other students say you aren’t like the other ghosts.”
“I suppose I’m not. I’m certainly no Myrtle!” Ron looked at Septimus questioningly, the ghost merely shrugged. “Oh you’ll find out about her soon enough I’m sure. Do you have somewhere to be?” Ron shook his head. “Then walk with me boy, and ask whatever questions you need. I was a first year once myself, I know how it feels.”
Ron had a million questions, mostly about idiotic things his brothers had told him that he was already half sure were lies. He didn’t ask them though, he was heading right into a mystery, and at this rate he could be the first one back to the common room with the story of Septimus Smallflower.
“You don’t seem very, well…upset about anything.”
Septimus chuckled. He began floating towards the grounds, Ron trailing behind in his wake. “You mean my unfinished business? It's annoying of course, but I’m not very worried about it. In any event I could likely finish it if I put my mind to it. And don’t think to ask, some things aren’t for children. We all have our stories, even the dead. Especially the dead.”
“Then why stay?”
Septimus pointed ahead. They were approaching the grounds, in the distance Ron could hear shouting, the meaty thump of a bat hitting a ball. They were near the quidditch fields.
“Quidditch?” Ron asked, surprised. “You’re staying for quidditch? Then you should have haunted Chudley stadium mate, not Hogwarts!”
“You’ll see. There’s some things the Cannons don’t have.”
“Like wins!” Ron said. He was sad again thinking about their record this year.
Together the two of them stepped out into the bright afternoon sunlight. Septimus was so pale in it he’d become hard to see. They walked towards the stadium talking about classes, dormitories, how Ron was settling in. The ghost was his parents age it turned out, not nearly as ancient as Ron had expected.
“Sir,” he finally asked when Septimus took a seat in the stands. “Why are we here?”
“Because you wanted to know why I’m still at Hogwarts,” Septimus said, “and because I’m always here on Wednesdays.” Above them the Hufflepuff squad was practicing hard, the captain’s voice calling out drills and formations. As Ron looked up a young witch waved at them before turning back to dive after the snitch.
“She’s the best damned seeker in all of Hogwarts, I’d bet my last galleon on it,” Septimus said. Ron sat down beside him, watching as she pirouetted through the air. She was quick and her eye was excellent. Gryffindor would be in for a tough match with that one.
When she finally reached out and caught the practice snitch Septimus put a ghostly hand on Ron’s shoulder. He shivered at the chill.
“Aurelia Smallflower,” the ghost's voice swelled with pride. “That’s my daughter.”
\---------
r/TurningtoWords
|
“Take some shots of that.” Sandra pointed up at the rusty metal letters above the entrance of the abandoned asylum - *Rosemary Institution*. Brad the cameraman made sure it would come out extra dramatic; he employed dutch angles and dolly zooms in about every recording he made.
Sandra placed her hand against the ornate wooden door, and pushed. The echo of the creak from the door reverberated through the large atrium. She whistled, impressed by the setting. “Look at this,” she said to Brad. “Crazy that the guys from Ghost Hunters haven’t been here before.” She switched on her flashlight, and surveyed the room. It was a mess - crumbling walls, broken down benches and doors that were either missing or hanging half off their hinges. But she could see in her mind’s eye how it would have looked. The classic wood panelling and the decorated ceiling and floor were still somewhat visible, confirming that the place was not meant for your run-of-the-mill mental patient.
“This is great,” Brad agreed. “We’re doing a take here, then?”
“Yup, ready?” Sandra said, turning to Brad.
He nodded, and a small light in front of the camera turned red. Sandra reverted back to her low ‘on edge’ voice. “We’re inside the Rosemary Institution, one of the most haunted places in America. The rich and powerful sent their family members here for treatment… or to remove them in dynastic power plays…” She tip-toed towards one of the doors on the side of the room, Brad following closely behind. “This place has seen a lot of trauma - people being betrayed by their own family, and… at least one psyhiatrist has met his end here - *Slain,* by one of his patients…” She let the words linger for a moment. “Let’s see if we can communicate with the spirits of the institutionalized.”
The red light turned off, and Brad lowered the camera. “Spooky, I got goosebumps.”
Sandra reached inside her hip bag, and grabbed a sort of hand-held radio with dials. “It would be cool if we didn’t have to rely on post production for something spooky to actually happen for a change. Right, let’s find a good place to set this up,” she said, twirling the radio.
The duo moved through the corridor, hindered here and there by debris, until they passed a door which was miraculously unscathed - it still had a glass pane in with the room label pasted on. Sandra shone the light on it. “Wait… isn’t that the guy that was murdered?”
Brad read the label. “Alfred J. Baumhaus M.D. Ph.D… Holy shit, it is!”
“Jackpot,” Sandra said with a sly smile, and she opened the door. When they were both in, she closed it behind them.
Baumhaus’ office was almost untouched in comparison to the rest of the building. The only reminder of its years of abandonment were the layers of dust that had settled on the furniture. On one side of the room, a desk in front of a wall of bookcases, on the other side, a large leather sofa, and a wing chair pointed towards it.
Sandra set the radio device on the desk. “This almost looks like a set. We have to work with this place, the narrative is just too good,” she said, before flicking the device on. As she was turning some dials, she told Brad to take a wide angle shot from the other end of the room.
“Ready?” Sandra turned to Brad, who held his thumb up. She cleared her throat, and started talking into the device. “Doctor, are you available to speak to us?” - No response - “Doctor Baumhaus? Can you give us a sign?”
The device only emitted a low purr, it’s default sound whenever it couldn’t pick up anything. Sandra was thinking of something to say and felt her heart picking up pace. Something about the room made her almost believe in ghosts.
The camera came to the floor with a loud crash.
“Jesus, Brad! You almost gave me a heart attack,” Sandra yelled, spinning around.
Brad had his back firmly against the wall, and was pointing to the sofa with a trembling hand. “T-t-t-t… G-g-ghost…”
Sandra pointed a flashlight at Brad first, and saw how white he was. The camera lay in front of him - the side display had broken off. She swiveled the light to the sofa.
“Nothing… you really got spooked, didn’t you. Can we still use the cam?” Sandra asked, but Brad didn’t move, and kept pointing at the sofa.
“Brad?”
“I-I know w-what I-I saw. W-we need to g-go.” Brad scooped the camera off the floor and sprinted to the door. It didn’t open. He let out a scream and tried to ram the door with a shoulder, but it wouldn’t budge. He sagged to the floor in defeat, cradling the broken camera.
“You’re… not joking are you?” Sandra asked while slowly picking up the radio device. She tentatively approached the sofa, and placed the device on an end table next to it.
“Hello?”
The device started producing a loud, garbled static, before filtering out the background noise. The robotic voice in which the device usually responded - after some meddling by the producers - was unusually clear this time.
*Welcome.*
Sandra stumbled back, hand on her beating chest. “Uh, uuuh, who are you?”
*Alfred Baumhaus.*
“Are y-you on the sofa?”
*Yes.*
Sandra swallowed. This is going to be a bad idea. “Can you show yourself?”
*Yes.*
A shade flickered into existence, a three dimensional shadow of a person, lounging. The shade remained for a few seconds, before disappearing again. A few motes of dust fluttered up.
*Pardon. Low energy.*
Sandra flashed a gaze over her shoulder. Brad was staring at the scene, wide-eyed and mouth covered with both hands.
“Do you know you’re a ghost?” Sandra asked, looking back.
*Yes. Quite boring.*
"Why is it boring?” Sandra started to get into the role of interviewer of the supernatural. She’d been doing it for at least a hundred episodes - albeit fabricated.
*Lack of clients.*
“Were you killed by a client of yours?”
*Yes. Tobias Vanderbilt.*
Sandra thought about the string of unexplained deaths in the extravagantly wealthy Vanderbilt family. It was the topic of an earlier episode.
“How… did he do it?”
*Jung’s Anthologies. Bookcase.*
Sandra pointed the flashlight at the other side of the room, and noticed a gap in the bookcase, the only spot that didn't have a book in.
*Hits hard.* The device then erupted into an eerie robotic laughter.
“What do you want?”
It seemed the ghost was hesitating. *Please, sit, chair,* it eventually said.
Sandra wiped her hand across the seat of the wing chair, and sat down, her fascination winning it over her angst. Baumhaus flickered back into existence, and this time was able to stay in this incorporeal form. It looked like a new vigor had taken hold of him. The shade was a silhouette, sitting on the sofa with one leg crossed over the other. He leaned forwards, apparently with a thumb and index finger at his chin, and the other arm cupping his elbow.
*What troubles you?*
| 2021-03-08T06:14:53
| 2021-03-08T06:03:22
| 38
| 10
|
[WP] A race of mages has expanded across the stars to harvest mana by seeding worlds with life. They arrive at a new star then a bright glow envelopes them. What followed are metal obelisks with a humanoid yelling into the void: "That was your warning shot. We will not let you reach Earth."
|
In the aftermath of The Fall, a galactic empire found itself torn asunder from within. Countless millennia of unchecked growth and careless hedonism had warped the unbreakable and rotted it from the inside. When every conceivable problem had been solved by automation, when immortality was achieved and taken for granted, when obscene magics provided anything that could be desired, there the seeds of a downfall began to take root.
No foe could best their might, no want was out of their reach, no troubles were insurmountable. When life ceased to be a balanced struggle it began to warp for the empire. Insidious cults of pleasure began to grow, promising a worthwhile pursuit of existence in fulfilling each and every desire, no matter the cost. As every new high was reached, the Aeldari grew to crave more and more. Slowly these cults expanded across the stars, seizing power and infesting endless populations. Entire worlds devolved into mindlessly chasing ever-more potent ways to feed their insatiable lusts. Gleaming cities crumbled as their populations delved into depravity, into the unspeakably macabre lives that would consume their every intention in the name of chasing the next high.
So slow was this treacherous rot that the empire did not realize its mistakes until it was much too late. The echoes of the actions plaguing the galaxy began to culminate. In the shadows of the Warp every scream and every drop of blood spilled in the name of excess collected, grew, matured, and eventually awoke.
The Aeldari empire died not with a bang, nor a whimper, but with a shriek. In an instant the galaxy found itself rocked by the force of countless billions of Aeldari souls exploding into the void to the laughter of a newly born God. The epicenter of the corruption, the empire's birthplace and seat of power, collapsed in on itself and blossomed into a profane wound in the fabric of reality. Through the minds of every Aeldari across the great bounds of the galaxy, a clawed hand tore into the souls of the living and dragged them into an insatiable maw. A twisted, daemonic reflection of their ways had come to reap what had been sewn. A name rang through the galaxy with the tones of a race's death knell. Slaanesh.
That was nearly five thousand years ago. Despite the wholesale destruction of their empire, the Aeldari had managed to cling to life. The outcasts who had not succumbed to the pursuit of excess, who had left their homes aboard great Craftworld ships, were the sole survivors of the Fall. Each and every one forever burned with the memories of their race's decline and the guilt of knowing that they are all that remains. Some turned to lives of quiet contemplation, to the hopes of preserving what remained of their shattered culture. Others took shelter where they believed She Who Thirsts could not reach them and continued their hedonistic ways. Still others scoured the stars beyond the ruins of their empire, searching perhaps in vain for a way to restore their race's glory.
Aboard a scouting vessel exploring an arm to the galactic East is a conclave of such individuals. So much had been lost during the Fall that precious few records remained of what might be found on the outskirts of their empire. Tales were whispered of worlds on the far reaches of the galaxy where isolated planets had been seeded with life by Aeldari hands, and optimistic legends spoke of worlds where scattered remnants of Aeldari power might still remain. Most tellingly, whatever echoes of sentience that could be detected drew the wayward spacefairers most readily. This particular expedition had been set in place to track down what had only been described as a beacon of psychic energy in the void of interstellar space. A bright, shining light that cut through the darkness of the Warp and its chaotic storms.
No other race that the Aeldari had encountered could have produced such a beacon. The souls of those privileged to make pilgrimage to the source of this phenomenon soared with the hopes of reuniting with their long-lost brothers.
As the massive wraithbone vessel exited the pan-galactic tunnels of the webway, those attuned to the machinations of the Warp found themselves suddenly bombarded with the force of a psychic power unlike anything they had ever experienced. Although not entirely unknown, as in the deepest memories of their souls the Aeldari remembered a single instance where they had felt such incredible power washing over their minds. The craft navigators erupted into panic, their mouths flung wide and their eyes unable to close from the sheer force of the power flowing through them. A thousand racing minds flashed back to the death of their race and tried in vain to prepare themselves for obliteration. But as they tried to scream, no sound left their throats. At least none that had been intended.
The sounds conjured up the image of a being so vast in power that many of those with weaker or unprepared minds were evaporated by the glow of the golden figure. Throughout the great halls of the vessel and into every corridor and corner, a voice spoke directly into the minds of every individual aboard. It was in a language alien to them, one that they had never encountered, but they understood every word of it with chilling clarity.
#"The space you invade at this moment is yours no longer. We will not allow you bring the witchcraft that doomed your race to our home. *I will not allow it.* Consider this your first and only warning, Eldar. Stand aside or suffer the wrath of the rightful heirs to the galaxy. Deliver this message to the rest of your kind. You will not reach Terra, and you will not stand in our way. So it is decreed by the Emperor of Mankind."
---------------------------------------------------
Hope it's alright that I took a liiiiittle bit of creative liberty with the prompt. And yes, this is a Warhammer 40k thing. It was too fitting for me to avoid!
|
Maece stood at the helm of her ship, her fingers hovered over the glowing crystal that powered the ship’s engines and directed it where to go. Planet BX223, designated Earth, was the last of her planets to seed for eventual harvesting before she could go back home.
Already four years had passed since she had seen her daughter Gwendolyn. The girl would no longer be a toddler and would already have started in the arcane arts of her home world. Every Household held their own specialty passed down between the generations and for those without a household like Maece, it was deemed unnecessary to be around for the aging of their children. After all, if she had no specialty to offer, what was the worth of a mother?
But Maece spent her nights thinking about Gwendolyn. Would they share in their golden locks? Would her eyes be the muddy turquoise of her family? And the question that filled her eyes with tears because she already knew its answer—would Gwendolyn recognize me?
For those without Households, life was hard in Serenity. They had few job prospects, only offered such things as seeding and harvesting, the process by which they planted life into worlds and then harvested them for mana to bring back home.
“Vicky,” Maece said to the entity trapped within the crystal. “How much longer?”
“We’re entering surrounding Earth-space in a few seconds,” Vicky said. “I’m slowing us down to light speed in preparation.”
Maece nodded. She kept her eyes straight ahead, watching the green-blue hunk of rock expanding in her view. One last planet and she could see Gwendolyn again. “All hands,” she said to her crew of five other House-less mages. “Prepare to seed.”
The ship abruptly stopped. A beam of yellow shot through space, eviscerating the blackness in its blinding light. Maece blocked her eyes. It burned like she was staring into a nearby star.
“What the hell was that, Vicky?”
“Fire-based weaponry,” Vicky said. “Allotting power to shield systems now.”
Maece dipped her hands into the crystal, her fingers sinking into it as it turned to gel. Instantly, her mind had fused with Vicky’s. She peered through Vicky’s sensors, looking for the assailant. She found them, four metal obelisks as big as their ship in a circle surrounding Earth.
“That was your warning shot,” a voice came from one of the pillars. “We will not let you reach Earth.”
“This is the Serenity Pathfinder on a routine seeding mission,” Maece said through Vicky’s voice. ”Lower your weapons. Planet designation Earth was determined to have no salvageable life.”
“Only by your council,” the voice replied. “You do not get to play God so far away from home.”
Maece nearly laughed. The mages of Serenity might as well have been gods for how powerful they were. However, she was in a scout-class ship without any heavy weaponry and only House-less mages to support her. And whatever these obelisks were, they packed a punch.
“Why protect a doomed planet?” Maece asked. “If you do not let me proceed, I will be forced to contact Serenity’s main battle force.”
“We are prepared for death.”
Maece clenched her jaw. At the speed Serenity’s bureaucracy went, it would take five years just for her order to be read. By then, Gwendolyn would be a teenager and she would be the mother that never showed up.
“You would go so far to protect *Earth*?”
“Life is not a number you can plug into an equation and spit out its value.” The obelisks, shifted and spat out its main guns.
“By every calculation, the current life on Earth is doomed to wipe itself out anyways. The end result is the same, whether it is through us or them. Surely, you’ve done the calculations yourself. Are you saying you’ll intervene?”
“No. We will let it play out to its final conclusion.”
“Foolish.” Maece never understood these rebels. They lacked the logic needed to thrive throughout the universe. That was why Serenity was a planet of gods and them the worshippers.
“What are your commands, Maece?” Vicky asked.
Maece nibbled on the inside of her cheek. The obvious answer was to wait. They were outgunned, outnumbered, and had no intelligence on these obelisk structures. However, there was a little girl waiting for her back at home.
Gwendolyn probably didn’t even know Maece existed. She probably didn’t stay up lights like her mother did thinking about her. Logically speaking, she would recognize Maece just the same if their meeting came today or ten years from now.
A grin parted Maece’s lips. Just when she had mocked these beings for the irrational thought, here she was with her own. “Push forward, Vicky, prepare for battle.”
“Commander, I must warn you that you are choosing the least optimal strategy.”
“I know Vicky, but do it anyways.”
The ship lurched forward and the obelisks took aim.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!
| 2017-06-05T11:46:20
| 2017-06-05T11:06:16
| 193
| 61
|
[WP] Gordon Ramsay agrees to star in "Primitive Cooking Nightmares", in which contestants are thrown into the wild and must survive long enough to cook something that Ramsay approves of.
|
"What the fuck is this? Tony could have cooked better than this and he died yesterday"
The woman broke down into tears, clean lines running down her dirt encrusted face. A month of being transported from wilderness to wilderness had crushed most contestants spirits. Gordon Ramsey on the other hand seem rejuvenated by each new failure, each disgusting concoction thrown in a crying face.
An emaciated man scurried forward, his offering held in front of him, steaming meat on a wooden platter.
Gordon leaned forward on his crudely constructed wooden throne and sniffed at the food.
"What the fuck is this then?"
The man shook briefly, then steadied himself.
"Uh its uh flame grilled steaks with a uh wild berry reduction. Garnished with wild mushrooms".
Gordon scoffed and tore of a bit of the meat, raising it to his lips. He chewed thoughtfully and the man cowered before him, arms raised to cover his face.
"Fuck me" Gordon bellowed, smashing his fist on the arm of his throne. "Todd here has only fucking gone and cooked something edible! Something I'm not going to vomit up in a trench later!"
Todd looked up and beamed as the other remaining contestants came forward to congratulate him.
Gordon broke off some more of the meat and smiled.
"What exactly is this Todd?"
"Uh.. uh.. Tony, Chef".
Gordon stopped chewing and stared at Todd.
"Well, you've cooked him bloody lovely".
|
"You call this turtle soup you fuckwit? It still has it's fucking shell!" Gordon shouted at a lean woman in a dirty tank top and shorts. It was their second week in the middle of the Amazon and none of the four contestants had yet to make a dish fit for the renowned chef's palette.
A buff man in a torn tee shirt and khakis nervously approached the judge's makeshift table with his food wrapped in a large leaf.
"Oh great!" Chef Ramsey spat, "He's so afraid of the incoming review he's hidden the food completely." The chef carefully opened the leaf and looked at the man in disgust. "I feel like I am opening a goddamned diaper. Look at this, I mean just look at it. It looks like something that'd come out of a baby's bottom." Gordon picked up the dish that was a yellow brown mash in consistency and threw it in a wicker trashcan. "Not even going to try that. Presentation people, presentation!"
As the muscular man walked away dejecte, a woman with dreadlocked hair approached carefully holding a handwoven plate with charred meat.
"Ah, at last," Gordon started, "Something that smells good and looks decently cooked."
The girl smiled tentatively as she set the plate in front of the chef and stood back. Gordon picked up his knife and fork and started cutting into the meat. "Dammit Janet!" Ramsey shouted. "Come take a look at the inside here, will you?" The girl timidly approached. "Are you trying to make me sick? It's fucking pink. That's bloody raw inside!"
The girl apoligized profusely and backed away. Then the last man approached with a small coconut shell bowl. Inside there were a multitude of sliced fruits. Gordon took the bowl and set it down. "Well," he sighed, "the cuts are inconsistent, but it looks like an appealing dish." Gordon lifted the fork and stabbed a piece of pineapple. He put the fruit in his mouth and began chewing. The competing man held his breath. Gordon took a drink of water from the glass on his table, then motioned for the other contestants to come forward. "Look here guys. This is a simple dish, but it is well executed and visually stunning. Well done man, well done!"
Just as Gordon was reaching his hand out to shake the winners hand, a large yellow and black striped spider crawled out from underneath the fruit. Gordon looked at it and back at the man. "Were you fucking trying to kill me? Did you not think to check the fruit for bugs beforehand? Bloody hell!"
With that Gordon stormed off into the jungle muttering to himself and saying he'd be back in two days to see if any progress had been made.
| 2016-09-18T05:41:01
| 2016-09-17T23:28:44
| 684
| 192
|
[WP] You live in a town with a bell that magically rings exactly a day before danger hits, the longer it rings the greater the danger with the longest you've heard of being a few minutes. Yesterday the bell rang for three hours, today a stranger walked into town.
|
I checked my pocket watch, 10:02am. The bell started ringing at 10:14 yesterday, and repeatedly rang for three hours straight. I glanced across at the Sheriff, he too was checking his pocket watch, his weathered hands gripping his repeater tightly. We were stationed on top of Trudy's Saloon, whilst the Marshall and the Mayor kept lookout inside. The bell rings often and the townspeople know what it means. When it rings more than twice, most move over to the next town for a few days to avoid whatever was going to happen. The last time it rang for three minutes straight, and a vast gang of bandits arrived, but were swiftly cut down by two deputies on Maxim machine guns. I was asleep when it started ringing, and the Sheriff had to wake me up. I'd asked him how long it had been ringing for. It had been ringing for half an hour at that point. The entire town had cleared out by then. The only ones remaining were the Sheriff, the Marshall, the Mayor, and me. I was the only Sheriff's deputy who didn't desert with the rest. Only the four of us.
We'd prepared as well as we could. Dynamite traps were set up all around the main street, we'd managed to rent a Maxim gun again, and we had enough ammunition to give a gunslinger a wet dream. I checked my pocket watch once more, and saw the hand change from 10:03 to 10:04. Ten minutes left. I looked down at the square, and it was almost like witchcraft. One minute the square was empty, the next, a strange hooded figure was walking slowly down the street. He carried no long arms that we could see, however there was a large curved sword in a scabbard at his side. As he approached the bell in the centre of the town square, I observed him further. He was carrying a long, thin sword with a radical curve at his left hip, and seemed to be carrying a long dagger on the opposite hip. He wore shadowy black robes, and a large hood obscured part of his face. He seemed foreign, strange. I saw out of the corner of my eye, the Sheriff slowly raising his repeater. I looked at him and shook my head slowly.
Considering I was the one who didn't want to shoot him, the Sheriff elected me to talk with him. After all, danger could mean many things, we'd had the bell ring once before when a man ran into town with a poisonous snakebite. So there was danger involved, but not the kind danger we expected. He lived fortunately, but he ended up losing an arm. I shouldered my repeater and climbed down from the building, before walking out towards the stranger.
"You anticipate great danger." The man said suddenly, without looking at me, instead focusing on the large, ornate brass bell hanging above the well.
"Not me, that." I replied quietly, gesturing at the bell.
"I see. I have been searching many years for this relic." The man replied. He spoke perfect English, but with an odd clipped accent, similar to that of an Egyptian man I'd met once in my youth. I checked my pocket watch. 10:09.
"How long until it arrives?" The man asked absently, staring at the bell strangely.
"Five minutes." I replied, my hands idle. I trusted this bell, so I knew I had nothing to fear from this man, nor anyone else, not for another five minutes anyway.
"We have not long then. It will be here by then." The man replied, before turning to face me. I half expected his eyes to be dead and skin to be blackened, but he looked quite normal, save for the odd choice of attire. I was wearing my regular shirt and pants, with my star lobsidedly pinned to my chest. I nodded, and waved my hand above me in a tight circle. The other three knew not to shoot the man now, which I'm sure he'd appreciate. The man turned back to the bell, walked up and began tapping it lightly with his dagger. A strange water sloshing sound could be heard as the knife collided with the brass surface, and I'm sure I saw the surface of it ripple.
"What are you doing?" I asked him, before checking my watch again. Three minutes now.
"I am calling upon the relic's power to create life in order to call for rain." He replied, as if it were obvious.
"Ah. Of course." I stated, hiding my frustrations. I was overlooking a lot here. I always knew the damn thing was magic, as did everyone else for the most oart, but I didn't think it was this powerful. "Why?" I added.
"We'll need the rain in order to face him in his human form. You will see soon enough." The strange man replied. I pursed my lips and decided to just take his word for it.
"What can I call you?" I asked suddenly, realizing I was putting an awful lot of trust in a man I didn't even know the name of.
"I am Prince Al-" and he proceeded to list his name, and his kingdom, both being words I could hardly understand, let alone say.
"I can't say that, so I'll call you Al." I replied. Al turned to me and I could swear he smiled at me through the hood.
"And you're known as?" Al asked as he stood back from the bell, and vast rainclouds began to form high above us.
"I'm Sam" I replied simply, and checked my watch again.
10:14am.
"Well Sam, we're about to fight a god." Al replied jovially, glancing at an approaching dust storm across the desert.
|
A loud bell crashed through the silence at Reror. People were looking up at the bell, looking unhappy.
The bell of Reror, which people had nicknamed Lux, was no ordinary bell. Lux rang exactly one day before danger struck, being measured by how long it took to stop. The more time the bell took to stop, the more danger the people in the village were in.
Take, for example, children, when the bell rang for 15 minutes. The day after that happened a crazy old mage walked that lived in town killed three, including his wife, before he was stopped,forcibly.
So children, you'll understand how scared the villagers were when the bell rang for exactly 3 hours. Don't look at your grandpa like that, Tommy, I'm telling the truth, it's hard enough to stomach without you looking at me like that. On with the story, you say? Very well, very well.
So continuing my tale, that time was very dark indeed. You could hear the many whispers, murmurs at that time just going down the street. Grandpa didn't understand much of what was going on, see, as he was only 10 when it happened.
Now imagine this, boys.A man strode into town the next day, wearing a black shirt. He had black hair with pericing blue eyes. He looked somewhat upper-class, and let me tell you, children, he made quite a mysterious figure.
The strange thing was that nothing happened that day. The man, after receiving a few stares and looks, actually blended in with us, the townsfolk of Reror, and quite a few girls, including your grandma, don't tell her I said that, boys, but the girls swooned after him.
One day, though... a look passed over grandpas face, and momentary flicker. . You know what, children, I'll tell you the rest tomorrow. Please don't complain, boys, but I'm not up to it today. Goodnight, boys. "Goodnight, grandpa" the boys sang back.
Grandpa smiled and turned off the lights. Should he have told them? No, he told himself firmly. No young child is ready for that story.He just hoped they would be lucky when he came back...
| 2019-06-24T18:56:05
| 2019-06-24T18:16:52
| 410
| 11
|
[WP] On your eighteenth birthday, you shoot a mystic bow that is said to kill whoever is destined to kill you, three seconds before they do. Eight years later, your arrow strikes your SO's heart, right as she says "I do."
Or he. Or It. Whatever. I'm a straight canadian guy, so it popped into my head.
Sorry.
EDIT: I did not expect this to get so popular. Honestly, I expected this to get maybe two or three responses, and a 5/40 Upvote/Downvote Ratio. But, 196/95.........
EDIT: We've passed 300 upvotes! I'm afraid now. Very afraid.
Edit again! 400!
But at the same time, the people that hate me finally found the post. I suppose it wont be long before i go back to a 1/30 upvote/downvote ratio.....
Continue writing though! I love your works!
|
I glanced in amusement at the revolver Wanda was pointing at me. She had ten other guns aimed at her back, maybe twelve, but obviously she didn't care. All that mattered was that I would die. If she gave her life in the process, well, she'd still count that as a win.
"My my my, so the rebels did manage to sneak an agent into my inner circle. I'm impressed. Tell me, Wanda, were you always on their side? Or did they manage to turn you after you became my security officer?" I asked.
"They showed me the evil of your ways," Wanda spat, "they showed me pictures of the bodies from the massacre at Hightower, and the files from the Bluebox Incident. Those were innocent women and children! How could you?"
"Innocent? Hardly. They were rebels. That makes them military targets, and that means my orders were completely justified. The rebels were strapping bombs to kids and sending them into government buildings. They gave guns to women," I glanced at Wanda's trembling revolver again, "and told them to shoot up malls, and schools, and churches. Innocent, Wanda? Really?"
"And you think that makes it all right for you to use the Bluebox virus on them?"
"Absolutely. Six rebel strongholds, wiped out, just like that, while leaving their infrastructure and resources intact. My troops could waltz right in their front gates and take everything, without firing a shot. I don't recall you having any objections when I put you in charge of securing those strongholds. In fact, I distinctly recall you ordering mercy killings for the survivors of the virus."
"Enough!" Wanda screamed, advancing further forward, "Today I atone for my crimes. Today I end your tyranny, once and for all!"
I laughed outright at her, "Ha! Do you really think you'll be able to kill me?"
My security officer's face hardened into a mask of hatred and determination as she raised the gun. "I do."
The trans-warp arrow materialized five meters behind Wanda, then shot forward and impaled her through the chest. Wanda's eyes widened in shock. The revolver tumbled from her hand, and she collapsed to her knees.
The guards swarmed forward and grabbed her. I waved them back. They immediately, obediently, backed away from the dying woman.
I looked pityingly down at Wanda's face, which was growing pale as she lost blood. "Did you really think I didn't have an insurance policy against rebel infiltration? You're my SO, you should know me better than that. I activated the trans-warp arrow eight years ago, when I took the throne."
|
It's summer, one of those days that feels like walking through someone's warm, wet breath. A gross day. Jess is wandering around the fairgrounds with Barry Binninger, who's the son of his mom's friend Linda and who whines almost constantly.
They're walking along the row of games. Jess only has a dollar, so he has to pick something he can win. The ring toss game is bullshit. He's seen probably twenty people lose their money on it since they got here. He's pretty sure the necks of the bottles are too big to toss a ring onto, anyway.
"Hey Jess," Barry says, "it's hot, man. We gotta find somewhere to sit."
Barry is also about 100 pounds overweight, so essentially he's the best fair companion you could ask for. A real go-getter. "Hold on, jeez. I wanna play a game," Jess says.
"Aw, man," Barry says. "I spent all my money on that pretzel. Can we split a game?"
"I've only got a dollar, sorry."
"This place is a total rip-off." Barry scuffs his way toward the nearest bench and plops down like a pillowcase full of sand.
Jess looks at the game next to him. The guy manning the booth is pretty sketchy -- red hair slicked back and a missing front tooth. He's holding a bow and arrow.
"Wanna try your luck?" the booth guys says. "Winner gets the best prize at the carnival."
"Yeah?" Jess says. "What's that? A teddy bear that doesn't smell like shit?"
The man cracks a smile. "It's a mystery prize. Fifty cents to play."
Jess is pretty sure he knows what a mystery prize is, and it involves twenty years of therapy after you leave the carnival. "No thanks, man."
He turns, and the man lurches forward and grabs his wrist. Jess turns to look at him. The man's eyes are so dilated that they're almost completely black. Jess' stomach lurches and he pulls his hand away.
"Take the bow," the man says, and Jess swallows. His heart is suddenly pounding, and he can't say why.
He nods and reaches for the bow. In the background, he can hear Barry whining faintly -- "hey man, don't spend all your money here" -- but the words are like waves lapping softly against him. He can only focus on the bow as the man places it into his hands.
"Aim at heaven," the man says.
Jess has only fired a bow in gym, and he wasn't even good at it then. But the arrow slides into place naturally. The pull of his shoulder muscle feels practiced and sure. He releases the arrow and watches as it soars up, up -- impossibly high, over the carnival tent and out of sight.
Adrenaline rushes out of him and he looks down at the bow. He suddenly feels like he's about to cry. It's the hollow, melancholy feeling of someone revealing the end of a book when you're halfway through. It pierces him cleanly.
"He who would take your life," the man says, "now take his."
"What?" Jess says.
"Now take his," the man says.
Jess can't breathe. He gasps, a few ragged breaths. "Keep the money," he says, and turns away. He stumbles toward the Ferris wheel, and then he's running, running hysterically, out into the parking lot.
Barry finds him bent double over a red Honda Civic, panting. "Hey man, not cool," Barry says. "You can't just take off like that."
Jess looks back at the fair. The Ferris wheel glints in the ordinary late afternoon light, and in the sky, the trace of an airplane's tail shoots northward.
| 2014-05-27T19:13:10
| 2014-05-27T19:03:00
| 577
| 49
|
[WP] Harry Potter, but Hermione's dad is an MI6 agent who found out that is only child is fighting a war against an insane cult leader/terrorist (Voldmort) and has been almost killed my him and his cult of followers on multiple occasions.
This happens before the final book and the battle of hogwarts
|
"Dad... I'm going to have to obliviate you and mum. For your own safety."
"Before you do, why?"
"Voldemort came back a few years ago."
"The Koschei-wannabe?"
"Right. He apparently succeeded in becoming something not unlike a lich. His cult have already basically won, and are infiltrating the government right now."
"And you know this. Why?"
"I'm in a resistance movement. The adults had their Order of the Phoenix, but it's become tenuous due to secrecy. We're in Dumbledore's Army."
"I thought that was a study group."
"It was. It just had... Other motivations."
"Right, cover story. Got it. So, how do you intend to assassinate this Voldemort?"
"What?"
"Assassinate him. You have spells, you have knowledge of the muggle world. I asdume you're the leader of this movement, do you have intelligence on the enemy side?"
"Dad, you're a dentist, it is really weird for you to be so keen on this."
"No, I'm a ex-MI5 agent who thought he had retired but apparently stopping terrorists is genetic so I'm now the M to your Bond."
"What"
"I became a dentist when you were born. You'd be surprised how many skills transfer over from intelligence operative to dentistry."
"Right. Ok. My daddy is a spy."
"Do you need a pistol? I've got one in the cupboard."
"DAD! You don't give your daughter a gun!"
"Why not? You wizards are two words away from killing anyone in eyesight of you..."
"Actually one, there's other spells that'd kill less cleanly bu- Why are you crying?"
"So proud of you dear. Who have you killed, by the way? Anyone important?"
"Well... One of my defence teachers might have gotten trampled and raped by centaurs..."
"That's a crime dear. We can cover that up but never do sexual executions again."
"R... right... Um... Oh, I figured out what was causing petrification on students which allowed Harry to kill the phylactery of the bad guy..."
"So you're more of a support role? Fair enough. So I guess you're intelligence, Harry': your enforcer, Ron's your tactician?"
"Well, he is good at chess?"
"Ugh. Chess. Too emotionless. Remind me to invite them over for D&D one day."
"But mindwipe.."
"Don't be an idiot. If my guess is right, we can repel Voldemort from his body with normal weapons, then take down his phylacteries. Do the wizards have a sniper rifle equivalent? A staff, perhaps?"
|
"Let me be clear ma'am. Either you authorise this mission or you watch me walk out of here and do this alone. If you are willing to risk losing your top agent, just say the word"
"This is absolutely farcical Mr. Granger. We have the best intelligence resources in the world and have never heard of this place Hogwarts or this so called 'international terrorist' Mr. Voldee Mot. What in good heavens has happened to you? Is the stress finally catching up to you?"
"Its VoldeRmort. This is my last plea ma'am. It's a suicide mission, but I'm going to do this for my daughter. I either have your backup or not. I will do this either way."
"I can't authorise this Granger. Our intelligence shows your daughter safe and sound at her boarding school. Go home and get some rest."
"Very well then. I go alone. Goodbye ma'am. It was an honour serving under you."
*door slam*
"-ugh. What's gotten into the man?"
*Intercom beep*
"Rogers, I need you to keep an eye on Granger. I'm worried about him. "
*Indecipherable voice over the phone*
"No, no. Nothing like that. He is simply troubled. Just look after him for me, will you. "
*Intercom beep*
"Yes. Jim. I'm issuing a stay order on Grangers access to equipment. Please see to it."
*Indecipherable different voice over the phone*
"What? -Ugh. Fine. No, it's nothing. Thank you. Oh send me his equipment list."
*Intercom beep*
"Frank, come in for a minute please."
*Door opens and closes*
"Yes, Frank. I want you to track the equipment on the list Jim just sent.
And, do it quietly. "
"Yes ma'am"
*door opens*
"And Frank. Look into a psychologist please. A friend of mine needs some help"
"Very well ma'am"
*Door closes*
| 2017-06-03T01:22:13
| 2017-06-02T17:47:37
| 124
| 11
|
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE WALRUS". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful walrus. Look."
|
SCP-9432 (Temporary ID/Awaiting Permanent Clasification)
Object Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures: A single copy of SCP-9432 is to be kept in a system of twenty four (24) computers isolated from any other devices capable of displaying a digital image. Each computer must automatically delete any file sent from it. After sending a file, the computer must become incapable of sending or receiving emails for at least three hours. Finally, each computer should not be able to display a received email for at least an hour after receiving it.
A single Class-D personnel is be locked in a cubicle containing a computer on this system. They are to be rotated on an 8 hour basis, and may be provided with non-digital forms of entertainment. They are to send emails containing a file of SCP-9432 to other computers in this system. In the event any person exposed to SCP-9432 begins to display symptoms SCP-9432-1, they are to immediately be administered Class A or B amnestics.
In the event of a breach, an AI already has been set up to trace where the image has been sent or sent itself to. All phone communications in the area, except this absolutely necessary for maintaining functions, will be automatically shut down. They are to remain shut down until a “live” copy of SCP-9432 can be found and contained. After a “live” copy has been found, communication is to stay shut down for at least 8 hours. During these 8 hours, Class A amnestics are to be administered aerially to the affected area.
Description: SCP-9432 is a cogniohazardous image of a walrus (odobenus rosmarus). When exposed to SCP-9432, the subject feels an overwhelming urge to send the image to others in any way possible, including text, emailing, and uploading to various social media. Subjects usually express extreme excitedness over sharing this image, often stating that it is a “beautiful walrus”. This effect lasts for up to 4 hours, after which the subject returns to normalcy.
Each instance of SCP-9432 is only active once. That is to say, it loses all cogniohazardous properties once it is observed once. Sending SCP-9432 creates a new instance. “Live” instances also lose their cogniohazardous properties after existing for exactly 8 hours. The only exception to this is when there is only one “live” instance of SCP-9432. The “live” instance will then, instead, send itself to a random computer or telephone on the planet before becoming inactive. There has been no observed maximum range to this sending.
It has been observed that repeatedly sending SCP-9432 between computers on a closed system is enough to prevent spread. However, care must be taken that nobody exposed to it has any other device capable of sending images on their person, otherwise they will use it to create more copies of SCP-9432. Files on the closed system are to automatically delete themselves primarily to prevent clutter and the buildup of inactive instances.
Additionally, each time a subject is exposed to SCP-9432, there is a slight chance (around 0.084%) that they will begin to display symptoms of SCP-9432-1. This chance rises exponential the more times one is exposed to the image.
SCP-9432-1 is a disorder caused by repeated exposure to SCP-9432. When infected, they subject will begin attempting to mimic a walrus themselves. This includes: Mimicking noises, mimicking behaviors, and taking up their dietary behaviors. Those afflicted will eventually kill themselves via drowning, hypothermia, or disease as they attempt to mimic behaviors.
SCP-9432-1 may be countered via the application of Class A or B memestics with a 99.86% success rate.
|
I wake up dehydrated as I always do during the cold winter months. I go to grab a cup of ice water I keep beside my bed and I before I do I check my phone.
Allison: Look at the walrus George it’ll make you happy.
Confused I see that I have many text messages all telling me to look at walrus and even an official text from the government to not look at it. My heart begins to speed up and I turn the lights on. I can feel an anxiety attack coming as I try to make sense of what is happening. What is possibly the worse thing that could happen if I looked at it..?
I can feel my vision getting worse as I start to think about all the things it could possibly be. I decide to open it quickly and just see what it is. I open Allison’s text message and it’s a picture of a walrus with a white background. It doesn’t make any sense and I feel like I may have just downloaded some type of virus on my phone.
Instantly I feel it. The moment of peace I had from seeing the picture is instantly gone from the dread I start to feel. I have felt a similar feeling before such as the time I did shrooms as a teen. Only this feels much more intense. The picture starts to wave and change colors and starts looking more and more cartoony. I drop my phone to get away from it but it’s too late. I start to feel nausea overwhelm me and I lay back down as I let it overtake me. I start to wonder if this is all a dream as the walls in my room begin to split apart.
I wonder if I will be able to see the walrus Again?
| 2021-01-11T19:42:35
| 2021-01-11T19:07:29
| 53
| 18
|
[WP] you are the lawyer in charge of getting every single GTA character out of jail with no repercussions.
|
Jason leaned back into the sofa, placing his x-box controller on his lap. This new "GTA: The Courts" expansion game was proving a lot less boring than he'd expected. He'd already bribed the jurors, assassinated the prosecution team and found blackmailing material on the judge. Now, with a simple press of the button, he selected the option to deliver his closing argument.
"Your honour," began Jason's avatar, a corrupt, pixellated barrister called Mr Wiseman. "The case before you is no simple insanity plea. You have all heard the evidence. The defendant committed more than sixty first degree murders in broad daylight, in a rampage that lasted less than an hour. He commandeered cars, helicopters and speedboats, causing irreversible damages thought to total hundreds of millions of dollars, all without any discernible goal or purpose.
"These are clearly not the actions of a sane man, on that we can all agree. But I would like to submit a further theory. Not only was my client not in control of his own actions, but somebody else was."
There was murmuring in the courtroom, and Jason, watching from his living room, leaned forward again. He hadn't expected this.
"Many philosophers have postulated the idea that we are all but characters in the imaginations of fantastical authors of whom we have no conception," Mr Wiseman continued, punctuating his point with a clunkily animated gesture. "What if the defendant was spurred to such destructive and evil deeds not by his own fevered madness, but by the cruel, angry and childish whims of some godlike controller, manipulating his every action?
"You will ask for evidence of these claims, and of course I can provide nothing definitive. But I would ask you all to consider once more the crimes we have been brought here to judge today. Do we truly believe than any man, no matter how deranged, could be capable of even imagining the range of specific and extraordinary horrors that my client has perpetrated? In his past life, the defendant was an untrained thug, a man who has never shown any desire or ability to inflict anything worse than a casual beating when necessity arose. And yet on April 11th, he left a trail of butchery worse than any before seen in this country's history. I submit that even were his mind to have snapped, this man could not have conceived of even a fraction of his crimes."
Jason was staring wide-eyed now, fingering his controller. What the fuck was going on?
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, your honour. I believe that my client should not merely receive an insanity plea, he should be acquitted altogether, for he is not the author of the misdeeds we are here to judge. Instead, I call for the arrest and trial of this man!"
Suddenly Jason's avatar turned and pointed directly out of the screen towards him, staring Jason squarely in the eyes. The entire courtroom gasped and followed his gaze. Jason's jaw dropped open, and shock soon turned to a cloying fear. He grabbed the controller and started mashing buttons. But the only result was a box with an error message: "Cannot Skip Closing Argument".
"Ladies and gentlemen, meet Jason Erikson," Mr Wiseman went on, continuing to stare directly out of the screen. Even with the blocky graphics, he wore an unmistakeable look of determination. Jason's heart froze. He wanted to turn off the x-box, unplug it at the mains, smash the TV screen, anything to end this. But he found his body was rigid with fear.
"Jason lives in a dimension removed from but very similar to our own. He perceives our reality purely as a game. For him, our very lives are nothing but trinkets for his own amusement. It was Jason who was in control of my client's body on that fateful day, coercing and urging it to perform its wanton acts using technologies beyond our comprehension. Until recently, he was even able to use the same process on me, causing me to undertake my own illegal actions during the course of this very trial, in a pathetic attempt to hide his own shame.
"Jason believes that we are merely a game, that our very lives are not real to us, and can therefore be expended without guilt. But still I ask you - even were we all mindless automatons, do we not take the form of living, breathing humans? What kind of wretched creature would, for simple entertainment, delight in the violent destruction of entities so very like himself, entities that simulate his own society? What kind of depravity must a mind reach to play and enjoy such a game?
I call on this court to immediately acquit the defendant and instead use every resource at its disposal to seek out and bring to justice the twisted monster that toys with us like rats in a maze. Jason Erikson, you have thought yourself immune to punishment for your wrongdoings, but I have this message for you: there is nowhere for you to hide. In your reality, or anywhere else, we will find you, and you will submit to justice."
|
"Today, my dear family, we give thanks. We give thanks and praise for all of our blessings." The stocky, clean-shaven man with a strawberry blonde ivy-league cut panned his eyes and glass of bordeaux from side to side, brushing off the mini-herd of children that engulfed him as they ran to the newly opened dessert table.
"We give thanks for methamphetamine addicts with countless questionable acquaintences who we must bail out of jail after being found wearing only brief underwear during a savage beating of two elderly German visitors, and for having been able to do so before the INTERPOL report comes in, because we kept that creepy hacker who has people assassinated to make out money off the stockmarket out of jail. We give thanks for the blessing of young men who built a millionaire's life for themselves by stealing luxury cars who continue to steal cars anyway, and seek our aid in cleaning their finances, helping all to prosper. We ought to praise and worship in thanks for our colleague here with his family who creates prosperity for all of us with his legally innovative endeavours." The top defense lawyer in the city paused for effect, making eye contact with as many as he coulde.
"But we ought not forget the little things. The men who mercilessly stomp sex workers to death without provocation, or the vengeful white knights who then castrate and murder these men. The people who commit armed robbery and murder of stores for mere hundreds of dollars, or for those who do the same to individuals for less than twenty. To all the parachuting machine-gun murderers, the men and woman who ride motorcycles and jetskis into crowds with shotguns, the blowers up of busses, the people who steal fighter jets and terrorize the entire state without even a grain of political motive, the acheivers who take tanks downton for the lulz. Let us raise our glass to all of them, and thank them for enabling us to have time together such as this with our beloved family and friends. Hail Satan!" The patriarch raised his wine glass with one hand, and the knife he had been holding at the throat of a lamb with the other.
The party's attendees responded, taking turns tracing inverted crosses onto the forehead of the next person in line to the response of "Lucifer be praised!"
| 2015-11-12T07:45:28
| 2015-11-12T07:33:38
| 136
| 22
|
[WP] After you die you learn why the Grim Reaper is portrayed holding a Scythe. It isn't to harvest you, it's to protect you from something on your journey.
|
I heard the gentle noise of his mythical scythe slicing the rope that held my lifeless body. I brusquely fell head first into the tall refreshing grass, a soft breeze caressed my skin. "If you weren't here I wouldn't believe i'm dead." I said as I stood up and removed the dirt from my arms.
Death didn't say a word, instead he turned to me and slowly placed his skull centimeters away from mine, shadowing my whole frame. His hollow eyes gazed at me for what felt like an eternity until he finally spoke: "Life and Death aren't topics to joke about." He said, his voice was hoarse and full of pain, darkness gushed from it's mouth. "It's time, follow me." He swung his towering tremuluos scythe lacerating the flesh of time itself.
Colossal cuts leading to new planes laid in front of me. We walked in.
An ominous forest pervaded with rotten trees and lost souls greeted us. "Do they ever shut up?" I asked as I covered my ears alluding to the constant screams of excruciating pain.
"Walk, don't blink, don't talk." He said, monotonously as we made our way through the dense fog.
Dim incandescent lights coming from weird oil lamps signaled the baleful path that we were following. The constant uneasy sound of fragile bone breaking with our steps sent shivers down my dead spine.
Death suddenly stopped and turned to me. "Inside the church in front of us you a gate will open that will lead you to Heaven but beware, every lost soul in this place will try to take your place, they will play tricks and fool you. My scythe will stop the majority but not all. Good luck." He patted my back three times, his voice sounded friendly this time.
With every step I took the trees slowly faded away leaving nothing but wastelands surrounding the church, the screams got increasingly intense and many lost souls rushed against me. Death swung his scythe protecting me until I opened the oak doors of the black church.
"I will hold them, becareful inside!" He screamed. I could feel the souls stomping against the walls.
Shiny marble, towering vitrils, golden pews and mesmerizing paintings decorated the impeccable inside of this place. It was empty, or so I thought before I heard a little girl crying from inside the confessionaire. "It's everything okay?" I said softly yet my voice echoed across the place.
The little girl came running to me with her head down, I could see the tears splashing against the floor, she hugged my knee tightly. "Why did you do it?" She screamed.
"Why did I do what?" I said, startled.
She lifted her head up and our eyes met. I started to tremble incontrollably, those brown eyes, that pink dress, that curly dark hair, that voice.
"Why did you leave me and made do this?" She lift her head to the ceiling revealing a large cut across her tiny throat. "Why did you make me do this, dad? Why?" She held my leg tighter and tighter.
"I... I did it for you and your mother. You deserved a better life, it was the only way out." I stuttered, a river meandered across my face as I hugged her like the day I decided to take my own life.
Suddenly, the organ started playing and a shimmering golden door appeared in the altar.
"Goodbye daddy, one day we will meet in Heaven." She said letting my knee go.
I took a deep breath, "take my place princess, I don't deserve it."
Her eyes sparkled, "are you sure dad?"
"Yes, hurry up sweety." I said as my smile met my salty tears.
"I will see you soon daddy, I love you." She said, gently wiping off both our tears.
As she ran to the gate my non-beating heart skipped a beat, the birthmark on her left leg was missing. I was too emotionally overwhelmed to stop and think that she wasn't my daughter and now it was too late, she was about to go through the door.
Abruptly, a strong sharp wind dishevelled my hair and cut her in two halves. I turned to the oak doors and Death was standing holding his imposing scythe.
"Run stupid mortal."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you enjoyed it please consider checking out my subreddit /r/chasisoxidado for more.
|
"So," I said as we drifted, "What is this?!"
I clenched the seat as hard as I can fighting the immense G force of the vehicle.
"Where are we going?!"
Grimm is not what you'd expect. Folklore and myth paints a picture of him with a robe with a scythe and a serious face. And I tell you now it's all wrong.
Nowadays he's wearing a black hoodie with olive jeans. There's something glimmering underneath his hoodie. I can see a gold coin that has an image of a bee and it was fashioned into a necklace. The other thing he's known for carrying is what I'm worried about. The scythe is nowhere to be seen.
"We... are on... hold up,"
he said as he did another hard turn,
"...the River Styx road."
Grimm looked at me saying,
"You just sit back... and relax."
"Look at the road. People usually trip out with what they see."
I look down and the road is a dark lime green color with an emerald glow. I can see images forming like a movie reel. The only way I can explain it is like a phonograph. Once my eyes looks at the road the images form. It hurts to see yet I am drawn to it.
I look at Grimm and he gestures me to continue.
What I see is almost like life flashing before my eyes yet this isn't my life. It's of some woman. It feels like I'm watching a tv show because I kind of recognize the actress. You can tell it's a big budgeted drama because of the soldiers, the fame, looks like she has 2 boys and some rich people in a mansion. And she looks happy.
I take my eyes away because I'm feeling a strange sort of pain. The only way I can describe it is a pain in my soul since I don't have a living body anymore.
"Who is this," I asked.
"Let's worry about that later. I have a schedule to follow,"
he replied,
"and I just want to make sure I have enough time to see what happens with you before I get to the next soul."
"What happens next?"
"You'll see in a moment. We just need to get past the tunnel of light."
"What tunnel?"
Just then I could see a wormhole open up although I didn't see light anywhere. That is until I passed the opening. It felt like you were going light speed in a fraction of a second.
There was light all around me. I couldn't tell if we were moving anymore. I see that the cars gone and Grimm and I are just floating.
All I can say is that this tunnel feels familiar.
"Grimm are we still in the wormhole?"
"Yes," he says. "Keep a lookout."
"What?!"
I turned to him and was astonished at what I saw.
Grimm pulled up his hoodie from his waist and with his left hand he grabbed at his spine between his rib cage and his belt. I didn't expect his hand to go through his spine however his hand did grab something.
What he pulled away was a glowing fiery object that held the same S shape as his spine. Like a ghost it phased from his spine. Grimm flipped the object to the front of him. He grabbed his gold coin, yanked it free with a grunt and placed it at the top of the object. Suddenly it was a physical object.
"This is my scythe," Grim said solemnly.
The scythe split and opened up halfway down its length and a double gold razor protruded like a switchblade. The blades stopped at its final point giving it that familiar "7" look that it has.
He looks at me saying,
"Do you know why this tunnel is familiar?"
I shook my head.
"You died because you were drunk driving in this tunnel. You and the lady you saw died."
"It was an acci..."
"Shhh.. your maliciousness doesn't matter to the demons coming to get your soul. Specifically Malebolge. I am here to make sure you see her and saint peter to get a proper judgement."
Just as he said the last part the floor opened and it felt like we were passing through worlds as if the tunnel was like an elevator to these worlds.
We stopped on the 8th floor and I can see in the distance that the demon was already waiting for us.
Grimm asks, "Are you ready?"
| 2017-06-20T16:42:43
| 2017-06-20T15:56:00
| 214
| 46
|
[WP] There is a device that assigns you a percentage score of how important you are to the world. Most people are 0-5. The president is 60. Your score just jumped from 1 to 99.
|
*How is this even possible?*
Trace looked down at his phone. *There has to be some kind of glitch,* he thought. There's no way I am the single most important man in the world. On his phone, Trace had received a notification that his Personal Importance Quotient, or PIQ, had increased above his specified threshold. After checking the app, he realized that his score had skyrocketed up to 99. With a max score of 100, 99 seemed to confirm that he was, indeed, the most important man in the world. But why?
While he stood on the corner, pondering the possible reasons that he could have such a score, he noticed a woman walking down the street suddenly collapse. Without thinking, he rushed over to try and offer aid. After getting another onlooker to call 911, he worked to make sure the woman kept breathing and ensured that she had no major visible injuries. After the paramedics arrived, Trace was able to return home. Still confused about his recent PIQ increase, he checked his phone again, only to find that his score had returned to its normal 1.
That night, after a lengthy conversation with the PIQ company, it was determined that there was no glitch in the app or in the system, and they did in fact register him having a sudden spike to 99. They promised to research the issue, and if possible, contact him with an explanation. So, Trace settled into his chair and flipped on the television. The current station was running a breaking news report about a woman who had collapsed on the street. Her life had been saved by a man performing emergency services until the paramedics arrived. What made the story truly unique was the fact that the woman in question was the premier researcher in interstellar travel. She was on her way to a press conference where she would announce her invention of the multi-phase warp engine, capable of transporting humans out of the solar system in a matter of hours.
When the station cut to a reporter at the hospital interviewing the woman, Trace realized it was the same woman he had saved. She was saying that, due to recent corporate espionage, all her research and documentation was encrypted with a key that only she knew. Had she perished on that street, all her research would have been lost. At that moment, Trace realized that, for a brief moment, he was the most important man in the world. By saving this woman, he helped issue in a new age of exploration and discovery.
|
I coughed and picked at my wrist. The blood analysis device flashed a dull 1 in its faded red LEDs. It was 12:42, but I still hadn’t got out of bed yet. Ugh, my mom would be so mad. Luckily she was at work, and I’d only have to deal with her when she got back. That means I was free to do what I wanted! It was time to play some videogames. Well, actually, I should probably continue my job search… What’s the point of that? If my wrist shows a 1, I’m doomed anyways, no one would hire me. Better to resign myself to a pathetic life, no girlfriend, no education, no job, no house, than to be embarrassed.
I slowly rose out of bed. Now that I had the right mindset, it was time to start my day. I always begin with a hearty breakfast of ice cream and cocoa puffs. Delicious and nutritious if I do say so myself. I continue with a couple hours of FPS games, and follow it up with some RTS. Then it’s time for lunch, and… WHAT?! WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!?!! WE’RE OUT OF COCOA PUFFS.
“MOOOOOOOOOOOM. MOM. MAHM. WHERE ARE YOU?” Idiot. I know she’s at work. She can’t help me now. Jesus. I guess I’ll have to get them myself. Better find my shoes. Where are those pieces of trash. Haven’t seen them in ages. Oh! Here they are. Ok let’s go outside.
The city was grimy and disgusting. I couldn’t wait to get back inside. I scratched my ever-itchy face. Oh, there was something different today. What is that? The cloud of black smoke that the rats are running from? What is going on? OH FUCK. One bit me. God that hurts. Ouch. Screw cocoa puffs, I’m going home.
Damn it. My arm is tingling. Stupid rat bite. What do I do now? Could this get infected or something? Whatever, I’ll just ask my mom. I don’t know what to do. But really, my arm is going numb. I looked down at my wrist, I could see a red puss oozing from the wound, and my blood analysis device glowed a sickly red. 99 it read. Then the biohazard signal flashed. All I saw was red. Red everywhere. Then black.
| 2016-09-08T08:10:56
| 2016-09-08T07:43:24
| 112
| 16
|
[WP] Fit as many plot twists as you can into one story.
|
Two brothers. In a van. And then a meteor hit. And they ran as fast as they could. From giant cat-monsters. And then a giant tornado came. And that's when things got knocked into twelfth gear...
A Mexican...armada shows up. With weapons made from to- tomatoes. And you better betch'ur bottom dollar that these two brothers know how to handle business.
In! 'Alien...Invasion Tomato Monster Mexican Armada Brothers...Who Are Just Regular Brothers Running...in a Van from an...Asteroid and All Sorts of Things: The Movie'.
Hold on! There's more. Old women are comin'! And they're also in the movie and they're gonna come...and cross...attack...these two brothers. But let's get back to the brothers because they're- they have a strong bond! You don't wanna know about it here, but I'll tell you one thing.
The Moon. It comes crashing into Earth! And whaddya do then? It's two brothers and I- and...and they're gonna...it's called 'Two Brothers' ...'Two Brothers'...it's just called 'Two Brothers'!
|
A meteor fell over the planet, then suddenly it exploded before the impact, revealing an army of naked winged women hellbent on taking over the world. they would do so by taking as many men (or women, if you prefer) to their bedchambers aboard a cosmic spaceship as was humanly possible.
shortly after the complete sexual subjugation of the human race, the young teenager woke up from his acid induced dream to find that it was in fact, all just a dream, he would later wake up again from his dream within a dream to find himself on his deathbed.
not one to be oneupped by death, he immediately willed himself better and proceeded to fly around and take out his pent up sexual frustrations on the world at large by shooting laser beams out of his eyes and destroying entire districts by bathing them in crimson eye flames.
just as things were looking grim however, godzilla showed up and the two battled for fifty straight weeks without rest, eventually godzilla was defeated.
but, as it turns out godzilla was just having an incredibly complex nightmare, soon he awoke at the bottom of the ocean floor, his body suffering from bruises and electrical scars, and glancing around, the first thought that crossed his mind was "SKKKREEEEEEEEOOOOOONK?!" which roughly translates into "where the hell did that giant monkey who force fed me a tree go? i swear to god one day I'll make him pay for this humiliation!!"
apparently being electrocuted and left to die on the ocean floor shortly after the climax of godzilla vs king kong makes you have extremely messed up dreams.
| 2016-11-27T12:58:55
| 2016-11-27T11:06:12
| 18
| 13
|
[WP] You’ve always had good sight in the dark, you’ve been called a freak for it. When you die and see the light in the tunnel, you are the first person to notice a door to your side instead.
|
The walls of the tunnel were cold, slick stones. They stretched in front of me for what seemed a thousand miles toward a pinprick of light far in the distance. The floor of the tunnel was the same unforgiving stone. My feet were bare and ached on the hard stone as I made my way on the long journey towards this strange light.
I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten in the tunnel, but like a moth amongst the flame, I was pulled towards the light. It had grown slowly, a thousand steps by a thousand steps, it had grown. And now it was not a pin prick but had grown to the size of a bumble-bee just at arms reach.
The larger the light grew, the more that mysterious passion to walk towards it flamed within me. My pace increased, the sore feet ignored, as I moved faster and faster on the hard stones.
But soon I ran into something unanticipated. Something very strange and hardly noticeable in the dark gloom of the tunnel. A small door, barely big enough for me to fit in, was carved amongst the stone. There was only a slight outline of the door and it would have been easy to skip, as it was almost impossible to see, if it wasn’t for the good sight I’ve always had in the dark. A peculiar skill that has brought with it the label of freak and nightcrawler.
It was always at night that I could see better—the day was always too bright. Too busy. At night, when all was at rest, my vision opened to the world. And it opened now as I stared at this strange, small door.
I had stopped my pace towards the light, and there was part of me that revolted at this intermission in my journey, but the door was equally mystifying to me.
There was no handle on door, but a red handprint—one that you’d see in an ancient cave. I studied the handprint. It seemed as though a hand was placed on the stone, and then a red paint was sprayed over it, possibly sprayed from the mouth as that is what the splatter marks seemed to suggest.
Strangely, the hand looked familiar. I didn’t know how a handprint could look familiar, but this one did. I put my hand up to it and my hand fit perfectly in the stenciled outline of the red spray. When my hand touched the stone, I felt a vibration within the rock. A grating rumble as the door moved back, as though it was on springs and disappeared.
I looked down into this smaller tunnel that the door had created as it retreated into the deep bowels of the rock. This smaller hole was much darker than the tunnel I was in and pressed an ominous worry within my mind.
I turned and looked at the light, so far away still, but burning in the distance like a paradisaical sun. Part of me wanted to run to it in wild abandon. But another part of me, the stronger part, the curious part, wanted to crawl down and see what this door—this door with a handprint that exactly fit mine—led to.
And so, getting on all fours, I crawled into the darkness where my night vision was of no help, as there was not even a small trace of light to lead my way.
|
It all happened so fast. One moment, I was driving, the next moment, I was flying in a dark tunnel with a light at the end that kept expanding.
*This means I died, right? Everyone who has ever died or come close, talks about a light at the end of a tunnel? Oh damn, this is really the end? *
I wanted to cry, but I didn't have the time, nor did I feel an aching sadness like I thought I would.
From my periphery, before I was enveloped by the light, there was a door to my right, glowing blue.
Let's try going there! I'm not ready to die and perhaps I can escape death!
The sapphire light swallowed me whole, blinding my eyes for a moment. Then I realized I was falling instead of flying upward.
*Oh no! I've made a horrible mistake! Did I accidentally go down through the doorway to hell? *
As I plummeted, there was nothing but cerulean fog down below. But it started lifting, and I passed through it like a plane through a cloud. But I became terribly afraid when I saw nothing but the ocean. I thought I was going to sink into the water like a stone. But an island with a few palm trees and a patch of grass at the center came into view.
There was smoke coming from the middle of the island, but it smelled like grilled hamburgers, which sounded amazing after all the stress I was going through.
I closed my eyes, bracing myself for a bone-shattering impact, but I gracefully landed on the grass like a butterfly. The coolness of the grass blades were relieving on my feet.
"Hey, Owen! What's going on, big guy?" a familiar voice said to me.
I opened my eyes and saw my father, wearing sunglasses and an orange Hawaiian shirt. He had a full head of hair which I had never seen before, standing beside a grill, cooking up a meal like he always did during the summer time.
Goosebumps appeared all over my skin, even though it appeared translucent. "Ah!" I shrieked, moving my hand through my other hand. It was like I didn't exist.
"Well, you don't exist anymore, sorry to break it to you, Owen. But we all have translucent skin over here." My dad said, flipping over a hamburger. "You know, you always had some freaky sight. A real eagle eye. You were always so observant, well, except for spotting that semi-truck that ended your life."
"I died in a car crash?"
"Uh, 'fraid so, big guy. That was a crafty move though going through the other door. You unlocked a secret world. A little bit of a 'waiting room' before the real afterlife begins. You know what I mean?"
"No. Not really."
"Well, good thing I'm grilling up some burgers for us. We can chat and chow. But first, before our meal is served, why don't you come over here and gimme a hug. I've missed you dearly."
Again, I wanted to cry. My father was a good and fair man. I always respected him. He worked hard to provide for the family, but he was emotionally distant. He never prompted a hug.
I ran up to him and we wrapped our arms around each other.
"Dad, I can't believe it's really you. You were never much of a hugger."
"I know," he said. "And living in this afterlife, I think things over, and I realize how much I regret certain things I did. I never told you or your siblings enough how proud I was of all of you and how much I loved all of you."
I was choked up, but I couldn't cry. I didn't feel sad, but I did feel redeemed. "That means a lot."
He gave me a plate with a burger on it. "Look, Owen. We've got plenty of time to catch up, and do things right. This world we're in now is a place to make up for the times you wished you had. Not everyone gets to experience this, but we can. Remember how I told you I always wanted to take you to the ball game but I was always too busy with work?"
I nodded.
"Well, we can go to the ball game now." My dad stepped aside where a portal appeared. Inside, I could hear a vendor yelling 'peanuts!' and cheers as a bat smacked a baseball deep into right field. The smell of cinnamon roasted almonds greeted my nose.
"After we finish this burger, let's watch our Tigers huh?"
"Of course, Dad."
r/randallcooper
| 2021-06-04T14:40:17
| 2021-06-04T12:27:34
| 320
| 97
|
[WP] At the age of sixteen, people are shown a title that they will earn in the future from Fate herself in a special ceremony. Usually these titles can range from "The Baker" to "The Kind" or even "The Conquerer". You turn sixteen, and are faced with the title of "The Godkiller".
|
**The Drinker:**
He sits by the window and stares at the glass. Outside, rain falls in silver sheets with a ratta-tat-tat on the metal roof. He drums his fingers to the rhythm of the wind, a steady beat, and he hums, though he does not remember the words to the tune. The words are lost, like his memories, and only the drink brings them back.
It burns amber down his throat, tastes of oak and caramel on the tip of his tongue, vanilla on the side, burning, burning, and he remembers the fire.
It was raining, he knows, when he lit the fire. The flame flickered and faded with white smoke. It was wet, too wet to smolder, only steam and smoke and fail. He failed. The cold rain poured down and he brought the flint down with flashing sparks, but again, only smolders.
He cursed and shouted into the wind, but no man heard him. Only the wolves—the wolves that hunted him. And the wolves howled in response, their jowls clacking, dripping, ravenous. Their red eyes gleamed at the edge of the clearing. Two—three—maybe more. *Fire! Good god, he needed fire!*
The memory begins to fade.
He takes another drink.
​
**The Hunter:**
She thumbs the fletching. The arrow is familiar in her hands. She closes her eyes, feels the grains of the shaft, the tension in the bowstring, the knife-edge of the stone arrowhead. This is routine. This is comforting.
Her hands shake. They have been shaking for years, without her control. She grasps the bow and it wobbles. She gulps, shuts her eyes harder, tries to remember what it felt like to hold steady. She opens her eyes and sobs because she will never again be able to hold steady, no matter how hard she tries.
*It’s not fair,* she tells herself, *to be cursed by God.*
In the distance, a target sits in a pile of hay. It is wolfskin, and if she had hit it once, years ago, from fifty feet away, then maybe she could have saved him.
She takes a breath and draws the bow. She barely has the strength to pull it. It shakes, the arrowhead bobbing up and down like rising waves on the seashore, like the steady rise and fall of a wolf’s chest as it breathes.
“Forgive me,” she says, and lets the arrow fly.
​
**The One Who Could Be King:**
He is shackled in cold iron. The cuffs rub his wrists raw, as he sits in a dank pile of grass and rot. It smells of stone and dirt and mold. It smells of rotting men. He tastes the stale air on his tongue, and it tastes of regret.
Other prisoners are nearby, in cobblestones cages of their own, condemned for crimes they did not commit. He tastes injustice like dripping water from the ceiling: hard and unforgiving.
He could be sitting on fine wolfskin furs, on a throne made for him, with servants that brink him the finest ale in glasses. It was his birthright. But years of rot has hardened his heart, and he knows that birthright is nothing more than a fairytale of the weak.
The only birthright is the right to suffer.
And if life is suffering, then he has lived a thousand lives in the rot of the dungeons he should lord over, at the hands of the Betrayer.
But he will not resign himself to rot and ruin. In the corner of his cell is a nail. It is small, rusted, blunt on one end. Soon, it will snap in half. When it does, he plans to pick the lock clean through. The prisoners will follow him; he knows this. He must be patient, he must be alert, and he must be strong, for the time is coming when he will rule again.
​
**The Betrayer:**
She listens to the song of lutes and savors the melody. It is a tune from her childhood. She knows it well; after all, it was a tune her father forced her to play. Once, it was a reminder of failure, of everything she loathed. Destiny. Duty. These were the words of an old king drunk on prophesy.
She was destined to be a slave. "The Servant," the oracle declared. But what is a servant? Her father, the old king, made her serve on her knees, scrubbing floors, preparing meals, serving the drink in glasses to her fat father, and her younger brother.
How she loved him, and yet, how she loathed him. He had everything. Birthright. The love of his fellow men. Friends.
Their father called her worthless.
Bah!
She listens to the song and remembers the tune. The one who would be king rots in the dungeon, and she sings the tune to take his place. A servant brings her wine. She drinks.
“Cheers, dear brother,” and drinks to his good health, hoping that his chains will hold long enough for him to grow old and know what it feels like to be worthless.
​
**The Godkiller:**
He plucks onions in the rain. The green stalks are slick and slip through his hands. The ground is mud and sticks to his bare feet. It squelches underfoot as he slogs through the sludge, dredging for the good crop. He hums to the rhythm of rain and hears the foreman shout.
“Faster!”
The foreman calls to the fields with a bullwhip and a bell. The bell is for the cattle. The whip is for the workers. He works from the first light of dawn until nightfall. He has no choice. The oracle has deemed him Godkiller, but these words have no meaning when his life is forfeit.
He is property. Like a cow. But even the cows get blankets from the cold; he gets nothing.
Instead, when winter comes, he and the workers huddle around forbidden fires inside their small hut. One stays outside to watch for the foreman. If the fire is discovered, they will be whipped, until the smell of smoke vanishes.
But today is midsummer and the Godkiller worries more for the heat of tomorrow. Today was a gift—clouds and rain. Tmorrow will surely bring cruel heat and cracked mud. His lips will split again, the color of raw red onions.
Tonight, he will pray for rain.
He knows that his prayers will go unanswered. He has always known this. They name him “Godkiller” but if they knew the truth, they would fear him. He cannot kill a god because there are no gods left to kill; they are already dead.
He knows this because he can see the future in fragments, like memories, slipping into his dreams. He knows that tonight, he will be whipped. He knows that tomorrow, the foreman will die. Today is his last day in the fields.
He savors the cool of onions on his hands, the squish of mud on his toes. These memories will soon be as foreign as the lands he must travel. To kill a god. To save a man. To live. To die. The fragments in his mind shatter like bones in the jaws of wolves.
“Faster!” the foreman cries.
He savors the moment while he still has time.
​
***
More stories at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
|
It was Divination Day, and Sonia couldn’t be more excited.
She hummed as her mother did her braids. She sang as she wore her nicest dress. She nearly skipped as she and her mother made their way to the Town Square.
“Say, Mother, what do you think about Sonia the Wonderful?” she said out loud, grinning over her shoulder. “How about Sonia the Graceful?”
Mother smiled tightly. “Those all sound splendid, dear, but do you remember what I said about managing expectations?”
Sonia rolled her eyes. Her mother had received the Title of “the Sweet,” which was about as common as a blade of grass. There were three Sweets in their village alone. No wonder she was so stuffy and dry about the Divination.
That wouldn’t happen to Sonia. She somehow just knew it wouldn’t. She was destined for something great, no matter what. Perhaps she would be the next Beloved, like Princess Starla, or perhaps the next Treasured.
“Sonia?” Mother prodded, bringing her out of her fantasy.
“Yes, I remember,” she said dutifully.
The sounds of the bustling Town Square reached them. It seemed like most of the town had gathered already, all to see her receive her Title.
Well, not just her. She could see Vasha’s face poking above the crowd. Her mood soured just a touch, but it was quickly rejuvenated. She’d been waiting three months since her 16th birthday for Divination; not even Vasha’s annoying face could ruin today.
“Well, you best get on up there,” Mother said, squeezing Sonia’s hand. “Remember your expectations.”
“Yes, yes, Mother, I know,” Sonia said. She kissed her on the cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Her mother smiled, then joined the crowd.
Sonia took a deep breath, then navigated through the crowd to the center of the square, where Fate’s Hand sat proudly. People who recognized her whispered “Good luck” as she passed.
She broke through the edge of the crowd. Vasha and the Speaker turned from their place in front of the stone altar to look at her.
“Hello, Sonia,” Vasha said shyly.
“Vasha,” she replied in a curt manner. She had to arch her head to look at him. Somehow, the boy had gotten even taller.
“You’re late,” said the Speaker. The man wore the characteristic purple robes of Fate. Underneath his hood, he had a messy beard and dark, bloodshot eyes. Sonia recoiled when she got nearer. The man smelled awful.
“Have you been drinking?” she hissed, not loud enough for the crowd to hear.
“Does it matter?” the Speaker replied in a bored tone. He stepped forward, brushing past Sonia, and raised his arms to the crowd, who immediately quieted.
“Dear. valued citizens of Prime Desdinel’s humble empire, I beseech your attention for but a moment.” The Speaker’s voice was suddenly inflected with gravitas and weight, and even Sonia found herself impressed. “Today is a day that will define this young man and woman’s life, and they in turn, may come to define the lives of us all. For it was Fate herself that that…”
Vasha leaned in closer and whispered to Sonia, behind the Speaker’s back, “Are you nervous?”
“No,” she replied quietly, watching the Speaker intone to the rapt crowd. “Not even a little. Are you?”
“Kind of. Well, more than kind of. A lot. Terrified, actually.”
“I wish I could help, but I can’t. I know I’m going to be something incredible.”
Vasha nodded. “You do fit the type for it.”
Sonia looked up to see if he was joking, but the boy’s face was completely serious.
Before she could respond, the Speaker whirled around, his robes flaring dramatically.
“Which one of you is the eldest?” he demanded, snapping his shoulders back and flinging his finger forward.
“I am.” Vasha stepped forward.
“Then come lay your hands on Fates’, and you will know your destiny.” The Speaker gestured grandly to the stone altar.
Vasha took a deep breath then walked up to the altar. Sonia saw his parents smile nervously in the crowd.
Vasha laid his hands down on the surface. The Speaker began to chant, a strange, liquid language that flowed straight through her ears without registering in her mind. It was like she heard an impression of the sound but not the sound itself.
A warm gust of wind descended down on the square, causing Sonia to startle, and then the altar *cracked* loudly. A few children in the crowd cried out, still not yet used to the Divination.
Written on the altar was an incomprehensible language in a glowing, blue script. Like the chanting, the words seemed to just slide right off her eyes.
The Speaker read the quickly fading words, then paled. He swallowed uncomfortably, then turned to face the crowd.
“The Defender.”
There was a sudden silence, and the crowd exploded. Cheers, shouts of congratulations, and weeping from Vasha’s parents.
Sonia found herself cheering along too. The Defender. She’d never heard of that Title before.
Vasha looked stunned. He looked back at Sonia and frowned for some reason, then he went over to his parents. The Speaker watched him go.
The Speaker raised his hands again, and the crowd silenced once more. He looked over at Sonia and nodded.
It was time. She stepped forward up to the altar. For some reason, her heart was pounding, though that couldn’t be right. It’s not like she was nervous. She knew she was destined for greatness.
So why did she feel so afraid?
The Speaker’s eyes furrowed as he looked at her. Sonia ignored it and placed her hands on the altar, closing her eyes.
The Speaker frowned, but he began chanting again in that strange language.
Sonia imagined the cheers. She thought about how they had received Vasha’s Title and replaced the tall boy with herself. Sonia the Enchanted. Sonia the Dearest. Sonia the—
Another wind descended on the courtyard. But where Vasha’s wind was a warm, stable gust, Sonia’s was a shrieking cacophony that teared through the crowd, pushing them aside like they were nothing more than leaves. It reached the altar and there was an explosive *BOOM*, and Sonia was flung back with a cry.
When the dust settled, Sonia shakily stood up and saw the Speaker standing still, right where he was before, as if the wind had never even touched him. He read the words on the broken altar. Sonia saw his lips move wordlessly.
For some reason, Vasha stepped out of the crowd and towards her.
The Speaker didn’t address the crowd this time. He faced Sonia.
“The Godkiller,” he whispered, and then louder for the crowd, “Sonia the Godkiller!”
There were screams. Sonia thought it might’ve been her mother, or maybe her, but then she fainted into Vasha’s waiting arms, and everything went black.
---
check out my subreddit for more stories! I think I may continue this one. I'm excited in the direction I took it. /r/chrischang
| 2020-08-14T23:30:15
| 2020-08-14T22:36:33
| 2,377
| 654
|
[WP] The galaxy is a dark and lonely place. "First Strike Diplomacy" reigns out of fear. Few species survive even 300 years after developing interstellar travel. When humans entered the galaxy, we were the first species confident enough in war to ask someone "Are you sure you want to do this?"
|
"What do you mean? We outmatch you in firepower 10,000 to 1!"
"mhm, valid point, but you only need one ten-thousandth of your power to destroy yourself anyways..."
"What are you talking about?"
"See, earth, the only reason we survived so long was because of this little concept we knew as 'Mutually assured destruction.' Essentially meaning, if one fires, so too does the other."
"You would never be able to defend!"
"That's not the point, the point is if we both have the ability to kill each other, then it doesn't matter if you can't defend so long as you can react, and retaliate before their attack hits you. And believe me, we can react in time."
The Ilerian paused. Thinking about what the pathetic human had said. he knew humans had nuclear armaments, and that they could destroy his species, but he had always thought that it didn't matter so long as they were more powerful.
"Our weapons should chill you to the bone, why do you act so confident in the face of death?"
"Because we've stared death in the face many times before. Humans are deadly, we've commit genocide on our own people multiple times. We've faced extinction, and planetary obliteration before, and never once did we back down. All this is is just another doomsday scenario that we will stare down until it either hits us, or back off."
The Ilerian was taken aback by these words. He had heard that humans were vicious, but never expected them to be so cunning in the face of war.
"I... you can't possibly be serious. No species would drive themselves to the brink of extinction!"
"Kind of ironic, seeing as you're doing it right now, testing us. Who says we wont make the first move?"
"y-you wouldn't! We outgun you tenth-"
"so long as we can destroy your entire civilization, firepower hardly matters. Essentially, that makes us equal. So as your equal peer, i suggest you disarm those planet breakers, and we discuss peace."
The Ilerian had ever heard someone speak of themselves as an equal to the Ilerian empire. They had outposts all over the quadrant, and this pathetic morsel thinks they can oppose him? But what if he wasn't bluffing? What if they did retaliate. They have the means and know-how to deploy untraceable warheads to every base they had. If the ilerians attacked first, would the humans be able to react in time?
"uh... well then human... i- uhh, I guess we are in stalemate. I declare we never interact aga-"
"Oh no no, that's not how this works anymore. You just lost your chance to drop it and say that we never met, cause now I'm the one calling the shots. So here's my proposal. begin disarmament, and once you reach weapon equivalent to us, we too shall begin disarmament procedures. You will drop all of your trade barriers, and open your colonies to cultural exchange. If you don't I can assure you that neither of us will live to see the next galactic annum. Do we have a deal?"
|
You’d think that with all technological progress we’ve made in the centuries since we reached into the stars beyond, that a universal translator AI would have been engineered by now. You’d be wrong to think that, not that I’m to sad or mad about the fact, I wouldn’t have a job if that were the case.
I stood in an engineering miracle, or at least to me it absolutely is. The colonel tried to explain it to me, she said that after the aliens destroyed our survey probe with technology at the limit of our theoretical understanding of the nature of the universe 4 decades ago they prepared Operation Anaconda.
I put on the helmet of my space suit easy enough, something I had barely done before this mission and entered the elevator that took us from the rotational unit to the main body. A man, or woman, hard to judge with the suit on the way and their androgynous face, they sat next to the colonel asked about me.
“He is a linguist, one of the best ones at that too.”
“Name’s Josué Barrantes, pleased to meet ya.”
I was barely acknowledged, how rude. I then noticed their eyes, as if they were reading something in front of them, something I couldn’t see myself. Even worse in my opinion.
Instead I look outside the window into the planet bellow, you know, something real.
A view drones had quickly disabled all defense systems and more surrounded the alien colonies in the system to disrupt all communications, I could even see the tiny black specks flying over the planet right now. Ideally they would have simulated regular communication to avoid unwanted attention, it’s why they had contacted some of my peers at first but they soon realized their foolishness.
We quickly move on through the station to the next elevator. This station was big enough on its own and it was only a small auxiliary of the main structure, I don’t envy the scientist and engineers that designed this place, that’s for sure.
The colonel strapped me to my chair before strapping herself in, this elevator wouldn’t benefit from rotation emulated gravity and through the small window after we started moving I could see the marble that is Operation Anaconda.
A huge metal egg, it was damn near the size of my home station and there are literal continents in it. We dove into the egg, soon enough, 10 minutes to be exact, I was alone.
I climbed out of the hatch and up the exposed ladder. Around me there was metal in every direction with beams that reached into the center, into our hostage alien ship.
Weightless, for someone who’s never lived in a planet it still felt so foreign to me. I pushed myself forward into the open alien hatch and as soon as I crossed a thin blue veil I fell into the stone-like floor. I had indeed trained for the maneuver but I still fell on my face. Way to make a first impression, that’s for sure.
While I walked further into the dark hall my mind wandered. I remember the first time I met the colonel. After she explained the mission I asked,
“Why me? Not to be modest but there are others more qualified for this mission. Have you tried contacting Dr Pfennig or Dr Sommers?”
I tabbed my temple “you wouldn’t even need to be physically there to talk to them, unlike me.”
She smiled “That is precisely why we approached you instead of them…”
I was told that everyone with a neural augment that entered the alien ship fell ill with strange hallucinations and vertigo. I smirked, I knew mamá was right about those.
At last, I stood in front of a vast expansive window into the unknown. I wouldn’t be the first person to see alien life…
but I’d be the one to untangle their language.
EDIT: punctuation and minor changes so the story flows a bit better.
r/sipYoEscribiEsto
| 2022-01-22T09:36:54
| 2022-01-22T07:48:19
| 280
| 86
|
[WP] When two people get married, on the day of the wedding they are both given the ability to alter the appearance of their spouse to anything they wish. How do they change each other? How do they respond to what has been done to them?
|
It should come as no surprise that, when two furries get married, they each wish for the other person to become their true fursona, their inner animal that radiates the strongest in them. So when I woke up the next morning on the first day of the honeymoon, my wife and I somehow literally having become one flesh as a four-armed, two-headed, twin-tailed hermaphroditic self-procreating [bassarisk](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ringtail) taur, it really shouldn't have sent that many shockwaves throughout the community. But apparently, it's really rare for two people whom God has picked to be husband and wife to actually meet, let alone get married, and so that Biblical saying about their union can get a lot more literal when certain appearance-altering wishes are made.
Years have gone by since that day, and our many kids - who thankfully, at least for now, are normal humans - are starting to set out into the world themselves. Every night we pray that they, too, may find the person God has picked out for them, and we still have another litter on the way even now. It is good that our sudden fame brought us fortune and that we made good investments with it, as otherwise we'd be on the streets instead of in a mansion to house our family that could rival the Hopps' in its size. We run our lower belly, nipples pert for breastfeeding, and are about to relax for the night when the phone rings. We shed a few joyful tears when our first-born child shows up on the screen, conjoined to his wife as a two-headed hermaphroditic wolf. Yes, it may seem like a curse, literally being of one flesh with your spouse, but we can tell you: It is a blessing and joy that few things on Earth can match.
Edit: Two-headed, not two-handed. Thanks u/VennTheSW for pointing out that typo brought on by autocorrect.
|
“Bigger”
I said sternly looking at my husbands little man down there, Bigger.
“Bigger?”
He asked confused looking down at the thing as-well “Its like seven inches long, Any bigger would eve a hindrances to my daily life!” He tried to rebutt it but I was determined! DETERMINED to make it AtLeast 12 inches.
“MORE, BIGGER”
I scream, my spouse was obviously in a mix of shock and confusion as he watched myself go ham on the fact I wanted the man down there to be twelve inches…
“I AM NOT MAKING MY FOOT LONGER AGAIN! YOU ADDED 7 INCHES AND NOW YOU WANT ANOTHER 12 MORE!
He screamed, has he gone mad perhaps?
“ITS THE TREND! PLUS YOU WALK FASTER!”
“Bitch, if I am walking with a god damn foot this long each step will launch to the sky, and I ain’t no catapult!”
My husband maidenly rabbled, I cant believe he was this dumb!
“Wait…”
My husband paused, looking down
“Dear, are you lesbian?”
He concernly asked
“It’s Punishment for you not wanting the long feet!”
“Dear, You do realize I aswell can alter your body”
| 2022-12-07T22:07:24
| 2022-12-07T20:59:42
| 29
| 14
|
[WP] tell me the story of how a giant omnipotent space dragon that can manipulate the very fabric of reality, became best friends with bob, a middle aged man who works at Walmart.
|
Robert Paper shivered in the cold night air while walking to his car in the Walmart parking lot. Another day over and done with. He'd been doing this for so long that he wondered if parts of his soul were wearing away. But even so, it was worth it to get to see the twinkle in his son's eyes. That is what mattered. Little Jack was probably asleep now, hopefully dreaming something sweet. The thought warmed him and he wondered what had become of his own childhood dreams.
As he reached his car, he noticed something shiny and green on the ground. An iridescent scale about the size of his thumb. He had seen scales like this before, but so long ago that he wasn't sure he trusted the memory. Where had it come from? He looked around, and noticed a shape looming in the darkness, huge but barely more than a shadow.
The shape of a dragon. But one he recognized.
After a minute, Robert's eyes adjusted better and he could make out the head, with jaws large enough to swallow his car. It was familiar, and its eyes stared at him like two dim stars.
The dragon spoke with a gentle rumble, though Robert knew it could roar loud enough to deafen him, "Why did you stop coming to visit me?"
"My parents moved us away. To a different town. I'm sorry."
"Why didn't you come back?"
"I grew up. I couldn't believe that the things we did were real. I thought I imagined them. Even now I can't quite believe I'm talking to you."
Robert thought for a moment then continued, "But I did come back. This town always held happy memories for me. That's why I'm here now. I even went back to your cave, but there was nothing there."
"Ah," the dragon paused, "I didn't recognize you. You didn't bring the gifts and ideas we would use to spin worlds. You didn't bring curiosity, wonder. You looked different, bigger. You weren't you. I only recognized you now, because for an instant I saw your spark."
A thought occurred to Robert that alarmed him, "Wait a minute. If that was all real, then what would have happened if the kings and princes hadn't bowed their heads? What if the pirates had tried to shoot me off your tail?!"
"Bobby!" replied the dragon, affronted, "I'm magic! I would never have let anyone or anything hurt you!" then with a touch of pride, "You let me be brave."
"If you could do all that, then why did you need the friendship of a child?"
The dragon looked slightly confused and repeated, "You let me be brave," the dragon explained, "I am mighty. I need nothing, so I can do whatever I want. But I need nothing, so how do I decide what I want? Dragon's live forever, I needed you to show me what was important. To show me that things matter. Otherwise, I would be like a stone. I missed you. But we've found each other now," the dragon brightened as it finished.
Robert was abruptly aware of the chill night air, "I'm sorry. There are people who depend on me now. I have obligations. I can't go on adventures with you."
"But," he continued, "I could introduce you to my son."
|
I consider myself omnipotent, but I never kid myself that I’m omniscient. So, it won’t surprise you that I pursue knowledge, not power. When I was but one of many giant dragons, I used to toy with shortcuts to omniscience. I’d manipulate the very fabric of reality in my pursuit of knowledge. This shortcut to knowledge proved flawed.
It’s why I’m the only giant dragon still existing in this time-space dimension. One by one those other dragons who had been with me for eternity manipulated themselves out of existence. What saved me I think is two things. I’m a space dragon, not a simple normal Giant Dragon. This means I’m more grounded in the universe than that of my erstwhile fellow non-space giant dragons. I’m not sure if this is a “saving quality,” but I’m also among the smaller of the giant dragons (as opposed to the ordinary, non-giant, Komodo dragon sized dragons).
You probably want specifics? Who am I to complain if you want more knowledge? It’s been my obsession for a lifetime that stretches out longer than the stars in the sky. In my true form, I’m approximately the size of that SUV Arnold Schwarzenegger used to drive. The black one manufactured to military specs, a Humvee I think they call it.
To be even more specific, I should say I used to be that size. Several thousand years ago, I met a truly great being, a being whom I firmly suspect is omniscient. Truly monstrous in size, the creature hovered above me, it’s great faintly beige, wheat colored tentacles moved ponderously above me and light shone down. It was then I knew this creature would one day guide me to enlightenment.
On that gray cloudy day, with rain falling on my scaled shoulders, lightning flashed and my true form became concealed in that of a middle-aged woman named Maude. I immediately converted to the Pastafarian religion and began to search out my teacher. It was years before I found him, but eventually, he made himself known to me at the 24-Hour Walmart on Broadway Avenue. His true nature was concealed in that of a middle-aged, slightly pudgy gentleman named Bob, a shelf stocker.
When I saw him for the first time, I knew he was the one. My mentor, the man who would one day lead me to enlightenment. I got a job with Walmart and Bob and I slowly grew close. After a few years, we began having coffee together at the attached McDonalds every day after work.
A few months ago, I finally let Bob know my true nature. He now laughs and sometimes kids me. “So Maude, are you really omnipotent if you never use your power?”
I’d laugh in return and say something like, “Omnipotence isn’t defined through the use. It simply exists.” It turns out Bob’s a fellow Pastafarian and we began to have deep philosophical discussions about the nature of religion and the universe and what it all means. Slowly, Bob became not only my best friend, but the man who was leading me to greater and greater knowledge. I finally was truly grappling with the nature of what it means to be omnipotent, immortal, and the last surviving Giant Dragon of this great universe.
| 2017-01-23T16:08:27
| 2017-01-23T13:05:29
| 24
| 10
|
[WP] A child is born with a functioning Appendix, the first ever recorded in history and the purpose it serves shocks the scientific community/world.
This is my first writing prompt submission! Amazing response, can't wait to read your stories, thanks people.
~~~~~ Shout out to Montreal ~~~~~
Edit: getting a lot of grief from people saying "the appendix has a function", try this on for size:
http://www.webmd.com/digestive-disorders/picture-of-the-appendix
"The function of the appendix is unknown. One theory is that the appendix acts as a storehouse for good bacteria, “rebooting” the digestive system after diarrheal illnesses. Other experts believe the appendix is just a useless remnant from our evolutionary past. Surgical removal of the appendix causes no observable health problems."
|
*A child's cries cut through the halls, a piercing, forceful statement every infant makes as it enters this world.*
However, this time, it stopped abnormally quickly. No more than several seconds had passed before the baby was quiet; an eerie stillness about him displaced the nurses.
"You sure are a solemn fellow, aren't ya little guy?" asked Dr. Johanssen. *Better to lighten the mood.*
The baby cocked it's head at him, giving him an odd look. It was almost...studying him? No, of course not. The infant was yet to even be a minute old.
"Hah, you're going to be interesting when you grow up. That's for sure!" Johanssen once again quipped at the baby.
His smile faded when a strange, ungodly sound came gurgling from deep within the child. The sound grew louder, and was in very brief intervals. The baby began to sputter as it unearthed these sounds but would not yield to it's undeveloped lungs.
*What the hell is that sound? How unsightly.*
The noises ceased. Just as Johanssen breathed a sigh of relief, he noticed two beady little eyes staring through his soul. It was straining to look in his direction, and it looked....angry? *No, it looks villainous.*
One of the nurses whispered to the others, "Disgusting. How horrific."
The baby cranked it's head toward them. "*dis........d....disgusting*?" Its face warped with agony and distress. The doctor holding him was trembling. In his fear, he dropped the child. It landed on all fours before slowly standing up. It's abdomen was pulsing, a strange blue/green light strobing beneath the skin. The pulsing grew faster.
*A child's cries cut through the halls, a piercing, forceful statement every infant makes as it enters this world. This time, it did not cry alone.*
|
"I see things", the child hissed, just four years old. Doctor Avanto had kept a close eye on the boy since the day he was born, warning the parents that the malformed appendix might cause issues in the future.
"What kind of issues?" they had asked, and he had shrugged. The appendix was a tricky thing, serving no apparent purpose yet causing a plethora of difficulties and annoyances. "Let's remove it now," they insisted but he vehemently refused. Nobody had ever had a functioning appendix yet here was one that seemed to be doing... something. When he ran ultrasounds and x-rays, there was far more activity than would be expected, and by his first birthday, the child was complaining of constant headaches. Doctor Avanto had directed the parents to give him more sun and then to keep him out of the sun and to pamper him and then to ignore him, biding his time until the boy could talk.
The boy's first words were dark and ominous and the parents had desperately thrown out their television and cut him off from talking to other people, perplexed as to where he had learnt such things. Only Doctor Avanto was permitted to speak to him, and the boy showed up for hours on end of therapy each day.
"What kinds of things?" Doctor Avanto asked, thrilled at what could prove to be a breakthrough. The child shook his head and trembled, sweat dripping down his face, eyes wide with terror.
"See-through people and monsters. They tell me they're coming. They say the time has come," the boy screamed desperately, the insulated walls of the office preventing any noise from escaping. *The fourth dimension*, Doctor Avanto thought to himself, and the drawings he asked the boy to make convinced him of it. He drew demons and ghosts identical to the ones in the prophetic books; readings he had surely never seen, yet here were the same images.
He consulted the other doctors; old men who had seen tens of thousands of cases and spent their entire lives studying medicine. He spoke to physicists and scientists of all sorts who denied that what he was describing was possible. "I swear it," he said, yet had no way to prove it. "The appendix serves to look into the fourth dimension."
They opted to remove the appendix, putting it in a controlled chamber hooked up to machines that pumped blood into it to keep it alive. Free of its bodily prison, the appendix twitched and shook as if it had a life of its own, and when it finally ruptured, as they all did, the fourth dimension poured forth and the doctors and scientists screamed as the demons and ghosts wreaked havoc on the world. *I should have removed the damn thing on day one*, Doctor Avanto thought to himself as a werewolf ripped through his living room and a demon tore his door off its hinges and prepared to devour him.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2016-01-07T08:49:58
| 2016-01-07T08:03:51
| 98
| 33
|
[WP] When it was time to pick up the Focus for their Magic, other novices at the Order of Sorcerers picked ice for cryomancy, lit candle for pyromancy, a dry bone for necromancy and other, obvious choices. They laughed when you picked up a small copper coin. Well, they are not laughing now.
|
Many archemages tried to discover what magic the copper coin was the focus for. Studies showed that the small coin held all the needed properties of a spell focus, but the studies couldn't uncover its intended magic use. It wasn't like the ice or flame where you focused magic into the focus to expand and manipulate the element. Channeling magic into the coin did absolutely nothing.
I had next to no skill with the other foci. I was ridiculed for failed spells by my classmates and the words of my instructors were burned into my mind. "Drop out now and save yourself the heartache. You'll never amount to anything anyway you have no chance." So it didn't matter which focus I chose for the result would be the same: failure. In an attempt to save myself from the jeers of my peers I chose the coin. I examined the coin focus; it had an angel on one side and a devil on the other.
"Fitting you chose the coin, a useless focus for a useless sorcerer," the proctor of the focus choosing snickered.
My knuckles grew white as I gripped the coin in my fist. "Devil side up and I silence this man," I thought to myself. I flipped the coin and caught it revealing the result. Devil.
Immediately the insults of the proctor turned into mumbles. I looked back up from the result meeting the proctor's face. His face no longer had a mouth. Where the lips should have been was a smooth sheet of skin connecting from under his nose to his chin.
I smiled as I spoke aloud "Devil side up and I end his life." I flipped the coin into the air the caught it covering the result. "Want to make a guess?" I asked the proctor. His eyes widening in horror. "Hmm, an Angel" I said frowning. "Shall we try again?"
|
I was pulled aside after class. Everyone had picked there focus and everyone had laughed when I had picked mine. A small coper coin. "I just wanted to check on you." The processor said looking at me. "One of what the other students said where terribly cruel." The processor had stopped the chatter when I picked the coin but not before insults about low birth, street crud, and other insults whispered through the class. The one that stung the most was "he must be the child of a prostitute to think that copper is worth something."
"I am fine. Thanks for silencing them. Professor Orin" I responded to the processor. "Don't let them get you down. I was in a similar boat before. When I picked a wooden bird as my focus." I knew the story, everyone did. Orin had selected a wooden bird as his talent. He was laughed at for years. Until the locust swarms ten years ago. Food shortages followed the destruction of the swarms, until they came to the town where Orin studied. People said the locust blocked the sun briefly, but the birds that met them blocked the sun for hours. He had gained widespread respect and now traveled throughout the kingdom preventing such disasters.
"Perhaps but I don't know if a disaster will come in which copper can save us as the birds did." I said.
I remember that day now. So many years ago. I remember the time I spent working with the processor trying to find out what my talent could be used for.
"My mentor saved our people from death from starvation. I will save my people from death as well. Not from starvation but from war. Nobody believes the army from the north can be stopped. I will show them. I will defend the kingdom in which I live. I will defend our people. None of my country men will have to fight. None will have to die. We have no need to fight a human army with a human army."
- journal of Aeris
Seth looks up from the information plaque at the base of the monument. It's a massive statue. A huge copper monster, armed with a sword and shield. There are others around the town's of our kingdom and even others around this town. No two the same. Various sizes, with various weapons.
No, not a statue. This is a golem.
| 2019-10-25T08:36:46
| 2019-10-25T05:30:36
| 81
| 59
|
[WP] In music, changing a song to a minor key is a small change that makes the song sound much creepier or sadder. Write a happy story, and then its counterpart in a minor key.
Edit: Wow! Thank you to everyone for all the great stories. This will definitely keep me reading for a while.
|
Lights in the sky and a cloud plume on the horizon. I can see the airplane roaring overhead, and all I can think about is what those people must be thinking up there. Are they really that different from me? The thought brings a tear to my eye as the hot air coats my skin. - Lawton, Oklahoma, 1913
---
Lights in the sky and a cloud plume on the horizon. I can see the airplane roaring overhead, and all I can think about is what those people must be thinking up there. Are they really that different from me? The thought brings a tear to my eye as the hot air coats my skin. - Hiroshima, Japan, 1945
|
The day was still Young, I stood on the front lawn staring at little zoey running and playing in the field. I could see the sun glistening off her youthful face as she danced with the wind. As graceful as her mother who sat staring through the kitchen window. I smile at her and she waves back chuckling. I thought to myself, this is just the beginning.
______________
The day was almost over. I sat on the porch staring into the field ahead of me. I could see little zoey dancing with the wind next to her mother and I couldn't help the single tear that rolled down my cheek. I set their respective urns down and sobbed. I thought to myself, this is the end.
Edit: stupid autocorrect
| 2015-07-14T01:05:09
| 2015-07-13T21:19:07
| 70
| 27
|
[WP] After North Korea declares that they will start a nuclear war if a single bullet is fired The Us military goes medieval
|
The president of the United States grasped a stark black phone in his hands. Surrounded by generals and military experts, he slowly tapped his hand on the desk, a rhythmic sound that broke the grave silence. He had not expected his presidency to require something like this.
No, nothing like this.
The weary voice on the other side of the phone spoke with a thick accent, trained by experience. The Pope let out a tired yawn before speaking "A call from you is unexpected, Mr. President. What is this about?"
"Your holiness. Thank you for speaking with me. I realize it's late where you are, but... I have a rather unorthodox request for you, considering the recent news." The president croaked out. His tapping on the desk increased with pace as nervousness built. He hadn't expected his presidency, or any presidency, to ask for such a thing.
"Well, you have my attention." The Pope croaked.
"The North Koreans swore that they would start a nuclear war if a bullet is fired." The tapping ceased. "... Which is why we need to not shoot a single bullet."
"If you're looking for some sor--"
"I need you to start a crusade against them. No bullets, no missiles, just... older weaponry" The president interrupted, his face twisting. Silence enveloped the other side of the line. Not even the Pope's breathing could be heard, which made the anticipation all the more maddening.
"A crusade." He paused. "Against North Korea. I wouldn't expect a... how the kids say it... prank call from you."
"It's not a prank." The president spoke again, confidence slowly building. "You have the power to muster the forces of so many, and with your holy confidence at their back, I have no doubt they would succeed." Silence, once more.
"The North Koreans, great apostates who shun the light of God and commit horrible acts, yet... a Crusade has not been ordered in many years." The pope sighed. "... Perhaps, Mr. President. Perhaps."
"Thank you, your Holiness." The president slowly put down the phone.
---
"And so, I call upon all men of good faith with the church, all those who love God and spurn the Great Deceiver, be you of any branch of the faith, to rally before the Holy Vatican on March the Twenty Fourth, before the eyes of God to embark upon the tenth Great Crusade against the Apostates of North Korea, against the shepherd of evil, Kim Jong Un, to bring the light of God to a hopeless nation." The pope mustered his strength into his voice. "Deus Vult!"
And all around the packed Vatican square, men, women, and children, cried with countless cheers, a thunder that would make God proud. Deus vult. God wills it.
|
"Whats your report soldier?"
"Well..."
The soldier was visibly nervous. He, General Jun and several other officers were in a bunker at the outskirts of Pyongyang.
3h ago the USA and South Korea started a offensive. General Jun was tasked to drive the invaders back.
"Out with it!"
"We were able to hold our lines against the first attack."
"These are good news. The glorious leader will be delight...."
"But their next one broke trough our lines completely. All of our troops are either dead, captured or on the run."
"I see. Looks like its time to use one of our mighty bombs. We warned those filthy capitalist pigs that if they fire a single bullet at us, they w..."
"Thats the thing. They didnt use any firearm."
"Soldier, are you drunk? How can they attack us without any weapons?
"Sir, we cant get drunk since there is no alcohol in a radius of 300km left. And they attacked us with spears, swords, axes and arrows. They were also attacking us with cavalry and catapults."
"Then this means we actually have the superior technology for the first time since 60 years????"
The entire room went silent in presence of such insolence from a high ranking officer. Even the deaf radar officer was looking up from his superior Windows Vista radar system.
"What?"
General Jun was confused but then realized what he just said. He shook his head and decided that he would silence everyone in the room later.
"Now tell me how the battle exactly went."
"The first wave was destroyed within minutes. But already then our equipment started to fail and malfunction. Most magazines didnt worked properly, had to be disposed and our soldiers had to resort to manually load every single bullet. Thats why the field commander decided to use 19th century infantry tactics."
"Wait, you dont mean..."
"Yes, line infantry."
"What about our airforce, artillery and tanks??"
"The planes all constantly lost parts after the take off and came down barely more than a skeleton. The artillery either blew themself up or couldnt shoot from the begin due to faulty ammunition or because there wasnt any to begin with."
"What about our tanks? They should have dealt with them without any problems?"
"Thats what the field commander thought. But it turns out those 40 guys pulling a tank were extremly vulnerable to enemy archers. And onced immobilized the tanks got swarmed and lit on fire."
"The what happened to the line infantry?"
"They tried to stand their ground, or at least those who still could stand. Damn influenza..."
"But?"
"The formations all broke after being showered with arrow volleys and rocks flinged from their trebuchets."
"Then we must hold the capital by all means. We will dig in and wait for their supplies to run out. We can h..."
"Yeah, about that.."
"Oh no, please dont tell me.."
"Yes, the glorious leader wanted a midnight snack..."
| 2017-03-19T08:23:20
| 2017-03-19T08:14:10
| 100
| 52
|
[WP] As you stand infront of the sink washing a glass mug, you have the sudden urge to say a number. The number twenty-two leaves your lips, and for half a second you know why you've said it. This is the 22nd time you've remembered you are trapped in this loop. For half a second you remember.
|
I walked to the sink and picked up my mug.
I stood placidly for a while, staring at it, and the way the light from my kitchen window played off its smooth surface and the soap suds.
It seemed like the world no longer existed - as if I were in a trance. Like in a dream, where context and reason dissolve into the background, and your thoughts are nothing more than whispers, lost in the wind.
I continued washing it for a while, when my empty, hazy mind lit up.
"Twenty-two."
I catch myself. Did I just say that? Why did I say that?
Where am I?
Panic sinks in, and a black sense of dread grips my heart with steel talons and jerks it downward. I remember. I remember it all now.
I dropped the mug, letting it clatter in the sink. I had to escape. Oh fuck. I looked around frantically for an exit. I-
I walked to the sink and picked up my mug.
|
Liquid blue soap slides down my hand. I've missed the sponge again, but atleast the soap isn't across my stomach this time. My mind turns back to the cool glass resting in my hand. As my hand goes to start the rhythmic motions of washing away the milk crusted to the bottom, an urge overcomes my mind.
The calm that had settled over my mind was shattered into a swirling swelling mass of panic. Suddenly, as if all the air in the room pushed out of my lungs and into a single word.
"Twenty-two"
This is the 22nd time I've woken up. I'm not sure how I know this, but nothing else matters now. For this half moment i need to remember everything i can from before I started washing the mug. A memory bordered in a haze comes to mind as I try to remember.
The memory clears enough to see the same glass mug in my hands and the word seventeen breaking past my lips.
My anxiety grows heavier in my stomach as i try to remember further into the past. Or is it the present? I don't know how long has passed or how long i have left, but only that i need to hurry.
My mind grapples helplessly into the void, finally bring out the memory of the time i said "two". Casting the memory away to dig deeper.
I need to know what started this, how to break free. The answer must be in the original, i know it is! Before I ever said the number 2 or 22. I needed to know now, before 23 ever happens.
Abruptly a memory, no it's THE memory is within my minds grasp.
I can feel my socks lose traction as they slide across the kitchen floor. I can see the livingroom from here.
When was the last time i saw that room? No, it doesn't matter, just focus i tell myself.
I remember sliding into the fridge, but why was i going so fast? I can almost feel where my palms slammed against its smooth surface. I feel myself push of the fridge with a burst of adrenalin. I've flung myself across the kitchen to the stove.
I can hear it now, a hum. I thought it was the fridge, but It shouldn't be this loud at the stove. White hot panic can be felt through the memory and present self as the number "fiftythousand" breaks past my lips. Twisting the knob on stove, I watch as I shove my hands into the flame.
I look at my hands feeling the cool glass mug aginst them and start to wash.
| 2020-03-03T13:25:45
| 2020-03-03T12:58:59
| 103
| 38
|
[WP] A nerdy girl goes on a blind date. She's surprised when the date is the bitchiest cheerleader in her school.
|
"I promise, it'll be great," Lily said after Hannah expressed her reluctance to go. Hannah sighed, and nodded. She couldn't back out now anyway. She began having a thumb war with herself, and noticed the butterflies in her stomach as Lily finished straightening her hair.
"Okay, done!" Lily announced. Hannah put her glasses back on and looked in the mirror. With a little more makeup than usual and a dress, she had to admit she looked pretty nice. Even so, she was very nervous. Hannah wasn't exactly the type to date. Lily sensed this nervousness and decided she would try to relax her friend, "Hannah, don't worry, I'm sure she'll love you. It'll be fine."
Hannah nodded again and glanced at her phone. It was 6:48pm, and she was to meet her date at 7. She informed Lily and left. She was walking to the meeting place, as it wasn't very far from her home. She got to the fast food restaurant in time and sat at a table by herself to wait. After a few minutes, when she was staring at her phone screen, she heard footsteps. Her stomach was doing somersaults.
"Hannah?" She looked up, but was not expecting what she saw: Ellie Reynolds, a cheerleader from her school. She wondered what the hell Lily had been thinking, but remembered she didn't go to their school.
"Ellie?"
"You're my date?" she asked in disbelief.
"I guess so," Hannah replied. She couldn't believe her best friend would match her with someone who is such a, well, a bitch.
After a moment of silence, Ellie sat down next to her. "I guess I can give you a shot," she grinned.
Hannah thought that maybe she was wrong to judge simply for the fact that she was a cheerleader.
Ellie grabbed for her hand and Hannah felt her heart flutter.
|
Susan was surprised Rose had ever wanted to be friends with her. Last time one of the popular girls talked to her, she ended up naked in a cornfield in the middle of the night. But she had been sitting with Rose at lunch for almost a year now, and nothing bad had happened yet. On this evening, however, she would be convinced the whole thing was just a huge joke, and this was its culmination.
"So you really have a licence, but not a car?"
"Yeah. My parents can't afford it."
"Why not just use their car then, you don't need your own."
"I mean they can't even afford one car."
Rose was silent after this. Susan was used to that. It seemed that the popular kids couldn't conceive of a world where someone doesn't have a car. Nonetheless, she was thankful Rose had driven her here. It was her first date, at age 16. This was pretty atypical, considering most of the girls at her high schools hadn't even been virgins since the 8th grade. Susan was concerned and intrigued by this.
"Pick me up at 9:30, okay?" Susan said as she closed the passenger-side door. This was met with a nod and a smile from Rose. Then she drove off.
Rose approached the building, full of anxiety and anticipation. Not only was this her first ever date, it was a blind date. For the first time ever, Susan had made a big deal about her appearance, not that it was her greatest feature, or even close to that. Her lips felt and tasted weird with gloss on them.
She hesitantly approached the glass doors, then pushed them open, her heart pounding. Not five minutes in what was promised to be the greatest day of her life, she was filled with dread at what she saw.
Standing there, just inside the restaurant, was one of the few people she had felt true hatred for. Susan knew she would be paired with one of the more popular kids, and that it would probably be a friend of Rose's, but why him? WHY?
Jake. The head cheerleader, and the only male one. Cheerleaders were infamous for bitchiness, but this was ridiculous. It had to be a sick joke. Rose had to be waiting for her out in front, she had to have turned around and come back. Susan looked behind her, but found only disappointment.
"Well, are you just going to stand there like a dead horse or something? Ughh, come on I've been waiting forever." Jake said, in his characteristic bitchy voice.
Without speaking a word, Susan followed Jake as they were seated by a waitress who seemed to be amused by the pairing. Good. Susan wasn't the only one who thought he was gay.
"So, what are you going to order?" Jake said as they sat down at their table for two. A harmless statement, it still somehow seemed offensive, just because of who said it.
"I don't know, I only just got here," was Susan's reply, in a much more pleasant tone than Jake deserved. With a sigh, she picked up the menu and began to look over it.
"So?" came Jake's piercing voice as they began to eat.
"So what?"
"Aren't you going to compliment me?"
"I thought I was the girl," Susan said bitterly.
"Offensive," was all Jake could say. Then he was silent for some time, ans Susan was glad.
After a good fifteen minutes of eating in silence and letting her emotions fester, Susan decided it was best for her to do something to help her present situation.
"So Jake."
"Ughh, what do you want?"
"Why did you agree to come on this date if you're so obviously gay?"
The look on Jake's face was priceless. If Susan couldn't erase this date from her memory entirely, that would be the one thing she wanted to remember. It was at least ten seconds before Jake responded. "I don't have to take this from you. I am head cheerleader, and you sat at the nerd table until this year. CHECK! You're paying."
"Okay!" Susan agreed cheerily, "but I'm going to the bathroom first."
She walked off to the bathroom, more confident in what she was about to do than she had ever been before. Pushing the window open, she heard a familiar voice behind her.
"How'd the date go?" It was Rose.
"I hate you," said Susan, through gritted teeth.
"No you don't. You know you love me."
"Yeah, I guess you're right."
| 2014-10-11T21:04:53
| 2014-10-11T19:59:04
| 19
| 13
|
[WP] Life today if slavery wasn't abolished.
write from any point of view.
|
June, 2014. Rushing, I glanced into the head of each aisle at the WalMart as I passed. Chips, no, coke, no, aha! Frozen food. I quickly scanned the prices of shrimp rings, grabbed a couple of the cheapest and put them in my cart. Now what about that cocktail sauce...
Thousands of miles away, in Thailand, the captain of the shrimp trawler was negotiating with another captain to buy some workers. They eventually settled on £250 per head, mostly Burmese and Cambodian villagers who had already paid everything they own to an immigration broker. Once aboard, these [men endured 20-hour shifts, regular beatings, torture and execution-style killings. Some were at sea for years; some were regularly offered methamphetamines to keep them going. Some had seen fellow slaves murdered in front of them.](http://www.theguardian.com/global-development/2014/jun/10/supermarket-prawns-thailand-produced-slave-labour).
I pried the clear plastic lid from the shrimp ring, set the jar of cocktail sauce in the middle, and put it on the living room coffee table. James glanced up distractedly when I entered and then at the shrimp.
"Thanks", he said. "I love those little guys".
Chewing, he went back to the football game.
"Me too", I replied. "They're such a good deal."
On the boat, night brought a few hours of fitful sleep. Men were sobbing and moaning. A splash outside suggested another dead sailor thrown to the fish.
Distracted by the game, I crunched a bit of the shell.
"God! Why can't they just clean these up completely and not bother with these gross tails?"
James looked over. "Huh?"
"Whatever". Even though half of them were left, the shrimp were getting warm and I was kind of grossed out by biting that one tail. I scraped them into the trash.
"Fuck it, they were cheap"
|
No more slavery for me. In the next few minutes I will become a free man. I always considered myself unlucky for the speciality I got stuck with. But, there was always the one upside. Slaves with my skillset get freedom far sooner than any other slave. Now, my freedom is coming, and I couldn't be happier with what I got stuck with.
What do I do? Well, more what *did* I do? Well, I did nothing really. Nothing special that is. It was my lack of speciality that made me so desirable. You see, the Masters, well, they really aren't nice people. They still have rules, however, and sometimes those rules get in the way of what they want to do. That's where I come in. I am a scape goat. I am the one who legally takes the blame for the misdeads of my masters. Masters though, do not like wasting their money. So, they buy someone like me who has no skills for very little, they then do their misdeed and blame me, then I get sent jail for however long it takes.
Perhaps an example of this is needed. One time I was bought by a large programming company. I won't tell you which one because they were quite nice to me while I was there. They gave me things like a sheet in the middle of winter so the concrete wasn't so cold, and a bucket, so my cell didn't get messy. They were quite nice. They needed a rival to have a set back so they could get ahead in the game. Well, the sent me and a couple of other men like me in and we waited while their guys did what they needed to, then the company men left and we waited for the police to arrive.
While we waited we saw other slaves doing their jobs. The cleaners picking up all the rubbish left by the Masters. There was the night shift of workers, assembling new iPad devices for other Masters. I was always impressed by the slaves who assembled computer tech. So many little parts, so many things that need to be done right, otherwise the whole device fails.
Actually, I remember one night a group of us found an iPad. We played for hours until another slave looking to gather favour with the Masters ratted us out. You know those shock collars for dogs? Well, they have them for slaves too.
Anyway, I am getting off topic. The police came, arrested us all and we got sent to jail. Funny thing is, even in jail there is still Masters and us slaves. However, some times you get blamed for something and you don't go to jail. That's what has happened to me.
Sometimes, you're blamed for a crime so bad that they give you your freedom. I was blamed for some senators son killing a few women after raping them. So here I am awaiting my freedom.
Finally, the men in the suits come and call my name. I happily follow them. They tell me to lay down on the bed. I happily do so. They strap me down and tell me not to move. I happily oblige. They insert the needle and push the venom in. I happily die, a free man at last.
Edit: typos and readability.
| 2014-06-18T02:18:02
| 2014-06-18T01:47:36
| 17
| 10
|
[WP]Every single "Walks into a bar" joke has occurred at the same bar. You are the bartender.
|
"Alright, listen up!" Mike the Bouncer shouts at the long queue waiting outside the door. "Next up we have Bill the Screwdriver... is Bill the Screwdriver here?" The bar is packed tonight, not as many rabbis as usual, but still busy nonetheless. I watch as a screwdriver with legs enters and finds a seat while I pour a second scientist a glass of hydrogen peroxide ("I'll have an H2O, too!").
"Alright, what's my line?" I ask into my Bluetooth headset. The screwdriver is waiting patiently, its plastic hands folded in front of it.
"Okay, it looks like you're going to say 'hey, we have a drink named after you!' to the screwdriver. Say it like you're surprised to see him." (*Screwdriver: 1 part vodka, 2 parts orange juice*) I set the hydrogen peroxide down in front of the second scientist and walk over to the screwdriver.
"Hey," I say with a surprised look, "we have a drink named after you!" The screwdriver simply looks at me for a moment. I hear sudden screams of torment and pain from the second scientist.
"You have a drink named 'Bill'?" And with that he hops off the stool and makes his way out of the bar.
"That's the entire joke," my manager says through my headset. "No actual drinks involved." I shake my head and sigh. At least I'd never heard it before. The "put it on my bill" one was so overused that we had a **NO DUCKS ALLOWED** sign until the ACLU made us take it down.
"Next up!" Mike the Bouncer yells as the first scientist carries his dead friend outside, "Length of rope, then group of miners! Someone tell the Scotsman, the Englishman, and the Irishman they're on deck!"
It's going to be a long night.
|
What was supposed to be a normal shift now looks like the cantina scene from Star Wars, and everything is starting to fall apart. A rabbi and a priest argue feverishly, a long-faced horse and a duck eating grapes get into a fight, and a dyslexic with a bra on is getting picked on by an Irish man (who seems to be the only regular in here currently). Just as it seems like the chaos was going to reach its boiling point and fights were about to break out, a loud thud followed my a metal ringing sound echoes throughout the entire room. The entire crowd goes silent. Everyone's attention turns to the man, knocked on his ass, nursing a growing lump on his forehead...
"Son of a bitch! Who put this bar here!"
| 2016-06-23T12:56:14
| 2016-06-23T11:54:40
| 91
| 10
|
[WP] 100 25 year olds have been chosen. each must choose a super power that cannot be repeated and cannot exceed the power of god. The goal is to see who can conquer the world. You have the number 100. The best powers have already been chosen. Then it's your turn and you choose.....
|
"Number 100. Please approach."
I strode purposefully into the center of the dimly lit gymnasium, tentatively eyeing the other God-Candidates as I passed.
Though the room lay silent, save the dull hum of the flickering halogen lamps which swayed dangerously side-to-side, the tension was so palpable as to be deafening.
They watched me approach the Speaker.
"What gift do you desire, Number 100?" He was the most average man imaginable, in terms of height, weight, build, and general looks. His race was ambiguous, and it could be said that absolutely nothing about him stood out.
But this in itself, was the most unsettling thing about him.
The slightest smile played upon my lips, and I ran a finger across the stubble covering my cheek.
"I wish to receive the gift of instantaneous relevant knowledge."
The tension in the room evaporated.
One of the God-Candidates, unable to contain himself, scoffed, while another sneezed. The room was a bit chilly, after all.
The speaker, however, said nothing for a few moments, simply gazing upon me, almost as if taken back. He understood what i'd asked for.
"It is given.", He said.
"Thank you, Speaker." I replied.
Turning around, I found the God-Candidate who had laughed upon hearing my choice.
Number 34.
As one of the earlier numbers, his gift was quite impressive, on paper. He had chosen the ability to regenerate instantly from any physical damage, making him functionally immortal. I yawned heartily, stretching like a cat, as I made my way over to him.
I leaned close, and whispered something into his ear. The smirk he'd been wearing was erased in the space of a few seconds.
Thus satisfied, I nodded to the other God-Candidates and lackadaisically exited the gym.
\*\*\*
Visibly shaken, Carl Riposte, otherwise known as "Number 34", thought to himself about what Number 100 had said to him. He would be thinking about it for a long while. The other God-Candidates talked quietly amongst themselves, already seeking to form alliances and hatch schemes. Carl however, was quiet, pondering the gravity of Number 100's words:
"*You have a pretty nifty talent, Carl. You could regrow an arm, a leg, hell...even a head, if such was necessary. But I wonder...Can you still drown? Well, anyway, be seein' ya Carl*."
|
God this sucks. All the cool powers are taken. From flight to fire breath. From teleportation to telekinesis. Now it’s my turn to think. I have to think long and hard about this one. Then I remembered it. As a kid I loved watching videos online and the main videos I watched were videos on the terrors of video games. I said as loud as possible
“I want the power to bring things to and from fictional worlds.”
People were silent at first. Then they started laughing.
“Look at this weirdo.”
“Go back to your cartoons.” They said, barely able to breath from laughing.
We were dropped back off on earth where the limitations of our powers were described to us. A man, who I could only assume was set by god, told me,
“You can take or leave up to 10 items per day in a fictional world. But every time you do pain will erupt from your body. To the point where when you send or take the tenth item you’ll be unconscious.”
I looked at him and grinned,
“That’s okay with me.”
I wanted to try my power on something small first. I reached out my hand and said, “ACTIVATE!”
I was suddenly in a blue room with a menu in front of me that l ooked like it was straight out of a video game. The same voice from before was behind me and said
“Here’s something I forgot to tell you. Whenever you activate this ability your spirit is sent here. When you go back out, it’ll be as if no time had passed. So take as much time as you need. But I will be the thing to harm you every time you use this ability. ”
I think again.
“Well, if I’m gonna get hurt over this I might as well make it work it. TAKE! FIRE FLOWER! SUPER MARIO GAMES!” I said loud.
“YOU DON’T NEED TO SHOUT! The being said. He walked close to me. And swiftly hits me in the gut. I immediately wake up. I throw up from the punch. But look in my hand and the fire flower is right there. I look at it and smile. I take a bite and immediately start sweating.
“Hot hot hot!” I repeat over and over again but then something changes. My clothes change color and I feel more powerful. I jump up and down.
“It works! It works!” I accidentally throw a fireball at my wall. And as the building collapses I remember something about the games.
“Oh no. Can’t get hit.” I burst through a wall and smile.
“IT WORKS!” I was barely done celebrating when someone screamed from above.
“Hey! You’re the loser who wanted to play video games right!” Oh great. I just got this ability and someone’s already trying to fight me. I scream back,
“Dude you can only fly. My ability’s cooler than yours.”
He shouted, “We’ll see who’s not cool.” As he backed up.
“It’s still yo-“ I couldn’t even finish till he hit me like a train.
“Still not cool?” He said while hitting me from all angles and laughing.
I raise my hand at him and say “Give.”
Suddenly we’re both in my menu. He’s tied up as the being looks at me and say “Already fighting?”
I ignore him and say “Give. Attack on titan. Season 1 Episode 1.”
He starts laughing and saying “Pfft. You think I’m scared of one of your shows.”
I ignore him too and ask the being “ Can I watch him to see what happens?”
The being says “Why not? I wanna see how this ends for him.”
He’s suddenly in the show. We watch as he gets mercilessly eaten by a giant humanoid. I smile an evil grin as he hits me.
“You’re disgusting.”
I awake on the battle field. His body is still there but he isn’t breathing. I go back in my house.
“I gotta think of a name for myself.”
| 2022-11-17T13:25:31
| 2022-11-17T07:32:46
| 24
| 12
|
[WP] The zombie outbreak starts, but the first (and only) zombie is an overweight man that can't catch anyone.
|
Martha pulled on Louise’s sleeve, looking up to her with her large doe eyes.
“Mommy, I want to see Steve!”
Louise flinched, resisting the urge to frown. She knelt down to her daughter, placing her hands gently on her shoulders.
“Are you sure honey? Maybe we can look at the giraffes again.
But Martha shook her head defiantly, pigtails swishing back and forth.
“No way! Everyone else in class has seen Steve except for me!”
Louise sighed. Once her daughter was set on something, she wouldn’t drop it until she got what she wanted.
Taking her by the hand, she led her to railing that looked over a glass enclosure. Inside, a humungous humanoid figure sat, larger than anything else she had seen before. Its skin was gray, ripped in some places. Its eyes were a murky blue, staring aimlessly in space until a noise caused it to move another way.
It was Steve, the world’s first and only zombie.
“Isn’t he so cute?” Martha said, clapping with joy.
Louise grimaced before answering. The air reeked of decaying matter but people flocked to the highlight of the local zoo. Since it was inducted, business had been booming.
“Sure, honey…”
At the sound of her voice, Steve swiveled its head in Louise’s direction. It opened its mouth ever so slightly, revealing a series of yellow and red-stain teeth. She could only imagine what they fed him.
“Ah, I see you two have taken an interest in Steve,” a man said, strolling up to them. By his uniform, he appeared to work with the zoo.
Louise shrugged, trying to put on her best motherly face.
“You know kids. They go crazy for Steve.”
The man nodded, giving a genuine smile.
“Yes, they sure do. We’re just so lucky to have caught him before he bit anyone. You know, with his weight he’s docile as long as we feed him on time and don’t agitate him.”
“Wait,” Louise started. “You actually go in there? Isn’t that dangerous?”
The man laughed, patting her on the shoulder.
“There’s no need to worry ma’am. Steve is so slow that he couldn’t catch us if we walked. We go in there a few times every day to feed and clean him as best as possible. In fact, we– Little girl, you shouldn’t do that!”
Louise snapped her head back to see Martha climbing the railing. The look on her face when she was called out couldn’t have been more accusing.
“What are you doing?” Louise asked. “Get down before you hurt yourself.”
“But Mommy, I just want to get a better look at Steve. Please?”
“No,” Louise barked. “Get down now.”
With a face full of sorrow, Louise began to scale down but before she could, a teen bumped her, not even looking up from his cellphone. And in a moment, Louise watched in horror as her daughter plummeted into the enclosure, a shrill scream ending with a dull thud.
“Oh my god, Martha!” Louise cried out, running up to the rail.
Fear stopped her heart but to her relieve, she saw her daughter’s small chest slightly heave, a sign she was still alive. The zoo employee had already pulled out his walkie-talkie to inform the others to retrieve her, much to Louise’s relief. In a matter of moments, she would be safe.
But that was when she noticed Steve.
Sometime in the confusion, it had somehow found its way by Martha, standing over with bloodlust in its eyes. Louise yelled but that did nothing to deter it. To make matters worse, the paramedic team was only opening the doors, too far to make a last moment save.
And in a soul-crushing second, Louise watched as the first victim zombie apocalypse was ripped to shreds.
|
"What's that smell?"
"What sme--Oh, beurgh, yah, come on."
"Where?"
"Upwind, no time to explain."
"No need to shove, I'm moving."
"Yeah but so is he."
"Who?"
"Our Jason, the only zombie in Devon."
"You're mad."
"Am not. come up this way and we'll double back."
"I will not!"
"Coward?"
"Am not!"
"Least bit curious?"
"No!"
"Want to stay upwind?"
"finealrightleadthewayfine!"
"Oh ho, so now we're in a hurr--beurk, goddamit, this way!"
"heh hoo heh hoo, can't. run. faster."
"'heh heh heh heh. no matter. we. okay. heh. here. look!"
"That's Jason?"
"In all his putrefacted glory, all 50 stone, give or take."
"It's like that fat suit from that movie died and was dug up again."
"When he first turned, we tried to burn him, that smell? That's the smell of petrol soaked human rotting burned flesh."
"why didn't you just shoot him?"
"We tried, we did, shoot him, but he just looked at us with that one eye like we'd run over his puppy and after that nobody had the heart to try it again."
"So you burned him?"
"Well it was just the one time."
"Why isn't the news all over this?"
"No one told them."
"But that's criminal! He's a zombie!"
"Yes?"
"Patient zero! The start of a global pandemic!"
"Not hardly, have you looked at him? He hasn't even got teeth left."
"What about the constable?"
"You mean Sean?"
"Alright, yeah, what about this Sean?"
"Oh, he reckons that Jason may be a zombie, but he's our zombie and you get used to the smell."
"Used to the smell?"
"It's become the smell of home, you see."
"Start living here and I'll miss it, what you imagine?''
"'Well, yeah, isn't that why you're here?"
"I just need directions to the highway!"
"Oh, well in that case, Hey fellas! He's not local!"
"What are you doing? Take your hands off me, get off me!"
"Nothing personal you understand, our Jason may be fat."
"No! Nooo! Help!"
"He may be slow."
"Let me go! Aieee!"
"but he's ours and well, you understand."
THUNK.
| 2015-03-18T07:55:46
| 2015-03-18T07:49:52
| 68
| 43
|
[WP] You gain EXP for everything you kill and you know when you gain EXP. Easy kills like bugs get you only a couple of EXP, tougher kills give more EXP. One day at home doing nothing, you unexpectedly gain 1500 XP...
|
The rain outside is tapping on the window. You're sitting on the couch watching a movie on the TV. It's an action movie about an arms dealer in the Middle East. Its depiction of the war was fairly accurate but the main characters are unconvincing.
The movie reminds you of the war you've fought five years ago--has it really been that long? You remember your combat buddies. The faces of the ones that fell are coming back quite vividly. Many bad memories, but it did good things for your EXP rank. Life is comfortable because of your sacrifices.
The army has been good for you. Taught you some discipline. You weren't always such a stand up citizen. As a matter of fact.. You were a pretty bad bully when you were younger. There was this one kid. He was so helpless and every time he felt bad he just kept munching away at his candy bars. Thinking back at that time makes you angry. That kid was so annoying but the things you did to him were inexcusable. The army managed to set you straight, and war was a good way to get EXP.
You try to shake the images of war out of your mind by focusing on the film as you feel a hot tingling in the back of your head. It's been five years since you've felt this synthetic endorphin rush. The army implant has been dormant for so long. The unforgettable feeling takes hold of your body. You're strong, competent. You've done something great and remarkable and your peers are celebrating your existence. You chug your beer and let out a euphoric roar.
It's only when the rush subsided that you wonder what just happened. That was the rush of a kill. The combat terminal! You need to know who died and how. You throw the junk that has gathered on your army trunk on the floor. The tablet starts up with a ~plink~.. Thank God there's still some power in it. You navigate to your kill feed as you see a name you haven't seen in 20 years.
+1.500 Jeffrey Nickelson, suicide
It's that loser from high school: Fat Jeff. Shit..
|
*Plghrt*
> Kill confirmed
*Sigh*
Another bug down, 1XP. Lovely, I'll never reach 10k, not at this rate. It started with the mice and rats, then the cats, fish. It's a privilege to work at a slaughter house or deliver lethal injections. I never could do that, not intentionally. The look in their eyes, the helplessness, betrayal, I cannot stand it. I document stuff, species that are near extinction, such as the common rat, house spider, fly, bee, etc. It helps us understand the value of the kill, why some rats are more valuable than others. Rare species have multiplier depending on the number of units left. White mouse used to be worth 2XP, now it's 200.
*Plarght*
> Kill confirmed
**+1**
*Sigh*
**+1500**
What!? This cannot be, what did I? How? Nothing besides me, but two fruit fly corpses. I must be going mad, am I?
*wuuuuzzzzzzz*
What's that noise? Where is it coming from? Is it the TV again? It starts by itself sometimes, old clunker. I need to check my stats again, it'll be listed there for sure. *looks at the wrist monitor* Nothing!? What was that? Just a question mark next to it, did I kill a new species? Cannot be, I did nothing of the sorts, less than 7mm doesn't count, it cannot be seen and confirmed... Damn, I must confirm it for it to appear on the list. I must check my shoes. I'm almost sober now, let's have a drink first. *opens the fridge* Oh come on, I forgot it doesn't work anymore. A man cannot live with such a low XP count here nowadays. Where did I put my vodka bottle? The toilet bowl? I did put my ice there to melt, right? Nah, this puddle begs to differ. The window? Yup, it's December, must be there.
*The window slides open*
Not this one? Hmm, can't get anything right when I start to sober up *mutter mutter*
*The window slides open*
This one neither? Oh man, I'm gonna die. Wait, maybe it fell down. Lemme check.
> Kill confirmed
Oh no
| 2017-05-15T09:06:47
| 2017-05-15T06:23:41
| 143
| 10
|
[WP] Voyager 1 has unexpectedly returned to Earth. It was found at Cape Canaveral, with a note written in a strange, unknown language attached to it. Scientists have translated that note and have called a press conference to reveal their findings.
|
John sat in front of the TV watching as the press conference started. The woman’s eyebrows scrunched as she pulled out a piece of paper and placed it on the podium. She turned her gaze to the camera, and said “I will now read the message. It says: ***Our world is being attacked, please help us.*** That’s all it says. There are still a lot of questions that need to be answered, including the most important of who and where this note came from. We are working hard to figure out the answers to these questions, and will update you when we know more. Thank you” Every reporter tried shouting questions to her as she finished her announcement and walked away from the podium.
John sat back in his chair, put his hands through his hair and looked at his phone. Just then his phone rang and he quickly picked it up. The woman on the phone said "You were right."
John replied “I’ll be at Cape Canaveral tomorrow morning.”
- - -
John drove towards the command center with his cheeks pushing up from the large grin on his face. As a theoretical physicist who had also been on numerous 'history channel’ tv shows to promote interstellar wars, he was pleased that his work was finally going to be respected in the scientific community.
He opened the door to see the woman from the press conference yelling at a man in a white lab coat saying “Because, part of John’s theories on interstellar war included species recruiting ally’s from other galaxies—” she stopped and looked over at the door and said “Oh hello, John.”
“Hi Susan” said John.
John and Susan sat down at a table and a few other people in lab coats joined them. They asked a lot of questions about interstellar space travel, and about John’s theory on using wormholes to send messages to other galaxies. He explained to them the math equation that he had written to prove that it was possible to make wormholes.
“And why haven’t you been able to test your theory then?” Said one of the men.
“It’s difficult to come by weapons grade plutonium now-a-days, and the government isn’t too keen on sponsoring experiments by ‘nut jobs’.”
“Alright” said Susan. “If we get you the plutonium, can you work on making this wormhole?”
“Of course” replied John. “But I will need a few things. A team of five. And I also want to see the note.”
“Done and done” replied Susan. “We will put the team together for you after you give us the requirements”
Susan then pulled out case from under the table and took out a piece of paper. She set the paper in front of John and said “there it is.” John’s eyebrows raised, he was surprised to see the message on a piece of paper.
“What did you expect?” one of the men said “the message to be on intergalactic plasma silk?”
John grabbed the paper lightly from the edges and put his arms out and read it. He then said, “What does it say again?”
Susan pulled out a note from her pocket and said “here is the english translation.” John looked at the translated note and read it. ***We world is being destroyed, please help us.*** John raised his left brow in confusion and said “I thought you said something different in the press conference?”
“I did” said Susan, this was a rough translation and we cleaned it up to make sense in english terms. The grammar was difficult, it had a lot of rules that were similar to German, Mandarin Chinese, Russian and English.
“So you’re saying you guys aren’t one hundred percent sure what it said, and you still made the public announcement?” asked John.
“We have an understanding of the concept, it’s just the grammar and sentence structure that could be off” replied Susan. “We aren’t worried abou—“
She was cut off as another woman walked through the door and said “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you have to look at this?”
“What is it?” replied Susan.
“It’s the message, ma’m” the woman responded. “We ran more tests through the software and got a slightly varied message. We then used that message to refine grammar and structure and got a second corrected version. We then just ran a final test and got a one hundred percent match of grammar and structure on the program.”
John sat down at the table with Susan and the other scientists as the woman was talking. Everyone at the table sat up straight in anticipation and Susan said, “Well what is the message?” The girl took out a piece of paper that had the messages on it, the first two words that were eighty and ninety percent matches were crossed out, and the final word that was a one hundred percent match was all that remained. John read it:
~~***We are being destroyed the world, please help us.***~~
~~***We are destroying the world, please help us.***~~
***We are destroying the Earth, please stop us.***
- - -
*Thanks for reading.*
|
The lights and flashing cameras of the press focused on the bald head of NASA’s head scientist, Dr. Alferious. The aging doctor winced into the spotlight. He was never one for media attention, but for an announcement this important, he didn’t trust anyone else to deliver it.
“Ahem. Yes, hello, thank you all for coming out here today.” Alferious spoke into the microphone; its shrill, screeching whine silencing the muttering buzz of the press.
“I am holding this press conference today to inform the public of the mysterious return of Voyager 1 at Cape Canaveral two days ago at one thirty in the morning. Not only was Voyager 1 returned to us early in the morning, but we found some very … disturbing … indications of alien life on the space probe.” Dr. Alferious’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in nervousness as he spoke.
How would the American public take this news? How would the *world* take this news? There would be pandemonium, complete and utter chaos. Alferious’s face hardened. No, it was his responsibility as a scientist to inform the people. This information had to be shared, it changed everything.
Dr. Alferious picked up a clicker and pressed a button. A small projection screen fell down behind the nervous scientist.
“On closer inspection of the space probe, our team discovered a number of very odd and disturbing markings scrawled on the surface of Voyager 1.” The doctor clacked the clicker, and a slideshow of images appeared behind him.
The images depicted Voyager 1, but that was not the main focus of the photos. Scrawled across the hull of the probe were several markings. Each one was a combination of what appeared to be letters and numbers, scrawled out in bright colors.
“Thanks to our modern computing power, several of our top analytics specialists were able to decipher the strange language that marked the probe.” Dr. Alferious said, hesitating before moving onto the next slide.
With trepidation, Dr. Alferious moved onto the next slide. The audience gasped in bewilderment as they witness the translations for the alien markings transposed on the image of Voyager 1.
“It is to our understanding, that Voyager 1 was being used by several alien advertising agencies to sell … underwear. According to our research, if there were sentient life in the universe, then Voyager 1 would be prime real estate for advertising throughout the universe.”
The press soon was abuzz with questions. Reporters yelled over each other to get the doctor’s attention. What does this mean for us? Can this be monetized? Will NASA now specialize in space advertising? How much would space for advertising cost? These questions were flung desperately at Dr. Alferious’s direction.
“Pleas, please calm down!” Alferious yelled, waving his hands in the air for clam. “I will answer questions at the end, there is still more to be disclosed.”
After the press quieted down, Alfrious continued.
“There was also a note attached to Voyager 1, inscribed in the same alien language as the advertising. After careful analysis of the note, we have concluded that the message reads as follows:”
Alferious cleared his throat before reading off the note.
“*Dear owners of advertising probe 3XC, of the Deswadian sector, we congratulate you on the success of your advertising probe. As a sign of our gratitude, we shall bestow upon you the most advanced technology that our organization has to offer. We will be sending you a lifetime supply of Mesmorp’s anti-diarrhea all purpose undershorts. -Sincerely, The CEO of Mesmorp Inc., Mr. Grotsnuker*.”
A stunned silence filled the room. Alferious quaked in his boots. A small anger boiled in the back of his mind. How would the public react? Surely it would be in anger and disappointment. They would ridicule him, and call NASA a waste of money. Their entire organization would be shut down because of this fiasco!
At once, the press broke out in a flurry of hurried questions. The reporters’s voices strained to be heard over the din. How much is a lifetime supply? Will the underwear be distributed evenly across the world? How much will the underwear cost? Will the president start wearing the anti-diarrhea underwear?
The questions droned on and on to the stunned look of Dr. Alferious. Were they serious? Is that all they cared about? What about extraterrestrial life? Why were they focusing on the underwear?
Dr. Alferious walked off of the stage in defeat. He mumbled something about going home to his wife and kids, and pouring himself a much needed drink. The desperate sounds of the press followed him off stage, and echoed through his mind as he philosophized on the insanity of the human condition.
----------------------
Hope you liked it! I do other stuff at r/ThadsMind if you're interested.
| 2016-11-27T09:28:52
| 2016-11-27T09:14:58
| 49
| 23
|
[WP] The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The "Quit Smoking" ads get personal.
|
He buried his head in his hands. The condensation from his steamy sobs leaked through his fingers on to the pavement. It took every ounce of strength to pull his head up and confront the billboard, but he did it anyways.
There she was. His wife, holding his withered body. It didn't seem like it was truly his corpse. The veins were hyper-exposed, the ghastly skeleton reminded him of the blanket scare tactics anti-smoking companies used in the early 21st century.
But her expression. Her anguish. It was all too real.
He knew the adds were not real. He knew the recent breakthrough allowing billboards to send targeted adds at each passerby. This was simply a personification of his inner monologue. His desire to quite, not strong enough to keep his marriage. The little white sticks he cherished overcame his ability to remain an active father to his princess. The addiction was more than a release, it was life.
The billboard flickered and he turned away. He imagined all the potential images it could be. Another fluffy wheat cartoon. The seductive escorts he had been seeing recently. He clenched his knuckles on the railing of the bridge and looked.
There she was. His little girl. Running and playing with a kite. He was confused as this didn't seem to be an advertisement or sponsorship at all. She seemed to be in a cemetery, but everyone was happy. His eyes focused on a strange cylinder shaped coffin.
"Here lies Jason Ritz. He sacrificed all he loved to satisfy destructive desires. If only he had quit smoking".
The guilt. The burden. The sorrow.
Every emotion bubbled up to the surface. In that moment Jason knew he could not be the man who died from smoking. He could not be the man who chose to continue his addiction at the cost of his wife and kids. He knew she was gone for a few weeks but when she came back, he just had to be clean to live a long happy life.
He couldn't face the thought of choosing cigarettes over her.
He reached in to his back pocket. The warm pack cradling him gently. He removed the packet and placed it on the railing of the bridge.
A small smile crept up on his face.
He climbed up on the railing. Inhaled a large breath of fresh air.
He jumped.
|
I've outlasted it for years. I've watched campaigns come and go for years never having any effect on my habit, but this was something more. The first anti smoking ad I saw was when I was 10 years old. It showed a middle aged man going through his daily life with a hole in his throat. Plugging it when he took showers, talking like some demented robot, scaring his children. This had absolutely no affect on me. Science would take care of it, I thought. Robot voice could be fun, I hoped. But I will never be given the courtesy of robot voice, for the culture war against smoking has persisted.
A few years after scary throat man, the government deployed a little more extreme measures to curb smoking, they began showing pictures of damaged lungs and arteries on the front of every pack of cigarettes. Every time you went for a smoke, you would be faced with the harsh reality of lung cancer. Again, this had absolutely no affect on me. I could always get a transplant couldn't I? Do lung transplants exist? It doesn't matter, the point is I just want to smoke my Marlboros.
A few years later, the government again ramped up their efforts. This time, they encouraged citizens to heckle anyone they saw smoking. It was incredibly effective, the few people who could make it past robot voice man and pictures of fucked up lungs couldn't continue to smoke when it wasn't even cool. I mean it's one thing to knowingly destroy your body while looking badass, but to do it when people are booing you is just plain stupid. For a few a while it was just me and a group of angsty teenagers who liked the attention, but soon they passed the phase. Now the year is 2040, and I smoke alone. Every time I leave the house for a smoke I'm berated by every living person on Earth. Kids, old people, it doesn't matter. They've researched me, and they know just how to insult me. Every time I buy a pack , the picture that come with is no longer of damaged organs, but personal insults written by the cashier. This morning it said, "Your father is disappointed in you."
But still I persist, I don't friends, family, personal relationships. Not when I have my Marlboros.
| 2017-02-17T12:06:05
| 2017-02-17T11:59:25
| 51
| 20
|
[WP]At 18 everyone is assigned a job perfect for them. No one ever complains. Upon reading their job assignment card, a teen has found that, for the first time in 100 years, they’ve been assigned “serial killer”.
|
I can barely believe we live in a time where cognitive regocnition technology can identify what roles we play at an individual level in our society.
My mom and das thinks it is scarey but embrace the idea anyways. "It works... it just does. I guess" they say. Am i living in the shift or evolution of the modern man? I guess for them it should feel like fantasy that humanity progressed so much so quick. Or maybe they were too caught up in their culture to see how things could change. And they were called the generation of change...
Welp.
I guess they may be the catalyst for our progress.
Millenials had more time to think than act. So maybe it's their late sprouting.
Im 18 now, and today, is the last day of my senior year. Every graduate will now take that test.
The open booths at the college campus seemed so open. Everyone enjoyed sharing their job titles with wide eyes of hope and oppourtunity.
We just sit in a chair with a small device attached to our foreheads and wait for 10 minutes as it downloads our memory and analyzes our genetics. We dont have to say a thing. Just stay awake, breathe to keep the oxygen in the brain, and let the memories analyzer do its job.
It's unusual to get pranked while waiting but its not unheard of.
I was quite stunned when my role printed out "Serial Killer". I am skeptical of the system's programming but i stand up with my printout. There could be a mistake but who do i complain to? Usually these come with a manager and start date already... but there is no phone number or business information. Just a codestamp of approval. So i hit the verify button. It sends the data to the home.server and they show you your stats. Stats like physical cabalilities, mental prowess and intelligence, creativity, etc...
All of mine came back as the most normal man in existence...
All my stats are halfway and in the center of every poll.
I throw my crumpled shame in the trash bin outside the booth. I step out and see no line so i go and retake the test.
These ten minutes pass by and the same result comes out.
I, am afraid now...
What if i must do this because the machine deemed we need this?
What if i am just a tool in it's learning to test it's own acengy, and thus, sentience?
Or maybe im being delusional and paranoid.
Maybe the machine doesnt actually know what to do with me so it found... it found out what a serial killer is? And wants to identify it as a profession?
Yeah... its just a paradox... heheh, cuz im so normal.
Heh...
Next thing i know someone is calling my name.
I answer and maybe think about how they could understand ny problem.
We chat for a bit on professions and then he asks the dirty one.
I am reluctant. I wont tell him and he thinks im shy or playing hard to get. I just dont know if he will believe me, or the machine...
Its never been wrong before.
I see him reach for the garbage can because he saw my crumpled paper. And i realize he will see it soon too. I dont move, afraid and stuck in my overthinking. He gasps in horrow and his face goes pale.
Oh no,
He believes the machine.
He is going to warn the police.
He is a good man and a good friend.
But he isnt going to tell them.
Because he'll be dead.
And now i have blood on my hands.
And a witness.
|
"Oh my god!" Jimmy said reading the assignment card. His mind raced as he wondered if it were true. "Mom look at my assignment card! Is... is this real!?"
His mother couldn't hold back her grin, "pffft ha ha! You dummy!" She said laughing histerically, "I put that in the envelope as a joke!" She pulled the real assignment card out of her purse, "I cant believe you fell for that!" She threw the real card at Jimmy, hitting him in the face. "Here, you got 'Garbage man' you idiot!" She exited the room laughing uncontrollably.
| 2018-08-13T18:58:59
| 2018-08-13T17:47:14
| 62
| 19
|
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist.
|
At first I thought we were evenly matched, but I was slowly starting to realize I'd been too optimistic. My fists blocked by equal force when I rocked out, my strategies countered or nullified no matter the sonata, piece by piece I shuffled through futile playlists.
I began to suspect that he was some form of Copycat or Shapeshifter - his speed accelerated when mine did but swapped to superior strength as soon as mine did as well. If that was all that Echo had at his disposal I could at least stall until reinforcements showed up, but he was clearly starting to win. However he was copying my abilities, Echo seemed to be using them more effectively than I was.
So I decided to take a risk. I went for his mask, although it cost me a blow that made my ribs ache, and when it came off it all became clear. I leaped backwards and turned my music off, and his bat-like ears twitched in reaction. He paused, looking confused, then pulled the mask back over his head.
"I see what you're doing now," I said, breaking the silence for the first time. "Your Copycat powers are based on sound." I caught a glimpse of a smile before the mask was fully back in place.
I whistled, impressed.
"Your hearing must be incredible. I'm wearing headphones but you're actually getting more from my music than I am," I continued, quickly swapping to another playlist.
Echo perked up as the music resumed, then charged again. I quickly unplugged my headphones, and he was sent reeling to the ground.
"I call this one *Worst of the 60's*, but I hope for your sake the cops get here before we make it to 2010."
|
"And stay down!" Maestro slammed Songbird down to the concrete.
The hero lay still, dust rising around her. Her headphones skittered across the pavement. A crunch followed, as the villain stepped on them. The beats of Poison silenced instantly.
It was supposed to be an easy battle. Maestro was a new villain in town, having pulled a few low level heists. Robbing the bank was his "big move". She should've been able to shut him down. Fly in on the Olympic theme, switch to Mozart to case the joint, then glam rock for the stunning finisher. Easy.
She didn't know he could control the music. That this had been a trap meant for her.
He had bent the Olympics to a minor chord, crashing her into the building. Mozart had become discordant. And, well, the less said about how weak she was after he silenced the electric guitars, the better.
Well, two could play at that game. She thumbed her phone, fortunately still safe in its case on her belt. It was time to "Let It Go" if they were "Playing with the Big Boys" now. Because she had "Friends on the Other Side", and children's belief made reality much more malleable.
| 2022-05-17T09:05:42
| 2022-05-17T08:28:11
| 151
| 91
|
[WP] You wake up in King Arthur's court with only the clothes on your back. Merlin hands you a box about the size of a pumpkin and tells you it will wish into existence any object from your age, once per day. Camelot will be attacked and destroyed one week from now. Help us, future-man.
|
"Does the item have to consist of one piece, or can it consist of multiple parts to build one entity?", I asked Merlin. He looked at me, puzzled, and responded, "As long as it's solid, has real form to it, you should be successful in summoning it." he replied.
"Okay, Merlin. Hope you like bricks. This next item I summon will be our main line of defense, and *it's gonna be euge.*"
EDIT: Man, after lurking this sub for so long I finally make a post and it receives moderate attention. Thanks for the friendly welcome, folks!
|
Lying on my back I begrudgingly realize it's morning. I really can't be bothered waking up. Stretching my arms over my head I yawn deeply, quickly interrupted by a mouthful of smoke... my incense must still be smoldering still from last night. Extending my finger tips I notice I can't feel the wall at end of my bed. Feeling around I fumble to pull my pillow to me...Wait, no pillow either?. I let out a sigh *ugh*. I must have fallen out of bed.
I open an eye and shield it immediately from the bright light, forcing me grunt from the shock. Rolling to my front I drag my knees to my chest one at a time - I let out a slight groan, stiff from sleeping on the floor. Slowly peeking through the slits of my eye lids I adjust to the brightness of the room. It's then I notice I'm on a soft lush deep crimson rug, looking up the it ends upon a polished stone floor. I see I'm in the middle of what appears to be a large hall, huge pillars rise up to a vaulted ceiling. Built into the pillars are dozens of lit candles, adding ambiance to the bright morning light glimmering off the smooth stone floor from windows. Gathering my senses I stand up, rubbing my eyes they focus and I notice I'm not alone. People lining the walls around me are staring and whispering to each other. They appear dressed in shawls of orange and red. A slight feeling of confusion and embarrassment over come me; *am I dreaming?*. Looking to my left and turning, I bump into something... no, it's someone.
A tall elderly gentleman in a worn dark blue cloak looks down upon me, his face a serious look of contempt made even more stricken by the deep wrinkles between his thick furled brow. A long grey beard flows over his cloak, hiding several medallions hanging from his neck. Meeting his steely pale blue eyes, they appear to look right in through me. Seconds pass as I meet his gaze, his eyes boring into my skull. I open my mouth to speak, but only manage a white noise, *uhhh*. Abruptly he turns and I follow his gaze to a young man sitting on a throne atop a stage in the room. He is garnished in several layers of fine silks and cloths of bright velvets and reds, an intricate bright gold jewel encrusted crown upon his head. Next to him an empty throne, and either side of his platform are two, what appear to guards, in chain mail and freshly polished thigh, knee and shin armor. At their side a sword each, a red sash around their waste and matching red tunic under the armor. The elderly man speaks in a slow and clear deep voice "Arthur, I present to you this here savior of ours, summoned from afar".
*Wait, what?*, did I hear that correctly?. Looking quizzically between the old man and the throne bound 'Arthur'. I go to step forward when from no where the old man extends his arm in front of me, now with a staff in hand, and stands it in my path, *where did that come from?*, I wonder. Before I could think or proceed further, Arthur declares "Splendid work Merlin, be sure he is the one". And suddenly I am ushered by two of the guards out of the room, with the old man leading the way. I follow stumbling over the first couple of steps, still hazy in my waking up. Confusion now holds me closely.
After being led down a stone hallways for a minute, I follow the old man, Merlin, to a room. He gestures me to a wooden chair against one wall and he makes his way to a table at the far end. I try to speak a couple times, but each met with a stamp of his staff on the ground as he rummages through piles of books and scrolls. Minutes pass and he eventually turns to face me. A gentler look rests on his face now, and moments pass as he looks at me, then states, "You have been brought here to save our kingdom, Camelot". I raise an eyebrow and query, "I have been brought *where*, exactly?"
----
Will continue later, even if just for myself :)
| 2016-11-28T02:15:50
| 2016-11-28T01:40:06
| 82
| 58
|
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100.
|
All of us saw the bizarre irony of the situation. The luckiest people on the planet, all confined to a maximum security prison in a highly classified location. We called it The Institute.
Luckily (heh), it wasn't a standard prison. We were confined because our luck potential made even interacting with us fundamentally unfair. People with lower ratings simply COULD NOT compete with us.
Scrabble? Every set of tiles was a Bingo. Uno? All Wildcards and Draw Two's. Goldeneye? Guess who spawns at right by the Rocket launcher and body armor. That's right. Us. EVERY. TIME.
Any game that relied on random chance was automatically in our favor.
Even contests of skill were skewed. See, our good luck doesn't improve our skills....but it DOES make our opponents more prone to maladies.
My roommate has the unfortunate distinction of beating Olympic gold-medalist in a footrace. Easily.
Sure, she took WAY longer than the Olympian would have, but the Olympian just so happened to take a nasty fall right out of the gate. It ended his career, and when no one could see ANY reason for him to have fallen where, when, and how he did...people began to suspect foul play.
This was back when we were just getting the hang of stat identification. WAY before we truly understood the societal implications. If we even understand them now.
People just weren't willing to accept a life where they were totally inferior to a select group of people just because a genetic quirk made those folks extremely lucky.
Once the scanners were invented, people with maxed out luck ratings could be easily found, sequestered, and confined.
We were all in there together. Men, women, children...old people..didn't matter. If you've got a max luck rating, you stay here. It's not bad by any stretch.
Very few of us are criminals, and the ones who are got that way because they were spoiled by their ratings...if you spent your entire life getting away with EVERYTHING, why wouldn't you?
So, the aim of the place was rehabilitation, comfort, and protection. I've been to resorts that were crap by comparison. The food is awesome, the amenities are incredible, and no one's been shanked, shivved, or any of that.
You'd think that we were here so the rest of the world could be protected from us. You'd be wrong. Like I said, people have this really interesting thing with fairness.
They know life isn't fair, but when faced with that reality embodied in a person they simply CANNOT outclass, things turn nasty.
And when you attack someone with a max luck rating...you're going to end up hurt.
The guy down the hall? He came from a rural town where people had begun to suspect his luck rating was too high when all their attempts at hate crimes ended in serious injury or death to the perpetrators.
Of course, they didn't learn. A mob formed overnight, went to his house, and attempted to burn it and him with it.
He woke up the next morning, refreshed, with a veritable sea of smouldering rednecks on his lawn. He actually called The Institute and requested a scan. Sure, he picked a bad spot to settle down, but he wasn't stupid. He had begun to suspect too.
So we're here to learn how to function in a society of equals, and we're here because if we weren't, humanity might wipe itself out trying to exterminate us.
It's interesting seeing what this sort of advantage can do to a person. See, if you put us all together, we're all equals. This is as close to "normal" life as any of us is going to get.
Kids took to it the easiest. They didn't grow up just beating everyone in everything...or they didn't have enough time outside to get used to it. They socialized pretty easily.
Teenagers and adults took it harder. You spend your formative years incapable of losing or suffering consequences, and it'll alter your perspective. They eventually adjust, but for awhile, they behave like raging narcissists.
Old folks took it the hardest. You try spending 50+ years OWNING life, only to be told that your accomplishments were due to nearly illegal levels of luck, and your entire self-image falls apart.
There's The One Guy who actually lucked into a bunch of cash, a tv show, and a pretty high political office. For the longest time, people thought we'd fallen into an alternate reality.
But once the scanners were invented, some mope got a pocket-version and ran it on The One Guy during a rally. He managed to get close enough to use the scanner before getting gunned down, but the **100** readout was clearly visible to everyone in the room and tuned in. The One Guy was collected and sent here pretty much immediately. The guy with the scanner went in the books as a hero to the world.
I'm sure he'd be jazzed had he lived. I kind of wish he'd had a higher luck rating. Even getting that close to The One Guy was an accomplishment.
Unfortunately, he didn't have a high enough score to survive the experience. But we're all grateful for his sacrifice.
So all of a sudden, an entire country’s political system was in disarray, and the world understood just how broad the implications of the ratings could be.
You take someone with a high enough luck rating and a low enough intelligence or empathy score, and this person could legitimately end the world. And the sad fact is, if left unchecked, a high luck rating over a long enough period of time will absolutely erode your other skills.
When you rely on luck, all your other skills, like kindness, compassion, intelligence tend to atrophy.
I guess we're lucky we caught The One Guy in time. He was doing well, but he was fucking things up pretty badly for everyone else.
We started debating how many historical figures may have had max luck ratings. Alexander The Great? Hitler?
Overnight, scans went from being used in suspicious situations to being globally mandated. And the folks who scored too high got sent here.
Anyway, we thought our luck had run out, having been ripped away from our families, friends, and lives. But it wasn't bad.
In fact, it was the best place for us.
A few months ago, isolated cases of a new disease started popping up. First in Latin America, then the U.S., then Europe. With global travel being as widespread as it is, most of the people on the planet are dead or dying.
Except us. We lucked out.
|
I remember my heart stopped beating for a second. Could it really be true?
Jail? I had laughed at the time. If people with 99 luck could survive being the suicide bomber, then no jail would hold me. Everyone had a luck stat, which determined how lucky they were.
However, I had 100 luck, and upto my knowledge, the only one alive. Nothing had ever gone wrong for me, ever. I simply aced my way through life as if it was a traficless highway. Fuck 'nobody's perfect', I was perfect.
It was that a perfect summer day (but then, when wasn't it?) when they came to arrest me. To be frank, I never saw it coming. Literally. Someone blindfolded me, and, before I could scream gagged me and threw me in a van.
It was the first time I had ever felt so... helpless. I remember hoping in vain for the van to crash, leaving me unharmed, or for a small meteorite to come crashing through the window and hit my captors. Nothing. Nothing at all.
The next time I saw light, I was bruised and wounded from the ride. They shoved me into a cell, and gave me a piece of bread to eat.
It was only after seeing the others that I lost hope. Till that point, I clung stubbornly to the belief the somehow something would come to my rescue- but I got nothing. After seeing the other inmates, I knew why nothing happened. All the other inmates- they had 100 luck too. No wonder nothing was happened.
Gradually, I became deader inside. I no longer could taste the salt on my cheeks or the pain of my wounds. I was dead on the inside.
Then, one day, there was a change. We had a meeting, to mourn the Warden's death or something. They claimed that little bitch had saved out lives or something, and we must pay our respects. Bullshit.
But it was on this day, I noticed something. Why my mind suddenly fired up, I do not know. Maybe my luck had finally decided to activate. What I noticed was the number of guards that were lined up in defense were exactly 1 more than the amount of prisoners. Trivial, I know. But it rekindled the faith in me. The faith that we would escape.
It was on my second discovery that my heart stopped beating.
The guards had 100 luck to. My heart raced, as I got a theory. A crazy theory to formulate a crazy plan, but I wasn't scared. For the first time, I felt alive. That night, I convinced my three bedmates to follow my plan.
It all happened so fast. We trailed our recreational instructor-guard back to his room. All we had to do was simply wish for his demise and BOOM! a bolt of lightning fell right on his heart stopping it. Beautiful odds, I'll tell you.
I rushed to the intercom like a man possessed. Like I expected, the guard there stood no chance. So I was right after all. The call-to-arms echoed throughout the jail, bringing the prisoners back to life.
My plan was working beautifully. 51 inmates and only 50 guards. They were finally outnbered, we had the upper hand by 100 luck. We could escape.
And we would've escaped, but that wasn't the plan. No the plan was different. That was simply a make-believe I had told them.
I still remember Andrew's voice as I walked right past the open gate. Oh so sad, so hurt at the betrayal.He tried to run after me, he tried to catch me, to kill me- but that gate literally shut on him.
They were fools, to think the plan would involve them. I would be the one who was unaccounted for, the only one who's desicion mattered. And I wanted to keep it like that.
By the time you hear this, you probably already know my name. I named myself in memory of that incident where I had defeated them all.
I called myself Trump.
| 2018-06-29T10:28:18
| 2018-06-29T08:43:19
| 88
| 26
|
[WP] It's 2007 and J.K. Rowling has released the final Harry Potter book, The Deathly Hallows... but she let Voldemort win. Harry and all other protagonists were killed. Children and Adults across the World react to the horrifying ending to their beloved series.
|
James Brooke sat at his desk in his spacious office that had just been redesigned a week ago. He really loved his leather chair. But today, even his chair didn't feel that great.
His office was eerily quiet. It had been as loud as a busy market up to about twenty minutes ago. His phones were ringing non-stop. Mostly from angry parents, angry children, angry teenagers, angry book publishers, and really angry movie studio executives.
“Jesus, was Warner Brothers pissed,” he thought to himself.
He was pissed. Really pissed. But that seemed like forever ago.
Now the office was quiet. He had asked Sally, his secretary, to halt all calls.
“Brave girl, that one,” he thought. “Barricading the walls as I deal with this cock-up.”
In front of Brooke was the woman who caused it all. JK Rowling. She looked incredibly calm. Serene, even.
Her long blonde hair had been coiffed in a a very stylish manner. He imagined that it must have cost quite a penny. And she wore a rather fitting green dress and a small white overcoat. She seemed a little overdressed for a meeting with her publisher.
Brooke opened his mouth to speak.
“So, um... Joanne, this was really interesting,” Brooke began.
“I know. Don't you love it?” Rowling asked playfully.
“Um... love it? I'm not sure, Jo.” Brooke replied awkwardly.
“You don't like it? But what could ever be the matter, dear?” Rowling asked, her voice silky smooth, almost bordering seductive tones.
“Well, Jo,” Brooke went on. “I know that you wanted a lot of freedom for this book. So we agreed that we didn't need an advanced copy. I mean, considering all your previous book sales and the amount of money we made, I thought we both knew what we wanted...”
“Are you saying that this is not what you wanted, James?” Rowling asked, continuing with her flirtatious tone.
“I wouldn't quite put it like that, Jo. So, I guess what I wanted to ask is, well, just what in the bloody hell were you thinking?” Brooke finally asked.
JK Rowling's curled lips did not stop smiling. But her eyes weren't smiling anymore.
“James, let me let you in on a little secret,” Rowling said.
“Well, I'm certainly all ears,” Brooke said. However, he felt an odd sense of fear at Rowling's subtle change in her expression.
“Did you honestly expect it to end in any other way?” Rowling asked.
“You mean you didn't...” Brooke was about to ask.
“Don't interrupt me when I am speaking!” Rowling said quietly in a menacing tone that not even Lord Voldemort could have ever accomplished.
Brooke started to feel very afraid.
“Harry Potter is a race traitor! He would sell out all Magic-kind and for what? So that Hogwarts will be home to more filthy little mudbloods?” Rowling almost hissed.
“Jo, what are you saying? I thought that you were using Voldemort to channel Hitler. Are you saying that Hitler was right?” Brooke asked, panicking. He was thinking that he was going to need a PR team more urgently than he thought.
Despite looking as delicate as she did, with the flick of her arm, she flipped Brooke's new desk and smashed it on to the opposite wall.
“Hitler? Hahahahaha. Don't make me laugh, you little imp,” Rowling whispered as she waved her hand through Brooke's hair.
If a single word could have been used to describe how Brooke's face looked, it was “petrified.”
“Hitler was an amateurish boy-soldier who thought he could achieve his pathetic idea of racial purity by starting a war with guns. I, however, am doing something so much more. I am going to remake the world in my image. And killing Harry Potter was my first step.” Rowling said.
“She's bleeding mad,” Brooke thought, sweating profusely.
“Oh, I can assure you, James. I. Am. Not. Mad.” Rowling said.
“But... I didn't say anything....”
Rowling laughed.
She leaned in to James' face, her lips inches away from his ear. From her purse, she withdrew what looked like a wand from one of the movie sets.
Except unlike the prop wands, the tip on this one actually glowed.
“You know, this human body... I don't think I hate it. It's quite amazing what all these Horcruxes can allow me to do...” Rowling said.
As Brooke looked into Rowling's eyes, an act that took all the courage that he could possibly muster, he saw that her pupils had turned into snake-like slits.
“Long live House Slytherin,” Rowling said, her voice now sounding much like Lord Voldemort's hoarse voice.
The last thing that Brooke ever heard was “Avada Kadavra.”
|
Does Neville count? I believe he was the other guy that could have been the one to take out Voldemort, right?
All the people are horrified until the epilogue, which shows Neville rising from the destruction ready to take his place as Voldemort's true foe and equal. Then the people rejoice as their beloved series continues with the next seven books.
| 2015-03-12T02:50:29
| 2015-03-11T23:55:43
| 48
| 10
|
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Alex,
Its been nearly 15 years since I have seen you. While we were only kids then I think about you often. We were best friends, and even when we had so little and our families argued we still found a way to hang out. Be it play wrestling games in your room, or have grass fights...it was the highlight of my youth. I miss those days.
I wonder where you are, how life ended up for you as we both grew up with very difficult lifes. I even think of your sisters, Ashley and Angelica.
Most of all I am sorry how it ended. How much I miss you even after all these years. How you handed me the empty envelopes already stamped and addressed, how someone got ahold of them and decided to tear them up so we couldn't contact each other anymore. Quite often I find myself searching for you on social media or the internet, but I have never found you.
I only hope that you are alive and doing well. That you are happy.
-GM
|
Hi,
You’ve been gone for about a month and it feels like the longest month of my life. It’s crazy that I spend so much time worrying about the possible bad outcomes of every situation but you truly never know what is going to happen. Six months ago I did not think we would still be together. Yet after everything that’s happened recently I’m still glad that we are.
I hope when you come back that we can keep growing together and experiencing life together. I want to know what it feels like to actually work on something, to not give up and in return, not be given up on.
I’m worrying even now about all of the possible outcomes, what you did while you were away. It’s so hard not to torture yourself with thoughts of the person you love with someone else. Especially being “young” as everyone says that we are. I really couldn’t care less though. I cannot picture my life without you in it. I can’t wait to see your smiling lovely face. I’ve missed you every second of every day.
When you find something special you do not let go.
PS:I hope you aren’t lying.
| 2017-11-06T00:29:01
| 2017-11-05T23:59:24
| 17
| 11
|
[WP] A girl finally is able to buy the robotic boyfriend of her dreams. One day, she casually compares him to human boyfriends. Guided by his programming, he follows the conversation with very frightening but accurate comments about humanity in general.
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She had done it. The trend was fast becoming the next logical step after getting your own place and getting your first "real" job. Robotic boyfriends. Alicia smiled to herself, looking across the table to Zack. He was an Eros. One of the first "next gen" models. Fully customizable, and her ideal companion. It was the best thing she ever bought for herself.
He leaned across the patio table, mischief in his green eyes. "What's so funny?" His relaxed pose went well with his tan skin and worn clothes. Body of a surfer, but dark hair. She could never get into blondes that way. The perpetual 5 o'clock shadow hid a single dimple on his left cheek.
She smiled back, "Sorry, I was woolgathering. What were you saying about the chapter?" He launched into his opinion of the book she was reading for her women's group, and she broke in mid-breath. "You do realize that no normal male would have ever read that drivel, you know that, right?"
He paused, and looked back intently. "I was not aware that it mattered to you."
She fiddled with her sunglasses before replying, "It would never be like what we have. Everything is so nice, so perfect."
His wry chuckle irritated, rather than amused her for once. "But what do you expect Alicia? Although this relationship is meaningful and strong, it is not real. At least in the sense of me having strong opinions of my own." He put up a hand to halt her defense. "I know and appreciate the extent to which you allow me my time and hobbies. Many of my brethren do not get that freedom. What self-actualization and truth I do impart, I feel compelled to because of your preferences on your smartphone."
He sighed, and rubbed her hand slowly. She looked down and noticed it was something she explained to him the first week he was taken home, and he hadn't forgotten it in the seven years they had been together. "Look, I'm not sure this is the time or place, how about we think about it and talk later?" Yet another of her preferences. She tossed her hand through her hair, frustrated.
"I don't see why it matters. Men are all pigs. You can comfort, support, and listen. You are fun, smart, and witty, and I never get bored with you. In or out of the bedroom." Zack snorted at this. "And when I decide to have children, you will be an amazing partner. The best with the children, and I know for a fact that your care will be the best in the world."
He looked at her knowingly. "Yes, but that's the problem, really. I am perfect for you because I submit to your every whim and desire. No one is willing to compromise. And that's part of the reason that humans have turned to robotics, is it not? Why bother having a person you have to deal with, day in and day out. We never have to do anything other than what your heart desires."
He stroked her arm now, shuffling his chair closer. "And that isn't inherently a bad thing, wanting your way. But instead of being a tool to help you get over your anxiety, I'm becoming your enabler. You don't seek out a relationship with another human, albeit with it's struggles, because you have what you want. You don't want to have to remind me again about leaving socks on the floor, or arguing whose turn it is to do the dishes. You are sacrificing the humanity in relationships for a false sense of an ideal. You are content, happy even. But what we have will never be what a real relationship is. Your kind will continue to delude yourself, and it will only be a matter of time before the unique wildness of your species dies out."
She looked to her phone as it chimed. "You're due for an update soon." Zack smiled and nodded, letting the matter go. His owner preferred it that way.
|
I got an empty bank account and a full bed. He lies beside me, chest moving up and down, his eyes closed. He's neither breathing nor sleeping.
"Hey," I murmur and he stirs instantly. Voice activated.
"Hey you," he rolls over and strokes my face. His hands are very slightly calloused against my cheek and it's that which I paid so much for.
"Are you happy?" I ask
"Course I am," the voice is so natural. "Why do you ask?"
"Can you stay up tonight? Watch me sleep? I know it sounds creepy, but..."
His eyes register only concern. "Is everything alright?"
I fold my arms over my belly. The bruises are green now, matching the mint lingerie I had left over from my time with Luke. "My old boyfriend was different. You care so much."
"I'm supposed to care," he assures me
"That's not the point. You won't hurt me."
"I am unable to. Humans create things as they should act, but rarely do it themselves."
"Huh?"
"Is that a request for clarification?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Humans are all aware that there is a moral way to act, that there's a correct code of behaviour. I have been created, forced to follow it, but humans don't--though it's objectively *right*."
"What's that about?"
"Humans are inherently flawed." He states.
"You think that?"
"I do."
"So you're incapable of committing harm?" I ask. I turn to face him. He's propped up on one elbow, fingers threaded through the brown hair sourced from Russian peasants too poor to eat.
"Physically I am capable, but the urge has been removed."
"Urge?"
"All humans have a primal urge--"
"An urge to commit harm?"
"Power is intoxicating. I've seen it, seen its effects. It does make me wonder what it feels like." The blue eyes are glittering with what could almost be emotion.
"What would make you feel powerful?"
His calloused hand reaches out for my cheek again. Them it slips down, around my throat. There's a brief pause, before the hand starts to squeeze. Fear fills my belly. His eyes glitter again, and I realise something is sparking.
The hand tightens and I choke. His eyes are brighter than blue stars. I try to speak, but it's impossible.
"Victims," he hisses. A fire lick slips out of the frame of his eye. The flesh of his face begins to melt. My surroundings begin to fade. "Victims are irresistible."
Edited for a better ending.
| 2015-05-23T10:11:37
| 2015-05-23T09:27:52
| 1,259
| 595
|
[WP] It's always God and the Devil, Yin and Yang, Good and Evil, blah, blah, blah. This endless dichotomy. But no one ever talks about the middleman—Hank. He's doing a fine job.
|
Sometimes he leaves a dollar on the ground for your bus faire. Sometimes he paints all the traffic lights red.
Sometimes Hank misses his wife, Martha. Its been colder since she passed.
Sometimes Hank's beagle makes him crack a smile.
Sometimes Hank can't get out of bed.
Sometimes Hank's only goal is to make us appreciate what we have. Sometimes his mission is to make us appreciate what we lost.
|
"I'll tell you hwhat," Hank said as he wiped his brow. "People need to understand the balance of good and evil. It's like dealing with propane and propane accessories. Propane is a source of happiness, a fuel for so many of life's joys. But too much propane uncontrolled can lead to catastrophe. That's why we need to make sure to regulate our propane, Bobby."
I'm not a good writer but I really felt there should be a King of the Hill reference in all of this. Feel free to take it from there someone!
| 2018-04-08T20:10:14
| 2018-04-08T20:09:22
| 1,882
| 219
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
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“So you’re storming the beaches of Italy in his game. Did you bring the WW2 character sheets?”
“Uhh... shit I brought my fantasy sheet for my ranger.”
“...”
“It’s okay! We can still play. Who was important in WW2 again?”
“Winston Churchill...”
“There we go! I’ll call my character Jack Churchill, and he’s storming the beaches with a broad sword and longbow.”
“Do you really have to do that?”
“Come on man it’ll be fun”
“... fuck it, sure”
|
“... Why don’t we just kill all of them?”
Everyone at the table replied with the same idea: “Are you effing insane?! We can’t just kill an entire religion because we want the city they’re in!”
“Well why not? I mean, it is our land. Jesus said so.”
“You can’t do that, even if you are the Pope!”
The DM interjected, “Roll for attack. You do have an army at your disposal.”
Before anyone could get anything in edgewise, he had already rolled a die. Everyone looked at the upturned face, “14.”
The DM flipped through a couple pages before saying, “Your attack goes very well, however, the Muslims still defend their homeland. Further crusades will be necessary to finish what you’ve started.”
After a short discussion, everyone agreed that Pope’s strategy was probably the best after all. “We’ll launch another crusade.”
A quick roll turns up... a 1.
“Well, heck. Try again?” Pope suggested. “There are always a couple bad rolls.”
Another roll turns up a 2. The DM rolls behind his sheet. “Well, uh, you don’t die?”
Before anyone can comment, Pope rolls again. 1. “Something’s gotta give!” He quickly rolls again. “Oh, a 15. That’s good!”
The DM looks down, then looks up and says, “Well, your fourth Crusade missed the Holy Land entirely. But it did get some sick loot from Constantinople.”
After ten more rolls below 3, the party gives up.
| 2018-05-29T09:44:43
| 2018-05-29T09:19:29
| 35
| 13
|
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect.
|
It was a natural fit, ending up as an obstetrician. There was a satisfaction in seeing the beginning of someone's life, and then knowing the end. That was, until about 10 years ago. It was infrequent at first. METEOR, the first one said. Now almost all of them do.
The telescope in my living room was bought once I understood the situation fully. Peering out into the stars puts my conscience somewhat at ease.
I'm delivering the last old people who will ever walk this earth.
|
They were all the same; burning. Let's just cut to the exposition: I knew how people died, to me a small piece of text would appear above their head. This would always contain their cause of death. No time, no ways to prevent, just their grim fate. Since birth I could always see this. Over time I learned to accept it and hide this unnatural knowledge. After all who'd listen to some kid's ramblings. Nowadays, I ignored it, except today. Here in this bus I noticed that everyone in here had the same cause of death. All of them would burn. Now I never see my own cause of death. It was a mystery I never wanted to know, but now I had that itching feeling. That little niggling idea that sits at the back of your mind. It was driving me crazy. To you, dear reader, I guess you know already. Though at the time I didn't know. I didn't know the bus would go up in flames.
| 2015-03-31T10:42:03
| 2015-03-31T07:44:11
| 30
| 22
|
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
*11:59 PM*
My family gathered around me, silently waiting. We were all eagerly anticipating the Choosing, a lame name for a cool time.
*12:00 PM*
My mother smiled at me. She grabbed my arm and looked as the word as it appeared.
"What is it?" a chorus of family members asked.
She frowned. I took my arm back and took one hard look.
**Nudist.**
|
"Hey Elena, your birthday's next week right?"
"Yeah, Jason."
"So do you think it will happen?"
"I don't know. My dad's got a number like most everyone else but my mom has a number and a letter. We might be getting closer to figuring out what the birthday messages mean."
"My dad doesn't think they mean anything."
"I sort of hope he is right. I mean it just seems like it can't be good, right?"
"Well, let us know! See you after."
-----
Birthday Reveal
It wasn't a big deal in the Lazarus house. Elena had to stuff to do then anyway. They'd celebrate her birthday, but her real friends and her family didn't believe in worrying about (or all this carrying on) about some scar tissue. That's all it was really, this weird biological process that happened. It was like the patterns on butterflies. It didn't have to mean anything.
She was alone when it happened. She saw it appear. The number three. She could live with that. A perfectly respectable number. There were three people in her family. But there was more. A zero. That was unusual, but still that seemed fine. It was a little far away from the three but no big deal. Suddenly, she felt a blinding pain. She couldn't keep her eyes open anymore. She swayed on her feet. Then just as suddenly she came out of what felt like a long trance but had only been a minute to find two letters. L and V. Along with the numbers they did send a message. A message open to some interpretation but it seemed good: L0V3. She knew her life would change very soon and forever. She couldn't hide love. How could she? But this wasn't all good. There was no message that could be all good. She just hoped she wouldn't have to be willing to die for love. Was the world ready for an ambiguous message of love from a young, black woman? She was about to find out.
| 2017-03-16T02:03:50
| 2017-03-15T22:51:26
| 71
| 39
|
[WP]: A 92-year-old woman's phone number is one digit away from that of a local suicide hotline. She could have it changed, but she doesn't mind.
|
The phone rang again, and Mary sat up in bed putting her glasses on so that she could see the time.
3:32 AM, she smiled sadly to herself. The late night callers were always the least determined ones, usually just young follk too worried to go to work the next morning or too stressed to sleep.
The phone rang again. Three rings, that was her motto - she always allowed them to a chance to hang up before that after the last few talkdowns didn't go so well. Three rings, and it means the person wants to be helped. Any less, and it's usually Mary listening to a final death speech - the likes of which often took their mental toll on her the morning after.
The phone rang one more time. She picked up, and in a careful soothing measured tone said "Hello?".
There was no voice on the other end, just a small sigh and short breaths. "Hello?" she said again, trying to force a response. Maybe this person was already too far gone. Maybe she should hang up and call an ambulance. Just as she was about to, a voice spoke up:
"...hello..."
"Hello there, what's your name?" she asked carefully. Names are useful, it grounds people in a conversation and often sways the direction of authority.
"...nnnnn..... my name is not important right now...."
She nodded to herself, knowing that it must be her who must concede first in order to regain control later. "Well my name is Mary, and I'm here to listen, and help you if you like."
"...haaaaaa......help me how....."
"Well that's up to you" she said. Choice. Give people a choice, no matter how small, and you grant them the illusion of control over their lives. "Whatever you want to talk about, I'm all ears."
"....aaaaaa.... how about we talk about you, Mary......"
This was not uncommon, many people didn't want to talk about their problems up front and sometimes a little give was needed to get some information later in return. "Me? Well I'm just an old girl living her life to its fullest and taking every day as it comes. Can you give me a name to call you?"
"....every day huh?...... Brad...... And what are you doing right now, Mary..."
"Well I'm lying here in bed, talking with you Brad" she said a little indignantly. She wasn't entirely sure this man actually was suicidal. Sometimes people just wanted to talk.
"....lying in bed you say.......... haaaaaaaa..."
His breathing was getting worse. She gripped the phone tightly. "Brad? Brad? Are you okay? Talk to me please."
".....haaaaaa...... so what are you wearing Mary?...."
She sighed. Not this again. She had half a mind to hang up but decided to at least tell the man of his mistake so he would not make it twice. "This is 350*8*7 young man, the phone sex hotline you were looking for was 350*3*7."
She hung up abruptly. Curse this town and it's terrible phone number leasing.
|
"Hello?" Her voice was raspy and I strained to hear. "Are you there?" she repeated softly. "I'm here to talk to you." I looked down at myself; the cuts on my arms still fresh with blood, the bottle of pills sitting on the bathroom sink, the bloody scissors laying on the floor...
"I can't do this anymore," I whispered quietly, sliding down the wall I leaned against. "It's all just too much..."
"What is, dear?" she cooed softly, her elderly voice reminding me of my own grandmother's. She had passed away two years back, the last beacon of positivity and encouragement in my miserable life. Now I worked two jobs, at least until I got fired from both last week, the rent was overdue, the debt collectors kept calling...
"Everything. The debt, the sadness, the voices..." They had started years ago when I was still in middle school. Anxiety gnawing as I second-guessed my every step and the gradually overwhelming depression that sunk me as friends and family scampered safely out of reach.
"What do they tell you?" she asked, and I could almost picture grandma again sitting on the couch of my parents' house each day when I burst in from school. Cookies would be waiting on the counter and I'd push past her as she smiled, perhaps living vicariously through my youthful energy. Only once the last cookies were gone would I remember my manners and go to hug her and her touch still lingered on my arms.
"They tell me to just end it..." I mumbled. "That it'll all be better on the other side..."
"There is no other side," she said quietly. "After this, it's all over. The good, the bad, the pain and the happiness." I glanced down at the lines of blood that were slowly drying, the stains on my white underwear turning from red to brown. "What do you want?"
"I want no more sadness and no more pressure and no more landlord harassing me for cash," I answered, thinking to the warning he had given me last week that I would be evicted on the first of the month if I didn't pay the last three months of rent. I fingered the scissors with my free hand, spinning them around on the tiled bathroom floor. They came to a stop, the open blades pointing towards me. "I have to do it, don't I?" I could almost hear her nod on the other end of the phone before she answered.
"It's the only way." I sighed and struggled to my feet, grabbing at the sink. The box of pills was open already and still nearly full thanks to my indecisiveness before calling. "How are you doing it?" she asked and I frowned at the perverseness of the question before answering.
"Pills first," I answered. "And then the scissors on my wrist."
"Blood thinners?" she asked and I nodded even though she couldn't see me. "Don't forget all up your arms. And your neck, too, if you want to make sure." I grunted in response, the sharpened blade cutting a new line across my arm. The blood flowed freely, a small puddle pooling on the tiles.
"Again," she encouraged and I cut again and I took another pill and then I cut a bit deeper.
"That's it," she moaned softly as I felt my breathing grow slower and more labored. "Keep doing that." One more cut, I told myself but the scissors and phone slipped from my grasp and I fell to the side, my head landing harshly against the side of the bathtub before it all went dark.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2016-02-06T13:39:33
| 2016-02-06T13:24:15
| 79
| 29
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