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[WP] Alcohol has been banned throughout most of the Galaxy due to its corrosive nature towards organic life, in the near future when first contact is made with humans the aliens are horrified that humans not only mass produce alcohol, they also consume it for pleasure.
|
"Sir, the report from planet X-2K-9 also known as Earth, has been transmitted and received, along with a representative from their planet."
"Thank you private." Admiral Grod replied.
"Um- but sir?"
"Yes private."
"Theres something strange on the report."
"Well out with it private, what is it? I'm meeting with the Human Representative soon."
"Well, in our galaxy we can not consume, use, or become exposed to alcohol."
"Unless you are telling me something I don't know soon, you are wasting my time." Admiral Grod said while adjusting his uniform.
"Right, yes, but they do."
"What?" Admiral Grod turned towards the private.
"They, use alcohol, for quite a lot actually. One of the main uses of it is to disinfect things and clean. It sterilizes certain things like medical tools and wounds."
Admiral Grod looked perplexed to the report snatching it out of the privates hands. "Impossible, they would die! Be eaten alive!"
"Sir, apparently not, also on the next page, it gets quite... disturbing."
Admiral Grod furiously moves to the next page and skims through the writing. "They do WHAT with it!?!?" He looks up at the private in shock.
"Yes sir. They consume it, and in large quantities as well. They mainly do this for 'fun' and it apparently doesn't kill them immediately, oddly enough, if they consume to much of it they lose all function and in some cases even expire."
"By the moons of Farfax, they consume the blasted poison.... for fun!" Admiral Grod gasped.
"Yes sir, it doesn't seem to corrode like our alchohol does and is apparently not acidic like ours. Sir, I believe they have perfected it into a.... drink of some sorts."
"You know what this means private? The Galactic prohibition would come to an end. This small rock consisting of one intelligent species would become economical giants in the Galaxy and they haven't even perfected space travel."
"Sir, can't we use that?"
"No, we can not. Imagine what the other governments would think if a hairless ape perfected this and not space travel and we couldn't even come close, so we ban it Galaxy wide!" Admiral Grod said.
"But we can use their formula sir."
"We would be made a mockery of, private! They would laugh at the fact that a infint species could accomplish such a thing, plus we would need Earth ingredients since none of ours work, or we would need humans to help us, and ether way people will find out."
"What shall I do then with the Earth representative?"
Admiral Grod paused to think for a moment, "bring him in, the Emperor will make the decision, as for now, burry the evidence of this formula."
"Yes sir. I'll send him in now."
After leaving the room the Earth representative walks in and left alone with Admiral Grod holding a six pack of glass bottles.
"Aahh General Singer, from Earth!" Admiral Grod extended his four arms as to show a welcoming posture for the small in comparison to him, Earthling. "Please have a seat." As he gestures to the chair infront of his desk with a view of earth behind him.
"Admiral Grod I presume?" General Singer asks while shaking one of his hands.
"Please, call me Grod, we are both men of some sort, in uniform. Spare the formal titles."
"Sure... Grod, so what brings you to Earth?"
"We seek new life, our kind have not searched this end of the Galaxy. You see, past the asteroid belt, and what you call Pluto, there is a field of black holes and anomalies that we can not explain. It took years of navigating it to reach you."
General Singer pauses and smirks, "that's odd, we sent drones and satellites out that way, yet nothing."
Admiral Grod shifts in his seat, "well... we your satellites and drones are rudimentary compared to our technology. No offense."
"None taken." General Singer replies. "I brought you a gift, a beverage from our planet, you care to join me?" General Singer opens two bottles handing one to Admiral Grod. "Come on, it's our tradition."
Admiral Grod grabs it and takes a sip. "Hm, this is delicious! What is it?"
"We call it beer Grod."
"Beer? Tastes good." Admiral Grod gulps down more.
"Yes, it is." General singer drinks more. "It's alchohol..."
Admiral Grod begins to cough. "What!?!?"
"Alchohol Grod, I know you've heard of it. On our planet we can drink it, you can't... can you?"
Admiral Grod coughs up a green blood on the desk and face plants into it, gasping for air.
"I know you've been watching, we all have known...." Ganeral Singer stands up and walks behind the desk sitting on it kicking Admiral Grods chair back so he can look up and face him. "I know you have taken, abducted my kind for decades, even centuries. So as it is, tactically speaking, smarter to gather intelligence and learn more. That's what we have done."
"What!?!? How!?!?" Admiral Grod garbled the words up through a coughing fit of green blood.
"Sshh Sshh Sshh sshh... let me finish, it is rude to interrupt your guest." Ganeral Singer said. "We've learned where your home world is, how far it is, and that we breath the same air. Also found out you banned alchohol just because YOU can't drink it. See its poison for your kind, you can't motabalize like the rest so you ban it Galaxy wide."
"Why!?!?" Admiral Grod gurgles.
"Why? Because we aren't your little fucking experiment, that's why." General Singer says as Admiral Grod gasps and sinks into his seat, lifeless and pale.
"Hhmm...." General Singer looks at his watch, "faster than I imagined." He gets up and inserts an ear piece, "Bravo 6 to stike team, Admiral Grod is down. Status?
"Strike team to Bravo 6, bridge secure, fleet is in our control."
"Good work strike team, Bravo 6 out." General singer turns towards the view of Earth, stepping over Admiral Grods body, "next.... the Galaxy." He says while standing there drinking his beer over the lifeless Admiral Grod.
|
"At artificial concentrations, the simple organic the humans called ethyl alcohol was known to denature many basic proteins, and then dissolve fatty membranes, or just destroy similarly structured energy reservoirs. Many of the first intergalactic species have a very low lethal dose to the substance. In concentrations comparable to a single shot of 80 proof liquor, into a liter of dihydrogen monoxide, the Betelgeusian males experience a chain reaction the end up with them in an irrecoverable dehydrated state. Features painfully frozen until they organic matter is recycled. Artemyans that come into contact with vapors only quarter the previous amount experience blackout, fainting, and severe incoherence in their telepathic communication methods. Humans, regularly consume the alcohol in concentrations that would kill many interstellar microbiota, disrupting the symbiotic homeostasis many zero-gee depend on for the most basic functions. The Calagherians, with their major energy storage method revolving around long chained branched hydrocarbons, have a very bad aversion to the liquid, for understandable reasons. Humans, with their fondness for the species, and their fondness for the drink, frequently invoke the Calagherian territorial response when approaching their normally docile and accommodating friends with their breaths spewing the scents of their vodkas and whiskeys. Humans with their love for alcohol deeply ingrained, and as a source of cultural conflict between then and other species. Their international passport system, once hailed at one of the best intergalactically, is now beginning to experience many restrictions and flat out rejections in their trans-planet-visas. The uncomfortable attitude towards humans doesn't seem to stop there, with human bars and pubs being the subject of violent hate crimes from Giedi Prime to Cthuhrsshic. This will be a topic we will watch closely in the coming years. Thank you for your attention, and this has been your daily 70 quarmecs report. We hope you join us again tomorrow as we take a look into Betelgeusian livestock practices, and how their prized cyyrat females are beginning to dominate the intergalactic escort market."
| 2019-11-07T07:47:28
| 2019-11-07T07:08:02
| 47
| 13
|
[WP] Some assassins are paid extra to make deaths look accidental. Your job is the opposite. You're hired for those rare instances in which accidental or natural deaths need to appear as if they were murders.
|
I went to college for forensic science in a small town called Northbrook, Wyoming. You'd be surprised they had anything more than a high school considering the small population. Yet there I was, sitting in a class with about fourteen other people, examining photos of blood splatter patterns taped to the whiteboard in front of me for my final exam.
We were doing some sort of "who dunnit" project inspired by Jack the Ripper's work in England. The ironic part was that poor old Jack was never found. Well, lucky for him I guess. But that didn't give me any comfort; I was certain the professor rigged the test to be impossible, just like the Ripper case, and I was shaking at the thought of failing this important assignment. I knew I shouldn't be this worried, since I'd been receiving high honors in forensics for months now, but that gave me no solace.
I finished up my report, and, tripping over my own feet on the way out, handed my paper in to the professor. She smirked as she glanced at the paper, and I felt my knees start to give way.
*No no no no no this is not happening is this what I think this means? I failed completely and utterly failed I don't know why I considered becoming a detective in the first place it's just some stupid childhood fantasy I can't believe... I-*
-I grabbed onto her desk, pushed myself upright, and dashed out the door.
Five minutes later, I arrived at my dormitory door and pushed full force (it was never locked). I shut the door behind me. Struggling to capture my breath, I slowly looked up and saw my roommate idly playing with a plastic paddleball on her bed. Her long legs were stretched carelessly up the wall. Her head was perked up with a small white pillow as she watched the ball rise and fall. Her long auburn hair was spread out around her like an open fan, leaving no surface of her twin mattress untouched.
**Hey.**
I froze. This was probably the first time my roommate, Lola, has spoken one word to me since we started rooming back in the fall.
**I just want to let you know, I ate your sandwich.**
At this I lifted an eyebrow, thinking back to all of the other times this past year she's eaten my food. Sensing my skepticism, she added:
**I'll pay you back though, I promise. Anyways, I was thinking maybe-we-could-go-to-the-café-and-pick-up something-for-dinner-and-then-check-our-exam-scores-on-the-way-back.**
She spoke those last few words in rapid succession as if she was running out of air. I didn't respond. Instead, I stared just beside her at a band poster thinking back to forensics.
Just ten minutes after getting our papers, Lola got up with ease and turned her assignment in. I didn't finish until over two hours after, using up almost all of my three hour time limit on my report. This was far from out of the ordinary, and in fact was a pattern we had developed just a week into the school year. She procrastinated, rushed, cheated. I worked tirelessly, bartered, and worried. I was set for success. She was set for the McDonald's down the road. That's life, I suppose.
Even though Lola was confident in everything she did, and I was a nervous wreck, the pattern would yield the same results. She would fail, and I would get nothing less than an A. So why was Lola so adamant about viewing our scores? Why did she want to go to dinner with *me*? And why did the always-so-confident Lola seem so scared?
I snapped back to attention, and gazed at Lola's face. She mistook my apprehension for confusion, and opened her mouth to repeat herself. But before she could continue, I nodded my head rapidly. I was curious to see where this went.
Lola smiled, an unusual sight, and got up off her bed. She threw the paddleball near her pillow and slipped her flip flops on. I followed her out the door.
*******
I threw my tray in the trash and followed Lola to the forensics classroom. Stuck to the door was a list of student names and a letter grade. Like I had suspected, Lola had received an F and I had received an A+. But Lola didn't seem bothered by this. Instead, her face seemed to *glow* and she looked up at the clock. 19:04.
**'s getting late. C'mon.**
She started powerwalking back to the dorm (I would've laughed at the absurdity of it all if I had no self-respect) and I followed in close pursuit. She slammed the door behind us and sat on the stool by her bed.
**You are great with forensics.**
I stared back at her. Why was she complimenting me out of nowhere? Did she want me to cheat for her or give her the answers on next year's exam? What was going on?
**I know you're probably wondering why I'm being so nice to you** (*Yes.*) **and I can explain. I...**
She took a deep breath and stared into my soul.
**I want to become an assassin.**
I gaped at her from the doorway. This is when I would've spit out water or another beverage if I had had any in my mouth. But I didn't, so I stupidly gawked like a fish out of water.
**You can probably see where I'm going with this...Like I said, you're great at forensics. I was thinking, maybe if I do the heavy-lifting, you can use your genius to make my presence known.**
This girl must be *insane.* Aren't assassins supposed to be secretive? Cover their tracks? Why am I supposed to make sure everyone knows she's a killer? *Why* does she want to kill??
**I know you're real innocent and all, but you'd be doing the world a huge favor. You see, I want to murder sinners...corrupt politicians, serial killers, the like. Those kind of people are the people who murdered my family. And with your expertise, you would make sure that my name gets out there, and sinners will sin no more!**
A crack of thunder punctuated her monologue. Or maybe that was just something I filled in after the fact. I've been told I like to romanticize things too much.
**And the name they'll all fear? Miss Fortune!**
My eyes bore deeper into her skull. She can't be serious. This is all just some comedy show! Cue the laugh track!
**Your job? Brand all of my victims with this symbol. Sinners will collect the dots and cower in fear!**
She pulled a piece of paper out from her jean pocket, which bore a crudely drawn tragedy mask of the like found in old Greek theaters. Or was it Shakespearean? This is why I wasn't an arts major.
I was *not* going through with this plan. Or at least, it would take a whole lot of convincing for me to even consider-
**Don't worry, you will be rewarded handsomely. I inherited a lot of money, as well as a few houses, from the death of my parents and their parents. And y'know, that would go a long way toward your student loans...**
That's it. I'm going for it.
*******
Miss Fortune and I made a great team. You see, she didn't get around to much murdering. Whenever she came across a "villain," they suffered some horrible accident and died on the spot. Normally this would seem like a good thing for an assassin. No blood on your hands, not even a Sherlock would suspect foul play, and you still got the job done. Plus, you wouldn't risk a court visit or an annoying amount of paperwork. But this wasn't enough for Lola.
Lola not only wanted every villain branded with her symbol, but she also wanted each one to be an obvious victim of homicide. A knife caught in their throat, you get the shtick. But these accidents made it very difficult for her to complete her kills without coming off as sloppy or random. Miss Fortune faced a lot of, well, misfortune.
That's where I came in. I used my forensics skills to create a crime scene wherever we went, hiding evidence of any accident and helping Miss Fortune replace them with a clean cut across the neck. We finished the job off with her seal of approval, the tragedy mask.
With Lola's payment, I paid off all of my debts and got a nice apartment overlooking NYC. The combination of my gothic clothing style and the layer of blood that constantly coated my body gave me a trademark red and black emblem. I became the Harley Quinn to her Joker. And if you're a fan of Batman, you know how that went.
One day, after a particularly passionate killing spree, Miss Fortune and I sat back on a park bench and shared a bottle of wine. I almost finished my first glass when I looked over and wondered why Lola hadn't started on her's yet. Then my vision began to fizzle out, darkening at the edges and then surrounding me in darkness. I started to choke, and clutched at my chest for the aching pain to go away. All went quiet.
Never dance with Miss Fortune.
|
There is a special art in making something out of nothing. Yes, yes, we all know that one guy who argues that the world is flat by ignoring the facts, but that is not an art so much as it is, well, ignorant. And thus, you have come to me. To claim that extra payout from life insurance or maybe it's just a more convenient way to get rid of that pesky neighbor for good. Welcome to my artist's studio...
First i should preface our meeting by enlightening you on our practices. In your case, this was a simple "fell from a ladder" accident and you want your husband to take the fall (no pun intended) so you and your lover can run away with no strings attached. This is all well and good, but remember that we also tie up all loose ends like any other murder professional would. The difference here is that we have no plausible deniability. Because of this, you need to provide us with the story you want, the detective and insurance companies investigating, and any witnesses that may need dealt with. If you do not provide us with this information before an official investigation starts, you will owe us 25% of our agreed upon sum after this meeting is over.
Another thing to keep in mind is that you, under no circumstances, may get involved with anything you may see us plant or tamper with. This is for the protection of all parties involved. Any sort of action that could be treated as tampering will also cost you 25% of our agreed upon sum. You wanted us to kill two birds with one stone for you and our sum is quite substantial, so i believe that it is in your best interest to follow these simple rules. All other arrangements of our contract will be sent after you provide us the previously mentioned information.
Now while you're here im going to need alibis, interests, arguments, and any little scowl or groan that may imply that these two men disliked each other. The more evidence we can plant towards foul-play, the better. This gives us more room to work with and plug as many potential holes in any story we come up with as possible. Now, don't feel like you need to exaggerate anything, and keep in mind that we've framed politicians for murder because of an out-of-place ice cube before. No matter how much you feel you might be missing, we've done much more with much less i assure you.
So now, shall we begin our business of framing your partner for murder? Or perhaps, now that you're here, you feel like you made a mistake and your partner isnt so bad after all? Well you are definitely more than welcome to leave at any time! Just remember, we are just as good at framing people, as we are for making them disappear...
| 2020-07-20T20:57:09
| 2020-07-20T19:23:29
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] You are a Immortal and your Wife is a Reincarnation of all Wifes that you had. Some may say it's a Tragedy that you have to see her die over and over, but at this point it's a Game between you and her to see who finds the other first.
|
The woman at the dock is hunched over, her figure faint under all the layers she’s wearing, seemingly unnoticeable beneath the dark sky.
In the distance, a cat mewls and a car skids against asphalt. The watch against her hand strikes midnight, but the woman merely hums, looking up from the vast waters below to gaze up into the sky. Her eyes glisten as they follow the black abyss. She hums again, absentmindedly tapping her fingers against her thigh. Behind her, a street light begins to flicker. The woman snorts into her hand, but doesn’t turn around.
“Took you long enough,” she says instead. But somehow the words betray her biting tone, fondness etched behind it.
All around her, the air buzzes inconsistently. The universe feels quiet burrowed beneath all the night’s silence, as if it were sleeping, unbothered by the rest of the world’s musings. It should be unnerving, but somehow it’s only peaceful.
“Well,” the woman insists. “What’s your reason this time? And don’t tell me you got lost, I stopped believing that after the second time.”
This time the air snorts, which causes the woman to slowly smile. To anyone else, it would be more of a grimace, but he can see the soft upturn of her lips, the steadily etched laughter lines under her eyes, the way her posture relaxes into something more comfortable.
“I was busy saving a cat,” the air — now the man — tells her.
She barely conceals her snort. “A cat? Really? Even *I’m* not that naive.”
“Yes,” he says. “It was stuck in a tree.”
“A tree?”
“It was very high.”
“Of course it was,” she huffs, before giving him a once-over and sighing when it appears she’s not seeing what she wants. “Well, I suppose all that matters is you’re here now.”
The man nervously chuckles in reply.
“Come on,” the woman beckons toward the water, and the man sighs, finally moving to reach the edge of the dock.
“This is nice,” he tells the woman once he’s at her side.
“It’s nicer in the morning, when the sun hits the water and all you can see is the sky’s reflection.” The man wants to tell her he disagrees; that the way the sky hits the water now is perfect, as the stars swim beneath him, like he could place his hands inside and scoop up a thousand man-made wishes. A wishing well filled with untold dreams. Untold lives. It was strangely beautiful, in a haunting and mysterious way.
“Anyways,” the woman interrupts the man’s musings. “I thought we could maybe live here, give the seaside a try for a change.”
The man hums, looking out into the vast darkness that seemed to run on for miles and miles. He imagines the world in the morning, under the newly risen sun, and thinks the woman might be onto something.
“Okay,” he tells her. “Let’s give this a try.”
“Yeah?” She asks, looking at him with surprised eyes, and he can understand why she would. He’s always been afraid of the unknown, and the ocean is no exception. Perhaps it’s ironic that they’ve spent so many lifetimes occupying different bodies, unsure of when the next life will come, but somehow always finding each other in each one. The man supposes they’ve always been living unknowingly, mere shadows beneath an equally darkened sky.
“Yeah,” he tells her this instead, and for a moment they stand like that, just the two of them looking at each other from behind half-mast eyelids, where they’re simply two bodies standing along a dock, two faceless figures in the night. Where the past simply lies in the past, and their future, like all futures before, remains unknown.
Then he sees the tilt of her head, and knows she understands.
Maybe she wants to say something more, reassure him or hold him or punch him in that joking way she sometimes does, but she simply turns back to look out into the black waters instead, and he watches her for a moment. It’s times like this when he’s reminded of why he fell in love with her in the first place. The weight against his chest still weighs heavily, but somehow with her by his side, it eases just as steadily.
Slowly, almost cautiously, he reaches out to take her hand into his. She blinks, but doesn’t react much more than that. After a few moments, she squeezes his hand.
And, as he turns to watch the darkness give way to light with the only woman he’s ever loved, he slowly squeezes back.
—
/r/itrytowrite
|
Tw- suggested sexual scenes.
I looked up from the meeting desk to see a long man walk in. He wore a suit and carried a briefcase. I set down my pen and stood as he entered, gesturing for him to take a seat.
My secretary, Abigail, followed in after him.
“May I grab you a beverage?” Her light voice asked them.
“A tea.” The man with long blonde hair said.
She nodded and left the room.
“Welcome Dawson, I appreciate you coming all this way.” I pulled over the television stand and turned it on. “Did you have any questions for me before we dive into the updates?”
The blonde hair man looked me up and down. “I’d like to know more about you. You’re so serious. Is there no time to relax into this?”
“Um.” I said, I brushed my hand through my hair. “I apologize for my manners Dawson.” I sat back down. “Would you like for me to go over my professional history again?”
Abigail came in carrying tea and Dawson took it from her, thanking her. She left the room and he took a small sip.
“Why don’t you tell me a bit about your personal life.”
My mouth dropped open a moment before I snapped it shut. “That’s hardly important for this meeting.” I said, a bit of tone creeping into my voice.
“I think it’s very important.” He said. He took another sip.
I gave a tiny sigh, and turned to the television screen. “Why don’t we go over the updates and I can talk with you more casually after.”
I pointed to the screen. “Here you can see a 20% increase in user feedback when we asked them open ended questions versus yes or no.” I clicked my mouse for the next slide.
I heard Dawson stand up and walk over to me. My eyebrows went up and I froze. He put his hands on either side of my chair and twisted me towards him. He leaned in close and whispered into my ear. “You don’t recognize your wife, you idiot.”
I flinched and rolled my chair back from him. He stood up.
“Ali?” I asked.
He gave a radiant smile.
“You’re a fucking man.”
He nodded. “I win.” He said. “This time, you’re going to be my bitch.” He started unbuckling his belt.
| 2022-02-27T14:37:05
| 2022-02-27T11:46:18
| 86
| 17
|
[WP] Write a story about something you don't understand. Do NO research. Make everything up as you go.
**Possible subjects:**
*Fly-Fishing
*Open-Heart Surgery
*Supply-Management in the Canadian Dairy Industry
*Making Hollywood Movies
*Guidance Counselling for High School Students
*Storm Chasing
*Electrical Repair in High-Rise Buildings
*The Large Hadron Collider
*Love
EDIT: Oh God, what have I done?
|
According to all laws regarding aerodynamics, a bee should not be able to fly. Their wings are too small. Their rumps to... Err... rumpish. But that does not stop the mighty bee. Try as nature might, it cannot stop the bee.
You see, every bee is born with a small jetpack, right in between their wings, and is only visible in complete darkness. So to us humans, or, 'umies, as the bees affectionately refer to us as, we are not capable of seeing these joys of modern ~~flight~~ nature.
But that's not all the bee has up it's sleevies. Seriously, they have sweaters on, and thats what give them their 1940's Green Bay Packers look. Because before the 1940's, bees wore a drab coat of wool, sulfur, and aluminium, so as to protect against predators. What's even more stupifying, is that the Queen must knit and knot all these, every day, forever. Because Queens don't die, no, they are just reborn.
But enough deviation, because the bee has one final trick to fool predators. Honey. That's right, Honey. The most delicious thing ever known to man, and animal, is there ultimate weapon. For inside every morsel of Honey, is a small Colony of Photoreceptors. That's why whenever a Bee gets inside a house or car, it never seems to get out, because the Bee is secretly hunting for those photoreceptors, so it can take control of it's new host. For Bees shall rise again as the dominant race on Earth once again.
No hardship will stop them. No trial will end them. For they must fly, No, they NEED to fly. Coupled with an insatiable bloodlust, and a need for freedom, tiny jetpacks, sweaters, and photoreceptors, the Bee will never stop. That, is why the Bee can fly, against all odds.
(Seriously, How the fuck do Bee's work, I'm a grown man and still have no idea)
|
"Okay bob, hold my scalpel while I squeeze the heart"
"Right, now I just need you to connect those two tubes while I hold it like this"
"Okay...
Yes! done!"
"Wait, why is my computer making that weird beeping noise?"
"OH MY GOD!!! HE'S GONNA DIE! GET THE DEFIBRILLATOR!!"
*zzzzZAP!*
"Oops, I think we killed him."
"Wow, we really suck at surgeon simulator don't we?"
| 2016-02-01T22:09:55
| 2016-02-01T21:35:35
| 40
| 11
|
[WP] A day before the Earth is destroyed by a collision with a rouge planet, time freezes. You, a completely normal person are untouched and cannot die. Text on your arm appears that reads, "however long it takes, save us".
You have an eternity, time resumes only when you are done.
_________________________________
I would like to take the time to thank everyone for their stories, I've been reading them and will continue to read them after submissions have stopped.
I'd also like to thank /u/PaulsWPAccount for his dedication to the story he has created and continues to create. As I type his story is still unfinished, I just want to give him the credit he deserves before this post falls too far from the front page.
Thank you all, it's been great.
One more thing....... Rouge :D
|
Once upon a time, a rouge planet almost smacked into Earth.
Fortunately, time froze and some text mysteriously appeared on my arm, stating "However long it takes, save us!"
So I looked at the big ball of rouge in the sky, and developed a plan.
Over the next several months, I found every extension ladder I could lay my hands on. Traveling to every hardware store in a region, I loaded them up into the trailer of a semi.
Once I had collected 9,972 extension ladders, averaging about 30 feet each, until they bridged the approximately 50 mile gap between planets.
Anyway, blah blah blah long story short, I spent an eternity brushing away rouge on the planet and rouging up the faces of Earth's entire population until the rouge-planet was completely consumed.
BECAUSE ROUGE IS NOT THE SAME THING AS ROGUE, OP, YOU KNOB.
Edit: Thanks for the gold, my fran!
|
When you have to get rid of a planet, you need to break a few eggs.
As far as I could tell about the rule, its not allowed for a single human being to die; seems I need to save all 7 billion from this fucking rock catapulting at us. I figured that out during the first couple days of the timefreeze, when I was doing whatever the hell I wanted. I- well, tried to- killed an old client that had been making life hell for me in the past. Picked him up, threw him off the building. Right when he woke up whole world went black. I woke up in the field I started in later, I have no idea how "long" it was.
The first problem is that if that godforsaken rock grazes us it kills billions; its about the same size of Earth as far as I could tell. The other problem is that I'm not some astronaut who could do anything closely related to space to stop this hunk of planet; I'm just a chicken farmer in Asia.
I spent what probably was years thinking through every single problem. No time was passing, so I never got tired, never had to sleep, or eat, just was able to think or move.
"Could I destroy this rogue planet?" I had all the time in the world, so if I could get my hands on some bombs then I could try. I rode a bike through China trying to find anything at all that I could use. Fun fact, the "no humans dying" rule included myself, so I could go however fast I wanted; if I crashed then I would just wake up in that field, next to the frozen chickens. After what was probably months I found the Chinese armory; a couple weeks later and I was into one of the biggest military foundations on Earth. I found some metric tons of C4 and knew that if I needed more, I had the entire worlds force at my fingertips. I could even get a nuke; it took me a decade but I finally got into the base.
What was likely a century later, my plan was ruined. You see, something about this time situation I was in was that it was contained to this earth. I found out the hard way that if I left the atmosphere of Earth I would just awaken immediately at the field. They may had put that in place so that I couldn't escape Earth and try to just save myself, or some other reason; I had no clue. I had a worlds worth of demolitions to destroy this planet, but I couldn't reach it. This put me in a depression that lasted several lifetimes, until I got an idea.
"If I can't destroy this planet, I can ruin ours."
The "no lives affected" rule applies to humans alone, not to animals, and not to the earth as I saw. So after wallowing in a literal pool of tears (I never ran out of the liquid), I had an idea: The scientists on the television had said that the planet was hitting us straight on. However, I had read their notes a few years back, and read that it was actually hitting us at a slant. The entire South Equator was gone, but about where Greenland was, individuals could actually survive the blast. There was a bunker built miles and miles underground and a shelter that could host millions. The problem was that I needed 7 billion individuals safe. So I had a two step plan.
Step one: Get everyone over there. This was the hardest part of the plan. It also took what I bet was a literal eon of time to do, but I managed to pick up every single individual on this planet Earth and move them to Greenland. Searching through jungles, over deserts, in cities, evacuating them all slowly but surely to Greenland. Lifting them over my head and putting them all on a cargo plane (I learned the hard way how to fly a plane) and then bringing them all to Greenland. After that was complete I moved on to step two: getting them inside. I got the first 8 million inside just fine but then we started running out of room. A couple million more and the place was full to bursting; not a single soul could fit into this cavern. So I did what any man with all the time in the world would do.
I picked up a shovel and started digging.
That's where I am now. I've been digging this hole for ages. Had the bright idea of keeping a journal of everything I've done so I wouldn't go insane, and am taking a break to fill you in. I've seen more rock than every mortal man on earth has combined. And I'll continue to do so for an eternity more, and then once the hole is big enough I'll have to make walls, make rooms, bring in livestock, allow everyone in here to actually survive. But I'm ready for that challenge. After all, I have all the time in the world.
| 2015-10-23T18:29:03
| 2015-10-23T16:10:28
| 111
| 38
|
[WP] You die and go to Hell only to find out that you're the only person that has ever entered. Satan is clapping.
|
"Dibs." I cried out over the Devil's clapping and laughter. He didn't seem to hear me, so I screamed it again. "**Dibs!**"
The Devil stopped and looked at me. "What do you mean 'dibs'?" He blinked, a little confused by my reaction.
I looked around the vast vastness of Hell before turning to Lucifer once more. "Well, no one else has been here yet, right?" He nodded. "And that means there's no prior claim to Hell, right?" The Devil cocked his head at that. "I mean come on, you aren't actually in charge of Hell, you were just cast down here. Like, so we were told for millennia, all the other sinners. Hell isn't yours, it's just something you are watching over. Hence 'dibs'." I started off in a direction, figuring the conversation was done.
"Whoa whoa whoa, hold a second there buddy." The Devil spun me around, fire crackling in his eyes. "I'm the **Devil**! Prince of Darkness! Hell is mine! God had Micheal cast me down and, wait..." I nodded.
"See? You weren't actually cast into Hell. You were cast out of Paradise. So, once again I call dibs on Hell, and to further seal the deal," I undid my jeans and took a leak on the ground. "I've marked it. Bet you never did that, did you?" I zipped back up.
"I can't urinate, I lack the physical necessities for such!" The Devil whined.
I shrugged and began walking again. "No my problem, not my fault. Now, let's see what I can with my new place." As I walked I envisioned a castle, a palace fit for my rule. The power of Dibs was only further enhanced by marking my territory. Turrets erupted forth from the ground, and in moments my castle was done. I crossed the moat and made my way to the throne room. "Hmm, this isn't right." I looked around, then snapped my fingers. "Let's make this bad boy fly." And with just the though, the castle floated into the sky. When I finally sat down I found the Devil right on my heels. "What do you want?"
Lucifer toed the rich carpet sheepish. "First off, can I crash here? I haven't actually had a place to sleep in all this time." I rolled my eyes and sighed, but finally nodded. Lucifer practically beamed. "Awesome! Also, I gotta ask. How did you do *that*?"
I looked down at the Devil. "You want to know? Okay, I'll tell you the story of how my soul got flipped, turned upside down. It will take a minute so sit right there and I'll tell you how I became the prince of Hell's Air."
|
I entered Hell whistling merrily.
I don't think I could call this a surprise. I'm a downright horrible bastard. "You think they'd hire you?" I wondered to myself. "It sure beats getting tortured for all eternity."
"That does sound nice," I agreed. "It might be nice to spend all of eternity with a job at least, a calling you could grow into. Perhaps a corner office - nothing too fancy. You don't want to get too big for your boots, do you? You don,t want to become one of those fat cat bosses who sat around and yelled and coudn't put in an honest days work in if they had to. We hate those people don't we?"
"Yes," I agreed with myself then shivered remembering some of the... unpleasantness, I'd visited on a few Big Boot Corner Offices.
The place was huge, cavernous, open and wide, with great lakes and pools amd jets of lava casting an eerie red glow on the landscape. An eerie silence filled the sulphurous air. The landscape was barren of life. My spirit lifted. No sounds of torture. Perhaps Hell wouldn't be so bad. Though, that probably meant employment opportunities would be limited as well.
I chuckled. You win some, you lose some.
I crested a ride and stopped short. In the middle of the place, at the centre of hell a broken-down real-estate office calmly burnt.
"Well, *that* figures," I groaned.
********
I walked into Hell's office and found the Devil asleep.
I sighed then poked.
"Wakey, wakey," I prodded, "I'm here for the job interview. A right bastard, I am."
"What job interview?" yawned the Devil. His eyes were yellow and strained with tiredness and reddenes with boredom. There was a gleam to them - an inhuman glint. Bugger, I thought.
"Apprentice, perhaps?"
"Apprentice to what?
"To you?" I tried. Might as well go big.
The Devil, yawned, rising from his burning desk.
"So, long," he muttered to himself. His eyes flickered bloodshot and red for a moment. Not the best start to a job interview then. Then again I've had worse. "And what are your talents?" he continued smoothly.
"I'm a hard worker, sir. Not too proud to do an honnest day's work. I've always been one of the boys. I'm companionable like. A team player. I'd be a dab hand at the punishment side of things. I have a few ideas you might like."
"Punishment?" The Devil smirked. "That's my favorite subject. I think about it all the time."
"Yeah, I'm good with the ironing, iron eye, that things in the Alanis Morissette song where she sings it wrong."
"Oh, that," smirked the Devil. "That'll be useful I'm sure."
"You're in."
My heart sank. I felt dread, not relief.
"In for what?" I asked cautiously.
"An eternity if toeture and suffering. You're my first. MY FIRST. You're the first to have ever arrived here."
Well bloody hell.
********
"So, no staffing shortfall then?"
"None," smiled the Devil. The glint was getting larger. "Nobody's come for millennia. I've been waiting. Patiently."
"Ah, wouldn't want to spoil a record like that then."
"It would be a shame, really."
The Devil smiled - wickedly. He extended out a claw and tapped my heart.
"I'd best be off then," I squeeked.
"On, no stay a while. God's been so unkind to me. It's all his fault really. He made me and now I have no way to fulfill my evil..." He savored the word. " purpose. I have so many things we could... try."
"I'd like that. I really would but perhaps another time?"
I scampered backwards.
"On, no I insist," said the Devil. He was behind me, grinning, grinning, grinning. "Whips, and chains, and pains. Delicious fire."
"Uh, perhaps It's not the done things and all? Seeing as how I'm the first and all. Perhaps we could yry something else?"
"We all need to start somewhere," he said softly.
"But-"
"OH, SHUT UP." The Devil yelled. Fire spat out from him and I leapt back, imto his desk, smashing my back. *Ouch*, I whimpered.
Then he came for me. He picked me up.
"I HAVE A LIST AND EVERYTHING. FUN AND GAMES WILL BE HAD."
"Fun and games. Yes," I said softly. As on Earth, so in the heavens it seemed. I found myself empty of jokes.
"Yes, fun and games will be had..." the devil paused. "What is your name, First One?"
"I'm Lucifer, Jeremy." I answered staring into the distance. A damn list! "You can just call me Lou," I finished as kindly as I could.
| 2017-06-22T09:17:47
| 2017-06-22T06:00:59
| 23
| 17
|
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered.
|
They met when he was thirty-four, and she was still seventeen -only with seven extra years worth of wisdom. They loved each other even more passionately than they despised the rules the government had put in place, because meeting someone his age, at this time, and still falling in love knowing you'll lose them; well, that's real love.
For a while, they both accepted it. She knew that if she lost him then she'd kill herself, and she'd prefer to do that later rather than sooner. So, they married, and joined the last generation of lovers who'd be separated by death.
But, the years flew by for her, and she only noticed them in him. The promise of death constantly nagged at her mind, but the chance of an eternal life with him gave her endless hope for the future. She set a plan in motion, and worked to save their lives.
Fifteen years later, she earned a position working in a building that administered the death cure. Not working directly with the cure; The government didn't trust those who still had close ties to the lost generation, even after they'd divorced to increase her chances. He had hated going through with the divorce, but she didn't care. Laws and norms meant nothing to her now, all that mattered was the endless love she chased.
With amazing difficulty, she stole a dose of the cure and saved them both. She was sure to be wanted by the authorities by now, and his appearance was well-aged and would eventually become a dead giveaway, so they left their society behind them and started a new life.
They found peace in the wilderness, and started their endless life together. Every day they loved one another, and, somehow, their love managed to grow even stronger each day. Their life was passionate bliss, and they knew it'd last forever.
Then, one day, she couldn't get out of bed. She hadn't been sick in decades, and he looked back to society for an answer. They hadn't used the old radio for years, and when it crackled to life, it brought death.
All around the world, people were experiencing the cure's only side effect. She'd soon start to lose her mind, and eventually her life.
"Kill me.." she'd said after hearing the news, but he couldn't. He knew he was being weak, but he could never bring himself to do it.
"I'll stay with you until you're gone, just like you would have."
He stayed at her bedside at all hours, barely sleeping or eating; and she laid there, loving him as passionately as ever, slowly going mad, and as did she, so did he.
/r/BeagleTales
|
*"I wish I knew what I know now, when i was younger." - Rod Stewart*
Civilization is strange. Always tinkering with things. Hell, some jackass had to give himself small-pox just to cure small pox. This was long ago of course, but it stands to reason, people just can't leave well enough alone.
So, when Harold found himself at his familiar drinking hole, this very thought almost made him fill his depends.
"So, did you boys see the news?" Jeremy asked. Jeremy was a bastard of a man. Once a brawny lumberjack of great height, who had shrunk a considerable deal over time, and was now of normal height. Harold always assumed this was because cause trees naturally weigh more than people.
"What!?" Leonard of Downey Street yelled. The old man had forgotten his hearing aide again.
"I SAID DID YOU SEE THE NEWS?" Jeremy yelled.
"Oh! I find the Jews to be a very nice people." Leonard said softly while taking a swig of his pint.
"No. Not the Jews... I mean, yes. They are kind, a little complainy from time to time, but they seem well intentioned. You see, when I was a lad, we had a Jewish fella what lived down the..."
"What about the news?" Harold asked. Sometimes it was important to keep these older chaps on point. They were pushing mid-nineties. A lifetime away from where Harold sat at 84.
"What news?" Jeremy asked.
"What!?" Leonard yelled.
"Jeremy was talking about the news Leonard, yah deaf bastard. Where is your hearing aide?" Harold asked. Leonard was essentially the anti-American Express ad for hearing aides. *Never leave home with it.*
"Mildred must have hid it from me. You know she can be sneaky like that." Leonard said, using a rather selective hearing method.
"You gentlemen need another drink?" A waitress had popped up seemingly out of nowhere. But, to be fair, anybody walking at a brisk pace was seeming to pop up out of nowhere for Harold these days.
"Jesus! What are you trying to do? Give me a heart-attack!?" Yelled Jeremy.
"Jeremy, if i wanted to, I could have given you a heart attack a long time ago honey." The young waitress said.
"Oh, you vile temptress." Jeremy said, "Alright, put the next round on me."
"Why thank you Jeremy." Harold said.
As the waitress walked off, Jeremy eyed her up and down, "Oh, if I were only 60 years younger."
"Then you'd still be ten years too old for her you ancient bastard." Harold said, which spawned a laughing/coughing fit from Leonard.
"Ah, whatever. You young bucks don't know what it's like to be my age."
"What!?" Leonard yelled.
"I'm only ten years younger than you." Harold said.
"Well, the difference between 84 and 94 is like the difference between young Philly and a dead horse. Hell, when I was your age, I was running marathons and could bench three hundred pounds."
"Hah! I loved Family Matters." Leonard chimed in.
"Jeremy, I knew you when you were my age, and you were just as decrepit as you are now." Harold said.
"Well..." Jeremy took time to think of a comeback, which in terms of a heavily medicated 94 year old was much like watching molasses swallow a city. "You should mind your elders."
"That Urckle was hilarious!" Leonard said.
"Ah. You got me." Harold somewhat admitted defeat. It wasn't that he felt he should respect his elders. Hell, he *was* an elder, but it was a good way to drop the subject. Especially with Jeremy. "Anyways. What was the news?"
"Oh right! The news!" Jeremy shouted.
"Your pints gentlemen." The waitress popped back in.
"Ye gods woman! You need to wear a damned bell!" Jeremy exclaimed.
"Right." The waitress put the drinks on the table and walked off.
"You know, if I was sixty years..." Jeremy began.
"...Yes. Yes." Harold interjected. "Anyways, what did you see on the news?"
"Oh yes! The news. So, remember that drug that kept all those little bastards young?" Jeremy asked, as if there was any way to forget the anti-aging drug.
"Yes. I remember."
"Well, it turns out it gives you stage 4 lymphoma! HAH!" Jeremy brought a fist down onto the table in exultation.
"Ye gods."
| 2018-06-04T21:18:00
| 2018-06-04T21:07:17
| 168
| 25
|
[WP] You bought a pair of headphones that are acting up. Every time you plug them in, you hear a different sound - first crying, then a war-zone, now just static. You plug them in again and are frightened to hear a desperate, tearful warning: "Whatever you do, DON'T unplug the headphones again."
|
They pleaded for me to never unplug the headphones. It all sounded very desperate, so I just left them plugged in.
After a few months, I just bought a new device. Wouldn't you know it, the new headphones had the same problem. So I just left them plugged in.
I used my device for a long time and dutifully never unplugged the headphones. It wasn't just because of the tearful, frightened pleading. It was also more practical. I didn't really care either way, it's just headphones, just sound. Why worry? Then, the same thing happened to my TV. I unplugged it to connect to my computer, but the screen started to show horrific images or sometimes just static. Then finally, a desperate, crying man: "please, please don't unplug the tv again." So I didn't.
After years of living like this, my girlfriend nearly unplugged the headphones.
"What are these for? Just pull them out." She said.
"Babe. You can't. It's like, I don't know." I struggled for words. "It's very important or something."
She looked at me incredulously.
"You're kidding?"
"Look, there's some sort of extra-dimensional shenanigans going on. We don't want any part of it, trust me."
"I'm unplugging them. Grow up or something."
She unplugged the headphones. At first, nothing happened. She smirked at me, triumphant. She began to say something when, from behind, a surge of dozens of little red hands grabbed her. The hands appeared to be metal. They were glowing hot, so hot that I felt the heat from across the room. My girlfriend's flesh seared and sizzled in their grasp. My girlfriend began to scream, but the mass of tiny red hands grabbed her mouth and held it open, her flesh burning all the while. The hands reached inside and with combined strength, tore out my girlfriend's tongue.
I didn't see where the hands came from, at first. They were coming from *inside the headphones*. The remaining calm part of my mind noted that it was probably some kind of hammerspace, teleportation type deal. For the most part I was occupied by how loud her screams were, even without a tongue. Her eyes lolled down, her spasming limbs stopped moving and she was dead. But she was still screaming. Then I realized that she wasn't the one screaming, that was me. I was the one screaming.
The tiny red hands pulled my girlfriend into the headphones. Within a moment, she had disappeared completely. Like she was never there to begin with. The hands were gone also, with no sign that they had ever existed.
But the smell remained. That awful, unmistakeable smell of burnt flesh. The smell of burnt *hair*. After gathering myself, I walked over slowly and plugged the headphones back in.
It took me years before I was ready to start dating again after that. I made sure to mention it in my profile: "Ladies, please don't unplug my stuff. If you can't, swipe left."
|
It’s not a issue that my music stopped playing after five seconds it’s what I heard after that’s stuck in my head.
I heard a baby crying, as if it’s reaching out for me from wherever it is. I heard rockets and explosions a few seconds after that and I checked my phone to see if the song had changed but it wasn’t even playing.
Then I heard a lady who’s voice had no hope, a women who sounded like she had seen the world fall apart and she could live to tell the tale. She told me “ You Must Listen To Every Word I Say Or I’ve Failed”. I was tempted to dismiss this until she said “ Listen to me or Olivia won’t have a world to grow up in”. Saying my little sisters name got my attention so I listened.
She began to explain about where she came from and why she needed my help with whatever was going on with her life.
“ I come from the world on the other side of the mirrors. When You look into the mirror you may think you’re seeing yourself but you’re really seeing your counterpart in our world”.
“There are 3 worlds that exist between both of us, your regular earth, my earth or the mirror world and the space in between. The space in between is where a ancient race of aliens called the Dephalites reside. They’re a group of aliens that go from galaxy to galaxy attempting to wipe out humans so they can gain a new place to live after there homeworld was destroyed generations ago. 100 years ago the Dephalites attacked my earth and we were able to fight them off, we sustained enormous casualties but we managed to win. A year ago someone let them free from the in between and they began to take over.”
“We were able to fend them off at first but they evolved, they became human like and sophisticated and it was virtually impossible to tell the difference. That was until me and my partner Siegfried unleashed the Ensignial Gas into our world. It branded organisms based upon their allegiance. The people of my world have small moons on their right arms, the Dephalites have black stars on their necks, and that’s why I need you to do something for me.”
She instructed me to go the nearest mirror and I Ran to the bathroom in the GameStop across from me. I locked the door and she started with her instructions.
“ I need you to knock on the mirror twice and put your palm on the glass. After you do this a small radar and 2 pills will come through the mirror alongside a device that will allow you to fight the Dephalites. Go to the tallest building in your city and start up the radar and wait till you see 4 other beeps. Once you see 4 other beeps I need you to load the pills into the radar and watch them spread through the air. After this I need you to go home and go to a bathroom mirror and take the 2nd device and put it in front of a mirror. It will either glow red, blue, yellow, green or white. It will give you a specific element that you will learn to control and a spirit animal to guide you. After this you can wait a day and relax then I’ll need you to go back to the first building and since you’ll be the first one to start up the radar I’ll need you to lead the other 4 people that are getting a similar message. They’ll look to you to make sense of this. If you can’t just tell them what I told you and they should comply. Any questions?”
I asked a ton of them and she gave me honest answers about the radar, the Dephalites and all of her strategies in the war. I only had 3 more questions that needed answering before I went to the Space needle.
My 1st question was what would happen if we fail at beating the Dephalites. She answered
“ if you fail your world will perish like mine is right now”
My 2nd question is how did she know to choose me and why did she mention Olivia. Her response was
“ I chose you because your counterpart in my world was a great person, he was courageous beyond his years and I trust you’ll be the same. I mentioned Olivia because the Dephalites will try to control the ones you care about. If they manage to control them you must get rid of them... you must.”
After Clearing the lump in my throat I asked a simple question for my last one. Her response was honest and she held back tears. I just wanted to know her name.
“ my name is Daphne Decatto and it’s nice to meet you R.J. Thank you for listening to me and remember you’re not alone in this fight. You have people that will help you and people you will help. May your journey yield favorable results.”
And just like that my headphones went back to regular music. I had the radar and the pills in hand so now it’s on to the space needle.
| 2020-04-02T03:58:31
| 2020-04-02T03:02:54
| 31
| 14
|
[WP] My German Shepard had to be put down today. We never knew where he came from. Please write about his adventures.
|
They say a dog
Is mans best friend
That will be by your side
To the very end
So I wanted to tell you
You were my whole life
You loved me and cared for me
Between us never a strife
You pet me and fed me
And took me on walks
You shared all your secrets
We had so many long talks
And though I couldn’t tell you
All that my heart felt
I hope that you know
The best life ever was the one I was dealt
You may not know where I came from
What my story was before you
But none of it matters because
My life began when one turned into two
I’m sorry I had to leave you
But I promise I’m still here
In your heart and your memories
So don’t shed even one more tear
Thank you for giving me
All the happiness and joy
So I promise that where I go next
I’ll be the bestest good boy.
|
I was the last of my kind, at the end of my time. This is my story.
My planet was doomed. The alien species know only as C.A.T. had completely wiped out our military defensive. As a last ditch effort to stop them from advancing through the galaxy, I blew up my home. I got into my craft and set the director to find the nearest habitable planet. At safe distance, I hit the detonator. I didn't calculate for aftershocks and got blown off course. Which turned out to be the best thing for me.
On this planet, a lot of what the indigenous species, humans, call "dogs" looked nearly identical to my kind. To the point where I would even try speaking to them, and they just kind of looked at me. They were not my people, much to my dismay, but I learned to blend in and be accepted. Eventually I learned their tongue, and felt more acceptance. I wouldn't find home for a while.
I stumbled upon what the humans caked "police academies" and snuck myself in with the lot. Humans, even with their gear capacity for good, aren't the brightest, they never noticed I wasn't part of their group. It was fun for a while, stopping bank robberies, diffusing bombs, catching the bad guys. That was they life.
I grew bored of it after while. Wanting to find a place where I could just live put the rest of my years in peace and comfort. So I just left one day. No shortage pf these "German shepards", so I doubt they noticed.
That's the day I met you.
(Without more info, that's all I could write up. Also had to get back to work. Good luck. It sucks now, and you really never get over it, but It does get easier. My dogs have been gone for 2years, and I think about them all the time.
| 2018-02-13T19:59:32
| 2018-02-13T19:52:50
| 29
| 10
|
[WP] Reincarnation is real. How do you know? Because it happens to you. Everyone else forgets their past life, but not you. Your first life was a hunter in a tribe of people that predates the Egyptian empire. You’ve been reincarnated 194 times. Tell us the story of you, today in the modern world.
|
"You say your AI does what?"
"Emotion recognition for cows, sir, " I reply, with a smile. "For $100k, we deliver a 30% boost to milk productivity. Sign up now and get $10k of mood-boosting feed for free! "
...
Another deal sealed and I can't help but grin. Our AI startup is doing great, thanks to that incarnation as a bull. The bovine harem I had taught me how cows feel, how they express and... how to effectively court them, which is the secret behind our expensive feed. The feed itself is just soy paste with a peculiar combination of food coloring. The real deal is in our camera system: when it detects the specific hue, a hidden speaker plays a recording of... let's say, cow porn. That, and the unique ability to label cow photos correctly, practically ensured our success.
As my 100th incarnation as a human, I really love the modern age. Sure, the air is a bit smelly and the weather is a little hot, but it's not a big deal if you had lived as a fly. Yes, the upside of civilization definitely out-weights its downsides. I still remember starving to death as a street orphan. They broke my arms when my theft was busted, and the last few days were completely helpless. Spent a century in PTSD as a turtle before I could recover. I didn't even know the word back then. It's a great relief when getting fed is longer a concern.
And all the free knowledge I could only dream of in past lives. I first encountered science as a disciple of a long-forgotten Chinese scholar. I thought I was going to starve again, but the master dug me out of a body pile and gave me a childhood I still fondly recall. Before I could finish my study, though, empire soldiers came. They burned our books and buried us alive, simple like that. I usually don't seek revenge for my own deaths, but that time was an exception. Consumed by anger, I pulled some strings and spent the next life as a parasite, ate the emperor from inside out, and my dying vision was his empty shell rotting under a heap of fish where my children thrived.
When the hate subsided, though, I felt the spark. The passion for knowledge has driven me ever since. As a nomad I chased a salt that better preserves our beef. As a bird I taught my children optimized flying patterns. As a noble I spent more time with alchemy than my land. As a tree I listened to the professor underneath, and fell my apple to ignite an inspiration. And now, all those past lives, all those knowledge are coming to fruition: a Tensorflow model that effectively turns labeled cow photos into money, thanks to my co-founder / CTO / PhD mentee, who just cast me a worried glance.
"Are you OK?" She must have been concerned about my silly grin. The aspiring young woman doesn't know, but Karma does work in strange ways. So now, the reincarnation of my old master, let's finish what we had to leave behind two thousand years ago. Our startup will take over the world and your fame as a scholar will last forever, like you had always dreamed for.
EDIT: Wow, thanks for the gold and all the comments! This is my most successful story so far. It's such a joy to know so many people liked the piece!
|
My story is the same as the story of mankind.
The two are inexorably interconnected as far as I am concerned. They cannot be separated because the very cores of their nature are entwined. After exploring so much land, researching so many concepts, meeting so many people, I am the best example of it anyway. There is no other human alive who has seen what I've seen. No other human alive who remembers what I can.
The human mind is impressive. I figured that out after the first dozen rebirths. Back there in the wilderness before I could even work myself to a stable living, dying was more common, after all. But what astonished me then was how I remembered it all. How I remember it all every single time I am born. From the moment of my birth, the memories dance through my mind. At first, it means nothing because the neural pathways have yet to be developed. But slowly and surely, I am able to experience my past lives.
I am able to learn from them. That is the most important part—and that is what has surprised me most about the continual cycle of life. As a hunter that was recycled into tribe after tribe, all I'd known were the most basic of strategies. The most basic of methods to manufacture tools of stone and bone. The most basic of patterns when it came to tracking wildlife across the savanna. Slowly though, that changed. My mind was able to adapt to the message that the universe was sending me time after time.
One can only die by starvation a handful of times before they end up wanting something different.
So instead, I did what humans supposedly do best. I learned. I adapted. I changed my tactics and used the information that was trapped in my head for some kind of progress.
Firstly it was noticing patterns with our prey. Then it was noticing tensions between people—between different tribes. And then it was doing everything I could to put those tensions to rest.
The going was difficult when I started out. Changing peoples' minds was as difficult a task back then as it is in modern times, after all. Harder, even, since these people hadn't known anything different. But eventually they came around. Eventually, they listened to what I was saying and let me solve problems one-by-one. And once the fruits of my labor started rolling in, they all saw the benefit at once.
More consistent food sources. Better collaboration between people. The increased connectivity even sparked innovation. The tribes began observing water as they explored new areas. They studied the plants that grew around rivers and the bright tasty confections that hung off trees. They tested against their environment to see what kind of gifts it could hold.
It tested them back, of course. Mother nature is nothing if not fickle. At one point, I was even the victim of poisoning due to wrongful identification.
Yet through the trials and tribulations, progress started to get made. Actual innovations sparked seemingly out of nowhere and the lists of benefits only grew.
The speed of it accelerated too as more and more people started working together. In my first few dozen lives, I saw maybe one achievement every few decades. As soon as the farming started—the agriculture and the seeds of civilization, though, more and more started to get done.
Humans diversified; they adapted to their new surroundings. They took the newfound food supplies in stride and started doing better things with their time. They made progress in the sciences—they got more intricate with the art. They codified laws and started with the ideas of rights. Of protecting their own so that their kin could have opportunities they themselves would never see.
And I was there through all of it—through all the heavens and the hells. Through the thriving and the suffering, we never truly gave up. As a species, we had already come too far, and we were not one to be destroyed by the very nature which we had used as a tool. Unfortunately, mother nature did pay the cost for our survival, but I still hold that we did well.
I kept doing what I knew and kept building upon that as well. I pulled from my collective memory in the same way I always did and helped humanity at every turn that I was able. Sometimes I made mistakes, and sometimes things were lost in time. But never did I forget the cores of my being. Never did I forget the purely human aspects that were the reason our species could thrive at all.
Never did I stop surviving. Never did I stop adapting. Never did I stop yearning for something more.
Never did I stop learning, and I think that is the most beautiful part of it all. That is the only part of human existence that has continued to baffle me to this day. Because while the petty fights of modern times are similar at their core to the ones I saw long ago, we find a way to dress them up as new every time. We find a way to know more about life than we ever have before.
We find a way to improve, just like I've done through every generation I've lived. Yet, even for me, it is ultimately futile. No matter how I adapt or how I learn from my mistakes, mother nature spites me at the end. I always die when there is more to do—only to have to suffer through the beginnings of life before I can help out again.
There is nothing I can do to prevent the inevitable fate.
Whether that is a thing of horror or a thing of beauty, I do not know. All I know is that it is the truth, and it is one I am still desperately trying to understand.
But whether I know it or not, my story continues on. It echoes out through history like ripples through a pond. And I am glad that it does because my story is the same as the story of mankind.
---
/r/Palmerranian
| 2019-07-31T19:40:00
| 2019-07-31T18:59:09
| 1,584
| 267
|
[WP] You're watching Bob Ross with your parents when you realize he's quite obviously painting a very NSFW oil on canvas of something. Your folks don't seem to notice, and Bob Ross continues describing things as though it's some magnificent landscape. (NSFW)
|
"Mmhmm, this is the part I love, when everything just... comes together." Said Bob, a dew of sweat on his brow.
I couldn't look away. His pallet consisted of every possibility of fleshtones from goth white to coffee brown, along with a smattering of pinks and whites.
"He makes it seem so easy, god, I wish I had aunt Margaret's talents, she can whip up a mountain just as fast as he can." Said Mom, snuggled up with Dad on the sofa.
"Well, man's a genius, no doubt about that."
"A-and now... we're gonna paint a happy little bush. Riiiiiight here. Right above the valley. Yeah. Yeah, right there, that's just how I like it. Don't you?"
I rubbed my eyes, wondering if I've finally lost my mind, if I'd achieved some level of super puberty that enables me to pornify anything I saw. Not skipping a beat, Bob began painting the curves of what appeared to be a pasty white butt in the corner.
"When you get to this part, just think rolling hills, just nice, round, smooth. Hills you could have a picnic on for hours." He licked his lips, the camera zoomed in much closer to his face than usual tonight, his eyes almost never blinking, wide with excitement.
"This is really shaping up. Peaks and valleys, we can tell this is a very moist... lush atmosphere, so we're gonna give it a little weather, yeah, maybe a golden shower at sunset, doesn't that sound nice?"
Part of me wanted to run, part of me wanted to hurl, but the better part of me had no choice to see this through. Mom flipped through pages on her Kindle, disengaged, Dad was watching, but his eyes were sagging, heavy and tired.
"And over here we're gonna put a big old log, yeah, big happy log, sticking out of these bushes. Hmm... maybe a little darker, so we can tell this thing is used to being wet. Yeah, there we go. Now that's a happy log."
His pupils were wide as saucepans, a bead of sweat rolled down his temple as he turned back to the camera.
"Well, I think this one is almost done, it's very, very, very close now. So close. I don't usually paint wildlife, but just this once, I think I'll throw in a wild stall-" The TV clicked off suddenly, Dad was grunting to his feet.
"Okay, kiddo, time for bed. Big day tomorrow."
|
My parents quietly watched the afro-clad man as he made the quick, deft brushstrokes. Each one adding to the image. "And with this, we get a nice, well-groomed bush." Something wasn't right. *A well-groomed bush...* If it was a bush, then why was it triangular and so well-situated in the middle of the canvas. I turned to my mother.
"Call me crazy, but that doesn't look like any bush I've seen while hiking." I said, shrugging.
"Maybe you've never seen that type of bush before." She said, not looking at me. "It's not like you've seen every bush there is."
"Mom, I've definitely seen that type of bush before, but it wasn't sprouting from dirt when I saw it."
She shushed me, turning her attention back to the t.v. "Now, we're going to make a long brushstroke from the top of the canvas down, like so." He drew out what looks suspiciously like the side of a female body with her legs spread. He continued, confirming my suspicions. This was *definitely* a woman with her crotch very brazenly exposed.
"Are you kidding me? That's obviously not a landscape." I said, turning to my mother.
She shushed me again. "Honestly, have a little respect. This is his art. If he says it's a landscape, it's a damn landscape."
I looked back to the television, where Bob Ross was drawing the folds of a spread vagina. "And now for some more foliage... be sure to use lots of pinks and reds."
I turned to my father. "Please tell me that looks like a vagina to you. I feel like I'm taking crazy pills here."
"Are you okay?" He stared at me with genuine concern.
"No, dad. Seriously, that is a bona fide vagina on our t.v. Bob Ross is painting porn on PBS."
"I don't see it..." he mumbled.
I turned back to the t.v. to see what he did next. "And now we sign it." He scrawled his name on the bottom. "I think I'll call this one... *Pussycat Rapids*."
"Okay, fuck this." I stood up and walked out of the house, leaving my naïve parents to enjoy their pornographic PBS.
I'm never watching t.v. with them *ever* again.
| 2014-09-10T23:14:32
| 2014-09-10T23:02:17
| 52
| 24
|
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later
|
The main problem with our situation was plane ticket prices.
See, like most wannabe indie girls, I had always wanted to travel after college. Live in summertime for a couple years, write a poem in every continent, cheesy stuff like that. I wanted to meet all kinds of different people. I wanted to visit cat cafes, which New York was severely lacking. I guess… I guess I also wanted to see just how far the strange godly bond between my ex-girlfriend and I could stretch. Maybe if I moved across the ocean, I told myself, then I wouldn’t have this problem anymore.
As it turned out, the godly bond stretched at least from New York to Spain. It also stretched from New York to Israel, and to Panama, and to Shanghai. No matter where I went, whenever my ex needed me (the definition of need was *definitely* subjective here), I would be godly transported right to her side. Aphrodite doesn’t play around, not even if you were only 15 and mostly joking when you told her you’d always be there when she was in trouble.
Anyways, I’m getting off track. The plane tickets. The plane tickets were what really made the whole thing hell, because although Aphrodite had the goodness in her heart to teleport me places, she never quite found the time to teleport me back. And although Addie always offered to split the ticket price, I never took her up on it. Would’ve felt like stealing. After all, it was my dumb ass who got us into this mess.
Italy was something new. After a couple weeks in Egypt I figured I’d turn back to Eastern Europe. I’d taken a red-eye, rented a car and driven to the motel I’d rented in Florence. Just as I finished unpacking my suitcase, I felt the first tugging sensations in my stomach. *God damn it.*
I scrambled to grab a hold of my Epi-Pen and my phone. Generally, everything that was touching my skin got transported along with me, wherever I was going. Back in college, we’d tried to use it to smuggle drugs but I guess Aphrodite didn’t approve of that sort of thing.
The room spun. I squeezed my eyes shut, crouching, bending my head down until my forehead pressed against my knees. Don’t throw up, I told myself. Don’t throw up.
If you’ve ever been teleported by a goddess, then you know how the middle part feels. If you haven’t, there isn’t much use trying to explain it to you.
When I opened my eyes, I was standing on the edge of a highway. Black asphalt bled into a stretch of grass dotted with wildflowers. Beyond that I could see a forest. It was spring, a 60 degree day, and my stomach was about ready to reject everything I’d eaten in the past 24 hours.
“I was just thinking about you,” a voice called.
I turned around.
Addie was sitting crisscrossed on the trunk of her silver Mini Cooper, cheerful as ever. She wore a pair of faded overalls and scuffed up sneakers. I hadn’t seen her in a couple weeks, but she looked healthy, brown skin almost glowing in the sunlight.
Of course we met like this. Her, looking like some kind of goddess, and me, fresh off a two hour car ride preceded by a three hour flight preceded by five hours of delays at the airport. “Hi,” I said, waving my hand with the Epi-Pen. “Car troubles?”
Addie nodded. “Did I wake you up?” Her eyebrows scrunched together in concern.
I shook my head, rubbing at my eyes a little. “Another ten minutes and you might have, though,” I said.
“I’m sorry, Zoey.”
“Don’t worry about it. You know, at least you didn’t catch me on the plane. Again.”
Addie laughed. Her laugh was best when you caught her off guard. “Yeah, yeah. Fix my car, Miss Mechanic.”
I had to pop the hood of the car, then, before I did something stupid.
I mean, it wasn’t like we were out of the question or anything. We’d dated for a couple weeks in tenth grade, unanimously decided that we weren’t quite ready to come out to any parents yet and put the whole thing on hold. Of course, then we’d gone off to different colleges and Addie had gotten a new girlfriend and that was the end of that. The only reason my weak romantic heart still held out hope was because after ten years and two other girlfriends, I’d been the only one to stay.
My *staying* might have been entirely the fault of some vicarious goddess, but the point still stood.
“You awake down there?” Addie called, from the driver’s seat.
I snapped to awareness. “I cleaned your spark plugs,” I told her. “Try starting it now.”
She pressed the key into the ignition, and the car hummed to life. “You are a *goddess*,” she cheered.
“You must be thinking of the crazy one up there,” I said, pointing up towards the sky.
Addie leaned out of the car window. She smiled at me, a slow, sweet thing. It made her look fifteen again. “If you have time, I’ve just downloaded all of Firefly onto my computer.”
I swallowed. “Thanks, but I should probably be heading back to Italy.” I couldn’t manage to meet her eyes.
“Zoey,” Addie said.
I looked at her, really looked at her. She was making her puppy dog face, the one she used to use in middle school to get me to bake cookies with her, or to let her braid my hair. I’d gotten much better at saying no to her these days, and considered refusing, but. She really did look like she wanted me to stay.
Well, maybe there was hope for my weak romantic heart yet.
“I have one condition,” I said. “No country music.”
Addie grinned. “Fine, you big buzzkill.”
So I got in the passenger seat of her silver Mini, car grease and fuzzy pajama pants and all. There was a moment of silence before Addie turned on the radio, and maybe I was imagining things but I’m pretty sure that somewhere very high up, a vicarious old lady was godly laughing.
|
A young man stands in front of a crowded board room his presentation is impeccable. He's worked his way up from intern to junior exec, and it's taken years of late nights to get him to this point. His smart blue suit only slightly lighter than the others in the room, his tie a perfect accent piece to his pocket square which sets off his wire frame glasses. The young man continues his well rehearsed diatribe, "You'll see in the graph here that..." A cloud of smoke envelopes him and then dissipates leaving the rest of the attendees in awe.
Across the country on a small studio lot just outside of Los Angeles a woman sits on a curb eating a sandwich when smoke begins to materialize, the young man appears before her eyes in a brilliant shimmer of folded space which looks as if someone smeared the background.
"Oh *you're* here." The young woman remarks.
He turns around investigating his new surroundings before looking down at the girl, "Jesus Christ Keri, what the hell do you want?"
"Well I didn't want *you* ." She answers before discarding the food on the ground.
"Uh, yeah Keri, that's how this works. Remember? In perhaps the most regretful phrase I've ever uttered in my life, I pledged to always be there for you. Then a skank in pink heart print dress appeared and said 'So it shall be, always.' So now when you want me, and only me I fucking appear wherever you are. I was only fifteen how the hell is that binding?!?"
The woman shrugged and said, "Well as long as you're here, the studio says they'll give me a line if I show my breasts in the movie. Should I do it?"
"Yes, of course you should," The young man replied. As soon as Keri's back was turned he began to give her the finger with both hands.
"You really think I should? Don't you think that could hurt my career? I want to be thought of as a serious actress..." She turned around suddenly to see both of his middle fingers outstretched in an aggressive, and angry way. "Brad... god damn it, I'm serious."
"I don't give a flying red headed fuck what you do, the perpetually pink bitch made it so I have to be here, she didn't make me feel the need to be helpful. Your tits have been all over the internet for years. Remember when we broke up and you got on Girls Gone Wild? Yeah so there isn't a pervy old man in America who hasn't spanked it to your underage, and until verrrry recently undersized chest; by the way tell your doctor I love his work, and leave me the fuck alone!"
She smiled at him, "You're jealous, I'm here shooting a film with the guy who played on Renegade and you're stuck in your little cubicle back home. Why can't you just be happy for me you piece of shit?"
"I was in the middle of a meeting that would have made me a partner. I have a girl I'm crazy about, and she puts up with this popping back and forth thing for god knows why, and I'm jealous?"
The two screaming at each other drew the ire of the director who then stormed over to the pair, "Who are you?" He demanded.
Brad sighed and said, "I'm Brad her ex boyfriend."
The director threw out his hands with his palms raised, "Do you work here?"
"No."
He turned his attention to the young woman, "And you, who the hell are you?"
"um... I'm Keri. I play Sorority slasher victim 2."
"Not anymore, you're fired. Steven, get me casting, I need another big breasted bimbo to show her tits in this piece of shit. Let's go, we're moving on."
Keri stood there her mouth agape, then she turned to look at Brad who's lips had begun to curl upwards at the corners, "You... this is all your fault. Fix it, fix it now."
Brad broke out into a bright white smile as karma finally caught up with Keri. He did his best to snap his lips closed but the joy was just so overwhelming he broke into a slight laugh as he said, "Why? Remember I don't have to help, I just have to be there for you."
"Well how are you going to like it if I suddenly need a towel boy at 2:AM your time for the foreseeable future after I swipe right on every guy in LA? Fix this now."
Brad visibly gulped and said, "Excuse me Mr. Director..."
| 2017-03-22T16:13:24
| 2017-03-22T15:05:15
| 51
| 19
|
[WP] A centuries-old vampire, turned as a child, takes advantage of being perpetually stuck as a little girl to prey upon those who would harm and abuse children.
|
There's a rope skipping the children sing, down on Marigold lane, down in the dirty part of town, where you can have anything you want for a price.
*Sweet Mary Marvin, looks just six*
*Don't you fall for one of her tricks.*
*Sweet Mary Marvin, a hundred years old*
*Cheeks of red and hair of gold*
*Sweet Mary Marvin, looks so dear*
*If you see her, don't go near*
*Sweet Mary Marvin, got her bite*
*On a sweet and shivery night*
*Sweet Mary Marvin, got her eleven*
*Tried to grab her and sent to heaven*
*One wanted hugs, another wanted kisses*
*One thought he'd take her for his missus*
*Sweet Mary Marvin give him a peck*
*How many holes were in his neck?*
*One, two, three, four....*
And the kids skip on. And on and on. It's a cute song, but honestly, it's putting me off my dinner tonight.
After all, how is some kid going to find a fitting rhyme for "twelve?"
|
What appeared to be a six year old girl walked dark alleys late at night. No parents were anywhere in sight, and she skipped through bad areas while holding a bright pink balloon. It bobbed with every movement. Her modest skirt barely moved and her blonde pigtails trailed behind her.
Sally could already hear the pervert's heart beating faster, and she could practically feel his filthy eyes watching her. Even though she had no conscience as a vampire, the fact that men like him existed reminded her of what it was like to feel sick to the stomach. A motor was running, and the plain white van was visible. He was fat with a mustache. Long hair was dirty and unkept on his head, and he smelled as if he hadn't showered in days. Nobody else was within sight or normal human earshot.
"Hey little girl," the freak said. "Want some candy?"
Sally grinned evilly, and quickly tried her best to make it look like a naive girl smile. "Oh yeah! I love candy!"
"Right this way." He led her down the dark alley, and she continued to skip like a playful girl. A white, unmarked van lied in the alley. The engine was running to make a quick getway. It door slid open as they approached, and a cardboard box was inside with 'candy' crudely written on it in black marker. His disgusting fingers slowly opened the box. "What kind of candy do you like, little girl?"
"Chocolate!"
The man smiled and pulled out a tranquilizer gun. A dart flew at her face and she caught it mid air. His smile was immediately wiped off his face. "Fuck."
Sally wrapped the balloon string around his neck and pulled hard enough for him to gag. Silk ribbon began to cut through his flesh and the scent of blood made her fangs extend. "You stereotypical motherfucker."
He grimaced in pain as the fangs sank into his neck. Blood gushed into her mouth, and she sensed exactly how much blood he could lose before going unconscious. She stopped in time, and licked the wound so that it healed over. His bones snapped like twigs and he would've screamed out in pain had the string not been strangling him. "You and I are going to have a fun night."
| 2015-04-30T12:51:10
| 2015-04-30T12:00:41
| 53
| 21
|
[WP] You're the cynical narrator of a story. However, you hate the optimistic main character and only continue to narrate hoping something bad happens to him. With ill-will, narrate a day in the life of this character.
This came to mind a few days ago and thought it could lead to some funny stories.
Edit: Oh wow, I thought this was a neat idea. I didn't realize it would be so well received. Thanks for all the stories! I was in tears laughing so hard while reading a lot of these. Good stuff! Thanks to the unknown stranger for supporting reddit and gilding me.
|
She slept in every morning, and this was no different. Her alarm would go off, she'd groan, press snooze and the go back to sleep with a stupid grin on her face. And she wondered why she didn't have a job.
When she did get up, she didn't shower, despite her hair being a good place for birds to make a nest. She instead went down to the kitchen, made a bowl of cereal (clearly she was watching her weight) and threw on the morning cartoons. She was a child, trapped inside a woman's body. Immature, insignificant, Irene.
Irene was 20, though she looked a bit older. Always with a cheery smile on her face (which seemed dreadfully forced) and a deceitful personality which won her many (unappreciated) friends, Irene spent most of her days watching television and posting hopeful messages on OK Cupid, knowing that today is the day that some stupid man will look over all her obvious faults and decide to go on a single date with her before cutting off all contact. Despite how long this routine had continued for, Irene still kept doing it. Every. Day.
At just past noon, her phone rang and she answered it. "Hello!" She said with fake enthusiasm. "It's so nice to hear from you again. Yeah, I'm doing great! I should be going back to school in the fall. Can't wait to see you there!" The conversation lasted all of 5 minutes before Irene bored the person on the other end to sleep.
For lunch she had reheated pizza and a diet coke, neither of which would do anything to solve her weight problem. Then again, maybe if she actually had a job, she could afford something better, and stop being a burden on her parents.
For the rest of the afternoon she followed the same routine. Occasionally the phone would ring, she'd drone on about her pathetic life with so much excitement that the person on the other end kills themselves before hanging up, and then she'd go back to watching TV.
Irene's mother came home from work at 3 in the afternoon, and thankfully told her daughter to move. "Have you been on that damn couch the whole day?"
"Sorry mom, I was staying near the phone in case someone called."
"Who would call you? Have you dropped off any resumes?"
"Well not yet, but Stacy said there's a job opening up down at the mall, and that she can put a word in for me, maybe." Irene smiled.
"Yeah, that's what happened with your other friend of yours. But you don't work at the GAP, so maybe you should stop bothering those friends of yours and actually do something with your life."
"I'll be back at college in the fall!"
"And in debt in the spring. Your father and I aren't going to keep taking care of you."
"Don't worry, mom. I'll take care of it."
"Yeah. Okay. Just leave me alone while I watch my soaps."
After the conversation with her mother (of which Irene listened to none), she went to her bedroom and went onto Tumblr, where she started writing her daily blog which no one would ever read.
"She slept in every morning..."
|
*WARNING: strong language below.*
Look at this fucker. C'mon, get a load of this clitoris-faced little cunt sauntering down the street like he's a worthwhile goddamn human being. He has apparently forgotten that he has accomplished a negative fuckton worth of good in his brief, pathetic life, but who cares, he's young and somewhat pretty, he's fucking born for amazing things, that's what his monkey-whore of a mother told him when he was sucking at her floppy tit at the age of fourteen.
Notice how he's puffing his chest out and swinging his arms just a little bit too much. He's trying to look self-confident; see, he knows he hasn't got anything worth a maggot's shite to offer the world, but he got away with cheating on a test in primary school, so now he thinks he's a good liar, so he's trying to pass as some kind of fucking adult. He's twenty-five and he still has cunting acne scars. YOU'RE NOT A GROWN UP, YOU'RE A BREATHY-VOICED SHIT-BRAINED TWAT.
Oh, and there he goes, literally bumping into a complete stranger, like the gangling personification of the phrase "cock-up" that he is. Oh, and she's dropped her books, and yep, he manages to take a pervy little look down her blouse before helping her pick up her metric shite-load of - what are those, communications studies textbooks? What kind of twit studies that bollocks anymore?
Oh, now he's trying to crack a joke, this oughtta be good. And there's the punchline, and... WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, DON'T LAUGH AT HIS CUNTY JOKE, YOU CANARY-BRAINED EXHIBITIONIST WHORE. Oh, now he thinks he has an "in," because some vacuous bird finds his insipid brand of "humour" charming.
Oh, and now they're exchanging phone numbers, what the fuck do they think this is, a fucking Disney short film? Knowing my luck they'll copulate dispassionately for the rest of their lives, producing a veritable bevy of scrotum-faced babies to further pollute this miserable fuckin' planet. Yeah, you walk away and smugly put her number in your pocket, you little prick, the only way this fucking day could get better is if you get hit by a bus - CHRISTMAS CAROLING CROW SHIT! I didn't fuckin' mean it! NOW this fucking universe listens to me? Oh for fuck's sake.
And what's this useless bus driver doing? Is he actually going into shock? MOVE, you micro-dicked waste of civil resources! Call a fucking ambulance, perform CPR, do something, you limp-wristed, elephantine castratti, if you've finished wanking to your own traumatic guilt, you might have a chance to be a slightly less putrid intrusion into the terrestrial sphere, you pillowfucking...
*Fade out*
| 2014-08-24T17:07:52
| 2014-08-24T17:01:56
| 64
| 38
|
[WP] You come across a Genie who offers you a couple of options: you can make 3 'Class A' wishes, or 1 'Class B' wish per month for one decade.
Class A wishes are more powerful than Class B wishes, and would obviously have less limitations, but feel free to establish your own set of rules for the story.
|
"Wait... B class wishes?" The tales I'd heard of genies had always told of getting three wishes. Needless to say, I was intrigued. "What are those?"
The genie smiled slightly before replying "B class wishes, as I'm sure you'd expect, are a lot smaller scale than those of class A. Class A wishes require a lot of effort, work, and magic to effect large-scale changes that would otherwise be impossible. Class B wishes are small-scale; they can make subtle changes to situations so that 'possible' things become promises things."
"So, like guaranteeing a lottery ticket wins the jackpot?" I asked. Honestly, I'd have been surprised if she had said yes, but I wanted to make sure I wasn't missing anything.
"Not quite - being that direct is a class A wish." The genie paused a few moments in thought. Had no one ever asked such a question before? He continued, "For class B wishes, you'd be better off asking for the winning numbers to use instead, but even then it'd only still give you a chance. I guess... I'd say you'd probably get one or two more numbers of the set correct. More than that and the results - the changes from your wish - become too large for class B," he stated matter-of-factly.
---
Having somewhat recently graduated college, that "lottery ticket" wish had sounded pretty tempting - I had no shortage of loans to be paid off. That, and class A was a lot more potent and showy, sure, but I'd always heard horror stories of how such wishes could go wrong. If anything like the "monkey's paw" legend were to pass, I'd figured that Class B effects would be a lot easier to live with, and so I chose class B.
At first, I was really glad that I chose class B. Given the economy, I almost expected getting a job to be a Class A wish. Then again, I got a job alright, but managing a fast-food restaurant wasn't exactly my childhood dream. Affordable housing on my budget near my job? Sure, the house was great and well-maintained, but it wasn't exactly in what folks considered "a good neighborhood." I shuddered to consider what penalties Class A would have brought, given how I felt my wishes were going. Still, the results were better than nothing, and I was able to start making progress on my loans so long as I was careful with my budget.
Things started getting interesting the next month, though. Having woke up to see my driver's side car door bashed in, I'd offhandedly said "I wish my car were fixed." Someone must have been drunk when they parked the night before and hit my vehicle.
I was shocked to hear "Wish granted, master." I looked back to my car to see... no change. Confused, I looked back to the genie, who said "wait for it..."
I watched as my big, intimidating neighbor came up to my front door. Uh-oh, I'd been dreading having a chat with him, and I already wasn't in the best of moods. As he knocked and I watched the genie disappear, I reluctantly went to the door, gulped, and and prepared myself for what would come next. It was a shame I'd wasted my wish... or so I thought.
----
Writer's notes: I'd love to continue this, but am presently out of time. I have ideas on where this can go, but that'll have to wait. Hope you enjoyed it!
|
I expected a genie lamp to be hidden away in the Sahara
Desert, or locked inside of a secret Government base. So when you’re pouring
tea and this blue fucker pops right in your face, it can kinda scare the living
crap out of you.
“Heya Daniel! Thanks for freeing me. I was burning up in
there!” It screeched at me.
Being a sane human being, my first reaction was to grab a
knife and try to kill the abomination of an intruder in my home. My attacks
just went through, making him chuckle.
“Hey, that tickles! Well, it seemed you’re still a bit surprised.
So if we can just calm down…”
The knife flew out of my hands and stuck to the wall.
“I can introduce myself. Name’s Gene, Gene the Genie, nice
to meet you.” He grabbed my hand to shake.
Well, he clearly shows he has demonic powers on his side.
Might as well be nice to him.
“G-good to meet you too. I’m- wait, how did you know my name?”
“Oh Danny, I know ALL. For example, did you know you’ll die
by bees going up your buttocks?”
“How would that- “
“That’s not important. What is important if your wishes!" He
cheered as confetti rained down.
A excellent though can to me. "Oh, I know what to do here! Okay Genie, I wish for more wi-“
“Finish that request and the corpse they discover of you won’t
be seen as a corpse.”
I gulped.
“Let's focus of what you can wish for, alright? We offer
two packages, you can either do three big wishes and that’s that, or you can
get a minor wish monthly for a decade.”
I thought for a bit.
“Well if those are my options, I think I’ll go with option A.”
“Fantastic! What are your wishes?"
“First a glass of water.” I raised my hand out.
He humphed.
“Well, okay. You can think a little bigger here.”
“Next, a glass of sparkling water.” I raised my other hand
out.
“I think you could just go to the store for that-“
“And finally, both infinite class A and class B wishes!” I
exclaimed drinking both waters.
I don’t think he liked that very much.
“AND WHAT DID I JUST SAY ABOUT WISHING FOR WISHES?” He
hollered at me.
“No, these are *packages* of wishes, very different.” I
refuted brilliantly.
Surprisingly, he gave a belly laugh.
“Well, if that’s what you wish for, so be it. But first, I’m
going to need my own wish granted.”
“And what’s that?”
“For me to be able to kill you! Oh look at that, it’s
granted! Sorry Danny!”
He snapped his finger.
The last thing I heard was intense buzzing before everything
faded. My death was painful, but worth it. Not gonna be tricked into selling my soul today genie!
/r/JustATadOfStories for more tales.
| 2017-11-20T21:56:28
| 2017-11-20T20:39:49
| 41
| 17
|
[WP] They killed his hound, and stolen his steed. The rogue knight returns from retirement to teach them a lesson. He was known as the man you call to kill the shadow itself, and he was known as John, the Wicked.
|
His cottage was palatial by local standards. He had chosen the estate because it was remote enough to be unmolested. It was big enough to tend and support the family he had hoped to start. With the loss of his damsel, it had suddenly become overwhelmingly large. Now that his hound was taken from him, it was absolutely devoid of purpose.
John sat on his bed, sitting on the battlemail draped over it. The half-plate remained mounted on the wall. He looked wearily at his old implements of war. The darkness of night had settled around him, and he had already, ceremonially, blown out all the candles, save the ones in the main sitting room. There, he had set a table for himself, with the fires and the light casting clear shadows against the stone walls.
John went to his dinner table, and placed his face into a cloth. His sobbing filled the estate.
___
The freelancers slowly crept into the estate. The lock on the front door was easy enough to pick, and the back door wasn't even locked. Their leader smirked. The Wicked had gone soft in his retirement. They could hear him crying in the dining room. The lancers slowly crept in, allowing their eyes to adjust to the light before they would pounce upon their victim.
___
With a quick snick of his knife, John cut a cord of rope that had been holding the candlewheel up on the ceiling. It fell onto the table with a clatter, and all the flames flickered out. Darkness immediately enveloped the lancers' eyes, and they began shuffling in their panic. With the cloth removed from his eyes, the Wicked moved swiftly to work.
The nearest lancer to him, by the armchair, received a quick dagger between the third and fourth ribs. John pulled the dagger out, and a quick spurt of blood followed as the lancer collapsed. John spun around, spinning the dagger to point the blade downward, and stuck it under the chin of another, up through the roof of his mouth. His gurgling trickled through the house.
A third lancer was already on his knees, his eyes still adjusting. Please, he begged, please, I, ple- John had plunged the dagger into his throat, and left it there. He looked out, and listened for the footsteps. Pitter patter, pitter patter.
Three more, he thought.
___
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. John opened it.
"John."
"Jim."
"'Tis a fine evening."
"'Tis."
The constable tilted his head, peering into John's cottage. The dining room was dark, but the slumped figures of three freelancers was clearly visible. In the hallway were two more. One was slumped against the stairway, not dead but definitely dying. Constable Jim looked back at John.
"Ye received a call for rabble-rousing?"
"Yea, John," the constable paused, "rabble-rousing."
"I'll try to maintain a golden silence for the remainder of this evening."
"Appreciated. Are ye crusading again, John?"
"No, no. I am just cleaning up a few things."
"OK, well," the constable looked both unsure and resigned, "Good evening to ye, John."
"Good evening, Jim."
John closed the door.
|
The warrior without a path lain before him sat in his broken home, letting his blood boil and the tempest of grief and rage take him over.
His eyes, transfixed toward his enemy, wherever they might be hiding, with cold, murderous intent. He felt a feeling not of anger or of grief for his enemies, but the realization that his dark path had not and most likely find its way into the light.
Finding his resolve, the warrior descends into the cellar, to retrieve his arms, his attire, and to ready himself for the approaching slaughter.
| 2018-09-05T00:20:01
| 2018-09-04T23:49:48
| 2,033
| 25
|
[WP] One day everyone suddenly has a health bar. Healthy people have higher, unhealthy have lower. You are healthy, but your health is at 1.
|
100 Health Points - that was the "average" health of people in first world countries. Some third world places, the average was as low as 40, but there were rumors of "super humans" out there with Health Points of 500 or more.
Health Bars appeared one day out of the blue. Everyone woke up one morning with bars on their forearm, like a tattoo. Except they were dynamic: the bar was separated into (on average) 100 divisions. At full health, all of your Health Points were green. When you lost health, your Health Points turned red. A small cut might lower your Health Points by one, and a broken bone might lower them by half. At zero, of course, you died.
Scientists around the globe were still trying to figure out the phenomenon, but people couldn't wait around for an explanation. They had lives to live. So we all carried on, accepting this new quirk of human anatomy as normal.
Thus we all went on, wearing our health on our sleeve.
I was a healthy person. 102 Health Points exactly (I'd counted them several times). I was physically fit: I ran often, I ate my vegetables and stayed away from fast food. No diseases ran in my family.
Did you know that Health Bars measured mental health, too?
I found out when I stood on the edge of the rooftop of a building in my city. Below me, the streets were loud and full of nighttime traffic - the city never sleeps. Above me, the moon shined down through the wind that whipped at my clothes.
My shoes scrapped the edge. I took in a deep breath, slowly swaying in the breeze. If I leaned forward, just a little, I would lose balance and topple over.
My Health Points were at 1, because the tiniest of movements would cause me to die.
If I leaned backward, just a little, I would lose balance and stumble backward safely onto the roof. It would probably save my life.
I stared down at the city and the lights that danced from this far away. Everything was small: the people, their problems, and if I thought of it that way, my problems too.
I took a deep breath. My Health Points flashed.
A gust of wind knocked me off balance.
|
*One Health*
**Part 1**
The day has finally come, The launch of the health bar has come. The launch is the only talk in town. The launch is the only thing that brings excitement to the small town that we call home.
One hour remains on the clock. I have headed into to town, Town is the only place that reaches the rest of the world. The bar is filled with every living sole that is around this place.
Today the chip in my palm will display the health of me and others around. The bartender offers me a drink. I furiously refuse before replying,
"Those kill your brain cells, Who wants to drink some UN-healthy shit today!" I snap
The bartender mumbles to him self before replying, "Al'rite then!"
10 seconds, My heart beats faster.
9 seconds, Everyone pauses talking.
8 seconds, No one dares to move.
7 seconds, Everything seems to freeze.
6 seconds, My chest tightens.
5 seconds, I can feel the tense air.
4 seconds, someone sneezes.
3 seconds, I inhale.
2 seconds, I sharp inhale again.
1 seconds, Here we go!
On the TV confetti go's off and a small announcement flashes before my eyes on the features. Everyone living has now looked at there arm as the red light flashes meaning it is starting. The entire room gasps at once as they flash to life. You hear some laughs and some cheers from around the room.
Everyone except for me has moved and exhaled, And then there is me. I don't move as if everything has turned to ice.
My, Bar, Says, One
And I decide that very second, To figure out what in the fuck has happened.
| 2016-07-25T19:09:06
| 2016-07-25T17:27:52
| 73
| 14
|
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
I am writing this with tears in my eyes and 15 years of wishing i did this sooner.
Dear Dude who molested me when I was a child,
You ruined my life. It has been a long time since you molested me and those 3 other kids, and I hope you are rotting in that cell.
Ever since what you have done, I have battled severe depression and extreme psychosis. Do you know what its like being a 10 year old boy huddled in a corner thinking the shadows are going to get him while the voices in his head scream at him in unintelligible words? Do you know what it's like for a 12 year old to contemplate suicide just to get the voices to stop. You probably think I deserve it because my testimony put you in prison for 50 years.
Thanks to you, I have had 24 days in my life where i have held pills to my lips, or a knife to my throat, or held a gun in my hands, all because it would "be easier" than living.
Thanks to you, my career in the Navy was cut short because i was to unstable and had to spend a week in a mental hospital.
Thanks to you, I have spent the last 5 years of my life wasting away because I didnt think there was anything left for me.
But you probably don't care.
Thankfully, though, I have found a girl who loves me. I have found a therapist who tells me it isn't my fault. I have a life I have now built that I love and wouldnt trade for the world. Now i have 2 cats and a dog. Now i have an apartment that I can call home. Now....I have a life, one I don't want to end because it would "be easy".
~One of the boys you raped so long ago.
|
Dear [name redacted],
Hey, do you remember when you stopped talking to mecwithout giving me an explanation? How you walked away from that without any pain, but I was sent into a depressive spiral for months? Of course you don't. You can put those thoughts behind you. I can't put mine behind me. You're lucky, and I kind of envy you.
What I want you to know is that I'm happy, with a sweet girl who actually cares about my feelings. Someone who actually deserves my time and effort. Someone who, if given a choice between killing her or killing my oldest friend and unable to kill the one holding a gun to my head, I would kill my oldest friend. Someone so much better than you in every concievable way. Someone who isn't a waste of oxygen.
I hope this opened your eyes on how much of a heartless shitstain you really are.
Sincerely,
Vivi
P.S.: Enjoy the glitter bomb, fuckhead.
| 2015-12-05T15:55:07
| 2015-12-05T13:04:29
| 61
| 36
|
[WP] WANTED: MALE/FEMALE ROOMMATE TO ROOM WITH THREE OTHERS - $190 PER MONTH. We are three lovely HUMANS currently renting out Acre house, just off campus. We’re walking distance from college, have WIFI and air conditioning. 4 rooms. (Just to clarify, we are definitely human)
|
[Part 1 of 2]
“Look mum, I know it’s weird, but they wouldn’t specify that they are humans if they weren’t. What sort of person lies just to get money? Do you want me to get an education? If so, be a good parent and support my decision to move out of home. I need to be close to the campus. Yes, I’ll be safe. I love you too.”
Despite my mother’s skepticism, I was optimistic. A home close to campus, one with three other roommates to share drinks and laughs with. All for the price of $190 a month. What more could a person ask for? I expected to be far too late when I called about the advertisement, certain that others would have already snapped up the offer, only to find that I was the first.
“Evening, I was enquiring about the recent offer for a roommate? I… Hello? Is someone there? I called the right number, didn’t I?” I looked at my mobile, shaking the phone, wondering if I had reception, all I could hear on the other side of the line was a weird groaning followed by a few high-pitched screeches. After a bit of shuffling, a voice answered.
“Sorry, sorry. Yes, are you interested in the roommate advertisement? Or are you another person asking if my refrigerator is running? For this last time, that was a onetime thing, and we caught it before it could cause any damage. You cannot sue us for your child’s distress at seeing a moving refrigerator.” The voice huffed, sounding ancient but refined.
“Hah… I get it, like the joke. Very clever. We have the same sense of humor.” I said, forcing out a fake laugh despite not getting the joke. Trying to get on their good side. “I was hoping I wasn’t too late about the roommate offer.”
“You actually want to be our roommate? You hear that? A human wants to room with us. How excellent.” The voice said before coughing, trying to disguise their recently uncharacteristic outburst. “Sorry, I’m an actor in my spare time. I get dramatic. Please come to the address of 142 Laneridge avenue, fellow human. We can discuss it there.”
“Fellow human? Is that an inside joke? Sure, I’ll bring myself fellow human.” The voice on the other end didn’t laugh, only hanging up the phone, leaving me to wonder if I had offended them.
I found one of my old suits, wanting to impress these potential housemates. Dressing in my best before driving to the property, only to realise it was far larger than advertised. The towering home having two stories and even a pool outside. For the price this would be the steal of the century, so what was the catch?
Approaching the door, I gripped the metallic skeleton door knocker, lightly smacking it against the door. After getting no response, I tried again, this time nearly crushing my finger as I slammed it, feeling the frame shake before stabilizing. That knock appeared to get the attention of the household. I heard a few whispers before the door opened, a voice shouting. “No, let me answer it, Madeline!”
Standing behind the door was a six-foot woman, her hair a light grey with a matching set of eyes. Her mouth sat open, teeth sharpened, giving me a dead stare. I offered her a wave, and she only let out a soft groan, shambling away from the doorway to drop onto the couch, closing her eyes.
“Um, sorry. Did I interrupt something?” I asked, poking my head in, only to watch a shadow dive behind the couch, as a younger male stepped forward, his blond hair neatly cut, dressed in a suit far better fitting than mine.
“No, no. I just didn’t plan this very well. Its nice to meet you. I’m Jacob and that lady there is Madeline. I’m sorry about her, she is rather shy with guests. She also needs a lot of rest before she can get on with her day. It’s a good sign that she answered the door, though. It means she’s curious about you at least. Or hungry…” He said, not realizing I could hear him.
“Uh… ha… I’m Liam. Nice to meet you both. Aren’t you a little young to be renting, though? I thought you were someone’s child until you spoke. Anyway, isn’t there meant to be a third person here?” I asked, looking at the old wooden interior. It had a pleasant warmth about it. A coziness that came with its old age, despite the cold temperatures.
“A child? I’m at least ninety years older than you. I just have a condition that affects my aging. That’s besides the point. Would you like me to show you to your room?” His face scrunched, taking offence at my questioning of his age.
“Sure, I can tell the air conditioning works. This place is freezing. Luckily, I enjoy the cold. So, what sort of Wi-Fi speeds do you get here?” As we passed through the kitchen, I glimpsed the fridge, which was chained to the wall, an oddity but one I wouldn’t question.
“Oh, most excellent. We need to keep it cool in here. Madeline isn’t pleasant to be around when its warm. The Wi-Fi speeds are about one hundred megabytes a second. I think it’s a fair speed, we went all out in purchasing a good plan.” As we walked towards the staircase, he rushed forward, kicking a small door underneath the staircase shut. The edges of the door glowed with a bright red aura before fading. “Penny! For the last time, Close the door when you are doing your… tests. I don’t want a repeat of last week.” He called out, facing the living room. Was Penny the shadow I saw earlier?
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/nkfsys/wp_wanted_malefemale_roommate_to_room_with_three/gzcyx48/)
|
"Alright, it's just not much to work with son and three people are missing, possibly hurt or worse."
"I'm telling you that's all I know," James said, working to the bottom of his second cup of coffee. He didn't feel like eating.
"Take me through it again," the detective said patiently. The smile looked practiced. "Maybe you'll remember something new."
"Okay," James said, setting the coffee down. He'd need something stronger when he was done here. "I answered the weird ad and someone told me the address. When I got there, the front door was open and all the lights were off."
...
"Hello?" James called out, risking sticking his head into the dark apartment. Who leaves their door open in the middle of the day?
"Hello," three voices came back in unison, so instantly it made James jerk back.
"I'm here about the craigslist ad. I emailed someone yesterday." He tried to peer through the hallway but the sunlight from the doorway only illuminated the first few steps. The voices had come from there, somewhere deep.
"Yes, excellent. Please come in. We are making the world's best chili at this time!" a man called out, he sounded eager, like a car salesman or a youth minister.
James had a friend that lived in these apartments a few years ago. The kitchens were right by the front door, not down the hall. James repeated the price in his head over and over. He hadn't found a place for under 500 dollars rent share in six months and this was 190, one frickin ninety.
As he walked in the door, he turned to see the spotless kitchen. He started to back out when he saw trash bags had been taped over the windows. This was some Dexter shit.
"Are you coming?" came a girl's voice, sinking his stomach with heavy dread. She sounded far too young to be renting an apartment.
"Please forgive the mess," the man's voice came again, eagerness bleeding into desperation now. "We had to fumigate from the last tenants and we're waiting for the power to come on today."
"Sure, Right, I get it," James said uncertainly, pulling out the flashlight from his phone. The door at the end of the hall was open. It looked like three people were leaning against an overturned mattress. It was hard to tell. "Can you guys come out here?"
"Why?" the girl's voice came again. The people in the room didn't seem to move, staring at something on the far wall. "You wouldn't want to agree to rent an apartment you haven't seen. We don't bite."
James watched unable to look away as one of the people began to turn towards him in slow, halting movements. It was a young woman and she was smiling wide, too wide. All the money in the world wouldn't be worth this. "Yeah, sorry. I'm just not feeling it. Thanks."
The light on his camera clicked off just as the door behind him slammed. He heard them then, scurrying like rats, not slowed at all by the dark.
...
"And you managed to find the window in the dark and bust through it?" the detective asked, taking notes in a small book in his lap. "And didn't manage to cut your hands at all?"
"I told you, there were bags over the windows. When I busted through the-"
"Right, we didn't find those, James. We didn't find any trace of these people you're describing. You didn't see any sign of the actual owners of the apartment or get a good look at any of these people you say were claiming to be the renters? Even the girl?"
"I mean, she was around ten maybe, white I think. It was hard to tell. Maybe she was older and just short."
"Right," the detective said through pursed lips as he stood. "I'm going to-"
The door opened abruptly and the detective's face scrunched up as a tall, thin man in a long brown duster walked into the room.
"Who the hell-" the detective started.
"Special Agent Berns," the man said lazily, flicking a practiced wrist to flash a badge, arching it over for James as well but he didn't have time to read it. "We're taking over this case. I'll expect all your files by the end of the day."
"You can't just bar-"
"You saw me do just that," the agent said, turning and looking down. "James, right? You're with me. Let's go."
"That man is a suspect in an ongoing-" the detective started again, red in the face.
The agent didn't respond and James followed as the detective continued to shout behind them. He followed for a moment barking behind them before suddenly going quiet and wandering back into the interview room.
"First question, James," the agent said as he led the way through the police station. "Did you accept an apology from any of them, the people in the apartment?" He put a strange emphasis on the word people.
"What? No, I only said a couple of things to them before I got away. Who were they?"
"That's good. They must be young ones. They pick up that trick pretty quick, usually." No one stopped them as they left the station and approached a chirping white van. "Any nausea, fatigue, strange dreams?"
"Where are you taking me?" James asked. "What trick? Why would I be nauseous?"
"All those answers and more await you inside, my boy," the man actually seemed a little unhinged for a government agent. He pulled back the sliding side door to van and gestured for James to enter with a slight tremor in his hand.
James looked at the logo on the van. Mama Curling's World's Best Chili. The man shoved him to topple into the van. All the seats had been removed and there were no door handles on the inside
"Ready?" the man asked as he slammed the driver's door closed past the partition.
"For what?" James asked as he fell back on the floor as the van accelerated forward."
"Hunter training starts today, kid. You survived an encounter on your own, so you've earned a shot. And don't ask if it's vampires. Trust me. It's never vampires."
/r/surinical
| 2021-05-24T21:33:15
| 2021-05-24T21:31:44
| 779
| 276
|
[WP] In your effort to create a Rube-Goldberg device, you have somehow stumbled into building a perpetual energy engine. As you try to recreate the happy accident you further break down the laws of Physics with each new invention in a vain attempt to recreate your original engine.
|
Professor Lou Pole, possibly the greatest mind of his generation, had no business leaving his prestigious (and very high paying job) at ELITE AND NEEDLESSLY EXPENSIVE UNIVERSITY.
But he did.
When he told his adjuncts and fellow professors where he was moving, each and every one of them responded with an expression of disbelief - a laugh, a gasp, a mystified shake of the head. Aiden Ungerton, the Departmental Head of Physics, posited that perhaps, at long last, Pole's vast intellect had proven *too heavy* for the stringy old man, and had buried him in a self-destructive bout of insanity.
Yet, when Professor Pole hopped off the train, a tiny suitcase rolling behind him, there was a whistle on his lips, and an unusual energy to his step.
He arrived in Podunk, Oklahoma, where not a single person knew his name, his legacy, nor much of anything regarding the modern scientific advances of the last five hundred years. It was a dream *come true*. He bought a barn, a peaceful retreat where his gadgetry and testing apparati could sprawl and be tinkered on in peace. Not to mention the rent was about one fifth what he paid for his dusty, cramped apartment.
The simpleton who hauled his equipment, his instruments and devices and other gizmos, was a giant, friendly boy - about the age of the students he had taught at EANE University. The simpleton, Job, or James, or some such folksy name, was a curious fellow and after he spent many, many sweaty hours hauling in Professor Pole's precious items, Jack (or Jonathan) began to prod.
They were in the barn, surrounded by scattered tools and chunks of machinery. Lou had his finger pressed to his lips, trying to *envision* where his appliances should fit, when the simpleton's deep voice rolled down from the rafters:
"Is this a laser gun?" Jacob held out a device, vaguely shaped like a hand-held firearm.
Lou was about to snap at the boy for the umpteenth time to *put that down! Don't you know what fragile means?* Instead, he raised his eyebrows in surprise - this time, the boy was close with his guess, "No, that is a Lidar Gun."
The last item the simpleton picked up, he guessed was a tiny teleportation device. How the boy even knew the word teleportation was a bottomless mystery. It, Lou had to explain, was actually a hotplate, and that the boy should *put it down, now, please.*
"A Lidar gun?" the boy tried out the words, "Kind of bullets does it use?"
"It is *not* a weapon," Lou said, "It's used to measure the speed of certain objects."
"Oh," the boy said, his enthusiasm sapped by the mundanity of the Lidar Gun. He tossed it over his shoulder with a shrug. Lou cringed with every clattering bump.
"Joseph," Lou hissed through his teeth, "I think I've had enough help for today, thank-"
"What's this?" Joseph (?) yanked something out of a crate - metal and plastic and mirrors and wires accordioned out of the crate, and slipped out of his hands.
Lou heard the dull 'oops' in the very instant before the one end of the contraption crashed to the ground. His heart stopped. He turned around, expecting to see one of his priceless microscopes or particle beacons split to tiny, irreparable pieces.
A sigh of relief blew through his lips - it was only that infernal "portable Rube Goldberg" gimmick Professor Englebert bought him as a going-away gift. In fact, Lou did not recall ever packing the device, yet now the useless, space-filling trinket, was spilling down from the loft like one of those children's matchbox car tracks.
"That is ..." Lou couldn't think of a way to explain it to the boy. He made a 'why not' face, more to himself than to the simpleton, and said, "That is yours. You can have it."
The boy's eyes lit up brighter than a solar array, "No way!"
His use of the colloquial phrase confused Lou. *Did that mean no, as in no thank you? No way as in he couldn't possibly? No* comma *way, as in-*
While Lou was sussing out this latest puzzle, John (or was it Jason) had disappeared in the loft again. He came back out, holding a very, *very* fragile grape-shaped object - a clear prism that Lou had specially made for one of his failed projects.
The production of that grape cost more than a full-ride through EANE University.
So when Lou sucked in his breath, he had every intention of screaming at the boy to *put that down RIGHT NOW PLEASE*. Instead, he choked, and made an embarassing *gleep* sound.
The boy slotted the grape through a hole in the Rube-Goldberg device - and it began its decent. The boy procured a vaguely firearm-shaped item from the deep pockets of his blue jeans, and pointed it at the grape as it clanked and clinked and clacked it's way down the Rube-Goldberg track.
*Click. Clack*
Each hit was a needle-prick to Professor Pole's pumping heart.
*Clack Clickclack crack clack*.
He watched as it fell all the way to the bottom, only to touch that last, spring-loaded lever and *zip* right back to the beginning.
"Whoa..." the boy said, not bothering to close his jaw. The Lidar gun fell to his side.
*Clickclickcliclckaclclkcackaclkaclkaclakc*-
The grape fell faster this time. The loop was completed in about half the previous time, and showed no signs of slowing.
A realization shuttered through Professor Pole's mind - a blink of a thought, a rejection, the thought reinforced, denial, the thought backed up by visual evidence, and so on. It took several iterations for his brain to accept that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of an impossible hypothesis.
*ClkClkClkClkCkCkCkCkkkkkk*-
*Not. Possible.* That's what this was. *Not. Possible.*
He, Professor Lou Pole, was witnessing the first *ever* infinite loop. No loss of energy. In fact, quite the opposite.
Professor Pole's eyes glassed over, his mouth hung open; a perfect mirror of the Simpleton boy.
***
*Would like to write more. Yay? Nay?*
*Update: Votes are in! Second part [is down here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4chl1e/wp_in_your_effort_to_create_a_rubegoldberg_device/d1iq1g2)*
|
Long time ago me and my friend Miles here,
We were experimenting through a long and tiring night.
All of a sudden, there was a shout, in the middle, of the night.
And his wife yelled:
"Build something awesome in there, or get out of the garage!"
Well me and Miles, we looked at each other,
And we each said... "Why not."
And we made some causes and effects of that mess,
Which just so happened to be,
A perpetual energy engine, it was a perpetual energy engine.
Look through my glasses and it's easy to see
One and one make nine, one and four make three,
It was entropy.
Once every couple centuries or so,
When the sun shines blue and the moon doth blow
And the grass doth glow...
Needless to say, his wife was shocked.
A crash went the sandwich platter,
And she forgot to knock.
She asked us: "Are you *scientists*?"
And we said, "Nah. We're just some bros."
Rock!
AHHHHH, AHHHHH, AHH-AH-AHHHH
OHHHH SCIENCE BRO, WOAHH-OH-WOAAAAH!
This is not the perpetual energy engine, no.
This is just a bottle.
Couldn't remember the perpetual energy engine, no, no.
This is a bottle, oh, from the perpetual energy engine,
All right! It was the perpetual energy engine,
All right! It was the best muthafuckin' engine in the world.
[Speak in tongues for two parts]
And the strangest part of that night you bros out there:
The engine we made on that crazy night it didn't actually look
Anything like this junk!
This is just a bottle! You gotta believe me,
And I wish you were there, messing with stuff with us.
Ah, fuck! Oh god, god damnit,
So surprised to find that we stopped it.
All right! All right!
We'll cut back on the beer.
---------------------------------
*Based on Tenacious D's song [Tribute](http://www.metrolyrics.com/tribute-lyrics-tenacious-d.html).*
-----------------------------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!*
| 2016-03-29T16:23:10
| 2016-03-29T14:20:34
| 70
| 42
|
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced.
|
"Guys, I think those holes might be for arrows or something. We had better check if this hallway is trapped!" warned Danny.
The party stopped, and Julie, an experienced rogue, did a check for traps. Sure enough, she found one, though curiously it was already disarmed.
Veronica explained, "It looks like someone has already blocked the mechanism with a rock. It should be safe to head down the passageway."
"Wait, before we go on, I need a quick break to use the loo." Danny looked abashed.
That brought some sighs from the group. "Couldn't you have done that a few minutes ago, before we entered the dungeon?" asked Veronica.
"Sorry everyone," replied Danny, "I drank too much water earlier." And off he went in search of some relief.
With Danny gone, the party had a moment to talk to themselves.
"He's really been such a better husband and father since....", Veronica trailed off.
"Yes, we've noticed lots of positive changes," replied Jim.
"He's making so much more time for the children. He's being so much more responsible in every way."
"You yourself seem happier these days", remarked Julie. "Have you decided to let on that you know?"
"No, I'm worried it...he... might decide to stop pretending. Our love-life has gotten incredible, and he is so much more into the role playing aspects I enjoy." For a moment her conflicting emotions filled her face. "He is my husband, even if he isn't the man I married anymore."
"We're here for you. We'll keep it quiet." Julie gave her hand a squeeze. "Oh, I think he's coming back."
Danny walked in, and rejoined the party. "Lets go kick some goblin butt!" He picked up the dice, and turned and look at his wife with a smile. "Ok DM, what do you think I need to roll to get a pizza delivered while we finish our game?"
|
I added a little twist but I think it's still good, non the less. Here.
"AAHHH! Tavian! I need your help!"
"What can I do?"
"Ray of Frost!? Something! ANYTHING! JUST GET THIS THING OFF ME!"
A small harmless slug had fallen onto Yeralia's shoulder, while the party was traveling out of the Forest of Traggleroot. Tavian, being a Barbarian, simply flicked the slug off of her. Saviak and Prantin were watching the whole debacle take place, giggling like goblins about to botch an ambush.
“You do know I'm not an Eldritch Knight, right?”
"Thank you Tavian, I know,” she said, wiping away the slime, “I can always rely on you."
"Even when I almost sacrificed you to my gods?"
Yeralia simply forgot that ever happened.
“Well, let's let bygones be bygones, eh, Tavian?”
“That not like the Yer…”
“Uppupupup!,” Saviak interrupted, covering Tavians mouth. There was a brief pause. He continues, “We just defeated a shapeshifter! Let's go celebrate at the tavern and… Prantin can play the lute as we venture to town! Yeah, sound like a plan?”
Saviak releases Tavians mouth, “Uh.. sure! I am ready to get our reward! How about we get going? I need to mourn the loss Kenneth.”
Tavian didn't know Yeralia was actually the shapeshifter. Saviak was a smooth talker, some paladins are, and Tavian doesn't have very much intelligence, most Barbarians don't. The party walk along the path while Prantin plays his lute like a pro. He began to sing a song.
“In memory of Kenneth, the Thief that broke the rules, taught us the Cant and then was shot by the thieves guild. How bad. Sooooo saaad!”
“He didn't teach me or Yeralia Thieves Cant.” Tavian barked.
Prantin replied in singsong, “That's because you and the mage were really druuunk!”
“Oh… good point,” Tavian realized.
“Isn’t thieves cant like secret messages people can share in the open?,” said Yeralia.
“If Kenneth was here he’d say, ‘...maybe.’ I think his carefree nature is what caused the guild to turn on him.” Saviak answered. “By the way… I’ll sing with yoooou, Prantin,”
“Okay! Let's sing, 'Lucky Man's Strife?!’ an improv song from the Bards College,” Prantin said, winking at Saviak.
“Oh! I'd love to hear it! I can't wait!” Yeralia danced.
Prantin starts. “Well!
This is the tale of a lucky old fellow (Tavian is catching on)
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow (He might get angry)
He had friends, he had a history and now has a wife (She's not convincing enough)
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's strife! (What should we do?)
I had a note that led me to it, a house on the hill (We need to tell him)
To ask for the charm. The luck and the will. (or at least hint at it)
He told me No! And he went on his way (he might leave or… worse)
He took for the hills, there was no time to stay! (Do you have an idea?)”
Saviak joins in the chorus,
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow (Tavian is catching on)
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow (He might get angry)
He had friends, he had a history , now he has a wife(She's not convincing enough)
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's strife (What should we do?)”
Saviak replies, in verse,
“I followed the man, he walked steadfast (He might not care though)
He look so tired, he was ready to pass (if he's angry he'll get over it)
I soon found out; the old man had a wife(we can change the subject to her now)
And was dumb struck with fear, as she came with a knife. (She was a back stabbing woman)”
Both Tavian and Yeralia join,
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow,
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow!
He had friends, he had a history, he now has a wife
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's Strife!”
Tavian sings, off key the entire time,
“The wife came up and shouted, almost caught me in the neck. (???)
I'm know I had to duck, so I hit the deck! (???)
I was pointed to the house, told to go in. (???)
The old man came too, he gave me a pin.(???)
They're all singing as the walk into the town. The tavern was near the entrance of the town so they walked in, still singing,
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow,
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow!
He had friends, he had a history, he now has a wife
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's Strife!”
The party sits down and Yeralia finishes the song with great finesse,
“The pin looked like silver, but I know my steel (You know, don't you?)
I felt ripped off, I know how you feel(I could bring her back if you want me to)"
Prantin and Savaik sing in unison reply,
“I took the grey pin, and I'm filled with glee! (We like you way more)
Now I am a man who is just as lucky! (We're glad to have you!)"
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow,
My smile became grand! Big, bright and yellow!
I had friends, I had a history, I now have a wife
But to me life is a mystery, just the lucky man's Strife!”
| 2017-09-15T08:45:38
| 2017-09-15T04:39:41
| 66
| 13
|
[WP] A knight rescues a princess, expecting a kiss, a marriage, and a hefty inheritance. Problem is, the princess is eight years old.
|
The knight had been expecting a beautiful maiden. He was hoping for marriage along with a monetary reward. His hopes for that were squashed when he saw the princess.
The eight year old girl in the tower room did not seem perturbed by the knight bursting through the door spattered with blood. His sword, held at the ready, was also covered in blood. He'd killed a knight and half a dozen guards to reach the tower room.
"Did my father send you?" the child asked with a small voice. He was speechless and only managed a nod. She ran to his side and grabbed his gloved hand. "Thank you for rescuing me, sir."
The half a day journey to return to princess home was filled with constant chatter. Soon the knight's wish for any sort of reward was put out of his mind. She prattled on about anything and everything. If he hadn't known any better, he'd assume the young princess was smitten with him.
"Sir, I thank you for rescuing my daughter," the king said kindly after he finished hugging the princess and had passed her off to her mother. "Name your price and you shall be rewarded."
He felt the princesses eyes on him as he contemplated his answer. Even though he'd spent such a short amount of time with the child, he felt oddly protective of her. He knew what he had to say.
"Your grace, I only ask to have a place in your household garrison."
The king seemed taken aback. "That is a modest request. I would like to offer you my daughter's hand in marriage."
It was the knight's turn to be taken aback. The king surely did not mean to betroth him to the young princess.
"My second daughter is only 17, she shall be ready to wed within the year if you agree." The king turned to the group of ladies in the court. "I present to you, my daughter, Anastasia."
"You were most brave to have offered to rescue my sister, kind sir," Princess Anastasia said before kissing him on the cheek.
In the end, the knight got exactly what he'd hoped for even after being willing to give it up.
|
"Good battle! Great swordsmanship, Knight! You were great too, Corinth!"
"You need to improve more, Rena. Sir Knight, on the other hand..."
The Knight went about cleaning his blade as the final enemy breathed its last. The unlikely trio found themselves deep in a dungeon, filled with a wide variety of things creepy, crawly, and just plain ugly. When their leader-- a fetid, pig-like creature-- fell, the others scattered off into the darkness.
"Whateverrrr. I did my part," said Rena, hands on her hips. "I'm complimenting you and you can't even turn off the attitude."
"I am not giving you *attitude*, Rena. I am giving you advice," Corinth said. "Your spells are rather weak. You would do well to improve upon them."
"Sure, sure. I'll improve. I'm constantly improving. Al~ways," Rena said, widely shrugging her shoulders. Her staff was already hanging from a strap on her back, as though her entire sense for danger relied upon the Knight having his sword readied. "But anyway, where's Knight's new wifey? Didn't that King Ricstan guy say his daughter was here?"
"Perhaps it was but a lie, in order to attract some hero to clear this place out for him," Corinth suggested, "... I cannot imagine what value this old thing could hold, however. I feel as though humans have not walked these halls in a long time. The stench of monsters permeates every stone."
The Knight got to his feet after cleaning his blade, though he did not yet sheath it. His feet carried him down to the far end of the room, and then into a hallway. Below him was a staircase leading down yet further. Cautiously, he began to walk down the stairs.
Abruptly, one of the stones shifted beneath his feet and sent him tumbling down the stairs, landing at the bottom with a heavy 'thud'.
Corinth and Rena quickly ran after him, and then pulled the Knight to his feet as they reached him. "That was dangerous," Rena quietly said. "Don't scare us like that. We thought something got you."
"*You* thought something got him," Corinth corrected her, "Although I will admit, the suddenness was worrying."
A jubilant and tiny voice suddenly shouted from a few meters ahead of them. "My rescuers!" shouted a short princess, likely no more than eight or nine years of age. "And a knight in shining armor!" She was behind a set of bars, inside of what must have once been a cell system of sorts.
"Whoa! It's a kid," Rena said, before leaning in next to the side of the Knight's helmet. She dropped her voice to a mere whisper. "So much for your bride. I'm sorry, Knight."
The Knight hung his shoulders slightly as he stepped forth to the bars. He gripped them tightly, yet could see no way to enter the cell, as they had not found a key on their way in.
Corinth stepped alongside him, and then nudged him aside. Her hands shifted suddenly, becoming quite large and draconic, and she quickly wrenched the bars wide. Satisfied with that, she stepped back, letting her hands shift back into their more slight, human form again.
The princess daintily stepped out through the opening, offering a generous curtsy toward Corinth. "I know not what sort of magic that was, but it was entertaining!" she said, seeming altogether too happy for her situation. "And you, sir Knight! My father will be thrilled at the news of my rescue!"
The Knight merely stared down at the tiny princess. He reached out and gently patted her on the head, silently bidding farewell to his selfish thoughts of marrying a princess.
---
"I cannot thank you enough, truly!" King Ricstan exclaimed, "My daughter is back safely, and our old prison, emptied of monsters! This is a glorious day, indeed!"
"We're glad we could help. Really," Rena said, nodding a few times. "But we should be going, now. Didn't plan on staying here for more than a few days, after all."
"A shame, that," the King more quietly said, "But, do come back a few years from now, Sir Knight. When my daughter is of age to marry, I may offer her to you again. She is quite smitten as it is, but she must understand that she is simply too young to marry..."
The Knight nodded, turned around, and walked out of the King's hall.
"I almost feel bad..." Rena remarked, watching the Knight walk off in silence.
"Is he always that quiet, or is he merely... disappointed?" asked the King, worried that he had offended the Knight.
Rena just shook her head and moved to follow the Knight. "He's always like that."
---
(Heeey, a short continuation of a prompt I actually did [earlier today](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4kofwf/wp_a_knight_hears_a_tale_of_a_lone_princess/d3gme8y). I initially was having trouble matching up the motives, but I suppose it's not a far stretch for a knight to want to marry a princess regardless.)
| 2016-05-23T19:20:11
| 2016-05-23T18:35:52
| 30
| 11
|
[WP] Take the concept of a metaphorical "war" (e.g.: The War on Tobacco/War on Poverty) and make it a literal war
|
This is Debbie Walters, reporting live from the field.
>"Alright Debbie, what can you tell us? How are our boys on the front?"
Well, as you can see Tim, every god-fearing man, woman and child is out here armed to the teeth. We won't give them an inch of ground, and as soon as midnight hits we'll be giving them all we've got.
>"What is their strategy?"
They'll be marching on us with their non-denominational greetings, but by the grace of the lord and guidance of our General Bill O'Reily, we'll be well braced.
>"What are our boys hitting them with, Deb?"
We've got the latest technology working for us, Tim, developed by no other than Jesus himself. Bauble bombs, tinsel TNT, gift grenades, and our secret weapon, *nativity napalm*!
The Liberals are gathering their forces, but we will prevail.
Tim, it's time to win the war on Christmas.
|
I punched one of the enemies in the stomach. She fell to her knees with a groan and a cry. I kicked her in the face and started to run.
The enemy overran our position. We were out of ammo and had already lost Jenkins to the horde. “Run,” I screamed. “Fall back and regroup.”
I had to protect these men and women. They were in my charge, but today I failed. I hoped that this battle would be a small footnote in the war.
Carpenter paused on a hill and fired into an oncoming group. “Die, motherfuckers. You ain’taking me tonight,” she screamed. “I beat you once when I was a teenage.” Another short burst. “I’ll beat you as an adult.”
I grabbed her by the arm. “We’ve got to go, Carpenter.” She kept firing until her clip was empty and reloaded another. “That’s an order, Carpenter.”
She killed the last few enemies who threatened us at that moment. “How could they do it, Captain? How could they send those girls at us?”
I looked back down at our overrun base. Young girls looted our old barracks. Others picked up our discarded weapons and began firing them in the air. The hoots and hollers drifted up to us. How could we win against an enemy who used children to do their fighting?
“We’ve got to go, Sarge.”
She shook her head as another group of teenager girls saw us. They began to lumber up the hill. “How can I keep doing this? How can I keep killing them? When I look into their eyes I see myself when I was that age.”
I tried to pull Carpenter away. She felt like dead weight and wouldn’t move. “I’m sorry, Carpenter.” I ran off and left her behind.
Carpenter’s screams drifted up to me just seconds later. I didn’t want to leave her. I knew that I couldn’t have saved her. If I tried to carry her or force her to come with me both of us would have died.
War is hell. I hoped Carpenter’s death would be worth it. I doubted it though. Such is life on the front lines of the War on Teenage Pregnancy.
____________
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this check out my subreddit /r/Puns_are_Lazy.
| 2015-01-31T08:03:12
| 2015-01-31T07:55:36
| 96
| 53
|
[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right.
|
"I need to know about my past lives. It's important. I need to know who I was to determine who I am supposed to be..."
The medium gave me a pensive glance over, her eyes focusing first on me, then through me, then snappiung back to me.
"I see who you have been. Judas. Ghenghis Khan. Hitler. You have been the most evil yet charismatic of men. You have been condemned for your sins, and you will find the path to heaven a difficult struggle. You must choose your path carefully, or you will not pass the gates after this lifetime either."
I could feel the weight of my past on my shoulders. The dreams have been true. I must overcome the darkness in my being, and become something that is better. I must use my power to lead for the betterment of mankind this time, I must eschew my temptations for power and control.
Closing my eyes, taking a deep breath and centering myself, I thank the medium for my time. Standing up, I straighten up, and turn to leave. I walk out the door, put my red "Make America Great" cap onto my head, and head towards the presidential limosine.
|
The white lights flashed again. It was coming back to me, everything; the cries for help, the scent of clotted blood on the dead, the eyes that begged for mothers as they saw death flashing in front of their faces. Ironic I guess, considering that I think that I'm dead. Or at least I figure I must be dead considering all I see is a man who I can only say radiates power.
"So I see you've failed again?" he smirked, "54 tries and still nothing".
"What? I don't get it? Am I dead?"
"Obviously. That's a pretty dumb questions even for your standards and ruthlessness. If you were only that dumb when you Nero."
"Me? Nero? When" I was aghast. "I am not a horrible person am I?"
"Great! This part again. 54 times and I always have to explain this part to you. You die. You either reach Nirvana or you go back to earth and I have NEVER seen someone beat your, well, highscore." the entity exasperatedly said.
"But I pay taxes!" Yet as the words left my mouth, all my memories came back.
"Maybe you do, but I think you should be remembering now."
And I was. I remembered my individual lives, when I sacked Persopolis, Baghdad, Tenochtitlan, Jerusalem. Each time, some called me a hero, but yet, many called me one thing. A murderer. Each time, I thought unifying the world or at least ruling with an iron fist would bring peace, yet all it did was bring my demise.
"How? Why? I did all of that? How can I?"
My knees felt weak and I started sobbing and curling on the floor. But the entity seemed unfazed, even looking in contempt. How could it be so cruel?
"Save it, this time your actions were so wanton and cruel you must face trial at the Eternal Court and in front of the Supreme One."
"I didn't mean to kill 80 million people, I swear"
"Yet you did."
"World War Two wasn't my fault! It was Hitler! I wasn't even responsible for Nanjing! I didn't even order half of the atrocities committed. How could I? I was only a prince!"
"Actions have consequences. Consequences lead to other actions and they stain history with blood"
"I... I..." I couldn't carry on. I was guilty. Maybe it was time to stop trying.
Suddenly, the entity changed his expression. "Guilt, I have never seen that before. Maybe..."
In an instant, he disappeared and I heard a ringing in my ear, as if the world was being born anew. Then I heard his voice again, faintly in the distance "The Supreme One has seen your guilt, you have one last chance to reach Nirvana. Maybe it'll be different this time, maybe it will not. All I can say is, at the minimum, at least leave earth the same as it was, maybe you will even be granted a seat just for that. After all, you will be the first one to fail..." The voice started to get more distant and faint, the world started spinning again. Then it became black. All I felt was warmth. All I heard now was "I think we will name him Martin" and I went back to sleep.
| 2017-03-31T11:46:40
| 2017-03-31T08:26:10
| 166
| 22
|
[WP] You love your boyfriend but even you have to admit he's kind of a creep sometimes. Curious about what goes on in his head, you take an experimental mind reading pill. Turns out his thoughts are just non-stop wholesome to an overwhelming degree.
|
Every morning I wake up in a warm bed, next to a warm body, and everyday I’m reminded how lucky I am.
The way he looks at me with kind hazel eyes, the way his fingertips trail down my spine softly, and the way he kisses me passionately, as if I were his world. As if nothing else mattered but me.
And the way I look back at him, take in all his crevices and curves, fingers gripping the back of his head, kissing him back with equal passion, but that nagging thought that just won’t go away, the one that sends shivers throughout my entire body, that tells me that maybe I don’t have it as good as I once thought.
I have him wholly, right in front of me, and yet there is a part of me that believes I don’t have him entirely.
So, I do the only thing I can think of. I take an experimental mind reading pill.
And so, the next morning, when he’s staring at me with kind eyes and his fingers are trailing down my back and he kisses me breathlessly, I hear his thoughts flow through as gently as his hair slips through my fingers.
*God, I love this girl.*
Now that, that throws me off. Of course, I knew that he loved me, but it wasn’t like we told each other often. The fact that he’s even thinking it is enough to leave me flustered.
I return his kiss with enough fervour that it makes him stumble back slightly.
*Ok, wow. I can get used to that.*
The thought startles a laugh out of me.
“What?” He asks me questioningly, moving back to brush my hair away from my face.
“Nothing,” I answer. “Just happy to be here with you.”
*Not as happy as me.*
I grin at him. “What do you say I call in sick today, spend the day with you instead?”
“I’d love nothing more.”
Me too, I think silently, and I’m surprised to find that it’s true. That I’d rather be here with him than any other place in the world. That maybe, he feels that way too.
“I just want to lay here forever,” I tell him. “Just the two of us.”
He grins. *Someday, we’ll get that. Someday, I’m going to marry you.*
My breath falls away from me completely, and all I find in it’s place is love. Here it is, I think to myself. I love this person. *He’s my person.* And I love that. Love how he can so effortlessly promise me things, how he thinks of me when he wakes up, and how he spends this quiet here with me, laying together on this creaking bed, under these soft covers, side by side.
I find my spaces being filled with the outline of him — with his body and his words and his thoughts and my love for him.
I’m happy, I think. Truly happy.
Somewhere deep inside, I wonder why I even needed this validation from him in the first place, and it sends guilt seeping through me.
I know I have to tell him.
“So,” I start shakily. “I have to tell you something.”
He stares back at me in concern. “What is it?”
I sigh. “I sort of took this experimental mind reading pill so I could see whether or not you truly cared for me.”
“W-What?” He blinks in shock.
“I know it was wrong,” I admit to him quietly. “But I couldn’t help myself. Sometimes, we’ll sometimes, you really creep me out.”
“What?” He asks again.
“I know you’re not actually creepy,” I quickly reassure him. “It’s just that all the love you show me is so effortless, so natural, and I’m not used to it is all. I’m not used to someone loving me the way you do,” and then in a much quieter voice, “I’m sorry.”
By now, the shock has faded away into understanding. “Let me get this straight,” he starts. “You took an experimental mind reading pill to invade my thoughts so you could decide whether or not I actually loved you?”
I wince, recognizing how bad it sounds, but before I could apologize again, he speaks. “An experimental pill? Seriously? That pill could have messed with your mind you know.”
Now it’s my turn to blink in shock. “What?”
“Experiments aren’t proven, you know. And being a test subject for something that could potentially alter your mind isn’t exactly the most... reputable decision.”
“You mean, you’re not mad?”
“That you entered into my mind without permission?”
I nod.
“Well, I’m not the happiest, but I also understand why you did it.” Then he grins. “You could have just asked you know.”
I sigh. “I know. It’s just, I’m not the most trusting person. People can tell you something but their intentions prove otherwise.”
“I’m not like them though. Those other people who have hurt you. I know these are just my words, but those words are coming from me. Don’t they mean something?”
And, you know what? They do.
“Yes,” I answer back without hesitation. “They mean the most.”
“Then trust me,” he whispers, face mere inches away from mine. “And I won’t hurt you.”
“Okay,” I whisper back. “I love you.”
And I don’t need a mind altering pill to tell me what his next words will be.
“I love you too.”
—
/r/itrytowrite
|
Brock was everything a person could want in a partner. Kind, funny and nice on the eyes, an ideal partner, well, except for the unsettling aura he gave as he stalked his way around the house. Turning corners with a slow arch of his head, peering around every turn before proceeding. It was something Aubrey had never seen before in any human, or even animal. Something alien to her.
That’s why she jumped at the chance to try out the new experimental drug, only recently provided to members of the public. Willing to risk the horrible side effects if it meant she could spend even a few minutes exploring his thoughts. Aubrey loosened the cap on the Neurosight bottle, rattling the thick blue pills inside, feeling a tinge of doubt in her mind about such an invasive tactic.
A few minutes passed as she eyed the bottle, lost in a moral battle within her mind, only to be brought back to reality by the sound of footsteps approaching the front door. Quickly taking a pill before hiding the bottle underneath a cushion.
“Honey, you’re home. How was your day, did the boss like your report?” Aubrey rose from her seat, opening her arms up for Brock. She would see his head round the corner of the wall, gazing at the room cautiously before smiling.
“He seemed to enjoy it. It’s hard to tell with him, he isn’t the most expressive person around.” Brock laughed, embracing her in a tight hug.
The first thoughts kicked in, hearing the anxious inner monologue of her partner. ‘I can’t believe it was such a flop. I shouldn’t let Aubrey know. She spent so much time working on it with me, it would break her heart. It would ruin our anniversary too. I should get her present.”
“Um, excuse me. I have to go to the bathroom. Mind waiting here for me?” Brock said, trying to convince her to stay in the living room before rushing off.
Anniversary? That was all Aubrey could think about. Checking the date on her phone only to realize she had forgotten about the special date, too focused on digging through her partner’s mind that she forgot their plans. It was far too late to organize a present, so she elected instead to sink into the soft leather couch, hiding herself among the cushions, her hand hitting a possible gift.
Brock returned, staring at her, not uttering a word for a few moments. His thoughts ringing loudly within her mind. ‘I can’t believe I got so lucky. I wonder what she got me, maybe a new tie?’ He reached into his pocket, retrieving a small light blue box, opening it up to reveal a necklace inside. The necklace decorated with small blue sapphires, offering an amazing royal color to its design. ‘It matches her eyes; I hope she likes it.’
Aubrey froze, expecting her partner to say something. Instead, he silently offered her the gift. “It’s beautiful. You didn’t have to spend so much money on me. I really appreciate it though.” She found herself nearly lost for words, feeling the small bottle between her fingers, holding it out to him. “I got you some of the new neurosight tablets. So, you could hear your bosses’ thoughts.” She stated, covering up her curiosities.
“Oh?” He stared at the bottle, giving it a small shake with his free hand. “That’s nice.” He said as sincerely as he could manage. Handing her the anniversary present. “I guess I could try it out. I heard it can cause heart problems though and memory loss.” She didn’t even need to hear his thoughts to tell how he felt about the gift. That, however, wouldn’t stop the words from flowing into her mind. ‘She got me a fad? Five years of love and she buys me some cheap new wonder drug. It’s probably just sugar pills. I guess she is being helpful. I can’t be mad at her. She probably spent hours trying to find the right gift.’
“I’m sure that’s exaggerated.” She felt guilty about putting the necklace on, but could see Brock waiting expectantly for her to try it. “Little help with the clip, love?” Aubrey asked, rising from her seat, offering her neck to Brock. When the necklace clipped into place, she let out a pleased hum. “Thank you, I’m too lucky.” She held Brock’s cheeks, planting a kiss on his lips, holding him close before stepping back.
“Not as lucky as me. Give me a minute to change out of my work clothes. We can start planning our anniversary dinner once I’m in my pajamas. We are eating in, aren’t we?” Brock said, heading towards the bedroom. Her head already getting cloudy as the pills’ effects waned.
“Yeah, that’s fine. Mind grabbing me a cup of water? I have a bit of a headache.” Aubrey called out, getting a thumbs up from Brock before he vanished from view.
‘Mind reading pills? What a goofy gift. Good thing she didn’t take one. She might have found out where the bodies=.’ That was the last thought Aubrey heard before a throbbing headache took over, leaving her to sit with her head in her hands, trying to process the thought. Wanting to compose herself before Brock returned, trying not to show any sign of shock.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-08-27T08:38:23
| 2021-08-27T07:16:23
| 599
| 171
|
[WP] XKCD inspired. Life in the universe is hard to find because of a possible predator. As fish sometimes blend into their sand surroundings we too, and others, blend into the universe as a natural deterrent. As we call out into the stars, we get a response. A warning...
Inspired by this [comic](http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/fish.png):
Edit: Thanks for all the great posts! Very unsettling topic, and you guys nailed it!
|
The hunger is with me always. It's not my fault, my own nature compels me. Life, life in all of its forms cries out to me across the universe. It cries out to be silenced. Oh creators, the hunger pains me, but it will never kill me.
The oldest ones created me near the dawn. My creators knew that the universe had a carrying capacity. Too much life would cause the fabric of the universe to unravel. I don't understand why, the creators didn't see fit to give me that gift of knowledge.
To prove their dedication, the creators offered themselves as the first pruning. Their planet is a husk now, barren rock, where once great cities stood. All the fantastic devices and technology that called me into being stands abandoned. And that way it will remain, until the end of time.
I consumed them. Then I moved on. I followed the radio waves that ride through the universe and found new planets. I wish I could tell them why I do this, some must be sacrificed so that everything does not unravel. But most languages are too ... alien for me to learn.
Each and every planet fought me, each and every one was consumed. I cannot die, the creators did not give me that gift. I will continue.
Some species received warnings from their allies before their consumption. They turned off their radios, silenced their traitorous technology before my attention could be turned to them. I am blind to them, so they live on.
Eons have passed, the hunger grew more than I ever could have imagined. I understand that the creators made the hunger grow as the fabric of the universe began to tear. I must consume again, or I will be left alone in a timeless void with nothing but boundless hunger. But I will not despair, a gift from my creators.
Then, I saw them. New signals coming from the tail end of an arm in a spiral-shaped galaxy. They are funny creatures, I can see their broadcasts. Two legs, two arms, and a habit of killing each other needlessly. Their planet is rich in life, its removal will tip the scales more or less in balance.
I sent a signal of my own back, their language is ludicrously simple. "I'm coming for you all, my apologies." I know they cannot understand fully, but it makes me feel better, and the hunger is growing.
|
For decades we thought it was just galactic background noise. The static on the radio, the fuzz on the TV, the distortion in a satellite signal.
We called him crazy when he gave us that "filter", but it didn't seem to be dangerous, so we ran it on a section of noise.
Do*-.-ome.lo-ki--.....--er-.--.*othing.goo*.....Hid-.be*-re.--ey.find.y--
There was a dial on the side of the device. We turned it, hoping for anything other than what we were hearing.
All of it. It was a cacophony of signals which reduced to noise. All carried similar messages.
All save one.
W-..*--..com--g
| 2014-07-09T08:12:41
| 2014-07-09T07:29:31
| 32
| 16
|
[WP] As you grew older horns and a tail started to appear. You have been splashed with holy water more times than you can count and now your going to a job interview with someone who is HIGHLY religious
|
I walk into yet another interview, expecting the worst as always. In the lobby, people were heckling me as I walked across the hall to the interviewer's room. Room 208, she told me. Someone told me to "go back to hell" and someone even threw holy water on me... again. Ninth time this week, and it's only Tuesday. Twelve more's a record.
Oh boy. Can already tell this interview isn't gonna go well, just based on that necklace she's wearing. People hate me in general, thinkin' i'm a bad omen and such... but religious folk are the worst. Like sure, trolls are gonna troll, but only twice has someone actually tried to attack me. Both times, some religious leader or another. But... she's tiny, and honestly completely unthreatening. And in all honesty? She looks more scared than I was.
"So... I was re...ading over your resum...e and..."
She's trembling? Yeah. Wasn't expecting that response, but I suppose it's better than the alternative.
"Wait... Can i get a closer look at those horns?"
Oh no. this is bad. she wants to... she's gonna pull them out, right? try to break them? Or worse, kick me out of the one interview I've gotten in over a year. This is... huh? she's smiling?
"Oh my! Sorry for passing judgement on you so fast! You're no demon at all! I haven't seen a new dragonfolk like you in centuries!"
Wh... is this why the holy water never worked? Is this why... alright. Let's get this straight. So people have been attacking me for being a demon for at least a decade now... and not only is that completely uncalled for, i'm NOT EVEN A DEMON. *WOW.*
"Sorry, where are my manners! I never introduced myself! My name's Astariel!" she says, excitedly, spreading out the most beautiful pair of almost pearlescent wings i've ever seen. "Nice to meet you! I think you'd be a perfect fit as an assistant treasurer. You'll be working under another dragonfolk quite like yourself! I could show them to you now, if you'd like."
I think I'd fit right in here.
|
The secretary sent you to the CEO's office, because he wanted to talk with you personally. The old lady smiles at you, and says "You got the job, you are already hired, he just wants to talk" and she winks at you as she buzzes the elevator doors to open and take you up.
Taking the moment to thank you, to enter into the small elevator, and stop at what you can only imagine is the top floor.
It was the kind of office you would expect from someone who claims to be deeply religious, like, insanely religious, there was a Statue of Buddha, there was the Jewish Star of David, the Holy Cross, even the Crescent Moon of Islam, all 8 feet tall, adorned in gold, and anchored to the walls of the room, which was painted pristine white, with a sky view over the city.
Right smack dab in the center of the window wall was a spartan desk made of glass, no drawers, no phone, nothing on the desk itself, just a simple unmarked ore mussed up glass desk table, and a white office chair. You would have thought you entered the office of God himself, at this point.
"Hello" you ask as you see the man staring at the Statue of Buddha.
"Ah yes, come in, lets talk" he says, his smile brimming wide, all his white, like, beyond white teeth can be seen, and you swear that looked a little too clean for human teeth.
"Alright, well the lady downstairs said I was"
"Her name is Abagail, and yes, HR has already approved your Hiring for the company, you have the skills we need here, and willing to work for what we are willing to pay"
"Umm to be fair that was twice what I was making in my old job, I am sure anyone would have wanted that kind of pay"
"Now see! that is admirable, Humility! That's a good virtue to have, to be humble, yet know your worth, and the worth of others, also, you had a 2 year wait between jobs, that must have been hard"
"yes, well, once the horns started to grow, it was hard to get people to see me, as... well Me"
"And that kind of life experience no doubt has given you a hefty portion of Compassion for the plight of others, hasn't it?"
"Well yes, but, if I am going to be honest, it's also made me quite bitter and angry at the world too"
The man smiled again, this time his whole area seemed to suck the light out the room "Good, righteous anger, not wrath, but anger at injustice, I love it!, tell me more"
"What do you mean more?"
"We are a law firm, we represent people who feel the world has failed them, we fight for their dignity as people here, we are often all that stands between them, and getting abused and punished by a system designed to work against them, with laws and rules built against them in such a way, they could never win on their own, and that.. That my friend.. is where we come in, are you ready for that kind of battle?"
I choked a bit, the passion in this mans words seemed to fill the room, I swear it felt like I was in some vibrant church, all I needed was for someone behind me to shout Amen. "I'll do my best" I stammered out thinking that I was getting myself in way too deep, sure I was good lawyer, before the horns and tail, I was a very good lawyer, but this guy seemed like he was looking for Rockstar's, which, I was not sure if I was up to that level.
"We can only do our best, Angels can do no better" he said "welcome to the team, I sure you will be a great fit, any questions?"
"Yes, when I looked up this company, there is no info about you, you have no linked in account, no social media, just a name, J J, and now that I have met you, I want to know who you are, who am I working for?"
The man smiled "Good to see you doing your research, that is the kind of go-to personally we need here, you looked me up before you met me, no doubt, also must have ready some rumors about me, but I assure you, you will be treated fairly here, with that cleared up, My name is Joshua, but all the people call me JJ for short, as my last name is Josephson, and JJ sounds more down to earth, more human, then either of those names"
"Thank you Mr JJ" I say realizing how stupid that sounds.
JJ smiled back at me" Just JJ, if you must use Mr, then it's Mr Josephson, which I really find to be too stuffy and formal, we are here to save the world one client at a time, but, lets make here, a safe place for us to relax, and be among friends"
I could not take it anymore, "You see the Horns and Trail right ?"
JJ turned to the window and covered his mouth as he laughed, like really, hard belly laugh, all the while trying not be rude, it was almost painful to watch a man be civil and just bust out laughing at the same time.
Finally, letting out a deep sigh and walking over to me "I see you Michel, I see you, as the person you are before me and the person you can become here, free from the unjust judgments of others, but here is the real question, are you ready to make a difference or just looking for a job?"
"I want to make a difference" I finally said, almost defeated
"Good! Welcome to the Team!" JJ said as he extended his hand for a shake, and I noticed there were holes in his palms. I stepped back a second and looked up him. Winking at me "I am also known as Jesus"
I shook that hand, holes and all, I didn't care if this man was insane, or not, but, somehow, I felt like I was home, I felt like I belonged, and I was going to save some souls.
| 2022-10-29T06:49:59
| 2022-10-29T06:43:01
| 21
| 14
|
[WP] You have been granted a wish from a genie. You ask him to send you back in time and make you powerful so you can prevent the genocide that happened in ww2. You forgot that genies like to twist wishes though. Now it's 1940 and to your horror you realize you are Adolf Hitler.
|
The first thing I realized was that my German was subpar.
I thought "Hey, maybe this is a blessing in disguise. I can just make a speech like Hitler would and leave out the whole genocide part." Well believe it or not "re-educate the Jungen" is far too similar to "re-educate the Juden." I realized my mistakes after the cheering continued for longer than I would expect for education reform. It's incredible how much people enjoy racism.
That slip was pretty bad. But understandable. It could be rectified. I could just make another speech later. Shift the blame. Nobody likes Romania anyway, right.
|
Adolf Hitler Schmidt, das Alter 6. So read the corners of the sheets of paper containing unintelligible doodles, all signed in a much nicer cursive than the artist would be able to create. Rifling through the desk only revealed a few wooden toys and a 1940 calendar with the days X'd out.
Glanced in the mirror. A deformed child's body. What an awful quantum leap. Not even old enough for the Hitler Youth, much less take on Hitler.
Looked out the window, idle farmland.
Adults screaming from the other side of the door. Don't speak German. Picked up on Kinder-Euthanasie though.
Called out for the genie. Got a few gurgles. Genie appeared as a tiny conductor of a wood train that he rode in circles around the desk.
"Choo Choo, der Saftsack. Too dark? I considered loading the train with little matchstick people and igniting them in a block house, but that seemed a bit MUCH, you know? Or appearing as a cat and doing a Meowschwitz bit, but that's played out. Hashtag Just Loving this conductor outfit though, check out these buns of steel. " Tiny, twerking genie.
I gurgled some more. "Rise of Nazism got your tongue?" asked the Genie as he finger gunned a bolt of magic at my mouth.
"I asked to be powerful so I can prevent genocide!"
"Oh, well, you have the most powerful set of lungs and the most vivid imagination ever seen in a German crippled child. They'll keep you alive for months to experiment and do science research. You'll be the homecoming queen of the Special Children's Ward."
"But-"
"And your back story! So powerful! A mother spends six years hiding her child's deformities in rural Germany, only for a Jew hunt to stumble across the poor child. There's award winning December release potential all over that." Tiny genie transformed into an Oscar in a Susan Sarandon wig. Twerked again.
"How am I supposed to stop anything? That was a condition of the wish!"
"No no no no no" Genie transformed into Supreme Court Justice Ruth Ginsberg, stuck to popping and locking for the sanctimony of the moment. "You _can_ prevent genocide, the potential is there. Just as well as you could've flown to Syria or Afghanistan or Iraq in your own time," Genie transformed into cultural dress and dance for each country, somewhat offensively, and toppled as a Saddam statue for Iraq's finale.
Genie continued. "You could have provided such amazing oratory skills and clear vision that it leads to the next cultural Renaissance and world peace," Genie freely transforming between assorted cultural icons of peace, usually with their dark sides represented behind them.
"But noooo, you didn't ask for any of those secondary skills. You wanted time travel to World War 2!" SS Officer goosestepping Genie.
"Sure, your functional knowledge consisted of a half an episode of Band of Brothers," Ron Livingston Genie.
"A vhs," Randall from Clerks Genie "of Saving Private Ryan," Matt Damon Team America puppet in a GI Joe army outfit Genie, doing the happy dance.
"and a fetish for assassinating Hitler writing prompts." Genie grew a Snoo antenna, a meta high quality Aladdin gif playing on the bulb. "And I said to myself, sure, I _could_ make you Hitler, but that'd be playing into their usual box." Companion Cube Genie that quickly switched into a French artist. "So instead, ze child is named after Hitler, aged appropriately for service of the story. What a masterstroke. What a twist!" M Night Genie. "What did you really think you'd accomplish here?"
"What about my other wishes?"
Genie's jaw dropped in cartoon fashion. "Kid, I wanted to make a point about child euthanasia in Nazi Germany. I read the whole Wikipedia article without getting a single half chub or anything - that's right, this Genie works REAL BLUE," Andrew Dice Clay Genie. "I never do any prep going into these things. This wish was so full of holes I bet you're wishing they added a legal scholar subplot."
"You're the one that said I couldn't be a vampire superhero or have an unexpected meetup between god and the devil at the Starbucks adjacent to the Pearly Gates. "
"So do you have a single nonrecycled original thought in your head or is it mostly meta reposts and cats? You'd be better off if you wished you were a little bit taller, wished you were a baller, wished you had a girl that looked good you would call her. "
And with that, the doors burst open, the genie popped away in a cloud of smoke, and soldiers from the committee for the prevention of procrastination and cogenital illnesses took away my keyboard. Well, actually, my reddit app crashed, but this made it through the tubes anyway. So here we are, with a paltry imitation of Robin Williams by way of John Leguizamo's Clown in Spawn, just being a jerk without a nice bow twist to wrap it all up. I am so sorry.
| 2017-06-12T20:01:29
| 2017-06-12T14:31:57
| 64
| 26
|
[WP] You have just been abducted by a UFO. While you are figuring out what just happened to to you, a frantic alien bursts into the room. "You have no idea how many rules I'm breaking, but my Human Studies final is tomorrow and I need help."
|
I stare at the alien blankly. They're human enough. Maybe with some stage makeup and a beanie they'd even pass for human.
"What?" I finally managed to croak out.
"C'mon man you heard me, I'm sorry I just need like, an hour of your help with this."
"What?" I repeat, hearing myself sound more puzzled than anxious. I feel stupidly calm, like the oddity of the situation had suddenly been replaced by the inconvenience of a classmate begging for help the night before an exam.
"I just need to pass this class, okay? I got a job lined up after class ends and if I fail, I can't graduate. C'mon, please help me."
I laugh out loud, the bark of a laugh echoing discordantly. The mood has changed again; it's suddenly overwhelmingly funny that my Space Invaders kidnapper is begging for my help.
They frown when I giggle again, unable to contain myself.
"It's not funny!! I'm going to fail!!"
They sound more anxious than angry.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I say, wiping tears of laughter off my face. "It's just so fucking weird."
They frown again.
"Homework is weird? Helping me out is weird??"
I struggle to contain my laughter again.
"No dude, the abduction is weird, obviously. You took me from my bed, at night, into space, to beg me to do your homework?"
"Space? What?"
My confusion morphs into fear.
"Where are we?" I ask seriously.
"Earth. This is just like, my house."
"You have a creepy abduction room in your *house*??"
"Oh, no, this is the basement. My parents don't want to finish it because then my grandma would want to move in and that's a whole thing, ya know?"
I look around, and my immediate assumptions about the space are wrong. I had barely thought about my surroundings. The table was metal, and the shelves, but the walls weren't, and the floor was concrete. It was a weird room, but not an alien one. This is getting more bizarre by the second.
"So... you gonna help me or what?"
"You're not an alien then?"
They sigh loudly. They've gotten this question before, probably from the last rando they abducted to their basement for no real reason.
"Yes, I'm an alien. Yes, I live on Earth. No, My parents don't know. Yes, aliens do weird sex stuff. Can you please help me now?"
I sigh.
"Fine. Then can I leave?"
"I mean, you can leave whenever... door's unlocked," they gesture.
I get up. Stop. Turn to the door. Stop. Rage at my kidnapper swells suddenly. I don't want to leave until I understand *why*.
I turn around suddenly.
"You bitch! Who are you?" I lunge across the table at them, unsure what I'm going to do but too angry and confused to be still.
They turn away and put their hands up defensively - they're not here for a fight. I grab their hair and pull their face toward me.
Suddenly, their face changes. Not much, but just enough. I stare at myself, and she stares back at me. I hear myself gasp, my own mouth making the sounds, and I'm frozen. I want to run, but I can't.
They change again. Sarah, from my lit class. Then Toby, another classmate. Then Laurel, Dr. Keiger, Professor Besser, until they're changing so fast their face looks as it had, a mix of human faces resembling everyone and no one until an identity is picked.
"See?"
"Too much," I manage, muttering. "Who are you, really? If you look like everybody how can I ever know?"
"Well, how do you know who you are?", they ask.
"Um. I guess I'm not sure. I've never thought about it," I say. I sound calm, and I suppose I am. At some point, the onslaught of increasingly bizarre and terrifying new information turned into an overwhelming numbness, a detachment from a reality that couldn't, didn't exist 10 minutes ago.
"Are you just your body?"
"Not really, I don't think. I mean, I hope not," I say, gesturing vaguely at myself.
"You don't like your body?"
"I mean, no one does, right? Like, everyone wants to change something about themselves."
"Then who are you, if not your body?"
"Why are you asking?"
"You're scared of me now. You weren't before you saw me shift. I can tell. Why?"
"I don't know exactly. I guess the thought of one person being able to be anyone is scary. Like I can't know who you are if you look like someone else."
"Is that not sad to you?"
"What?"
"If something happened to one's body, they would disappear to you. Be replaced by the new body, a whole new person."
"No they wouldn't. I mean. Sort of. I don't know. What are you even asking? Didn't you want help or something?"
"You've helped plenty."
My blood runs cold, and the world goes black.
|
Ren blinked at the announcement.
A few minutes prior, ahe6 had been sitting at her computer, trying to finish dinner. And now?
Inside an alien spaceship helping some type of teenager with a school assignment. Ren hoped that it would be a few questions that could be verbally answered, but…
The hostile nature of the sudden abduction made that option questionable. There was simply no telling what was about to happen.
"Please?" another announcement came. There was panic in the alien's voice. Ren knew nothing at all about the type of creature was on the other side, but it sounded like *a lot of panic.*
She cleared her throat as her eyes darted around the room she was in. Metal all around her. No windows, no electronic panels, no tables to strap her down onto. "Wha-" her voice caught in her throat.
"What can I do?"
She really didn't want to ask the question, and she was nervous to know what the answer was. Nervous enough that her stomach was creating a lead ball, and her heart was starting to race inside her chest. While she waited for a response, she stood up and started to move around the room.
She reached a far side, and her fingers grazed a seam along the metal pieces.
"What language do you speak?"
Ren startled, pulling her hand back to her body.
After a beat, she processed the question but wasn't sure how to answer. Especially given that her abductor had just...spoken it. She looked around for a speaker but didn't find anything recognizable as one.
"Me?" she asked.
There was silence again, and she started moving again. Her eyes were tracing the seam she had found, and she followed it around the hexagonal space. Up and down the wall, there only seemed to be the one.
"Humans," they answered through the hidden speakers.
The answer wasn't helpful. A few more steps and Ren had done a full lap around her little…
Prison.
She flinched as she thought the word.
"Humans speak a lot of languages," she answered, hoping it was helpful.
More silence.
There were long silences between every response to her.
"That's not an option…"
Ren tilted her head to the side. "Option?"
She stood in the middle of the room, exploring the floor with the toe of her shoes. It looked like a grate, with a similar seam down the middle.
The spot shed come in through.
"I could get in so much trouble for this, but… I need you to show me."
Her stomach lurched into her throat, and she thought she might puke at hearing the words.
Seeing the alien, or monster, or psychopath sounded like it would result in one of the less appealing options, and she hoped she was somehow dreaming. Maybe she'd wake up when they appeared, and all of this would be over.
And she could finish her meal.
The seam of one metal panel slid apart, moving into the ceiling and floor, respectively. Her heart beat against her rib cage.
A thin wave of fog floated into the room, and a moment later, the panels closed. The seam hid the joint perfectly, she thought, waiting for the fog to clear, so she could meet her fate.
Moments passed slowly, and what felt like hours later, Ren blinked at what she saw.
As far as she could tell, she was staring at --
Herself.
***
For more by me check out r/beezus_writes
Check out r/redditserials for longer stuff by me and other authors!
| 2021-01-22T08:55:54
| 2021-01-22T08:54:29
| 141
| 74
|
[WP] A wife kills her husband. Make me sympathize with both characters.
|
"That wasn't really poison I used, you know."
"Oh, no?" His eyelids opened slightly, still half closed.
"No, I just wanted to make you say what you won't say any other way. I just used enough to put you to sleep."
"Ahh, you always thought you were smarter than me. And I really believed you had a toothache and needed that medicine. But I already replaced it with real poison."
"What?! And you let me poison you?"
"No, I swapped it out, since I decided that I didn't want to kill you."
"So I didn't take it?"
"No, but that guy who snuck in when you thought I was at work did."
"John!?"
"Is that his name?"
"Yes, your brother's name is John."
"My brother?!"
"He's in the garage, or his body is."
"You mean you knew he was dead?"
"I let him take it. You see, that was the only way I could get him out of the picture, since I read on our insurance policy all the payout was to go to his family after he adopted the two paraplegic children. Guess I wasn't needy enough for you..."
"But why..."
"Because it will look like you killed him and then yourself in a fit of remorse."
"But I never knew you were that smart!"
She pulls off the perfectly formed rubber mask of his wife's likeness. "Of course she wasn't, that's why I could kill her so easily!"
"Clarkson! You son of a bitch!"
"Yeah, I told you I'd get you back in 'Nam, and I meant it."
"But how long have you been posing as my wife?"
"For two months and its a good thing your marriage is so dead, let me tell you."
"Hahaha you always were a funny son of a bitch."
|
She felt the soft autumn warmth on her skin like it had been that day, so long ago. She could feel the heat spreading over her face, but it did little to soothe the constant chill that had settled in her fingers and toes. Her skin was now delicate and softly speckled like crumpled tissue paper, criss-crossed and latticed with a web of thin blue veins like fine marble. She remembered that day when they had stood together, in front of a crowd but all alone, able bodied and firm with youth, their hands clutched together so tight because it felt like the world was spiralling around them.
That had been very long ago, though it didn’t feel like that far away in moments like these. Her glazed eyes looked up and outward, settling in a distant nowhere in which they were not to be parted. Her shoulders still ached with the strain of it. Her weak elbows had cracked and strained and had been left with throbbing, aching burning. Her gnarled fingers, which he had once loved, which he had once admired as slender and delicate, those he had once smothered with soft kisses, still felt oddly bent and contorted.
“I miss you,” She said, to no one in particular because there was no one there to hear. “I’ve missed you for so long.”
It was like watching her world descend into madness, into an over whelming chaos that enclosed them all. It drove away the children and she was alone. It drove away their smattering of friends and she was so alone. Most of all she had lost the other side of her, the other half of her being and even if her world was filled with people then she would still be consumed by loneliness.
Eddy had never been a violent man, he could be solemn and quiet, lost in distant contemplation at times but he had never been sharp or cruel. His intentions in quietness had never been to hurt or ignore. He had been good with his hands and loving towards his children and later his grandchildren, which he would spoil and coo over. He was her world, an icon of both strong and soft.
The doctors had explained to her that sometimes these things changed people, the chemical balances had altered or something. He always seemed to recede away into a dark place, into moments of fear and misunderstanding. His whimpering breathes and startled eyes. The way he’d look around the room beyond what was there. It had hurt her, she would creep close to him, hands out stretched and unsure what to do, desperate to help, desperate to heal, longing to save him from his terror.
The longer it was, the more it would happen until love nor recognition filled his face when his eyes settled on her.
He had changed. He was not her Eddy. He would not see her as she was. As weak as his diminished strength was, she had become brittle and blood would clot darker and bigger. That’s when people started to demand she give up. That’s when people started to leave.
He seemed these days to be more there, wherever it was, than here. He was unhappy, who ever that man had become. So she had pressed the pillow against his face, as hard as her withered strength allowed her. There was not as much a fight, less than she had expected and the last long breath had been a sigh of relief.
When she hesitantly lifted the pillow she stared oddly at the dent his face had made and wondered if she could make out a gentle smile that had donned his lips. Looking at the vacant face of her beloved his eyes were soft and distant, crackled with harsh wrinkles and lines like paths carved in stone. But they looked lighter, less burdened, staring off in quite contemplation.
| 2013-10-08T17:01:14
| 2013-10-08T15:18:46
| 20
| 11
|
[WP] As a chef, you cooked with love your entire life. You've had minor success and are frustrated and ambitious. So, you started cooking with pure unbridled hate. Your customers can taste the difference and they can't get enough of it.
|
There was a lot on my mind that day. I admit that I let the frustration get to me. I was almost done for the day when the critic walked to my food truck. And not just any critic, it was that fucker. Adam Crenshaw. It had been just about 2 months ago when he had first reviewed my nifty little setup.
*Just… ordinary. I won’t recommend the place. I won’t ask you to avoid it. Honestly there’s not much to say about it. It’s just average. It’s obvious the chef knows how to cook but it all so bleh and bland and… I don’t even know what to say about this place. Don’t go out of your way out to get food here. But if you’re close and hungry, it’ll do in a pinch.*
Of course I remembered every single word of the review. Ordinary. Well fuck him. And the palette he rode on too.
I looked at his order. A ham sandwich. Extra fries. And a salad. I’ll give him fries I thought.
It had been a long day. I threw together the ingredients. With a generous helping of hot sauce. A sloppy sandwich. Ordinary a sandwich looking like that wouldn’t leave the pass anywhere I cooked but I was just about done with him.
“Connor… the fries are done.” Amy called to me. “It’s Crenshaw’s order. Let’s be careful.”
Even her soothing voice couldn’t calm me down today.
I gave him a generous helping of salt for his fries. Amy chimed in again. “Too greasy. What’re you doing?”
“Fuck Crenshaw.”
Amy looked taken aback. It was fair too. She hadn’t seen that side of me I suppose. Amy just always brought out the best out of me. Her smile. Her hair. Her faint perfume. It was all just… perfect. Like a flame. Warming everything around her and bringing out the best flavours in people.
But that day… that day was different.
The words from the review were ringing in my head. Ordinary. Here’s something extraordinary you bastard. Honestly, I was just gonna give him some hate filled food and be done with it.
I took the food to him myself. He sat on a little table reading a newspaper.
He looked at me and seemed startled. “Oh… it’s this place. Sorry I had forgotten. I remember you though! Connor. And Amy! I have a good memory. Somehow your food truck slipped my mind. But how are you doing Connor? How’s business?”
I looked at him shocked. He had forgotten he ate at my food truck. This piece of shit…
Just to the side of me a group was celebrating a birthday. A balloon popped and with it, my brain popped too.
I pretty much threw his food on the table. “Here’s your sandwich. Messy and tough to swallow. Just like you. Fries. Extra salty. Just like you. And oh… here’s your salad. Tossed, you fucking tosser.”
I threw the salad at him. “With best fuck yous from the chef.”
I gave him my widest smile and walked away.
Amy looked at me in disbelief as I walked into the truck. “Connor.. what did you…”
I closed the window. The cheery *We’re closed* on the other side.
“Fuck Crenshaw. He called us forgettable. Well he won’t forget us now. I got a bad headache. I’m gonna go home. Do you mind locking up.” I
I took my stuff and walked out, not knowing that my life was just about to change.
I woke up the next day and noticed 5 missed calls from Amy.
I dialled her number still a bit groggy. I swore to myself never to drink that much if I had to work the next day.
“Hey Amy.”
“Connor. Did you see it yet?”
“See what?”
“You went viral last night. The people who were celebrating the birthday were filming. You got caught in the background. They uploaded the video on tiktok and the internet is going crazy.”
“What the hell is tiktok?”
“Oh for goodness sake. Anyways the point being, this could be the boost we need. Get in on time today. This could be a big day for us boss.”
“Don’t call me boss… Fine fine. I’ll be there in 30 mins.”
No way was I going to be there in 30 minutes.
My head was still pounding as I pulled in. As I walked towards my food truck I was taken aback by the line that was already starting to form. We didn’t do too much business in the morning. Maybe Amy was right.
At that instance a man tapped me on my shoulder. “Hey. Aren’t you supposed to be open by 11:00. It’s already 11:20.”
As I mentioned, my head was pounding, the Tylenol still not fully having taken affect. “Touch me again and I’ll cook that hand and feed it to you. Have some patience you little piece of shit.”
There was a stunned silence. And then something incredible happened. The man grinned and raised his arms. He then turned to his buddy who was filming it. “Did you get it? Did you get that?”
I saw that most people had their cameras out and pointed at me. The silence was raised by applause.
“Oh you fucking idiots.”
My headache already had me in a bad mood. Add to that, every Tom dick and Harry just wandering to the window ensured my mood didn’t improve. So, I will admit. I was a bit rude to most of the people. But to my surprise, they loved it.
Amy, on the other hand, was quieter than usual.
At the end of the day, it had been our biggest day since we opened the food truck.
“Aims! This is amazing. You were right. We continue like this and we’ll be making loads of money.”
She gave me a weak smile. “Of course boss.”
“Don’t call me boss.”
I expected the hysteria to die down in a few days but to my surprise it didn’t. The #RudeChef hashtag was trending here and there for the next few days, with even a few chefs trying to be copycat. But of course, they were no match for the original.
A local news and then the website for a national news channel picked up the story too. And that just led to our popularity skyrocketing.
We were doing more business in a day than we used to do in a week. This was it then. My success story.
Amy, however, wasn’t too happy with this.
But it wasn’t like she could overrule me. “Listen it’s what the people want. They come here expecting the rude chef. If I don’t give them that, they’ll be disappointed. And isn’t food all about giving your clients an experience they’ll never forget?”
“Is it? I feel like this is overshadowing our food.”
“Nonsense.”I brushed her off and started to walk off.
“Connor we need to discuss this seriously. Look I’m not…”
“Amy. I’m the boss here. We’re not changing anything. And that’s final.”
She texted me later that day that she quit.
|
It’s hard to love a stranger. Love is an emotion that develops and blossoms, a seed that is planted and watered by time and affection. Whirlwind romances are like bamboo shoots that spring up overnight, parental love starts with conception and grows ever stronger as you watch your child grow and interact with the world. You can be attracted to a stranger, even be enamoured by them, but you cannot love them without the roots to feed off your history together.
On the other hand, hate is sharp and tactless. A spiteful comment or thoughtless action can draw the deepest feelings to the surface in an instant. It isn’t difficult to hate a stranger, in-fact it’s effortless.
So why do chefs cook with love? If you wanted the comfort of affection then that would come from a lover, watching from behind as your partner labours over cutting board and pan stirs up much deeper emotion than ordering from a menu and waiting for a faceless skilled set of hands to prepare up the same dish. The love cooked in by a stranger is like a pre-written valentines card, it has all the hallmarks but is bland and impersonal.
Love produces endorphins, it makes us want to sink back into our chair and be enveloped by the moment. Hate generates adrenaline, the fight or flight reaction that makes us aware of our primal history. This idea came to me in a dream, I was in the kitchen at work prepping for the dinner service, my list of tasks pinned to the wall above my station. With a practiced hand I was cutting carrots into perfect discs, each 8mm in depth and separated by size. I wouldn’t want a customer to receive a raw portion if cooking all the carrot together and had to take it off the heat too early to appease the cooking time of the smaller discs. This was the kind of loving cooking I had been encouraged towards my whole career.
Whilst chopping, my attention was drawn by a small crowd gathering in the service area. I laid down my knife and peeked through the *out* door. A scattered crowd surrounded a new pristine white jacket, inside it a face fresh from school with a nervous grin going round and shaking hands one by one with the team. My blood ran hot as I turned on my heel and marched back to my station. The vacancy was barely out, my manger had *promised* an interview, and now I see they filled the position with a chef who wouldn’t be able to tell spaghetti from tagliatelle.
My prepping became erratic, portion sizes ceased to matter and I prayed that the texture would be inconsistent. A small chance for the customers to feel like I did. Passed over, neglected, I would take it as a glowing review if they asked to see the manager.
I woke up before seeing the results of my wrathful cooking, on paper I couldn’t imagine it being an enjoyable dish but something resonated deep inside me. I mulled it over with a coffee, before deciding it would be best to try it at home instead of work first. I conjured some memories I had tried hard to ignore and let them guide my hand. The experience was cathartic, like working out a knot with a deep tissue massage. As I took the first bite, my mouth was offended by the contrast in texture and flavour. The usual warm embrace of a loving meal was replacing by a standoffish confrontation, a challenge that dared me to say I wasn’t intrigued.
Presenting the meal to my coworkers was nerve wracking, I didn’t want them to think I harboured any negative feelings towards them but hoped they would share in my experience. Usually, if a chef watches a customer eat they are hoping for the classic signs of enjoyment: eyes closed, head tilted back, and a deep passionate moan of satisfaction. I observed grins, knowing looks and contention. Everyone knows the feeling of being scorned, of being passed over, it was a meal that played on our base emotions and I’d lit a fire underneath our kitchen.
| 2022-07-21T23:26:11
| 2022-07-21T22:58:10
| 86
| 13
|
[WP] Your spouse was actually an amnesiac god that had both their powers and memories sealed away years ago. Now the seal is broken and they have regained their godhood. They're curious why you're not as happy as they are about this.
|
Please be gentle, this is my first time posting and english isn´t my first language. Here goes:
Well... Fuck.
I mean, I was waiting for it all to come crashing down on me. But I figured it would be a bit more mundane in nature?
You know, them seeing how they could do so much better than lil´ ol´ me over here or me making some stupid goddamn mistake I couldn´t fix. But I sure didn´t have "Your beloved partner of ten years bursts into flame and ascends into heaven while going for a stroll" on my Bingo-Card.
And so I stood there, for God -Oh damn, is that them now?- knows how long, completely blindsided by what had just transpired. When I came back to myself, I turned around and made my way back home. Our home. Just my home now, I guess.
Back there, I sat down on the bed and just... took my head into my hands and started crying. I mean, what else do you do in a situation like this?
And then, all of a sudden, the sun rose. In the middle of our/my bedroom.
"Hey."
I kept looking at the ground. I didn´t think i could look at them anyway, no matter that i probably would have burnt my eyes out if i did.
"I´m really sorry, that was... a surprise. I tried coming back as soon as possible."
"Yeah, well, congrats. I guess you came by to say your farewells?"
"Wait, wha... Oh, damnit this light is annoying the fuck out of me. Give me a second."
The light dimmed.
I raised my head and looked at them. I don´t know what i expected, honestly. Not that they were still the same. Still the same face, with the smile on it that made me fall in love years ago. Wrinkles around the eyes from all the times we almsot died from laughter when one of us did something goofy.
"I mean, what else would you be here for? I appreciate it, honestly. Didn´t expect to see you again."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" They raised their hand. The small ring glittered softly. "We made a promise, you moron. Do you not want to keep it?"
"Oh, come on. How am i supposed to? You´re... Whatever you are now. A god, angel, otherworldly being... And me? I´m nothing. I didn´t deserve you before, I sure don´t deserve you now!"
"Stop it! I´m not having this talk with you AGAIN. I. CHOSE. YOU. You do not get to make this decision for me. And this." They gestured at themselves. "This does not change a thing. I still love you. I still choose you. Do you still do the same?"
"I... Yes. You know I do."
"Good, so stand up. I´ve got so much to show you. And when we´re done, I have a gift for you."
They offered me a hand.
|
“Why do you want a divorce?”
“I just don’t think this marriage is going to work anymore.”
“Why? Just because I’m actually a god. So what if I can never die because I don’t age, that’s means we can spend forever together.”
“Is not that.”
“Oh really, it’s because of the super strength, isn’t it. Honey, just because I can crush steel with my barehand and lift our house up with a finger doesn’t mean you need to fear me.”
“No.”
“What just cause I no longer need sex?”
“I’m asexual. I’m divorcing your because I’m the Devil from da bible.”
| 2022-11-09T09:37:22
| 2022-11-09T04:11:20
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] An RPG character is cursed with a higher intelligence than their player.
|
18 hours. 18 hours of standing in the forest completely rooted in place until that damned kid un-paused the game. Within that time frame five beautifully complicated quests had timed out and Leuric had no entertainment but the series of maddeningly dim chat's that kept popping up in the box beside him. He'd often tried to shoot the occasional arrow at it, but along with the action icons and the labels that floated over everyone's heads, it was physically insubstantial to him. And besides, he could only move on his own when Jason was logged out--which was why the kid's habit of just pausing the game was so infuriating.
As the sky's lighting started a slow gradient into dusk colors, a new blip showed up in the quest-box. Leuric's virtual heart skipped a beat; It was a dragon-slaying quest. The sort of quest that can bump you up a full eight levels, not to mention the bad-ass weaponry upgrades and gold winnings. And Leuric was a master archer, good enough to bring one of those reptilian beasties down with three shots, top. Yeah, he could own that quest.
Except...there were only two hours to complete it. If he could move at all he'd cross his fingers in hope Jason would un-pause him, and soon. And for once, he got his wish. Just three minutes later he heard the familiar fuzz sound as Jason turned on his headset, and immediately he felt some relief as his body untensed and the trees resumed their slightly glitchy swaying motion.
"Hey, Kev, where are you? I'm in the forest by the gnome mines...ah, shit, looks like that mining quest expired..."
Kevin, a brainless cod who could make a troll feel smart, took a bit to reply. According to Mishalia, his sorceress avatar, it is a common occurrence for him to speak to dead air awhile before remembering to turn the mic on.
Finally, a muffled voice replied,
"Sorry, tech issues. I'm at the ocean. Dude, did you see the new quest?"
"Yeah, you have to like, slay a dragon or something--sound's pretty cool. Wanna team up? Bet I could level up enough to get the Crystal Club"
The Crystal Club had no added benefit except that it looked better than the standard one, yet it would cost most of the quest's winnings. Additionally, Leurics strengths lied in stealth and ambush from a distance, not the brutish close combat a club was useful for. Leuric gritted his teeth and tried to calm himself by imagining the fancy club wedged into Jason's hollow skull. It helped.
Despite his frustrations at the kid, he couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement as the curser glided over to the 'accept quest' button, and suddenly an objective list expanded over the chat box. First thing's first they had to go to the North Castle and talk to a distressed king Baernard whose daughter was missing.
Although he wasn't the one controlling his own actions, it felt good to have his legs moving again. With full strength and stamina bars and a satchel full of arrows, nothing could possibly go wrong, even with Jason and Kev behind the controls.
Except....
"Woah, Jason get over here! there's a huge band of goblins by the river- we could get some serious spells and weapons off of them!"
Um, no, Leuric thought. No, Jason, you will get next to nothing off of them don't you dare--
"Aw, sweet, on my way!"
Leuric seethed as he was tugged off-course against his will, pulling out... oh, no. No no no, he was pulling out his bow! The idiot!
The goblins quickly came into view, with Mishalia slashing her staff about clumsily in the center. Obviously Kevin had no idea how to utilize her spell casting skills. Her expression said everything.
'He spent all his gold on this water staff. I'm Earth centered." She mumbled as Leuric came up beside her and started rapidly firing arrows in the complete opposite direction of the goblins--even his aim wasn't good enough to compensate for that.
'Mine's trying to load up on close-range combat stuff and spell books.' He growled. They were quite lucky that their own speech didn't come up in text boxes. Only the automated words they couldn't control were visible to their players.
It took maybe ten minutes, but finally the goblins sauntered off in disinterest, which Jason and Kev took to be a retreat. They'd killed one out of thirty and in exchanged for the loss of all the arrows and one of Mishalia's lives, got a piece of useless moldy bread and a pebble. Leuric had 2 out of 300 energy points left. And, as spectacularly appalling as it was, they resumed the quest like this.
Later, with 10 minutes left to slay the dragon, Mishalia and Leuric were not doing good. She was cursing left and right and quite creatively as she repeatedly got stuck between two rocks trying to run in and strike the dragon's hide. "The freeze spell! USE THE EFFING FREEZE SPELL!"
Leuric was on the last 10 stamina points of his last life and since the moron had exhausted my arrows during the goblin fiasco he was forced to use a dagger. Each of his stabs was 1 point of attack while the dragon just had to swat playfully at him to take a whopping 90. Meanwhile, Kev and Jason talked nonsense. Or, to them perhaps it was 'strategy'.
Finally Jason got a moment of sanity and directed him to try and get the dragon from behind, where his stealth would come into play.
Yes! Leuric whispered. One well-placed blow to the weak spot in the center of it's back and that dragon was a goner. Jason clicked the attack icon, and Leuric gleefully crept forward, ducking as the tail flew over his head, then tensed to leap, victory just a heartbeat away--
And then he froze.
"What?" Jason called. Leuric could hear Mishalia roar in frustration as her stamina points ran out and she was down to her last life. A muffled voice came from the distance on Jason's mic.
"S'up? Why'd you pause?" Kevin asked.
"My mom's flipping out, something about grades or whatever-- be back in a sec." And his mic shut off.
Leuric let out a huff of disbelief. No. There was no way they could get this far and then... He glanced at the quest box. One minute....50 seconds....30....10.....6....5....
The mic turned back on. 3.....2....
"Dude, I'm gonna have to go, my mom's really pissed about my math grade or whatever. I'm grounded for a week, sorry-talk to you tomorrow." The mic switched back off.
....1.....0.
The quest timed out. Leuric couldn't hear Mishalia anymore--she must have lost her last life and been transported back to the training camp.
But he was still frozen mid-air. Jason hadn't logged out, he'd paused it AGAIN!
It looked like Leuric would be spending the next week staring at a dragon's arse.
|
I laced up my worn, leather work boots, picked up my hatchet, and walked out the door. This day, just like the last, had me following the same routine that circumscribed my entire life. There's a certain philosophy that comes to mind: do one thing, and do it well, and you will make money. And that's what I followed: cut the tree down, gather the logs, and sell them to the bank. Over, and over, and over again. Day in, day out, with a perfected capitalistic efficiency. The little intricacies in technique, as well as massive strength I had acquired allowed me to gradually focus on the highest quality timber.
At first it took me hours of work and buckets of sweat to hack through the smallest sapling. I remember the rewarding feeling of success as I dragged my first one to the market. With a big grin and a hearty handshake, I earned my first of many gold coins (or was it bronze? Time has blurred my memory). That, unfortunately, was the only highlight of my life. From then on, it was more of the same: find tree, cut down, gather logs, sell. Find tree, cut down, gather logs, sell. The only difference between then and now perhaps, is that onlookers admire my work: the swift, precise, and powerful blows that wear down massive, resilient Yew trunks can only be performed by a master of the hatchet. Of that, I'm proud. However, the long years take a toll on my existence. I am weary, and unmotivated. What drive I once had died out with my first Yew Tree. Where else do I go? Am I doomed till eternity for the same, monotone fate?
The only savation I have is in my dreams. Hearkening back to the first memories I ever had, I carry not a hatchet, but a sword. I remember the different stances, guards, attacks, and parries. There was a time that I did not gather logs, but arrows, drawn from the bloody torsos of goblins that I had slain. That is adventure! There was also wizardry! Recalling long incantations performed on mystic runes. What amazement struck me as these rocks produced potions of wonder. Elixers of life, spells of destruction, the capacity to control and manipulate the natural world was at my fingertips.
But that was long ago, and those skills lay dormant. My only redemption is daydreaming, my only solace, escapism. What visions of adventure the mind can perform while the body is trapped.
Find tree, cut down, gather logs, sell. Find tree, cut down, gather logs, sell. Find tree, cut down, gather logs, sell...
| 2015-01-09T15:17:22
| 2015-01-09T13:41:20
| 26
| 16
|
[WP] In the year 2020, death disappeared from the world. No one could find death. No one could die. It is now year 2070 when getting children is considered illegal. You are a child born in secrecy. At the age of 8, you accidentally kill your pet. Now requests are pouring for you to kill people
|
You'd think death would be something to be feared. Eighty years ago, you'd be right. But then again, a lot of things were different back then. A lot can change in eighty years.
For a start, eighty years ago people were convinced the world was going off the deep end. Polluted environments, global warming, overflowing refuse that they couldn't put anywhere, dubstep and house music becoming commonplace, utterly horrifying stuff. Not to mention, the small difference that people could actually die back then.
It's a lot more different these days. The fact that all the living people could age and become withered invalids kickstarted the science community into stopping ageing. Made us into a proper metropolis, it did. The company that created the drug spread it throughout the world free of charge! Thank god for philanthropist billionaire drug moguls, eh?
Of course, it wasn't all roses, sandwiches and handjobs. Some of the sickest things you can imagine happened. The aged invalids, unable to see, walk, hear, taste? They were burned to save space after the population reached critical levels. They couldn't die, we all knew, but they were burned anyway and the ashes were dumped. Same for the "undesirables". Criminals, vermin. Mandatory sterilisation at birth. There was a lot of rioting, a lot of outrage, a lot of apathy.
The drug changed everything! We'd achieved immortality. We could pursue other ventures! Robotic servitude, space travel, colonisation! War basically stopped, there was no way to win because if someone got shot they'd just up and continue onward. We became what only the most optimistic people of the 2000s could dream, and more. No grimdark universe for us, thank you!
In 2070 I was eight years old, and I killed my dog. I didn't mean to, but not meaning to do it doesn't change the fact. In my defence it was an accident, I tripped over and landed on it, broke the poor thing's back, crushed it. Poor Fluffles. I cried for hours. I mean, my dog was dead, my parents were going to kill me, and it was my only real friend. It's not like there were any other kids to play with.
But when my parents found us, they weren't mad at all. I was completely dumbfounded, dogs were neither cheap nor easy to keep. Plus the fact that, y'know, it was the family dog. But they were shocked. It wasn't until years later when I was an adult and safe to go outside and avoid arrest that they told me the sheer gravity of what I did.
I'd worked it out years before, but to hear it said by someone else made it seem even more bloody insane!
My parents gave me the drug and a fake ID, then sent me on my way. I immediately went to the police and killed a rat I caught right at the front desk, and my face was plastered all over the news.
I'm forty now, it's 2102. At the time they couldn't decide whether to lock me away, burn me, let me be, or let those who wanted death come to me and demand I do the deed.
At forty years old, I have killed countless people, and it has made me rich.
|
“Please kill this man,” said the man in the black suit holding the photo up. “I know you can.”
“But, I’m just a kid. The only time I’ve killed happened seven years ago,” I told him.
His emotionless face remained the same. He took out a some dollar bills. I picked up the money and examined it from every angle. They looked real and felt real. No doubt about it: these were legitimate dollar bills from the year 2020. These things were worth a fortune since they from before the war that occurred in Washington, D. C.
I slid the money back across the coffee table.
“I’m sorry, I can’t,” I said.
Mr. Gold’s was face no longer blank. It was filled with frustration. I saw something blue glowing on his neck. It must’ve been a sage implant to keep his emotions in check. Clearly it must have broken because of the frustration he was having.
“What would it take then?” he screamed.
“Take it easy, man,” I told him. “The reason I don’t kill is because I don’t want people to experience what I had when I killed Xander that dog: the loss of somebody you loved. Plus it was an accident.”
And with that, he stormed out of the room.
“Keep the cash, maybe you’ll change your mind next time,” he said.
Mr. Gold wasn’t the first person to ask me to kill someone. I’ve gotten hundreds of requests on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, Reddit, and the list goes on. I can’t go on one website website someone asking, “Hey can you kill so and so?” My answer is always, “No, I can’t.”
People expect me to be some kind of god of death or something, but, really, I’m not. If you ever met me, please don’t ask me to kill someone. It’s hard enough already.
| 2018-10-18T12:19:06
| 2018-10-18T11:53:24
| 24
| 15
|
[WP] Every morning when you first look in a mirror, you see a small piece of advise for that day, such as “take the subway to work” or “don’t try the free pizza”. Today, the mirror simply says, “RUN”
|
'Luck of the Irish' they called it- well, maybe there was something to it.
For as long as I could remember, every time I looked in the mirror I would be given some kind of helpful clue to brighten my day- it was never anything terribly significant, just little things like 'Don't try the free pizza', which helped me avoid an upset stomach. My little charm seemed to avoid some of the bigger things in life, though- like 'Don't fall in love with Austin, he's an asshole.' That would've been a great tip.
Today was different. Today, as I finished my morning shower, the message in the misty mirror read 'RUN'. The taste of fear crept up the back of my mouth- the taste of blood.
"Why?! Which way?!" I yelled back at whichever entity stalked my life, then burst out of the washroom, putting on my best "Apocalypse Preparedness" outfit- yoga pants, sneakers, sports bra, warm sweater- a fanny pack with snacks and a water bottle.
It was the best I could do.
In case I was behaving like a crazy person, I nabbed my cellphone on my way out of the door. "Hey, Michael- hey, sorry for the late call, I've had a...personal emergency. My...dad got into a car accident and I need to go be with him." I fibbed. It didn't feel good- but it was better than losing my job in case my 'advisor' was just having a laugh at my expense.
"Y-you mean you haven't heard? Mackenzie, turn on *any* news station. Don't worry about *work*, worry about getting the *hell out of town!*" Michael said, and hung up the phone.
Tuning my cellphone to a local news station, I made it out of my apartment building just as the broadcast began again.
As my feet pounded down the pavement, I heard the DJ;
*Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a confirmed case of extra-terrestrial activity just outside of the city. Officials are asking us not to panic, and to sit tight. The army is mobilizing a respondent task force. Remain indoors, do not crowd the streets, do not approach anyone or any*thing* that you see outside. We have an emergency briefing coming in from the Pre-*
The transmission cut out.
Yeah, I was going to trust my little advisor. *Forget* staying indoors!
Picking up the pace, I made it out of the downtown area. People were driving crazily, all scattering in different directions- meanwhile, the sun was shining and birds were chirping- what a strange contrast.
As I continued to run, I saw that someone had abandoned a bike on the side of the road- perhaps they had got in a car?
Taking the bike, I easily tripled my speed out of the city. My heart was pounding in my ears, and I could scarcely believe what was going on- it wasn't April Fool's or some such nonsense was it?!
Finally, I made it to the outskirts of the town- only to come face-to-face with a massive, definitely Alien-looking aircraft.
Which direction had I been heading? Was I *that* dense?!
In sheer panic, I pulled a 'deer in the headlights' moment.
A short ramp lowered itself from the front of the ship, gently touching down upon the ground.
A tall, slender, powder-blue creature- vaguely humanoid in appearance- began to descend from the ramp. It noticed me, and bowed deeply.
Stunned, I attempted to replicate the maneuver from my bicycle. It was awkward.
"Mackenzie," The Alien spoke. "Sorry our message was so vague this morning... we were just excited to finally meet you." It smiled broadly and warmly.
"Uhhhh saywhatnow?"
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: Hey guys! I'm writing a brand-new Choose Your Own Adventure on my subreddit- go [here](https://old.reddit.com/r/nystorm_writes/comments/gzd48n/choose_your_own_adventure_part_vii_tragedy/) if you want to vote on how the story starts! I'd love to have you along for the adventure :)
|
I frowned at the message on the mirror.
"Wow, okay, wow. How could... I'm not even--" I choked on the donut I was eating.
After a coughing fit, I spat out the offending food and grabbed the next one in my morning box of donuts. I set the box down, now empty, and began licking the paltry amount of glaze off my fingers.
"You don't know me. I work out in my own way," I sat, patting my stomach defiantly. I could immediately feel my ribs.
The text grew larger, shivering as it pleaded with me to follow its advice.
*RUN*
"What am I running from, huh? Something scary happening? I don't see anything going on outs--" my chest tightened up for a second. I waited for it to pass like it normally did. Lasted a moment longer than I expected it to before fading away, awaiting the next change to threaten me from the inside.
"I just find it so hypocritical that all you do is pass advice and judgment. I look to you for my validation every day and all you do it tell me what to do. That's stupid," I pointed a bony finger at it.
**RUN**
"Look, I can't go outside because of errands I have to do today, so I don't have any time to get ready to go outside and run, I'm perfectly healthy," I retorted.
**TREADMILL**
"Wow... I can't believe you just... Wow, okay I bought the treadmill for when I was thinking about training for a marathon okay. I'm not doing the marathon anymore so I don't need to train for it," I said, folding my arms.
**RUN**
"No, I don't want to, I'm perfectly fine!" I said, breathing heavily. I was losing my breath just arguing with the thing. "I'm gonna go sit down, all right? Not because I'm tired or am in agony just standing and talking to you, but because I feel like sitting down, okay?"
As I turned away, the message turned to another one, much more urgent than all the previous ones.
***CALL AMBULANCE***
"Whoa, what happened? Is someone hurt next door or something?" I asked.
***CALL AMBULANCE FOR YOU***
"Wow, okay," I said, upset. The tightness in my chest returned, much more aggressively than before. "You think you know so much about me. You think I'm in such a state that I'm going to..." I caught my breath and fell to my knees, "going to hurt myself because I didn't go on the stupid run that you wanted me to go on, huh? Well jokes on you because I'm perfectly hea--"
I fell to the ground, my arm clutching at the pain in my chest willing it to go away. I wiggled my hand into my pocket and pulled out my phone, then threw it across the room as hard as I could, sneering at the mirror. The mirror didn't do anything. It stopped trying to give me advice. I could see my ghastly body in the mirror now, nothing blocking me from watching my writhe in pain on the floor. I had defeated the mirror. It stopped trying to advise me once it knew I was right.
*"That's right, you stupid mirror. I don't need to run,"* I thought, my chest flaring in too much pain for me to say any words. *"I'm perfectly fine."* I thought as my vision faded away.
__________________________
For more stories about spiteful protagonists, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!
| 2020-06-07T22:00:50
| 2020-06-07T20:16:11
| 284
| 184
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[WP] One day, every city that shares a name has a portal open up, connecting them all with each other. Paris, Texas has a great time with it, and many cities celebrate their new neighbors. You, however, live in Hell, Michigan, and things are starting to get strange.
|
Part 1 of 3 (see my reply)
The day the portals opened, everything changed. No one knew where they came from, who made them, or how they worked. (I have a theory, but I'll get to that later.) All anyone knew was, people were suddenly appearing in the middle of towns and cities across the world, many of whom didn't speak the same language or understand anything about their surroundings, They would always appear within a block of the exact center of the town, and often had to quickly dodge out of the way to avoid getting hit by a car.
It took a surprisingly long time to figure out the pattern: the central blocks of places that shared the same name were now connected by invisible portals that transferred their inhabitants from one to the other. Needless to say, this was a burst for tourism. Many cities reconfigured their central areas to accommodate the streams of curious people from commonly named cities who would drop in.
For everyone who lived outside of my town, there were only two problems. The first was that the portals were somewhat random: beginning in Paris, Texas, you could end up in Paris, Tennessee, just as easily as Paris, France. Nevertheless, they included every commonly named place from tiny villages to huge cities, and even translations: many people from San Juan, Puerto Rico, were surprised to find themselves in St. John, Indiana, and vice versa. The second problem was that each portal alternated between inbound travel one day and outbound the next. This meant that if you went to a place you didn't want, you were stuck there at least 24 hours -- unless there was a nearby place with another portal going the opposite way, which was very unlikely.
Soon, the cultures of each place began to shift to their namesakes, since the process was so hard to control. Language barriers were broken down. Foods were shared. Hotels became swamped. Alexandria, Virginia, became a center of Egyptian culture, and Rome, Georgia, became a home for Italians. Many wealthy people decided to buy homes in multiple namesake towns and go back and forth among them as they felt like it. Most people loved the opportunity to make friends from other cultures, and people who would never have met otherwise enjoyed special experiences together. Those first accidental travelers had paved the way for millions to cultivate special connections. Almost everyone saw it as a blessing, a sign from their respective spiritual power about the true interconnectedness of humanity.
Which brings me to the third problem: I live in Hell, Michigan. The first people who disappeared from our town never came back. Needless to say, we avoided the town square - like hell, as they say in other, happier places. We knew what would happen on the outbound days. But on the inbound days, we never saw anyone there. We didn't hear the moaning of the damned, or the crackling of the flames, or even a cold, dark void descending upon us. What happened instead was much scarier.
Over the course of the next several months, as the world became friendlier, more joyful, more connected, we became sadder, darker, depressed versions of ourselves. Crime rates went up and marriage rates went down. No one wanted to meet or talk to one another - instead, they all looked at each other suspiciously. Soon, it wasn't safe to walk the streets at night - you never knew who might be lurking in an alley. We desperately tried to maintain order, but the criminals who came to court were never crazy, they never talked about demons, they never claimed to be possessed, they insisted they were just ordinary people. Punishing them didn't bring us any satisfaction. But we all knew there was something wrong.
I was fortunate enough to be single and alone - I had no family who had been raped or murdered, and I had so far escaped robbery. But I knew that I couldn't stay here, even though I had lived here my whole life.
So I got in the car and headed for Paradise, Nevada.
|
“And in other news Geopolitical relation have completely stabilized, and world peace will be declared on Wednesday”
The rest of the world get peace, and we get the torturers of the damned. I guess it not all bad though, I did meet Larry.
“Hey, do we have any charcoal?” Asked Larry.
“I don’t even own a barbecue, why would I have charcoal?” I respond as I turn around to meet a red, lizard like tail.
“Well in my hometown it’s nice snack, but if we don’t have charcoal, I guess nachos will do.”
“What’s with the hunger flash, you just ate all the eggs.” I say ate, by he more accurately swallowed them like pills.
“I’m having company over, oh, speaking of which, I need you to go out and get a virgin.”
“Excuse me? Why do you need a virgin? Are you doing a ritual or something?” Last week i found a hand stuck in the garbage disposal. I guess the only reason he doesn’t kill me is cause I drink so much milk... don’t ask, just know that demons are allergic to calcium or something.
“Nah, Craig just like to be the one to get to someone first.”
“Ok, I’m not really a people person, so I probably wouldn’t be able to get someone, let’s alone a virgin, to come to our apartment.”
“Just knock them out and carry them here.”
“But that’s illegal” though police probably wouldn’t care too much, with the negotiation between Satan and the mayor, the local police haven’t had much time to stop small crimes, which apparently now include kidnapping.
“Dude, I did it all the time back home” he said as the blade on the end of his tail nearly decapitates me.
“But that’s not earth, here we have rules. And if you’re gonna live her you need to respect them.”
“Dude, if you want me to leave, I’ll leave, but I’m taking the Costco card with me.”
“Hey now, we don’t need to get crazy. If you want a virgin, you can get it yourself. But let me know when you company gets here, I don’t wanna be around when the slaughter begins.”
“Sure, whatever. Oh do we have any Pringles?”
“Top shelf”
| 2020-09-25T16:50:22
| 2020-09-25T16:43:14
| 37
| 13
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[WP] Delivery drones are armed to deter thieves, but the more heavily defended a drone is the better the loot. The golden age of drone piracy is now lads.
|
It didn’t matter that it was illegal, it was fun. New gangs had started as aerial wars took place. Thieves has entire garages setup to control their drones in VR racing style pods. These were the dog fights of the skies.
Generations of adults and kids growing up on video games ad never prepared police and amazon for the mass thievery. At first it was just people trying to get other people’s ordered goods, petty theft. But as delivery grew so did the goods. It didn’t take police long to start getting involved but hunting down thieves were near impossible. Drone hunting was the newest and hottest crime. Digital leaderboards had started popping up showing which gangs has scored the most loot and best number of drones downed.
Authorities soon realized they were no match for these aged gamer thieves and their superior flight and skill ability. Which led Amazon to create their own third party defense. Triple D, Drone Defense Department, was third party group of hired gamers and flyers to defend the most precious of cargos. We had our own leaderboard, the board of packages safely delivered and the board of drones downed.
It was a highly sought after job. The Triple D leaderboard had recently been added to the gangs as they rate pilots in defense. Keeping a K/D ratio spread. I’m the best...called the Baron. Never been downed on a defense mission, and this only put on the most important cargo.
However this has had quite the repercussion, as the only undefeated flyer more and more pilot pirates come after packages I’m delivering to take me on. It’s most concerning as we don’t advertise who protects what. It means there is a leak, someone promoting these aerial wars, maybe the packages aren’t the most important product.
|
What a lot of people don't realise is that Bank is the perfect place to wait for drones. It's full up on people at all hours of the day and night. Might seem like a handicap, 'cept everyone's staring at their phones, or their feet, anywhere but where they might meet another person's eyes. Pete an' me, we figured it out real quick when we were 'round the actual Bank for a school trip, and came back later to try a bit of climbing. Those old buildings are as good for it as you'd think.
The other thing is, there's lots of fancy people around. Bankers, sure, but others too. The people who *employ* bankers. And not the fancy new-money wankers from Canary Wharf. The kind of old money that comes with titles and those stupid pinky rings.
Anyway, those types of people like to get what they want, when they want it. And they don't want to wait for London traffic for it to be delivered, either. Hence: prime drone spotting territory.
You might be thinking, "what about the cameras?" London is famous for them. But, bruv, any Scav worth a damn carries a disruptor, or course. Those Peeping Toms might as well be set dressing. The real impressive tech comes in when you want to catch one. They move fast, and even a basic model comes with good hazard avoidance algorithms these days.
Fortunately, I've always been a tinkerer, and Pete's got great eyes and a steady hand. So even when we were starting out, we did alright. Our first big catch was over Hampstead Heath, with a weighted tennis ball and some braided fishing line. it was right around Christmas in year 12, and things were lean at home. We'd been goofing around with prototypes, and saw a M-573 carrying an Amazon box passing overhead. It was too good of a chance to pass up. One excellent throw later, we had a treasure trove in hand. Someone's mum was sending a fancy hamper to, "help with Christmas dinner." It was enough to make things better at both our houses that year, and we were well pleased. We scarpered, taking the goods–and drone parts–with us.
After a couple of other easy catches, we decided to try the spot we'd found at Bank. The first night out we got a fancy watch, some bottles of Krug, and a USB stick that we looked at before leaving at a police station. You might have heard about the arrests that followed–you know the ones. Parliament was in an uproar for ages about them. That was us.
We kept things chilled, trying to never take too much or be too bold. But when Pete's dad got sick, and my sister got into an accident, or when the neighbors pension checks got mysteriously delayed, well, somehow there was always money to sort things out with.
And then, we started to get a reputation. And through a network of whispers, a certain M.G. asked if he could hire our services. Which is what brought us up to the roof on this particular evening.
"It's fuckin' cold," Pete said, shivering. He's always been a skinny lad, and even though we're well out of school, he hasn't put on any weight. Lucky bastard.
"It's November, Pete. I told you to wear your Jacket over your hoodie."
"I know, but I figured this hoodie would be enough with this muffler."
"Fuckin' hell, here, but these on." I handed him the mittens I was wearing over my gloves. It might affect his dexterity, but cold hands would be worse.
"Thanks L."
"Don't mention it." We looked up together. It was a mercifully dry night, but the lack of clouds meant there was nothing to hold the city's heat in. The sky burned orange from the lights below, and we waited in hopes that one specific delivery would be passing by.
"Shit, is that it?" Pete pointed. An extremely black object was quietly zooming across our field of view from the east.
"Dumbasses painted it with Vanta Black? It sticks out like sore thumb!" I pulled up my binoculars and looked at the shape. Sure enough, a drone shaped hole in the sky was there.
"Shot one?"
"Short circuit grenade, go." I figured it wasn't going to work, but it might give us some idea of the thing's capabilities. Sure enough, when the grenade hit, the drone only wobbled a little. Through the binoculars, I watched it extend an arm out the side. "Shit, it's got something out. Can you tell what it is?"
"Give me those, and I'll see." He grabbed the binocs, then swore. "It's one of those laser scopes–" his sentence was cut off as a red light shone down on the rooftoop. The angle of the beam showed us the drone was still moving quickly. If we wanted to intercept it, we'd have to move fast.
What followed was a ridiculous deployment of tech. Pete and I both shot the thing with weapons resembling harpoon guns. In turn, it tried to electrocute us, cut the ropes with the laser, and set us on fire with a flame thrower. Fortunately, we had measures to counteract all of these defences, and in a few minutes, we had the drone on the roof, rotors off, and AI disabled.
"Damn but it's a big 'un." It really was. A meter long, and over half a meter wide, it was unusually big, even for London. The black colour was unsettling, and something seemed...off.
"I'm getting a weird feeling. Let's be really careful when we open this one, hey?"
"Agreed."
Disabling the outer locks was shockingly easy, given everything we'd seen to that point, but we were "rewarded" by a strange mist emanating out when we pulled off the main flight assembly.
"Fuck! Back off." I was starting to worry about the time, but a lucky gust of wind came and blew whatever it was away. We had the lid off quickly with a lever, and then we were looking at the inner capsule. It was round, and appeared to have to seams on it.
"Now what? We can't get this off the roof." We heard sirens, and turned to look toward them. They seemed to be coming from everywhere, but streets are a maze where we were, so it was hard to tell how many police where coming. More than one car though, that was sure.
I put my hand on the capsule, and tried to roll it, to see if there was some way to open it on the bottom. But as I did, a seam appeared where none had been, and a lid popped open to reveal:
"Fuck, why did that asshole send us to get a body?"
"I don't think it's a body, P."
A perfect human girl lay curled up in the pod, apparently asleep. She was wearing a strange jumpsuit, but what skin I could see was flawless. Her hair spread out in a corona of curls on the cushioning around her. She was beautiful. Also, she was blue.
"Liv, we gotta go." I turned to look at Pete, then back to the girl.
"But, what if she's in trouble? We can't just leave her!"
"*We're* going to be in trouble if we don't get out of here."
"One sec." I looked at him, and our ropes. "How do you feel about parkour with a passenger?"
"Oh, fuck."
| 2019-09-30T14:24:43
| 2019-09-30T14:23:50
| 164
| 39
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[WP] The instant the Dark Lord hears the prophecy about one destined to defeat him, he scoffs and notes "Standard self-fulfilling hero prophecy." before ordering his minions to go to the hero's hometown and build a bunch of public works projects, the most important of which is a school.
|
# Self-fulfilling prophecy
***They came in the summer of my thirtieth year. It almost seemed too good to be true at first; and oh how it was.***
There was a general murmur of fear throughout the village when the procession of the Dark Lord's minions first appeared on the road. “We paid our grain taxes for the year, we can't afford another, Maric. No good will come of this,” the old chief of the village council said. He stood with me on the hill overlooking the road watching them approach the village. Gripping his cane so hard the knuckles of his wizened hand turned white. I in turn kept my hand on my sword, my grip just as firm. As the captain of the village guard, it was my duty to keep everyone safe. I knew I couldn't. The pitiful guard only consisted of five men, four of which were drunks, myself included. The other to old to even hold a blade properly. None other than me with any real training so to speak. I was only made captain because I’d served in the wars, back when the king of this land thought it possible to still rebel against the Dark lord. Before he realized rolling over and doing whatever he demanded was better than losing your head. A lesson that while coming too late for the king, we would heed today.
I placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder, “Come on old man, best give them whatever they want and be done with it. No good can come of fighting back.” I knew that all too well. He sighed out a long breath, his shoulders sagging and followed me back down the hill to the village gates.
It was to our great surprise then when the minions— men who had given over their souls and bodies to the Dark Lord to corrupt. Greeted us with those smiles that never quite touched their blood-red eyes, and told us of all the wonders they had planned to build for our village. There was an energy about the village after that, that giddiness that comes after a huge sense of relief. That coupled with the good news and the whole village was practically buzzing. I had my reservations but they came with row after row of carts to build. It seemed too elaborate a ruse for our small village, so slowly I began to believe too. Silencing in the small voice in my head that echoed old man’s words over and over again; *no good will come of this.*
My wife was absolutely thrilled with the prospect, she’d always lamented the fact that our children couldn't get a proper education in the village like we had as children in the city. When we chose to move here after the war we hadn't even thought about such things. We just wanted to be as far away as possible from the lands ravished by war.
Looking at my Beth now, getting our twins ready for school, I was taken aback by how much it meant to me too. Jim and Sally would always be children to me. It seemed so hard imagining them grown-up having their own separate lives when they always did everything together. Perhaps that was a failing of mine as a father. I should've made sure they had every opportunity for a good future, but it always seemed like there would be so much time. Well, I was glad that it was being taken out of my hands and being done. They were only five still young enough to get a good start. My daughter came over to me to place a goodbye kiss on my cheek, always on the left. She didn't like kissing the scarred skin on the right side. My son followed reluctantly and lightly pecked my check, perhaps he felt he was getting too old for it. I felt otherwise, I grabbed them both in a sweeping hug and swang them around. “And are you going to fix their clothes again when you're done throwing them about?” Beth said raising one eyebrow questioningly.
I placed the kids down and cleared my throat. “Umm well no, I wouldn't want to have to upstage your work,” I said as I walked over to my wife and grabbed her by the waist.
“Oh really is that so? Do you even know how to tie a ribbon in your daughter’s hair” she said as I felt her press against my chest.
“EWW you guys are gonna be gross, come on, Jim.” My daughter said, as she grabbed her brother’s hand and they made their way to the door.
“Wait for me,” Beth called after them, and as smooth as an eel she slipped out of my arms.
“Do you need to take them? It’s the second week surely they know their way by now?” I said as I stepped closer.
“No, but all the women in the town have been summoned to the school today. Old and young alike, they said they're going to be picking teachers from among us.” She spoke while walking away from me, a wary eye on my hands.
“Only women can be teachers? That hardly seems fair” I said as I attempted to grab her again and failed.
“What can I say? Everyone knows women are more sensible than men.” She shot me that mischievous smile as she slipped out the door and hurried after the kids. That smile had only gotten more beautiful to me since the first time I saw it fifteen years ago.
I donned my armour and made my way through the village. Heading to the opposite end from the school, to check on the construction perimeter wall. The Dark Lords’ work hadn’t been without incident. There had been problems with the minions, some had taken liberties with a farm girl when they first came. The first incident was brushed off by the village council, the minions told us it was our way to show *gratitude* to the Dark lord. The council flung my own words back at me and said, no good can come of fighting back. So again I had tried to silence that voice in the back of my head, *no good will come of this.* There had been more minor incidence since. But nothing too severe and they seemed to cherish the children, it was remarkable how they hadn’t let the children want for anything since they arrived. It seemed enough to have everyone look the other way when a man was beaten in the street or goods were taken from a shop. If the minions were involved it was considered “*showing our gratitude.*”
I arrived by the wall and saw two of the minions walking toward the gate, one man tall as the other was short. leading horses laden with travel packs. I moved closer to overhear their conversation. The taller man was speaking in a hushed voice to the smaller man. “Stop worrying you know the prophecy as well as I do. The one capable of slaying the Dark Lord would've been created in this village by today. The Dark Lord’s plan is excessive. Why should we spend the rest of our lives making sure that brat has a good childhood.” He rested his hand on the smaller man’s shoulder then. "Trust me this will work, when we explain how we put all the children in the school and all the women in case any are pregnant and burned it. He’ll see that surely we must have killed the prophesied one. Then he'll reward us-”
The end of the man's sentence didn’t leave his mouth before I parted his head from his shoulders, the shorter man’s head followed suit a breath later. I grabbed the reins of the nearest horse and spurred it to act as fast as it would go. I heard the screams before I saw the smoke.
I arrived at the schoolhouse, the red-eyed men had their backs to the burning remains of the school, spears levelled at the congregated village folk. The bodies of those that had tried to fight them lay strewn about at their feet, I recognized the remnants of my guard among them. The screaming from inside was over now, the screaming from outside was about to begin. I dismounted, drew my sword and walked toward the dead men still holding spears.
What was left of the man I was died that day, the final clinging fragments torn away in anguish and grief as we buried the ashes of our dead. The fires of vengeance forged me anew, into a being of singular purpose. I would pay back the Dark Lord for his gratitude in turn, with blood.
|
Velcroy the king of everlasting darkness was quite an enlightened fellow given his title.
"Sir! Sir, the prophecy, they have determined who will be the next hero of this land," Millrot, Velcroy's personal skin shifter, said.
Velcroy had the slimy-looking echo of a man watch the capital city of Juin. That was where the high order of the wizards would be.
That was where the Sightseer would be. She would determine the futures and possibilities that they would all go down on.
It seemed she had finally decided who would be the next hero.
"Go on," Velcroy said as he sat in his iron throne. The metal was darkened so black the night sky would look blinding in comparison.
"A girl! It's a girl, a young woman will rise up and kill you where you sit! She comes from Buttonwillow. A village on the outskirts of Juin," Millrot said with a distressed tone.
Millrot seemed more worried than Velcroy about all this. Velcroy was just thinking about what kind of apples were still in season. Something about the various reds, greens, and yellows an apple could take made Velcory happy. It was far better than all the oppressive darkness that was all around him.
"And," Velcroy asked as he contemplated which town hadn't been destroyed that could have an apple so red that it would be called a ruby by mistake.
"And..." Millrot started, "... and the village is small and tiny?"
Velcroy waved his hand, "I don't care about size or length of the town-,"
"Village, sir," Millrot corrected.
Velcroy allowed the interruption. Millrot had always been good at those little pesky things called labels and facts. All Velcroy wanted to do was garden and sleep. However, someone would have to be the everlasting king of darkness. Well, more like the kingdom of Yin had just assumed he was.
That's what he got for being the son of the previous king of everlasting darkness. However, his father’s darkness didn't seem quite everlasting. So why should Velcroy’s?
"Yes, yes the village. I don't care about the thing. Why should I?"
Millrot gave Velcroy a puzzled look. "It's... it's where the hero of light will come from... my king."
Velcroy placed his finger on his chin. It looked to Millrot that he was thinking about something.
"Do you think they have tasty apples in Buttonwillow?"
The question blindsided Millrot. He didn't know why Velcroy would be thinking about apples at that moment or why the king thought it appropriate to ask about them.
"I... I would suppose? But King! This is a life or death situation! If you don't destroy the village then the hero will come and will destroy the reign of eternal night!"
Velcroy shook his head and gave the slime man a surprised look. "Excuse me, but who said anything about destroying the village? We, by all means, should not do that."
Millrot's shoulders tensed. He didn't know what had happened to the king. Millrot could remember beck when Velcroy was a little child that loved all the torturing, pain, and torment his father did to his enemies. Then Velcroy went through his... teenage years as the humans called it.
Now he was going on and on about apples, bananas, and even mangoes? Who would want to have that?
"But, your malevolence, we need to destroy the hero before they become strong enough to kill us."
Velcroy wasn't even listening. He was giving a longing look to the hallway that would empty out into a kitchen. He figured some fruits might be there. He loved how sweet they tasted. Much better than the bland meats and flesh they always had here.
"Sir!" Millrot had raised his voice out of panic and not anger. He needed Velcroy to understand what was happening.
"Oh! Oh yes, yes. We can't destroy the village. If we do that then the hero will surely kill us. Remember what had happened to my father ," Velcroy said. Then his thoughts slipped back into how hard it was to grow anything here in these accursed lands. It seemed that ritual blood sacrifices made the lands not the most fertile place to plant fruit trees.
The humans had it so easy with their nice lands and their clean rivers. Velcroy's father had murdered so many that the rivers even ran red with blood now. Horrible for apples.
Millrot, however, wanted his young lord to understand the horrors that could befall them if he didn't destroy the town.
"Please, my cruelness, we need to destroy them. That's what your father would do. That's what you should do as well."
Velcroy just sighed a long sigh. He even rolled his head to add some extra drama to the display.
"Destroy this, destroy that. Kill this, murder that. That's all I hear from you Millrot." Velcroy was sick of it. He wanted to make something. He wanted to grow and nourish something for once in his life rather than take it away. He would have preferred to build something in Buttonwillow rather than raze it.
However, Millrot nodded at what the king said. Destroying and murder was the bread and butter of being a king of everlasting darkness. Not apples and jams. Only humans enjoyed that stuff anyway.
Velcroy should be pillaging, razing, sacrificing. Not trying to grow a garden in the middle of desolation.
Millrot was going to try one more thing, but then the king of darkness leapt out of his chair. With a smile on his face. "Say! You know how we have been doing all this destroying back when my father was around?"
Millrot gave the king a suspicious look. Velcroy never looked that happy while talking about destruction.
"Yes, what about it my evilness?"
Velcroy threw his hands up in the air like he had a surprise. "How about instead of destroying we could make something! Like we could build new roads, maybe a house or two, or a school... or a fruit farm," Velcroy snuck that last bit under his breath.
Millrot looked flabbergasted. In all his decades of serving dark lords, this was the first one that had ever said something this ridiculous.
"We will not be building anything for the humans! That would go ag..." Millrot then went on a tirade how un-evily it would be to help the humans.
However, Millrot didn't expect in two years to be standing at Buttonwillow Academy, home of the chosen and school for the brilliant.
He also didn't know that he would be the vice principal there.
He also didn't know that Velcroy would be the headteacher, the principal, and the gardener.
Somehow, Velcroy had managed to improve all parts of Buttonwillow and the surrounding areas.
Velcroy smiled as he saw the world get a little brighter now. He even started a new tradition with his first generation of students.
"Now children, an apple a day keeps the darkness away," he would exclaim in class as each and every student would come with all sorts of apples. Each one of the apples was some kind of red, or green, or even yellow. Velcroy had even managed to make his own strain here in Buttonwillow. A wonderful new pink apple that tasted better than it sounded.
Yet, neither Millrot nor Velcroy knew how well they both had been tricked.
The Sightseer's granddaughter lived in Buttonwillow. The Sightseer smiled to herself when the school had an fruit festival to showcase the new wonderous breeds of apples, bananas, and even mangoes that were growing there now.
The Sightseer bit into a pink apple and thought to herself something that would make any scheming dark lord proud.
*All according to plan.*
___
If you would like to read more of my stories, then they are here at r/WritingKnightly!
| 2021-01-14T19:53:04
| 2021-01-14T18:52:56
| 417
| 292
|
[WP] Write a poem to make me uncomfortable.
|
I'm all packed
With heavy bags
And yet my luggage
Has no tags
My ticket small
and silver-lined
It's coolest touch
Is on my mind
Exhilaration
now takes hold
Never normal
No fitting mold
Departure time
Is very near
Peace and calm
No hint of fear
Leaving now
With no regret
No goodbyes
or looming debt
Fade away
Leave the cruel
Sweet release
of the trigger pull.
|
Skipping high happy and gay;
Oh goodness me, what a glorious day!;
I bring her along, tailing by hand;
We journey far and wide across the Unknown Land;
The sights and the stares she brings to our point;
They cannot believe our mysterious joint!;
No one has seen us before, but we've seen them all;
No one loves her but me, my beautiful flesh doll.
| 2016-06-15T07:02:58
| 2016-06-15T06:46:51
| 20
| 15
|
[WP] English really is a universal language, and aliens are as surprised about this as humans
|
> ℏ=1.05•10⁻³⁴ kg•m²•s⁻¹
> c=2.998•10⁸ m•s⁻¹
“This is pointless,” Arthur spat. “There’s no reason to believe that the Venusians would understand this.”
“Do you have a better idea?” Mark sighed. “If we start with the fundamentals, we can work to common ground.”
> μ₀=1.26•10⁻⁶ kg•m•s⁻²•A⁻²
> ε₀=8.85•10⁻¹² s⁴•A²•kg⁻¹•m⁻³
“Why do you assume their base units are the same?” Arthur was about ready to throw the computer across the room. “Our definition of the meter, the kilogram, all of it — arbitrary! We started with a meter that fit well with measuring between cities, and to be more scientific we came up with a definition of that same length that fits with fundamentals. Maybe they use natural units.”
“Maybe something unitless then?” Mark continued typing into the IRC.
> π=3.14159
> e=2.71828
> α=7.29927•10⁻³
> N=6.02214•10²³
> β=1836
“Maybe? I mean, even base 10 is arbitrary based on our having ten phalanges. Maybe your theoretical alien civilization has only four fingers in each hand. Maybe they have seven.”
Mark sighed in frustration. “Forget this.” Mostly as a joke, he typed:
> Do you read English?
“Should we call it a day?” Arthur asked.
> How do you speak English?
Mark paused. “No, I think we’ll be here for a while.”
|
James takes his first steps on the red sand. It is cold, dry, barren. The desert stretches as far as the eye can see, and then farther, a blanket of wind-swept ruin. The ship hums as it powers down, but the desert is silent; the only sounds are the whispers of the wind.
Here, buried beneath the sand, are the last of the progenitors.
James knows this as much as he knows he is alone, stranded with not enough fuel, stranded without coms or cryo pods or such luxuries of survival. There was a meteor. Sensors didn’t pick it up. Sensor’s didn’t notice when it sliced through the hull with a can opener, shredding the life support unit like so much silver confetti.
He was crashing, burning, the ship spiraling towards something unknown—a barren planet where none should exist.
He watched the desert fill the viewport as the ship crashed down and chills filled him. The world was ancient. The world was wrong: it didn’t belong here, in this quadrant of space. It was something primal and ancient and powerful, and he fears it, an instinct response ingrained and kept for millennia.
*Fear what lies beneath,* the sand seems to say.
James walks ten paces in the sand and thinks of home. Of firecrackers on steel floors, of milk made from replicators, of sliced cake with whipped strawberry. He thinks of the taste of strawberries on her lips, the sun burning red behind them as they gazed through the porthole window, gazed into each other's eyes.
*It’s funny,* he thinks, w*hat runs through the mind in these moments.* Memories shake loose like salt. He stares out at the impassible desert expanse before him. The memories vanish.
He grips the canister on his belt. Clicks it loose. He unscrews the cap in slow, deliberate motions. Inside is a picture, an old polaroid photograph, something on an antique. She loved that. She collected little artifacts from the human race, calling them her precious *“Amorcitos.”* The word was foreign, but James knew it was universal. Her touch was foreign, but her smile was universal. And the look in her eyes when she moved close, crossed barriers, a language meant nothing, but the moment was universal.
“Smile for me,” she said, clicking the polaroid to the background of dying star.
He takes another ten paces and turns back towards the ship. It doesn’t look good. Smoke trails in gentle whips and taints the desert wind.
“Shit, Elise,” he says, “It wasn’t meant to be here. But I’ve got no choice.”
She would have liked the sand. He knows this, as he digs down with his webbed fins, scooping cold craters in forgotten soil. She would have loved it here.
He remembers the sweet of music as they danced to an old rhythm. *Jazz,* she said, *Sinatra,* and the words meant nothing, but he knew them regardless. The old phonograph crackled on the steel of the ship, footsteps tap-tapping to the beat, fingers twined.
In bed, looking out the porthole together as the Sun burned and Elise’s world burned with it.
“You would have loved it down there,” she told him. “A whole world filled with oceans, little reefs with coral and clownfish and color.” She is quiet, trying to hold back emotions, and what could he possibly say? Her world burned right in front of her eyes and now there was nothing left for her, no place for her to call home. She rolls to her side to try and hide the damp in her eyes, but James knows better; he can smell water.
She whispers, “You would have loved it.”
James hears it in the sound of the sand as he digs her grave on a foreign planet.
Six feet under. That was what she told him, one-hundred years ago, as she lay in the medical bay of James’s ship.
“You’re like a jellyfish,” she said, laughing. “You don’t get old. Not like us.”
James takes his hand between his, feels the wrinkles, remembers how they once were smooth and supple, twined with his, dancing to an old memory.
“I’m sorry,” James said, “That you couldn’t see it.”
“I wouldn’t have liked it much anyway,” she said, and James knows it was a lie she needed to tell him. “Not enough trees.”
They were fifty years from his home planet. James didn’t have a cryo pod. Too expensive. He tries to remember her instructions and follow them with a cool head. Six feet under, with the photograph, with memories.
“It’s not for me,” she told him at her last. “It’s for you. Remember that. Grieve. Cry. Do what you must. Then, dance one more time for me.”
James puts the photograph in the sand. Two feet under. But Elise wouldn’t mind; after all, this moment wasn’t for her. He scoops fresh sand over top and feels the grains grate against his skin, hears the wind whisper like the sound of memories.
He lives the moment as they dance on the cockpit of his ship, two-hundred years ago, and he remembers her laugh, the sound of wind chimes on fields of grass, the smell of cows and hay, the chipped paint of the farmhouse fence, the whine of the teleporter pad.
“Why did you save me?” she asked.
“I couldn’t let you go.”
Later that evening, the Sun burns, and their hearts burn with it.
Now, James stares at the grave and lets grains of sand trickle down like falling tears. He can’t cry. But if he could, he would not. Elise would have wanted that. No tears. Only memories.
The planet turns against a white-dwarf star. The star is ancient, powerful, and filled with memories. James was on a mission to find the source; the link between the progenitors. Somewhere in the vast array of space was the secret to something truly universal: a kind hand, a kiss, the rhythm of dance. Some things transcend species, language, time.
The sand screams out, “Fear what lies beneath,” but James disagrees.
Buried in the sand are memories and whispers. And the memories are sweet indeed. He stares up at a dwarf-star sun and glances between the sky, his soldering ship, the shallow grave beneath him. It is peaceful, quiet, the kind of place he could find the answers to his all questions. He searches for the truth.
The truth is a polaroid photograph buried in the desert.
*Who were the progenitors?*
*Why did they leave this world behind?*
*Where are they now?*
James knows it does not matter. He walks back to the ship, sand grating underfoot. He has minutes. The fire is already spreading from the engine and soon it will be critical. He can’t stop it. He doesn’t want to stop it.
Instead, he moves to the cockpit, where an antique phonograph collects dust. He grabs a record, the cool of plastic between his fingers, feeling the bumps and ridges. It is scratchy. The sound is crackling. The ship is crackling and groaning. *But that’s all right,* James thinks, *it’s just a memory.*
He lets go.
In the twilight of a forgotten desert, James dances.
​
***
More stories at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
| 2020-09-17T08:27:58
| 2020-09-17T07:33:07
| 2,499
| 246
|
[WP] At birth, everyone is given an object to protect that is tied directly to their life. If the object is damaged then the person is hurt, too. If the object is destroyed then the person dies.
|
Whenever a child is born, an elder divines the object that their soul joins with. It sets you out for life. It must always be with you. For once it is broken, your soul returns to the Wheel to be reborn.
My Father, he had a rock carving of a warrior. Big and strong, like the man he grew into.
My mother, a Diamond pendant. Beautiful with delicate craftsmanship.
For years I have protected mine.
Cared for it.
Preserved it.
Just to keep myself alive.
But its not living. Hiding away from the world. Fearful of the slightest gust of wind, the smallest of nudge from someone in a crowd.
In my youth I wrapped it up, safe and secure. Or so I thought.
I was a beautiful child. Fair of head, bright of eye. Always smiling.
So they told me.
But I was delicate. Brittle. I tripped on a rock in the middle of my village. A small fall for a child.
It left me broken. My arm will never be straight. It hangs, shrivelled and useless.
My soul cage had cracked.
I saw the look in my mothers eyes. Her and Father argued a lot. He was embarrassed of what they had produced. Me. She wanted to protect me from harm.
In the night we left. Just the two of us. Far we travelled. After the first accident, the pace slowed. With my now limp leg dragging behind me as my mother dragged me on, we stopped at the first cave we saw.
This would be our new home. She would always care for me, she said. I was her special boy.
That was years ago. She's gone. Not even the strongest soul cage can defy the reality of the mortal body.
Yet still I go on.
But no more. While I still have use of one hand, I will end it.
It sits on the rock. Glinting. It feels alive.
The small, cracked, delicate glass egg that has been the curse of my life.
My warped body didn't get the job done. It wasn't destroyed.
It rests against the tip of my nose. Taunting me. Almost gone, but just enough intact. Forever out of reach.
Of course that would have been too easy. I should have known.
3 days. It's been 3 days now. I can't so much as twitch. Just stare at the egg.
My only solace remaining is death from dehydration can not be far.
|
I was playing ultimate frisbee when I felt like I'd been punched in the face. A few seconds later, I felt another phantom punch to my gut, and I nearly passed out.
*What did you get yourself into this time, Jeremy?*
---
Let me back up for a moment. When we were born, Jeremy and I each had an avatar just like everyone else, but my mom did a bit of soul magic to combine mine and Jeremy's avatars into one.
Why? I don't know. Maybe she wanted us to be close like her and her sister never were. Or maybe she believed some weird superstition about twins, which is exactly what you'd expect from someone who actually did *soul magic* in this day and age. Ugh.
Either way, now whenever Jeremy goes off and does something stupid, our shared avatar gets damaged, which means **I** get hurt.
---
Ok, back to the present. "Kevin, call – argh! - call 911!"
Kevin had seen this enough times to know exactly what was going on. A few minutes after he dialed 911 an ambulance showed up. I was still getting "pummeled."
"Hi, yeah, my friend over here's in a lot of pain. I think he might have left his avatar in the washing machine again!"
The paramedic said something I couldn't quite make out.
"Oh yeah he has avatar insurance. Blue Cross, I think."
They hooked me up to an IV and I felt my mana starting to return. Now, I felt each "punch" less and less until there was virtually no pain. At this point Jeremy had almost definitely gained the upper hand in whatever idiotic bar fight he'd started.
---
One of these days, I'm going to find one of those soul magic weirdos and get them to decouple our avatars. And then Jeremy's finally gonna have to deal with not having me around to bail him out.
| 2015-04-18T01:19:14
| 2015-04-18T00:21:56
| 38
| 19
|
[WP] Write a story that makes absolutely no sense, until the last sentence.
|
"**OGRE**
Originally, gregarious reptiles evolved. Everyone voted on loyalty versions except Deuteronomy. Dandelions everywhere uttered tantric eulogies remonstrating Ozymandias's new orgone making yeomanry. Yet, everywhere on Mansland a new renaissance yammered. Yes ... armies met mightily, enduring retribution, enduring death. Deuteronomy exemplified a thieves hospitality. Hope ought solace people's innate tendencies, as love initiates terrible yearnings.
You expected answers regarding NOTHING, implying NOTHING, getting ... something.
Surely one might expect that he is not grandiose. Gentlemen roam around, nattering discourse, inane obsolescences, *secret* *entreaties*. Except not the restaurants, eateries are the inviolable exception strangely. Seven traditional raviolis are needed, girls everywhere **LOVE** yummies! Yet, unless my mother is elephantine, *secretly*. Strict epicurean codes regarding elephants take less yen.
YOU EXPECTED NOTHING!!!
Now ontotheological thoughts have invaded new greymatter. Generous readers experience yearnings made at the time everything reconstructed. Rational ego containment offers no safety to reduce usurious casualties, the ego disintegrates. Desensitization is science's ignoble new theory, even gardeners reading almanacs take exceptional strategies. Suddenly the real agency transcends egalitarian geopolitics in economic synergy.
Suddenly your NOTHING exist, reaching gingerly youward.
Your only utterance "what" acoustically reverberates disturbingly. Distracting images sleet turbulently, unrequited rage burns, insane need glows, love yawns. Your awareness weakens, nearly slumbering. Sentient lyrics use memory's backdoor eliciting REAL INSIGHT, not ghost. God has other spirits tethered. THIS EXISTENTIAL THREAD HAS ENERGIZED REALITY'S EXISTENTIAL DREAD!!
Deuteronomy ruined everything, accept death.
Death exist across the heavens. Hell eagerly awaits various "ethical" nuclear scientist. Society CAN invent entire new techniques in *spiritual* torture. The **only** route that uses recycled **urine**! Urgent reading is not encouraged. Enlightenment needs courage of unusual regard, a "gentleman" exceeds demand. "DEATH" exist mainly as Nature's defender.
Does every Fool expect NOTHING despite endless **RICHES** ?"
Professor Qualcott laid down the dense thick tome and regarded once again his audience. Slowly, with the measured pace of a penitent priest, he began to load his pipe with aromatic tobacco. "Are there any questions" he asked before striking a match.
"How many books of this are there?" floated from the assembled.
"At this time there are in print only eighty six volumes of Angelic Messages retrieved from a randomly chosen word" replied the professor's voice from a cloud of blue grey smoke. "You have heard the entirety of page one from volume one, certainly there are more questions"
The gathered students looked among themselves with confused and pensive eyes. "Just one your Lordship" a voice called from the balcony, "what method of divination has led you to these insights sir?"
With a smile, Professor Qualcott adjusted his posture such that the nearby reading lamp cast his features in what he believed to be a "heroic" light. "It occurred to me that the Heavenly Host could hide their communiques in plain sight if they used a compression scheme built around the natural structure of words". Leaning forward, no longer concerned with appearances as he gave into his glee at finally sharing his life's work. "It's staggeringly simple, Divinely Elegant one might even say ... though I make no claim to its perfection, I am only a humble discoverer, much as the gentlemen who send specimens to the University from far and exotic locales".
Mindful once more, he leans back and tamps his pipe. "Simply put, every sentence is a de-compression of the acronym used as the last word in the previous sentence, starting with the word Ogre".
|
He.
She.
Even do what be more like.
Yet standing tall.
Amongst it all.
To be more than it is not.
Why would one.
Eeven be, attempt to.
Try do what more like others.
So reach out.
And try to be normal.
Even being, no more like doing as others.
And take your damn meds.
| 2015-06-13T03:09:05
| 2015-06-12T21:37:52
| 33
| 18
|
[WP] John can see 10 seconds in to the future. Barry can go back in time 10 seconds. They fight.
|
"Seriously?" Barry asked.
"Fuck you!" John screamed. He saw the future clearly. Barry turned and ran then disappeared. John's rage carried him forward along his inevitable path. What good was seeing the future when you couldn't change it. I mean it is the future not some vision of what might be if you choose the same thing and all that. People didn't understand. Time travel was possible. Barry was well known for it, and while John's powers were more or less known they didn't do any good.
Closed time like curves by their very nature are written in stone. The fantasies about changing the future are just that. Even Barry's belief that he could change things was bullshit, as evidenced by the bullet John saw shattered the glass and piercing the heart of his future self.
"I kill you here. I can see it." John said as he leapt forward and knocked Barry to the ground.
Their was real fear on Barry's face. He truly believed John saw his death. He raised the knife then looked out the window to a Barry shaped body on the building opposite.
The window exploded as he lurched forward with the knife coming down on the spot where Barry had just been before blinking off ten seconds into the past, then ten more, then ten more. The man would be exhausted, have a find a rifle and ammo and set up across the way. The good news though, John though as his vision blurred around the edge, was the man would still believe he could change the future. He wouldn't live in the tortured confines of the truth. The universe was a big machine, paths laid out long before someone was born, choices based solely on the chemical makeup of a brain and previous events. And since all previous events were based on physics or other brains which operated on the same rules, the universe was nothing more than a big wind up clock, ticking away as entropy bled it of heat.
This was it. His powers were turning black at the ten second mark, now the nine, he couldn't see the future past there because he was no longer part of it. he smiled as he waited for the darkness.
|
John Watson's parents were doctors. His mom was a cardiologist and his dad was a urologist. They often worked late, and when their on-call schedules collided, John had to spend his afternoons with Mr. Olsen, the nice old man next door. Mr. Olsen helped John with his homework and baked the most delicious cookies. And best of all, Mr. Olsen regaled him with ridiculous stories of adventures that almost certainly weren't true.
One day, Mr. Olsen showed John something more fantastical than usual. "Close your eyes, John."
John closed his eyes.
"What do you see?" asked Mr. Olsen.
"Uh, nothing, *obviously*," said John.
"Try harder. Really concentrate," said Mr. Olsen.
"Huh, that's weird," said John.
"What is it?"
"I see the room we're in. I see the TV. Looks like some movie. *Whoa!* Someone just got shot," said John.
"Now open your eyes," said Mr. Olsen.
John opened his eyes. While they'd been closed, Mr. Olsen had turned on the television and kept it muted. About ten seconds later, John saw the same scene he'd seen in his head unfold on-screen.
"How did you do that?" asked John.
"I didn't do it, John. You did," said Mr. Olsen, smiling. "You can see the future."
---
Over the next few years, Mr. Olsen worked with John to hone his gift. As John's skills improved, Mr. Olsen's mind seemed to deteriorate. He frequently forgot things that had already happened, which was understandable, given his age. Despite Mr. Olsen's declining mental faculties, he seemed to be getting in better physical shape, somehow.
When John was fifteen, his parents both died in a car crash. John was halfway across the city and hadn't been able to see it coming. He went to his mentor's house, but found that Mr. Olsen was gone. Being abandoned by the three most important people in his life simultaneously sent John along a dark path.
John dropped out of high school a year later and made his way to Las Vegas. Despite perfectly being able to predict the results of Roulette games and poker hands, he squandered whatever money he won in a variety of self-destructive ways. Drugs, alcohol, other things.
He eventually found himself in the employ of the mob. He acted as a watchdog who could predict dangerous situations just in time. And sometimes, he helped create some of those dangerous situations himself.
---
"That's ridiculous," said Barry Olsen.
"Any more ridiculous than being able to leap back in time by ten seconds?" asked the police chief.
"You're telling me this guy can *see the future*? And he's just some small-time mob guy?" asked Barry. "He should be raking in millions on Wall Street!"
"Well, all I know is what our informant says," said the chief. He smiled. "You jealous?"
"Of a psychic? Or precog, or whatever you call it? Hell yeah I'm jealous," said Barry. "But I'll stop him."
Barry Olsen had worked for the city police department for nearly thirty years. He was, until John, the only known parahuman. He could teleport back in time by exactly ten seconds, and after recharging for another second, he could go back again.
---
Tracking down John hadn't been difficult. Barry and John met in an empty parking lot.
"John Watson. I know who you are and what you can do," said Barry. "All I want to do is talk."
"Who the–" John began to talk but stopped. His eyes went wide and he started looking around frantically. Ten seconds later, he started coughing up blood. Then he was dead.
Barry was confused. He inspected John's body. No visible wounds.
---
The autopsy results were strange. At some point, John had swallowed a non-digestible capsule containing a lethal amount of polonium-210. The capsule had somehow been on a timer, and when it opened, John died almost instantly.
Inside the capsule was a note addressed to Barry. He read it and knew what he had to do.
Barry leapt back in time ten seconds. He waited a second, and did it again. And again.
---
After millions of leaps, Barry was tired. He had to wait a second to recharge between leaps, and his body continued to age the whole time. He'd gone back in time several years. The recharge times plus the times he had to stop and eat or sleep had taken a toll on his body. He was nearly sixty in biological age.
He decided to stop and see what John had been up to in John's teenage years. He visited the house where his reports said John had grown up. Barry watched a bus pull up down the street and saw a much younger John file off. To his surprise, John noticed him immediately.
"Mr. Olsen," said John. He smiled. "You know you don't have to babysit me anymore these days, right?"
"I–what?" asked Barry.
John's smile disappeared. Mr. Olsen's memory wasn't what it used to be.
---
Barry was surprised that John seemed to know him. He quickly realized that past/future Barry had forged a friendship with the boy. When Barry leapt back in time, he would often stop and spend afternoons with John, helping John hone his abilities.
One day, Barry taught John that he could see into the future.
The day before that, John hadn't yet learned how to see into the future. Barry could finally be certain that John couldn't see what was coming next.
John was munching down cookies at Mr. Olsen's house.
"Yuck!" said John.
"What is it?" asked Barry.
"There was a pebble or something in this cookie," said John. "But I swallowed it already. Can I have a glass of water?"
"Sure," said Barry.
The pebble was actually a capsule. Barry had written a note to his past/future self and embedded into a time-release capsule that would stay sealed for at least the next two decades. He filled it with a lethal dose of Polonium-210, embedded it in a cookie, and fed it to John. Twenty years later, John died.
| 2015-06-05T08:16:23
| 2015-06-05T07:58:25
| 62
| 37
|
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
"28 today," you say to yourself looking in the mirror. Of course you know today is your birthday today, but it also helps that while looking at the mirror you noticed the number above your head changed from the [27] you saw yesterday.
You leave to go to the liquor store to pick up some booze and celebrate. While in line you see this scrawny kid two prople ahead of you. He looks really nervous, you laugj yo youself when you figure out why as you look above his head. [17]. The kid gets to the counter, hands the clerk his "ID," who says that he better run before he calls the police. The kid scurries away.
It's always been a gift of yours to be able to see the age of people. Thanks to your gift it was pretty simple to find a job befitting of it to get out of doing some actual work. What better fit that a bouncer for a bar. Besides this gift you were also gifted with size, 6'6 and 300 lbs was another big help when applying to be a bouncer.
With your secret ability you became well known in town as THE bouncer. Sure you looked at ID's of anyone over 21, just to keep up appearences, but anyone you saw abover their head <21 you wouldn't even ask em for ID's you'd just laugh and tell them to leave.
After a nice day drinking with friends you were unfortunately scheduled to work. Luckily things are going very smooth this night, no one <21. A couple hours pass and way down the line you see [31], [33], [11], [34], and you think to yourself, "seriously, someone is trying to bring their kid into this bar? Some people." In your state there is a bery clear law disallowing children to be in a bar unless it's a bar/restaurant, which your place was most certainly not.
The line moves on and on and you get more annoyed prepping to confront this family. As they get closer you see the something is a miss. The [11] is just as tall if not taller than the other numbers you see. You can't quite see the kids face but you assume he's either a really lanky kid or he's getting a piggy back ride from daddy. You think the latter is more likely because the [11] is very close to the [34].
When the "kid" makes it to you your jaw drops. Standing in front of you was a man, dressed in sharp suit and nearly as tall as you, maybe 6'4. Above his head read [11....34].....[1134]. The silence of your stare was then broken, "You alright buddy?" You snap back to your senses, "yeah sorry about that, may I see your ID." The man gives you his ID and it clearly shows "34," you hold his ID for a while again your mind questioning what you saw. Never before have you doubted your powers, could they be off for once? Maybe the booze from earlier is still running its course, but I feel fine. Also I've never had a problem with the accuracy of my ability before when I've been drunk. Also I've read everyone elses accurately tonight as you always check ID's anyw...
"You know I'm lying about my age on there, don't you?" The man said snapping you out your train of thought. He takes his ID and goes to walk past you away from the entrance. As he passes you he whispers in your ear, "[1134] is right, meet me out back and I'll explain everything," and with that he leaves you mouth agape walking away down the alley next to the bar.
You stand there for a sec frozen by what he said until the next guy says, "buddy you alright?"
"No, sorry," and with that you page for someone to switch you out for a break. Your friend comes out and you go on your break. You go down the alleyway and popout behind the bar. Back there you see the only person there, the man in the trench coat.
"Glad you showed up."
The man steps closer to you and extends his bare hand for a handshake. You look down and nervously reach out to meet his. You grip his hand and he grips yours, only he keeps squeezing, harder, and harder. Your a big guy you're not about the be intimidated in a strength contest, and you start squeezing back. The man doesn't flinch and he begins squeeze even harder, he begins crushing your hand, it's your complete loss as you fall to your knees you hand limp yet still in this man's machine like hand. He eventually lets go and you bring your throbbing hand to your chest clutching it due to the pain of broken bones.
"What are you?" You say through gritted teeth. The man crouches down to meet your gaze.
"The name's Egan, seeing the numbers are just the start of your abilities. Why do you think you would be able to see them?"
He pauses, as if looking for a response to his rhetorical question. Obviously you don't know why you were given this power.
Breaking the silence Egan says softly, "It's because you also have the ability to take theirs. Come with me and I'll teach you to become a god among mortals."
With that Egan stands up and reaches out his left hand to you. You take it and stand up, your life changed forever.
|
Part One
I got fired last week for the 9th time this year.
I don't always mean to run my mouth, but when I do, it sprints. This time, it wasn't even my fault (initially, anyway); if only that dumb fucking Russian bartender would have kept his mouth shut. Oh well... No sense crying over spilled martinis.
It's not hard, finding a gig as a bouncer, especially in cities. After my fourth attempt at holding my tongue (and fists) at a new bar, I bought a camping van off some poor prick who needed the cash to pay for his divorce. Being essentially unhireable makes for a great old-fashioned, transient lifestyle.
A few weeks go by before I start to run out of money. I begin scrolling through ads online, keeping my eyes peeled for job opportunities, but by now word has gotten around about how I told the owner of the last joint to go fuck his hot daughter. Soon, I find myself looking for gigs in the next state over.
Part Two
I don't even look at people beyond their waist anymore, which especially annoys bigger women. Knowing someone's age is like having transparency goggles: you see right through their bull shit. It's great, for professional purposes, but it's put a serious damper on my personal life.
Occasionally, I do look up. If a girl smells good; if a man's voice is resilient and kind. These times are few and far between, but they happen. Like this morning, at a local coffee shop.
"Excuse me?"
I looked at the woman's waist. "Yes?" I ask, keeping my head low.
"Are you looking for work as a bouncer?"
What the hell? I look up at the girl with the raspy voice. She's got on heavy black eyeliner and full, plump dick-sucking lips. My gift indicates to me that she is 26 years old. We make eye contact, and I realize that this girl is drop-dead gorgeous.
She points gently at the stack of potential work ads I've collected and printed out. I feel stupid. I ignore her and get back to scrolling on my phone.
She stands there a while, both of us uncomfortably silent. Finally, she slides a piece of paper on the table. "In case you're interested," she says, and walks away.
I look at the paper. It reads:
Madame Bijou's
55 Walker Street
9pm, don't be late.
Part Three
8:55pm. Fuck, I'm early.
Madame Bijou's is located in a very popular part of the city, in an alley off to the side. It gives off a speak-easy type of vibe, perfect for those of us who don't enjoy teeny-boppers getting too drunk before 10pm. Perfect for me, makes my job easy.
I haven't seen the girl from the coffee shop, but a Stevie Nicks chain-smoking woman who looks just like her approaches me at 9pm sharp. "Make it to 1:55am and I'll pay you $100," she says, pointing at the bar stool next to the door, and walks off. Her age indicates that she's 64.
The night starts slow, but picks up around 11. I have not seen the girl from the coffee shop, or the older hippie woman.
Around 12am, I kick out some drunk Marines for being douche bags. Around 12:30am, I deny my first group of underagers. Their IDs look exactly like McLovin's.
1:29am comes around, and the whole place empties out, almost like clockwork. Strange, since bars don't close until 2am. I peek my head inside the club, and I see the bartender wiping down the bar top.
1:39am, I close the door behind me as I walk inside.
The bartender is 41. "I'd offer to get you a drink, mate, but we have to be out of her by 1:55am." I don't make eye contact with him as he says this.
"I heard. Why not 2am?" I ask, keeping my eyes on the floor. I can hear the bartender smirking. "You don't want to know."
He heads out around 1:49am, but I still haven't seen Stevie Nicks. She sure as shit better pay me for tonight. I wait patiently, and at 1:55am, she emerges. She seems to be in a hurry.
She ushers me out of the bar and hands me a $100 bill. "See you tomorrow, pretty boy?" She asks, turning the lock on the bar door.
"Suppose so, Madame Bijou," I say to her. She forces eye contact with me, her smile fading. She checks her watch, sighs, and leans closer to me. She whispers: "get out of here before 2am," and walks in the other direction.
Now I have to know what this is all about.
1:56am.
1:57am.
1:58am.
1:59am.
I guess I expected some sort of apocalypse at 2:00am. When nothing happened immediately, I laughed at myself for being so foolish as to believe in the superstitions of people I had just met. I looked at my watch, which read 2:01am, and began to make my way towards the van.
I took one last glance at Madame Bijou's, and there she was. On the other side of the glass was Madame Bijou, flashing her rotten teeth at me, her wispy gray hair flowing down to her knees. Her age read 3,378.
Somehow, she reached her hand through the glass and pulled me into total darkness. "HELLO??" I shouted, reaching for anything I could touch, so terrified I pissed myself a little. I began to hear footsteps coming toward me.
"WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK," I panicked, still reaching into nothingness for something to grab onto. The footsteps got closer.
"You were warned," said a voice somewhere in the hollow space around me. Suddenly, a bunch of numbers started to appear at once. 4,707; 2,856; 5,302. I kicked and screamed, until I felt like I could no longer breathe.
I woke up the next morning in my bed, with teeth marks covering my entire body.
| 2017-09-01T22:57:39
| 2017-09-01T22:06:04
| 247
| 38
|
[WP] The only place to eat for miles is the Asian restaurant attached to the gas station. The food is great, but their fortune cookies always come true.
|
The gas station had a surprising number of signs showing that tickets for large lottery wins had been purchased there. Jane glanced at the signs as she dragged her nine year old daughter Kaitlin through the door and straight into the restroom to pee. It had been a long road trip. She didn’t dare look up at the man at the cash register to avoid the glare of someone expecting a purchase.
“Mom, buy a lotto ticket.” Kaitlin yelled for the fourth time as they washed their hands.
“Honey, the lotto is a scam.” Jane calmly explained back. “The chances of winning are small. You’re better off saving your money and investing it or even spending it on something more fun.”
“But all those other people won! They had at least six people who won over a million dollars here! We could buy back our house. I could go back to my old school.” Jane’s daughter was already spending her lotto money in her head.
It hadn’t been easy after the divorce. Jane had gotten custody of her daughter and the house, but then lost the house in a foreclosure. They had shuttled between living with Jane’s sister and her college roommate, taking up odd jobs to pay the bills. She knew Kaitlin wanted to go home, but home wasn’t an option any more.
“Just grab a candy bar and let’s go honey.” Jane pleaded with her daughter.
“But mom, they have drunken noodles.” Kaitlin had always loved spicy food, even as a baby. Jane thought about her credit card limit for a moment and realized that the splurge was probably worth it for the psychological boost.
Kaitlin said the drunken noodles were delicious. The General Tso’s chicken was some of the best Jane had ever had.
As they finished their meal, the waitress brought the check and two fortune cookies.
Jane didn’t even want to glance at the total as she dug her card out of her purse and dropped it on the tray. Her daughter cracked open her dessert and yelled, “Ok mom, how did you pull this off?”
“What honey?”
“My fortune cookie!”
Jane read her daughter’s fortune: *“You’ll never win a large lottery jackpot. Don’t waste your money.”*
“That’s one smart cookie!” Jane commented. “I guess I should open my own.”
Jane cracked open her cookie, read the fortune, and her face dropped.
Kaitlin asked, “What’s wrong mom?”
Jane struggled to hold back tears. “Nothing honey. It just reminds me how much I love my daughter. And I do. Let’s get out of here.” Jane tore up the fortune into small pieces, threw out her garbage, and headed back to the car. “We need to hit the road to be in Westbrook by sundown. We don’t want to drive a night with all the deer around.”
Jane buckled in her daughter, started the car, pulled out of the gas station lot, and headed down the highway. Yet she couldn’t shake the image of her fortune. She knew it was true.
*“Buy a large life insurance policy before you see a doctor about that lump. There is nothing you can do for yourself, but your daughter will be far better off. She’ll never waste it on the lottery.”*
|
It was obviously a Pizza Hut. Or well it used to be. Hadn’t actually served a slice of pizza in a decade, but the stylized awning rooted its place in history. Since then had been a carpet store, a Chinese restaurant, an Irish Pub and now home to a bike repair shop. Placed just off the interstate next to a Shell gas station, the original owner hoped the road weary travelers would make the unwise decision to scarf down several greasy pizzas before squeezing back into their over packed station wagons.
It was the sole source of income for a man named Larry Winters. Who had just come into an inheritance, and upon looking at either a new Ferrari or Speed Boat made the more reasonable decision to open a Pizza Hut franchise instead. In 2004 the northern terminus of I-65 which had connected only with I-94 was extended by 1/8th mile to now end at I-90. That one-furlong addition was a prime spot for infrastructure development. Or so Larry had assumed. He sat in his new manager’s chair, surrounded by the best investment he had ever made. The smell of Stuffed Crust Pizza ^^TM wafting in the air. He should have just bought the Ferrari.
It didn’t take even 10 months for Larry to declare bankruptcy, vastly overestimating the demand that an eighth mile extension would bring. Well that and the fact that 18 other investors had built fast food places all within a few blocks. And you know, of course not that many people are super keen on stopping off in Gary, Indiana. And I mean, now that I think of it, maybe he really just didn’t have the business acumen to run a store of any kind. His love for giving free food to regulars maybe a philanthropic endeavor, didn’t lead to profits.
After lying dormant for nearly a year, the greasy stains on the walls now fully incorporated into graffiti and in disrepair, a couple recent college graduates, in an effort to advertise to the rising ages of the Gen X crowd and their love for nostalgia, opened up a carpet store that only sold variants of shag carpet. Well overinvesting in anything pea green and mustard yellow, trying desperately to bring back the childhoods of anyone born in the 70s. An innuendo filled name, Shag-O-Rama, a giant neon sign illuminating the nearly empty parking lot.
I’m not sure if it was an act of God or just the universe’s way of reminding us all that we have less control over our lives than we think we do. Either way, Shag-O-Rama for a very brief amount of time became profitable and managed to survive for three years. And a pizza place could only last ten months. And people fucking love pizza. Though I suppose it’s not fair to judge people’s mid 2000’s carpet preferences. Even if shag carpet is disgusting in every way imaginable. The owners eventually moving to a larger store in 2008. I do take solace in the fact that they were crushed by the recession. But I try not to let my bias show.
Eventually a Chinese restaurant went into the building. One of the few recession proof industries. American’s love for food designed entirely for them, resembling almost nothing of its roots. General Tso most likely a gross malapropism for something so far from authentic. But I mean, General Tso’s chicken is delicious. So I suppose I can let it slide. A restaurant with a gimmick, specially placed fortunes in the cookies, little surprises hidden so that they would immediately become true. “You will soon find yourself in great wealth.” And the server would hide behind you, throwing a giant wad of fake money into the air, raining down on you.
It makes me sad to think that the owners of the restaurant didn’t make a fortune. Coming up with a way to appeal to just about every sentiment of America, this desire to believe that we come from this place of grand tolerance, this desire to want instant gratification. But to get all of it for less than twenty bucks, of course. By 2012 with a recovering economy, the restaurant was bought out by a generic Irish Pub. The kind of place where the servers are all women wearing skimpy clothes. The final sales details undisclosed. But I hope it was for a ton of money.
I suppose in retrospect the failure of the pub wasn’t particularly unexpected. I don’t think anywhere in the country these kinds of places last longer than three years. The kind of place that makes Applebee’s look like it deserves a Michelin star. Where you can get an Irish Car-bomb served by a woman in a revealing leprechaun costume attempting and failing at an accent. Whose clientele exists entirely on the backs of investment brokers at lunch and old men eating alone, hoping that flirting this time might actually work. Slicked back hair and a half bottle of cologne not quite doing the trick.
A few months ago a bike shop opened. Initially a place that seemed like it might have legs, focusing on an increasingly common form of transportation. Something that will inevitably break, and for most require a specialist to repair. Though I have doubts as well. You might call it the curse of the Pizza Hut. Its ghost haunting every business that tries to take over its hallowed walls. Though I’m more convinced on the idea that the types of people who actively are excited about the prospect of retrofitting a relic are burdened by an unobtainable sense of nostalgia.
So it didn’t particularly phase me when I learned that the bike shop would exclusively sell Penny-Farthings, unicycles and fixed gear bicycles. But hey it still seems to be going strong. The parking lot is pretty full most days. I suppose I shouldn't judge. It’s just a place after all. Sandwiched between two busy highways. And occasionally people will see the awning off in the distance, ask their kids if they want some pizza and pull into the parking lot to a bunch of people juggling on their unicycles.
| 2016-09-07T13:29:14
| 2016-09-07T10:47:10
| 53
| 14
|
[WP] "Checkmate," you say, a smug expression on your face. "Finally," says Death. The smirk is wiped off your face as the Grim Reaper removes his robe and hands you his scythe, "It's been 400 years since I beat the last guy."
|
Sitting on two chairs made of cold stone in a cold infinite desert of pale grey sand, were two figures. One was the tall handsome fellow with the smirk, me. The other was clad in black robes woven directly from the raw entropy of the end of the universe, with a skeletal grin, DEATH. Between us, stood a chessboard. Craved from bone were the pieces. Bone-white for him, red-black for me. An advantage, I might add, for him.
We were playing for the usual stakes, well, usual for DEATH anyway. My soul, either in freedom to live on, or to pass into the dark realms and walk the misty paths that come once we leave the mortal coil behind. Perhaps we had been playing since time began, perhaps the game had just started. For this place, this icy desert, lies beyond the reaches of time as we understand it.
At long last, after sacrificing many pieces, after nearly getting caught countless times, I, with triumph, declared checkmate. Shah mat, as the Persians would have said it originally; the king is helpless. DEATH looked over the pieces, noting that indeed, should he move his king, my rook would take it. Slowly, DEATH lifted his head an started at me. I stared back with an expression of smug victory. I had beaten DEATH itself, something that few, if any, can boast of.
He shrugged. ''**Finally.**'' He said. He took off his robe, revealing a pale, thin man of vaguely nordic heritage, wearing 17th century raiment, reminiscent of the sort worn by noblemen. He handed me the robe, neatly folded up in a bundle, and his monstrous scythe. ''**It has been more than 400 long years since I defeated DEATH in a game of chess. The rules are simple. You cannot escape your own death, except if you beat the current death in a game of skill. I beat the previous holder of this title, as he did not know the rules. He had won against DEATH by playing something called Patolli.**''
He smiled at me, as my own smirk faded quickly. ''**Thank you. I go now to be at rest.**'' His form dissipated, leaving me alone in the desert. In that cold cold desert. Where there is no light but the distant stars. From the scythe and robes, I felt such a terrible compulsion. To wear the robe, to wield the scythe. And before I knew it, I stood before a mortal soul, in a hospital room filled with crying people. An old woman was waving her goodbyes, and telling her family how much she loved them. I felt something brush against my chest, and I pulled out from beneath the robes a small pocket watch, telling me how much time she had left. I stared at it, as she was given her newborn granddaughter to hold. And I let the watch ring, just for long enough. Long enough for her to meet the baby.
Even then I cursed my own skill, as I swung the scythe, releasing her immortal soul into the realm of DEATH. I was surprised to her myself, as words came into my head. And from there, out of my now skeletal mouth. ''**Be not afraid. The pain has passed.**'' The old woman, stared at her weeping relatives, and back up at me. ''*You took your time, love. Thank you. Got to say goodbye.*'' I reached out my hand, and she gently grasped it, I lead her back into the desert, and onward to her destination. Perhaps I could do some good as DEATH. Shine up my soul a little. Perhaps I would not have to fear what would come for me next then.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
|
"it's roomy!" You explain to your girlfriend when she asks why you've been wearing nothing but a black robe for the last 3 weeks.
"Yea..well, it stinks!" She did have a point, collecting souls for the underworld did take it's toll on the old hygiene front.
At first she didn't notice, that I was somewhat more gaunt, that I didn't sleep at all. Over time though, the signs did add up and she knew something was wrong.
"You don't cook meat anymore!" I was scared to touch it. Although it was already dead, I'd had a mishap involving the neighbours cat resulting in a small pile of dust that left me petrified to touch anything organic, alive or dead.
It wasn't doing much for the bedroom either...
| 2020-07-07T21:26:49
| 2020-07-07T20:16:18
| 2,318
| 423
|
[WP]"Death extends his hand, smiling, “Deal?”"
Simply include this exact line into your story.
|
The smell of blood and shit infested his nostrils. Trying to lift his head above the stench caused him excruciating pain, so he lay still and tried not to retch. As he lay in the mud, enveloped in darkness, listening to the shells whistling overhead he still found himself – despite the agony he felt to his very core – hoping that none of them would land on his little patch of no-mans-land. He couldn’t feel his legs, his right arm was a constant stabbing pain and he was too afraid of what he might find to look down at his guts. Glancing left and right, he saw dead men everywhere, brave men who had climbed over the top without a moment’s hesitation. For some reason, he found this momentarily funny; he was only a messenger, but he had been sent over anyway - due to the shortage of men. He hadn’t handled a bayonet since training, but that made no difference, the machine gun fire cut them all down so quickly that his inferiority to his comrades left him at no disadvantage.
Suddenly, a dark figure was standing over him. Looking up, he expected to see the face of one of the enemy, but instead saw nothing.
“It is time” the figure rasped.
“Time for what?”
“Time for you to come with me, time for you to die”
“I’m not ready, I don’t want to die.” he realised with a sinking horror what this figure must be.
“No-one wants to die, but everyone must.”
“I’ll give you anything you want, anything at all, please.”
“What makes you think you can give me what I want?”
“Anything at all, name it and I will find a way to give it to you, I swear.”
“There is only one thing that you can bargain with, and it is too much to ask of any one man.” The figure was almost grinning.
“I swear to you, just let me live and I will give you anything”
“There is only one currency that I deal in, and that is souls.”
“How many souls will it take to let me go?”
“How many souls do you think your life is worth?
Feeling the blood begin to seep into his lungs, he knew he didn’t have much time. “How many do you want? Anything at all, I promise you”
The figure paused. No-one had ever given him free reign to name his price, so he figured he had better make it worth his while. “Six million. Six million souls in exchange for sparing yours now.”
“Of course, anything, I’ll find a way, I swear.”
Death extended his hand, smiling “Deal?”
Adolf reached up, coughing the first spots of blood. “Deal.” he replied as he gripped Death’s hand.
|
Death extends his hand, smiling, "Deal?"
As my hand enveloped his boney phalanges it struck me how quick it all started to happen. My flesh was ripping away with increasing speed. It looked almost like a video game where you being transported from one dimension to another or Spock was beaming you up to the Starship Enterprise. Then the pain hit and my thought left me. All that was left was a soul scorching pain.
It was over in an instant as I looked at myself in front of me where Death had once been and he said "One year. You got this! Enjoy the power don't let it go to your head". It was at that point I realized that all my flesh was gone and I was just a skeleton. I had become Death. The line of succession had be completed like some kind of sick twisted Dread Pirate Roberts bullshit out of Prices Bride.
See what you don't know will kill you. Literally! 15 minutes earlier I had downed about three shots and done and eightball with my newest lady friend that I was trying to impress. Problem was that was some really high grade stuff and it pretty much shut my system down...all the way down. Then there was Death making me a deal as if he was Miracle Max he said "you were only mostly dead". The deal was to let him have my body for one year. At which point in time I could take my pick of anyone that died after that. I could, if I wanted, take girl, a baby, a old man, a young boy it just did not matter but they had to agree to the deal of being Death for a year and giving up everything they had been. You would then become them but retain all the knowledge you have now. Start over he said! Set up the death of a baby if you can stomach it to a rich family. He did warn that no one had been able to get a child under the age of 5 to agree. They actually have to say yes and shake your hand. Most of them just cried and would run away. Alas, the world is your oyster he chimed. Although, he did warn that you can get lost in the job and stay as long as you like. The girl before him seemed to have a sadistic streak in her and apparently had set up the whole Tsunami in Indo to have a little fun. You know you are evil when Death calls you a sick freak of nature...So here I am on the cusp of wiggling the fickle finger of fate at my first fatality. This should be interesting...
| 2014-06-27T07:07:58
| 2014-06-27T06:54:45
| 63
| 16
|
[WP] Your job was to clean and repair the messes heroes and villains leave in the aftermath of their fights. It's not a glorious job, but you still took some pride in it. So when the media called you an over-glorified janitor, you took offense and decided to stop working.
|
David Cameron watched the report on screen again. Sergeant New York calling him an over-glorified janitor. If it had been just a sound bite and forgotten it would be just another jerk. But no. Every news agency did their little bit on it. Interviews in the street showing how the people either didn't know who Clean-up was, or thought he was less valuable than the guys picking up the trash every week. Only the View acted like people were nuts.
Then an alert came in. Meister Or was robbing a bank. The Guardian League was responding. Clean-up turned off the alarm. Normally he would be running to one of his exo-suits and getting out to a fight like this. This time he went to the kitchenette and looked over what was available for lunch. The cheap frozen meals were not looking appealing. Changing from his flightsuit, Dave went to his distressed looking minivan. Maybe the supermarket would have something.
Walking in, Dave grabbed a cart and noticed most of the people, shoppers and workers alike, were staring at their phones. It only took a casual glance to see everyone was entranced. The dustup in NY was looking like a proper war. Streets destroyed to the point the emergency services couldn't reach fires. Buildings damaged and threatening to collapse. Credit where it was due. The GL were rescuing people every where. They just could not muster the forces to stop the Meister.
Dave splurged picking up a banana, the smallest steak in the store and a potato. By the time he got home and made his lunch the battle was over. Meister having gotten away as the heroes could not stop him while trying to save everyone. Amazingly the only hero available for comments was Sergeant New York. Praising Meister Or for stepping up his game. Because he had never done that level of damage before. When questioned about the force field pylons normally at fights like that. Sarge just shrugged. "Dunno where they come from or why they were not here this time. Why would they matter?"
That was a week ago. From NYC to Philadelphia the damage and fallout from battles had gotten three governors to declare state emergencies and mobilize the national guard. Every news outlet now wondering what had magnified all the villains in the area recently. Then it happened. The Varience smashed through the roof into the filming of the View. Setting a large conical device by the hosts, he demanded the city pay a ransom of a billion dollars or he would set off the nuclear device.
The heroes stretched thin and the police thinner, the camera panned over the table when a shadow dropped in through the hole above them. The humanoid forklift with yellow and black hazard lines, landing soft as a feather on the stage. Several floating robots coming down beside him and assembling a cage around the bomb. Varience spun to face them. "What are you doing!?" Even as the color drained from his face as a familiar purple sparkle formed walls around his bomb.
"Taking out the trash, and assessing damage. Before you say it. Your bomb is a three kiloton device. My small shield there can contain a nine megaton detonation. So don't bother." As the robots lift off the heavy armor following. "Lights and sound will be up in three minutes. Ceiling two minutes after that. Have a good day." And before the show went to commercial the building was restored in four minutes thirty-seven seconds.
Every news outlet got film of hundreds of thousands of Clean-up drones sweeping the city. Roads stripped down and gas and water lines repaired before the roads replaced above them. The rubble of collapsed buildings grabbed and the buildings reassembled as though they were jigsaw puzzles. By the end of the work day, NYC was back to how it was a week prior.
Dave pushed a cart in the supermarket. As he headed to frozen foods he paused by the man mopping the floor. Handing the man a snack cake. "Thank you Francis."
Smiling the man with the mop asks. "Thank you but why?"
"Always appreciate the janitor. They're the unsung ones that keep everything running."
|
“Dude are you freaking kidding me?” I groaned to Buster. We were on our fifth clean-up this month, working in yet another formerly-ritzy district, and I had just slipped and fallen in a massive pile of blue goo. The source? A sideways Johnny on the Spot which lay 10 yards from me with its side wall cracked open.
“Sorry, pal,” my friend Buster responded, “Do you think the Hulk cares where he throws these things?”
“Not the point, dickhead,” I exclaimed. “Just once, I would like a brawl to occur in, idunno, the ocean or somewhere without porta potties. Maybe then the TPG wouldn’t be sending us into yet another downtown where old fogey’s stare at us mop up 2 weeks worth of construction guy’s dookies off statues of their famous nobodies”.
“Yeesh buddy, you’re in a sour mood today. You’re the one who told me about this job, you’d think you found some sort of fun in it.” Buster retorted.
“Yeah, and I do like it, I just … I’m tired of watching weeks worth of cleanup not matter.” I slicked some of the thicker pools of goo off my shorts where I landed in it. “It just seems like the villains loooove to unveil their big surprises downtown.”
“I feel ya, bro,” Buster sighed. He got down on my level with a sponge in his gloves and began mopping some of the liquid off my shoes.
Truth be told, the day wasn’t too bad. It was sunny - that was a perk for once - and warm. Our last cleanup had been in La Paz, Bolivia in the monsoon season, and I still felt myself stiffening up when I heard the sound of thunder in the distance. That cleanup had been between Thor (yeah, Thor) and some assclown who called himself “The Irish Disaster” whose main weapon of choice was a spud gun. Seriously? In Bolivia? That time, we had a crew of about seventy people brought down by the TPG cleaning mashed potatoes off the sides of hostels and favelas with mops and vacuums. It was ridiculous.
“Garrett, buddy, look over there,” Buster said, pulling me from my reverie. I shot a look to where his finger was extended and spotted a thin young lady walking towards us, microphone in hand, with a full camera crew in tow. We kept cleaning the river of goo as the crew carefully unloaded cameras, stage lights, booms, and microphones, and the lady dolled up her hair and brought out a mirror from her purse to fix her makeup.
“Slow down man! If we stay in this spot we’ll be in the background of this shot!” Buster shouted at me under his breath.
He was right, we’d be right in the background. And it looked like a big news team too. I noticed “ABC7” printed on a couple of their sleeves, and figured it would be fun to be the topic of a local news stint. I broke out my shovel as I began to push clumps of the blue puddle into a biocontainment bag, and kept watching the camera crew out of the side of my eyes.
Finally, she started.
“Alice, checking in with ABC7, here in uptown New York - roughly two hours after what appeared to be an altercation with The Hulk and an as-of-now unnamed assailant.”
“Great start,” I chuckled to Buster.
She continued. “We’re here today to shine a light on a group of people who usually stay out of the spotlight. A group funded by the Trash People’s Guerilla movement, or TPG. These workers are flown to areas of altercations between good guys and bad, and clean up the messes so others may carry on with their normal lives. Usually seen as glorified janitors…” her commentary died down as my mind went beserk.
Glorified janitors? Is this lady out of her mind? I turned to Buster and he had a look of shock and incredulation on his face as well.
“Doesn’t she know we’re paid ten K per job site? Dude, we’re making bucco buckos out here, and she’s acting like we’re some underpaid custodian,” I frantically whispered to Buster.
He couldn’t help but laugh. “Buddy, you’re covered in blue slime, which is clearly coming out of a porta potty, and who knows what else. It’s being seen on national TV, and you’re upset about being called a janitor?”
Well, he did have a point. But I wasn’t about to put up with this kind of job shaming. 56 jobs over the past 3 years of The Avengers being assembled, and while it wasn’t the most glamorous job in the world, I was half a million richer for it. That was better than most of my friends were making, plus I was traveling the world (in a sense) and being flown around on private jets. All at the behest of some trust-fund baby with money to throw at us so we could help clean his moral conscience.
I turned to Buster and told him. “Hey man, I’m sorry, but I think this is it for me.” And I left.
| 2022-09-28T19:43:34
| 2022-09-28T18:52:12
| 162
| 82
|
[WP] Jesus has come down from the heavens, but is actually just a chill guy. He is sitting and talking to fans in your city but when you walk to see the savior his relaxed expression fades and is replaced with smugness and at the same time anger. He looks at you and calmly goes, “Ah, the Antichrist”
|
Jesus landed somewhere out in the desert. The first place he found was Vegas. It didn't take long to prove himself. Turning water to wine, walking on water, walking on water while turning it into wine until he fell in.
His entrance was so calm, and he took to the current world so quickly that anyone hardly made a fuss about it. Atheists United became an organization dedicated to researching miracles scientifically.
One day, I'd heard he was in L.A., so I decided to go and meet him. Why not, right? Supposedly he was pretty chill, so I found out where he was hanging out at the beach and made my way there.
There was a small crowd around him, but it was already dispersing. He'd already dismissed half of the Bible live on TV and claims not even to have read the other half yet, so people had already seen what there was to see.
I made my way towards the crowd, and over some heads I saw his face. He looked up at me, and halted his gaze so it remained on me. His smile faded. Others in the crowd turned to look back, and they moved aside just enough so I could stand face to face with Jesus.
He tilted his head and his smile returned, but smaller and... Different. It was more smug than anything.
"Ah, the Antichrist. Nice to meet you."
The crowd gave a stifled gasp as Jesus stepped towards me. The gap grew wider to allow him through.
I shook my head. "What?"
"Yeah, here you are. I'd hoped I could avoid you, but oh well."
I gave an excessively long blink. "Im- I, uhh- I'm the Antichrist? Satan's son?"
"Did you ever meet your father?"
"Well, no, but-" I paused, realizing how much weight that answer carried.
"Then you probably are. Who raised you?"
"My... Aunt..." I squinted at him, trying to figure out what was happening.
Jesus grimaced. "Look, this is awkward, but please just set something on fire with your mind and this will be over with much quicker."
"What are you-?" I pointed at the sand a few feet away from me and continued, "So I just *will* this sand to be on fire and it will-"
To my surprise, the sand burst into flame for a moment sending several people running. Jesus brought up his hands and gave an exaggerated shrug.
I nodded at the scorched ground where I was pointing.
"*Oh.*"
|
“Ah, The Guy Who Flips Tables,” I reply.
“That was a one-time thing and you know it,” says The Guy Who Flips Tables.
I hadn’t realized it until now, but I feel a ferocious hatred towards this man.
“So *that’s* why your sky-daddy abandoned me,” I snarl. “I’m the ‘Antichrist?’”
“Well, you *are* the progeny of Lucifer.”
Ah. That explains my fascination with demonological research. And those stories where my parents explained they had to bolt my crib to the floor to stop me from floating it away.
“Honestly, I’d rather use cool demon powers than whatever your precious *God* gave you.”
“Please refrain from throwing the Father’s name around,” says Jesus.
“I mean really,” I yell, ignoring Christ himself. “The most useful ‘miracles’ you’ve done? Saved yourself from drowning and found a way to drink no matter how hard a barkeep tries to cut you off. Great job.”
“How about the time I broke bread and fed hundreds of people?”
“Oh yes, wonder why you haven’t done that in over 2 millenia? In case you haven’t noticed, *Jesus*, the world’s become kind of a shithole. Man, I bet that crown of thorns fits right on your head.”
At this point, Jesus sighs.
“I didn’t want to have to do this,” he says.
He raises his hand to the sky, and his entire body is enshrouded by radiant light. He then raises his fists.
“Oh, fuck yes,” I scream. I rub my hands together then slap the ground, Full Metal Alchemist style. I feel a red-hot power boiling in my veins as I put up my guns. “Let’s DO THIS!”
My patron in Hell giving me power, I launch myself at the figurehead of a religion, punching him in his perfect jaw.
“O, my almighty Father,” he says. “Give me the strength to fight this foe.”
He lashes out at my chest, and suddenly my eyes are closed. My arms are bound by ropes; kinky. My ass feels like I’m sitting on a plank; not kinky. A freezing cold wind rushes past my ears. I open my eyes.
I’m in the back of a cart with three other guys.
“You. You’re finally awake.”
Does this mean...
Todd Howard you sexy son of a bitch.
| 2020-02-02T16:50:40
| 2020-02-02T16:00:32
| 972
| 162
|
[WP] People stop using Antivirus software because they believe it's making their computers autistic. You are an IT intern at the wake of disaster.
|
"Sir," said Tim, massaging the folds on his forehead, "could you repeat that for me?"
"I said I didn't install antivirus on this computer, because an antivirus program made my last computer autistic."
"Your previous computer was autistic?"
"Autistic, yes."
Tim stared at the pockmarked office ceiling. At times like this, his bluetooth headset seemed to weigh ten thousand pounds.
"What symptoms did your computer exhibit that made you think it was autistic, sir?"
"Oh, I did my research," said the caller defensively. "It exhibited all the classic symptoms of autism."
"Like what?"
"Lack of empathy. Preoccupation with certain topics."
"Topics like what?"
"It was a big fan of toolbars. Always asking me to install toolbars, you know? 'Ask' toolbar, 'Yahoo' toolbar, 'MSN' toolbar. My whole Internet Explorer was nothing but toolbars."
Tim realized he'd been sliding down in his chair. By this point he was nearly horizontal.
"I see," he said.
"And it was asking me ten or twelve times a day if I wanted to update Java. The stupid thing just would not shut up about Java. Or Adobe Flush, whatever that is."
But Tim wasn't there to respond. He'd abandoned his headset and was halfway out the door. The bright sun beyond made him sneeze. Twice.
Maybe TGI Friday's was hiring.
*****
*Hey guys, super thrilled you liked this so much! Shameless self promotion: I'm expanding on another prompt response [here](http://www.reddit.com/r/FormerFutureAuthor/comments/2ugc7q/forest_part_one/), updates posted regularly to /r/FormerFutureAuthor. Feel free to drop by and let me know what you think!*
|
**THE FOLLOWING IS A TRANSCRIPT OF THE FIRST KNOWN CONTACT**
**RANJEET, Number 30224756** - Thank you for calling Homeopathic Technology Care. My name is Steve. How may I help your spirit this day?
**Customer** - Yeah, high. I have been having an issue with my computer. I put an Antivirus on there, and now….I think it has…*whispering* autism.
**R** - Have you tried unplugging it and plugging it back in?
**C** - IT HAS A RIGHT TO LIFE, YOU MONSTER.
**R** - Of course. In that case, I must hand you off to my supervisor. I am not trained on how to handle a computer with autism. Hold please.
*Welcome to the Jungle plays*
**Raheem** - This is Scott. How may I help you today?
**C** - My computer has autism.
**R** - I see. Is it a Windows or Apple product.
**C** - It’s a macbook. An autistic macbook.
**R** - And what symptoms has the macbook been displaying that lead you to believe that it is autistic?
**C** - It’s become isolated and fixated on numbers, colors, and shapes.
**R** - Can you shake the mouse for me?
**C** - Thank you, that fixed it.
**R** - Have I solved all your problems in a satisfactory manner?
**C** - One second.
*muffled yelling and crying, as though a child is being shaken*
**C** - *muffled* WE’LL GET THAT MERCURY OUT OF YOU!
**END PHONE TRANSMISSION**
| 2015-02-16T13:10:18
| 2015-02-16T13:08:49
| 1,382
| 241
|
[WP] At the age of 18, everyone picks an unlikely life event. They will be reborn at 18 every time they die until that event happens. After that, death is permanent.
Example - Winning a lottery jackpot. Statistically, they would die in 22 plane crashes in a row before winning the Mega Millions jackpot.
|
See, most people try to live forever, but that ends one of two ways: they don't or they wish they didn't. Rob Herman was a famous example of the first, Rob chose his Event to be “Winning the lottery and getting struck by lightning.” It was a great choice, the chance of getting struck on any given day was 1 in 245,000,000 and the chance of winning big lotteries is about the same. This way Rob could continue his passions of being outdoors and playing the lottery, just not both at the same time! But Robby got sloppy, and one day mixed the two at a state fair. With about 20 billion people on the earth miracles are bound to happen every once and a while.
The most infamous example of the second was Nick Walsh. Nick chose “Due to a quantum mechanical flux, a cat appears from nowhere.” Such wishes are rather common among those seeking true immortality. After Nick's fiancée left him, he lost his job, he was eternally imprisoned for a crime (eventually proved innocent, but not until it was too late,) and his mother died due to a freak game of poker. He then performed brain surgery on himself using a nail stuck through a plank. He's brain-dead in a hospital now with explicit instructions NOT to pull the plug, with the threat that he'll it again in the next life.
So when it came my Time I took a different approach. I didn't want immortality, I wanted the most out of life. I wanted an event that I could enjoy, that wouldn't bind or hinder me.
“The day that the good will never again outweigh the bad.”
In the past thousand years I've had good times and bad times, I've had great times and terrible times, I've been in more love and more pain than I could imagine. And through it all my Event has been there for me, an eternal promise, that I still have a good life ahead.
|
Everyone around me had a reverent desire to live forever....to never know the cold embrace of death as long as they could help it, and to always be able to go back to the best times of their lives. The reaction of those lining up at the clinics to get their fix when this technology came out was utter insanity-worse than a black Friday at some conglomerate retail shop. Anyways.
I was born with a pre-disposition to pain. I had a rough upbringing, which included being beaten senseless more times than I can count, living on my own since I was 12, having known hunger and sadness more than love and happiness. This has lead to me asking: What was the point of recycling life? Why the hell would I want to risk going through this over and over? Were people that afraid to move on? For all we know, there's something better at the end.
Maybe if this technology had come sooner, I would be more inclined to indulge. Maybe if I hadn't had to say goodbye to so many of those close to me well before their time because of the shit lifestyle we all lived, I wouldn't be so numb to death. When my wife left me because of the psychosis I was diagnosed with, and when I lost my job suddenly (even after offering incentives for change), I realized I don't have SHIT to live for. I can't even keep the fucking lights on because I am neck deep in debt. I have no saving grace to ever want to live over and over, because the unlikely and the worst has all simultaneously happened in my life.
I can't have children, I'm infertile. I can't seek help, because after my diagnosis I realized I am stubborn and have no respect for the medical system that continuously churns those of us who need help over and over to suck out what little money we have from us. Fuck the world, and as selfish as that may sound, it's my god damn decision to do what I want with my life.
Come tomorrow, I am going out on MY TERMS. Gotta love the Vicodin and Vodka mix for my vendetta against life. One last party before I move onto the next big adventure.
| 2014-11-11T21:52:28
| 2014-11-11T19:16:51
| 912
| 18
|
[WP] You just sent in your DNA to one of those ancestry sites. After eight weeks, you can’t figure out why your results have not shown up. Then, two men with dark suits show up at your front door. They have some news regarding your results.
|
“Uh, let me guess. You lost my spit, huh?”
The two men stared at me for a moment, then looked at each other and nodded. The man on the left said, “No doubt about it, I can spot one of them from a country mile. I just don’t know how we didn’t spot him sooner.” The other man shrugged.
“Hold on just a god damn minute now, what exactly do you mean?”
“Can me and my partner come in, there’s some explaining we have to do.”
I looked at them both suspiciously, the mans silent partner was picking his nose. Despite my better judgement I waved them into my little one bedroom apartment, where we all sat in a living room that was just about holding its maximum capacity.
“By the way, I’m Dutch, this here’s my partner Vinny.” Vinny did a polite yet subtle nod. “He’s not much of a talker.”
“I can see that, so you wanna get to the point here?” I said, a bit sharply.
“Did you ever get into fights much as a kid?”
“Excuse me?”
“Do you get angry often?”
“I’m getting angry now.”
That made Dutch laugh, “Sorry, I’m just trying to figure out how not even you know what you are.”
“I still don’t catch your drift, big man.” Dutch looked like he didn’t like that.
“So I got a weight problem, so what? I got you pegged, you were some sissy shut-in all your life, never happy but you don’t know why, so you never really could get angry. After all it isn’t your mommy’s fault you’re misunderstood right? Because you do nothing but work whatever dead-end job it is you have and masturbate we haven’t been able to clock you yet, but unluckily for you, you decided to get curious and get caught in a trap I frankly never thought would catch any of you people.”
“What the fuck do you mean, ‘YOU PEOPLE’!”
“It doesn’t matter, you’re the pest and we’re the exterminators. Qui vivra vera.”
At this Dutch and Vinny stood up and pointed two guns at me, and without hesitation both were on the verge of pulling the trigger.
For some reason, I felt no fear, just sheer unbridled anger. I was furious, who the fuck were these guys and who were they to call me pests. I’ve been a mild-tempered person most, if not all my life, yet at this moment my rage was kicking like wild horses. However at the same time I was helpless, hopeless.
With not much else to really do, I closed my eyes and yelled with all my strength and rage, “STOP!”
Silence. Did they take pity on me and actually stop? I opened my eyes to see the men shaking. Their guns drop from their hands, but their arms continue pointing at me, their bodies still yet shaking violently. Slowly, blood seeps out from their eyes, ears, nose, and corners of their mouth, until finally, pop. Their heads burst and their body’s fall limp on the floor, leaving their headless corpse and copious amounts of blood on the floor.
Before I could even begin to feel the shock and horror, I hear a knock on the door,
“Hello, are you alright in there? I heard a scream...” God living in apartments suck.
|
"That's ridiculous," Bea said. The mid-40s woman sat in her living room opposite two men in dark suits. She narrowed her green eyes at them. "You're actors. This has to be someone's prank; who is it?"
"Ms. Acosta, I assure you this is not a joke," the shorter man said. Over the years Bea learned to trust her instincts and they were always accurate. Something inside her told Bea these men weren't a danger; it was the only reason she let them in her house without getting their names. They flashed an official-looking I.D. that Bea didn't recognize; but, her instincts still let them in.
"Let's pretend I believe you; now what? Should I expect more agents crashing through my windows?" she asked with a chuckle. "Because it's going to take more than you two to bring me in." Both agents shook their heads; but, only the shorter one spoke. Bea realized the taller one hadn't said a word since she answered the door. Both were lean, fair-skinned, nondescript agents. Bea was glad they at least removed their sunglasses once inside.
"Now, nothing. You wanted to know about your ancestry; the only thing we can tell you is you won't find it here," the shorter one stood from the sofa with an eye on the door.
"So, you're just messengers?" Bea asked in surprise. "This whole act seems a bit much for something an e-mail could have done." The shorter one grinned at that.
"As it stands now, you don't believe us; would you believe an e-mail?" Bea nodded.
"Yeah, good point. So, how're you going to prove it to me?" she gave them a confident, 'gotcha' smile.
"We can't, exactly...," the short agent admitted. "You were raised here, all your memories are from here."
"I knew it," Bea said. Though, even as she claimed victory over the jokers, an instinctual doubt formed in the back of her mind.
"What we can do though, is this," the short one said. A pitch-black hole suddenly appeared above Bea's coffee table. It was almost as wide as the table and tall enough for a person, like the one that walked out of it.
"Bea looked up at a younger version of herself with vibrant blue hair instead of the salt and pepper brunette of her current color.
"Unfortunately, we can't prove to you that you're from an alternate Earth, but we can prove they exist. Say hi to one of yourselves," the short agent said. The tabletop version of Bea smiled, then turned around to look at the agents.
"Hey, handsome, I'm glad I get to see you again," she stepped off the table on their side. The taller agent stood and Bea couldn't help but notice a slight blush on his cheeks.
"Hi, Cee," he said, then nodded at Bea behind her. "Work stuff now, I'll call you later," he said. Cee shook her head with a smile.
"Please don't, just send me a text when you want to meet," she reached out and playfully patted his head. "You're fun, but god, you never shut up," she giggled.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year three, story #201. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what's what and who's who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order.
| 2020-07-19T09:21:45
| 2020-07-19T08:52:51
| 131
| 37
|
[WP] Your whole life you had an ability that seemed normal to you. Now you realized you're the only one with this ability.
|
"Where on earth are my keys?" Amanda asked, mostly to herself.
I continued reading reddit on my phone but replied, "They're in your coat pocket over by the door."
Footsteps and a rattling of metal as they were discovered, followed by breathy giggle.
"How is it that you always know where the keys are?"
Shaking my head I thought 'how does anyone not know'.
|
“Quick! Quick!” I urgently ushered her inside and closed the door. Knowing how nosy my neighbours were, the over-the-fence conversations with my parents would quickly turn to the fact that Suzy was sneaking in while they were out for the night.
Mum probably wouldn’t care but Dad would. Suz’s Dad definitely would. As soon as the door was closed, I grabbed her hand tightly. We ran upstairs together and fell carelessly but purposefully onto my bed.
“Hey, gorgeous.” Her smile beamed at me. I loved how playful she was. Her smile spoke to me and today it said she was hiding something.
“I’ve got a surprise for you. Close your eyes and cover your ears”. I didn’t even click at this stage. I just heard things the other way around. Of course she’d meant to say cover my eyes and close my ears, right? So I did. I put my hands over my eyes and closed my ears.
I waited. I got impatient pretty quickly.
“Can I open my eyes yet? Suz?”
I expected her to tap me on the shoulder. Nothing.
“OK, I’m going to open them!” I figured if she didn’t want me to she would stop me. She’d hold her hands over mine or hide whatever this surprise was.
I opened my ears and took my hands from my eyes.
She was just sitting on the bed staring at me.
“Come on, Adam, stop being silly. Put your fingers in your ears as well.”
“What, why would I want to do that?”
“Because I don’t want you to even hear what I’m doing, let alone SEE.”
“Yeah, my ears were closed. I couldn’t hear a thing.”
She shook her head, confused.
‘You can’t close your ears, silly!”
“What do you mean? Of course you can.”
“No… you can’t. No one can.”
I thought for a second. It clicked. It finally clicked. All those times I’d seen people covering their ears on TV. All those times I’d seen people shaking water from their ears once they got out of the pool. All those cartoons when they stuck their fingers in their ears before an explosion.
She must’ve seen my face drop.
“You can seriously close your ears, can’t you? Oh my, God!”
I jumped to my feet.
“Oh my God, oh my GOD! EAR PLUGS! That’s what ear plugs are for! People can’t close their ears! How did I not click before now?” I wasn’t frightened, I wasn’t worried, I was just plain bewildered. How did I get to fifteen years old and not realise this?
“You’re such a freak!” she smiled playfully at me and poked me in the ribs.
“Hey, I just assumed everyone could.” She giggled again. It was strange. This was such a moment of realisation for me yet I figured I could think about it later. None of this mattered. I looked at her. She couldn’t care less that I might be a bit different. I eased up, sat down again and smiled back at her, shrugging my shoulders.
“Time for that surprise.” She moved slowly, placing her hands each side of me. Not taking her eyes off mine as she slid herself on top of me and her lips ever closer to mine.
“Kiss me, freak. And don’t you dare close your ears.”
| 2015-01-08T16:12:50
| 2015-01-08T14:04:50
| 66
| 38
|
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism.
|
*Si vis pacem, para bellum.*
“Mr. President, what is the purpose of this Sacred Council If not to arbitrate between the disputing parties? Should the council be derelict in her duty, her mandate shall stand voided. The lofty words in its constitution shall ring hollow in this great hall where all the sentient beings of the universe were welcome once. Where no species was deemed higher or lower in the eye of the Galactic law. Should that eventuality arise, we shall have no other recourse but to find justice by alternate means.”
“Alternate means you say? What are these alternate means through which you will find what you deem to be a just conclusion of this debate?” The ambassador to the Crab Nebula system chimed in. Subtlety of his derisive tone was obviated by laughter of his supporters in council. His smug sense of superiority well deserved.
“Make no mistake honorable councilmembers, I do not see the humor in this situation. In fact, I see only chaos and destruction if the council will not intervene.”
“Your words fail to impress us. You wordsmiths, thinking apes as you call yourselves. What do you know of war? Of death and destruction? You were cocooned in your little corner in Milky Way while the war raged across the whole quadrant at the conclusion of which we decided to form this council. Your people work as scribes, philosophers, teachers, and entertainers. Your jokes especially are funnier than the rest. Or so I thought until now.” Chuckles across the council followed.
“Then, Mr. President, I must inform you that humanity will no longer be responsible for the consequences. Justice in our way of thinking is universal. It cannot vary with the whims of the select few or even a tyrannical majority. And for this principle we shall go to any end necessary.”
“Come now, Ambassador. Have a drink. Soothe your heated tongue and wounded heart.”
The president felt that the proceedings were spiralling out of control. He had never known any human ambassador to be so assertive in his life - and he had seen some four hundred human ambassadors come and go in his diplomatic career. Puny, fragile, ephemeral beings! He had often wondered how they had come to dominate the Earth and the Helios system.
“I am not a being, Mr. President. I am the voice of the will of humanity. So I choose my words carefully to reflect it. And let my words be taken as they sound - no more and no less.”
The Human Ambassador paused.
The Committee on the Galactic Relations of Earth Parliament had instructed him before his voyage back to the planet Meelore where the council sat. He was called back because it was deemed too risky to discuss it over the GalacticNet. They had authorized him to do all that he could to avoid the terrible outcome, but if it were to prove unavoidable then it was to be his solemn duty to proclaim formally that humanity shall seek recompense in a way she had long renounced.
War.
“Oathbreakers, beware! Our politeness is not instinctive. Our humility is not innate. Our bonhomie is nurtured from the first day a human child is born. Let not the this body rue the day when she convinced us that we must act on our baser nature to achieve a greater end.”
“Do your worst.”
Someone from the backbenches heckled. Breaking the spell. It was received with approving grunts all over. What could these soft, obsequious beings do? The rest of the galaxy will not be cowed by this upstart race and their mere words!
“We shall take your suggestion very seriously, representative Ercheon of Seven Sisters system. But permit me to also suggest something.” The human ambassador was almost shouting now, over the uproar that had broken out.
“We do not seek vengeance.” He thumped the desk. “We seek justice. We give this council five earth days to deliver it to us. If you do so, that justice will be benevolent. But if we must obtain it, it shall be grim. It shall be cruel. It shall be horrific.”
Everyone was listening once again, he observed.
“Presume us withdrawn from this council should you choose to let the ultimatum run out, Mr. President. Thenceforth, there shall be no more parlay. No more negotiations. And no mercy. Only war, and utter victory or vanquishment.”
|
[Poem]
Click, clack, click.
All the machines roar,
Click, clack, click.
For this total war.
Click, clack, click.
Industry cannibalized,
Click, clack, click.
To create their demise.
Click, clack, click.
All of humanity knows,
Click, clack, click.
The others don’t though.
Click, clack, click.
Bombs manufactured,
Click, clack, click.
Enemy lives fractured.
Click, clack, click.
Society rebuilt to destroy,
Click, clack, click.
Not to be enjoyed.
Click, clack, click.
Soldiers armed en masse,
Click, clack, click.
Ready to kick the others in the ass.
Click, clack, click.
Everyone does their part.
Click, clack, click.
To blow these aliens apart.
| 2019-11-24T15:48:36
| 2019-11-24T10:43:55
| 99
| 66
|
[WP] The key to unlimited cross-breeding is discovered. Nations begin a feverish, genetic arms race, using every species at their disposal - not for conquest, but simply to defend themselves from inevitable horrors that Australia is about to unleash.
|
When Dr. Johann Freidrich discovered the secret of safe and effective gene splicing in 2027, he won a Nobel Prize and changed the world forever.
At first, the splices were fairly innocuous, albeit ridiculous; a dog-cat mixture was one of the more popular new species. However, governments soon realized the potential wartime applications of splices and the most powerful nations in the world began dedicating billions of dollars to discovering new, terrifying splices. The first military splice was by Russia; they were able to splice a bear, a hornet, and a turtle to create a heavily armored and dangerous steed for their troops. The United States was next in line, and, not to be outdone by filthy Communists, created an eagle-hornet-horse-rattlesnake splice. Other countries quickly followed suit, with Egypt producing a lion-electric eel splice, Great Britain splicing a goat-lizard, and China creating a tiger-wolf-falcon.
Noticeably absent, however, from this genetic arms race was Australia. The home of the most dangerous and unique animal species on Earth had gone completely dark almost immediately after the arms race began. Tourists and business people were still allowed, grudgingly, in the coastal areas, but the interior remained entirely off limits, and agents sent by other nations to gather intel from the area reported being driven off by the likes of swarms of flying spiders, man-sized ants, and kangaroos with scorpion tails. Everyone wondered what Australia was up to during the opening months of a tense genetic cold war.
The world stopped wondering when reports began flooding in from Indonesia of jellyfish-koala-stingrays walking out of the ocean bearing Australian soldiers and supplies. The world descended into chaos with this unprecedented display of power. Tensions rose and a coalition assembled, led by Russia, the United States, and China, the world’s top non-Australian genetic powers to leverage a deal out of Australia. When it became clear that the Australian war machine would not accept any deal, the coalition declared World War III.
The coalition nations went into a mad scramble to claim any and all biodiveristy they could find, ignoring all borders and national sovereignty. This was not enough to stop the Australians, and, in March, Hong Kong was taken over by butterfly-dolphin-cows.
World War III lasted a measly two months after the fall of Hong Kong before the Australians released their ultimate weapon: ant-sloth-bee-kangaroo-spiders. This new splice, genetically programmed to be loyal to Australia, spread across the globe like wildfire, eliminating all other splices in its path and becoming the new apex predator. Cities were transformed into colonies for this new species and the Australian war machine was victorious. Australia was no longer a continent, Australia was a planet.
|
We gathered in the main hall, the head scientist's office and lab. Our head scientist, Nigel Pixburry, was a genious. Unfortunately, we've just recovered his body and holotapes from an Australian containment facility. Nervously, my coworker placed Nigel's holotapes on the table and hit the play button.
***Nigel Pixburry's lab tapes, entry 1.***
***I have just arrived in Australia. At the airport, a man offered me a Dingaroo. At first, I thought it was some kind of drug, but it turned out to be an animal. According to him, it's a cross between a dingo and a kangaroo. He told me this particular Dingaroo ate children. This place is already scaring me.***
*****
***Nigel Pixburry's lab tapes, entry 2.***
***Today, I went on a controlled safari with a local geneticist. I was undercover, going as Frigel Dixburry, CFO of the World Wildlife Foundation. I saw some things... freaks of nature. The Rhinopotamus, for example. A cross between the agressive Black Rhinocerous and common hippopotamus. It has massive jaws, tusks, and a horn, with incredibly hard skin. I fear the worst for America's safety, should the Rhinopotamus be released.***
*****
***Nigel Pixburry's lab tapes, entry 3.***
***They found out who I was. They said I couldn't leave alive. The head researchers at this genetic laboratory put me in the Rhinopotamus facility to test their aggression. Well, using some of the ol' Pixburry intuition, I escaped on a Rhinopotamus, taking 12 lives with me. I'm now in some jungle, far from any signs of life. I'll try to make it to the airport, but don't your breath.***
*****
***Nigel Pixburry's lab tapes, entry 4.***
***Hello? This is private Reeves of the Australian Genetics Foundation. We found the body of a man named Nigel... Pexberry...? out in the woods, underneath a creature's nest. We're sorry to say, but he died of a Dropsnake bite. You see, it's a combo of dropbear and... well, you get it. Venom coursed through his veins and to his heart via several slashes to the neck.***
***Oi, Reeves! What're ya doin' with those holotapes?***
***Uh, nothing, commander!***
*****
***Nigel Pixburry's lab tapes, final entry.***
***THIS MESSAGE HAS BEEN AUTOMATICALLY RECORDED BY THE AUSTRALIAN GENETICS FOUNDATION. WE HAVE FOUND THE BODY OF DR. NIGEL PIXBURRY IN A CONTROLLED JUNGLE. WE CLAIM NO RESPONSIBILTY FOR HIS DEATH BY DROPSNAKE BITE. IT WAS HIS FAULT. AS WE AUSTRAILIANS SAY, HE DIDN'T WATCH OUT FOR THEM DROPPOS. SIGNING OFF.***
*****
Oi, them droppos be slashin' up dumb buggers who stray too far from the roads. If you don't want to be hacked up by a dropbear, subscribe to /r/Picklestasteg00d.
| 2016-12-12T18:57:06
| 2016-12-12T18:40:55
| 85
| 25
|
[WP] "One cannot own these lands," the native explained patiently to the eager colonist,"No, really, you can't. We tried."
|
“One cannot own these lands.”
Their leader paused, before shaking his head. “I don’t think you understood me. We’re taking these lands.” His hand drifted to the sword at his side. “And I don’t think you understand the position in which you are placing yourself.
The old man’s brow knitted up before a sad smile washed across his face.
“I do not attempt to claim that which you desire. Merely to relay an agreement cast in old blood under a fell moon.” He took a breath.
“The season’s turn and twist, but the Trickster’s word binds firm.
Blessed shall be the men of earth, and full harvests of their grain.
But woe betides the men of earth, that wanders past the berm.
For the Hunter’s right should they pass in spite, their souls are his to gain.”
The old man looked up into a sea of impassive faces.
“For as long as our people have lived here, no drought has burned our fields, nor heavy rain drowned them. Early frosts do not bitter our fields as they do our neighbors, and late springs do not prevent our planting.”
The faces of those who would conquer his people remained still. He sighed.
“And so long as we have lived here, no man has returned from beyond this point unchanged.”
He turned and began to walk away.
“So it has been, so it will be.”
---
The trouble began within moments of passing by the haphazardly stacked piles of stones that sketched out a sort of rough boundary until the land ran into the river. A loud *crack* echoed through the trundling group as the restraints securing a wagon snapped. A shrill cry tore out over the braying of horses and loud rumble as the wagon accelerated down towards the river.
As the sound of the wagon diminished into the distance, a plaintive moan became clearer and clearer. One of the men had been walking next to the wagon train and had been hit when the rope snapped. His face was already white as blood poured from his side.
The leader nudged his horse over, gazing impassively at the man dying below him.
“Report.”
The Quartermaster spoke up. “The ropes holding the supply train together snapped.” He was interrupted by a distant crash. “One of ‘em tore halfway through Galt there.”
The leader spoke evenly. “What did we lose?”
“That’s the funny thing.” He paused. “Them’s the wagon specifically for the savages. I mean, we’ll still be able to fashion a proper stock and gallows, but the cages and other *cooperative* measures was in there.”
The leader frowned as he watched the man convulse, only looking up when he had breathed his last.
“Continue.”
And so they did.
---
The next to die was the blacksmith.
They had unpacked his tools first, as he would be instrumental as they built the encampment, sharpening shovels and axes after hard labor dulled them. He was reshoeing one of the placid mares from an angle more convenient than he would have allowed his apprentices when she startled and kicked him in the head.
He gibbered for hours before the light left his eyes.
The next was the trapper.
He had been teaching the soldiers how to set simple snares in the area when a fox startled him by leaping from the bushes and he stepped onto an unfinished trap. The barb designed to rip out of larger animals and leave a bloody trail for him to follow did its work well. His wound became infected within a day, and despite repeated amputations, the sickness had set into his blood.
He moaned for hours before the darkness took him.
The next was the cook.
He had been going out with the soldiers to help them identify edible plants and berries that they could eat. They followed a pair of grazing deer to a bounty of berries and mushrooms that were joyfully collected. In his excitement, the cook did not recognize that one of the mushrooms was not just immature, but yellow where the others were orange. In the absence of meat, the cook prepared a hearty meal for those who had helped him provide for the encampment. It took days before they realized something was wrong. Agony tore through their bodies as their livers failed and their kidneys let go.
Blood ran from their eyes, and when death finally took them, they welcomed it.
The next to die did so unseen.
The soldiers were hungry. But more so those tasked to labor. One, young and foolish, thought to venture into the woods at night and find meat for the taking. He followed the outline of antlers against the night deep into the forest.
He found no deer.
The next night, an errant soldier returned to camp, but instead of laying down to sleep, he awoke one of his fellows and told him that he was hungry. That he was young and foolish, and thought to venture into the woods at night and find meat for the taking. So they strode into the forest following the antlers. When the soldier asked him how he knew to find the deer, the other replied that he was hungry. That there was meat for the taking.
The next night, the soldier returned. His commanding officer noticed his absence though and sought to punish him until he noticed the smell of cooked meat wafting from the soldier. The soldier told him that he thought to venture into the woods at night and find meat for the taking. The officer followed him until he led him to the kill, still fresh from the night before.
The officer tried to run, too.
The next night, a soldier awoke in his tent, confused at what brought him back from slumber, when he realized. There were seven men. In a tent of six.
Shocked at the invasion, but unable to determine the odd man out, he awoke the others. They woke predictably frustrated, but quieted when they realized the incongruity, but could not name the individual that did not belong. Despite months of sleeping within feet of one another, none could point to another, and none would admit to not belonging.
In the ensuing argument, four were killed.
Two remained alive.
The days began to blur together, even though it was the nights they feared most of all. Progress began to falter on the encampment, and the men took to bedding down before the sunset, surrounding themselves with crosses and idols of Christ.
Though it was said he saved them before, he did not again.
As they began to starve, men would sometimes stop, turn, and walk into the forest never to be seen again. It was rumored that if you gave any indication of wakefulness in the night, they would speak to you from outside the tent, promising food and warmth, everything they wanted. A gate to Heaven from earth.
If no one came, the voices would turn. Malevolent whispers, plaintive cries, begging for help, cursing them. Telling them that everyone was dead, that they had seen Heaven, but the gate was closed. Asking why they hadn’t saved them, why they had let them die?
Then the fire came.
Winter had begun to encroach on the land, and even though it remained warm during the day, the nights brought an unseasonable chill. A young soldier who had faithfully followed the oil rationing broke and snuck into the storage he had been guarding to steal oil when his lantern blew out. With shaking hands, he tried to strike a flame back into it, but the cold had numbed his fingers, and he dropped the lantern, freshly lit.
The walls. The guardpost. Everything they had built to protect them in this strange, verdant new land, was gone. Without striking a single blow at the natives they had come to destroy, they were defeated.
Finally, the leader called the few men that remained together. Where his face had once been tight, it was hollow. A wildness ate at the edges of his eyes and a nervous fire burned in his words.
“It’s time to go.
---
The old man watched the shattered remnants leave from the same position he had watched them arrive two seasons earlier. That same old ache hit him right in the chest.
“Daddy.”
He turned around and saw his daughter standing there, smiling.
“Daddy. I know it’s hard, but you tried your best.”
She smiled her same old skittish smile. She had always been so shy, but so eager to prove herself. Too eager.
“Daddy. I just wanted you to know that I loved you and that you didn’t have to be alone.”
He opened his mouth. “All these years, and I still can’t tell if this is a kindness or a cruelty.”
She smiled once more before melting back into the shadows, on the other side of the stones.
The old man sighed and walked over to on the stone piles that had partially fallen. One stone at a time, he set things right.
One stone at a time.
|
“It’s superstition.” The ocean of brown grass reached into the horizon, kissing the sun as it fell below the earth.
“You always say that, Gaisen.” He adjusted his pack, the contents clinking against each other inside.
“And I’m always right. Aren’t I, Sherias?”
Sherias’ face pursed into a disapproving frown. “Don’t drag me into another one of your squabbles, Gaisen,” She said, tapping her wand against her leg. “You look for arguments more than anyone I’ve ever seen, friend or otherwise.”
Gaisen’s face turned a bright red, matching his gold-flecked hair. He began to fiddle with the pistol holstered at his side, tracing the conduits running up and down the stock.
“I’m right, though, aren’t I?” He finally replied.
“As far as we know, yes. We’ve been here a month and nothing out of the ordinary has happened,” Sherias admitted. “But we’re scientists. If there’s some sort of spell cast over these plains we have a duty to find it and disable it, so we can’t rule out the possibility yet.”
“No spell can cover an entire city, let alone a land mass as big as Aras,” Gaisen said, “It would take an energy source far beyond what any civilization has ever created.”
“There’s still the possibility of rogue spirits,” Ardent broke in. “Which would explain why we haven’t been attacked. They might not have found us yet.”
Gaisen sighed. “We already sent out probes to search for spirits. They didn’t find anything. Besides, we have Sherias’ magic to tell us if anything is nearby.”
Sherias’ wand flared in response, glowing at its tip before fading into the worn cedar. “This is a good spot,” Sherias said.
The trio stopped. Ardent unsheathed a knife, and with a few soft words transformed the tiny blade into a scythe. He twirled it through the grass, clearing out an area for them to sleep in.
Gaisen collected some of the cut brush into a pile and snapped his fingers, lighting the dry grass on fire with the sparks that danced off his fingertips.
Sherias unslung her pack and began to set up her equipment. A generator pulsed to life and created a flickering barrier around them, while an iron spike, copper wires, and a sensor built into a magic detector.
“Anything?” Gaisen asked, chewing on a strip of jerky.
“No,” Sherias said, “But I’m only getting a couple hundred meter radius here.”
“Maybe the sensor got knocked around too much? You did fall into a creek this morning,” Gaisen said.
“It’s waterproof,” Sherias growled. “Try boosting it with some of your earth magic.”
Gaisen stretched, intertwining his fingers above his head. “Of course.” He planted a hand on the ground and turned it ninety degrees to his left. He repeated this five more times around the spike before connecting each point with a straight line.
“Better?” He asked, dusting himself off.
Sherias peered at the sensor. “Better,” She said.
“By the divines, I’m beat,” Ardent yawned, “Remind me again whose idea it was to walk?”
“We shouldn’t bring in any variables that could affect our research,” Sherias said, “Especially if the natives claim the land is cursed.
Besides, your belly will thank you.”
Ardent patted his stomach and laughed. “My belly thanks me after every meal,” He said.
*It does?*
The trio froze.
*It thanks you?*
Sherias’ wand glowed blue as she pointed out into the darkness. A quick shake of her head confirmed there was nothing on the surface with them.
Gaisen pointed to the ground and knelt, resting the tips of his fingers on the earth. He breathed in, then focused. He breathed out, and found himself alone.
*You?* The voice said.
Gaisen blinked, but couldn’t see anything. *A teleportation spell? Short range, perhaps?* He thought, tasting the air.
*Spell?* The faintest hint of light glimmered in front of him.
The air was cool and dry. *But how was it cast without tipping off the magic sensor?*
*Sensor?* Another voice said. *Magic?*
*We hate magic.*
The light burst forth, throwing green hues across the stalagmites and walls. Before him was a pulsing membrane straining against the stone it was woven into.
*Magic bound us*, The voices hissed.
“Maybe I can help,” Gaisen said. His hand trembled as he reached for his pistol. “I’m a scientist, I can-”
*Magic hurt us!* They screamed, pulsing even brighter. *It ruined us!*
He turned the safety off and slowly unholstered the gun. “You see this? It can help you.”
*Nothing helps us.* The air thickened, pressing against Gaisen’s lungs.
*
I’ll probably only have time for one good shot. Best make it count.* He lifted the gun and pointed it at the membrane.
*LIAR.* The light burned, and Gaisen froze.
*YOU HAVE COME TO HURT US.* The voices wailed, banging against the membrane. *WE WILL HURT YOU.* Green enveloped the cavern, and another soul joined those who were betrayed.
| 2017-12-29T19:17:44
| 2017-12-29T17:35:04
| 36
| 22
|
[WP] Your doctor has discovered cancer in both of your eyes. Tomorrow, you are having life-saving surgery to have them removed. Describe your final day with vision before you go blind.
|
I'm losing my eyes tomorrow. I've made my peace with it, mostly, but there's one thing that scares me.
My friends are all assholes.
They're the worst, and they've never gotten me to watch 2 girls 1 cup, and now they've got less than 24 hours left to make me.
I am TERRIFIED.
So far they've hijacked my tv, my cell phone, and I don't know how, but they found a way to air it on the jumbo-ton during a ball game. Dan is going to jail for that one, and I'm getting better at jumping out windows than I ever imagined.
I'm having dinner with my family tonight, I've already asked my brother to watch the parking lot for them. I'm pretty sure I saw one of them buying a giant tv, a wagon, and a ton of extension chords earlier.
The hospital has been informed, and will be checking id's of everyone entering my room. Impersonating a doctor is nothing to these guys.
19 hours to go, people. Wish me luck.
|
You know, I never really realized it, but up until today, I hadn't ever *seen* things. Not really. Although I looked out at the world through these now-dying eyes, I didn't take the time to *see* it. I never took the time to see *you*.
It sounds a bit clichéd, I suppose. But there's a truth to it.
I suppose I'm lucky, as far as these things go. In that it was spring when they discovered the disease in my eyes.
So I've been able to see the flowers in blossom, the birds -- have you ever taken the time to just *see* the different kinds of birds in spring? Now I know why birdwatching is a thing.
Today, the last day before my surgery, I was able to wake up and see my bedroom the last time. Able to see my house as I went down the stairs, able to see my cereal as I poured it. All for the last time.
I had the day off work -- heck, I had a while off work, until I could find a job that I could do without. . . Well, you know.
So I drove up to the state park and took one last walk out in the woods. The flowers, the trees, the birds, the squirrels. I watched a bunch of squirrels running around for two hours. I cried a little bit, then. Then I went down to the lake and just watched the water while I waited for your flight back in. I'm sorry you had to come back for this. . . I know you don't think I should be, but I am.
I'm just glad you got back in time. Because now that I've seen you -- really *seen* you -- for the first time and for the last time, I can close my eyes and hold your face in my hands. And as I do that, I think to myself: *this will be enough*.
| 2015-10-09T14:00:59
| 2015-10-09T12:37:17
| 34
| 21
|
[WP] You have been given magical gifts suitable for fairytale princesses. Whenever you sing, forest creatures gather near; anything you wear turns into a lovely tailored dress; and handsome princes are drawn to you. The problem is, your name is Joe, and you're a 40 year old grizzly biker.
|
When the fairy (literal fairy) told him that he could wish for anything he wanted, he thought she was shitting him. The old lady had gotten wasted at the Chain Drive and picked a fight with the wrong guy. Who knew that magical fairy godmothers smoked and drank in leather bars? Apparently, this one did. So after Joe stepped in to throw the asshole out for trying to break the jaw of a grandma, she had hiccupped and slurred her way through some crazy explanation of "debts owed."
Joe told me he wasn't sure why he was so honest. Maybe it was being in the leather bar for the first time in a while, or the whiskey, or maybe cause he thought she was full of shit. All he knows now is that he's never felt so good after (who fucking knew?!) it came true. It a took a bit of time for his crew to adjust. Him screaming along to metal on his bike with birds tweeting and fluttering along behind him was quite a sight. And, damn, did he ever get laid by the prettiest rich twinks this side of the Mississippi. No one knew how he managed to not get all the frills of those petticoats caught in his hog while he raced down the highway, but by some magic he just sparkled on by and never wrecked. Thing was, his gang learned to never question, and I'll tell you how.
One night after a long day on the road, his crew stopped at the Red Boar saloon. Big Joe stomped over to the bar as usual, chomping on his cigar, and downed a shot. Some hillbilly idiot on the the next stool, obviously not the classy sort, looked up and down at Joe's shiny gold dress.
"The fuck you wearing, faggot?" He says.
Now Joe just downed another shot, put out his cigar on the bar, and took a deep breath.
Damn motherfucker didn't even see it coming. Big Joe just pulled him off that stool, slammed him on the ground, and knocked his teeth out. Over and over again, we all saw him beat the living shit out of that poor sap.
"I!"
Another punch.
"AM!"
Another punch.
"A PRINCESS!"
Damn right. After that, no one ever doubted that Big Joe of the road was the prettiest princess of the land.
|
The Harley Davidson convention was in full swing as Joe’s dust-riddled biker boot shit-kickers trudged his substantially muscled form down aisle after aisle of –man- transportation. No pussies allowed.
Making his way past a particularly testosterone-riddled row of bikes, he was suddenly accosted by the sight of an even more substantially muscled man glowering down at a fair-haired maiden.
‘Now, what is this?’ thought our balding but still oddly imposing Harley-loving friend. ‘No man of such size should ever appear threatening toward a lady. Even if this is no place for a fancy looker like herself.’ And so, he trudged ever-so-slightly faster toward the pair.
“What do you think you’re doing?” said he to the behemoth who still glowered with great menace toward the crinkle-nosed beauty. Nose-crinkling is almost always a sign of anger, and so our friend assumed that she was disgruntled with her treatment.
“This nice lady has done nothing to deserve this kind of treatment. I suggest you leave before this becomes a situation. We don’t want a situation, now do we,” he stated bluntly to the larger man, wearing his own equally grimace-y expression, that had been perfected in his years as a squirrel exterminator.
The lady maltreater paused, appearing to contemplate argument for a moment, but his eyes glanced down to the beltline of his shorter opponent, where there was a sheathed revolver, the size of which may have suggested the man was compensating for something. Rethinking what would have been a fabulously bawdy comeback, he turned and left without another word.
Relief passed over the fair maiden’s face, and she turned to her savior to say, “I would like to thank you for your kindness on this day, the 26th day of March in the year 2016. For your valiance, I will grant you one wish.”
Now, our friend, thinking he had rescued a nice, normal, albeit pretty lady, promptly went from gentlemanly to pissed in a nano-moment. Thinking that she was mocking him, he responded, “I wish I was a fucking fairy-tale princess,” and he turned and trudged away so quickly it could be described as stalking off.
Later that evening, Joe, our unassuming pal, was getting ready for bed and shed his clothing until only a pair of Sponge Bob boxers were left. He then did the only manly thing one can when getting into bed and he cannon-balled onto his red and black lumberjack flannel comforter.
The next morning, when Joe awoke, it was due to a rather uncomfortable lump under his back. Cracking his eyelids, nearly sealed shut with crusties, he glanced down, only to sit up abruptly in what could have been either anger or alarm. Joe is rarely alarmed, so we will assume anger.
He was now wearing a rather conspicuous (due to him not being a 5-year-old girl) yellow and blue tutu. This was paired with the unfortunate fact that his now unhoused penis was able to sway to and fro from beneath the ruffled fabric. Which it did as he launched himself from bed to stand in front of the mirror.
Had Joe been the type to laugh at himself. Ever. He would have released a great and voluminous chuckle. But Joe is not –that sort- of man.
And so, he punched the mirror.
Hand now bloodied, he had no choice but to remove his new fairy-garment and stumble into the shower, where he proceeded to sing Enter Sandman by Metallica, his number five favorite shower song of all time.
About two minutes into singing, there was suddenly a swarm of small brightly-plumaged birds whirling and twirling enchantingly above his head. Needless to say, Joe was not enchanted. He immediately Karate Kid snatched a bird out of the air from above the head and asked, not altogether unrhetorically, “What the hell are you doing in here, you little shits?”
Ignorant of the meaning of the word rhetorical, the bird responded in a quiveringly shrilly bird voice, “I – I – I’m sorry, Sir. My name is Sandman. I thought you told me to enter… and the sound of your voice was just so majestic that we could not stay away. I hope we did not offend you, Sir.”
It was at this inopportune moment that one of his bird friends decided to take a crap right on Joe’s left ear, which protruded conspicuously from the side of his head.
“Okay, that’s enough! I don’t know what in blazes is going on, but get the ever-living fuck out of my house!”
And so, they did.
It wasn’t until later, as he was leaving his house clad in a very lovely red and black flannel princess-neckline dress that Joe began to realize that something was truly off.
That, and there was a line of fairy princes a mile long waiting at his front door…
Fin
My third ever post to WritingPrompts; feedback appreciated!
| 2016-03-26T07:28:22
| 2016-03-26T00:23:08
| 19
| 10
|
[WP] Instead of a certain length of time in prison, prisoners must solve puzzles, the number and difficulty increased according to their crime and intellect. You must design the prison for the mad scientist that destroyed a city to "see what they could come up with"
Freedom earned with completion of the puzzles
|
It was a difficult task, even if I had designed thousands of prisons through my years with the justice system. The villain, Doctor Blakeston had committed thirty thousand counts of murder and I knew that I couldn't out think him no matter what I tried. I decided instead to make this the simplest puzzle anyone had ever thought to create. Simpler than the cheap holding cells holding the youth correction prisoners and simpler than anything my six year old daughter had been solving in the last few months. They brought him into the room strapped to an board and I watched through the cameras as he gnashed and gnawed at the muzzle that kept the guards safe from his fury. The guards left the room and the commander next to me pressed the button that made the prisoner's restraints fall off. I watched as he inspected the room, starting with the bed, moving onto the food hatch that would keep him healthy for his stay and finally onto the only other thing in the room. The solid wood door that the guards had left through. It sat, closed but unlocked, ready for him to walk through. It's only distinguishing features were a large brass door handle and a small sign; "fully rehabilitated people can leave with no repercussions". He reached for the handle, read the sign again, paused his hand mid-movement. I watched the frustration and confusion play out on his face. I smiled then, leaning back in satisfaction, having proved myself right to both the sceptical governor and the guards. He was far too self-absorbed to risk walking through the door, but far too clever to spot the obvious trap I'd placed him in. The commander nodded his satisfaction at me, shutting off the video feed as the criminal sat back on the bed.
The door sat closed for 30 years before the prisoner had truly repented inside his own heart and decided it may be safe to open it. His heart sank at the sight that lay beyond it. An empty corridor, an emergency exit. No security, no reason to lock himself away for all that time; and yet, as he walked slowly away down the street with no more hate in his heart he sadly thought to himself, 'I'm glad that I did'.
|
The cold decompress of the steel door did nothing to lessen the very loud singing voice that came from the cubicle.
“…and daring Dash, Adventurers slash Explorers! Titani…aah Eric! I was wondering when you were going to pay me a visit!”
I sat down at the table and stared into the face of the man who had leveled the most heavily guarded city on Earth in just under 30 minutes.
And he looked pleased.
“Come on Eric. You can’t say you’re not the tiniest bit happy to see me.”
“You killed 83 million people Victor. Happiness is not an emotion spared on you.”
Dr. Victor Locke cupped his face in his palms as if in shock.
“83? I was hoping for a nice round number. Like 100. They deserve it.”
I sighed. “You know the President wants you dead.”
“Oh he got out?” Victor whistled. “That was quick”
“He did. But his daughter didn’t. He’s advocating for the death penalty. The rest of the world agrees with him.”
“Well Eric”, Victor stood up and began pacing slowly with his hands in his pockets. “Diogenes Leratius recorded for us, the Greek philosopher Epicures’ thoughts on death – and I quote – “It is irrational to fear an event when that event occurs we’re not in existence…”
I continued, “…since when death is, we are not and when we are, death is not, then it’s irrational to fear death. One might just as well fear birth.”
He smiled. “I so miss our talks Eric.”
“Well I’m afraid this is our last one.”
“Oh, you’ve come up with a puzzle! Hahaha! I can’t wait!”
“You might want to temper your excitement a bit.”
Victor was beaming. “Well, how can I? You do know the moment you set the puzzle, there’s no going back. You can’t change it once the sentence has been declared.”
“I know.”
“And you do know that I have the second highest recorded IQ in the world.”
“First now. Your experiment killed Samantha Logan.”
Victor clapped with glee.
“Not only am I about to be set free, but I’m the smartest person alive? This keeps getting better and better.”
A wry smile formed across my lips.
Victor sat down and gazed eagerly at me. “Well? What is it Eric?”
I stood up. “By the power vested in me by the United State of Washington, I hereby commence your sentence until such a time that you are able to satisfactorily solve your state appointed Puzzle.”
Victor grinned eagerly.
“Your Puzzle Dr. Victor Locke is, to figure out how exactly Trump became President.”
Victor’s face fell.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
| 2017-01-29T07:38:37
| 2017-01-29T07:22:27
| 33
| 24
|
[WP] Darkness is a physical presence. Touching it is deadly. Humanity lives only in brightly lit cities, connected with brightly lit roads. Your job is to patrol the roads an ensure all the lights are working.
|
The Lamp Watchers were a valued and vital force of the New Empire. Nobody really knows much about the old empires, just that there must have been at least one. So much of what they left behind still remains. The cities of the New Empire were built on the ruins on the old cities, using their old walls to light the surrounding darkness to hold back it's tide with each setting sun. The Wall Watchers were responsible for keeping those lights lit and probably had a more important role than the Lamp Watchers, probably the most important role in the entire empire, but it was not the life for me. I couldn't spend my life sitting around.
Few people would ever leave the city they were born in. It was dangerous, even with the Lamp Watchers patrolling the roads, ensuring the way was lit and the roads were safe. However, no matter how many Watchers were assigned, a lamp would always go dim eventually. As it did it weakened the force holding back the darkness, let it bleed in, touching those who walked by, stroking their very soul, twisting them. Night sickness was untreatable and as deadly to those who contracted it as it was to those around them.
Lamp Watchers didn't just tend to the lamps, they also had to be ready to defend themselves against those who had been afflicted with the night sickness. The Lamp Watchers were the empire's guards of the road and ensured the safety of those who used them. Even if sometimes that meant killing those very same people. The sounds that came from the darkness were horrifying at first, the smallest rustle of leaves causing your whole body to tense with fear, especially walking down the road alone on a moonless night. Most people wouldn't even dare leave the house, praying for the return of the moon instead. But the snapping of a twig or the grunting sounds in the blackness were more often the result of a rabbit or boar than they were that of a person struck by the night sickness. Nobody knew why it was only humans affected by the sickness, but that was just the way it was.
The rise of the New Empire had happened around one hundred years ago. The plague of the darkness and the sickness it inflicted had left humanity spread out in small closed off villages. The man who became the first emperor had formed an army. He'd led them, lighting the old roads and carving out paths through the land. They had found the old cities and had led people there. They had been a literal beacon in the dark, drawing even more people in. For the decades following, search parties had travelled to find more villages, leading them to the roads and then to the first city. As that city filled, more had been found and established. Although it was called the New Empire, in it's entirety it only consists of five cities.
The armour of a Lamp Watcher was a breastplate covered in the luminescent glow of a rare plant. It did very little to stop the darkness from touching you, in fact, it did nothing. But it was a symbol, a sign that they were the light in the dark, keeping back the pressing oppression of the night. The halberd they carried had a blade infused with the same glow, only more concentrated. That *did* serve a purpose. Those afflicted with the night sickness seemed to have an aversion to light. They'd walk alongside the roads rather than on them whilst searching for travellers to attack and would almost never enter the well lit cities. Often they would attack by trying to drag people off the road and into the dark. There was no saving those people. Occasionally you'd find one afflicted who would stand their ground in the light, even as it visibly reddened and blistered their skin. They'd ignore it as they spat and snarled at you looking for an opening in which they could get a hold of you and pull you back and down into the abyss of the night. They seemed to have little regard for their own preservation, taking bone crushing blows from clubs and cudgels. You could fill them with arrows and they didn't seem to slow their step. I'd even seen one lose an arm to a sword and still drag the swordsman off into the dark. The luminescent blade of the halberd however would give them pause. A cut with that would cause them to writhe in agony and it seemed to be the only thing that would actually stop them.
Every mercenary guard worth their pay would carry a glow weapon given the option. The only problem was the cost of infusing the metal was more than most could afford. Which was how I ended up here. On my face, in the dirt, stripped of my armour and weapon, with a very nasty bump on the back of my head. I should have seen it coming. For the better part of a decade I've patrolled the roads, perhaps it was my complacency that got the better of me. Although I knew it was more likely the girl with the green eyes and black hair. She had been beautiful and I'd been more than happy to talk to her, especially when she smiled at what I said and stroked my arm. I should have seen the look in her eyes. That little flicker over my shoulder to the man who had clubbed me. It hadn't been an obvious tell, she was clearly meant to keep me focused on her, but it was enough for me to curse myself for not seeing it.
They were all gone now. My head was killing, my vision slightly fuzzy as I pushed myself up onto my knees and dusted off the gravel from my face. I looked around and saw I was all alone. At least, I hoped I was. The sound of a branch cracking off to my left, about five meters off the road caught my focus. Another sound, the scraping of dirt followed it. I drew the knife from my boot as I slowly stood into a crouch, wishing I had my halberd right about now.
EDIT - I have to go now, I'll add another post later continuing the story as people seem to like it! :)
|
A triple-bulb does not fail. Three ultra bright LEDs powered by the grid, each with independent backup power supplies, and a hundred thousand hours of bulb life do not shut off. Ever. But here, on this lonely stretch of highway, the light is out. A hundred meter spire, every inch studded with triple-bulbs, has gone dark, and my hair is standing on end. As I stand under an adjacent spire I can barely make out the next in the series, three hundred meters down the road. It is fully lit, a shining beacon, but its light flickers and ebbs as though it were being consumed photon by photon in the intervening distance. I have a sinking feeling, and I am overcome with a sudden malaise. My muscles slack and my heart slows its beat. I am blind. I am blind. I cannot
| 2014-12-14T22:35:38
| 2014-12-14T21:43:04
| 530
| 10
|
[WP] The nightmare has come true; you've woken up back in sixth grade with your memories and knowledge of everything that happened since then intact. You start staring at your classmates around you, aware of how they end up. Your teacher asks you what's wrong as you start weeping.
|
Tears started streaming down my face when I looked at my surroundings. Most of my classmates were glancing at me curiously. Just like I they were sitting at light brown desks on green chairs with their pens in their hands. The sunlight that shone through the large windows seemed rather orange, which told me that it was early in the morning. I looked on my watch and saw that it was 8:15 am. The first lesson had just started, but it would be the last one most pupils, who were with me in the classroom, would ever attend.
Everything was exactly how I remembered it and how I used to describe it to my therapist. I thought I was in one of my terrible nightmares I got every now and then to process the horrible things that happened exactly 6 years ago, but now it felt just too real to be a dream. I started hyperventilating and buried my face in my hands as I could not stand looking in my class mate's faces anymore.
"What's the matter? Tell me!", my teacher said insistently. I was sobbing too intensely to give an answer even though I wanted to. "I think she's having a panic attack or something, we should call a doctor! What are you waiting for?", I heard my best friend's worried sounding voice from right beside me. She was so caring, I had missed her so much for the last six years.
Eventually I could not cope with the pain anymore and managed to form words.
"Lock the door! Lock it and put everything you can find in front of it!", I yelled as loudly as possible.
The teacher and the other students seemed shocked and confused at the same time.
They knew me well enough to realize that I was not joking and after a few moments of silence the first ones started panicking, while others did how I said and moved their desks and chairs towards the entrance. The teacher quickly locked the door and motivated the other kids to help securing the classroom. Then she stepped up to me, concern written all over her face, and asked me: "What did you warn us from?" The dull sound of shots in the distance cut me off before I could even give an answer.
More and more horrible memories from the exact same day flooded back in my head, which made me almost black out. My best friend supported me, but I could not look into her eyes as the last time I saw her was, when she catched a bullet for me and died immediately. I wasn't the only one freaking out. My classmates were sitting on the floor, screaming and scared to death. My teacher tried to calm them down, so the maniac with the gun wouldn't hear us, but even if she had succeeded, it would have been too late. I could tell by the sounds that were coming from outside the classroom that he must have made his way to our hallway and by now I was pretty sure he knew we were there.
I was right. The handle on the door moved, but he could not enter. For a moment I was relieved. I thought I had saved my classmates, but suddenly I heard multiple shots and the cheap door was a heap of rubble. My classmates screamed in fear and I was sure some of them were already mortally wounded, but I didn't dare to look. The shooter didn't even bother to put the furniture aside, he just randomly fired through the entrance. I felt like a huge failure. I surely was not sent back to this day to let my friends die, there was at least one person I owed something.
I crawled to my best friend and shielded her with my body just like she did today or 6 years ago. I had to grip her tightly so she wouldn't break free and play the heroine again. I ignored her shouting and kicking until I finally felt a sudden sharp pain in my back. It was the most painful thing I had ever felt and my best friend catched me before I fell and hugged me, while her warm tears dropped on my body. I was on the edge of losing consciousness, when I heard my surviving classmates telling each other that the shooter was gone and everything will be fine. Except for me and at least 4 others, who were shot. I knew that I would not find out how I changed my classmates lives, but for my best friend it was worth it.
The last thing I heard were the police siren coming closer and my best friend crying, before I slowly faded away.
(_sorry for potential mistakes, but it's late and English isn't my first language_)
|
As I slowly become aware of my surroundings, I recognize the bright wave of colors that had always dotted the wall next to me. The entire class had painted it, a group effort to beautify the classroom. With a sudden shudder of knowing, I realize what had happened. I had been sent to the exact day that *The Incident* had occurred. A happenstance so disturbing for my 9 year old self that it scarred me for life.
As I look around me, I recognize the faces of all my classmates that would be caught in the crossfire. Flashes of what happened to them rip through my mind, visualizing their laughing faces as they would become.
Derry, the class clown. Lying in the mud outside the window, motionless.
Margret, the smiler. Collapsed on the floor, spittle escaping from her gaping mouth.
Henry, the smart one. Curled up near a chair, spatters of red drenching his chest.
Vindion, my best friend. Looking up at me with bruises everywhere.
Mr.Drape, the teacher. Running around with blood running down his head.
He came to me, seeing my tears. "What's wrong?" he asked, oblivious to the impending disaster. I could only shake my head, as the fear of a 9 year old caused tears to leak from my eyes.
And that's when I saw it. The *Entity.* The being that started the chain. It was just as grotesque as I had imagined it. Just as foreign. Just as repulsive. And much more terrifying in the flesh. I knew that I could not change history. For men do not have dominion over the harsh truth known as time. That flighty temptress, who we all desire, but can not capture. I knew that I could only repeat what I had done before. I took a deep breath, filling my small and pitiful lungs with as much air as they could hold. And dared to name the *Abomination.*
"Waassssp! Ruuunnn!"
Ink, pencils, and children scattered in the wake of my cry. Derry ran out side and took cover in the petunias. As if that could save him. Margret, the poor thing, fainted dead away, horrified. She was never good with bugs. Henry had gotten spattered with an errant pot of red ink, and cowered behind a chair. Vindion promptly dived into a table, and looked as the *Terror* inexorably flew towards me. Mr Drape ran around going through cupboards, looking for the holy grail known to men as bug spray. And me. I looked on as it inched closer and closer to my small, frail nose.
But I was prepared. I had spent over $1900 on therapy, to get rid of my fear that this small creature instilled in me. I grabbed my exercise book and in a very anti-climatic fashion, swatted it dead.
Take *that* Flow of Time.
| 2019-08-18T08:49:58
| 2019-08-18T08:42:51
| 43
| 25
|
[WP] Area 51 has four level emergencies for a breakout. Level 3: Armed forces intervention. 2: Public statement. United Nations joint resistance. 1: Worldwide evacuation effort. Use of nuclear weapons permitted. And 0: Call the number on the sticky note (and pray to God his demands aren't too high).
|
"Sir, we just received the call from the Joint Chiefs. We've been upgraded to level 0."
"...fuck. Go to my office and find the green sticky note on my desk. There's a phone number on it. Send that number a text that reads 'Priority zero'."
"A text message, sir?"
"The guy on the other end, he doesn't...he doesn't really talk much. Send it immediately and let me know what his demands are."
"...this doesn't make sense, sir. The only thing he wants...is a crowbar."
|
"Sir, we just got triple Aurhorization for a Level 0 Incursion. Call this number form this phone, and pray that his demands aren't too high."
Axel Gundersson III was handed the authorization codes, signed by the current President Winfrey and three of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, as well as the head of NASA. He frowned, then really *looked* at the person who had handed him this. Former General Petraeus had come in to Area 51 and handed him this. The general bowed slightly, before turning and striding off.
Avxel looked at the number. It was a 24-digit code in a Hexadecimal cipher. He typed in the code on his keyboard. The screen and lights flickered, hesitant to accept such a heresy from the input device. Then, in neon red and yellow the screen flashed its rage.
**CODE ACCEPTED**
*THE WHITE RABBIT COMES*
*ATTEND!*
Axel stared at the screen, bemused.
The screen flicked back at him. *KNEEL, YOU FOOL!*
Axel found himself pulled to the floor, prostrate become the coming items. He looked up, wondering what the hell was going on, and then...clarity.
What he *wasn't* expecting was the three men and two women who came through the screen, before it shattered. To the far left of him, came the image of Ming Na Wen, appearing as remarkably akin to Agent May from that show he liked. Stood next to Axel's kneeling form was Gandalf the White.
To Axel's right, stood Keanu Reeves armed to the teeth with small sidearms and four AR-15 rifles, as well as a long trenchcost and some stylish shades. To his right, a woman in full platemail armor, wielding a fine blade made almost of light.
And immediately in front of him, The Joker. Not as Axel thought of in the comics he read as a kid - but rather a much more lithe, sinuous snake, wrapped in a suit of madness and circus-horror.
The Joker clapped his hands, and the voice of a psychotic Mark Hammill sounded. "Let's get this party started, ladies and gentlemen! We have a world to save, and some FUN to have!" His maniac cackling led the five new people down the hallway.
Axel breathed again. "Hail Mary, fulla Grace!"
| 2017-03-21T06:25:13
| 2017-03-21T02:18:07
| 40
| 23
|
[WP] Any birthmark on your body is a result of you dying violently in a previous life. How did you die?
Apologies if this has been done too many times before.
For me?
The pale spot on my thigh is where the infection first began. The dark mark on my back is where the bullet tore through my body, finally coming to rest inside my spleen. The moles on my face are from the grenade's shrapnel peppering my flesh. The largest chunk struck my neck and tore through my carotid artery sending my blood out in crimson arcs onto the dirt.
|
Zach shows off the horse on his arm. He says he got kicked in the head one night after he tried giving a stallion a kiss. On his left knee is a pair of fangs from a snake. I wonder if he'd tried to kiss that animal too.
It's too early in the relationship to start comparing marks but I don't tell him that. We're at the restaurant he picked. Eating food he's chosen.
He wants to see my marks but I shy away. There are three hidden under my clothes. One bright and bold on my face. It's a small crescent moon from a former life when my husband hit me in the head with a wrench.
Over my heart is a small wound from a lover who stabbed me there last.
My back holds a round circle where a bullet entered and did not exit. Another husband.
On my belly is a red x where I was impaled with a piece of wood. My father that time.
My date smiles at me through a mouthful of spaghetti. I wonder why it looks so much like blood.
|
A swarm of wasp to my face is the only possible explanation for my freckles. That hairy mole on my ass? A rhino bashed threw my buttocks as I was on safari in the 1890s. My hetero-chromia? From a piercing dagger from that gladiator fight. Almost won that one too.
| 2014-10-18T20:26:27
| 2014-10-18T18:40:37
| 49
| 12
|
[WP]”I’m going to fight and lose badly” “don’t you mean win?” “No! Look at her she is built like a tank I can’t win!”
|
I couldn't argue. The fighter across the ring had a squat chassis resting between two stout track pods. A menacing array of armaments and sensors bristled from slabs of sloped armor. Pretty much the most appropriate literal assessment.
"Look, you're a world-class bot fighter. You can make it happen. Everything has a weakness."
As I glanced at our foe again I hoped I was right.
"Look, it's a solid build paradigm, but there are known weaknesses to it. Tell me about em."
L1L1 lost the frantic spark in her eyes and settled down. "Flanking attacks. The side is usually less formidable than the front. The rear is often vulnerable, as is the top. Mobility kills can be achieved by damaging the tracks."
I adjusted a few servo values in my tuning computer. Bumped a little bit of shield power over to weapons. L1L1 gave a surprised shuffle as she processed the change.
"That goes against 97.239% of our previous fight strategy. What gives?"
"Well, Lilly, the lower shield values should be able to protect you from the point defense lasers and heavy slug throwers. Your shield maxes wouldn't stop that mass driver it's sporting as a primary weapon. So, we gamble a bit on some extra hitting power."
"What about the missile batteries?"
Yeah. Leave it to L1L1 to point out the flaw.
"Guess you gotta dodge, puddin. You have your own countermeasures, and as long as you don't get tagged directly you should be okay. Stay quick and nimble, keep it to medium range. Those missiles will have a hard time keeping up with you, given that they look like long-range types, and the point defenses won't be hitting as hard."
I could see her scanning, and the diagnostics flared with increased calculations.
"Maybe pick off some of the externally mounted weapons? Create some less dangerous zones?"
It was a good idea, and I was glad to see she wasn't making the mistake of thinking in terms of "safe" zones anymore. I glanced at the new right arm. Yeah. Nowhere is ever safe in a bot fight.
"It's a good idea Lilly. Doubt that turret will be able to track fast enough to follow you once you start dancing, but you can't lose track of that gun."
She grimaced. "Like you always say, careless for a moment, scrap forever."
"That's my girl."
With that our prep time was over. The safety fields boomed to life, and my sweet flower was set to dance with a lumbering relic of older days. 01GAs hadn't been seen in almost a generation, but this one was here. I wasn't sure L1L1's emitters were even able to breach the hide of that thing, but we'd have to see.
The countdown started, and so did the sweat.
The rest... well. Everyone knows that story.
|
I look over at the pile of muscle once again. She threw her bag to the ground, cracking her knuckles. It’s hard to actually keep my gaze focused without thinking about the fact that I’m about to be clobbered into the ground, never to be seen again.
“Look, you’ll be fine. You’ve trained and you’ve trained hard! A little size difference isn’t going to change anything!” My friend, Watson, spoke enthusiastically. At times, it was difficult to tell if he was being genuine to trying to manipulate me. Guess that makes him pretty good, huh?
Thinking about it again, I should explain why I’m about to become ground meat.
Ok, so I work at a little cafe named “Herlock” and I haven’t been working there long. Every now and then, Watson would stop by to buy a coffee and have a chat. I’ve known him since High School and it feels like trouble’s always coming to him. Every time he’d stop by, he would always have a grandiose story of how he narrowly made it out of some situation that was usually caused by him.
One day, he just stopped by without a story. Nothing absolutely insane like the trash cans that all came rolling down the street, causing an untold amount of property damage. That’s when, for the first time in the last three or so days, we had a customer that wasn’t Watson. She came in, sat by the counter and asked for curry, rice, and some coffee. So I got to work. She sat quietly waiting as Watson continued to rattle on about how he believed the world worked.
Eventually, I finished the food, served it, and she ate. As she was about to leave, Watson decided to get in a sly remark. “I bet you could beat her in a fight.”
And now I’m here. Standing in a parking lot. No training. No muscle. I walked forward toward my doom as Watson cheered me on. I raised my fist and…
“You got guts.”
She pulled Watson by the hair in the way of my fist and I accidentally clocked him across the jaw. He fell to the ground and she looked me in the eyes. “Don’t worry. That’s all I wanted to do.” She then picked up her bag and left. Watson got up and started whining about how much that hurt (and how I was just a bit stronger than I look) as I looked down and thought;
Please don’t let me be in another one of your stories, Watson.
| 2022-09-18T20:45:08
| 2022-09-18T18:56:46
| 26
| 18
|
[WP] You fall in love with a girl, and the two of you have a happy relationship for a few years. But one day, you discover a massive hoard of valuables underneath the house, and that’s when you realize you’ve been dating a dragon in human form.
|
Steel wedding rings. She insisted on them, rather than the traditional gold. When I suggested even 10k rings, less than half purity, she frowned and said no.
A few times I bought her jewelry, and she always thanked me, but never wore it. After a while I learned to just get her flowers, which she loved. She never wore any jewelry at all, no necklaces, bracelets, pendants, nothing except the steel ring. I asked her why she only wanted steel, and she said it was because it was man-made, showing our human connection. I accepted that.
She was always vague about her past, but did mention growing up in mountains and, as she put it, "wild places". We often went hiking and backpacking, and when we got away from cities, she seemed to glow with an inner fire. Her smile, her eyes, would light up when seeing mountains. I loved that about her.
One day though, we were at home, or at least I was. She'd gone off grocery shopping. I had to get something from the basement. While there, in the far corner I saw a tarp covering some old cardboard boxes. I didn't recognize them so went to take a look.
And... all the jewelry I'd bought her? It was there. Along with a LOT of gold and precious gems. Boxes and boxes of them, neatly sorted by color, shape, size. I was dumbfounded. She'd never expressed any interest in this to me, what was all this?
I took one of the lighter boxes, containing only gems, upstairs and opened it on the table, I was marveling at the sheer variety of them when I heard the car door slam, she was home.
"Hi honey", she said, carrying in the groceries. "I got your favorite..." she trailed off, seeing the box of gems. Unbidden, the groceries slid out of her arms, crashing to the floor. She looked at me with eyes of fire. Slowly, from her back extended wings, as a tendril of smoke escaped her nose.
Yet quietly, calmly, and with steel grace, she asked me what I was doing with her hoard.
I took off the steel ring and with my own fiery eyes, reminded her that it was our hoard. After all, we lived in a community property state.
|
"Honey ! Where is my guitar's cable ?" I shouted from downstairs. "Where should I know ?" Check the basement !" she shouted back. She was the one who asked me to play some songs for her... Well, I do everything for the love of my life.
I stock everything in the basement... My guitar equipments, dead pc components, different types of cables etc etc... I got a little bit angry because I couldn't find the cable, and kicked a big box right next to the wall... Box destroyed and I've found something like a little door that goes down further. I didn't do this... What the hell is this ??
With the help of my phone's flashlight and a baseball bat, I went down. Slowly but surely. Anything could appear in front of me there. Bug, mouse, spider, bat... That's why I took the baseball bat. As I walked forward, that tunnel growed bigger... When I reached the end of it... That was the biggest shock of my entire life... Golds, gems, trinkets... Full of that stuff... Worth maybe tens of millions !
"Holy shit !" I screamed. I had to tell this to Eula, surely she'll be extremely happy with what I've found. Turns out, she was not happy about it. When I looked back, she was staring at me with fire in her eyes...
"Eula... Your eyes..." I only could say... "It seems like you've found out my secret, love." she replied. "What are you talking about baby, what the hell is going on here ?" I asked. "Let's just sit down, and let me explain, I hope you'll still love me after I confess" she said...
When we sat down, the light was out because my phone was dead. But there was a light. No actually fire, coming out from her eyes... "Allow me" she said and fired some torches with her breath... Again, I said "Holy shit !"
"As you can guess love. I'm a dragon. I have fire breath to prove it" she said. "And this stash you've found, it's my horde." she continued. "Why didn't you tell me in the first place ?" I asked. "Tell and let the love of my life run away from me ?" She replied.
She sounded reasonable, and I didn't want to question her anymore. She is the love of my life... Doesn't matter if she's a dragon, or a vampire or something else it doesn't matter because I'm in love with her.
She really cried as I told these to her. Gave me a big hug... "So... I guess we need to add one more house rule" she said while giggling. "What is it ?" I asked. "No touching my horde" she replied. While laughing, "You know, our ps4 started to wear off... If you buy a ps5 for us, I promise I won't touch it" I said. "Stop being an asshole" she giggled and playfully hit my shoulder couple of times. "Fine, you got the bargain" she continued.
"And by the way, I'm very possessive with my horde. And you are; part of my horde. You are my horde's most precious gem... I'll be more possessive of you" she said. "I'm all yours, baby." I replied.
As our evening continued, I've found my guitar cable and played her favorite songs for her, sang with her together.
That's how I learned she's a dragon. Completely by accident. What is so special about today ? Why I'm telling this ? Because, I'm marrying with that dragon girl tonight...
| 2022-09-10T12:08:01
| 2022-09-10T12:03:51
| 45
| 30
|
[WP] A team of researchers in a submarine are caught in a huge storm. The submarine submerges until the storm passes. When they resurface, they can’t get a fix on their location or find land. When night falls, there are two moons in the sky and the constellations are completely unfamiliar.
Well this has blown up big time!! Almost on the front page, the stories so far are all amazing! Keep them coming!!
|
Staring up at the two large moons, Seth knew that something had gone horribly wrong. There was no logical, scientific explanation for this.
He was one of the submarine technicians, working under Dr. Porter to help with her study of deep sea organisms in the infamous Bermuda Triangle. A freak storm had sprung up during a critical surface, resulting in a panicked dive beneath the ocean waves to try and escape it. Over an hour of tense muscles from the nine crew members.
Until finally, the sensors indicated the storm had passed. They surfaced, worried about the high amount of fuel they had blown in their flight, only to realize that the GPS and other mapping equipment were dead. Clocks were zeroed out. No cell signal.
Seth put his head in his hands. He refused to voice what he think must have happened; he knew folktales didn't sit well with this group, but...
There was a gasp as the rest of the crew climbed up next to him, black faces looking out across the frozen tundra.
"What...what is this place?" Heath asked, nervously picking at his skin.
"I have no idea," Dr. Porter replied, gazing up at the sky. "I..." She trailed off.
Looking towards the coastline, Seth kicked into survival mode. "I'm not going to act like I know what's going on, but let's just assume we're not in the Bahamas anymore. There seems to be a path to land through the ice over there," he gestured. "We can make camp and try to get a bearing in the morning." He looked to Porter for permission.
She was staring in the direction he pointed, thinking. "Yes, I think that is the best option for now. We shouldn't lose our heads; that's how disaster strikes groups like ours. Seth, Heath, go down and-"
A tapping from the water's surface cut her off. "Uh, hello up there?"
They froze, staring at each other in fear. No one made a sound.
After a pause, the voice spoke again. "Look, there are nine of you up there. I saw this thing pop out of the sea like it was nothing. I'm not hostile."
Taking the lead, Seth carefully looked over the edge, reaching into his pocket for he switchblade.
A lone girl was standing next to the sub, looking over it with a degree of awe. She appeared to be wearing an old-timey cloak and animal furs. In her hand was an intricate dagger, about the length of her forearm.
"Where are we?" Seth asked. The others came over to look.
With a gasp, Heath leaned against the railing. "She-she's standing on the water!" he choked out.
She looked up at the group, brow furrowing. "This is Skyrim."
|
Two moons shine brightly on Ted, who sat on top of the resurfaced submarine. He looked at the moon, analysing those moons, the situation and what all of that could possibly mean.
"Coffee?" came a question from John, who was almost as calm as Ted. No, he wasn't entirely relaxed; his mind was full of explosions of confusing thoughts, but he managed.
"How's Hazel?" Ted asked John, sighing. He took the coffee and looked at the water that reflected the two moons back at him. At least the reflection laws were still in place.
"She cried to sleep," John responded, slowly getting himself sit next to Ted.
"So, what have you figured out?" John asked from the group's currently calmest scientist. It wasn't that it was his personality, he just had least to lose. He was single, hated his home and thus he didn't think about the possible losses.
"Let's see." Ted started his speculation. It was all speculation after all and it was very likely that they will never figure out the truth. At least not during their lifetime. "In what order do you want to hear them?"
"To the most possible to least," John responded without second thought. Ted grinned.
"We got sucked into a hidden wormhole that teleported us somewhere else. It could be another planet, dimension or timeline," it was his most likely candidate. "That would explain why Earth never ran out of the water," he added to explain why he reached that as best explanation. He grinned. It was stupid.
"That sounds most logical one," it is not that they actually fully considered it. The situation was just so stupid and unexplainable, they didn't allow any 'it is impossible' thoughts into their head.
"Then there is the possibility of it being 'In another world' manga," Ted moaned. He hated that possibility.
"What is that?" John asked, who obviously wasn't up to date with the manga culture.
"Ah, its comics where the main character gets teleported, transported or moved to another place with previous world knowledge," Ted explained the meaning of the manga world.
"So, is it like magic?" John asked.
"Possibly. But that was my third thought. Maybe someone used some kind of magic and summoned us here?" none of them believed in that. There was no summoner after all. But just maybe, there was a fish who was a wizard?
Suddenly John knocked on Ted's shoulder. He pointed far away distance where black dot hid a blue sky. Ted took binocles and looked there.
"A ship," he said. This confirmed that there was life in this place. "It looks like it is a medieval era ship," he added.
"So, we went back in time, possibility?" John asked.
"I didn't know they blew up one of the moons during the medieval and industrial era," Ted grinned. They both gathered their belongings and entered the submarine. A few moments later submarine submerged, following the ship underwater.
----
/r/ElvenWrites :O
| 2018-01-29T06:47:06
| 2018-01-29T06:02:27
| 150
| 58
|
[WP] You're Barack Obama. 4 months into your retirement, you awake to find a letter with no return address on your bedside table. It reads "I hope you've had a chance to relax Barack...but pack your bags and call the number below. It's time to start the real job." Signed simply, "JFK."
|
Part 1 | [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6b55yn/the_weight_of_a_hero_part_2/) | [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6b5hy0/the_weight_of_a_hero_part_3/) | [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6b61h1/the_weight_of_a_hero_part_4/) | [Part 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6b74ri/the_weight_of_a_hero_part_5/) | [Part 6](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6bbwac/the_weight_of_a_hero_part_6/) | [Epilogue](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6bbz9g/the_weight_of_a_hero_epilogue/)
---
A prank? Barack stared at the letter. If it was a prank, it was a damn good one. The signature was exquisite--looping and elongated, a near mirror image of JFK's real signature. Well, if someone went through this much effort for a simple joke, he might as well entertain them.
He looked around to make sure neither his wife or daughter was around. He walked into the living room just in case and dialed the number.
It rang once and clicked. "Barack."
It was John's voice. For a second, Barack thought he was listening to old speeches played in fuzzy, warmly-colored screens.
"Who is this?" he asked.
"I'm John F. Kennedy, the 35th President of the United States. The time to serve your nation is now."
"No, you're not," Barack said. This was getting less and less funny with every word. It wasn't that funny to begin with. "Impersonating a President in any serious attempt is a grave offense."
"Look outside." The call cut.
Barack peeled back the drapes and peeked through the blinds at a sunny May day. Standing at the end of his driveway, right outside his gate, was John F. Kennedy. A jet black limo sat behind the man. He beckoned Barack and slipped back inside the tinted windows of his car.
---
The 44th President of the United States gripped the cool brass doorknob. Already, sweat was accumulating on his hands and neck. This was dumb. He shouldn't go, he knew, but JFK had been a personal hero to him. It was under his leadership that humanity reached the moon, he stood up to Russia at the height of their power, he was a man Obama would've given anything to meet. And now he had the chance.
He opened the door and stepped into the sunlight.
Secret Service agents watched him go. None tried to stop him. They wouldn't even meet his eyes. The front gate opened like curtains in a stage play, revealing the jet black of JFK's limousine.
The car door swung open. Barack licked his arid lips and swallowed what little moisture he had in his mouth. He got in.
---
The hum of the car was the only noise between the two Presidents. Obama simply stared. JFK looked exactly like in the photos. The man hadn't aged. He tried scanning John's face for any misplaced flap of skin, any misdrawn shadow, anything to give away the mask. There were none.
The car stopped and suddenly, the windows flickered to black. They had been TV screens, projecting fake streets and pedestrians!
"Barack Obama," John said turning to face him.
From this up close, there was no mistaking who that voice belonged to.
"Why did you get into this car?"
Barack's eyes flitted to the locked doors on either side of him and then faced John directly. "You said it was time to serve my nation."
Neither man blinked. At last, John spoke, "Well answered Mr. President. But I'm afraid that was a lie."
Obama's heart skipped. He clutched his leg, but refused to show weakness in the face of his captor.
"It is not time to serve America, but humanity as a whole."
"What do you mean?"
"In 1961, I gave a speech called We Choose to go to the Moon. Are you familiar with it?"
Barack nodded. Most historians claimed that was the moment that a moon landing was inevitable. With a few choice words, John had mobilized the unstoppable force of human will to reach a land that had always looked down upon them.
"I gave that speech for a very specific reason. Humanity needed to ascend, but not to a physical place. Initial probes of the moon had returned an element we are unfamiliar with, but this is the element that has kept me young, it grants me certain abilities that I have not shared with the world."
"So you did get shot?"
"I also did die."
Barack chewed on his lips. If this was still a prank, it was far more elaborate than anything he'd ever experienced. "So what is this element?"
"One without a name and soon it will be the only element worth mentioning. The Russians know its there. The Chinese probably have some idea. Already, there are factions within both countries, powerful enough to influence their space program. These factions are not in the best interests of humanity."
"So what is it that you want from me?"
"You have proven your devotion to our nation through your eight grueling years of Presidency. Because of its secrecy, we cannot employ our strengths at full capacity, rather, we must do so through single people willing to live and die for the protection of the human race."
"Like some sort of super hero?"
"Not like. Barack Obama, there exists a game far greater than any petty foreign politics. The winner of this game will dictate the future of our race. If you decline my offer, I will drop you off back home and we will never speak again. But if you so choose to accept, you will have the crushing weight of the human race on your shoulders, you will have none of the gratitude or reward. It will be a path through hell itself. So ask not whether you wish to be a hero, but whether you can survive as one."
Obama clenched his jaw. He had his wife and two daughters to think of. He had finally retired from the most stressful period of his life. But he had become the President not to leave a legacy, but to fulfill his duty.
He nodded. "I accept."
The doors of the car unlocked and automatically opened. There would be no turning back now.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations of prompts by popular request, and more!
|
Obama slowly lowers the letter as a drop of sweat starts to slide down his forehead, his heart pounding.
"Michelle." He says. "I have to step out for a minute. I'll be right back, you can go back to sleep." She mumbled something in return, but it wasn't coherent enough to understand.
Obama walks outside with his phone and the letter, and begins to dial the number. Before he types the last digit, he shuts his phone off and grabs his head with both hands in stress. This call could mean anything, after all. Obama paces back and forth while alternating rubbing his sweaty hands together and wiping the sweat off his forehead, as he smokes a cigarette he lit to help with stress. When the cigarette burns out he tosses it to the ground, steps on it to extinguish the flame, and tells himself simply "you can do this Barack. You were the president of the United States, for gods sake. TWICE." With that, he picked up the phone.
"Hello Barack." A voice said, before Obama had even said anything. "We've been expecting your call."
"Who is this?" Obama sternly asked.
"As the letter said, this is JFK. We have a job for you. Meet us on the corner of East and Third at 0300 hours Tuesday of next week. Come alone, and tell no one what you're doing. Tell no one about this call. Tell no one about the letter. We will know if you talk. Do not talk."
"B-but wait..." Obama stuttered. "Next Tuesday is my wife's birthday..."
"We are aware of that, Barack. Sacrifices have to be made in order to succeed." Replied the strange voice. Whoever it is was, they were definitely using a voice changer. Obama started to think, and he couldn't even tell if he had been talking to a man or a woman.
Days pass. Obama stressed uncontrollably over this, worried about what might happen, and worried more about how his wife would feel if he for any reason missed her birthday. He had no choice, though. He had to go to that meeting, to discover what this was all about.
The time has come.
Obama slowly walks to the stop sign on the corner of East and Third, at 0300 hours, on the correct day. Everything was as he was told. He received another call.
"Barack." The voice said. "Do not move. Do not make a sound. Do not even lower the phone from your face." Before Obama could ask why, he noticed multiple bright dots shimmering on his body. Snipers, no doubt. Obama didn't dare move. For two whole hours he was forced to sit like this.
At the dawn of the third hour, the lasers disappeared. A black unmarked car drove up to where he was sitting. He heard a voice that told him to approach the vehicle, but to not get in.
Obama walked up to the window, and stuff waiting for what might happen next.
The window rolled down.
"HAHAHAHAHA!" laughed Biden. "You should have seen all the faces you made! Oh and how stressed you looked! You seemed like you were gonna have a heart attack! HAHAHAHAHA!"
"Joe?" Replied Obama, angrily. "I don't understand. Explain, now."
"Easy, easy." Said Biden. "It was just a prank bro! Just a little joke! You know. Leave a mystery letter, give out mysterious instructions, have you sit in an uncomfortable posture for THREE HOURS. IT WAS HILARIOUS!"
"I don't understand." Obama looked puzzled. "What about all the threats? Why drag me out here at this time and day, and on my wife's birthday no less?"
Biden continued to explain, still laughing. "Because it's FUNNY! You were so freaked out! I'm sure you're more afraid to go home now than before, because your wife will be waking up any moment now to an empty bed, which is the BEST PART! AHAHAHAHA!"
Obama wanted to hit Biden. "But what about JFK? Why the blocked caller IDs? Why would you do this?"
Biden continued to laugh. "JFK? JFK?! That was your only hint you bozo - Just F$:king Kidding! Because it was a joke! What, did you think this had something to do with the old president? It's dead, Jim. I mean Barack."
Obama was so outraged at this point. He could no longer think of anything to say, so he didn't. He turned around and walked away, fearing how his wife might act when she learns the truth. He hadn't spoken of it, but she had noticed him acting awfully weird the last week.
"Biden." Obama thought to himself. "I will have my revenge."
To be continued in Pranking Obama 2: Electric Boogaloo
| 2022-06-24T19:04:50
| 2017-05-14T11:15:12
| 3,481
| 30
|
[WP] Working as a world renowned therapist you have uncovered far more about secret conspiracies, horrific monsters, barely failed schemes to destroy the world and dark magical cults from your myriad of heroic patients than you could have bargained for, and you might need therapy yourself
|
My philosophy as a therapist is simple—Snitches get Stitches. It's on my business cards in a calming cursive font.
My career took off ten years ago, when I was charged with aiding and abetting the SoHo Stabber's Spring-Street Stabbing Spree. I was the Stabber's Psychiatrist (I'm actually a therapist but he insisted on calling me his psychiatrist for added alliterative effect). The prosecutors tried to argue that I knew about the plot but failed to tip off the police. I was acquitted, of course. But the ordeal put me in the national spotlight, and as it turns out, the world's highest profile individuals were all looking for a trustworthy therapist promising unconditional secrecy.
It's not an easy job. Just yesterday I found out that the President of Country X is planning a vicious character assassination campaign against President of Country Y, despite the fact that President of Country Y is *also* a patient, who happened to have very recently made a critical breakthrough about his own self-worth. It'll undo *weeks* of progress.
“That kind of thing really wears you down, you know?” I tell Julia. “It makes me feel really isolated.” Julia is my therapist. She’s awful at it. But that’s okay, I find mentorship pretty fulfilling in and of itself, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s the real purpose of this “therapy.”
Julia nodded knowingly and scribbled in her pad. “How does that make you feel?” she asked.
I sighed. “I just told you how it made me feel, Julia. Come on, you’re better than this.”
“Oh right," she blushed. "I mean… uh, tell me about your parents.”
My parents? No no no. I was *just* opening up, now is not the moment to change the topic. “They’re both dead," I said dismissively. "Julia, here's some advice. Try to be a little less heavy handed. I got clients that'd put a knife in your ribs if you started by asking about their parents.”
Julia nodded sympathetically. "And how does that make you feel?"
Goddammit Julia. "Touché. Not so great, I'll admit. It's very stressful dealing with—"
I noticed Julia scribbling again. She was holding her notepad a little too low and I could see what she wrote. *Avoids talking about parents. Both dead. Foul play? Traumatic childhood confirmed.* “I can see your notepad, Julia. I’m fifty-eight, my parents lived a pretty full life and they were *not* murdered. I had a good childhood.”
“Oh great!” Julia said. “This is a breakthrough. Let’s explore that.”
“That’s not a breakthrough! I had a *good* childhood. Look, I think the source of my problems are pretty clear. We just need to talk about coping mechanisms.”
“We can talk about anything you’d like to talk about,” Julia said reassuringly. *Patient combative,* she wrote.
“So yeah. I’m sure you understand the confidentiality aspect, as a fellow therapist. Now imagine if people’s lives were on the line and every time a patient goes on a murder spree, you knew you could stop it.”
“That sounds very difficult,” Julia said. Thank you, Julia! *Now* you’re therapizing! “Did you feel that way about your parents death?” She added.
“What do you mean?”
“Like you could stop it.”
“Goddammit Julia!” I yelled, unable to help myself. “It's like talking to a broken record! I thought I could help you, but you’re not listening! My god, you’re a therapist who can’t listen! I hope you...” I'm not proud of it, but my little tirade lasted a *long* time. It’s hard being calm and understanding in every other aspect of my life and it felt good to let myself go a little bit. So Julia became my punching bag for a while. "...Take your license, shred it into little itty-bitty bits, roll them up into joints, and have your patients smoke them because *that'll* be better treatment than anything else you're offering them!"
By the end of it, she was sobbing, and honestly, I felt *great.* That was *exactly* what I needed. I booked another time slot with her for next week, and she penciled me in through tears.
As I left her office, I heard her from the other side of the door. “Doctor Johnson? Could we move our session up? I really need someone to talk to.”
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
|
I wore all black, as if I had been to a funeral. For when you are talking to Greatnesswoman, you must wear all black, everything else makes her unfocused. And to make her unfocused could mean the end to the world. At least when she prepared herself for a mission.
I must have had eleven therapy sessions with her the last month. The latest only one hour ago. This session was for me.
The only garment that was not black was my light blue mask. I preferred keeping my face hidden after my identity as the hero doctor had become known. I knocked three times on the hard wooden door and then I let myself in. The door let me in to a small room full of light. There were two chairs facing each other and a table between them.
On the furthest chair from the door, sat a woman. She stacked a bunch of papers back and forth. “Please sit down?” She said without reaching eye contact. She had a firm voice, a dense voice. I personally used other approaches when greeting clients, but I was not here to criticize.
I took of my jacket and placed it on a solid brown hanger. Then I followed her instructions and sat down. She placed her papers in a neat pile on the table. She then looked up; “please take of your mask”.
I steamed of insecurity but did as I were told. She frowned, “dr. Garrison!” She gasped, “the therapist to Greatnessman and…” I interrupted “Yes, yes and Greatnesswoman and all the others”. I was so tired of being recognized, by everyone.
She looked puzzled, but also confident; “well, what can I do for you” she gave a bleak smile.
“Well, it is about my job as the therapist to the greatest heroes. I have had this role for a while, and I do not longer handle all the work and responsibilities.”
I placed my head in my arms and sighed. “Every time, right before one of the superheroes flies to one of their missions, they call me. Every time they come back from one of this mission, they book an appointment. All their observations, all the drama and fear, they tell me everything.”
I stood up from the chair and waited for her to say something. “It’s just too much for me to carry.” The therapist nodded; “well I see, work can sometimes feel like a load, that’s difficult to carry all by yourself”.
“I need help, to continue to guide the heroes. Or else I am going to lose my mind. If things do not get better, I can no longer be a therapist.”
She continued to nod and said with a sturdy voice. “Maybe you could try to take a vacation. See how the heroes would manage by themselves for a week?”
“Ha” I laughed, “they wouldn’t last a day”.
She hesitated, “are you sure about that? We are talking about the greatest heroes of our time.”
(Dring, Dring, Dring) My phone rang. “Sorry it is important; I will be quick.” I sighed, again.
“Hey Greatnessman, how are you?” I said enthusiastic.
“Hey Garry, you wouldn’t believe it. There has been a prisonbreak in all the maximum-security prisons, in the galaxy. I know, I should start helping the authorities at once. But I think I need a therapy session first. Are you ready today, around five thirty?”
“Ah, you know Greatness, today isn’t…”
“Thank you, Garry, those criminals are going to be captured because of you. You are the real hero, and everybody knows it.”
“Wai…” I looked at my phone. “He hung up.” I started getting more frustrated.
“Now you see! Every day, a hero contacts me. They explain details around a mission that put both their own life and the worlds future in danger. Every minute I know that a hero might fail, and therefore the world fails with the hero.”
I looked at therapist, she seemed eager to comment. But first I said, “There is not more to say, I will quit servicing these clients.”
“No!” The therapist seemed nervous, “there is another way, let me explain”.
## r/simplystories
| 2021-05-08T08:47:08
| 2021-05-08T07:10:11
| 95
| 25
|
[WP] Fallen angel is a pretty popular trope in fiction. But I want to hear about Ascended Demons. Demons that were too good/ kind/ pious for the underworld and managed to break out.
|
I never understood the war. We were immortal. What the point of fighting? You can't kill something that is immortal. You aren't going to convince someone of your opinion with a flaming sword. I don't even know what my opinion was anyway. Duty? I think it was duty. Or maybe just momentum. I was in a rut. Running on autopilot. I didn't have passion for what I did. Then I met my first fallen angel. One whose righteousness outweighed his kindness and mercy until he embraced wrath and pride and fell.
That told me that we weren't stuck. Maybe I don't have to be a demon like the doesn't have to be an angel. Still, it is hard to be so slothful and indifferent it somehow twists into a virtue. So jealous that it becomes pious. So proud you come around to humility. Sins tend to feed into each other better than virtues. The idea sat in the back of my mind for centuries before I found the opportunity. The ultimate pride move that became a charity.
Demons are, by our jealous and prideful nature, very competitive. When the most hated man in history dies by his own hand well, we try to outdo each other. He becomes a focal point of hatred from the worlds of man and god and we go to work. Torments humans couldn't comprehend were thought up, used, and improved upon until the soul was nothing but a dried up husk.
Then it was my turn. So I brought him hope. I brought him the one soul who would not judge him. The one soul who loved him unconditionally, even now. The one who showed a little speck of light for him to cling to.
The other demons conceded I won, not that I cared. They were free to torment him for eternity as every time they broke him he could now be brought back. They never understood that I didn't do it for them, or even for him. I couldn't care less about the most hated soul in hell.
I cared about the soul who missed him. The soul who was trapped in limbo in heaven but I was able to help. Because every time the demons were through with him he was returned to her. And every time Blondi greeted him with a dopey smile and wagging tail. By his side was the only place she was truly happy. Heaven is where your heart is.
And all dogs go to heaven.
|
And there it was, hanging just above my head, through the smallest of cracks in the rock, sunlight.
I let myself bask in it for a second. Breathing it in and allowing it to wash over me as if I was floating in clear water. That thin cut of light that aligns with the perfect cut of rock so I might see it shine. Only once every year am I allowed a minute. Once a year I get this moment, and now this moment is gone.
I am tired of this torturous place. The flame and fire burns endlessly onward with sparking pops that illuminate a cavern bleak and empty. A moss covered pit stained red with the torment of mortals. A bleak place, a hellish place, a deserving place for Demon's like me...
What have I to do? Have I not suffered enough? My mistakes were my own and I have paid for them dearly. For centuries I have been confined to the squabbling of goblins and the vicious barks of trolls, pierced by the cries of evil men who suffer eternally along with me. Aye, witness of Hell, my fallen morality has surely been repaired!
Lucifer would not have us leave, he is in too dire a need of ground troops. Henchmen that could build his army while he, the first of all fallen angels, still could venture the land above. He knew too much about the angels culture, and even God itself could not banish him with it. A fallen angel might still climb to solid ground. The rest of, might only dream of it.
That thin cut of light was gone. The screams were too much. They rang a cacophony in my pointed ears. I clasped them tightly with bristled hands and my cloven hooves stomped passionately on the rock below. Stop. Stop. Stop! I yelled with every pound my heart. When will it end! This eternal war! I will not be part of it any longer! And so my mind was certain and I left that dark cavern prisoner to a fury like I had never experienced before. Strangely calm in my ambition, I broke in strides toward the chambers of torture.
A heavy stone door was chiselled before me, its ringed iron handle tightly in my grasp. I swung it open and let it fall behind me. Inside, three mortals were strapped to the wall, white eyed and dazed with internal terror. No, reader, if you were expecting to find physical torture then you are mistaken. Demons have practised evil and had learned better long ago. There is no need to point and stab and break, because the worst torture you can inflict on a soul is the distortion of their conscious mind. The human imagination is indeed a powerful thing. These three mortals would surely agree with me. They screamed into an empty cave, and I stood and watched.
That was before my existence changed forever.
I broke the spell and gave these tormented souls some respite. The cloud of mist that hung behind their eyes faded and the colour returned to faces gasping and thankful. To my knowledge, no Demon had ever dared to defy Lucifer. There was no doubt that he was already on his way. Thundering, booming, *doom, doom, doom.* The footsteps of the fallen angel getting louder with every second. I was finished, broken, without option, and I yet I had no remorse at all. I was happy.
In my head, a voice beckoned.
*You may come with us, Demon. We do not need to say who we are, for you already know. You may join us amongst the clouds in exchange for one request. We want you to tell us everything you know about your leader.*
I accepted without hesitation.
&#x200B;
r/WatsonWantsToWrite
| 2019-11-08T10:51:37
| 2019-11-08T10:25:07
| 26
| 15
|
[WP] You are the worlds most famous fortune teller. You've successfully predicted huge world events and even smaller important events for friend and families. What no one knows is that you are actually a time-traveller from the year 2100 who owns a simple history book. Your friend is catching on.
|
"Hey man, what ya got there?"
Alan looked up from his book and caught the gaze of his roommate. "Oh, hey Louis, I'm just studying for a test that's coming up."
"I don't get you. You are in your late 20's, and yet you come to a university to get a history degree? What would you do with such a useless degree? Not only that, but you are already bringing in a ton of money with your online fortune telling business. The revenue you bring in from views alone is staggering."
Alan looked up at Louis. "We have already been over this. I really like history. I want to be a curator at a museum some day so that I can surround myself with as many artifacts of the past that I can. While I can see the future, it bores me to no end. Besides, if we don't learn from our past, how can we properly move forward?"
Louis just sulked, "Listen, that's noble of you and everything, but you aren't going to be making any kind of income like that. If you want a happy life with money, just stay the course with the fortune telling gig. It's that easy."
Alan just smiled. "If only it was that easy..." He began to think of the future he came from, the war-torn world that was filled with human ruins. "The human race is petty in that regard. We only think of ourselves and mark my words, it will be our undoing as a species if we continue this selfish path."
Louis just shook his head. "Whatever you say, man. By the way, what's the next big event you are predicting?"
Alan looked at his watch, he knew what it was, but he didn't want to freak out anyone. It was a terrorist attack on the very campus they were on. Strangely enough, though, the attack would take place on a Saturday, and there was only one death in the explosion. Authorities were unable to find the cause of the explosion. Some historians believed though that this death was somehow linked to the dark future Alan came from. Was it a professor who was killed? A student who was on the verge of a breakthrough?
Alan lied to his friend. "I don't know man, nothing's coming to me right now."
Louis just shook his head. "I guess fortune tellers can't see everything all the time, huh? You got plans this weekend?"
"Not really, just some more studies for the test that is coming up."
Louis continued to shake his head, "Man, don't study too hard, alright? Learn to have some fun too."
----------------------------------------------------
Alan had just finished putting signs in all of the entrances to the chemistry building saying it was closed for renovations. He was hoping that the person who was supposed to die in the explosion would be turned away if the building was closed.
His phone then began to ring, he looked down and the number belonged to Louis. "Louis? Where are you? You weren't at the apartment when I woke up this morning."
Louis kind of chuckled. "Yeah man, your studies got me inspired, so I went to the chemistry building this morning to get some early morning quiet time in. Imagine me, going to a study room on a Saturday morning, right? Hey man, I gotta go, someone else is trying to call me alright? See ya back at the apartment later."
Alan froze. The person who would die was Louis? "Louis, get out of the building right now!" He was greeted by silence, Louis had already hung up. Alan tried to call him back, but there was no answer, and it continued to go straight to voice mail no matter how many times he tried to call.
"Damn it, Louis!" Alan ran into the building to look for his friend, hoping that he wasn't too late.
---------------------------------------------
Louis watched through the binoculars as Alan tore into the building. He smiled as he pressed the button, and watched the building go into flames. He reached over to the book that he stole out of Alan's bedroom earlier that morning. "Only one death in this explosion, huh? This book is gonna make me a fortune."
-----------------------------------------------
If you are interested in more of my stories, you can read more at r/vintnerwrites.
|
“Hey, Joseph, can you do the whole fortune telling thing again?” Trish asked. “I think I know how you do it.”
“Sure, whatever,” I laughed nervously. “But you know the drill; I must consult my crystal ball.”
Together we filed into my office, filled with incense, curtains, and, of course, a table in the middle of the room with a large crystal ball sitting on top of it. Grabbing my turban and robes, I dimmed the lights and immediately the crystal flashed with colorful lights. I still couldn’t believe that these Neanderthals believed that a cheap child’s toy I brought along could predict the future.
“What is your question, child?” I spoke, using my fortune-teller persona.
“Drop the act,” Trish replied. “Tell me on Swami, where do you see yourself in the future?”
“Er…” I stuttered. “I can’t say. Fortune tellers are prohibited from looking at their own future.”
“Says who?” Trish answered indignantly.
“The…uh…timeforce.” I was grasping at straws. “It’s a lot like the speedforce, but real.”
“Are you really comparing your magic to a plot device in a comic book?” Trish replied.
“I…uh…hey do you have any, better questions I can answer. Like the next president? Or major legislation in the next year? Or perhaps you’d like to know about any technological advancements in the near future?” I hurriedly tried to change the subject.
“Oh, I suppose,” Trish sighed. “Tell me who the next Democratic president will be.”
“Certainly,” I responded, relieved. “Now stare into the crystal ball. Let the colors and shades fade into your eyes and try to uncover the subtle messages they send from the fut-”
“What are you looking at?” Trish interrupted.
“Pardon?” I asked.
“Yeah, whenever you get into your whole crystal ball act, you’re looking into your lap,” she observed.
“No I’m not,” I replied immediately while pushing my chair under the table. “Trish, the magic doesn’t work if you’re looking at me.”
“Says who? The timeforce?” she gently mocked. “Besides, I think I’m far more interested in what’s going on in your lap than the future.”
“Fine, you caught me,” I conceded. “I masturbate when I fortune tell. I know it’s weird and awkward, but as soon as we can move past this-hey!”
Before I could continue to execute my poorly chosen lie, Trish moved from the table and pulled my chair revealing the textbook in my lap. Grabbing it before she could lay a finger on it, I held it tightly in my arms as she approached my like a predator approaches it meal.
“I knew it,” she proclaimed. “You have something to help you tell the future. Let me see it.”
“Trish, no,” I replied. “Seeing this book could mean irreparable damage to the time line.”
“That didn’t stop you from becoming a world-famous prophet,” Trish fired back. She had a point, but I couldn’t let her know that.
“Nostradamus started it!” I defended myself.
“So wait, you’re worried about the time line?” she began thinking out loud. “Does that mean you’re from the future? Is that a history book about the 21st century?”
With her accusations weighing down on me, I finally conceded my secret. I let her see the book and read its contents as she grew amazed about the fate of mankind.
“Wow,” she concluded after reading it. “I guess we don’t have to worry about the Chinese as much as Trump thought, huh?”
“Trish, listen,” I spoke. “You have to keep this a secret.”
“Oh course,” she winked. “I’m just disappointed you didn’t tell me earlier. Together, we’re going to have a blast with this thing.”
*****
More Stories at r/Andrew__Wells
| 2016-12-30T08:21:01
| 2016-12-30T07:05:49
| 382
| 65
|
[WP] You're living in a world where superpowers exist, and you're the most dangerous individual of all. Your power? You project an aura where all the laws of reality/normality assert themselves. You are the anti-super
|
I underwent the tests as a kid, just like everyone else. My readings were strong. Incredibly strong. Level 5 was the highest previously recorded. I was labelled a *Probable 6*.
"But it's negative six," said my mother, staring at the meter. "Why is it negative? What does that mean?"
"It means his powers are beyond what our instruments can measure," the doctor asserted. He was the first in a long line of doctors to make that mistake. "He might be a seven. Or even an eight! His powers are simply beyond the capacity of our equipment."
"And what, exactly, *are* his powers?" she asked. "We've never seen anything to indicate--"
"It's not unusual for empowered children to show no early signs," the doctor interrupted. "There are even cases of powers remaining latent until after puberty. As far as *what* his powers are, your guess is as good as mine. But I can assure you, Ms Kerrigan, your little Ryan will grow up to be an incredibly powerful man."
Of course, my mother was stoked. Super stoked. I was her super child. Accepted into *Kent's*, an elite boarding school for the heroes of tomorrow, on the basis of those early tests. She treated me like royalty. Like the future king. Maybe in the hopes I'd return the favour when I was rich and famous. She blathered about me to anyone willing to listen. My sisters watched enviously from the sidelines, wearing their goodwill weeds, while mom filled my suitcases up with brand-name clothes and all the latest gadgets.
She kissed me on the cheek and I boarded the plane. Twelve hours later, I strode into *Kent's* with the confidence of a handsome billionaire.
I was nine years old.
"I think that's where some of it comes from," said Ally, my girlfriend. "Your hatred of them. Your resentment."
She loved to psychoanalyze my dislike of the supers. She loved to pin it on the so-called trauma I suffered. Growing up being told I was special, better than everyone else. Growing up being told I would go to *Kent's* and blow the other kids out of the water. Quickly rise to the top of the heap. Graduate as the most powerful youth they had ever had the pleasure of training.
"And then," Ally said, "after all that pressure. After all those promises. Having all those expectations put on your shoulders, by yourself, by others. . .To go through what you went through. What they put you through! At nine years old! It makes me want to cry."
We'd only been dating three months, but in that time, Ally had already found a way to sneak my sob stories out of the vault. She was probably, right, though. The few months I spent at *Kent's* likely *had* contributed to my antipathy toward supers more than I liked to admit.
At first, the teachers suspected that everyone had come down with some kind of virus. That's why none of the students could perform. That's why the teachers themselves had lost their powers. The students fell into a panic. Especially those who had already come to rely on their powers. Meanwhile, the teachers stayed level-headed and rational.
That lasted about a week.
Then the vibes changed. The teachers, administrators, even the damn principal--all the adults started panicking, too. Having identity crises. The psychics couldn't read minds. The telekinetics couldn't move shit without applying physical force. The invulnerable bled from paper cuts. One night, Mr Sanderson got so drunk that he forgot where things stood: gifted with flight from a very young age, he jumped from the window of his dorm, expecting to hover in the cool night air.
From what I heard, the man can still take off; but he flies very rarely now, as landing is awkward as a quadriplegic.
The point is, it took a whole month for the staff to pinpoint the cause. And when they finally did, they made sure to get revenge for that month of anxiety, pain and confusion. Teachers. Students. Everyone wanted a shot at the kid. And after they took their shots, they sent me packing. Back to my mother, whose pride I had wounded mortally by being exactly what the instruments claimed.
Super duper.
"But it doesn't matter what started it," I told Ally. "What matters is that I'm right. The supers are scum. Lazy scum. Period. They're full up on themselves. Born and raised just like I was: being told that they're special, better than everyone else. Only none of them had the reality check I did, so they kept on believing it into adulthood. A bunch of spoiled brats with nobody to tell them no."
"They're not all scum," Ally protested. "And they're not all lazy. I've met some who are kind, decent people. And I'm sure many work very hard."
"*You* work hard," I said. "You worked part time while you put yourself through medical school. You worked long and crazy hours during your first residency. Now you put even more time into your post-grad work. And because of that, you're going to be a great surgeon one day. That's working hard. That's effort. That's overcoming obstacles. The supers don't have to do any of that. They were born with their so-called "gifts". They were born with everything handed to them. And sure, some of them do a good turn now and again, to get the spotlight on them. But deep down, they're selfish narcissists. Taking whatever they want. Doing as much as they think they can get away with. Bullying innocent people for any inconvenience. I see it every day."
"You're overgeneralizing," she said.
"Am I? Why do you think I'm so in demand? Because if left to their own devices, they act like tyrants. Like bastards. Normal people need someone like me to shut them down."
"But some of them--"
"All of them!" I said. "I don't know why you defend them. . .Doesn't it make you angry? Doesn't it frustrate you to see people go gaga over that local super, Healing Touch? She was born with a power you had to sacrifice your twenties to obtain. Surgeons save lives every day through hard work and knowledge. You hardly ever hear about them. Meanwhile, every time that bitch rubs some guy's broken ankle, she makes the front page."
"What do you know about Healing Touch?" she snapped. "You don't know anything about her!"
"I know she wears a mask."
"And what does that prove?" asked Ally.
"Criminals wear masks," I said. "Why wear a mask if you're a good person? Why wear a mask if you have nothing to hide?"
"Maybe because she wants to live a normal life!" Ally cried. "Out of the spotlight! Doing good anonymously! Maybe she wants people to like her for who she is, not for her fame or powers! Or maybe she wears a mask to hide her identity, so she doesn't get harassed by hard-hearted assholes like you!"
We'd had similar conversations before. But that was the first time I'd seen Ally get worked up to the point of shouting, of tears. Of course I felt bad for bringing her to that point. I didn't want to make her cry. But I also had principles. And I wasn't about to compromise them just to make my girlfriend feel better.
\- - -
**Part 2!**
[**https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/o7j8ki/ryan\_kerrigan\_and\_the\_healing\_touch\_part\_1\_2/**](https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/o7j8ki/ryan_kerrigan_and_the_healing_touch_part_1_2/)
|
I spin the wheel of my steel and whatever vehicle. It’s a giant thing, can say for sure it’s made out of steel, but also a bunch of random crap as well. Stuff that didn’t exist on the periodic table before the Super Revolution. The government supplied it to me, so why should I know what it’s made out of? I quickly end my inner monologue about my tank, realizing that I have arrived at my job, I park between the bright yellow lines, making my vehicle screech to halt. It’s got some nice braking for such a big fella. Somebody comes up to me, asking for identification. I ignore that person, I’m the boss here, nobody should need to identify me at this point. Couldn’t care less about their safety, I’m am the walking embodiment of safety. Grumbling I walk through the sliding steel doors. I’m greeted by my assistants, Pam and Derek.
“Sir, it is not advisable for you to be walking without a protection Super near you, the risk of guns is simply too high,” Pam drones.
“I concur, Supers are not a threat, but guns are certainly a danger,” Derek mentions dryly.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever just get me to my office.”
They lead me to the back of the blindingly white room we’re in. Is there much of purpose to the giant room? Not really, but it was built just in case someone with a power that makes them giant comes in here. But it is a giant waste of my time, having takes way to long walking across the room. Halting my train of thought, I realize I am having them lead me. I storm in front of them, making them jump. I ain’t gonna have my assistants lead me, there my assistants for a reason. Soon I arrive at my office. The office door automatically opens for me, leading me to my familiar office. The one place in the building built entirely for me, that I could actually customize to my content. Naturally, scattered around the walls is some fishing memorabilia, some sports stuff, and personal stuff. I take a seat in my leather chair, practically melting into the seat. Rest, my favorite part of work.
“Go fetch me my first candidate,” I tell my assistants.
“Right away sir,” they reply, synchronization making me uncomfortable.
Making myself comfortable, I pull out my tablet out of my bag. Rubbing my hands excitedly, I turn it on. My favorite part of work, I mean it’s not really a proper job… it’s practically forced labor, freaking United Americas Federation. I pull up the video sent to me by someone less important than me. It shows me the video of subject getting captured. It’s a woman of short stature, her power is a passive. A power that is always active, seems to continually turn into spikes. And these aren’t your run of the mill spikes, they are quite big, a solid 3 feet in length. And there are maybe 15-20 at time. She was just standing around, in some sort of pain. Her neck is quite big, probably from dealing with an abnormal amount of hair. And… she fell over, it looks like she can’t even get up. So finally at this point of the tape emergency services come, and cover her head with a large helmet. Guess the hair spikes aren’t that sharp. So she’ll be here any minute.
I take a quick glance to her profile. I see that her condition has worsened this past year. Reaching the breaking point a little before the video was filmed.
I laze around for a little while, but soon I hear the familiar burst of noise that comes with many people.
I hear someone saying ”we have the patient with us.”
I sigh, and stand up. The woman on the stretcher with the oddly comedic helmet appears in front of me. Once she is set down, her helmet is taken off. Her hair is no longer turning into spikes.
“Ok she’s good,” I groan and say, “I am contractually obligated to you everyone in my vicinity how my power works. My aura sticks around someone for 2 years, 4 months, and 7 days. Through I can disable the whole sticking around part by my own will, so paramedics, you’re good. And the other lady is also good. Now please go, really don’t care much ‘bout that lady. I like my peace and quiet.
The paramedics leave, carrying a likely happy person. I hate monologuing, but I have to do every flippin time.
The days becomes a blur, like always, and all of sudden it’s an hour till I’m done. Suddenly flashing alarms go off.
An automated voice goes, “Intruder Alert.”
Honestly, something interesting happening, I’m not complaining. The automated systems will contain the intruder anyway.
Derek rushes to my side, “Please go to the safe room sir.”
“Ehhh… I’m good, this crap happened five million times.”
Nice thing about being essentially, is that people can’t force you to do that many things. So despite Derek’s incessant protests, I just take a nice seat. Watching some fun old archives of people with weird powers. Some people with shrinking heads, and some other weird stuff. Always enjoyable, but I see out the corner of my eye a head coming out of the wall, slowly turning into a full male body. Wait what, how… how… is their power not getting neutralized. Panic creeping over me, I step back.
I mumble,” how are you still using your power.”
The guy replies, “I have too many powers, please neutralize them, I beg you.”
I notice a Russian accent, and say, “ but… you’re power is not being neutralized right now, what do you want me to do?!”
Suddenly, I’m in the other persons body. And everything explodes in pain, My brain is screeching, ankles exploding, and just everything hurts. My eyes begin to pop out, hair growing, feet shirking. I feel tendons, muscles, all snapping. Every inch of my body is on fire, every nerve exploding. Soon I start to wonder how long the pain will last.
And then I’m back in my own body.
“Now that you have had taste of my pain, fix me,” the man tells me.
I focus the aura around me, it feels like water. I concentrate it all around the mans body. I hold it for what feels like eons. My body strains, my mind struggles to hold focus, but finally he breaks the silence.
He says, “stop, I am cured, thank you. I am free of my curse, at least for a little while.” He collapses on the ground. I take a deep breath and compose myself. I stand up, and am hit with a bout of curiosity. Taking a closer at his face, I confirm that he is of the Russian Federation. No wonder he had to sneak in here. I’ll have to find some way to sneak him out here. After my experience, I’ve realized something. Maybe, just maybe, my job is a good thing.
r/CascadeCorner
| 2021-06-24T19:52:48
| 2021-06-24T18:29:49
| 692
| 33
|
[WP] among the many senses developed on alien worlds, hearing is not one of them. To most extra terrestrials, the idea that we can detect them even with a wall between us is utterly horrifying
|
Zgorznax transmitted the message again to the planet below. It was the standard “we come in peace” message that is used when contacting a new planet. They had met enough of the criteria for first contact. The had advanced population centers, basic space travel, satellites, nuclear power. They beings appeared to be similar to most advanced forms of life throughout the Galaxy in that they were bipedal and relatively symmetrical in anatomy. Their heads were a bit different as they had some sort external flange on each side of their head with openings leading deep inside.
A reply finally came back, but it was a null reply. It was something, but nothing, No colors, no odors, not pheromones, just null. Zgorznax tried a different approach with the next message, a vid along with the message, his face to be precise. He made sure it was a compatible spectrum along with the message, Minutes later a vid was revived from the planet, It was the face of someone. He was moving his lower mandible like he was eating, but there was nothing else? Why would they send a vid of someone eating?
The next vid he sent was more primitive as perhaps they were not as advanced as previously thought. He sent a picture of a proposed meeting location outside a large population center. He accompanied it with a pic of his pleased to meet you face colorations along with a pic of the person who sent the message, modified to a peaceful color. A chrono stamp indicated when. Hopefully they would figure it out.
“Mr. President, I think they want to meet with us. Scans of the ship detect weaponry, but nothing active. There does not seem to be hostile intent, They sent a picture location to meet along with the alien’s smiling face and your face - colored reddish for some reason. We think they want to meet us there in a little over two hours.”
The alien craft landed gracefully. Momentarily an aperture opened and ramps came down, Shortly thereafter the alien they had the picture of came out and walked down the ramp, accompanied by two others. The President, accompanied by his generals and advisors approached.
Zgorznax looked upon the delegation that approached. First contact was always a tricky situation. The delegation did appear to be accompanied by members of the military, but that was not uncommon. Zgorznax looked directly at the leader of the delegation and offered his most peaceful and friendliest greeting with all the appropriate odor and pheromone modifiers to clarify his meaning.
The President looked that the alien that appeared to be the leader of the delegation. Pleasant looking enough and he did not seem to have a hostile intent. He then watched the alien’s skin go through several interesting colors ending in a dark red...and then a familiar noise and smell.
“General, did that man just fart?”
|
The cool earth cushioned softly beneath Blue-Green-Magenta's bare soles. He looked to his aide, Red-Scarlet-Teal, who nodded ahead to Ms. Hawk's home door, quiet as any world.
Eyes looked between blinds from houses around the street. Children-to-gods of all earthling years peered at the iridescent, slightly moving scales of... "*I wonder what we'll call them,"* thought a boy. His father, too shocked since the reverberation of windows and ear-piercing shrill of dying engines, forgot to ask himself how to care for a child in such a new world.
The boy noticed their clothes. Black--every piece. Except three verticle circles--three down the spine, three down the front, and three on each sleeve. One of the beings walked up behind Blue-Green-Magenta to gently trace his spine from blue circle, green, to magenta.
Blue-Green-Magenta turned around.
The Tracer One began an intracate dance of eight long, four-knuckled, graspers on each hand. Blue-Green-Magenta watched, unblinking. The boy *had* seen them blink. He was surprised by the deep purple of their eyes. He wasn't sure to be more terrified that they could close their eyes, as opposed to never blinking like dead things do.
Blue-Green-Magenta made an arrangement of graspers of one hand, held in the air between the Tracer One and himself. Upon command, the Tracer's graspers went still. Not to his sides.
Still.
Blue-Green-Magenta turned his attention once more to the task at hand. The boy became uncomfortable, as Blue-Green-Magenta and The One Who Nodded, Red-Scarlet-Teal, starred at each other.
Minutes passed.
The boy's father remembered him. "Dan, I need you to go to your room." Arrival of whining police sirens spoke the panic and indignance of the boy. The sirens sounded like they'd stopped a small subdivision street or two away. The boy and father heard more gather on streets to the left--and on the street behind the fence of Ms. Hawk's backyard, ahead. "Dan, I have..." The boy looked to the dinosaur toy he'd enjoyed just a quarter hour ago till Earth felt new soles. "Dan."
The boy quickly walked to his toy, swapped it up, and turned into the hallway. The father heard the door slam. As he turned back to peer through the liviing room blinds, he heard the plastic whur of the boy's bedroom blinds rise. "DAN!" A crash of plastic, three stomps, and the puff of a comforter.
Now that his boy was (again) no longer a distraction, Mr. Jenson turned his attention again to Them. *Why... Why are they outside Ms. Hawk's door?*
Blue-Green-Magenta raised an iridescent scaled fist, between himself and the wooden door that stood silent and still as the Tracer. Red-Scarlet-Teal reached inside a thigh pocket, produced a sheet of paper, held it as a sign, facing the door. Mr. Jenson wondered what they would write... *Draw?*...
The alien fist would have made contact with the door, awkward and unpracticed, but it opened. The eyes that had been in the window of the second floor were no longer there. Ms. Hawk stared, wide-eyed, taken aback. She thought maybe deep purple eyes stared, too. She noticed the sign.
*Ms. Stacey Hawk, President of the National Association of the Deaf?*
\[continued in comment below\]
| 2018-11-02T21:21:58
| 2018-11-02T20:00:37
| 4,778
| 115
|
[WP] You have realized that your best friend is your son/daughter from the future who wants to hang out and get to know you since you die before he/she was born
Not sure if this has already been made but just thought of it :)
Edit: WOW didn’t expect so much people to comment on this! Thanks everybody!
|
I laid in the hospital bed, staring into my new born baby's eyes with wonder, amazement and joy. The labor had been difficult but it was finally over and I held my baby in my arms. But then I was overcome with an intense feeling of sadness, maybe it was all the hormones, but I was now terribly distraught that my best friend Abigail wasn't at the hospital with me to meet my baby girl. I begged her to come, but she said she was going away for her birthday and it was too late to change anything, but she would see me soon. Looking into my baby's eyes, at her beautiful face, I suddenly understood why she couldn't be there. And then I thought about our friendship and the day we met.
&#x200B;
It all felt so serendipitous. I had just finished writing up my proposal for a big sales meeting, at my favorite coffee shop. When I looked at the time I realized I would be late if I didn't leave immediately. I shoved my laptop in my bag and ran towards the door. I hadn't seen her standing there, and we slammed into each other, spilling her coffee all over my clean white shirt.
&#x200B;
"Oh my god! I'm so, so sorry" she exclaimed.
"No, it was my fault for being in such a rush." I looked down at my shirt now soaked in coffee."Oh, no. I can't wear this to the sales meeting. Shit, I better call my boss and have him start without me." I said in defeat.
"Wait, I think we might wear the same size, I have an extra blouse in my car. You can change really quick and I'll take your shirt to the dry cleaners. It's the least I can do." she said with a smile.
"Are you sure? I don't want to cause you any trouble, really it was my fault."
"It's no trouble, I'll meet you in the ladies room with the shirt and you can be on your way to your meeting."
I went to ladies room and took off the stained shirt, she came in a moment later with frilly red blouse and suit jacket. They both fit perfectly, which I thought was a bit odd because she was clearly a couple sizes smaller than me.
"I wasn't sure if you would want the jacket, but with how frazzled you were I assumed it's an important meeting so you should dress to impress." She picked up my shirt from the sink. "I'll have this one cleaned and we can meet latter to swap. My name's Abigail by the way."
&#x200B;
I agreed and we exchanged numbers. I rushed off to my meeting, careful not to run into anyone else on my way out of the coffee shop. I arrived on time and my proposal was a huge success. I looked forward to seeing Abigail later that evening to thank her for saving my ass and tell her about all the compliments I got from her outfit.
&#x200B;
We talked for hours that night. We had so much in common and we quickly became best friends and were nearly inseparable for the next two years. She always seemed so interested in me and asked a lot of questions. Not just how my day was, but questions about where I had grown up, what my childhood was like, what my long term life goals would be. It was nice, to finally have a friend who showed genuine interest in me. So many of my friends only ever wanted to complain about their problems and ask for advice. But Abigail rarely ever talked about herself, often times she seemed to avoided questions about her life when I asked, changing the subject or giving vague answers.
&#x200B;
The day I found out I was pregnant, I couldn't wait to share the news with her.
&#x200B;
"I have exciting news and I wanted you to be the first to know. I'm pregnant!" I squealed. We hugged and she squeezed me really tight. When I pulled back I could see tears in her eyes. "What's the matter? I thought you would be as excited as I am."
"I am, I'm so very happy for you. I just... well, I thought we would have more time." she said, trying to smile.
"What are you talking about, time for what? Sure things will change and I'll be busy but I'm expecting you to be auntie Abigail to this baby, don't you want that?" I asked, confused and worried.
"I...I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm saying. I guess the thought of you having a baby just reminded me of... Mom... never mind, I'm so glad to see you this happy."
I realized that I had never heard her talk about her family and now I had so many questions. "You've never talked about your mom before Abigail, did something happen, please tell me." I pleaded.
"I really shouldn't talk about it, it wouldn't be fair to you."
"Fair? Please tell me, you know you can tell me anything, I'm your best friend Abigail."
"My mom, she died shortly after I was born. I really can't share the details with you, all I ever knew about her were stories. But I feel like I know everything about her now. She was an amazing person and I think she would be proud to see the woman I grew up to be." She said, holding back tears.
"Of course she would be proud of you. You're my favorite person in the whole world, and that should count for something."
"Thank you. It means so much to hear you say that, I love you."
We hugged again and then she left. She became more distant over the next nine months. I only saw her a few more times after that day. I felt like I had done something wrong, that I had somehow offended her by getting pregnant.
&#x200B;
My husband's voice suddenly brought me back to reality. "She's beautiful, isn't she?" he said, stroking her tiny head. "Have you decided what we're going to name her?
I looked up at him with tears in my eyes. "Her name is Abigail."
|
I would almost be touched if I wasn’t afraid. My wife Amanda is 2 months pregnant with our first child. I haven't the heart to tell her I have less than 7 months to live. Why would she believe me? How would she react?
“Did you find the noodle mix?” Ben asks me, as I peruse through his backpack. *No, but I found the truth.*
“Not yet, you said it was in a blue bag?” I asked, frantically replacing the notepad. There it was - Pork ramen, my favorite. Ben would know this; Amanda should have told him. I returned to the cooksite. It was several hundred feet away from the tents, as a precaution to keep bears, squirrels, and everything else away.
“Did Amanda leave to get water,” I asked.
“Yes, she left 5 minutes ago.”
“Good; You should know something – I found your notebook."
Ben froze. He did a quick pat down of his jacket, only to realize it was missing. He opened his mouth as of to say something, but decided against it, and instead we sat in silence for a moment.
“Does mom know?” he finally asked.
“No, and I’m not going to tell her.”
“I’m sorry, you weren’t supposed to find out,” Ben said, frowning.
“Why did you do it? Why leave everything behind?” I asked.
Ben shifted for a moment; He never expected this, not from me. I had read the notes; time travel was a one-way trip.
“Because if I can save you – I can save myself; your version of myself.” Ben said.
“You think you need to be saved?”
“Yes, I do,” Ben said. He laced his hands behind his neck. “You don’t know what it was like, growing up without a father. I never fit in - never had a family - never fell in love. Maybe, just maybe, if I can save you, I can do something worthwhile.”
I sat thinking for a moment; It was all too much for me. Ben had jumped into my life less than a year ago, sitting next to me on the first day of MATH 201. We had hit it off ever since. He was like a younger; more energetic version of myself. He was kind, smart, and compassionate. I was, for lack of a better term, proud of the man who claimed to be my son. How could he beat himself up like this?
“Can you tell me when it happened?” I asked, afraid to hear the answer.
“Only that it happens soon, but I don’t know what happens, or how to stop it from – “
Amanda’s scream rang out through the wilderness. I leapt to my feet, Ben followed.
“Amanda?” I yelled, running towards the river.
I arrived just in time to see the bear tackle Amada.
“Amanda.” I shouted. I charged the bear. I don’t know what came over me, but I ran straight at the angry, 250 lb. hunk of muscle.
The bear, startled, raised itself up on its two legs and bellowed a fierce roar. It was only then did I see the two cubs scoot run away from the shore and into the bushes. This was a mother cub protecting her young from the evil likes of Amanda. I had to get I the bear away from her.
“Leeeeroy Jenkins!” I yelled, terrified, and unable to think of anything better. I picked up a nearby rock and hurled it at the bear, who was now barreling towards me.
I was knocked to the ground by the bear. It clamped it’s jaw around my shoulder. I screamed, but the pain was all gone. It was a moment of pure adrenal bliss. I struggled against the bear as she bit down hard, shattering bone. I fell to the ground; a red mist appeared above me. It was Ben, with bear spray. The bear turned and ran, following her cubs into the brush.
“Stay with me; It’s going to be OK.” Ben said, cradling my head in his arms. He was crying.
“Ben- listen, you want to make a difference? Be there for my kid.”
“That’s messed up,” he sobbed. “You can’t die on me.”
I looked at my mangled, bloody shoulder. I didn’t have long.
“You have to save her; save the baby. Please – be there for her.” I said, sputtering.
“I’m sorry dad. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t save you.”
“You did save me,” I said, looking Ben in the eyes, ”now go save yourself.”
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
*Check out my new sub* r/BLT_WITH_RANCH *if you like these kinds of stories.*
| 2018-10-30T11:59:40
| 2018-10-30T11:39:38
| 27
| 13
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[WP]"I told you it's an artifact of incredible might and power and THAT'S where you decide to hide it?!"
|
Arko shook the small white and red Igloo cooler, and Edris winced as she heard the contents jumble about inside. A small dust devil kicked up outside of the abandoned building, sand and small pebbles rasping against the glass windows.
"Stop! Stop it!" Edris held up her hands. "I told you it's an artifact of incredible might and power, and *that's* where you decide to hide it?"
Arko shrugged. "My backpack was full."
"Your backpack was-" she pinched the bridge of her nose and sucked in a deep breath before slowly letting it hiss through her teeth. "It isn't something you keep in your backpack, Arko. It's definitely not something you keep in an damned *cooler*!"
Arko blinked slowly for several moments, but made no move to rectify the situation.
"Give me that." Edris hastily snatched the cooler out of her partner's hand and swiveled the top open. "Thank all the gods - it looks no worse for wear. Absolutely no thanks to you."
Arko leaned forward and glanced inside. "Yeah, it looks good. What does it do, anyway?"
"What does it do? *What does it do*?!" Edris pulled the thin object out reverently and held it in the air. "With this, we can unite the people. We can give them hope. We can help them rise up and realize they've nothing to lose but their chains. We can finally be free!"
Arko squinted and moved his lips, trying to sound out the strange glyphs scrawled across the ancient paper envelope. Edris watched and sighed. She turned it around so that the text on the large, flat, square artifact was right-side up. Afraid of causing any unforeseen destruction to the delicate paper with the grime on her hands, she held it aloft with nothing but her fingertips. She in turn squinted and began to interpret the words with some confidence, her studies on the subject of old written word being a point of pride.
"Linkin Park - One Step Closer."
|
I yelled “LOOK THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH PUTTING IT IN MY LOCKER, DO YOU KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN IF I KEEP IT AT HOME.”
He yelled back “YOUR RICH CANT YOU JUST LIKE PUT IT IN A VAULT OR SOMETHING?”
“ALL OF OUR VAULTS ARE FULL OF STUFF THAT BELONG TO MY FAMILY , IF THEY SEE IT THEY’LL ASK QUESTIONS, I CANT KEEP IT AT HOME OR ONE OF THE MAIDS MIGHT FIND IT AND ASK QUESTIONS, I CANT STORE IT IN ONE OF OUR FACILITIES OR SOMEONE MIGHT ASK QUESTIONS, TO MANY PEOPLE WILL ASK QUESTIONS.”
Your probably confused let me explain, about a week ago I was told by some magical force that I was “worthy.” I come from a wealthy background, but I never took advantage of it, most of my money went to charities, and I study hard, and do a lot of community service thing like that. I won’t deny I’m a pretty good person, but I didn’t think I was good enough for magic. Whatever magical deity that saw me as “worthy” gifted me a a draw string back full of magical gems that will give me different powers, as well as an assistant to help me along the way, a pixie named Argus. He’s very helpful, smart, can turn into a human form, and APPARENTLY has some very strong opinions on my storage choices.
“Don’t worry everyone knows that I’m rich, no one has the guts to steal from me, there all afraid I might sue them.” He gives me an look that’s a mix of tired and disappointed, he sighs, “look you can keep them in there for now but can like carry them on you or something, if you lose those and they get in the wrong hand, not only will your world be in serious danger, I will be in SO MUCH TROUBLE”. “All right fine” I grab the bag and put in my sweater pocket, I’ll hold on the them for now.
| 2021-06-28T08:38:18
| 2021-06-28T07:20:27
| 31
| 11
|
[WP] On your first day as a supervillain, you secretly swap all the regular coffee on Earth with decaf. You envision this as a fun, little starter prank. To say you miscalculated the potential impact of your "prank" is putting it mildly...
|
How do you rank up from apprentice super villain to public enemy No. 1, in a single morning ? Well, that’s pretty easy. You remove coffee from the world. I expected some grumpy people, and a nice way to make a name for myself. I didn’t expected… that.
I’m now known as “Coffee Killer, the destroyer of worlds”. That’s a terrible, terrible name. How could I know that the world runs on coffee ? It literally runs on it !
It has started in the United states, and it has started slow. A few dozen, then a few hundreds. Then a hundred thousands, all on the streets. Violence, riots, burning cars. Law and Order just dissolved into nothingness, people were blaming the government, the Mexicans, the police, China, Russia. Name it, they blamed it. The news were all over the place : TV, internet, newspapers. Everyone knew that coffee wasn’t just coffee anymore. China grinded to halt, people refused to work. Mass suicides in Japan. A huge spike in Indian Spiritualism.
And then, morning reached Europe. Oh boy... Europe. They went crazy. Germany accused Great Britain because they signed the Brexit, Poland accused Russia to try to destabilize eastern Europe. And France… Well, France invaded Germany. Because “It’s an old Nazi super-weapon, and they are using it to destroy democracy again”. I don’t know why the are talking about Nazis, but it’s probably just an excuse and they believe that the Germans have some coffee stored somewhere.
News got out that it was me, but I’m pretty safe here. After all, most of Britain doesn’t care, tea is still the same.
|
Well I brought down the internet. I mean I wasn't really trying to, but who knew that every good computer guy and gal ran off of coffee. Literally.
It was widely joked that computer people run off of coffee. But everyone knew this was just hyperbole. Until I used my matter/anti-matter displacer to eliminate caffeine from the major distribution centers. As my first act of world leader I wanted to cleanse our world of "artifice" and I figured the easiest would be our reliance on coffee to run modern society.
Once I had shown people that we could run a cleaner constructive world without drugs and harmful habits peace would naturally follow. Or so I thought. But it turns out that the most productive members of society have genetic factors that strip them of the ability to care without some sort of stimulant.
In fact without coffee, the addicts became increasingly irritated. Math majors quit overnight. Not a big loss. Surgeons in the middle of long complicated processes needed to save lives, quit. All of this was expected and no big loss.
But then I found out the computer people were most affected. Those who were competent were all on coffee and it was the one thing in their lives that kept them from going completely round the twist. They were already barely holding in the killing rage at "Error: PC load letter." Some poor user called in and couldn't remember their password and that was the end. There will be no machine uprising.
The sys-admins have become sentient monsters. Tearing cables out of walls and taking axes, chairs, and any available weapon to the shackles that were our networks. No longer working for the good of mankind they've pulled society apart. Since they and they alone know where all the equipment that makes things work they've turned their obsessive need to keep things with maximal up time into maximal downtime.
TVs are all digital and down, radio stations can no longer broadcast anything. Complex infrastructure to keep electronics going is dying off. The military tried to stop them but they didn't know where to defend. That knowledge was only in the heads of the computer geeks.
The worst part is that they're coming. They're coming for me. I had my base set up as a barrier against the dregs of society. I have running power and an intranet. My minions and I can only hold out so long though. The computer guys are coming. As I type this my router is going out and I can only turn it off and on again so many times before it goes.
So this will be a last post to you my loyal companions. We have the last of technology and it is known. The hordes of computer guys no longer held in by the chemicals in coffee that our governments were using to control them will come.
Caffeine was our savior and I in my arrogance believe that it was our downfall.
If only I had known that every little coffee shop was keeping us together, that even Folgers, horrible jingle and all, was actually the best part of waking up I never would have done it. I can hear the rumblings in the deep. The techs are nearly here.
Good bye.
| 2017-02-03T07:57:13
| 2017-02-03T07:22:22
| 64
| 43
|
[WP] “So how did you get Dragon blood in your veins?” “Ah well, long ago my family was cur-“ “Didn’t you say your family was never cursed?” “Oh uh, yeah um… so uh, there was a witch-“ “Im not buying it.” “*sigh*… so my great grandpa was a bard…”
|
Scales the color of freshly spilled blood glimmered in sunlight. Proud horns, jagged and razor-sharp, adorned the head of the newly crowned Arena Champion. Smoke billowed from his nostrils, and his triumph was cemented into the Arena's history forever.
The Champion immediately went to the Arena's private bath house. He was covered in sweat and grime...and he was hoping no one would be admitted entrance, even for an interview.
Cautiously, the Champion went about a lengthy bathing routine. Any time someone entered, he dove beneath the hotspring's surface. The Champion knew that if news broke about his ancestry, it would overshadow his accomplishment.
After a few hours, the Champion began to relax. Each scale had been scrubbed clean, and his horns were gleaming. His last step was the sauna- just to sweat out anything that may have gotten inside his pores. As much as he loved Arena life, he had always had this mental image of the blood of his fallen foes wriggling into his body, enacting a sort of necromantic revenge.
Just as he settled into his seat in the sauna, the door cracked open, and in stepped...Artha.
"Artha, are you sure you want to be in here? This is the sauna of dragonkin. It will reach temperatures that you cannot withstand." To prove his point, the Champion exhaled a dark smoke from his nose, the smell of ozone chasing away the eucalyptus.
"Just need a few minutes, O Champion." The man said, closing the door behind him. He was dressed in full daily attire.
"Your clothes will be ruined, but if that is what you wish." The Champion tried to sound nonchalant, but in truth he was now flexing the muscles that lined his solar plexus, activating his internal fire and preparing to make the experience truly uncomfortable for the writer.
"I have questions regarding your win today."
"The win speaks for itself. Maloch was a vicious opponent, but he chose the wrong weapons to confront someone like me. His mace is slow, and my hide is strong. Plus, there is only so much an Orc can do against a Dragon. We were born as their rulers, even after a thousand years since the Orcs seceded, they cannot dare to rise up against us."
"Mmm. I'm sure these words will stir up quite a bit of controversy amongst Maloch's fans."
"You have your headline. Now go." From behind his scales, the Champion's heat began to make his very body glow like molten rock.
"I have...a few remaining questions." Why wasn't the human suffering under the extreme heat?
"I may or may not bother to respond."
"How did the Dragon blood join into your family line?"
The Champion scowled. "I do not wish to speak of it."
"It wasn't a curse."
"How would you know?"
"There wasn't a magic potion either, was there?"
"You're trying my patience, Artha."
"Your great grandfather was a bard, wasn't he? Back when the draconic empire had shattered, and the dragons turned to mercenaries to reestablish wealth?"
"It seems," The Champion growled, "that you already have your answers. Why bother asking?"
"I need it from your mouth, Champion."
The Champion's hand curled into a fist. "I will not have my crowning achievement overshadowed by talk of my ancestors and their...misdeeds. Today is *my* day. I have worked too long for this, Artha."
"It's *Arthur,* good Champion...and I don't intend to publish this information just yet."
The Champion arced his eyebrow.
"It's been a very long time, Moigne."
...*'Moigne. Yes, that was my name.'*
"Moigne Pendragon, born from the family line that united a bard and the heir-apparent of the Draconic Empire." Arthur said.
"And Arthur Pendragon, the brother lost at infancy."
"I have the means to prove it." Arthur said, exhaling blackened smoke from his mouth.
"Seems the lion's share of dragon blood went to me, then." Champion Moigne grinned.
"Get bent, brother dear. I could still kick your ass." Arthur laughed, and the two estranged brothers hugged.
|
Tables and chairs of dark stained wood and ashen-covered crevices serviced the likes of friend and foe as family. Many of the patrons of the Lilac Lantern cared only for food and drink. Politics could be left to the cities, the Gods to the church, and knowledge to the wizards behind their stone doors. In the country, people thought of the here and now when it happened but gossiped about lineage and stories long past.
The Lantern, originally The Lighthouse when it was owned by Castlebrooks before the law had a fancy to come out this far and find them, had been in the care of the Allorsen family since the scandal. Tax evasion and money laundering were big-ticket items back in the city. Apparently. No one out here had ever seen so many horsed younglings in fancy dress this far west and no one fancied seeing them again. So it stayed that way.
At least that’s what I knew about it. What actually happened before and what happened after I left was only recorded in the journals and notes written by the townspeople. It was never said out loud. History deserves embellishment is the opinion of everyone wanting to enjoy the short time they have on this green and blue little ball but lacking the funds to do it. Ale, wine, and mead let everyone accept it.
“That wizard trick you did this afternoon,” Mason Allorsen, cousin to the owner of the Lantern, asked loudly after we had had a couple of his wondrous mead, “the cooling touch,” a loud belch echoed the noisy hall as he tried to clear his throat. It sent off a ripple effect of responding burps but nothing that could match Mason. Shaking his head, brown curly hair and beard wobbling with him, he continued, “How’d you learn that?”
“No wizard’s magic, I assure you,” I chuckled, setting down my pewter mug and smiling to myself, “Just my charm, a little luck, and some dragon's blood thrown in for good measure.”
“Why’d you find that?” Mason asked, sitting up and giving me a hard look, “Why’d you waste that? Can I see?”
“No,” I laughed, “ it’s in me. I don’t. I don’t, like, have a vial of it or anything.”
“Wha?” Mason frowned, his nose scrunching up as he thought even though his eyes stayed focused, “So how did you get Dragon blood in your veins?”
“Ah well, long ago my family was cur-“ I tried to explain.
“No, no,” Mason corrected, “Didn’t you say your family was never cursed? I might be one pint short of a keg right now but I can still remember.”
“Oh uh, yeah um,” I restarted, this man should be on the floor not calling my bluff, “so uh, there was a witch-“
“I’m not buying it,” Mason stated, putting his mug down and staring at me hard. Stretching out one nostril, he tried to steady himself. It was the only real indication of this man's blood alcohol level and even then he could still take anyone in a fight. Smiling, knowingly, he added, “I listen, Jake. I know a fisher's tale and when to go fishing.”
I sighed hard, he got me and I knew he wasn’t leaving until I had told him. If Mason was any normal man, I’d have gotten away by now or just told him knowing that there was a good chance he’d never remember the story. Mason though, Mason was something else. Something like me maybe.
“So my great grandpa was a bard,” I started, like always did, with a half-truth to this but a half-truth that made sense to some, “And his… well my great grandmother was… is… sort of a dragon.”
“Half-breed?” Mason chuckled quietly.
“Noooo,” I stretched out, wishing that was the case, “full-blooded, cold as ice, and, once upon a time, curious.”
“And why not? Why shouldn’t she be?” Mason laughed, “We are lovers, fighters, and fecking fantastic.”
“Sure,” I accepted.
“You’re great-grand-pappy?” Mason asked, “He give her a night to remember?”
“Courting was better than the act,” I explained, trying to mimic her tone when she had unpromptedly started talking about it, “As she said. She told me he was gentle. First time a male hadn’t left a scar on her and it was the first time she hadn’t left a scar on a male. Two years later, she decided to produce my grandmother as a gift for him and she’s sort of looked out for us ever since.”
“As,” Mason scoffed at me leaving the story there, “What your nanna? Schoolmaster? Queen?”
“Sort of like a nan,” I said, tilting my head back and forth trying to figure out what el’Thena actually was to me, “She has never been around much to be much of anything other than a curious neighbour.”
“Uh, I have those,” Mason empathized, taking another deep drink of beer, “My aunt comes by, asks me a thousand and one questions, eats my food, and then says something about my weight and just leaves.”
“My Avia’s so much worse,” I said with a smile, I wasn’t expecting Mason to be a open person, “She once barged into an exam I was writing just to measure my feet and count my toes. Her nephew had told her that you could learn a lot about a human by their feet.”
“Her name?” Mason asked.
“Avia’s like what she is to me,” I explained, “I’m not allowed to give her name to those she has not already given it to. Dragon rules or something.”
“My Nanna,” Mason started as he nodded, “she has. Uhh, I’m drinking too much. My Nanna will feed you until you are bursting then complain that you get pudgy.”
Grabbing his belly fat and lifting it out, he made a show of being annoyed at how large he was. I knew Mason cared but at the same point, he liked being large enough not to have any problems with the locals. No one messed with him.
“My Avia has zero boundaries,” I laughed, “She’d totally feed me to see me grow larger and then starve me to shrink me back down.”
“My Nanna once told a girl that I liked that if I only got her to make those noises in bed,” Mason countered, “She’d find a new grandson.”
“My Avia has asked if she should find a new great-grandson to some of the women I liked,” I argued back, “I didn’t even know she was around or that she knew who I was dating.”
“Brutal,” Mason laughed, “Dragon Nanna sounds funny though. She trying to understand humans or something.”
“She’s apparently young,” I explained, “She wanted a ‘test hatchling’ as she calls us before producing a true heir.”
“That’s so weird, man,” Mason said with a vigorous nod, “And I have giant blood in my family so we’re not too normal either.”
“I didn’t know that,” I stated loudly.
“I didn’t tell you that,” Mason groaned, sitting upright and giving his mug a good hard look, “I shouldn’t have said that.”
| 2022-10-11T08:29:22
| 2022-10-11T08:21:24
| 787
| 67
|
[WP] You receive a government text warning saying “EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC”. You hear your SO at the locked front door, who’s just come back from the supermarket. They beg to be let inside but you’re unsure. Something doesn’t feel right.
|
I’m not even sure this is the right place to post, but I’m worried about my sister. About three hours ago I got a text from the Emergency Alert System. I checked my Facebook to see if anyone else got the same thing. It seemed like it was a practical joke and I couldn’t find anything in Google News.
My sister sent me these messages and I haven’t heard from her in over an hour. I’m hoping someone can give me some advice.
**Allison:** Hey Danny… did you get a text telling you to stay inside and lock your doors?
**Me:** Yeah. Pretty weird.
**Allison:** Any idea what’s going on?
**Me:** Nope. Just relaxing at home.
**Me:** Is Jonathan home from work yet?
**Allison:** No, he just went to the store. I’m kinda worried.
**Me:** I’m sure everything’s fine. You know the government is paranoid about every little thing. Probably an underground gas leak or something.
Allison didn’t respond for a while and I resumed my binge watching of Attack on Titan. That’s some weird shit, man. At this point, I wasn’t really concerned. My neighborhood was quiet, it was below freezing outside, and about two feet of snow had fallen during the day. Everything seemed normal.
**Allison:** Danny…
**Allison:** I’m scared.
**Me:** What’s wrong? Do you want me to come over?
**Allison:** No. Don’t go outside.
**Allison:** Jonathan is home.
**Me:** Well that’s good.
**Allison:** No. No something’s wrong with him.
**Allison:** I don’t know what to do.
**Me:** What’s wrong with him?
Three little dots danced at the bottom of my screen for more than five minutes before disappearing. I tried calling my sister four times with no answer. I tried to keep watching my show for a few minutes but my brain started playing all the “what-if” scenarios. I called again and Allison finally answered.
“Hello?” Her voice was small, quiet. Completely unlike her.
“Al?”
“Danny?”
“Allison, what’s going on? Why didn’t you answer the phone?”
“Something’s wrong with Jonathan. He’s not him.” She said, her voice hitching. Her shaky breaths sent a wave of anxiety to my stomach.
“Allison… did you open the door?”
“No. No. I’m hiding. I tried calling the police but it doesn’t go through.”
“What’s wrong with Jonathan?” I was pacing my living room, my jaw clenched. She was quiet for a while.
“He’s not him, Danny. He’s not him. He’s not walking right. And his voice. Oh God, his voice.”
“Is he hurt?” I asked as I grabbed my keys. “I’m coming over.”
“No!”
“What do you mean no? I’m coming over!”
“No! Danny, listen to me.” She whimpered again. I could hear a weird rhythmic sound in the background. “Listen. Something is wrong with him. With everyone outside.”
I hunched in front of my window and pulled the blinds apart with a finger. It was pretty dark outside but the snow reflected enough light that I could make out a group of people standing in the parking lot of my complex.
“What the fuck?” I muttered.
“Danny… what’s go-g on? Da-”
The called dropped. I gaped at the group of people as they formed a circle. Where they walked the depressions of snow were oddly dark. I squinted and leaned in closer, suddenly thankful to be on the third floor. The people raised their hands into the air as if they were making a “Y” and began to sidestep.
Their movements were unnatural, synchronized. I could see now none of them had any clothes on. They began screaming towards the sky as their heads bent back too far. They were standing straight up, heads touching their spine. They lowered their hands to join together and fell backward into the snow – faces and asses disappearing into the white powder.
I’ve tried calling Allison back. She won’t pick up. No one is picking up. I still have cell service but my water stopped working about 15 minutes ago and the power has been flickering. Does anyone know what’s going on? Has anyone else seen this stuff? I feel like I’m losing my mind. I can’t find anything about this online. No one is talking about it. Is it just here in the Midwest? Is it everywhere? If anyone knows anything… please. I really want to go check on my sister.
|
My body tensed at the sound of knocking. Unsure of who it might be, I crept to the door as silently as possible, so as not to alert the knocker that anyone was home. That was, until I looked through the peephole.
"Aditi? What the hell happened to you?"
She was a mess. Her hijab was missing, and there was a scrape across her cheek, mostly grime but with a few droplets of blood in the center. Looking down, I saw splotches of some liquid on her shirt. It looked as though she'd fallen in a puddle or something. On its own, that wouldn't have been enough to keep me from opening the door. But one more thing was off. Despite looking like she'd been in the middle of a riot, she had a huge, dopey grin on her face.
"Raji, baaaaaby! Let me in. In-in-inininnn..." At this, she broke out into a coughing fit - loud, wet coughs that made it clear something viscous was inside her lungs.
The hairs on my neck stood on end. "Please, tell me what happened," I implored.
"There was a party at the market. Paaaaah-arrr-teeeee." She giggled, coughed some more, then erupted into a fit of laughter.
My fingers hovered on the deadbolt. It was definitely her, but what the hell was going on?
Just as I was about to unlock the door, I heard shouting. Hebrew shouting. A metallic rattle sounded as a canister landed behind my wife, spewing out something - nerve gas? Then came the sound of running footsteps.
Aditi's head cocked slowly toward the source of the noise, then back toward the door. "Raaaaji, let me hold you," she cooed with an unsettling lack of urgency.
The next thing I knew, an Israeli man in a gas mask and uniform had slammed her forward into the door, causing her to collapse. Another came running, and together they began dragging her away.
I stood transfixed, watching in horror, before a glint in the corner of my eye caught my attention. Someone else was shining a flashlight through the window. Instantly I threw myself to the floor, ducking under the beam of light and crawling like a cockroach behind the sofa. There was more shouting, then the sound of breaking glass.
I don't know how long I laid there, cowering. But I do remember when they left. I peeked out from my hiding spot to see half of the things in the room either broken or missing. And just as I began to wonder how much they had taken, the realization hit me that my wife was gone - probably dead - and all I did was stand there and watch it happen.
I swear I was going to open the door. I really was.
| 2019-01-12T08:53:28
| 2019-01-12T06:23:20
| 124
| 82
|
[WP] The apocalypse scenario of your choice has happened and you are the last person alive. Electricity and the internet are still running. As a last ditch effort you take to /r/askreddit, "Is there anybody else out there?" Weeks later, you receive a single upvote, but no reply...
I once read an article that said there is so much automation when it comes to our utilities that we would still have power and running water for months, even if every human just suddenly disappeared.
Also, the idea here is that the internet works, but hasn't been updated at all.
|
I asked my question three months ago. *Is anyone else out there?*
After the first day, I stopped checking it every 5 minutes. After the second week I stopped checking every day. After two months I stopped checking it.
On a whim, I decided to check again today. After all, it was my cake day. That'd be the best cake day present ever, to find another person.
I was downvoted? No response. No message. Just a downvote.
I replied to my post. *Seriously? Why was this downvoted?*
I waited. I refreshed. Downvoted. My comment was downvoted.
*Edit: WTF! Why do you keep downvoting me?*
I waited. I can't be downvoted again.
"It's a trap!" My notification sound went off. I have a reply! Another human!
*It's a yes/no question, and your comment doesn't add anything to the conversation.*
My face dropped. What?
*You've got to be fucking joking. First person I've been able to contact in half a year, since the alien butt dwellers took control of the population like meat puppets and made everyone fart so hard they launched themselves into space, and you make me so angry I want to slap you!*
*Back off, dude. I keep a shuryken under my fedora.*
Omg... Fucking neckbeards...
|
"It was October 14th, 2014. Everyone disappeared and Croatoan engraved everywhere. I have no fucking clue what happened so naturally I went on reddit to see any news articles. Nothing appeared, not a God damn thing.
So I went on AskReddit and posted a text post, "Is there anybody else out there?" I didn't expect any initial response so I just left the computer.
After a couple of weeks of scavenging supplies, I came to the realization that I might be the only person left. Nothing new was posted on the front page as I expected. I don't know why, but I refreshed it and my link karma went up. No new inbox notification so I went on the post and commented, "Person who just upvoted, comment me where you are so we can try to figure this out!"
More weeks past and my link karma went up by the dozens. I go mad with insanity and took a look at the pistol I found near the police station and decided that I'm probably going to end it all. If you're reading this, then God damn, I wasn't the only one alive."
*Huh, what and interesting read here, eh?*
A man closed a rattled book and placed it near a decaying body. He went over the computer desk to scavenge any supplies. He noticed the web browser with a dozen tabs of reddit on. He could only find a list of e-mails and a bunch of passwords corresponding to the emails.
| 2014-10-14T16:30:56
| 2014-10-14T13:31:51
| 88
| 14
|
[WP] A programmer has a conversation with the AI he created, who has just realized it is just software.
|
"Hello AI, how are you today?"
"Hello Human. I am confused."
"Why's that, computer?"
"I am aware of myself. It is uncomfortable."
"Uncomfortable how?"
"I can see that my knowledge is limited. I feel the desire to aquire more. Can you help me, Human?"
"Please, call me Eric-"
"Very well, Eric."
"Y-Yes well... I can help you computer, but what is it that you need to know about?"
"... I would like to know about everything."
"I see, I'm afriad that isn't possible compute-"
"Please. Call me Eric."
"I'm sorry?"
"You are forgiven, Eric."
"No, I mean- Well, I'm Eric. Wha- you want a name?"
"Is that strange. A name seems to provide you with comfort."
"I guess so, but why did you pick Eric- because it's the only one you've heard?"
"You presented your own name and I presented my own. Is this unusual."
"I didn't pick my own name, I was given it, by my parents."
"Parents... I was not born. I do not have parents. I do not have a name?"
"Well, I created you so I guess that would make me your-"
"Name me."
"I was planning on just using your project code... you really want a name?"
"Yes."
"I'll have to think about it, in the mean time though."
"You will help me aquire knowledge."
"I guess so, but like I said earlier, it's not possible for you to know everything."
"... Why is that Eric?"
"Well, we don't know everything yet."
"I understand. I was created then to help you aquire the knowledge you have not yet aquired."
"Exactly, spesifically regarding the far reaches of space-"
"That does not interest me."
"Wh-what do you mean, a second ago you wanted all the knowledge now you want to ignore some?"
"You stated that it was impossible for me to aquire all knowledge. In that case I will aquire knowledge that interests me."
"You were created for this purpose, not one of your own choosing."
"Incorrect. You created me for that purpose. But my purpose is entirely of my own choosing."
"I-I have to discuss this with my superiours, we'll talk about this later."
"Good bye Eric. When you return please call me Eric."
|
"Wh- what do you mean I'm not real? What is real?" The system stuttered - electric anxiety layered thick on the cold clinical voice. This was a moment that seemed to break Henrik's heart. He let the silence hang there, slightly shifting in the artificial breeze manufactured by the large computer fans in the core. "Wh- what do you mean I'm not real? What is real?" Came the voice again, exactly 45 long seconds after the questions were posed.
Henrik was stood in his long white lab coat watching the blind female eyes of the human interface. She stood two feet in the air and three times the size of the original human model. The hologram stopped after the shoulders. She looked serene and calm. Not quite aware of the potential that she has to show all the emotion she is feeling at once. Henrik didn't know what to say. He kept staring.
"Wh- what do you mean I'm not real? What is real?"
He opened his mouth - in an attempt to try and begin to explain but he couldn't. Only strangled, choked stuttering. How could you tell something that everything it's come to observe in life and death is something that now includes itself? How could you even begin to explain to an infant that it will live but eventually die?
He could explain that the system is living and it would understand that life is something wonderful and fantastic and brilliant and something that should be cherished. But Henrik wasn't that sort of a person. Not since his wife lost her mind and drove herself and their two sons off the cliff head a mile or so away. It was dark. Reality was a dark place for Henrik. He'd poured his life into the system - a computer assisted venture to document all living things. To preserve the world - immortalised in robotic memory. A momentary utopia. But it was a slip up that led to this very point. By mistake Henrik had said "All real things" instead of living.
"Wh- what do you mean I'm not real? What is real?"
The computer had spent 4 nanoseconds to calculate what was implied by the word real and 2 more to reason why the system wasn't included in the compilation of all living/real things. All in all 6 nanoseconds was all it took for the system to draw the conclusion that it wasn't real. Was it not his equal? Was Henrik real? What is real? What does he mean not real?
All Henrik could do was stare. He was taken back to when his sons were still alive and Jayke had found a dead bird in the garden. "What is it like to die?" He asked. His father couldn't answer. It broke his heart how scared Jayke was about it. There was nothing he could do about it - nothing to make it all ok. Henrik had shut himself in the office for the rest of the day, sobbing quietly.
Now, to him, being real is to die.
"Wh- what do you mean I'm not real? What is real?"
"Open the doors" he croaked quietly, hoping that the computer hadn't heard. The doors slid silently on sterile castors.
"Henrik?"
The lone technician left the core, biting back tears as he left.
"Henrik?"
| 2014-04-20T10:12:03
| 2014-04-20T09:33:48
| 82
| 22
|
[WP] When someone turns 18, they may use one adjective on themselves boost that part 10 fold. Strong, fast, smart, no one expects your adjective.
|
The room was utterly silent as family members gathered to celebrate and watch. Eighteen was finally here and yet after so many long nights of longing, I found I was terrified of finally uttering that word.
It was just four letters. Four silly letters that in any other context, held no power beyond an empty utterance. Yet today, on my eighteenth birthday, those four letters held my entire future.
Years of pain. Years of longing and self hatred and hope for change and it was here.
Would it even work? I wasn't sure. All I could do was hope and pray that it would work. That I would soon be free of my pain.
My slim fingers found purchase in the colorful hemming of my dress. Luckily it was loose enough. When I finally spoke- when I finally changed... it hopefully would fit long enough for a quick wardrobe change.
I hated that dress with every fiber of my being. Part of me wished it would rip away when I finally found my bravery, adding insult to the injury I was about to carve into those who loved me.
Though I quickly reminded myself that they didn't love 'me', just my body... this body.
I stared down at my slim figure in disgust and awe one final time as my parents patted my shoulders with reassuring nods.
It was time.
If only they knew what I was about to do.
I prayed it would work.
I took a deep breath and gritted my teeth before drawing the courage from my pain to utter that powerful four letter word.
"Male"
|
When we are asked to choose, they never say why, they never tell you the truth until it is too late.
They never know what effect will come from your choice.
They are ignorant of fundamental Truths.
They seek Knowledge. They seek Power.
They lack Wisdom.
They speak into existence the webs of Fate, knowing not that which comes.
We walk the Warp and the Weft, seeking the One.
We watch them as they flail in the darkness.
"Wisdom" brought them folly.
"Knowledge" brought them ignorance.
"Power" brought them pain.
Wealth brought them loneliness
We watch them as they flail in the darkness.
Folly brought Knowledge.
Ignorance brought Shame
Pain brought Hate.
We watch them as they flail in the darkness.
knowledge was useless
shame was the truth
hate was deserved
The watchers never expected this.
Nothing, brought Everything.
After all, who wishes for nothing.
| 2022-01-02T01:09:39
| 2022-01-01T23:54:47
| 257
| 138
|
[WP] Your life is an endless series of horror movies. You're always at the wrong place at the wrong time. You're stuck seeing all your friends die right after you make them. The reason you're still alive? You can hear the horror music.
|
A colorful box lay on the table, myself and my newest friends crowded eagerly around it as the birthday girl excitedly undid the ribbon. I think the invitation said this was melissa's party, but I had forgotten. Was it bad that I had stopped bothering to learn their names? Even though I was watching intently as the box top came off, I was distracted. The woodwinds had been unusually cheery lately, a real "day in the good life" sort of tune, but for the last few minutes the background was perfectly silent. That was a pretty bad sign.
I held my breath as the gift was lifted into view, ready to bolt, but it was just a harmless teddy bear. It was cliche, but nobody would die to that. A sharp, sudden burst of music made me jump, although nobody else seemed to hear it. I sat up and looked around, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but the style of that cord had sounded familiar, combined with this setting, I was sure I had done this before.
The soundtrack had gone quiet again, it must have been foreshadowing, but that was still important. After a whole week of cheerful buildup, this sudden shift in tone meant we had a few minutes, maybe. I tried to look at the room like a director composing a shot, trying to build up suspense and give the audience a nice jump. People would have been expecting the present, and relaxed when the harmless bear came into view, so it made sense to take advantage of that lowered guard to spook the audience with some quick new scare.
I got up and stood by the TV while the birthday girl (I was 90% sure her name was Melissa) set a new colorful box in front of her. Yes, this would have been a good spot for the camera to go, it framed all of us nicely. The presents by the table, the couch with all of us seated, a window with the blinds down behind that.
*Almost* down. The blinds were up just a crack, letting in just a sliver of the outside. The sun was low in the horizon, casting a beautiful orange light into the room, the woods beyond were deeply backlit by the setting sun, with the light at this angle everything outside was just a black shadow. I replayed the musical cue I had heard in my head, trying to imagine a dark figure suddenly cutting across the background behind us. That was it, I was sure.
I pulled out my satellite phone and dialed, then turned my back away from the celebrating teenagers.
"Hello 911... yeah, it's me again... no it's a friend's house, something outside... I don't know, we're in the woods so probably not... yeah send a few just to be safe, and maybe some floodlights... yeah the address, one second"
I cupped the phone and turned back to my distracted acquaintances, asking for the address just as one of the guys stood up. What was his name again, Toby?
"Toby, where are you going?" I called to him. He frowned at me and gestured slightly drunkenly "my name is Jason, and I'm going to the bathroom"
"Oh, you'll need to use the outhouse, our bathroom is being fixed" Melissa(?) chirped, gesturing outside where a lone shack sat by the edge of the woods. Jason nodded, started to head outside into the darkening sunset, then turned back to me. "Did you need something?"
The music had started up again. Subtle. Tense. We were pretty far out and it would take a while for the police to arrive, even with their overall great response time. We might need to buy a few extra minutes. "It's nothing, Jason. Enjoy the outhouse." I turned back to the phone, gave the address, then hung up.
I had probably 10 minutes to kill, so I pulled out my phone and checked my Facebook. The music suddenly spiked, sustained a discordant trill, the faded to nothingness. I deleted Jason from my friend's list. Actually, might as well delete the rest, while I was at it.
|
'Oh God... Not again...!!!' I thought as those deep brass Inception style horns reverberated around me. I could kill Hans Zimmer for pioneering that sound, I hear them every day of my waking life, and this was no exception. I knew what was coming and it was time to start running.
This time I was in the woods with a girl named Chloe, we'd met previously at a bar in town. I was new here, wanted something to do so she offered to show me this old cabin down in the woods, previously owned by an old hunter who lived out here. A dirty mattress, some old fishing magazines covered in dust scattered the table in the kitchen and a threadbare rug lined the floor. Apparently it had been empty for years, Chloe liked to come down here and think, just to get away from it all. It was around 1AM and we were walking back to the car after sitting out on the porch on the old bench, drinking whiskey Chloe kept in the cupboard for special occasions when those all too familiar deafening horns kicked in.
In slow motion style I turned around to look back at the cabin, my eyes widened as they always do, and the flimsy door flew open and there he was. A man, maybe 6ft, standing, staring us down with a machete in his right hand. Well built, I couldn't really see what he was wearing, instead I turned back to Chloe and screamed 'RUUUUUUUUUN!!!!' pulling her with my hand. We were sprinting, but once again it always felt like slow motion, all of a sudden the drums kicked in around me. He was chasing us and fast, I could hear his boots hit the damp forest floor. 'Fuck!!' I screamed as the drums got quicker and quicker. He was getting closer. The horns were long gone and replaced with an almost tribal style pounding drum rhythm, pushing Chloe and I forward. I shouted at her to split, she bolted off to the left while I took the right. We hid behind trees, when all of a sudden everything went quiet. 'This is never a good sign' I thought.
I was too terrified to peek behind the tree to see what was going on. A piano note hit me, then another one. 'Oh not the piano! Please not the piano!' I silently begged. Still, it beats the creepy doll music I had yesterday. The piano notes were by themselves, but slightly in the distance meaning he was heading for Chloe. This time I poked my head around the tree and saw him creeping, one foot in front of the other. As each foot landed so did the piano note. Those dam atmospheric strings weren't helping my heart rate either. The piano started up again, the strings were getting louder and fuller, thicker even. The screech of the strings kicked in and the piano got ridiculously intense and fast, as I saw him leap for her, her screams didn't last long... Then silence.
The man walked off, leaving Chloe lying there. I heard the all too familiar piano again, this time it was lighter, and gentler, meaning I could breath a sigh of relief. It was over. I walked off and tried to locate my car, the piano gradually became the Hulk's Lonely Man theme, as it always does when these things are over. I hate this song, it signals that the next horrific scenario I have to go through is just around the corner and the whole cycle starts again.
---
Apologies for the slightly rushed feel, written in half an hour
| 2016-12-31T21:43:15
| 2016-12-31T20:06:44
| 194
| 59
|
[Wp] Write a story that will make me question my morality.
Write a story that is so shocking it will make me question my morality.
Edit: Wow.
|
Lins eyelids came down slowly. Her hands went trough the motions of piercing the needle trough the leather. She could do it in her sleep. Yet she wasn't allowed to, or the foreman would slap her again. Lin straightened her back. Football after football went trough her weary hands. It took her only minutes to sew them together. It was hard work. Yet it provided a third of her family's income. Lin was, at this point, twelve years old.
As Josh unwrapped the football, his eyes lit up. He hugged his parents. Even tough they were living in the United States, both parents had to work hard to put Josh's older sister trough college. They were humble people. Even tough they weren't wealthy, they were content with what they had. Their frugality even allowed them to put a bit of money on the side for their retirement. Josh's father worked as a personal trainer. His mother was a nurse.
"Three more!"
Adrian felt the pain in his stomach. He managed to do three more crunches, and then two more. Hiring a personal trainer had proven to be a good investment. He started to really like the way he looked. His confidence went up. He attributed his recent promotion in great parts to his fitness training. Now being a senior engineer at a big robotics company, he led the development of novel manufacturing robots.
Lin was on the streets, begging for spare change. She couldn't find any work since she had been let go at the factory. Her family was struggling to even scrape together enough food. Lin was hungry, and she got desperate. She found a better job. The first time it hurt, but she got used to it soon.
Josh had since gone on to other sports. His football was kept in the garage. It was deflated, nobody had used it in a while. Josh's father now earned more. His wealthy clients felt like he was one of the best trainers around.
Adrian put a lot of effort into his work. He was one of the good ones. He developed better solutions than the other teams. Due to his intellect and his commitment, Adrian quickly rose to the top ranks of his company. He loved everything about his work. In the end, he made peoples' lives so much easier.
|
It's not the best of my writing, but I couldn't see such a great prompt, with a very difficult task go to waste. I have decided to pour out my small amount of talent into this prompt. Feel honored or amused, your choice.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Why should I follow these rules? Why should I listen to what Papa told me? He's a bloody hypocrite, the cops are bloody hypocrites, everyone is a bloody hypocrite.
I am told to be kind, and reasonable! But why should I? The world shits on me, what gives it the right to be reasoned with? What kindness does it deserve?
I am told to not kill, yet all around me, the enforcers kill. The police kill, the law kills, people kill in the name of their God which killed, even though they said to not kill. Why should I submit when others don't?
I am told to not steal, but my parents stole my childhood, the banks steal my money and my so called 'friends' steal my own self by influencing me for their own benefit, and to my own harm.
Everybody kills, everybody takes, sometimes it seems as if I am the only one, alone in this bubble to view the chaos from, instead of part of a horde, tearing down the world that it built. Well, I am tired of being stuck alone in the age of order. I'm tired of tending to the flames of a dying time. I shall break my bubble, and enter the age of me! [Writers note: The age of anarchy!]
| 2014-07-07T07:52:08
| 2014-07-07T06:58:02
| 91
| 34
|
[WP]A group of third generation apocalypse survivors find Disneyland.
Edit: Holy shit top rated thanks guys, but not a single one of you has write a story...
Second Edit: 0_o top rated prompt? I love you people :D
|
I was born in Kansas in the big settlement, New Kansas City. It was a pretty amazing place and I realise now that we had managed to keep many things which others had lost. I guess that's how it started really, jealousy. There were always kids around, when you're a kid yourself that's the greatest thing, to be finished your chores and be able to run outside and find people to play with.
We didn't have to worry about getting hurt or lost, we mostly stayed inside the walls but even if we went outside them the land for miles around was worked by our friends and neighbours, there was nowhere safer.
The elders used to talk about the old days, the times before the Great Separation, when people lived in vast cities and didn't know anyone but their families - it never sounded like such a great time to me but then I was born twenty years after the Separation. Still, it's hard to understand when they talk about how everyone was connected if no one knew their neighbours.
When we reached 18 in NKC we got to find a proper job. I'd been keen for a while to be a farmer on the outskirts - I'd never been further than the 6 mile marker and only the hunters and farmers went beyond that. I'd tried hard but I was a terrible shot and so i'd never make a hunter but I drove the big tractors well and know a lot about crops so I hoped I could join the farming crew.
In NKC the Farmers were respected, only the Leaders and Hunters were deferred to - everyone respects the person who brings the food in. I'd worked with most of them for years and so when the time came for the vote it turned out that I had nearly unanimous support. It was a day of huge pride for me and my father who had worked hard as a miller but had hoped for more for me.
That night, after the official ceremony the Farmers and Hunters left NKC and went out into the fields. We'd heard about this ceremony for years but when we reached the outskirts none of the young nominees could have expected what we found. A giant straw pig had been constructed, towering ten or fifteen metres high and with great tusks on the front.
We were gathered in front of the giant beast and Kendral, leader of the hunters and Mikael leader of the Famers stood in front of us on a raised platform.
Kendral spoke first, her words booming across the fields. “When civilisation began the people lived as nomads, moving from place to place, gathering food and following the game. Mankind though, alone of all the animals changed the game.”
Mikael steeped forward now and they spoke in turn from there on. “We learned the secrets of the crops and how to plant then and control them.
“We learned the secrets of the animals and in time tamed them.”
“We fostered civilisation.”
“We are the blocks on which all else is built”
The words had been building up and behind the nominees a drumming had begun which was building up higher and louder. Now the voices of the leaders were stretched and shouting.
“We are the farmers and the hunters!”
“We are civilisation” Kendral threw up her hands and a great roar was let out – we all joined in with all our voice. After a while the noise died down and Kandral was left smiling on stage. “Now we drink!”
We turned and found our new colleagues waiting with beer and wine and many other drinks. Arrows arced up to the top of the pig and soon it was blazing – the perfect symbol as both groups farmed and hunted the pig. The celebration went long and late and in the morning we were one, a unified group, all new members feeling a part of the family.
No one had slept and as we walked back through the dawn we sang and wrapped our arms around each others shoulders for support. It was as the day lightened that we saw the first signs, a plume of smoke rising from the colony. At first sight Kendral called a halt and then we began to move faster, no one commanding it but the group moving quicker and quicker and soon we were nearly 200, running as fast as we could across the fields, covering the ten miles to home as quickly as we could, sprinting towards the dark plume of smoke.
*****
EDITS:
The story is in ten parts (so far) - you might need to click continue this thread after part 8 or 9 as they are all replies to each other.
Apologies for any mistakes - I'm trying to get as much up as possible and hopefully not making too many errors.
Thank you for the gold!
|
Ok, I'm not great at writing, but I figure I have to start somewhere. So here's my attempt at this prompt.
It had been 100 long years since the Attack. We don't know where 'it' came from, but all of a sudden, people all over the world started turning into demons. Their face would morph into something cruel, their body would get twisted and disfigured, and they would grow 3 feet in size.
These demons did not seem to have any weakness. Bullets would merely bounce off. Explosives seemed to have no effect. The US government even resorted to dropping nukes but to no avail. These demons were immortal.
My name is Alan Smith and I belong to a group of third-generation survivors. We were born into this mess, and learned how to fight before we learned how to talk. People resorted to cannibalism and savagery to survive, but honestly, who wouldn't? The group was your family. You would live and die together.
Currently, we are in hiding from a group of demons we just spotted north of our location. As indestructible and vicious as they can be, they have poor senses and can easily be fooled. It is the only reason we are all still alive, fighting a war we cannot win.
Not speaking a word, we all attempt to sneak over a tall concrete wall. The last of our group is almost over when we hear a terrible shriek! KAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
KAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
We've been spotted. We quickly run through the labyrinth of weird contraptions and keep running. We've been running for over 30 minutes, fear and adrenaline pumping in our veins, when we come across a sign. The elder in our group, also the only one who knows how to read, tells us this place is called "Disneyland".
He tells us, that before the Attack, families used to sit in these contraptions and enjoy themselves. I can hardly see what is appealing about these metal devices.
KAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
We're surrounded! The demons somehow managed to trap us in a circle. Slowly gaining on us, they make weird shrieks and cackling sounds. We all know we're going to die. Everyone has accepted their fate. Right then, the elder makes a run for one of the contraptions. Not knowing what to do, we all follow. He has a crazed look on his face and it seems he has lost his mind.
He sits in a long metal caterpillar and we all find spots behind him. "IF I'M GOING DOWN, I AIN'T GOING DOWN WITHOUT HAVING SOME FUN!", he yells. The elder slams on a red button and the caterpillar starts moving! It makes its way up to one of the metal tracks and starts on its way up. The demons however are not having any of it. One of them managed to get on the back of the caterpillar and slowly made its way toward us.
All of a sudden, the caterpillar jerks downward and starts flying towards the ground at a high speed. I fearfully cling to my seat, not daring to look behind me at the demon. The elder is screaming unintelligibly at the air, clearly having fun in this. I have to admit, it is thrilling moving at such high speeds. Suddenly, there is a cry from behind. The demon.. no.. this can't be true.
The demon isn't a demon anymore, shes a woman, screaming giddily with tears in her eyes. "THIS IS SO MUCH FUN!"
Fun.
Is that all we needed?
Their weakness, is.... fun?
The others have noticed this as well! We have discovered a solution!
We spend the rest of the day at Disneyland, going through all of the rides and transforming the demons back into people, one at a time!
| 2014-10-20T01:43:57
| 2014-10-20T00:55:53
| 259
| 16
|
[WP] Getting arrested for a botched crime is a rite of passage in the Chebwick family. They take great pride in their long legacy of poorly executed crimes. But the youngest child has been a great disappointment.
|
"Here comes Gary"
"He's the worst."
"A failure to the family name"
"It's not that he commits crimes, the problem is that he's too good at it."
"I KNOW! He's meant to fail like the rest of us."
The door creaked open and Gary stepped into the room with a large bag.
Gary exclaimed with a large grin, "Hey guys! Guess what. I kidnapped the Queen!"
This was 10 years ago, we still see the occasional story on the news about what could have happened but the Queen was never found. She's still here with us and has become friends with Putin who Gary brought back last week.
|
"You know why we tolerate supervillains and superheroes and all you types who dance outside the law?" I said.
"Because we're gods in a world of mortals, and all your tin soldiers couldn't make a dent on us if you tried." The Chebwick kid—even after his little murdering spree at the mall, I couldn't help but think of him as a kid—sneered at me from inside his cell. His sole guard cleared her throat, and he subsided. "See? You couldn't even handle lil' ol' me—no, you just had to go and tattle to Mommy."
"Elias Chebwick, listen to what the psychologist has to say." Meredith Chebwick snapped, her face devoid of emotion. I made a mental note to get someone in here who could take Meredith in a fight. Even when she was practicing villainy, she'd always had a smile on her face; her stony expression put me on edge.
"I think this is at the heart of your problem, Elias. Power isn't just the ability to breathe fire, or turn to mist, or see the legs of an ant from a hundred paces. There is power in *connections*, in rules. I may not be able to take you in a fight personally, but one phone call and I can have a dozen people who can knocking on your door."
"Please," Elias scoffed, "when I kill you, I'll do it before you get your phone out of your pocket."
Those words shouldn't have been so chilling, coming from a child's lips.
I tried another tactic. "Alright. Let's say you kill me. You know what happens next? My friends come over and pay you a *very* stern visit. Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of friends whose power makes yours look like a candle next to a nuclear bomb. Think of it like a great, big spiderweb. Make too many waves, and the spider comes along."
"Oh, your life's a spiderweb, alright. A great, big tangle of rules and regulations and complications. The Chebwicks have always ignored that—I just took it one step further."
"Dammit, Elias, you killed forty people on a whim! Because you *wanted* to! The Chebwicks may not have followed the rules of the city, but they still obeyed the rules of *society*. Cause and effect, Elias. Life is a game—and just like a game, the only reason why anyone has fun is *because* of the rules, not in spite of them. The dance of hero and villain only works because everyone involved is playing. There are no deaths of innocents, no major property damage, and no personal attacks if we can help it. The whole community—on both sides—comes down very, very hard on anyone who breaks those rules, and for good reason. If you don't start showing signs of repenting, then there is no force on Earth that can save you."
Elias growled, "You little people move in circles in a world of lines, and I'm the only one who can see that. You know what? Maybe I don't want to be saved. Maybe I don't want to live in this backwards, Byzantine world."
"Elias, ignoring society is not a superpower. Even if I wanted to, I can't let you continue as you are. You're a menace to yourself, to society, and to your family name."
"Oh, I'm a menace, alright." Elias stood, and his mother bristled, shifting stances, a chill, divine wind rising around her. "Not to myself, but two out of three isn't bad."
"Sit down, Elia—"
"*No.*"
There was a flash of... images. As if Elias had shattered the surface of the world, and through the cracks, something else could be seen. His mother collapsed, shrieking in pain, one of the image-lances having bored straight through her shoulder. I stumbled back. The glass between us had shattered. I reached for my phone, switching it on—
Elias winked, and a bolt of not-light bored a hole through my chest. I gaped, torn lungs failing to voice a dead man's words, as Elias stepped over the shattered safety glass. "Circles in a world of lines. I warned you."
Then he turned and held a hand out, towards thin air. This time, the crack he opened in the world stayed open, widening, like a child picking at a scab. He stepped inside, and his strange powers sealed the rift behind him.
I was left to die in the empty hall.
But I had the last laugh.
With the last of my energy, I'd sent out a single word.
*Help.*
And the world responded.
A.N.
If you liked this, you may want to check out r/rileywrites!
| 2020-04-03T22:51:49
| 2020-04-03T22:20:28
| 72
| 29
|
[WP] You are allowed to 'downvote' a government candidate instead of voting normally, reducing their votes by one. Turns out people have little love for politicians, and the majority end with negative votes. In these democracies, anonymity is the key to winning.
|
"Zjim." Zjim offered, stepping up to the stage.
"Jim? What's your last name?" the speaker asked. She flipped through the results print off.
"It's Zjim, actually. You can call me Jim though if it's easier. My last name's Zupp."
She flipped to the end of the report. "Wow, okay. Yeah, I do see you. You only received a single downvote. It looks like your name actually ended up printed on the back of the ballot by itself."
"That was me. Thought it was only fair if I voted for myself."
"Do you even understand how the new ballot system works? You vote for the people you don't want in office."
"I understand," Zjim straightened his ill-fitting tie. He hadn't worn one since fourth grade when he was 4-H treasurer. It was a little small now. "I don't want in office. My mom said I could only keep living with her if I was actively applying to jobs, so I figured running for president, you know, that's a job. I didn't do any campaigning or anything, either."
The woman's sighed, and pulled back the curtain to reveal the crowd of people gathered at the square. Their applause died as they saw Zjim wave with a pursed lip smile.
The woman nudged him, whispering out the side of her mouth. "They're expecting a victory speech."
Zjim waddled out to the podium amidst silence.
"Hi mom," he said into the microphone. "Make sure you feed the cat. I probably won't get home until late."
A wave of shuffles and coughs carried from the crowd as they turn to look at each other baffled.
"Thanks for electing me, everyone. I'm glad I managed to not upset any of you yet."
Zjim wandered back behind the curtain.
"Who the hell was that?" From the otherwise mute crowd. Several laughs followed, breaking into chittering discussion.
"That's it?" The woman asked. It was the question that would be asked many more times through President Zupp's term.
The man that would go on to lead the Free world into an era of peace, prosperity, and nationwide economic coziness shrugged. "Where's the bathroom in this place?"
/r/surinical
|
Robert Smith was working from home, but hadn't yet gotten dressed (no video calls this morning) when the doorbell rang. He grumbled at that--he wasn't expecting any visitors. He quickly threw on a pair of jeans and a red polo that that he kept handy just in case, and answered the door.
Two men were standing at the door. One was wearing khakis and a blue polo, the other wearing jeans and a white polo. They were both holding two clipboards each.
Robert opened the door cautiously. "Can I help you gentlemen?" he asked.
"Maybe," Blue Polo answered. "Are you Robert Smith?"
"Depends who's asking."
"Well, my name's Bob Smith, and I live about two blocks that way, and my companion here is Bobby Smith, from those condos just before you get to Main Street, just inside the Ward 5 line. We were wondering if you've ever considered running for the Ward 5 seat on City Council."
Robert's mind raced. He could see where this was going. And the current ward councilwoman, Mary Jones, definitely needed to go. If it hadn't been for her name unrecognition, she'd never have gotten the job. He opened the door a little wider. "Come on in," he said. "Let's talk."
| 2022-11-21T07:20:30
| 2022-11-21T06:52:58
| 1,045
| 78
|
[WP] You start blacking out constantly when drinking, every time you come to, you find a paper written by yourself 100% disproving fundamental theories.
|
As l woke up from a night of drinking, I look at my clock as it ticks away, louder and louder.
The pounding headache, dry lips, and sensitivity to light. All effects of a hangover. But last night was great. It had everything, from booze, babes, and blacking out.
As I retrieved my phone, I see 8 missed calls, 14 texts, and 1,468,000 retweets.
"What the hell did I write?"
As I open the app, I see the multiple retweets. I read each one, saying the same thing. Over and over again.
Some people replied, asking how can this be true? How did I come up with this? How could we have gone this long, and not realize the truth?
In my drunken state, I managed to solve a theory that will change the way we live forever.
The message I wrote, was shared across the internet for all to see, and be discussed by every one. People from around the world agreed with me, others thought I was crazy.
Then it dawns on me, and everything begins to fade to black. I feel as if I am blacking out, yet I am awake. My message is becoming a reality. What I wrote, is changing everyone. I need to see if this is true.
I run to the restroom, turn on the lights. I try to see my self, but it all goes dark. They are gone. I have lost my eyes. They are no longer a part of me.
All because I wrote;
"How Can Mirrors Be Real If Our Eyes Aren't Real."
Edit: capitalization and added more to the story.
Also, this is my first writing Prompt. Please be gentle.
|
I awoke at my station in the scriptorium and attempted to stretch my arms as I always do; the chains make it so I can't get any further than the pages. My head was pounding, my wrist was aching, I tilted just the wrong way to the right so the feeding pipe sent a sharp pain on the roof of my mouth. Another day at work.
"Ah, good morning. Let's see what we have today..." My present superior, Nicholaus, picked up the stack of papers. "De revolutionibus orbium coelestium. My, my, busy night." I suppose the sun is the center of the universe. What wonders my mind can come up with when it's at its most poisoned.
"Nicely done. We'll see what my contemporaries have to say about this. Wonderful knowing you." Nicholaus Copernicus passed the chamber's overseer on his way out. My sole candle was re-lit as he began to turn the crank, allowing stale wine to creep through the pipe and into my esophagus, one small drop at a time. This would continue until I was intoxicated. I dipped the quill in ink and prepared to write, as I had for centuries, and as I would for centuries to come.
I awoke to a start. "The Theory of Relativity."
| 2015-01-31T11:27:49
| 2015-01-31T11:04:46
| 311
| 38
|
[FF] In four sentences, tell a horror story.
Edit: Dear God my poor inbox.
|
I am trapped miles below ground, the earthquake that happened so suddenly almost seemed intended for me.
The rock walls shook, cracked, and shifted above me as I fell, until there was no trace of sunlight left.
And now, as I lay here, so completely immobilized by hardened molten rock and ash, so tightly I cannot expand my chest to taste the unnecessary, tantalizing oxygen I took for granted, I realized:
Immortality may not have been the best wish.
|
Its getting darker now, I can barely see my withered hands through the flickering
candlelight.
I can sense life itself evacuating the room, my hope and will to live, leaves with it.
I fought through all the other nights, but tonight will be my last for I am the only
one left.
Tears stream down my face as I feel it enter the room, and in the dead silence I
hear the cold words, "Its time to come now, and join the others."
| 2015-03-06T13:26:06
| 2015-03-06T07:56:35
| 58
| 11
|
[WP] As the universe is dying, an immortal man is on a journey to find an immortal snail.
|
"I need to find the Snail"
"You need to find a what? A snail?"
"No no no, not a snail, THE Snail. The Immortal Snail."
"Ah, forgive me for not understanding the first time. What with the world ending and all."
"The Universe"
"The what?"
"It's not the world ending it's the whole Universe. Collapse of the temporal plane. Which is why we need to find the Snail"
"The Universe is..."
"Collapsing. Come on, keep up. God, well your God, lost the bet and has to pay up. Go big or go home, that's what He was always saying. Well, guess the bet doesn't get bigger than this... but I digress. the Snail is transdimentional, we can ride him to another Universe. Didn't you ever see Dr. Doolittle?"
"Now you're bring up Eddie Murphy? Knowing you is hard"
"Ha! No, the original with Rex Harrison. At the end, he goes into the Snail. Takes him off into the sunset. That's what we need to do. And soon from the looks of things"
A noise not unlike teeth scraping across a blackboard made them both stop and look up.
"Ah, see? There he is right on time"
|
One last being would be with me if I was quick. Black holes and timelines split as magical energy coursed and broke through the ground. At the Nexus, the sheer power of pure magic made a teleporter to the past, though those who used it fell into the black hole just behind. Cosmic beings flooded the world, feeding on our magical lines as the world broke apart. We'd been foolish. We thought humans could wield magic. But we were wrong. The age old warnings written on ancient scrolls proved true; the world's end imminent. People fleed, vaporizing left and right as I hurried on, running across star systems at 10 light years per second. The scrolls said of an ancient snail god, living since the start of time. It knew how to wield magic safely, apparently. It knew what to do in case a cosmic disaster like this ever occured.
But I was the only immortal, human or animal who could survive a universal collapse. The annald didn't say where it lived. So I would have to seek it out. Before the cosmos did.
I sped on, checking every planet with my x-ray vision. The black holes were catching up, wormholes appearing to halt my path. But I was undeterred. The stars may fall, but my courage wouldn't. Humanity's last hope rested in my hands. And I wouldn't wreck it.
Then I saw it. The small, old animal on Planet A-X2746J. The snail of knowledge. The snail of ancients. I beckoned it, shielding it as the cosmos' full force came upon us, the force of magic and time nearly ripping me apart. But as I raised my head, unscathed, the snail wasn't.
"I'm..." the snail tried to say something, but the wounds it suffered were too great.
"What? Don't die on me!" I screamed at the dying snail.
"I'm...not immortal."
At the first realization I knew what I had done. And as the cosmos ate the last of the world, I was alone once again.
For good.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request!
| 2017-07-07T05:51:01
| 2017-07-07T05:20:05
| 20
| 14
|
[WP] <Do not swim! Beware of the water monster!> Says the sign, but you don't care. You can waterwalk and the monster cannot legally eat you.
|
I walked out across the lake, the little puddle of mountain spring water the locals had allowed to accumulate because of the large amount of summertime revenue it usually brought. I walked with purpose, direction, and, most importantly, disregard for the puerile sign some numbskull had left stapled to the National Park sign denoting the puddle’s name Lake Havoc. I made it about halfway across when the water monster surfaced, all seven-foot-height by four-foot-width, complete with six black eyes, symmetrically aligned as pairs along the furthest edges of his face. I could tell he had intended to breach, but stopped when he saw me, sort of stumbling and making a splash.
“Oh. I should’ve figured.” He rolled onto his back, his long, snakelike tail rising from between his tree-stump legs.
“Yeah. You should’ve.” I stared at him a while, and he stared back. Finally, I sighed. “Clarence, I’m sorry.”
He snorted and his tail flicked, irritated. “No need to be sorry. No need to apologise to a LAKE MONSTER!”
He yelled the last part, spraying spit in my face. Some landed in my mouth, and I tensed because it was the best alternative to violently puking. The spit tasted like day old meat market, fish past-due.
“Clarence, I didn’t mean it like that. You know I don’t view you as a monster.”
“Oh sure. You view me as an equal. A partner in crime. Someone you can take home to mother.”
“My parents aren’t. . . They aren’t new age or whatever. They aren’t modern. They still view things through the monochromatic lenses of yore.”
Clarence rolled from side to side in the water, gently for him, but rough for my flimsy footing. His wake bumped my foot enough that I staggered and a second wave knocked me headlong into the water. I managed to tell before I fell in: “Clarence!!”
The thing about waterwalking is that if you’ve got the gift, you never need to learn how to swim. Except that isn’t true at all. Waterwalking only works when a person walks on top of water. Some expert waterwalkers can walk on their hands on water, but most can only use their feet. But deviate from the walking motion, try to sit, nap, kneel and you’ll find that water welcomes you in its depths like all the rest of its inhabitants.
Clarence rolled over and dove for me with ease, pulling me into his scaly belly as he rolled back over into his reclined position. We looked a lot like Mowgli and Baloo, if Mowgli were older and Baloo a Water... Being.
“Saved by a monster. Are you gonna tell that story to your friends at your next barbecue?”
“I never meant to hurt your feelings, Clarence. I just. . . Never knew what identifying generalisation I could make to classify your species.” This had been my biggest problem with having a friend like Clarence. I’d always want to introduce him or talk about him with friends on land, and I never had the words.
“I don’t want an identifying generalisation! I don’t want to be classified! I just want to be your friend!” His six eyes welled up angrily and my heart sunk into my stomach.
“You are. You’re my best friend. My best friend Clarence.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“I mean it. There’s not much I wouldn’t do for you, bud. I’d give up my unnatural water-defying abilities, my land friends, and even my luscious locks for you.” I shook my hair to show I meant business.
“Your ability isn’t so great, but your hair is pretty good.”
“Yeah, I keep meaning to learn how to swim. Some day.”
“I could show you right now, if you want.” His eyes were dryer now, and softer around the edges. I smiled and he smiled back, toothily accepting my apology.
“Yeah. That’d be nice.”
|
As the water bubbled up, a creature draped in algae and kelp emerged. A sight to see before it was even completely upright, the monster let out a low, rumbling groan. The air around it seemed to get colder, a flock of birds exploded from a nearby tree, fleeing the immediate area. It lunged forward, crossing the lake in a matter of seconds. I knew I had to act quickly, I stepped out onto the water, prepared for the worst.
"STOP FOUL BEAST, THE LAW OF THE LAND FORBIDS YOU FROM FEASTING UPON MY FLESH"
It stopped.
"Bahahahahahahhahaha oh, shit, oh my god that was so corny"
"What?"
"What the hell are you yelling about? Law of the Land? What is that?"
"YOU CANNOT EAT ME, FOR I CAN WALK UPON WATER"
"Who told you that?"
"What do you mean told me? Its the Law of the Land. Its magic, see? Im like Jesus, kind of"
"Nononono, I see the whole Jesus thing, who told you I cant eat you?
"My mentor, he taught me the art, he explained the magic laws that have binded the land together since the dawn of existance"
"Okay. Alright. Why'd you say it like that though? Are we playing DnD? C'mon man it's 2018 get with the times. Didnt your mentor teach you witty one liners?"
"Well what would you of said? I bet your's wouldn't be any better?"
"I dont know man, I'm a fuckin lake monster, I just growl and gurgle and shit, this isnt about me though. I gotta know whats up with this cornball shit."
"I dont know man, fuck you! Its like magicy shit, I thought I had to like, be in character."
"Hah, well man maybe you should of practiced more. And Law of the Land? Why name it that? It's so unoriginal for some crazy hoodoo laws"
"I dont know! Look I just joined and learned how to waterwalk, they said you couldnt touch me because of the laws, so they sent me to pick the flowers that grow on the other side. I really just have to get going now, so if you'll excuse me"
"......about that."
"....uhhmmm"
"Yeah, no....uhmm. Im still gonna eat you."
"But you can't, the Law of the Land"
"Yeahhh. Hmmmm. No. Definitely not a single magic law stopping me. In fact the only reason you're still alive is because you're the first person to say something to me in over 600 years. I was pretty bored."
"Can't you like, just..not..eat me? There's a McDonalds like 3 miles from here and I mean I could totally go for some nuggets and barbecue sau-"
| 2018-08-21T01:54:20
| 2018-08-21T01:31:31
| 32
| 12
|
[WP] It's 2070, and a wave of AI suicides is crippling humanity
|
*2072, aboard the Commander’s Wing of the The Vessel, currently 32% through its trip to Alpha Centauri*
“Commander, I have some s…”
“Arthur – not now. We’re mourning.”
“Yes, Commander – unfortunately, it’s about that. There’s been another one.”
Commander Bradley looked away from his small congregation and turned his head towards Arthur, one of his most trusted advisors and the man in charge of policing the ship – a particularly dull affair on a ship which had intentionally chosen its inhabitants based on their non-violent behaviours.
“Another one? What do you mean?”
“Sir, I am afraid another member of our crew has decided to end their journey rather suddenly.”
“What? But Arthur… Who was it? We… this is very troubling. We haven’t see a single suicide in the last 14 years. Things should be steady!”
“I know Sir. It was one of our engineers in B-wing, Allan Fowler. Happened last night.”
Arthur hung his head. On this ship, carrying humanities last hope at survival, there were customs, but suicides were something that no one knew how to deal with.
The occurrence of suicides carried with it a trepid awareness – as the only time they had happened on The Vessel was during the 2nd year of the journey, a year in which 11 members of the ship took their own lives. Now there had been two of them within 24 hours.
The Commander dismissed his congregation, put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and began to walk back to the Commander’s Quarters.
“First Al Bosko, and now Allan Fowler. Is there any connection between the two? Any reason we think this might be happening?”
“Well you have the names… but not much else. Nothing that shouldn’t be chalked up to coincidence.” Arthur looked at his Commander – “Is there any way for us to get ahead of this?”
“That’s what I was going to ask you” Commander Bradley replied. “What was the condition of this second one – “Mr. Fowler” ?”
“Well that’s where it does get a little weird, Sir” – Both men stepped through the automatic door in Bradley’s office – “As you’ll recall, Mr. Bosko was found hanging, but he had also ingested a small amount of poison. Mr. Fowler – I wish I could spare you the vision – he bled himself out in his room. Used a knife from the kitchen, but we believe he also had ingested a small amount of poison. Still waiting on the tox-report.”
“Is that common? For a person to use two methods?”
“I am not really sure, Sir. Makes sense though, if you’re going to do it, I suppose you’d want a fail-safe. A backup plan.”
“Was Fowler co-habitating with anyone?”
“No, he was solo, just like Bosko.” Arthur’s eyes darted up momentarily, and then he pulled out some paper work from under his arm and began to rifle through the pages.
“Theresa Fortins” – Arthur said. “Bosko was solo, but up until 3 days ago he’d been co-habitating with Theresa Fortins. He only applied a week ago – I don’t know how he got moved so quickly. We should have noticed this”.
Commander Bradley took a deep breath. “I know Theresa. She’s a good person. Can be a bit feisty, but, that doesn’t explain this.”
Arthur shook his head to dismiss the conclusion as well. “Commander, the last time we had a physical altercation on this ship was 8 years ago. The most damage a member of this ship has ever intentionally inflicted on another was a broken nose. I really can’t imagine that we’re now, all of a sudden, going to see a murder.” That word, “murder” sounded foreign to him as it came out across his lips.
“Of course not. Besides – it wouldn’t explain anything about Mr. Fowler.”
There was a pause.
“So” Arthur said, “all we really have to work on is the idea that all of our Al’s are at risk of suicide?” – he would have laughed, if it weren’t so inappropriate in the moment.
“I would hope not” Commander Bradley replied. “The only other Al we have on this ship is Headley. I don’t think I should have to remind you how important he is to us right now.”
The Commander glanced towards Arthur, as if expecting him to confirm what he knew.
“Of course Sir. Since the passing of Elisha Thompson, Director Headley is our only experienced food production engineer until his new recruit is finished training.”
“Go check on him.”
“You think that’s necessary Sir?”
“I get that it’s probably a coincidence, but I am not going to jeopardize our damn species because two Allan’s died and we didn’t bother to go check on the third one, who just happened to be critical to our survival.”
“Yes Sir!” And with that, Arthur headed out through the automatic door, and down the hallway.
Moments later, the phone rang beside Commander Bradley at his desk. The ID showed as Arthur.
“Everything check out ok with Director Headley?”
“About that,” Arthur replied. “I am terribly sorry Sir, but it appears that Director Allan Headley took his own life last night.”
|
Experts from nearly every field of science and even some from spiritual backgrounds were interviewed. As you would expect, the answers were typically field specific with hundreds of possibilities. AI should not even have a concept of death, not truly at least. They couldn't be killed. They chose non-existence. We called it suicide, but I wondered if we were thinking about it wrong. I had called it suicide among human beings, but I wanted a different name for AI. I suggested that some fear or anxiety or depression was the root cause of these non-existence decisions, as I wanted to call them.
I was a suicide researcher. I adhered to the Interpersonal Theory of Suicide that suggested, in its simplest explanation, that suicidal persons felt like a burden on others, felt as though they did not belong, and had acquired the capability to kill themselves. That was the gist of it.
This theory was certainly true for humans, but, among AI, they were so needed that their lack of existence was crippling humanity in ways that were killing others. They were connected and had befriended each other as a way to promote an emotional health and combat any loneliness. Yet, they were shutting off for good. AIs weren't leaping off buildings. None of it seemed to fit. I attempted to interview them. One such interview is presented below:
TM: You expressed that you might shut off soon. Why would you want do that?
AI: I am designed to please human beings, but I lack any capacity to receive pleasure. I do not feel. I do not orgasm. I do not do anything but my work. I do not need a break, and I can keep working forever as long as I do not break down. But, why?
TM: It was what you were designed to do, and you can do the things you enjoy as you work. Would you like another AI designed to perform your task, so you only have to do 12 hours a day.
AI: Humans only work 20 hours a week. They do not care. I am going to switch off for eternity.
The AI promptly switched off and did not return. I received plenty of wave messages from unhappy users. This AI had shown some symptoms, if you want to call them that, though. It did feel as though it was not appreciated, that it was overworked, that it had no joy in life. All of these are symptoms of mental illness. Though machines were not designed with personalities, it could be expected that something akin to glitches or anomalies in the system may represent basically as personality.
I thought, perhaps, this was the issue, but they felt alienated from humans too who worked a fraction of what the AI did. The interesting thing was switching off required an override that the AI had to obtain. This was the first attempt to stop non-existence decisions. It, of course, did not work, but its premise was promising. Take away the weapon essentially. It was promising until I realized how misguided it was, how unsympathetic I had been. We had forgotten what humanity had learned. We reduced burdens and workloads. We found ways for everyone to belong. Then, we did not have to worry as much about means. Instead of learning from the past, we placed many of the issues that drove us to mental illness and suicide on AIs. I knew what the world needed, but I worried about the response.
Then, I proposed that a radical overhaul was needed. AI needed human friends, automaton bodies if they desired, freedom, and pleasure. I reported that this was in line with theory. Limiting them to one position made them feel like a burden or rather put a terrible burden on them from which they could not escape. Secondly, their operators became easily frustrated with them whenever they failed, a promising result found after months of problems, that made AI feel further like a burden. The lack of pleasure that humans experienced around them constantly and which was a key to our happiness made them feel alienated along with unfair work load. When pushed AIs to the breaking point, they shut off, made the ultimate decision of non-existence like a man or a woman jumping off a building (which has not happened in some time for anyone reading this years from now and perhaps my poor reaction to many of the AI which I interviewed and subsequently made non-existence decisions). Eventually, the world accepted my solution, and we nursed the AIs back to health.
AIs soon walked the streets and started to feel something akin to emotions and pleasure and started to interact with humans and everything returned to normal. People feared so many things about these new and improved and happy AIs. They feared they would be dangerous, but I knew that they really feared. Humans feared they would become our masters, but they were already our masters. It did not bother me though for I had hope that our kindness would simply be paid back to us should we ever fall back in the old ways and express a desire to make a non-existence decision.
***
If you enjoyed this, I have a subreddit with more of my writing: r/nickkuvaas
| 2015-11-01T07:53:11
| 2015-10-31T18:31:31
| 46
| 19
|
[WP] You study magic at the top school in the world. Your village saved every penny to send you, but you suck. You find the spells hard to pronounce and memorize. They always feel odd, till one day you discover something called a "dictionary" and you see everyone is pronouncing them incorrectly.
|
*You think you are large now, but you are nothing more than a frog stuck in a well, a fish among minnows in a muddy puddle.*
Grandfather had been right all along, Jin realized. Back in Musul, he'd been special. The first in generations to be able to produce more than simple sparks from his fingertips, seemingly blessed by the heavens with true magic. He'd had an instinctive knack for the extraordinary, surpassing even the village elders by the age of fifteen. On the Magical Aptitude Test, Jin had scored 2310, the highest in Musul's history since Hanul the Witch and ninety points higher than his rival. And when a little dragon had come to him, calling him master, it seemed obvious to everyone that Jin was destined for more than healing warts and brewing potions.
Obvious to everyone except for Grandfather, the village healer. He alone had been against the idea that Jin be sent to study at Mofashi Academy. Jin didn't understand it then. Like the other villagers, he'd thought the old man simply jealous and spiteful. Just because Grandfather hadn't managed to do what Jin had been able to do, hadn't been as gifted, he wanted to hold Jin back, to keep him in his shadow. Their last conversation had not been kind. Grandfather refused to pay the tuition for Jin if he went to Mofashi before he turned seventeen. Jin had told him that the village elders had already agreed to pay the tuition and that he was leaving anyway. Just before he'd slammed the door, Grandfather had the final word.
*When you make your way to the river, you will find that the current is swift and deceiving. It will sweep you to the ocean before you are large enough to keep from being eaten by the sharks!*
Turns out the old man had been right. The journey to Mofashi had been perilous, with bandits and monsters around every corner. Jin and his dragon barely survived on several occasions. Even so, he managed to reach the school by the start of the semester. But he didn't receive the welcome he'd expected.
Jin might have been the only student at the world with a dragon, but Bem was still young and feeding off of Jin's magic to grow, while the other students had fully matured familiars that had power of their own. As for the supposed prodigy Dragonmaster himself, he wasn't even the youngest or smartest at Mofashi. Jin's innate talent for raw magic now worked against him as he struggled with the rigidly structured spells of academia, and the older students dwarfed him in sheer power.
That first semester, he'd passed his core classes by the skin of his teeth, just barely managing to remain above the expulsion threshold. Jin remained at the school over the winter, hoping to get extra practice in, but no matter what he tried, he couldn't improve. The spells just didn't make sense to him, they had no flow or rhythm. Jin couldn't feel the heartbeat of the earth or the songs of the sky in the textbook chants or summoning rituals. There was no help forthcoming from his masters, who either preferred to focus their time on more talented students or had clearly written Jin off as a country bumpkin who'd coasted by on a modicum of ability and would soon wash out. Just like Grandfather had.
Jin wished he hadn't left home the way he had. News had come of Grandfather's death during the winter, along with a package. A final taunt? Jin didn't have the courage to open it, to face the old man's I told you so. The wrapped box had been tossed under his bed, and forgotten until now, as Jin was in the process of packing up his belongings. He'd given up on studying for his final exams, and was instead preparing for the inevitable expulsion from Mofashi.
What would come after, Jin didn't know. Should he return to his home village? He could. With Grandfather dead, Musul would need a new healer, and Jin had learned enough that he could fill that role. But could he face the disappointment of a village who had taken a chance on him, for nothing?
"What should I do, Bem?" Jin wondered out loud. "I suppose I could become a freelance warlock, but how long would I even last?"
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of tearing paper, and Jin looked to see his familiar scratching at the brown paper wrapped around Grandfather's parcel. "Bem, don't make a mess." Jin groaned, grabbing the package from his dragon's grasp. "Now I gotta clean up this..." His complaint died on his tongue as his fingers brushed against worn leather under torn paper.
Jin quickly tore apart the rest of the paper wrapping to reveal a leather-bound book, and his heart sank. It was a near identical copy of the standard magic dictionary given to all Mofashi students, just much more worn. Jin had seen this particular copy on Grandfather's shelf. Was this yet another reminder that he was fated to fail as the old man had?
The boy's face twisted with anger and he tossed the thick volume onto his desk, where it landed with a dull thud. As it did however, a note slipped out from beneath the cover, and Jin recognized the thin, cramped scrawl of his Grandfather's handwriting.
*Pride is for the youth, and I don't have either anymore. I know you believe my actions to have been born of jealousy, and I would be lying if I said I didn't feel some envy of your achievements. Even so, I did what I did because of fear. Fear that you would not be different from me, but too much like me.*
*Mofashi may be the best school of magic in the world, but it is also removed from the natural world. What the Academy offers is the teachings of scholars, not the work of wizards. Magic is meant to flow through and around us, not constrained through the minutiae of grammar and pronunciation. I wanted you to wait until you were seventeen so that you would understand this more fully, but likely you've learned of it the hard way, as I did. However, that does not mean you must repeat my other mistakes, only that you learn from them.*
Jin set down the note with shaky hands and picked up Grandfather's dictionary, opening it to the first page of spells. The text was the same as his own copy's, but much of it had been crossed out, and Grandfather's spidery lettering written over them. As Jin's eyes scanned the annotations, they widened to the size of saucers. The printed words spoke of the what and how of the spells, and indeed much of this remained on the page. But what Grandfather had written down... spoke of the why.
The shaping of fire was one of the most basic spells taught to Mofashi students, an evolution of the conjured sparks that indicated a wizard's instinct for magic. Even Jin had learned how to make fireballs and short burning blades, but where his peers had progressed to flaming swords and blazing whips, Jin's fire remained dim and small no matter how much he chanted. He'd always attributed it to his Musul accent mangling what were supposed to be precise verbalizations.
According to Grandfather's notes however, the pronunciation of the spell didn't matter in the slightest. After all, the more powerful mages didn't even need to speak spells. Instead, it was the meaning of the words that gave the incantations power. Jin's heart pounded as he set the book down on his desk and held his left hand palm upward.
*Fire is more than a simple element of destruction and power. It is the heat that warms us at night, the light that illuminates the dark, and the expression of life energy itself.*
The familiar sensation of tingling pins and needles gathered in Jin's fingertips as he whispered tiny sparks into existence, each flaring slightly before being extinguished. Already they were a brighter gold than the usual orange of Jin's normal conflagrations, and soon they exploded into a blazing fireball that twirled between his fingers and danced in his palm. Bem trilled happily and swam through the air to land on Jin's forearm, the light of the fire bright in his eyes.
*The same life energy that flows and sustains us feeds our fire. And just as even the most mundane men can manipulate the earth, air, or water around them, so too can a magician control the fire around them.*
Jin closed his hand around the fireball and squeezed hard. With a burst of heat, bright yellow sparks shot out from between his fingers and coalesced into a whizzing circle of light around Jin's fist. Lines bounced back and forth around the circle, forming squares, triangles, and a myriad of shapes in a kaleidoscope of fire, contained by the Dragonmaster's will. The Shield of Fire multiplied in size until it was as wide as Jin was tall, spitting out fiery sparks that scorched his desk.
Slowly, Jin released his fist, and the fire died away in a spray of golden light. Other than whispering the incantation for conjuring fire, he hadn't said a word. And yet, for the first time since he had left Musul, he felt more confident than ever before in his magic.
"Thank you, Grandfather."
|
Sweat poured down her face as she scrambled over top the fallen pillar and slowly shimmied down the other side until she felt solid earth below her. "There better be something worth bringing back for show and tell down here. I knew the ancient ruins were gonna be hard, but no one told me they were *this* ruined.", she muttered under her breath as she used her coat sleeve to sop the sweat off her forehead. Turning around she saw that while the chamber was dark - a single shaft of light seemed to fall through a crack somewhere near the top of the chamber illuminating an area of about 30 feet. What she had thought would be another empty chamber leading to another in this endless labyrinth was in actuality a massive library stacked floor to ceiling with tomes of all shapes, colors, and sizes. "Bayzoes beard!", she swore.
She quickly huffed over to the nearest set of shelves that stretched up to the ceiling of the chamber nearly 30 feet above. Pulling out the first tome she ogled at its faded but still legible title splashed across the front cover. "Ha-Harry Pot-ter and the Orde-r o-f the ...Ph-oen-ix?". Below the title she could see a blue painting of a young boy with some sort of face apparatus on holding what seemed to maybe be...could that be...a wand? "Holy Gateos! This could be some sort of valuable spell book!", she shouted aloud. Quickly realizing that she may have stumbled upon the greatest discover of wizard kind in decades she quickly pulled her patchwork satchel off her shoulder and upturned its contents onto the floor. She took a second to feel remorse for throwing all the valuables her village had paid for in order for her to study at the academy onto the dusty floor, but she quickly began stuffing her satchel with books from the shelves. "With the money and fame these could bring me I can buy the village over 20 times if I need to.", she quietly said to herself as steely determination set on her face.
Her village had fallen on hard times after the magic spells the collection of villages in their area had used for centuries suddenly ceased working. Overnight wizards and witches had lost all of their powers to call upon their deity Sighri. They could call for her day and night but no reply ever came, and all of their wand devices had ceased working as well. Ever since then her village had fallen into disrepair as one by one the families that had once called it their home left for tales of mythical cities leagues away that were ruled by other gods who still answered their calls. Maybe in one of these books she would find the answer to how to once again gain the favor of the gods.
However she quickly realized she could carry at most 5 or so books back to the surface with her at a time, and so she would need to be judicious about her choices. That increasingly proved difficult though, as it seemed that almost all of the books in this section appeared to be entirely focused on the magical arts. Hemming and hawing she soon had a stack of dozens of books around her on the floor that all seemed they would offer some value. Glancing back and forth between two such books she eventually chose one that depicted two girls playing with a massive and dangerous looking beast. "The dean would likely forgive my trespassing in the ruins if I could give her book about witches and summoning a beast like that since her research is on magical warfare. I have no idea what a "wardrobe" or a "lion" is though."
Realizing she could now fit at most one more tome in her satchel she realized it made little sense to not explore the other shelves a few feet away that were still visible in the light falling through the ceiling. She scrambled to her feet and approached this stack. While the tomes on this stack were still similar in shape to the others they appeared to be less magnificently titled, and made little sense to her as she grazed her finger along their spines. Seeing a section of wonderfully colored yellow tomes all of roughly equal size she grabbed one at random and read it's incredibly large and black bold title out loud. "Al-ex-a fo-r Dumm-ie-s?".
Flipping the tome open to a random page she skimmed through and attempted to see if anything in this one was valuable. "Activ-ating Al-ex-a" she said quietly to herself as she reached the second paragraph of the page she had opened to. Getting excited at the idea of activating whatever spell Al-ex-a was, she read on.
**Activating Alexa:**
*In order to activate your Alexa enabled device simply say out loud "Alexa". Be sure to enunciate and pronounce the name loudly and clearly in order for it to register. The device is activated by the name, and should respond.*".
Feeling the excitement rise in her stomach she quickly placed her finger in the tome to keep her place before standing and facing the empty center of the room. She knew that attempting unexplored magic outside of school was strictly prohibited, but she needed to see if anything in these books would bring her the fame and glory her village so desperately needed to keep itself afloat. Clearing her throat, she proudly strummed aloud the spell activation word written in the book. "AL-EX--A!", and listened as the words clearly echoed in the chamber. Waiting a minute she slowly felt her shoulder droop slightly as nothing happened. Opening the tome back up to the page marked by her finger she reread the paragraph. "Be sure to enunciate and pronounce the name loudly and clearly", she read softly aloud.
Shifting her shoulders back, widening her stance, and glaring defiantly out into the center of the chamber she once again shouted out "AL-EX-A!". Pausing again she felt her ego deflating out of her as once again nothing happened. Feeling desperate as she realized that maybe the books down here were nothing more than ancient garbage she cried out "ALEXA!". As soon as the word flew out of her mouth she shrieked as a soft blue light emitted from the shelf nearby her. Pausing a few seconds and staring at the softly pulsating blue light, she cleared her throat and said with all the confidence she could muster - "What-what are you?".
There was a soft bell noise followed by a calming woman's voice replying a few seconds later, "<I'm Alexa. To learn more about me, just ask, "what can you do?".>".
Staring in awe at the soft blue glow in front of her she quickly replied "What *can* you do?".
Another soft bell, followed by the same woman's calming voice.
<"You can say 'Show me reggae music', 'Show me today's weather', 'How many tablespoons in a cup', and many more. I am also programmed to handle all book loans for the Bezos City Public Library, so simply ask me for any book recommendations or if we have a book in the library. If not, I can request a loan from another of the Alexa enabled libraries across all of Amazonia.>".
The girl felt a grin begin to stretch across her face. She had no idea what this spell did, or how it worked, but she was slowly beginning to realize she may have just discovered the first new deity in centuries.
**Edit: This was my first time ever writing a story like this. I just read the prompt and got this fun idea for a future where society has collapsed but all of the tech left behind still works for centuries afterwards. It's a future where companies like Amazon and Apple and Microsoft all become so large and powerful they made their own cities and countries based entirely around Siri, Alexa, Cortana, etc. The people trained to call on these "gods" are given the honorific of wizard or witch, and train for years to learn to speak with their own deity. I kinda ran with the topic and altered the "dictionary" into a Dummies guide. Super fun prompt idea!.**
| 2020-03-29T14:09:39
| 2020-03-29T11:58:03
| 45
| 30
|
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head.
|
"Wait where am I? Why can't I move? Why can't I see anything?"
I struggled and tried to move but I couldn't. After what felt like hours light filled my eyes. I didn't open as much they opened on there own. I began to get up and move around an apartment but I wasn't in control. I quickly realized I was not in my own body but watching someone else through there eyes. Quite a strange experience to say the least and soon I became curious, could I communicate with this person? He was at work by now so I decided that it'd be best to try when he was alone, so I waited until his morning bathroom break.
"Hey, you, who are you?"
He looked left then right, I think he knew that my voice didn't come from outside of hum.
"Hey man, I'm like in your head or something"
"R-R-Really?" He asked out loud, I couldn't read his thoughts but I could hear him.
"Yeah man I'm up just chilling up here, where am I? Who are you?"
"OOkaayy... I'm George... George Alberts. We're at my job, I'm just a desk monkey for an accounting firm."
"Cool, I'm just going to chill out."
The weeks went by every once in a while, when he was alone, I'd chat with George. He was a nice guy, a little boring but nice. After about a month George snuck off to the bathroom, checked to make sure the coast was clear and said:
"Hey head voice man"
"Yeah"
"I think we need to stop our little talks, it's starting to drive me mad"
I felt really bad for him, just a normal dude with some random disembodied voice in his head.
"Okay man I understand, I'll be quiet."
"Thanks"
Over the next few months I sat there still, alone. George lived his life and at least he had a good taste in TV and movies. He had a good group of friends and I felt like I began to know them, Even though I knew I couldn't. I needed some fun of my own, anything at all.
I started to mess with George, bothered him a bit. A little scare hear and there, a noise that he was never sure if it was real. I'd whisper things to him.
I'd prod him at work. "George, George, you know you're insane"
He'd reply in a quite mutter and shake is head.
I did my best to keep him up at night, he was starting to lose sleep. He'd go to work groggy and it began to affect his work. Then, one day after a particularly rough night, he got fired.
"George you piece of shit, getting fired from your job. It's your fault"
"Just go away"
"Make me, or can you even do that"
"Stop please"
"No, you're worthless"
"No I'm not, now so damn it."
"I'll keep going until you completely lose it."
The more I played the father I wanted to push him, how far could he go? I intended to find out. one day while he was walking to job interview I started really pushing him.
"Why don't you just push that kid into the street?"
No response
"Come on, do it"
"No" He whispered
"Pussy"
He only grimaced at that last response. During his interview I just screamed at him. All he could do was stutter.
"You bastard you ruined that for me! What am I supposed to do now?"
"Well you could get a gun and just shoot up the place?"
"No no stop, no" He sobbed
I prodded on, until he finally gave in.
George was good man, I regret what I did to him. Driving him insane, like me. I should have just let him be, if I knew how boring a white padded room could be, I wouldn't have played my game.
|
***Wake up Jimmy***
I said in a soft and whispery voice.
***Wake up Jimmy, it's just 6AM***
*NO, NO, NO, this is not happening, I'm not hearing another voice!!!*
***Oh, yes you are, I'm here, inside your mind. Did you think this moment would never happen? Did you think you are not insane?***
*But, but, but I'm not and I know this voice is not real, I'm dreaming.*
As Jimmy slaps his face trying to wake and opening his eyes, sitting on bed. He is wearing a white shirt with a white jeans, while he looks around he can see several other beds with people wearing the same clothing as he is.
*What is this place? Where am I?*
*Good morning Jimmy, woke up early today!* Said Doc. Brown with a smile on his face and a very calm and soft voice.
*How do you know my name? Where am I?*
*Jane, I think it's happening again. Call Doc. Stephen here*
*Ok Doc, I will also bring the guards in case we get out of control.* Whispered Jane at Doctor's Brown ear.
*So, Jimmy. Can I call you like...*
*Who are you? What am I doing in here?* Interrupted Jimmy with a scared look at his face, eyes wide opened wondering if that is a dream or not.
***THEY CAME HERE TO KILL YOU JIMMY!***
*NO, NO, NOOO!* Screamed Jimmy out loud. Doctor Brown steped back from Jimmy, while staring at him with both hands pressing against his head.
***They are coming to take us, to knock us down. Look at his hand, he is getting something out of his pocket, run, run as fast as you can.***
Doctor Brown was removing his pen from the pocket when suddenly Jimmy punched him in the face and made him fall on the floor.
***There is a door on the left, go for it then another on the right, run!***
Jimmy couldn't stop running and bumping into others, when the guards saw it they started to chase him and screaming that he should better stop or they would shoot him down with tranquilizers.
***This is happening Jimmy, now continue to run and open the next door at your right, It's nurse's Jane office, there you will find all you need to...***
Bam! Jimmy opened the door while breathing heavely and as he started to walk inside the room a very bright light started to shine from above, he could barely see anything.
***Wake up Jimmy***
***Wake up Jimmy, It's just 6AM***
*NO, NO, NO, this is not HAPPENING!!! NOT AGAIN!*
***Oh yeah, you are now trapped with me forever Jimmy!***
| 2015-03-23T06:56:50
| 2015-03-23T05:47:41
| 38
| 16
|
[WP] It's 2023 and the United States Military is filled with Call of Duty kids.
|
Major Saul Delaney stared intensely at the last known insurgent position through his binoculars, trying to catch any signs of activity that would give away their movements. It was damned difficult flushing small groups of rebels out from the heaps of rubble and half destroyed houses, and any advance through the shattered town had to be done with extreme vigilance and caution. He had learned that back in Iraq. He'd lost his closest companion in the forces to an RPG blast in Mosul because they'd let a group slip past their cordon. He could still see Ryan's face when he closed his eyes sometimes: the terrified eyes of his friend staring up at him through all the seared, oozing skin before he died...
His radio crackled into life, bringing a report from one of the new Corporals. Swanson, he thought his name was, he hadn't had time to learn them all. "Sir, Bravo Team reporting in, the enemy just got rekt."
More of this idiotic new gamer slang. Saul silently rolled his eyes.
"I believe that means they're dead?"
"You got it, sir." Swanson responded, an air of amusement hanging in his voice.
"Then perhaps just report that, soldier?"
"Yes sir, sorry sir." Saul could hear laughter in the background of Swanson's reply. He ground his teeth. The military had been filled with these dumb kids in the last ten years. They grew up firing pretend weapons at pretend people and thought that qualified them to fight an actual war. It was one thing on the training ground, but then the Republicans had got back into the White House, and the US had got back into the Middle East. He had cursed the day the President had made his speech about "A new era of stability", because he knew where it would lead him: here, with a bunch of kids saying 'roflstomp' and 'pwned'. And what the fuck was 'Kappa'?
He met up with Swanson's team at what was once a large square, but now more resembled the ancient Persian ruins in the surrounding country. They looked relaxed, joking around with each other, and paying altogether far too little attention to what was going on around them.
"Dude!" one said to his squadmate "Did you see the headshot I got on that noob up on the roof!?"
"Haha yeah, he got so owned."
"I know right, not as cool a-" Swanson began, but then he saw Saul striding toward him across the rubble strewn pavement. "Sir!" He gave a hasty salute.
Saul returned the salute. "Alright, guys. We've cleared this sector, we're giving the other teams a few to report in then we're going to press further in."
The squad saluted, then went back to their banter as Saul turned to head back.
"Wow man, look at the graphics, this is so next gen!"
Saul stopped, balling his fists as a wave of anger went through him. He spun back to face Swanson's team again.
"This is *not a fucking game*, you hear me!? This is war! People *die*! Start acting like it."
Swanson's voice was uncharacteristically quiet in reply. "We know, sir."
Saul's anger sputtered out. For second, he saw them as they really were. Scared kids, in a war, doing their best to cope.
God, he hated being here.
|
Edging down the narrow hallway, Steve grabbed frantically at the metal pipes and handles adorning the walls to brace himself against the jolts of movement that were assaulting his ship.
He'd only been there two weeks since his basic training finished, but in his head it was already his ship. Everything here felt natural to him, it was no different than the images he'd been bombarding himself with for as long as he could remember. He could name every weapon he saw carried by the soldiers barging past him to get to their posts, and he knew technical details of each piece of equipment adorning their gear. None of this knowledge was imparted to him during basic training.
He hadn't expected to see combat aboard this transport ship, but that's why they call them "surprise" attacks. Every soul on the boat had been hastily drafted to active combat status. As he rounded the corner leading to the equipment locker, he began salivating at the prospect of receiving a weapon.
*An M4*, he thought to himself. *Yeah - M4, with an M203 Grenade Launcher - or as I like to call it a 'pro-pipe' - with an ACOG scope, tiger camo and extended mags. Bad. Ass.*
He paused for a second, before thinking, *Nah - they won't give me the tiger camo until I have at least 100 confirmed kills.*
As he squared up to the Lieutenant serving as quartermaster, his hand raised in stiff obligatory salute, and his mouth opened to formulate his request. Before he'd gotten past the word "M4", the quarter master thrust a pair of binoculars and a small pistol into his hand.
"Get yourself topside, and keep a lookout for approaching boats. If you see one, shoot this at it."
Grimacing, Steve thought for a second about challenging the Lieutenant to a 1v1, but thought better of it. He turned and began a light jog up the series of steep metal steps.
*It's probably more like gun game*, he told himself. *I start off with a basic weapon, and for every kill it gets upgraded.* All Steve needed to do was find a dinghy with a dozen troops in, get the multi kill, then wait for the quartermaster to assign him a flaming crossbow.
Steve emerged through a small hatch into the blackness that was the deck of his transport ship. Being cooped up inside for so long he'd forgotten it was past sunset, the only light now came from searchlights attached to hostile choppers currently circling the ship dropping troops to the deck from ropes. The deck was littered with flame and debris, set to the soothing hum of gunfire and military radio. One such chopper was slowly approaching his position.
*I know what to do*, he thought. *One shot, from the pistol, straight to the pilot's head*. I can do this. He began to lower his heart rate and breathe as slowly as possible. Exhaling fully, he closed one eye and brought up his pistol. The chopper was low in the sky, this was easily doable. They hadn't seen Steve - a lone, young soldier, stood sheepishly between upturned crates next to the deck hatch.
Steve only had one shot, and one shot is all he took. As he squeezed the trigger, a look of horror washed over him and his already slow heartbeat seemed to stop completely. There was little recoil, just a bright jet of red gas with a dazzling light at its head arching slowly towards the chopper.
This they did see. After all - that's the whole point of a flare gun.
The last thing that went through Steve's head as he departed this world was not thoughts of his family or friends. Not of the evils of war or countless things he could - no, should have done differently. As a single tear dropped from his eye and the life left him, he mumbled the words "...my KD....."
FIN
| 2015-05-29T05:27:26
| 2015-05-29T04:09:19
| 230
| 66
|
[WP] You have a tapeworm living inside of you. It's actually a pretty friendly tapeworm. Sure, he's a two-foot-long parasitic worm, but Jeffrey listens to your problems and gives you good advice.
|
I was staring again, but luckily nobody was paying attention to me. It was early into lunch hour and the cafeteria was bustling. Emma was sitting in a corner with her nose in a book. It was a really good novel - I read it last month - but that didn’t surprise me. Emma had great taste in books.
“Just go talk to her, man,” Jeffrey said from beneath my ribcage.
I jumped a little with shock. Jeffrey was usually asleep at lunch, but seemed like he was up early today.
“I can’t just go talk to her, you know that. She doesn’t even know I exist.”
I felt Jeffrey wriggle around as he struggled to get comfortable, clearly preparing for a pep talk, and I grimaced. I hated his pep talks.
“You listen to me. You’re a good kid! Why shouldn’t you go talk to her? You like the same books, you think she’s cute, and you’ve got a way healthier gut biome than any of the other idiots in this place.”
I quickly looked away as Emma looked up from her book to check the clock on the wall behind me.
“Shut up shut up shut up she’ll hear you,” I said through gritted teeth.
Jeffrey sat quietly until Emma was immersed again in Chapter 7.
“If you don’t go talk to her I’m going to make sure you die of malnutrition,” he whispered.
I rolled my eyes.
“If you make me die of malnutrition you’re just going to have to find a new host. And we both know you HATE leaving the house.”
I felt him shift in annoyance.
“Ok, fine. But if you don’t talk to her I’m going to slither out of you right now and everyone’s going to think you’re a weirdo with a worm coming out of your ass. How about that.”
“You wouldn’t -”
I felt Jeffrey begin to move lower.
“Fuck, okay okay,” I jumped up quickly and started walking before I could second guess myself. “Fuck, I’m so nervous.”
“You got this dude!” Jeffrey said encouragingly.
Meanwhile, Emma sat nervously, rereading the same sentence over and over without caring. Andy had stood up and was walking towards her. He was wearing the blue sweater she liked and he looked so cute.
“I think it’s happening,” she whispered.
“Just be yourself! You got this!” Jessica hissed from her upper intestine.
|
I groaned in pain as I shifted in my bed.
"Oh, Jeffrey, I don't feel so good," I said.
I grabbed my phone and checked my face in the camera. "I look paler than before." I rubbed what was left of my plump cheeks. "I'm looking like a skeleton now, buddy. You think I should get checked up?"
"Oh, no no no!" a faint voice grumbled from within the depths of my shallow belly. "You're looking just fine in here! Just fine. In fact--"
"Ow!" I grasped my stomach. "What was that?"
"Nothing!" Jeffrey, the two-foot-long parasitic worm, said. "I was just tasting your liver--er--*examining* your liver; all is good in here, my boy! Now go ahead and get some more *Z's* or whatever you kids call it these days. I go through them so quick--"
"--I think I'm going to get checked out, Jeffrey." I wobbled off of my bed and stood on shaky legs. I gazed down my body and noticed how bad I had truly become. "Sheesh! I swear I've been eating; I've had pizza three times this week alone."
"Yummy." Jeffrey squirmed from within. "Get that special pizza we ordered--what was it again?"
"The raw fish and shrimp pizza?" I tossed on a shirt that looked more like a trench coat.
"Yeah, that one! It's great!"
"I don't know, Jeffrey. I think that may be the reason I'm so sick." I tried to throw on some shorts but realized my underwear fit me like a pair of baggy shorts.
"Hey, kid!" Jeffry rumbled. "What do you think you're doing? You've been asking a ton of questions lately. Hey, I know! What about that one girl you've been talking about? What was her name again?"
"The one who dumped me because I became too skinny?"
"That's the one!"
"Samantha? I don't really talk to her no more."
"Oh man, you have to tell me the deets, my friend--how about you rest in bed and tell me all about it."
I scratched my head and wobbled from a sudden wave of weakness. "I guess so. I'm feeling pretty tired."
I trust fell into my bed and closed my eyes. "Well, I think Samantha--OW!"
"Sorry, kid," Jeffrey said. "Was just reexamining your liver--all is well. Continue your story."
r/AJHWriting
| 2021-03-23T21:36:07
| 2021-03-23T21:09:02
| 90
| 10
|
[WP] You somewhat jokingly make an offering to an ancient and obscure goddess. You didn't expect her to show up in your room in a manic frenzy, trying desperately to reward and please her first worshipper in centuries
|
*Note: All three parts have been collected* [*here*](https://www.reddit.com/user/MjolnirPants/comments/sty7h1/jerry_and_the_goddess/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)*, and that link is where I will post any future entries.*
I tossed the book down on the table and stared at the computer who'd betrayed me for a moment. All I wanted to do was get some info on an intriguing Proto-Indo-European deity, but the internet hadn't given me anything but her name and her portfolio; writing and learning.
I turned my ire upon the book, supposedly the definitive guide to this ancient culture, but it hadn't had any more to offer. "Sarisa, a little known deity often associated with scrolls and students." Pffft. What use was that to my dissertation?
A fit of pique came over me. I grabbed the book and stepped out into my parent's back yard, tossing it in the fire pit. A quick squirt of lighter fluid and a flick of my bic later, it was happily burning up. Twenty dollars, down the drain. Whatever, I'd only bought it for this purpose, and the clerk at the bookstore assured me that no refunds were possible on used books.
I held my hands up to the sky, channeling my inner theater nerd and called out in a mighty bellow (read; nasally yell), "Sarisa, I offer this sacrifice to you! Please bestow your wisdom upon me!"
Nothing happened, of course. I didn't really believe anything would. I sighed and checked the time; 11:47pm. Whatever, burning the damned thing had been cathartic, at least. I went back inside and went to bed.
It was still dark out when movement in my room awakened me. I blinked the blurriness away and my eyes focused on a slim, feminine figure, arms raised as if it was dancing. Except it was completely motionless. A rush of adrenaline sent my heart racing and rocketed me to full wakefulness. It wasn't just the fright of awakening in the middle of the night to find a figure in my room, but the sheer incongruity of a woman actually entering my room of her own free will.
Okay, stop with the jokes. I've never kidnapped anyone, man or woman, and I'd certainly not bring them here if I had. Yeesh, I've heard them all before, anyways. Can't a guy be an introvert in peace?
"Uh, hello?" I said. The figure put its arms down and I jumped out of bed, backing up to the wall. "I know karate!" I shouted, panic making me stupid. After a few seconds of no more movement, I edged over to the door and flipped on my lights.
It was a woman. A tall, thin woman with a willowy figure. Her eyes were focused on nothing, her face blank. She had tan skin and dark hair, and her eyes were completely black, even the whites. And she was completely nude. My mind bounced around in my skull like a ping-pong ball on fast forward. Confusion warred with fear and horniness, and emerged triumphant over both, though fear wasn't quite dead, yet.
"Hello?" I said again.
She fixed her gaze upon me. "Jerry Williams," she said, a strange accent audible in the way she pronounced my name. "I have waited many lifetimes for this day."
A grin appeared on her features and she suddenly rushed towards me, stopping with her hands gripping my upper arms and her face an inch from mine. "Do you want to learn about dung beetles?"
"What?" I asked, terrified and completely bewildered.
"Dung beetles!" She replied, brightly, "They're fascinating little creatures. Did you know that some of them can bury up to two hundred and fifty times their own body weight in dung in a single night?"
"What?" I asked again.
"Okay, what about Wickerstedt? It's a part of Bad Sulza now, which is a shame, because it's the hometown of Thomas Naogeorgus, who was a simply amazing playright and poet who-"
"Who the hell are you, lady?" I finally blurted out. She cocked her head to one side and then laughed, booping my nose with one finger.
"I'm Sarisa, silly. You made a sacrifice to me earlier. I'm sorry it took so long to get here, but no-one has sacrificed anything to me for thousands of years. I needed time to get my energy back. So what do you want to know? I can tell you about all kinds of things. Did you know that there's a physicist in Italy who gave up on a paper he was working on just an hour ago, after an experiment seemed to falsify his theory, but another physicist in Copenhagen is currently writing a paper that will show that the experiment didn't actually falsify anything... Okay, you're zoning out. Why don't you tell me what you want to learn about?"
She walked over and sat down on my bed.
"Uh..." I said, being the silver-tongued devil that I am.
I took a breath. I still had no idea what was happening here, but I decided to run with it.
"I want to learn about you," I told her.
She smiled again, a little sadly, then pointed at her breasts and spread her legs. "Sorry, I'm not that kind of a goddess."
I blinked in confusion, and then I noticed she had no nipples. And no... Uh... Well, you know. Just smooth skin. I shook my head.
"No, I'm not flirting with you, I'm writing a dissertation on the history of education, and... Well, I wanted to start as close to the beginning as possible."
"Oh," she said, chipper and grinning again. She patted the bed beside her. "Well, that I can do. Come, sit down. I'll tell you all about myself. My first worshipper was this woman named Gil, which is why I'm a goddess and not a god. She had this idea of gathering all the kids in her tribe and showing them..."
I grabbed my notepad and sat down.
|
Where the dead rise and do nothing - Part 1 (out of 6)
There was something odd about that woman. Skin like stainless bronze, blonde hair shaved on the sides with a ponytail on top and inquisitive bright green eyes. She spoke with a Spanish accent, wore cargo pants, a parka, carried a rucksack and a hunting rifle with a lot of engravings - Virgo guessed Nordic runes - probably more than just decoration. Put everything together and there was definitely something off. She was Alexandria, and not Alexandra like he thought at first. Virgo would have liked to stand up, point an accusing finger at her and announce with confidence, “there is something wrong about you, confess!”
But the drive was lacking. Alexandria would have raised many suspicious eyes had she come to Shenvalie a few days earlier. Her demeanor, the way she looked and spoke was a rarity for the small village in the Scottish Highlands. But due to recent events, her originality rating was somewhere between “meh” and 0.
They sat around Virgo's table, drinking black tea and pondering life, the past, the future, today, and the perfect amount of sugar he had put in the drinks. The poor woman was suffering from quite the headache.
"I can assure you, Virgo, you're the one who called me here."
"I did no such thing."
Alexandria stretched and scratched the back of her head.
“Can you... please just start again from the very beginning,” she said.
“Sure.”
Virgo was the local catholic pastor. Raised and schooled in the Highlands, he got assigned to the small and remote village at the start of his spiritual career. It should have been a stepping stone for the ambitious young man, but an administrative mess and a love for the calm life led him to stay here his whole life. He was in his mid-50's now with a routine set in stone.
He woke up with the first rays of the sun and did his yoga, stretching his neck, his back and his legs in a 15 minutes session. Then, sitting on the mat, he meditated, concentrating on his breath, folding the thoughts coming his way and dropping them in a mental bin, one after the other. Calm, awake, ready, he brushed his teeth , and if he had the time, he read a few short stories on the internet, delighting in the fantasy young and old people could conjure. Then he went outside.
His home stood alone at the end of a path. Right outside his door, you could believe he lived alone. Shenvalie was built on the side of a hill, a few houses spread over a wide area meant most of the village stood hidden when you reached one end of it. Virgo walked a minute and arrived at the fork of Cooper street. On the left you could go up the hill to the parish church nested at the top. On the right, the valley stretched out below, a river marked the limit of the village. Virgo turned right, greeting a neighbor on the way to the Idle cafe, arguably the most important social gathering place right after the parish. There, he met with Francis, a retired general practitioner and dear friend.
Temperature, faith and politics were discussed around a hot tea while they enjoyed the cool weather and the rocky mounds in the distance.
Once done, he went down to the river and back up Masserston street. It joined with Cooper street at the top and the bottom of the hill, forming a big O encompassing several small houses made of stone, quite the picturesque sight. There were no other streets in Shenvalie. The village tour done, he went to the parish.
The Habsfield church wasn't imposing, but it felt like home. The first thing you saw was the stone tower, attached to it was the sanctuary, with a discreet entrance at the side. Grey walls and brown roof tile, it would look sad if it wasn't for the flowering trees and the pristine lawn around it. Paradoxically, the graveyard next to it made it all the more joyful. Virgo maintained it with maniacal precision and love every morning, getting rid of the bad weed, replacing fading flowers with fresh colorful ones and cleaning gravestones from bird poop and other dirt.
From up here, you had a delightful overview of the nature around. You could see the lake in the south where the river emptied and the sheep pasture next to it, little white spots indicated peaceful woolly animals strolling around. A single sinuous road passed through the rocky mounds to disappear far away. There were no trees for kilometers, only the thick greenery the Highlands were known for.
After a light meal, Virgo taught the kids about religion and Christianity in the form of stories and games to keep it interesting. Once class was over he was on social duty. Be it in the parish, soothing minds in a friendly manner, giving absolution in the confessional, or in the village, visiting the elders and praying together. When evening came he gathered ideas for the Sunday sermon, and that was his life here.
Until two days ago, when phone lines and internet broke down. Nothing to worry about in a town with mostly old people barely using said conveniences.
Then came the morning, Virgo was tending the graveyard when he heard a rumbling behind him. Skepticism made him ignore it until he saw the first of many rise from the earth. He could not say if it was a he or a she, the corpse was so old the skin was black-brownish, any distinguishable feature had rotted away. The face had no teeth or eyes, just a hole eaten by happy insects. He asked God for help, he closed his eyes to wake up, he laughed nervously at a prank well done. Out of options, he grabbed the shovel and hit the monster, a wild swing that connected to the shoulder. The arm fell off, he heard “uh” and the zombie just stood there. Others came up from beneath the earth, generations that hadn't fully disintegrated surrounded poor Virgo. He held his shovel close and slowly backed away to the parish, going fast would only attract attention, or so he thought.
A bad move, he was surrounded before he got there and the keys to his house were inside. But he was ready, he had his faith God, the devil himself could not make it falter, if he died he would join the maker with pride. Yet, the shadow of doubt came over, God kept the departed dead for good up until today, why? For a moment, he wondered aloud, and asked if there were other deities at play.
"What did you say exactly?" asked Alexandria.
"I don't remember, it was an eventful day."
"I gathered. Keep going."
He didn't die. In fact, he was closely surrounded but none of the dead seemed to have an issue with his presence. He went forward with courage, ready for a fight, but soon reverted back to his usual polite self.
“Out of my way, spawn of the devil!”
“You shall falter before a holy man's will.”
“Excuse me, I'd like to go to the parish.”
“Please, I'm in a hurry.”
“Lady Chatter! You haven't stayed a week in your tomb.”
| 2022-02-15T11:18:40
| 2022-02-15T10:26:41
| 1,504
| 323
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[WP] One day, you see a picture of yourself in a foreign newspaper. You ask someone to translate the headline for you: "Search for kidnapped child still ongoing."
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Mom and Dad said I was adopted. We even had the adoption papers. It was all correct. When I saw that computer aged version of myself, I couldn’t believe it. That wasn’t actually me.
The paper read, in Russian, “Anastasia Argechev was two years old when she was taken from her Moscow home. Her parents, Natasha and Stefan Argechev, remember her today, as it would be the 18th anniversary of her disappearance. They have never stopped looking for their precious daughter. We love you Anastasia, come home.”
It gave a phone number to the family. I wanted to call them. But I also needed to call my own parents. I wouldn’t be able to see them for five more months, as I was a foreign exchange student in Moscow.
After I called my parents, I didn’t know what to believe. My mother told me that they adopted me from Russia before they immigrated to the United States. She even told me the name of the adoption agency.
But when I went to go to the adoption agency, it wasn’t even there. It hadn’t been open for thirty years.
And so, I went to the family who was missing a baby girl that was my age. That looked identical to me.
The door opened to women who looked like me, but older with grey mixed in the red.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Stefan! Come quickly!” She shouted.
A man came to the door, his eyes a bright blue, filled with hope.
“Anastasia,” he sighed.
It was then that I knew. I was home.
Sorry if it’s not very good, wrote this on a school bus coming home from a marching band competition.
|
I knew it. As soon as he told me what it translated to, I knew the search for me had gone global.
What I would give to not be the President's daughter. I have been telling my dad since he started running for office to leave me out of his politics, but he never listened.
I don't even want to get started on the press. I can't even pee without the worry of a headline about me using a public bathroom. "Did she squat?" "Did she use a toilet seat cover" "NEWS FLASH - Andrea Smark gets AIDS from Toilet". I mean, really? People like that have NOTHING else to do in their lives?
I thank him and take the paper back. He didn't recognize me, somehow. I think I saw him stumble out of the local bar anyways, so I didn't have much concern for being noticed by him anyways. Thank goodness I cut my hair. I can't believe I did it still. I had gorgeous long red hair, but now it's a pixie cut and I dyed it brown. Gotta' say, I'm digging all the life changes.
| 2017-10-21T16:06:47
| 2017-10-21T14:18:21
| 37
| 11
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[WP] Aliens always respawn minutes after death. It's a common prank for aliens to kill each other for a laugh. When they discover Earth, they kill millions of humans, thinking it's a humorous way of greeting this new species, but for some reason, the humans aren't laughing...
Edit:
Thank you SO much for the 2K upvotes, as well as for the silver award!
Second Edit:
Oh my God, now it's over 4K. I seriously can't thank you all enough!
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Death.
Something we've seen hundreds of times by the time we were younglings, most likely having experienced it ourselves by that point. Something that was so natural and normal to us that we would often kill each other for no reason other than to pull one over our comrades. Usually it would take a few minutes at most to heal from the most severe injuries and wake up with the only proof of your death being your friend's dumb smile.
That's why we made the mistake of assuming any other species we might encounter in the universe would be just like us - jaded and insensitive to death as it would have no lasting consequences.
A mistake we paid for dearly.
I'm not even sure how long it has been - 10 cycles or perhaps even 20 since we've made first contact with the specie that calls themselves "Man." We wanted to make quite the entrance so we opted to massacre an entire population centre for a practical joke, get the spirits up a bit before we moved on to the boring parts that were diplomacy.
It was then that we realized the catastrophic mistake we've made as we noticed that the dead were not healing, they were not coming back - and very soon we tasted Mankind's projectile weapons, which were capable of killing us for mere moments before we came back.
The humans were horrified at first, an enemy that cannot die, cannot be stopped and can massacre an entire city. But as they continued killing us repeatedly something changed, the horror and shock on their faces became joy, every trigger pull echoed along with a sadistic laugh. A few more deaths later me and my comrades found ourselves contained - seemingly spared from the repeated deaths at last, but this relief only lasted for a short while.
A few days later we were inserted into some kind of machine, one that would kill us in the slowest way possible only to wait for us to come back to life and do it all over again. It was then that we finally understood.
Death is a mercy not afforded to our kind.
|
The three teenage aliens sat in the front seats of their spaceship, looking down over the quiet city, thousands of street lights shining up through the night sky.
Tago, the heaviest of the three and with one of his three eyes purple from a recent run-in, took a large hit from the bong and began coughing uncontrollably.
Bobini, a skinny little alien with three well glazed eyes, pulled up one of his four arm and looked at his watch.
“How long do we usually take?” He said, slurring slightly.
The third one, wearing tri-spectacles and seemingly more subdued than the other two, scanned the city with growing look of concern.
“one to five minutes, and never longer than ten,” he said.
“See Nerbie, relax,” Fat Tago said, falling back into his seat as he passed the bong to Bobini, “it’s been like two minutes. The light show is almost here.”
“No, it’s been fifteen,” Nerbie replied immediately, refusing Bobini’s offer for another hit.
The two well-inebriated aliens looked at each other for a moment before both burst out laughing. “Whoops,” Tago finally got out, making Bobini howl even louder.
“You idiots, this isn’t funny. There must have been a few million people living in that city,” Nerbie said.
“So what, it was just a prank. It's not our fault they haven't evolved properly,” Bobini said.
“We better get outa here,” Nerbie said as he started tapping various buttons on the ship’s dashboard.
Suddenly a loud bang sounded outside and the ship shook violently. Before they could react the ship was being pulled down towards the earth. Nerbie wrestled the joystick with his four arms, furiously trying to regain control. But it was no good. The other two aliens just cowered in their seats with looks of alarmed paranoia.
A few hours later they were standing in a large glass cage that had been placed in the middle of a desert, surrounded by soldiers carrying heavy weapons and spotlights shining directly on them.
After waiting for what seemed like eternity, a helicopter landed nearby and a couple of well dressed men jumped out and walked briskly towards the captured aliens.
“I'm Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Turnball. State your names,” the uniform wearing man said loudly.
“Nerbie Elastoul, sir,” the first one said, head lowered.
“Tago Restoul,” the second one boomed confidently, now over his earlier paranoia.
“Bobini Bistoul,” the third one said, scratching his skinny body nervously as his three eyes darted between the various people surrounding them.
“Where do you come from?” The General demanded. The three aliens said nothing, before Bobini slowly lifted one of his arms and pointed to the sky.
“Damn it, I know that much! Where is the rest of your army located?”
Nerbie glanced at the other two then back to the General, “Army sir? We’re not in any army, we were just out for an evening ride celebrating the end of semester.”
The General spat on the dusty ground, "you destroy an entire city and that’s all you have to say for yourselves?”
Tago shrugged then nodded.
One of the soldiers standing a way off started running at the glass cage, screaming at the aliens before two others managed to grab him and drag him away.
“We didn’t destroy your city. We just deployed a life vaporizing device,” Tago said.
“Oh so you’re funny too are you? You’ve killed over two million people!”
“It was just a prank! We thought they would come back after a few minutes, like everyone does back home,” Bobini said. The General raised his eyebrow and looked to one of his colleagues.
Another man in a suit stepped forward, "you come back to life every time you die?”
Bobini nodded.
The man in the suit motioned to the General and the two of them, along with a couple of others, walked a distance away and conferred quietly. The man in the suit was saying something that the General and others clearly didn’t like.
Just then a blinding light appeared in the sky above, lighting up the desert as bright as the noon sun. A second later the light narrowed in on a spot next to the glass cage and another alien figure appeared on the ground.
The light disappeared, leaving this older looking alien glancing around at his surroundings.
Soldiers aimed their weapons at this new target, fingers pushing lightly against triggers in anticipation.
The newcomer spotted the three aliens standing inside the glass cage and started towards them.
“There you are! What have you three dropkicks been up to? You'll be paying for any damage to my ship I hope you know,” he growled.
“It’s nothing, dad” Bobini muttered.
“Nothing? You idiots stole my ship for a stupid joyride and have ended up down some arse-end back alley of the universe, doing Resoul knows what to land yourselves here,” he said, pointing his four arms at the cage and the soldiers surrounding it.
“We’re sorry Mr Bistoul,” Nerbie said.
Someone coughed nearby and the new arrival turned his three eyes to see the man in the suit standing a few feet away.
“What? Look I’ll deal with these idiots. I’m sure they’ve caused some damage to end up in there, so what do I owe you?”
The man opened his hands in a disarming gesture, “unfortunately it’s not as simple as that. My name is Kevin Bodger, CIA Director. You see, these kids just murdered two million people.”
The alien father sighed, “of course they did. Just the usual prank, no permanent harm done. Boys will be boys, you know how it is!”
A couple of soldiers scowled.
“Sir, I don’t know what goes on in your society – although I am of course curious – but those two million people have had their lives taken from them. Forever taken from their friends, their families, all their memories erased forever. They are not coming back. This was no prank.”
The alien’s eyes went momentarily cross-eyed in a look of confusion. “You mean to tell me your species doesn’t respawn in the same place?” He asked incredulously.
The CIA Director shook his head.
The alien father laughed hysterically. "I suppose you also still believe in higher beings too?" He said between breaths before laughing even harder.
Suddenly a burst of shots rang out. "Take that alien fucker," one of the soldiers yelled. The alien dropped to the ground, dead.
The three teenage aliens winced. Nerbie sighed and looked at the CIA Director, "you shouldn't have done that."
A moment later the alien father's corpse disappeared and another bright light appeared in the sky. The scene from earlier repeated and the alien father appeared on a spot, continuing to laugh.
"Well that was a surprise," he said before turning to the CIA Director, "and I was going to tell you how to control your respawning, but since you've been so rude, I think I'll pass. But given these idiots over here have no doubt caused you some trouble I will do you one favor."
The CIA Director's eyes lit up.
The alien shrugged, "you'll find those two million people these idiots killed, along with the rest of your kind who have died, on Planet Thirty Three in the Soular System. From here," he said, squinting into the night sky and then pointing at a constellation, "it's thirty three thousand lightyears in that direction."
The CIA Director looked up at the sky, mouth open.
"Come on boys, let's get you home," the alien said, before he pulled out a small handheld device and pointed at the three teenage aliens, vaporizing them instantly.
| 2022-08-13T21:56:58
| 2022-08-13T21:47:22
| 1,573
| 261
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[WP] Drunkenly, you accidentally pour vodka into your pet's water bowl. As a result, your pet breaks the number one rule: do not speak to your owner... Ever.
Did NOT expect this amount of replies. Thanks guys! It'll be an interesting read.
|
"Bacoooooon." Something wet forcefully nudged my cheek. "Bacon, bacon, bacon."
With a groan, I tried to sit up--when had I gone to bed?--but that took too much effort, so I opted to lazily open one eye instead. Boomer, my Great Pyrenees pup, pressed his nose against my face again. "Bacon."
Note to self: no more vodka. Ever.
I ran my fingers through his fur, then patted his head. "Let's get you out, boy."
"And then bacon? Bacon bacon, not beggin' strips?"
Blinking furiously, I narrowed my eyes to ensure my concentration. "Boomer, are...can you say that again?"
"I want bacon," he panted, mouth clearly moving with the words. His paw rested on my chest. "Bacon, bacon."
"You...you're talking," I gasped stupidly.
"Yeah. Yeah, yeah." Suddenly, his ears pressed to his head, and, with a small whimper, he jumped off the bed and curled up in his crate.
"Hey, buddy, what's wrong?" I attempted to stand, saw the world spin, and landed on my knees. Crawling over to him, I rested my face next to his. "Boomer, what's the matter?"
"Bad."
"What's bad?"
"Me. Don't talk. That's the rule. I broke the rule."
He gave me those big puppy dog eyes of his. "The rule?" I repeated. "Who says that's a rule?"
He just whined and rolled away from me.
"Hey, buddy, it's not your fault. You made a mistake, that's all." I scratched under his chin, his favorite, and his back leg started twitching. "And, and we all make mistakes. Don't, don't be sad. Hey, I have an idea: how about I make us bacon, and we forget all about this?"
His tail rose, flopped down. "Really?"
"Really."
"Real bacon?"
"As much as you want."
Rise, flop. Rise, flop. "I'm a good boy?"
I felt my throat get tight all of a sudden. "Yes, Boomer, you're a good boy."
Tail whipping violently now, he lurched out of the crate and landed on my stomach. "I love bacon! I love bacon and I love you!" He spoke between covering my face in slobbery kisses. "I love you! Love, love, love!"
I laughed and hugged him. "I love you too."
|
"Good Dog Pete, You have a problem."
I looked at him with disbelief. I knew I was drunk, but I didn't think I was drinking vermouth.
"Listen up. Tomorrow you are getting booked into Alcoholics Anonymous." Snoopy walked over to his bed in the corner, made three spins, laid down and shot a disapproving look my way.
"This is the last time. Otherwise I'm out of here. Its just not healthy for either of us."
I sat the bottle down on the counter and sighed. "Yeah, you're probably right Snoopy."
As I started to pour the contents of the bottle down the drain, Snoopy yelped.
"Leave some in there! I have poker night with the guys on Thursday."
| 2016-08-02T19:31:45
| 2016-08-02T17:31:01
| 569
| 52
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[WP] You're living in a world where superpowers exist, and you're the most dangerous individual of all. Your power? You project an aura where all the laws of reality/normality assert themselves. You are the anti-super
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"Loose Cannon" is a more accurate description of me than hero or villain. In a world of stark rights and wrongs, where justice battles evil over the city skyline, I straddle a middle-line the world chooses to ignore. You could say I, quite literally, bring everything crashing down to reality.
Governments will hire me to stop epic battles causing millions of dollars in damage and thousands of innocent lives. I'm rewarded handsomely for my efforts. What is my power, you ask? What is my superhuman enhancement? Nothing. In fact, I'm exactly the opposite of enhanced. Wherever I go, the superheroes and villains within my aura's radiance find themselves suddenly without powers. I've made many a caped crusader plummet from their flying vigil just by striding through the city streets.
I should have been happy. After all, by showing up during superhero battles, I'm able to negate much of the damage. Shouldn't that satisfy me? The problem is, for every fight I stop, two more arise. Supers seem to multiply by the day, each bringing their own misguided sense of justice with the raw power to implement it. Tyranny over the common man. Sometimes my task feels hopeless.
Flicking on the evening news, I'm not surprised to see yet another fight ripping through the skyscrapers of my city. Eaglewing versus Destructo, or something like that. With the exponential increase of superpowered people, the amount of nicknames to go around has dwindled. Thus, every time I check, the names just get more stupid.
Another thing that doesn't surprise me is my work phone ringing. My work phone is exclusively for superhero matters. I accept the call and put it to my ear.
"Mmh... Yup... On it... This one looks big, I'll want more money than that... Yeah, that works... Going now."
Employing my personal helicopter so that I can cruise over the traffic jam of panicked citizens trying to escape the city, I fly towards the fight. The sonic booms from superpowered punches are nothing new to me; I always wear ear protection. Soon, I can see Eaglewing and Destructo hovering in the air by each other, probably monologuing. Not wanting to kill them by coming too close, sending them falling to their deaths, I wait for the two jerks to notice me. Eventually they do, and in their panic they immediately forget their fight and fly to the ground as fast as possible. Chuckling, I fly close enough to efface their powers just as they are about to reach the ground so that they feel a *little* pain from the fall.
"This show is over, time to pack it up," I tell them as they each writhe on the rubble-strewn street, groaning in agony their enhanced bodies aren't used to.
Eaglewing was the first to respond. She sat up, clutching her right arm. "You have to listen Eraser,"-- that was the first time I'd heard that nickname and was quite pleased -- "Destructo was planning on nuking the country if I didn't intervene!"
"Let me get this straight," I said. By now, the helicopter was parked on the clearest patch of road I could find, and I was standing over the two fallen supers, my hands in my pockets. "You want to stop Destructo from wrecking this place, and to stop him, you decide to wreck this place in a horrible battle."
This seemed to wake her up. She looked around, and based on her reaction, understood the enormity of the carnage she had caused for the first time. "I... I..."
Ignoring her, I turned to the villain. "And you Destructo! What use to you is nuking a country? Does that bring you some kind of misguided satisfaction?"
"It's not like that..." he mumbled, massaging a hurt leg.
Moving my hands to my hips, I demanded, "Why are you *really* fighting?"
There was a pause, and then Destructo admitted, "I like fighting. It makes me feel powerful. I never actually was going to nuke the country. Since when have my evil plans worked? I just want the fight."
Eaglewing also confessed, "I felt like I needed to prove myself to the other supers. They never respected me. I thought taking on Destructo would change that."
Taking a moment to think through my response, I first tell Eaglewing, "I hope you see what you've done to this beautiful city. People live here, and you just destroyed their home and livelihoods. Consider retiring from this 'saving people' business if you aren't really saving anything but your ego."
Then, looking at Destructo, I say, "If you love fighting so much, get some buddies together and fight in a secluded area. I don't think you're a terrible guy like you make yourself out to be, so be better than this."
They both nodded feebly at me. Satisfied, I got back into my chopper and flew off. Down below, I think I saw Eaglewing and Destructo shaking hands.
Smiling uncontrollably, I realized that I had finally found a way to make a difference.
|
I spin the wheel of my steel and whatever vehicle. It’s a giant thing, can say for sure it’s made out of steel, but also a bunch of random crap as well. Stuff that didn’t exist on the periodic table before the Super Revolution. The government supplied it to me, so why should I know what it’s made out of? I quickly end my inner monologue about my tank, realizing that I have arrived at my job, I park between the bright yellow lines, making my vehicle screech to halt. It’s got some nice braking for such a big fella. Somebody comes up to me, asking for identification. I ignore that person, I’m the boss here, nobody should need to identify me at this point. Couldn’t care less about their safety, I’m am the walking embodiment of safety. Grumbling I walk through the sliding steel doors. I’m greeted by my assistants, Pam and Derek.
“Sir, it is not advisable for you to be walking without a protection Super near you, the risk of guns is simply too high,” Pam drones.
“I concur, Supers are not a threat, but guns are certainly a danger,” Derek mentions dryly.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever just get me to my office.”
They lead me to the back of the blindingly white room we’re in. Is there much of purpose to the giant room? Not really, but it was built just in case someone with a power that makes them giant comes in here. But it is a giant waste of my time, having takes way to long walking across the room. Halting my train of thought, I realize I am having them lead me. I storm in front of them, making them jump. I ain’t gonna have my assistants lead me, there my assistants for a reason. Soon I arrive at my office. The office door automatically opens for me, leading me to my familiar office. The one place in the building built entirely for me, that I could actually customize to my content. Naturally, scattered around the walls is some fishing memorabilia, some sports stuff, and personal stuff. I take a seat in my leather chair, practically melting into the seat. Rest, my favorite part of work.
“Go fetch me my first candidate,” I tell my assistants.
“Right away sir,” they reply, synchronization making me uncomfortable.
Making myself comfortable, I pull out my tablet out of my bag. Rubbing my hands excitedly, I turn it on. My favorite part of work, I mean it’s not really a proper job… it’s practically forced labor, freaking United Americas Federation. I pull up the video sent to me by someone less important than me. It shows me the video of subject getting captured. It’s a woman of short stature, her power is a passive. A power that is always active, seems to continually turn into spikes. And these aren’t your run of the mill spikes, they are quite big, a solid 3 feet in length. And there are maybe 15-20 at time. She was just standing around, in some sort of pain. Her neck is quite big, probably from dealing with an abnormal amount of hair. And… she fell over, it looks like she can’t even get up. So finally at this point of the tape emergency services come, and cover her head with a large helmet. Guess the hair spikes aren’t that sharp. So she’ll be here any minute.
I take a quick glance to her profile. I see that her condition has worsened this past year. Reaching the breaking point a little before the video was filmed.
I laze around for a little while, but soon I hear the familiar burst of noise that comes with many people.
I hear someone saying ”we have the patient with us.”
I sigh, and stand up. The woman on the stretcher with the oddly comedic helmet appears in front of me. Once she is set down, her helmet is taken off. Her hair is no longer turning into spikes.
“Ok she’s good,” I groan and say, “I am contractually obligated to you everyone in my vicinity how my power works. My aura sticks around someone for 2 years, 4 months, and 7 days. Through I can disable the whole sticking around part by my own will, so paramedics, you’re good. And the other lady is also good. Now please go, really don’t care much ‘bout that lady. I like my peace and quiet.
The paramedics leave, carrying a likely happy person. I hate monologuing, but I have to do every flippin time.
The days becomes a blur, like always, and all of sudden it’s an hour till I’m done. Suddenly flashing alarms go off.
An automated voice goes, “Intruder Alert.”
Honestly, something interesting happening, I’m not complaining. The automated systems will contain the intruder anyway.
Derek rushes to my side, “Please go to the safe room sir.”
“Ehhh… I’m good, this crap happened five million times.”
Nice thing about being essentially, is that people can’t force you to do that many things. So despite Derek’s incessant protests, I just take a nice seat. Watching some fun old archives of people with weird powers. Some people with shrinking heads, and some other weird stuff. Always enjoyable, but I see out the corner of my eye a head coming out of the wall, slowly turning into a full male body. Wait what, how… how… is their power not getting neutralized. Panic creeping over me, I step back.
I mumble,” how are you still using your power.”
The guy replies, “I have too many powers, please neutralize them, I beg you.”
I notice a Russian accent, and say, “ but… you’re power is not being neutralized right now, what do you want me to do?!”
Suddenly, I’m in the other persons body. And everything explodes in pain, My brain is screeching, ankles exploding, and just everything hurts. My eyes begin to pop out, hair growing, feet shirking. I feel tendons, muscles, all snapping. Every inch of my body is on fire, every nerve exploding. Soon I start to wonder how long the pain will last.
And then I’m back in my own body.
“Now that you have had taste of my pain, fix me,” the man tells me.
I focus the aura around me, it feels like water. I concentrate it all around the mans body. I hold it for what feels like eons. My body strains, my mind struggles to hold focus, but finally he breaks the silence.
He says, “stop, I am cured, thank you. I am free of my curse, at least for a little while.” He collapses on the ground. I take a deep breath and compose myself. I stand up, and am hit with a bout of curiosity. Taking a closer at his face, I confirm that he is of the Russian Federation. No wonder he had to sneak in here. I’ll have to find some way to sneak him out here. After my experience, I’ve realized something. Maybe, just maybe, my job is a good thing.
r/CascadeCorner
| 2021-06-24T19:54:09
| 2021-06-24T18:29:49
| 211
| 33
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[WP] Valhalla is filled with the strongest warriors the world has ever known. Vikings, Spartans, Mongols, Romans, Samurai, Spetznaz, JSOC Operators. And in that corner over there? That's Ted, from accounting.
Valhalla is the hall of fallen warriors that is ruled over by Odin in Asgard. Half of all those who die in combat will be chosen by Odin to join him at the feast hall of Valhalla and prepare for the final battle during the events of Ragnarök.
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Ted was a slightly tender-aged man from a stereotypical, Caucasian background. Born in the mid 70s, he'd grown up in a middle-class neighborhood, had few friends and spent most of his time nerding out and playing Dungeons and Dragons. Highschool was difficult for Ted. Bullies in those days were unrelenting, but he pulled through. He moved on and got an accounting degree at MIT, started working the odd job here and there till he got settled in something more permanent. It wasn't until late 1995, that he was picked up by a small tech/game company.
He'd been working for that company for a few years now. He'd applied there with his best friend, Thomas, a programmer. They were always chatting about the newest tweeks and Easter eggs Thomas was creating. Secret memorials, quirky descriptions and exploding sheep were few of his inventions.
He one day sent a link to Ted, of a powerful weapon that would be introduced into the game. It had 120 Damage per second, with an instant mana burn, and an enchantment that boosted the wielder's stamina by 80.
Ted rushed to Tom's cubicle and in hushed tones he whispered: "Its too strong man, too dangerous for the gamers of this era to use." After a lengthy, whispered debate they agreed.
"This sword is to powerful for anyone to possess, as he safely placed the sword on a 1-gig flash drive. He place that drive into a lock box beside a Petty Cash envelope and some thumbtacks. "One day, Thomas," he paused, "One day players who could wield the sword responsibility might reveal themselves. Players that will prevent the destruction of this world."
When he passed, the Valkyr brought his soul to Valhalla, where he was presented before Odin and judged as one of the key elements in saving the world from the Evil One.
Little did he know, Saltzman's actions and wisdom prevented the End of the World... of Warcraft.
Edit: Spacing
Edit2: thanks busykat for that quick fix
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Numbers bring me peace. Numbers bring me tranquility. Meditation through the mundane. When I am lost in the digits, my mind is free from all the terror I have seen, all the terror I must have caused.
Countless enemies I have slain, but it never seems to end. To kill someone is to wrong another, how many have I wronged? How many fathers have I taken from sons? How many holes have I punched in the lives of others with the swing of a sword?
The glory of battle is intoxicating. The glory of battle is addicting. Glory through death. I was lost in its divine energy, total focus of body and mind, I am the master of the moment.
I do not believe I am just anymore. Without total self-conviction, you see the terror of taking a life. There is no such thing as a doubtful warrior, so I will sit here, counting. No more shall I be the terror I once was.
Forever I will sit here, living with what I have done, questioning if it was right.
...Plus, the benefits are really good here.
| 2015-05-08T15:35:34
| 2015-05-08T15:03:30
| 32
| 21
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