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[WP] If a person is in grave danger, time will slow down around them to give them a chance to survive. The bigger the danger, the slower the time. This phenomenon may only occur once in a person's life. You are the first person ever to see time come to a complete halt.
|
Everything became silent - no humming electronics, no muffled chatter. The world took a distinct grey hue, as if something drained the life out of reality itself and robbed it of all color. John stood up, letting go of the papers in his hand, watching them freeze mid-air as he let go. He looked out the window, the trees frozen even on this windy day. A single bird floated in the air, its wings extended.
"What the fuck...?" he said, looking around his empty office. He knew what this meant, it was the phenomenon in which time slows down when you are in grave danger. He had heard his own son explain it as though you suddenly gain superhuman reflexes, that day when time slowed down *just* enough so that he could veer to the right, dodging the drunk driver. At most, he'd heard of someone who experienced three seconds in the span of one actual second. Those had been Marines, but the missile claimed their lives all the same.
John looked around his large, empty office. There was no immediate threat here - nothing out of the ordinary. He looked up at first, thinking perhaps the chandelier had come loose and was about to hit him in the head, but that made no sense as he had been sitting by his desk when time froze. He then walked away from the large windows, standing against the wall, out of sight - thinking perhaps there was a bullet incoming from an unseen assassin, but time still would not unfreeze.
He walked over to the door into his office, and grabbed the handle. When he did, the door regained its color, and opened as normal - and when he let go, the color drained again, rendering it grey and lifeless again.
The long hall was empty, save for one person, seemingly running towards his office. A single page out of the file he was holding had flown out of it, suspended in time. His expression was one of complete panic and urgency. John walked over and grabbed the file labeled CLASSIFIED out of the frozen man's hands, reading.
*Holy shit*.
John proceeded down the hall, and eventually found his way into the Situation Room. There were large images on the screens, and one of his intelligence officers was reaching for a phone on the table - a direct line to his own office. People seemed to have just gathered, some on their way to sit, some still rushing to their seats in the conference room. Military officers had angry expressions on their faces, pointing to the large screens.
One screen was a tracking system, reading several identified missiles apparently travelling towards the United States. Another was a satellite image of a Russian Nuclear Missile site, having just launched their missiles.
The President stood there for a moment, assessing the situation. And he must have stood there for twenty minutes.
*Fuck it*, John thought, and brought up his cellphone. "This will be one hell of a hail mary," he said, and dialed the number.
Thousands of miles away, a phone rang in the Kremlin. And to his surprise, the Russian President picked up the phone.
"... Hello?"
"Ivan," John said, skipping formalities and being blunt. "Want to tell me what the fuck is going on?"
"President O'Neil... I-.. I didn't expect to.. Is time, is it--"
"Frozen for me too? You bet. What the fuck have you done!?"
"John.. I did not authorize the launch of our missiles. I am at a loss... And what of your people?"
"What of my people?"
"Your intelligence people that you have... difficulties controlling. Perhaps they were trying to fuck with our systems, hm?"
"Don't you dare start accusing m--"
A beeping sound interrupted him. There was a third caller. John clicked his cellphone, turning it into a conference call.
"President Xao calling for Pres-"
"Hello," both the US and Russian presidents answered in unison.
"I was not sure I would reach you, time has--"
"Frozen. We know. Anything you can tell us about this situation?" John said, interrupting. Time was of the essence - or at least, he thought so. God knows when it would unfreeze.
"I was hoping you would shed light on it for me. Are we at war? We have missiles heading for Beijing originating in Russia."
"Gentlemen, I swear, on mother's grave - I did not launch any missiles."
"Either way, you have a problem, Ivan. Our defense systems flagged the launch instantly and launched the MAD program. Chinese missiles are going to launch for Moscow the second Time resumes."
"Fuck.."
"Fuck indeed," John said. "There must have been a breach - some compromised system. Iranians, perhaps. Either way, we need to find out a way to stop this, and fast."
"I can scramble jets immediately to try and intercept our miss--" the Russian said, then briefly stopped, before continuing. "Do you feel that?"
"I do," John said. He felt an ominous feeling, and soon knew why. The paneling in the Situation Room began to regain color, and the man reaching for the phone began moving extremely slowly.
"Gentlemen, we are out of time. I can only pray we can stop this in time. Good luck."
|
Day 1
\----------
I'm writing this all down for posterity purposes. Not as a record, per say, but more as a proof that what I am experiencing is not a form of a drawn out hallucination manifest by my mind. As a result, I will have to confess a few things that some of my family and close friends have whispered and said to my face, even though it has mostly been in jest.
And it is basically this;
I have never been in trouble.
This is somewhat true. I have lived my life in a manner to not be put in danger, and not be in danger in any form. The world as it works, as you dear reader know, is such as to slow down time whenever someone is in danger. My parents have had this happen to them, and it's the reason why I am alive today. Otherwise, a drunk driver would have claimed three souls that day. Most of my friends have encountered the same, though how slow it became varied.
I have never had time slow for me, because I have never been in danger. That's probably the biggest positive. Except, I think I am experiencing my 'one' time. I'm just unsure about what to do because time hasn't slow for me.
It has stopped.
\----------
Day 3
\----------
Today is day three and the sun is still suspended in the afternoon sky like a lamp that won't turn off. And because of that, sleeping has been an issue. I think I have had like four or five single-hour naps in the last few days and I'm not coping well.
On the plus side, food is relatively always fresh so I have been eating well enough, I guess. I have spent the waking hours trying to figure out why Time has stopped for me. If I'm in that much of a danger, then what could it be? you know.
I walked away from the house, with the journal. I left my belongings somewhere by a police station after a few hours. Maybe it was a robber? or poison? or an allergic reaction? I don't know. I'm currently at Frank's house. He's in the living room with Martha and I guess they were watching a romcom. I knew he wasn't sick. He just wanted to spend the afternoon with his girlfriend.
I kinda wish time doesn't start while I'm here but I'd like it to start soon. Real soon.
\----------
Day 12
\----------
I don't want to write. I don't want to. This is just to ground me in some semblance of reality.
I have been seeing butterflies everywhere I go, fluttering in the wind. I can't touch them. But I see them clearly, flying across my vision. The are beautiful. All majestic blue and fairy like. They fill me with a feeling I can't explain. I know they aren't real but they are as real as the sun, still in the sky.
\----------
Day 15
\----------
I think I feel much better than I did 2 days ago. Turns out, I needed a good sleep, and no amount of covering myself with a duvet was going to help. I had, in my delirious state, stumbled into a basement and collapsed in the darkness of it.
I never knew sleep was that important, or rather, that dependent on the sun's glare. With the long sleep however, comes a bitter realisation. I'm still the only one moving around. Time is still frozen for the world around except me.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I've been playing around with the idea that I'm not the only one frozen in time. That maybe someone somewhere is feeling the same thing. This is a depressing thought too as its not like I can contact them and they can contact me.
Still, I take some silent solace in the hope that I'm not alone.
\----------
Day 45
\----------
There's nothing to write. I'm still here.
I'm at my parent's house, about 20 miles away from the city. They are frozen too. Imagine my surprise.
\----------
Day 70
\----------
If the long gaps in days are anything to go about, I guess I can admit that I'm not a good follow-up. Then again, most of the days I see the journal, I don't want to write. I don't want to have to remind myself of my predicament and record down for the eventual reader.
I mean, what the fuck am I meant to say?
That things are looking good?
I have considered killing myself, you know... A few times even. Almost even went ahead with it once before deciding against it. I have never been suicidal. If I was, and this was time's way of telling me to behave, that would be different, you know?
So I didn't do it. It would be a cheap solution to the expense of this problem.
I can't promise I will write tomorrow but I'll try.
Time will have to start eventually. I just have to wait it out.
\----------
Day 71
\----------
I didn't add it in yesterday but my daily routine has currently been to exercise in the mornings, read in the afternoons and then learn something new (hobby-like) in the evenings.
It's not really important, but I figure you should know... you know?
\----------
Day 100
\----------
Please... start again. Time please start again. Give me a breeze, give me a sunset. Give me something other than this.
Please...
\----------
/r/EvenAsIWrite for more? lol... Criticisms and feedback are always welcome, and I actively encourage them. :D
\----------
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/EvenAsIWrite/comments/aduin8/counting_the_seconds_2/)
| 2019-01-08T03:16:20
| 2019-01-08T02:41:37
| 447
| 82
|
[WP][NSFW] During a civilised dinner party, the nuclear attack siren goes off. The guests gather in the safety of the basement, only to realise that it's the owner's kinky sex dungeon.
Maybe set it during a tornado instead or even during the blitz.
It could be comical, (They emerge into the world, all of their relationships irreversibly changed only to realise that it was a false alarm!) or it could be more serious, (Their self-assured civility gives way to animalistic desires and base needs, mirroring the breakdown of society beyond their microcosm) it's up to you!
EDIT: This is an erotica prompt. Not a mock-your-kinky-neighbor prompt. Just clarifying.
|
"A tornado warning? Shit, you have a basement, right, Dan?"
"Uhh . . ." Dan swallowed heavily, glancing nervously to Maddie. The redhead merely giggled. *She* knew what was in the basement. They weren't even dating, they were just friends who played together, but she had wanted him to be more social. At her insistence, he'd thrown a little dinner party for some of the guys from his beer league hockey team. You don't have enough male friends, she said. Don't be such a hermit, she said. He was going to strangle her.
"Come on Danny boy, I ain't getting sucked up by a funnel cloud just 'cause you don't clean your fucking basement." Jason said, abruptly standing. Alanna, his wife, gave him a look as if she wanted to swat him one, but also stood. Adam and his girlfriend, Josie, got up as well, and gleefully, Maddie smiled and lead them to the basement.
Dan trailed behind the party, sweating nervously. Maybe he would just stay upstairs. The tornado probably would pass right by, and if it didn't . . . . Well, getting blown away by a tornado couldn't be that bad. Not half as bad as Jason and Adam seeing what exactly was down in his basement, or, god forbid, *talking* about it.
"You're basement actually looks pretty good, Markowski. It's all carpeted and you even got-" Adam's voice broke off as finished going down the stairs. "Oh." Dan cringed, lingering on the middle part of the stair case as everyone else filed in.
He really had put a lot of effort into it. A plush, wine-red carpet, on the floor, the plain brick walls had been painted black, with the back wall painted red, just a shade deeper than the carpet, for contrast. On the far right there was a masseuse's table, with jury-rigged restraints, a rack of whips and riding crops on the wall beside it, and a small table with massage oils and lubricants directly next to it. Below the rack of whips was a large black trunk, the top open and several large, colorful dildos clearly visible. On the far side, a sex swing hung from the ceiling. Manacles hung from another wall, a ball gag and a coil of rope on another small table beside it.
"Quite, ah, the setup you got here." Jason said, gingerly pushing the swing.
"Is that thing any fun?" Alanna said, her cheeks lightly pink. "I've been trying to get Jason to get one for us but-"
"Hey! Don't just tell people that, Al!" Jason said, blushing. She rolled her eyes.
"I am trying to make things less awkward, Adam. And honestly, if there was ever a time to talk about sex toys this is it." she said tartly, then turned back to Dan. "Well?"
"It's great actually." Maddie cut in, before he could answer. Tentatively, he went down the last few steps, gingerly surveying his friends as they poked around the basement. Maddie was discussing the pros and cons of sex swings, while Adam and Josie had wandered over to the box of dildos.
"These things are clean, right?" Adam said, nudging the trunk with his foot.
"Uh, yeah." Dan said nervously. Honestly, he had expected laughter, mocking laughter, and unmerciful disgust, so their curiosity was a pleasant, if slightly unbelievable, surprise.
"Aw, he's blushing!" Josie said, giggling as she touched Adam's arm. "Don't be embarrassed! I know we're not all super good friends yet, but it's not that bad. At least it wasn't your parents or something." Dan visibly shuddered at the idea. Adam laughed.
"Imagine if it was Thanksgiving, your whole family rushing down the stairs, and then your little old granny tripping on a big, blue rubber cock-"
"Adam, that's awful!" Josie dissolved into laughter, though she tried to look stern. Dan managed to laugh as well, the tension finally beginning to seep from his shoulders.
"Hey, I'm gonna try this thing out, okay?" Jason called, and Dan turned to see him awkwardly struggling to sit on the swing.
"Wait, wait, let me help." Dan said, and hurried over to help before Jason ended up falling out of it.
|
Sawdust.
He kept thinking it, over and over with his tongue. It simply wouldn't shut up, but over cooked steaks never do. He could feel the moisture disappear in the maw of that chewy mess described as "well done." The throat closed itself in fear of becoming something that belongs in Chile.
Sawdust.
The only thing of that night that seemed to catch his eye was the wonderful ball around him. The host of the night, Monsieur Garrabont, had an appreciation for aristocratic exquisiteness that was long lost by the higher echelons of society. Every so often, he would drag his friends (and strong arm others) into his Monte Cristo ball. It was, in all frankness, an exquisite pain in the ass. Since the 21st century is far removed from its more lavish days, finding the appropriate clothes for such an occasion is two parts ridiculously expensive and one part unappealing. However, Monsieur Garrabont did not disappoint, and whoever came to the ball at his summer abode left quite satisfied.
Tonight was an unfortunate exception.
Viceroy Jovey continued grinding the awful steak that would eventually caulk his mouth shut. He, unlike his wife, did not appreciate these balls as much- quite the contrary actually. He never trusted Garrabont, and the Viceroy had confidence in his abilities to judge through peoples facades, and he could sense a chilling core underneath the gaudy make up and 7-mile smile. His eye's betrayed him, and something simply screamed some sort of sin. He couldn't put his finger on it. Lustful debauchery? Cold ruthlessness? Sadistic fetish? It eluded him, instead manifesting as a deep unease in his chest. The Viceroy felt as if he was in a bear trap, this ball merely a hive, and these poor saps wouldn't know until the metal teeth sank into their soft pudgy flesh. He could see it now, them screaming for mercy, but it was only too late.
He could warn them, he thought. He already tried his wife. Paranoid, she called him. Ridiculous, she called him. He hoped so.
The Viceroy fell to his feet when the alarms rang. Gunshots rattled the air, shouts and blood accompanied the bullets. His spine shook. Sophine, Sophine, he kept muttering. He had to find his wife, or die trying. The floor below rattled. It felt sticky and warm, it sickened his stomach. He felt the sawdust cork rumble out his throat.
"Down into the basement everyone! Hurry, for your lives! Come esteemed guests!" Garrabont's voiced carried and died to the raging carnage. The last sight the Viceroy could remember was the fading image of his wife being carried into the basement floor, and finally the feeling of being lifted as well.
Dicks. Dicks everywhere. It's all the Viceroy could see. His eyes rocked with horror. The only thoughts that could formulate in his fear stricken head were that of his wife, and the ghastly arrangement of multi colored and size oriented cocks that hung upon the stony wall. He gathered as much sense as he could to look for his wife, but alas, he was chained to the wall.
Screams-no, moans. He could see in the stony corridor shadows from the room on the left. Whip outlines lashed at the shadow carapace of an ass, with the contours the woman's breasts hooked to some wirey machine. The Viceroy mustered whatever energy he had left to call out, but the words that left his mouth rang silent, and hot, heavy moans drowned them out in his head. Sophine he mouthed, Sophine he yelled with all his muscles and might, but his voice would not comply. He felt anxiety wash over him, a deep fear that resembled that of being strangled, of suffocation, but no physical obstacle to him breathing was apparent.
"Well what do we have hear? Viceroy, I see you have entered my- lovely- dungeon. Don't you just love that word? The way it leaves the mouth just as dirty as it means to be? I swear, every time I have the pleasure of uttering it, my brain has the odd reaction akin to an orgasm. It fucks my brain, quite honestly. Right in the frontal lobe, in between the halves, like a smooth buttocks, or a pair of breasts, perhaps?"
The Viceroy curled within, sheer panic rushing within his face and veins alike. He knew that voice, only too well.
"It seems this ball had the finest miscellanea of people, from old to young, small titted to bunker busters, bachelors to wives, eh? Don't worry Viceroy, your wife will make a lovely specimen. Unfortunately for you, we already have a fine stock of young men bursting with rigor, with haughty asses fresh for the fucking. I have no need for you, and having you around will only excite the cattle in an unneeded manner. I'm sorry, my dear Viceroy, you'll have to go the way of the race horse," he turned to his lackey, " grab the shot gun. And Demetry of the wall, might as well stuff his ass for one last good memory."
"N-n-no" he managed to choke. "S-sophine."
"Don't worry Viceroy, she is in good hands now. I treat my prime cattle with the utmost care. And these hands are very gentle indeed, on the outside and for tenderizing the inside too." He licked his lips in a manner both creepy and terrifying.
"Farewell Viceroy, and give my condolences to the undesirables I had removed above, I'm sure they'll be very cross with what has occurred.
Oh, and I hope you enjoyed the steak."
| 2014-06-22T09:02:09
| 2014-06-22T08:42:55
| 26
| 13
|
[WP] You took a video of your friend landing a backflip. When you replayed the video, your friend didn’t land the backflip and sprained his ankle. Confused, you watch the video again. It’s the 54th replay of the video, your friend is visibly upset, “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
|
Me and Tommy leaned in closer until our noses were almost touching the screen.
Once again, the video started with Tommy running across the roof of his house and leaping into the air like a madman. He arched his back, tucked up his knees and span in the air. A backflip with forward momentum, or a 'gainer' as he kept insisting I call it. He landed perfectly, as he had last time, and it was easy to deny the little differences as being our imagination. Until I spoke.
Off camera, the video version of me said "Dude that was sick!"
"'Dude that was sick?'" said Tommy, spinning me around to face him. "Last time you said" 'Man that was perfect'!"
My entire body went cold. This was our fourth watch of the video, and each time there had been subtle differences. I thought my phone was broken first. Then I thought it must have been in my head. Now I was sure. Tommy was right, I had said something completely different in the previous watch of the same video.
"Watch it again!" said Tommy, gripping my shoulders tight and bouncing in his chair.
"But what does it mean?" I asked, "how is it doing this?"
"Watch it again man!" Tommy insisted.
Relenting, I hit replay. That familiar shot looking up to the roof filled my screen, and soon video-Tommy was running and jumping. He twisted through the air, but as he landed, he took one step out of place, wobbling on the spot.
"Nah that was crap," said video-Tommy turning to the camera and walking back towards the house. "We'll do another one."
"Ok," said video-me, as the camera panned down to the grass and stopped abruptly.
Next to me, Tommy was leaping up and down, a huge grin on his face, head in his hands, stumbling around his garden like he always did when something was too funny or too crazy to handle. "What the actual fuck!! I told you! I told you it was different each time!!"
I wasn't smiling though. My hands were shaking. How was this even possible? Some prank, maybe? Tommy had somehow... But that was my voice. That was me saying those things. And it was my phone. How could he have...
"Watch it again!" said Tommy, throwing himself into the seat next to me and gripping my shoulders so tight it hurt.
I tried to reply, but wasn't even sure what I wanted to say. Something about this felt very wrong, and yet I had a morbid curiosity about it I couldn't shake. A part of me wanted to throw the phone as far as I could, to break the thing and never talk of this again. But a much larger part of me wanted to watch the video again.
I pressed replay.
Video-Tommy ran off the roof, just as he span, his shoes caught the guttering, and knocked it loose. As Tommy span, small black shards of plastic clattered to the floor. Tommy landed the gainer fine, but turned round instantly and threw his hands to his head.
"Shit!" said video-Tommy, "dad's gonna kill me!"
The camera moved from Tommy's face to the scraps of black plastic on the ground. Off camera, the video version of me was sniggering to himself. Or myself, I suppose.
When the video ended, neither of us said anything. Tommy wasn't smiling now, his face had gone white as a sheet. I turned to face him, expected we'd share the same look, but he wasn't even looking at me.
He was looking over my shoulder. Confused, I twisted to see what he was staring at.
On the ground, beneath the spot he'd jumped from, was four shards of black plastic guttering.
My eyes trailed upwards to the roof. Right at the spot we'd just seen video-Tommy catch with his shoe, a jagged hole was missing from the guttering.
Neither of us spoke for a while, but when Tommy did, it was in a quiet, raspy voice.
"Can you send me that video please?"
*(to be continued.)*
Http://reddit.com/r/RJHuntWrites
|
In the moment it seems like all time is racing, racing towards the future, as though it can't wait to get there. As though it is sick of us, of what it must carry; living consciousness that do nothing but suck up the present, hold on to the past, and look ahead with hungry anticipation. Or fear.
I think time especially savors our fear. Perhaps that is why it races forwards. The future brings fear. And time races towards the future that it accelerates this run in the past. Especially in the past.
Do I wax philosophical? Indulge me. I have seen a thing I cannot explain. It is a really simple thing, you know, but I can see where it will end. I have never seen a man on screen so afraid and so resigned, and I have never felt so much like a monster, as though this is all my fault.
I have a friend named John Debbie. I want you to remember his name. His name is the only thing that will persist in the flowing of time, the only thing that time cannot shake off. Remember John Debbie.
He was a young man, about twenty four ten minutes ago. He is near thirty now from the looks of him, and he has grey hair and a disheveled beard. John Debbie is my friend and we had met up today for some drinks.
We had our fun and he left about twenty minutes ago. We made a video before he left; a stupid thing. John Debbie was athletic and he was drunk and I was filming and a whim took him. He did a backflip that he always could do since I have known him. I clapped and spilled some beer and we laughed hard and stumbled to his girlfriend's car.
I remember this because it was minutes ago.
I looked at the video about ten minutes ago. It hasn't stopped as yet. The video repeats itself but it does not play the same thing over and over. John Debbie flips, but each time he does so, it is live and in person.
I see him struggle. I see him age. It is like one of those montages of people getting older. It's silly almost. It *is* silly if not for the stare he gives and for each breath he takes. His chest heaves as the video plays. He ages in high definition and the lines that come subtle, come hard in the quick contrast from careless youth. Time is flowing, flowing from this video, accelerating from the past.
I know how it sounds.
My phone has been ringing. John Debbie's girlfriend has been calling since I have put on the video. I would have answered but for his stare.
"No!"
The sound is bad but panic travels from everywhere.
"No!" he says.
And I see on his face: "Take off the video and my life is over."
My phone rings and I cannot answer. I see messages come to the top of the screen, obscuring the video now and again. I catch what they say.
"John's disappeared." "Is this a joke?" "London, why aren't you answering?"
Distress. I feel it now. That is hardly a word but a pulse that runs through you. I feel as though magic exists, but that feeling is through some hopeless subjugation. Anything can happen in this world, but nothing good will.
Isn't that so funny to think? Isn't this all just *weird*?
I was drunk a few minutes ago but I've sobered up fast. Maybe that is some survival instinct kicking in, all the adrenaline pumping through my body. What is happening, I ask myself.
I stare at the video. John Debbie must jump for that is how time was captured. He must flip, but now he is tired and he falls and hurts himself. But he must get up and try again. And he tries and falls and his arms are red and his face his red and his mouth is bleeding and his eyes are sad and crying.
*Don't jump,* I think.
He tries and he tries like some prisoner. And I think what a word that is: prisoner. Time had been captured in this moment, his triumphant flip. Perhaps time is mad at us? But why him?
You can't stop time. The past isn't meant to be repeated, reviewed over and over. No, time likes to keep going its course. It likes to race to that unknown future, that scary future.
Maybe we record things to placate our fears. The future is a scary proposition so we capture our past glories to make things easier. I don't know. In this fear and stupor I feel myself babbling. My thoughts come from every direction and the distress is more like a seed that sprouts its cold terror in concentrated feelings. I can hardly articulate anything sensible.
I hold my phone and stare at John Debbie. He is middle aged now. His body is beaten. His face does not smile. He tries to flip but he can hardly jump. His knees look mangled and his back is bent and he looks near death. He is a man battered by a moment that has repeated for decades now.
*Flip like you've done in the past. Flip like you've flipped in that captured time. Flip if you like to flip so much.*
I could hear time taunt him. I can feel it all around me like the wind, laughing at this absurd cruelty. My best friend is stuck in my phone. I cannot pause this video. I see him flip and he flips successfully. My heart leaps and crashes when it sees the meaning of it all. His face is resigned and desperate.
*One more glory,* that face says.
One more glory before his time is up. John Debbie collapses and the video ends.
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story then you may want to consider checking out my subreddit, r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including some un-prompted ones. Check it out if you can, and thanks for the support!*
| 2018-05-25T01:42:08
| 2018-05-25T01:31:55
| 198
| 19
|
[WP] In a world where people can only be killed by those they truly love, you are an assassin.
|
You can only be killed by someone you love. That's always been the rule. We don't know who made it. Many people suspect it was God. Some people don't believe in him, but it is a pretty compelling argument for the existence of a higher being. I personally never was a faithful sort. In more ways than one. People are so easy, you know? A touch here, a smile there, and boom. They're clay in your hands. Yeah, some people find it hard to trust. Love is the highest reward in a society where it can be your only downfall. But still, life goes on.
I've only been working at it a few years. It's tough work, especially since most of the targets are high-profile people who expect something like this. They keep their hearts close. They're harder to get into. More of a challenge, definitely. And a little harder to let go of, once you break that lock. You see a different side of someone who loves despite their fear. It's more genuine. It's more rewarding. It's more personal. The rule is that they have to love you, but sometimes you can't help but love them back. It takes a toll, killing the people who open themselves so intimately to you.
The benefit to this is that it gets harder for you to love. A good assassin can stay in business for the rest of their life, with no worries for counter-assassins trying to end the streak. The drawback is that it gets very, very lonely. Most assassins have some sort of mental disorder. Usually, good ol' depression.
I'm sitting in a hotel room, now. And I've tried so hard. The loneliness, it eats at you. And you know what the desperate do, right? They try to end it. The only solution, to a mind which has gone over every option. Suicide. Some people can do it easy. Flick of the wrist, twitch of the finger, simple. Some people have it a little harder. Me, I've tried so many different ways.
But you can only be killed by someone you love. That's always been the rule.
|
Coldness swamps the man, his hand trembles as it reaches for the knife sticking out of his ribs. His fingers only brush the blade before it stops and starts to twitch sporadically, the last spasms of a dying man. With cloudy eyes, he looks up to his attacker.
He coughs at the sight of her.
"Why?" croaks the man.
Tears trail down her cheeks and she wipes at them with her forearm, careful not to spread the blood on her hands.
"Because I love you," says the woman.
The man blinks, his head cloudy. "What?"
She pulls in closer, down on her knees next to the dying man. She takes his shaking hand and stills it. Her voice is soft.
"Because I love you."
"I... I don't understand," sobs the man, "Why would... why would you *kill* me because of that?"
His voice cracks on the *kill*, the reality of the word striking him as he says it. She reaches forward, stroking his head as blood soaks her knees.
"Because when you love someone," the woman says, "You want to share every moment with them. Every moment." Her hand crawls along the man's torso as she speaks, taking hold of the knife. "The happy ones. And the sad."
The knife comes out with a *squelch* and the man gasps, both breath and blood escaping him.
It only takes a few more seconds, but the woman stays by his side the whole time.
When the last light in his eyes fade, the woman closes them and fold his arms over his chest. A little formality to make him look more dignified in his final moments.
Wiping the last of her tears, the woman pulls out her phone and dials a number she has committed to memory. It rings once before a synthetized voice answers.
"Good evening madam, how can we be of service?"
"I need a clean-up."
"Of course, madam. A maid will be visiting you shortly. Upon their confirmation your account will receive the appropriate funds. While you wait, would you like to peruse our latest selection?"
"Please."
Immediately, the call ends and her phone dings with a new message. A list of names, photos and numbers with a lot of zeros at the end. The woman pays the numbers no mind, her attention is on the pictures. It's an assortment of men from CEOs to truckers and their picture is the very best that anyone could find of them. They smile, share drinks, laugh and blow kisses to the camera. The woman looks at them and studies their eyes. Which of those smiles were honest and which were lies? Who most needed help? Who could she make the happiest?
| 2016-11-15T15:51:49
| 2016-11-15T15:38:47
| 1,012
| 14
|
[WP] Today everyone woke up with price tags floating over their heads, indicating the value of their life. Your tag is $50Tn, the biggest by far, and you have no idea why.
That's $50,000,000,000,000.00 for those not used to hearing it.
Awesome stories guys.
|
50 Trillion dollars. That's what the tag said floating above my head. I knew it was going to be large, but that number seemed excessive. While the world was busy arguing and debating what their tag meant about them, I knew far too well. I had prepared for this day for years. I saw it coming so, so long ago and made sure I was ready for what was coming. While people think its an innocuous symbol, or something that relates to them as a person: their 'worth' for how good they are, I know what's going on.
These aren't price tags for purchasing, or some kind of demonstration of personal worth.
No... they're bounties.
Each and every one of them is a bounty placed on a human head, wanted dead or alive. The information I have gathered so far is hard to decipher, but from what I figured out: the world is now part of an intergalactic game show, more of a blood sport really. These... aliens, beings from another dimension or something else entirely seek out planets full of 'primitive' life, mark the governing race and give them all 'price-tags' in their local currency. The bigger the price, the more 'points' or whatever these creatures use to keep track of this...'competition'. The hunters are coming and they will be merciless.
To those of you out there that can read this message, all I can say is : prepare. If you're price tag is small, you might just get out of this alive being a small fry in this messed up game. To the not so lucky: join me, they think you're a threat so become one, and we'll fight back or at least make these 'hunters' wish they picked a different planet.
Now, let the hunt begin...
|
*I am not a short form writer and this is my own prompt, so I don't know if I am breaking the prime directive ...but here's something I scrawled. Also, I don't grammars.*
I woke up with a whiskey headache , the only thing on my mind was getting to nearest place where I could grab a few greasy strips of bacon, a couple of soft scrabbled eggs, and a passable cup of joe. I threw on whatever I could find, did my best not stumbling shuffle out the door. As I walked to my car, I spotted it. Goddammit
Across the street and two houses down was a late 90's Grand Prix. The shit box of a ride my handler used when he came out to visit me. *He couldn't look more like a cop if he had a siren hanging out of his ass.* Annoyed, I did a quick scan up and down the street. All quite, everyone was somewhere else. Just my luck.I jogged on over.
In one swift move I opened the back door and slipped in behind Jerkins. "You know what undercover is, *Jerk*ins?"
"You know what a shower is?" He quipped back.
We both did our reflexive 10 second watch for tails through the Pontiac's peeling obviously a cop car tint. I gave up after 8 and turned my attention to Jerkins, who was looking dead forward and off somewhere. Then I saw it, "What the..."
I narrowed my eyes on the figure that hovered above his head.
"You like?" He asked, turning to flash me a toothy smile.
"What is it? Some kinda hologram?" I stuck my fingers through the ghostly $2,536,248.53 floating above him.
I tried moving it, swiping it away, but nothing.
"No." He said in a flat, dead, slight alarming tone. He expression twinged for a second, then he smiled again. "It's a new thing. Just happened this morning. Everyone has one, nobody's got a clue what it means, but it hasn't hurt no one. So...Life goes on. Well, there is one bunch of wackjobs in Oklahoma saying it's the mark of the beast."
"So, wait-" I flipped down the visor and stared into its mirror.
A few seconds passed.
A Minute passed.
"Jesus, James. Say something will you?" Jerkins said in half frustrated laugh.
"I...I, uh. I am...Nobody know what it means?"
"Well, it obviously ain't bank accounts." He gestured at his own numeric halo.
"No." I said breathlessly. What the hell is going on
He started to say more, but broke into coughing fit. He tried to his mouth while simultaneously digging for a pack of smokes in the console. "Christ." He said stuffing one of the menthols into his mouth. "I swear, I have these, uh, attacks and the only thing that helps is to smoke more."
I shook my head at that, and forced the super odd no body knows nothing floating sci fi numbers out of my head. I have a job to do.
After a few deep drags he relaxed. "So, James, any news on the cells in the other cities?"
"Not since the airport. They might already have targets and orders, they might just be laying lower after Toronto. I am just not hearing much"
Jerkins nodded, making ash fall on his shirt. "And the nuclear material? Do you know if they have built anything with? Sold it?Moved it at all?"
I shrugged, "It's still in play, but as far as I know it's just product. Not a weapon. I think the tip about dirty bombs is false."
"Good" He said with a weird pudgy grin.
I nodded my agreement.
Thinking we were done I started to open the door, but I felt his eyes on the side of my head. I turned,we locked eyes for a moment, he seemed to try to be reading me for something."Oh!" I said, as it dawned on me, " The mole."
"I got nothing. I ran that intel you gave me, but I got no leads. I think the guy is a ghost or dead."
Jerkins stared at me again, but only for a second, and then smile. "Good to know. I didn't think one of us would flip."
After that we said our goodbyes, he gave me a new meet, and I gave him my next drop location. As I exited the car I couldn't help but crack a small smile. God, I love this job. Walking away I couldn't just barely make out Jerkin's voice on his phone.
"James Deacon is the mole. The bombs are go. We've been played"
| 2015-05-13T11:40:59
| 2015-05-13T10:09:28
| 55
| 12
|
[WP] After abducting one of the 'humans', scientists believed they were a prey species with no drive. The specimen captured was the picture of subservience, doing anything asked of it once the translators were active. And 'subservient' was all the military needed to hear.
|
Commander Xlantor stared down once more at the specimen. It seemed passive enough. Sitting there in its enclosure scratching undecipherable squiggles onto the surface. The squiggles weren’t in any standard universal language he recognized. It looked up,at him and once again flashed its teeth and let out a series of short bark noises. The “Hooman” as it called itself, was powerfully built with an endoskeleton of pure hard minerals. “Hooman,Move Rock” Xlantor spoke into the grill. The Hooman looked up at him, it let out a long breath, got up, picked up a massive stone 4 time the weight of an average Kirathian and set it down on the other side of the enclosure then returned to its area. It was strong, but seemed entirely passive.
‘And you are certain this is representative of the species” Zlantor said to the research team leader. “No aggression? No...reaction to uncomfortable stimulus?”
“No, Commander. We even tried pelting it with droplets of WATER and it didn’t react. It just stood there rubbing itself...then DRANK it. We piled a wide variety of vegetative and Meat sustenances in front of it to determine its nutritional needs and it ate ALL of it.”
“All? You mean it ate vegetables AND Meat? Both?”
“Yes, we call it an omnivore and of the thousands of species we’ve encountered, only a small handful have been this way. All on low resource worlds and all were low intelligence, passive and easily manipulated.“.
“Very well. We’ll continue the final operational planning”.
****
John looked up from the cage as the tiny little creature once again directed him to move the rock. He sighed, got up picked up the 50 lb. rock and set it down on the other side of the enclosure,then returned to his table.
“Sorry, commander fluffles wanted me to move the rock again. Where were we?
“Right, Chris said through his cyber implant, we’ve instituted the final series of commands. As soon as they appear over the Earth, the sequence will trigger.”
“Good. Mark?”
“Yup, all neutralized, and locked down.”
“Good. And I’ve pretty much got my plan in place. How these guys got along for so long with absolutely zero cyber security is beyond me.
“Right, so the plan. Tomorrow when the Kirathian fleet appears over the Earth, the second they open communications for Commander Xlantor to demand the complete and total surrender, “Never Going to Give You Up” will start playing on all speakers and communications screens across the fleet and in all military and government offices. The ships will then align and begin a dance sequence to the song. Their weapons will all fire harmlessly in time to the music. Then once over, the entire fleet will land and go into complete weapons, systems and propulsion lockdown secured by a quantum encryption code.
At the same time, I will trigger the command to buy 1,000,00,000,000 shares of Kirathian Luminars that are shorted by 600% cross their trading platforms using the funds we got from the fake popup messages telling the bankers, military and politicians they needed to call us for an error on their computing device.
By end of the day tomorrow, their fleet and entire galactic economy will belong to us Redditors.”
John looked up once more at his captors, grinned and laughed.
|
'They're not a threat, arch-major.'
'Intelligence, actuators, creativity--they lean heavily on symbionts for digestion and development, yes, but that isn't the worst. Put enough of that together and you know what can happen!'
'Khalligaern, I asked it to shine my boots politely, and it did. It even put in effort and went back over the bad spots.'
'They war constantly amongst themselves-'
'Small-scale, low-level conflicts. They posses species-ending weaponry and have established a series of norms to prevent its' use.'
'Curious that a prey species would not be unified enough to develop civ-enders. Herd-wars are usually all against all.'
'That's your job to figure out, Khalligrean. Not mine.'
'Arch-major, they're a prey species! You know how lethal they can be when roused!'
'Then you'll need to convince them that you're not rousing them. Or a threat. It's been done before.'
'But we will need protection!'
'...say, Archimedian...'
'Yes, arch-major? Funding for mercenaries, maybe?'
'Perhaps you could try asking politely.'
| 2021-02-24T22:01:58
| 2021-02-24T21:12:57
| 356
| 241
|
[WP] A child unknowingly has a conversation with Death.
|
Mikey Rays was a good kid, always with a smile, but liked to just sit on his porch all day and imagine his toys are alive. One day he saw a man walk up to the house. The man had on dirty overalls and a bird's nest of hair under a battered straw hat.
"Hey kid, is your dad in?"
"Yeah, mister, he's in the kitchen."
"Thanks."
|
The giggles of a group of children resonate through the
neighborhood street. Sid sat on the curb wishing he could
be with them. He asked if he could play earlier, but they
ignored him. He let out a sigh and started to wander home.
A slightly deflated ball rolled gracefully down the big hill that
eventually led to his house.
Sid started kicking it up and admired the way
it rolled back down right back on his foot and he could kick it back
up and it would roll back down. As he got closer and closer to the
peak of the hill he felt something. Not a feeling of being watched, but
a feeling that someone was with him. He turned around and saw
nothing. As soon as he let his gaze on the ball someone spoke.
"Can I play?" The voice was not of a normal human being. It seemed
to be disguised, distorted almost. Something no one could produce.
Sid turned around.
The man who was staring back was all dressed in black. He did not have a face, and Sid noticed that. "You don't have a face," Sid bluntly said. "You don't have any judgement, for you have not had experiences," the ghostly figure replied back. "Saying things like that won't make you any friends, now are you going to let me play or not?" The figure was tall and had an eerie presence around him. "What do you want to play?" asked Sid. The figure cocked his head to one side. "Just kick the ball to me and we will talk, okay?" "Okay." The figure appeared to glide instead of walk.
"My mom said I shouldn't talk to strangers." The figure jumped back as if he was surprised by the statement. "We're not strangers. You will see me again in your life, maybe tomorrow, maybe seventy years from now. The difference is you will be older and I will stay the same. I will be around every corner that you see. I will be in every disease you catch and every cut you get. But remember, that we are not strangers. We might even be friends. After some time, you will get to know me very well. Who knows? Maybe later you will wish to see me again. Yearn for me. I do not come to the people who wish for me to come to them the most. I will come at the most unexpected times. The time where you think things
are getting better. I am the last person you will ever see." Sid stopped
and stared at the figure wide-eyed. "How old are you?" "I am older
than the Earth you stand on, older than the rivers that flow through
this town and all towns." "Are you older than my mom?" "Yes." "You're
old." The figure looks back at Sid and plops his slender frame on the curb.
"Tell me about it." Sid sits next to him. "You look sad," whined Sid.
"*You* look sad." snapped the figure. "I am sad. No one wants me.
Everyone ignores me and no one wants to play with me. They say
that they accept me and like me, but no one ever tells the truth.
I try to not care but I do..." The figure had no face but you could
tell that what Sid said connected with him on a different level.
"You do not know how fortunate you are to have made a new friend
today." said the figure, his voice quivering. "What's your name?" questioned Sid, and like that, he vanished.
EDIT: Words.
| 2014-06-06T21:46:29
| 2014-06-06T19:32:04
| 55
| 10
|
[WP] Lots of people have sold their souls to the devil. You were the first to try to buy one.
|
"So, big man, wanna invest?" I gave him a winning smile, as I gave all my suckers. A bit of showmanship might even actually WORK on the guy, for a deal like this.
The silence elapsed like an hourglass- the end not quite clear, the middle all racing, the beginning tense until it burst.
"You are insane," he finally ceded. "But color me interested. I've not gone into business with a mortal in some hundred years."
"Oh? There was somebdy mefore me?"
"Well, no," Satan shrugged, rubbing his bald head. "But this one guy, we opened a cupcake store together, he sold his soul for baking tips. Man was that a weird one."
"That is weird," I commiserated.
"Now, a deal's a deal," Satan nodded. "In exchange for this soul, you hereby swear and promise to bring back two. And if you cannot bring me the second one, it comes out of your hide."
"Count on it, baby," I grinned. "A little capital from yours truly, some social media jazz, and a big whiff of that bad boy? We'll be raking them in in no time."
Satan held the blue orb delicately in his hand. It was the soul of an innocent, one who had given up their chance at heaven for some earthly pleasure or another. Now, the thing could be the start of a new empire.
"Well, you say it works on mortals."
"Bub, you saw the powerpoint."
"That's Beelzebub, to you," he snorted. "I deal in words, young one. If your word is not your bond, then I exact my price. And not even God will help you if I find you've taken this one from me."
"Honestly, Satan, this is gonna work. Just you wait. You have my 100% guarantee, you will get two souls back from me- and, if you let me keep this up, I can keep doubling the supply forever."
Satan shook his head, but we both knew he was willing to try it. There wasn't much point to dancing around it.
"Fine. To you, mortal, I grant you one soul- and in exchange, you will start this, em, you called it... multi level marketting scheme?"
"Yes, sir!" I smiled. The soul floated delicately over to me, settling in my palms like a dove. I cooed at it until the moment passed. The thing absorbed softly into my skin, pulling a shudder of cold air with it.
"See you in a few weeks," I nodded. "I've got a commercial to film."
|
I jogged through the nightmarket at a casual, yet hurried pace. The monk had said it was here I might find Satan's Women, and from them, learn the location of the head honcho himself.
Street food vendors hawked their oily, sizzing wares. There were no more ragged children on the streets. This late, only the drunkards and the fools were up; this early, the morning risers had yet to crack. It was misting in the air. Lady Rain was too stubborn to wash away a world of mortal sin this evening. I pivoted the next street corner, rumpling my hand through dishevelled hair.
"Ni-hao, good lookin'."
I shuddered to a stop, half hopeful. In front of me stood a woman of the sort I was seeking: caked in makeup like slime, grinning as a predator cat, too much skin showing, like a potato. I greeted her back in the demon-tongue with a follow up question: *"Are you satan's woman?"*
She scoffed. "*The Dark Lord owns more than one woman, Christian prude. That accent is hideously wrong. You desire something?*"
*"I have to talk to him. Tell me anything you know,"* I demanded.
The word anything seemed to have an effect on her. She beckonned with a spindly finger, deeper into the dark alley she materialized out of. *"And what in exchange do you offer that I cannot possess?"*
I approached, cautious of my surroundings. *"What sorts of things are you interested in, my lady?"* I had to remind myself not to consciously reach for my wallet, tucked into a holster under my shirt.
*"So direct. So mechanical. Do I look a machine to you, white boy? Try again, but make me want to."*
She flicked her tongue at me. This close, I could tell it was pointed. This lady must have been one of the succubi: every bit as pointy as the local legends. However, if she thought to pluck a soul from my lips, she was mistaken.
*"Your master knows I am in a rush. But, suppose if I were to tell you something interesting that you don't know?"*
A street dog ran past us, barking at some unseen nothing. When it had left, I noticed the woman's eyes trained on my shirt- where the wallet lay.
*"I doubt you have any secret I cannot divine by myself."*
*"Then agree to a wager and be pleasantly surprised. If I tell you a good secret, you take me to your boss. If I tell you something you knew, or didn't want to know, then you tell me to piss off."*
Demons were hagglers through and through, but this was hardly my final price.
*"Tell me something new I like, and maybe I'll tell you something you like,"* she countered. Loaded wordplay, a classic. At least that cursed grimoire was good for one thing.
*"The deal is as I said. I tell you a secret you didn't realize you wanted, and you take me to your boss. If what I tell you isn't what you wanted, then you send me on my way. You don't have much time, I'm growing impatient. I can find a different woman to give this power to."* I fell back on the ol' 'loss of a chance,' one of the best fallacies to trick a rational human mind into a subpar offer. Demons weren't human, of course, but demons also don't go to business school.
*"Hmmph. You really think you have something? Well. Lucky for you, it's dread boring this evening, and I like a bit of fun. But your deal is cold brimstone. How about this- if your secret fails to impress, you must make up for it with a kiss. Lots of tongue."* She flicked hers.
*"How am I supposed to accept a deal like that? I need my soul to give to your master. It will come to him only by my filthy hands, not your own."*
She smirked. *"Fine, sinner. If this business is as you say, there's naught I need to do anyhow. I won't take your soul when we smooch. But I will give it a bit of a tug~"*
*"And, to keep our bargain true, we must use the Oath of Truth Absolute. You'll want to know my secret is good, and I'll want your word."*
She scoffed. *"You really are an amateur, aren't you."*
*"Take the oath."*
I rummaged around in my suitcase, still slung over my back like a purse. From it, I withdrew an absolutely foul book. Its edges dripped out a black grease that never ended, its cover hissed and spat smoke. She turned away from it to cough, wiping the acrid smell from her nose before it even approached her airspace. Considering what I'd already lost to it, those things like smell and mess no longer bothered me.
*"...fine."* She hissed. Her left eye twitched.
We said our vows, cursed and broken as they were.
*"And the secret,"* I began. *"Ready?"*
*"Not here,"* she interrupted. *"My place, this way. None shall harm you while we walk there."* We dove deeper into the alley, swimming into pitch blackness and overgrown vines.
I thought of my son, and how I would be damn sure not to let this thing into human hands ever again. Once I finished it, anyway.
| 2020-09-11T20:20:15
| 2020-09-11T20:05:05
| 128
| 54
|
[WP] The Chosen One reincarnates every time he dies, retaining his memories. The Demon King is immortal. After spending so long opposing each other and trying unconventional tactics to permanently defeat one another, their relationship has gotten... odd.
|
"Back again, Alhar?"
"As usual, Lamon."
Archdemon Queen Lamon Bleakwild, Overlord of the Infernal Plane of Avaros, looked at the young man who had waltzed through the door. A jack of all trades. A wizard, a conjurer, a warrior, a bard, a monk, a priest, even one of her own warlocks at one point. Skills he had gathered over millennia of death and rebirth. Thousands on thousands of lives spent training, perfecting, honing himself to superhuman levels of ability.
And yet each time, Alhar, the Chosen One, failed to truly best her. Oh, he'd given her a few good thrashings over the years, but in the end, Lamon's boast from all those years ago rang true: That here, in her home plane of Avaros, her will was law, and her power was absolute.
"Alhar, why do you devote yourself so slavishly to the prophecy? I've stopped trying to take over your realm."
Alhar shrugged. "I dunno. It's just the way things have always been."
"Fair enough. I'll admit, I kind of like the little dynamic we have going. It gives me something to do. Without your constant assaults on my realm, these long centuries would be so unspeakably boring." Lamon said, placing her left calf on her right knee. "So, did you like the new arrrow hallway I added?"
Alhar shook his head. "Too difficult to navigate. No pattern. No cover."
Lamon wrote this down in her "Daemonic Citadel Defense" journal. "Always seemed like a bit of a cliche idea. What about the demogryphs? You said last time that they were too big and clumsy, so I cut them down a bit."
"Much better, much more of a challenge. Hard to hit, hard to dodge."
"And the void path?"
"Terrifying and tense."
"Perfect! I think that's about it. Shall we get on with it?" Lamon stood, a massive bardiche materializing in her hand.
Alhar drew his saber.
"I am Lamon, Archdemon Lord of Avaros! This is my domain! Here, I AM INVINCIBLE!"
The two rushed towards each other, grinning wickedly, eager for the final test: each other.
|
The Demon wants a fight with me.
So I will fight, eternally,
to ensure I'll be the last to fight,
to be the one to break the night.
Sadly, I have faltered now
'Tis my end, my final bow.
Knowing I'll return one day
Beating evil in my way.
********
The demon wants a fight with me
But I would lose it, probably.
Need to prepare, improve my strength,
I need to train for any length.
Sadly, it was not enough,
After all, he was too rough,
It's my end, it's my demise,
Luckily, I have more tries.
********
The Demon wants a fight with me.
But I did flee, so cowardly,
Knowing that I would lose to him,
A fate that is for me too grim.
Sadly, he has found me here,
At world's end, the Guardian Sphere,
It is over, I will die.
I say: "*I'll return. Goodbye.*"
********
The demon wants a fight with me.
I prepare poison, secretly,
I put it inside all his meals,
So he may kneel down at my heels.
Sadly, he had tested it,
Servant died of poison spit.
I'm dead now, I was found out,
Guess I'll try another route.
********
The demon wants to fight with me,
But I tease him seductively,
For romance ain't too bad a deal,
Got rockin' bod with sex appeal.
I married him, I got his hand,
Lived with him to the very end,
My life, my love, is over now,
I can't beat him, I don't know how.
********
The Demon wants to chat with me,
I accept it, so startingly,
That he wanted to ask me stuff
Though I am done, I had enough.
He asks for my love again,
From now until who knows when,
I reject, I die once more,
Loving him was such a bore.
********
The demon wants a fight with me,
I accept it, and merrily,
We decide a place to meet,
A place to fight, place to beat.
He offers to end the war depicted,
But I can't stop now, I am addicted,
So we fight, I die away,
From home, troubles, worry, yay!
********
********
********
The Chosen wants a fight with me.
He's waiting now, impatiently.
I wish it would be over, yes.
This is no fight, this is a mess.
The chosen one has lost control,
He has a life, but has no soul.
He fights me, and I execute,
The points I made are now just moot.
********
The chosen wants a fight with me,
I refuse him, will set him free
He can do all (to a degree)
Play games, raise lives-what's wrong with me?
He kills the people, starts a fire,
-To murder is his desire-
I kill him here, a lesson learned:
Never ignore a hero spurned.
********
The chosen wants a fight with me.
He knows, I know, so I agree,
Last actions still do invoke ire,
I beat that boy, my soul's on fire,
On the ground, he smiles, that boy.
Does he truly know no joy,
Besides in murder, pain and fear?
Don't want to think, not now, not here.
********
The chosen wants a talk with me,
I'm truly shocked, she sits with me.
"*I am a person, fighting you,*
*Do you know what I all went through?*
*I really am glad to be married,*
*To a man who is long buried,*
*For if I wasn't I wouldn't-*"
I kill her, say: "**No we shouldn't.**"
********
The chosen wants to talk with me
Once more, I nod, I do agree.
She says "*You made an enemy*
*Take me, it is my final plea!*"
Confused, and lost, I disagree.
I tell her: "**It is not to be.**
**Loving you ain't my cup of tea.**
**I kill you now, don't bother me.**"
********
The chosen want's a fight with me.
His look is not reality,
A ghastly form of shadow self,
He tells me of an evil elf.
"*He twisted me, I am a god,*
*Corrupted beast, I'm truly awed,*
*It fills me with such extasy*
That I'll fulfill my destiny.*"
I shake my head, I tell him off.
"**Yeah sure, alright, you had it rough.**
**There is a flaw inside your plan,**
**Who is the demon, who the man?**
**The fight you want will now commence,**
**So drop the act, drop the pretense,**
**Sadly, I'm the chosen one!**
**You die now, and we are done!**"
| 2017-05-13T12:32:05
| 2017-05-13T12:14:01
| 46
| 25
|
[WP] Fearing that the passage of centuries may have altered the value of their hoard, an ancient dragon hires you to appraise the lot. It's remarkably tricky to stay objective and focused when your client has razor talons and fire breath. And that's not even mentioning the more esoteric "treasures".
|
"The coins, gems and items of gold and silver generally do maintain their value, depending on the origin and age of an item it might vary some, this golden ceremonial dagger for example is a fairly common item, much of it's value is in the material, while this silver comb is engraved by an apprentice to a famous Elven jeweler, one could state it's value lies mostly in the artistic design, overal the value of the vast majority of your collection has not been affected, though i would recommend investing in some servants to organize the items and polish pieces to prevent tarnish."
The dragon, Tryvalstadt, nodded, this much had been more or less what it had expected, i sensed it had some reservations about hiring help, though i suspect it was more worried about finding trustworthy personel, perhaps i could recommend someone.
I turned to the more esoteric, exotic, and macabre items in it's vast collection and hesitated a moment.
"Now, here we come on an issue, many of the paintings in your collection have suffered from age and neglect, some have lost their value entirely, while others should be salvageable, if this where a collection of the royal family or a noble i would suggest paying for the cost of maintenance and restoration by displaying some pieces in a museum."
There was an angry gleam in Tryvalstadt's eye, but it had promised not to take out any emotions on me, so i felt, well, i was scared but not so much that i collapsed.
I quickly moved on to the next collection of unusual treasures "Now, these skeletons are fairly well preserved, i suspect the conditions of your cave where more favourable to them than the cloth of paintings, their monetary value is not so great, but culturally these are quite valuable, like the paintings these could be displayed in a museum, the human bones are however not something i would put on display, i understand these where heroic adversaries, but other than an emotional value i cannot say they are worth much."
I felt as if Tryvalstadt understood what i said, as it nodded once again, this time without notable emotion.
I strongly suggested seeking out a curator to arange for some of his collection to be lent to a museum, and moved on.
Hours later i had appraised both collections in bulk as well as individual artifacts, and was quite tired, but Tryvalstadt had one last collection to show me, it led me deep into the cave where it was warm and comfortable, an underground garden decorating the expansion, and the dragon gently pushed open a banded wooden door.
I was speechless for a moment before i gave my honest appraisal "Sir Tryvalstadt, i cannot reasonably put a price on this... collection, though i suspect you could theoretically earn a large sum if you ransomed these princesses back to their countries, and i would advise against displaying them in a museum."
|
(This story is the third part of a much longer story I am currently working on. You can read the previous chapter [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/whcxyq/comment/ijb6yoy/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3). Also, this story is from Wildfire the dragon's perspective and not the appraiser.)
Flaime's death still burns, but I must acknowledge his rather great hoard. Dragon law dictates in the event of death, the hoard must first be brought to the oldest hatchling. If there are no hatchlings the hoard goes to the oldest sibling, and so on. As I am Flaime's only sibling, and he never had any hatchlings, I am the one to inherit his hoard.
Funny how differently we play the hoard game. I've always just focused on the "dragonslayers" as they usually brought their strongest armor and weaponry (which sells for a lot in the dragon market) but a few years ago I decided this was no longer worth the effort. Meanwhile Flaime pillaged and plundered for his hoard, and I guess danger was always in his blood. He fought much harder than I did in the battle, persevering even when they overburned some of his blood with a blazing arrow. His fire jets were brilliant, far beyond my ability.
But no matter. I must get the hoard appraised before I inherit it. And although Kacir the knight may not be an appraiser, he can tell someone else.
My left wing is still covered in bandages from the battle. It might take me a year to fly again. So I walked, step by step, toward the kingdom.
I didn't even reach the outskirts when I was greeted by Kacir, who I told to contact an appraiser to check on the hoard, who eventually came to me.
It didn't take too long to get back, and thanks to a bit of cooperation the appraiser didn't have too much to worry about either.
"So, first of all, I'm very sorry about your brother," he started. "I saw the state you two were in and tried to help. I really did. But I could not help."
That face was a familiar one. I saw him in the aftermath of the battle, trying to coordinate efforts among healing the injured. He was helping people in aiding an ice dragon that was slashed across the leg. Although she went on to try healing Flaime, I learned she also died of her injuries in her cave.
"You are a brave one," I told him. "You helped us dragons even when we were in dire condition. But the hoard must now be called into question. Flaime never thought of the future and collected without thinking of how it depreciates. I don't even think some of his hoard is actually worth anything."
This was delicate business. One error and I would lose the only opportunity I have to assimilate the hoard into my own, honoring both Flaime and all those that died to protect the kingdom. And I assume he knows that too since he brought extremely precise equipment, manually inspecting each and every coin, gem, and treasure.
Then he moved onto the more unusual treasures.
"Why is there an entire pile of nothing but extremely burnt bones?" the appraiser asked. There were skulls, legs, hands, and even an entire skeleton in a singular neat pile. We both agreed to not assign them any value and moved on to... glass windows.
"I guess this is why Flaime never talked about his hoard," I spoke to lighten the mood a bit. He never did, and when asked anything about his hoard only spoke of his towering gold. I never suspected he hid these unusual items.
In the end we sorted through all the items and the hoard's total value exacted mine. I decided to set aside the more esoteric items into a separate pile and integrate the treasures into my own pile, which I meticulously separated myself by type.
I only hope that Flaime would approve of this.
| 2022-08-08T13:41:44
| 2022-08-08T12:18:26
| 62
| 30
|
[WP] You’re a hitman who’s “hits” survive your assassination attempts, despite your sincere best efforts, only to die soon after each attempt by comical forces outside your control. The hitman community can’t be convinced you’re not the most creative comically effective assassin alive.
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Part 7: Tupperman v.s. Slapstick)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**After a long day of wrangling actually competent superheroes and villains, I just wanted a return to normalcy.** So it was almost a relief when I got a call about yet another inane, amusingly weak wannabe supervillain on the way home.
"He calls himself Slapstick," Tupperman said.
I slammed the brakes as a car shot by, running a red light right across 5th street, and swore under my breath. You would think that being the Mayor of the city would give me some special privileges when it came to traffic. "Let me guess: his power is clown materialization."
"Nope."
"The power to make anything funny?"
"He'd be a TV star, not a supervillain, if that was the case." Tupperman paused. "Although there *is* some overlap."
"Telepathically-induced tickles?"
"You're thinking of Molestoman."
"Wait, that's a real thing?" I snorted. "God, I hate this city."
"Nah. You'd have resigned long ago if you did. No, he's got some kind of weak reality manipulation. If he tries to off someone, he always fails—in the short term. But if you wait a few minutes, then the victim gets crushed by a falling anvil, or get exploded by conveniently misplaced dynamite, or trampled by a stampede of ducks. Something comical, over-the-top, and that, well... screams Slaptsick."
"Yeesh." I shuddered as I turned a left. Nasty power, that. "I think I would've noticed if any of those happened in my town; I assume he's not a local, then?"
"No. Hired hitman from out of town."
"Mm. You happen to know who he's contracted to hit?" I asked.
"No," Tupperman admitted. "I may be a supervillain, but Tupperware materialization doesn't help me hack into online forums or shake information loose from recalcitrant brokers."
"Recalcitrant," I said, sounding out the word in my mouth. "You know, if I didn't know better, Tupperman, I'd say you decided to actually finish your middle-school education."
"I got me a word-a-day calendar," Tupperman cheerfully said. "So, anyway. I just thought I'd warn you—I set a little, ah, *trap* for our would-be killer."
"I assume that whatever you've set up is entirely illegal, indispensably useful, and more of a hassle to dismantle than it is to turn a blind eye to?" I deadpanned. Some kind of roadwork was going on up ahead, with a crane hauling bundles of materials.
"Aw, you sure know how to make a man blush, Clara," Tupperman said. I rolled my eyes; Tupperman knew that his vigilante position outside the law was too useful for me to actually crack down on arresting him, and he milked it for every drop it was worth. "Yeah, in terms of comical deaths, there isn't much better you can do than being crushed by ten tons of falling Tupperware. I materialized a big ol' stash of the stuff on the intersection of Trelawn and 5th; assuming Slapstick's power tries to dump it on his would-be victim, I'll just dematerialize the Tupperware, save the poor sap's life, and find out who Slapstick is here to kill."
I froze. "...the intersection of Trelawn and 5th?"
"...yes, what of it?"
"I'm there right now."
At that moment, the cable on the crane above me snapped.
Tupperman swore over the phone line; the ten tons of Tupperware he'd materialized onto the crane fell faster than the stock market after Lady Luck was done with it. I ducked down, slamming the brakes and putting my hands over the back of my neck to brace myself—
And then there was silence. Tupperman exhaled. "Don't worry. I dematerialized it in time."
I looked up, shaken; true to his word, the falling Tupperware had disappeared back into whatever pocket dimension Tupperman drew his powers from. "...Thanks, Tupperman. I owe you one."
"How about you see to making sure whatever building company this is doesn't sue my pants off, eh?" Tupperman convivially chimed. We let out a shaky laugh together.
Then I sobered up. "...So. I guess we found out who Slapstick's here to kill," I said.
"Yeah." Tupperman grimaced. "Any idea why?"
Well. It could've been any number of things—my opposition to Federal Law No. 8 of 2023, that time I restored Awe's powers to her, my protection of Lady Luck, my talks of Death—but there was really only one group who would've taken offense to something I'd done and decided to send a hired gun after me. "...I think I have an inkling of an idea."
"Oh?"
I swallowed. "You know how I pissed off the Chief of Homeland Defense?"
"Clara," Tupperman said, "*no.* The Federal government is so full of assholes they look like rectal Swiss cheese, but the government does *not* assassinate problematic politicians. This is the Unified Sovereignties. We're a civilized country."
"Well, *someone* hired Slapstick to kill me," I snapped. "You got any better ideas?"
Static.
"Right." I grimaced. "Regardless of who they are, someone's sniping at me." I went into reverse. "That means they could go after the people I care about."
"Well, I'm touched that you care so much about me," Tupperman began.
"Not you," I muttered. "I'm worried about my daughter."
"Oh, *shoot.*" Tupperman hesitated, then said, "...This is important, and you might need firepower. I'm coming with you." I saw a figure leap from the top of a building, then dance on air towards my car, plates of Tupperware materializing and vanishing to form an ephemeral staircase.
"Thanks, Tupperman." I revved my engine. "Let's go check on how dear old Janus is doing, shall we?"
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for more information, and check out r/bubblewriters for more of my writing. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
|
Flint wasn't the assassin you hired when you wanted efficiency. But he was handy when you wanted it to look like an accident. Unfortunately, this is not the reputation Flint was trying for.
Flint had his target in his sights. Jerry. Someone who has become embarrassing for his client. Jerry needed to be made silent. Terminally.
Flint's finger moved to the trigger and a gentle squeeze.
Once again, fate stepped in. Jerry stopped and bent over to tie his shoe. The shot sailing over his head and instead striking a pole, ricocheting off and striking a truck as it moved past.
Jerry moved quickly, he heard the bang and he knew it was meant for him.
No point in trying again today. Jerry would be on too much alert to get a good shot.
Jerry got to his apartments. Moving day for one of his neighbours. The damn lift was broken again so he took the stairs.
IT was as he was climbing from the 2nd floor to the 3rd floor he heard a shout. "SHIT! THE STRAP BROKE! LOOK OUT!"
It was too late for Jerry. The fridge, after the constant banging on the steps from being dragged up on a dolly, broke for freedom.
On inspection there appeared to be damage to the straps and oddly a bullet-hole in the side of the moving truck.
Another successful hit. Flint's reputation remained intact.
| 2021-12-27T10:40:51
| 2021-04-04T16:09:46
| 243
| 28
|
[WP] You've never felt the same after learning Morse Code. The rain keeps telling you to run.
|
I've never felt the same since learning Morse Code. The rain keeps telling me to run.
Me and my relatively large family live in the outskirts of London, so we get rained on quite often. All my younger siblings love the rain, and each time they hear the slightest tap on the roof or spot the tiniest drop on the windows, they frantically climb into their rain jackets and jump into their boots, dashing out the front door almost at the same time.
I used to join them, I would get excited when I saw a puddle for us to play in and would call them over so we could splash eachover enough to feel ill the next morning. Although, as much as I try to enjoy myself nowadays I can't step outside into the water wonderland with my siblings without hearing the rains message.
|
Davie was fascinated with the power of the Morse Code. It can help you in such a situation, that you can pass a note using your fingers or any objects on your hand and tap it as it had a letter meaning, Davie thought 'Why not learn it? I have nothing else to do.' Davie began to research Morse Code, the dot and dash meaning equal to its letter on the sheet. After almost a week, a storm passed by to their town. Laying beside the table near the window, listening to the news about the planet's status. Climate change has been really bad, only a few individuals only pay attention to their planet's home.
Davie was one of the people who were between, they cares about it but sometimes not. The rain pours slowly and the grey clouds hug around Davie's small town. Davie keeps in mind the sounds of the bleeps in Morse Code. They didn't mind at the first drops of the rain until their mind claps around the same *tap* on the ground. 'Interesting' Davie thought. Davie stopped what they were doing and began to focus on the sounds of the rain. Tap. Tap... Tap. Resembles the letter R. Davie's eyes widen that it really rhythms to the Morse Code then another letter taps. Davie continues to focus on and try to solve. But failed, the rain poured heavy and wind shaking the near trees around their home. Davie, thought it was just a coincidence. After a while, Davie's mind went off about the rain earlier.
A few weeks have passed and a small storm was coming up, Davie still learning more about the letter's sounds in Morse Code meanwhile the individuals (people) are just minding their own business, as usual, trying to solve their daily life problems about bills and others. But Davie's mind got a flashback about the last few week's storm as the raindrops started to pour. Davie tried to wipe the thought and proceed with what they were doing. After a while Davie's mind keeps hearing the letter R, then an N. And a U. 'RNU?' Davie thought, thinking it might have a meaning like the U.S.A = United States of America. Davie tries to solve what might the RNU means. 'Republic National Up...no that's doesn't sound right. Maybe Republic National...' Which Davie stopped. And try to focus again on the rain.
'R...U...N' Davie thought chuckling turns into confusion and fright to Davie's guts. "Run," Davie said slowly. A thunder strikes where Davie's electricity had downed, Davie quickly get their phone and open the flashlight on it, trying to contact someone as the clouds turns to a darker pink/orange/red shade, and the rain keeps on pouring and pouring. After a while, the rain cleared around 8 minutes on the clock of Davie's phone. A big blast explosion existing in the skies. A light that made Davie duck and covers to safely. 'A nuclear attack?' Davie thought. 'That's not possible, maybe a terrorist attack?' Davie's mind keeps telling in such possibilities what the explosion might mean. Davie didn't know that the sun has been exploded and turns into a red big dwarf.
| 2021-09-28T09:11:59
| 2021-09-28T08:56:15
| 30
| 16
|
[WP]: Everyone got a tiny, mundane blessing when they were born. Usually they are so small that people don't even notice them - always hitting the green light in traffic, etc. Yours would be virtually useless, but you figured out a creative loophole that allowed you to rise to the top of the world.
|
I used to find my gift difficult. Whenever we were reading in class, or even when I read back my own work, there it was glaring at me. I used to ignore it as best I could because no one liked when I mentioned what I saw. People would be angry at me for trying to correct them. That is, until I started learning to code. My code was always perfect after a single review, it compiled and ran beautifully. I studied Computer Science at university for a level of credibility but I found it so much easier than my classmates who would get immeasurably frustrated with their assignments. My popularity soared after I started helping them check and correct their work.
After graduating university with the top score of my year, I easily got into a very high paying job. All the interacting with others I had done at university did great things for my social skills and I found myself being well-known, well-liked and successful. Starting my own business was clearly the next step. Giving my work over to others to complete was difficult as I knew it would be much slower for them, but I just completed all the final checks of work before it went out.
You see, my gift is spotting errors in written languages.
\[At most times in history I figure this would have been virtually useless, but these days very useful!\]
|
I was told I was blessed with a green thumb, when I was the only kid in my preschool who didnt kill their plant. This made my grandpa very happy.
Grandpa was a man I loathed in my younger years, someone who always smelled of cigars and hands where always covered in dirt, even after washing up for supper time. From as early as I could remember my grandpa had a vegtible garden and every sunday we'd eat fresh vegetables from the garden, along with some meat from the deep freeze or that my uncle had caught the previous day.
When I was old enough to pick up a trow, I found myself spending time in that garden, tilling, planting, and helping the garden grow. I didn't know that my time in that place I loathed would ever amount to anything later in life. My grandpa's garden would thrive every year until the summer I spent with my aunt and her two boys down at their lake house.
Grandpa said that the haul wouldn't be as good in the years past, there would be less to sell and he was glad when I returned.
Again the garden florished, with my sun soaked skin back in the field. We even expanded it, taking over most of the back yard, excluding grandma's flowers which where thriving as well. I was really convinced at this point that my presence helped the garden grow, that this was my mundane blessing.
That was till grandpa fell ill, the years of smoking taking to his lungs, leaving him unable to tend to the garden, grandma was there, but only able to water it. I visited him over a long weekend and saw the state of the garden I had revived not a few years ago. It was then that my blessing was really shown to me for the garden with watering alone had survived.
I switched to online classes to finish my bachelor's, and took my uncles childhood room at the house, bringing the garden back and better then ever, some of the plants in the newer addition where noticablly thriving compared to the old plot, the only difference was I was the one who planted those seeds. I took some seeds at the end of the harvest and put them on the planter outside my window. Oddly enough I knew where to plant them to make them grow to thier full potential.
Switching my degree was the smartest move of my life, with grandpa's passing I was left with a trust fund to pay my way through school and give me the knowledge that I now desired. I increased my plant knowledge 100 fold and began to make my own seeds, getting a grant and then a lab of my own, knowing exactly which batches would thrive and be reproduced, until I had super seeds that could survive in the harshest conditions and the most bountiful harvests. With that, came the riches and the glory.
Grandpa's love for gardening wore off on me and much to my surprise,my favor wasnt a green thumb, but a knack for plant perfection.
| 2018-06-30T15:56:32
| 2018-06-30T13:56:55
| 263
| 173
|
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.
|
The ocean was calm.
For the first time in its' lifespan, for that matter.
There sat the hooded being, at the bottom of the vast ocean where the ill of the world above - the soot, the ash, the char - would not reach.
A small, white polyp, attached to the ocean floor, waiting until it was ready to become [life](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turritopsis_dohrnii) once more.
The very small patch of kelp was kept there only by the sheer will of the Reaper, its cloak holding the horror of the tainted waters at bay.
Oh, how it burned.
Oh, how it *all* burned.
But it was its' duty, after all. For what is Death without life?
It'd have smirked, had it a face. It'd been formed by the perception of man, but they no longer held it in their memories. It was little more than a concept, somewhere in the back of the minds of primitive beings. The dark area beyond home. The unseen crevice where beasts lie.
How ironic it was.
Life did go out with a bang.
And here we were, whimpering.
Death sat by the polyp, trying to think of a name for the thing.
It'd have to find *some* way to entertain himself.
It'd be here for some time.
|
The world was silent after the cataclysm. No birds chirped, for there were no birds. No leaves were heard rustling in the wind, for there were no trees. No cars or trains were heard in the cities, for the cities were buried in ash and rock. Only Death remained.
In a small cave buried deep into the earth, the cultists of Death were performing a ritual. They sat in a circle around a pentacle drawn with blood onto the floor, deep in their trance. Blood ran down their forearms, and heavy black cowls covered their heads. There were twenty-six of them - thirteen men and thirteen women - as is written in the Book of Rituals. In the middle of the pentacle lay a single human skull.
The cultists began to sway back and forth and chant in a strange, alien tongue. Their leader, a tall man with red veins embroidered on his robes, stood up and strode into the middle of the pentacle. He picked up the skull, and with his other hand raised high a small iron knife. He held up the skull to his throat and with one swift motion, slit it, showering the skull with blood.
The chanting stopped.
The cultist fell, but the skull stayed hovering in the air. Thick black smoke rose up from the ground and congealed into a tall, thin figure, with the skull as its head. In its right hand it held a bone scythe as tall as it, its shaft decorated with dancing skeletons. Twenty-five cultists looked upon the face of Death.
A single cultist stood up and threw back her robe. Her pale head was shaved, and her lips were stained with blood. "Master!", she cried, her high voice echoing throughout the cave, "We have given you the greatest offering! The world lays barren, and now you rule. No more shall the living trouble you with their petty hopes and worries. When we give ourselves to you, there shall be only Death!"
Death was angry. The past day was a complete nightmare, even by his standards. He had had to work the entire day, reaping each and every soul in the goddamn world, all because of this group of clowns. To top it all off, when he'd finally found the time to rest, they had dragged him out of his bed and forcefully summoned him into the world for the first time in three millennia. Strife must have felt real clever when he put *that* incantation in his little joke of a ritual book.
"Put those knives away", said Death, "If I have to reap one more soul today I'm going to fucking explode. Now burn that Book of Rituals and get your lives in order."
"But Master, I do not understand. The Book says that when the skies turn red and the cities turn to ash, you will-"
"That book wasn't written by me. It was given to you by the lowly spirit of Strife to try and get on my nerves. And it seems to be working. Now stop killing people, that's my job."
"My whole life has been a lie!", cried one of the cultists, and before anyone could stop him, he lifted his knife and plunged it into his heart.
Death didn't move. The cultist didn't die. Blood seeped out of the wound and soaked his robes, and his cries of pain rang through the cave.
"That's it, this is the last fucking straw", Death finally said, "If any other spirit wants to come down and deal with you shitheads, they can do it right now. You hear that!?", he screamed up at the ceiling, "I quit!"
He raised up his scythe and smashed it into the wall. Bone shards flew everywhere. The cultists stood back, unsure what to do. "Please master", one of them began to say, but the spirit had already vanished. A single human skull clattered onto the floor.
| 2017-08-11T06:44:41
| 2017-08-11T04:41:07
| 312
| 79
|
[WP] Kanye West is one of the four Kanye's. The other three being Kanye North, Kanye South, and Kanye East. More commonly known as the Four Kanye's of the Apocalypse.
What terrors and plagues will the Kanyes unleash in the end times?
Edit: I love the responses! This became unexpectedly popular! Thanks to all!
|
And lo, I am standing before a door of immense Light, like that of the power of ten thousand fiery suns. The Angel leadth me through the door and on the other side lies an immense valley, two and forty leagues across with vast peaks on either side. This valley hath no plants nor beasts for it hath been scorched by the Light. At the northern end of this valley layeth a city who's name is Helike, and at the end of days this city shall rule the barren land with a fist of iron. It shalt not refrain from any depravity or offence, for this city hath forsaken the Prophecy, and for this reason it hath been proclaimed that at the end of days this monument to sin shalt be the first to fall.
I turned to the Angel and though the passage of time hath not advanced by even a second I see the Valley of Light many millennia as it is in the Year of Our Lord one billion years hence from our time of departure. The Angel tells me that the end of days will shortly be upon us, and to fear the Beast that riseth from the Valley shortly. I observe in the centre of the sprawling metropolis a vast chasm, and from this chasm cometh the Beast and his brethren, the Four Kanyes of the Apocalypse.
Kanye the West is the first to riseth from the pit, he shalt rule the Earth for nine and sixty centuries. His plague is a a plague of a thousand bitches. These bitches shalt be the most ratchet of all the whores, and no good girls shalt be present in the Kingdom for all his reign. When nine and sixty centuries is over, Kanye the West shalt abdicate his dark throne and return to the Chasm. His successor shalt be Kanye the South, and his plague shalt be worse than was hitherto conceived of by mortal men. The fish of the sea shalt rise from their watery dwelling and be present on the land. These fish will fornicate with human members of their own sex before their death, for gills cannot take oxygen from our atmosphere. For another nine and sixty centuries the putrid stench of the fish of the seas shall intoxicate mankind, until the coming of the Beast, and the Tribulations and all that shit. Thou shalt not add to these prophecies lest he be added to the bedpost notches of the ratchet whores, nor shalt thou taketh anything from this text lest he be taken away to the Chasm, in which lie Kanye the North and East, who's plagues are too obscene for this work.
|
Contrary to what end-times preachers might have predicted, the apocalypse came not with the second coming of Jesus, but with the first coming of Yeezus.
Kanye West's new album was a huge success, not only financially, but also critically. It was hailed by many as 2013's best album, and praised for its raw, gritty sound and engaging lyrics.
Of course, there can never be only one.
Kanye liked to believe that he was the realest, the swaggiest, the best of all time (of all time), but, inconceivably to him, he was wrong. He was perhaps the most modest of them all, because soon, three new forces erupted onto the rap scene: Kanye North, Kanye South, and Kanye East.
North was brazen, brash, and bold. While West hailed from California, North hailed from Canada -- he had double West's swagger, not to mention an excess of bitches, sticky with maple syrup, who would "eh" at his command.
South was as loud as a vuvuzela, and even more obnoxious. Hailing from South Africa, this Kanye was famous for buzzing his lips like the instrument during his blistering raps. He also threw in extensive references to his country's history, with such lines as "Bitch, you best believe what I tell ya/Liberate yo pussy like my name Nelson Mandela," which, although controversial, also boosted his popularity greatly.
East was perhaps the most insane of them all. Hailing from the Far East (specifically China), East would often rap about how difficult it was to grow up as a black kid in the slums of China. East's fast-paced raps jeered blatantly at Chinese culture, causing him to be reviled by the government and celebrated by China's rebellious youth.
As was to be expected, this led to intense competition. Each rapper put out more and more daring singles, more and more profound lyrics, more and more earth-shattering records, until it was clear that there was only one way to settle the score.
The four Kanye's declared that they were each the best, and they would end the world just to prove it.
The historic event was scheduled, and at 1:00 PM EST, the Rap Battle began in West's hometown of Atlanta Georgia. Everyone who wasn't already there had tuned in to watch on their televisions.
West took the mic first.
"Aha, this the real Kanye
comin' to you live,
you should be honored by my presence, you peasants,
I do it right
Cuz I'm a god, I'm immortal, swagger on infinity
Pussy-ass bitches thinkin' that they can step to me
I'ma let y'all finish this business and say ya lines
But how you think you gonna beat the best of all time!
Ah!"
With that, West dropped the mic. Although he hadn't noticed, the crowd had dispersed, as the ground had begun to quake under West's mighty rapping power.
North retrieved the mic and said his piece.
"Kanye North in the house,
I'm the realest there is,
I'm from Canada -- I got stanzas plantin' a cap in yo rhymes;
Drown in money, bathe in syrup, got them hoes all the time;
Hockey beast, walkin' priest, preach the gospel on maple leafs;
Defeat East, fuck up South, and Kanye West, you shut yo mouth;
Cuz I'm the realest real that you ever gonna see
All y'all pussy mothafuckas can't even touch me!
Eh!"
North thrust the mic at the ground as nearby buildings crumbled under his awesome power. The crowd had run far away, screaming, but this didn't deter South, who summoned the microphone to his hand simply with his psychic powers.
South began his verse.
*To be continued later when I'm not so tired... If anyone wants to, feel free to pick up the mic and write your own ending.*
| 2022-01-09T07:44:50
| 2014-06-11T13:10:23
| 246
| 73
|
[WP] Nonfiction - Tell Us About Your First kiss.
Or, if you must, tell us about *a* first kiss. Either way, it has to have actually happened.
Edit: You guys are wonderful, keep 'em coming!
|
I was a sophomore in high school on summer break. My two sisters were in college, and my parents thought it a good idea for me to spend a week with them... get some of that "college experience."
Bloomington, Indiana is a nice town. The scenery is pretty, and the IU campus is a pleasure to walk in. IU's party scene is... well... slightly more intense than the normal college.
My sisters decided that I would need to go to a college party. My clothes were currently in the wash, so I had to wear some of my sister's boyfriend's clothing.
The party was a relatively modest house party, with no more than 15 people present. Of course, as soon as I was there, I was the star. "This kid needs to get DRUNK!" "Yeah, let's corrupt him! WOOOO!"
It started off with a shot of whiskey, then a beer, and past that my memory is spotty. I didn't want to drink, but in that situation, I had to.
Everybody else, however, was drinking FAR MORE than I was, and FAR MORE then they needed to to get to the desired level of inebriation.
Then it came. My sister, behind me, saw me in her boyfriend's clothes. Without warning, I felt a hand on my ass and a tender kiss on my face.
The look on her face made the whole ordeal worth it.
|
I met her my sophomore year, in Art. We didn't talk a whole lot, except to occasionally comment on each other's work.
Flash forward a few months. I'm in Theater, and I become friends with the girl who made costumes for the play we were doing. It turns out this girl is the other girl's best friend, and I slowly become part of their friend group.
Then it is Summer. The four of us - me, the girl, her best friend, and our other friend - hang out almost every other day. We become inseparable. Slowly, I start realizing I have a huge crush on this girl. It should be noted that I had had a thing for another girl for years before this, but that suddenly stopped mattering to me, because I was hanging out with her and we were close and it was great.
Now it is Autumn. Still in Theater, I get a role in the school play, The Crucible. One Saturday about a week before the shoe goes up, she asks me if I want to hang out at school before rehearsal (which went from five to around ten). At this point, I've come to the realization (and by this I mean I basically had to straight up ask her, only I did it anonymously over Tumblr, but whatever it still freaked me out) that she has a thing for me too, and I say sure. My dad picks her up and drops me and her off at school, handing me some cash in case we got hungry - there's a Sonic just down the street from the school.
We go to the theater room, and no one is there. This doesn't really surprise either of us, but we walk around for a while anyway. Eventually we make our way to the prop room and chill on the couch up there for a while. We've turned out the lights cause we're tired or whatever, and we're just laying there cuddling.
I turn to face her. She doesn't say anything. My heart pounding in my chest, I lean in the slightest bit. Still nothing. Further. Silence.
Now my head is about to explode. Summoning up the last of my courage, I leaned in the rest of the way. My lips pressed softly against hers, and I could feel her smile. We kissed again, and again, I can barely breath and oh my god there's tongue and it's the best feeling I've ever experienced in my life.
We break away after a few minutes. I attempt to catch my breath. I wrap my arms around her and kiss her again.
| 2014-04-01T07:36:00
| 2014-04-01T07:34:50
| 38
| 11
|
[WP] You have a literal Trump Card. When played, Donald Trump appears to assist you.
|
Because the Yu-Gi-Oh tie in was inevitable:
____
Pegasus laughs maniacally. "For all your skill, Yugi-boy, you'll still be sent to the shadow zone. Go! Blue-Eyes Toon Dragon! attack his lifepoints directly!"
A grin crosses yugi's face. "You fool! You've activated my *TRUMP CARD!*!"
"Your futile attempts to stall won't dissuade me! My millennium eye sees all, and you have no trap cards left to play! You're so afraid you can't even pronounce 'trap card' correctly!"
A short bark of laughter escapes Yugi. "Oh, I said exactly what I meant to."
*"Great unstumpable one, make America great again! Halt those who wish to enter my territory! Build wall!"*
With an almighty flash, Donald Trump appears on the playing field, towering over both combatants. His hand reaches out and smashes Blue-Eyes Toon Dragon flat, dissipating the monster into holographic crystal shards.
"How could this be!?" A look of complete incredulity is pasted on Pegasus's face.
Yugioh points (dramatically, of course) at Pegasus. "Pegasus, your reign of terror is over!"
Trump roars, shaking the very foundations of Duelist Kingdom.
"You're Fired!"
|
I did not believe the tarot reader when she handed me the card, she said it was a gift of good fortune.
I hastily stuffed it into my wallet and left. Later that evening, after a fine meal of yodels and chocolate milk, I felt intense intestinal discomfort. I still had some ways to go until I would be in the sanctuary of my own home.
Distressed I made my way to a gas station along the route home and thankfully they had a bathroom, unfortunately it was the dismal and unkempt. I had no time to be choosy so I sat and made quick work of the discomfort I was feeling. I went aghast finding there was no toilet paper in these facilities.
My God, what had I done. I was trapped and feeling quite despondent when I remembered the card I was given. The tarot reader had said that if I used the card properly I could get the aid of whomever was on it. I raced to find the card in my wallet and withdrew it to see whose image it held.
I was in shock to see it was Donald Trump, and knowing the magnitude of his personality and the acumen of his being I knew there was only one proper way to handle the situation. I separated the layers of the card into a three-ply configuration and let the Donald provide more public service in a few short moments than he has performed in his lifetime.
I let him rest atop his new luxury submarine and launched them on their maiden voyage to a place he could comfortably call home. For the first time in my life I finally had a way to appreciate the Donald.
| 2015-12-26T08:59:28
| 2015-12-26T06:46:30
| 562
| 125
|
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
|
Aaron had had plenty of time to consider what his last meal would be while on trial for triple homicide. Aaron had gone from 'rambunctious child', to 'teenage delinquent', finally to cunning career criminal; and was feared in the underworld and so-called 'normal society' alike. He wasn't sorry for his crimes; nor was he interested in playing games like previous death row inmates. He scoffed; no matter how creative their requests had been, the system won in the end. He had watched his previous cell mate worry himself half crazy while waiting to see if his request for dragon steak would set him free.
Aaron cared little for experiencing that kind of maddening wait. He also didn't think much of being 'free' in a world that would likely shun and reject him. Aaron wanted to sow one last seed of chaos before he left the world.
Aaron chuckled as he was led to the kitchen to discuss his last meal with the chef. Radiating evil glee, Aaron looked the Michelin starred chef the prison kept on retainer in the eye as he demanded:
"12 deep-fried 9 volt batteries. With a balsamic reduction."
His maniacal laughter almost drowned the screams of rage that emanated from chef Gordon.
|
Ugly Willy, that was his name, was about to get killed, after 34 years awaiting the death sentence he had been issued by the supreme court of alabama. He had kill 3 babies in a satanic ritual, and ate their freshly dead bodies. Although, he always had thought highly of himself, thinking that he was a pretty cool guy, easy going and fun to hang out with. Now, he knew his last chance was to order something to eat that nobody on earth could ever find for him. And, he had a pretty good idea. An alive baby. He was winning on every point, if they could not, he was free, if they could, at least he would be able to enjoy his favorite meal before going to hell...
They came early in the morning, and here it was, a cute little baby, with great blue eyes and blond hair, on a plate, laughing and giggling, not aware of the terrible fate awaiting him. Ugly Willy was salivating. As soon as he began spreading ketchup all over his food, he heard the familliar sound of a key inside the lock of his door's cell.
"How the fuck could have you let him get that poor kid ?"
It was Archibald Monk the jail's director, with a guard.
"I am sorry mr Monk, but if we had not did it he would have been set free !"
"Are you mad ? Free him then. And get that baby back where he belongs !"
"All right mr director".
The first thing Ugly Willy did when he was free was to eat a baby burger with a lot of ketchup.
| 2022-07-17T20:40:56
| 2022-07-17T20:03:06
| 17
| 10
|
[WP] On your 21st birthday, your biggest accomplishment becomes your official title - no matter how trivial. You wait anxiously in line for your village elder, Glenda, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets In A Single Sitting, to assign you your new title.
|
It was my birthday. Well, it wasn't must mine - a few other young men and women were born twenty-one years ago today. We had that in common, along with the creeping dread about our titles.
Every person, upon turning twenty-one, was granted a title. It was supposed to reflect the greatest accomplishment of your youth - to give you something to reflect on as you grew, and a bar to exceed as you built a life. It was a tradition left over from a very long time ago, when we considered people adults at thirteen, and twenty-one was something like middle age. As the world got more complicated, and safer as well, the twenty-one year old villagers were barely adults. We'd had precious little chance to accomplish anything, and the titles were becoming something else - even shameful, in some cases.
I watched as the line moved forward. The Oracle, Glenda:Devourer of Fifty-Three-Chicken-Nuggets-In-A-Single-Sitting, took each youth by the hands, and stared into their eyes. Then, in a voice not quite her own, she announced the new title.
Jennifer, four spaces ahead of me in line, had performed CPR on her uncle when he'd had a heart attack. She was named "Jennifer:Who-Saved-A-Dying-Man".
Harold, three spaces a head of me was not so lucky. I had no idea what his title was going to be, and I wanted to weep for him when I heard her announce, "Harold: Best-At-Masturbation". No one spoke, there were no jeers or sniggers. All who were older had stood there fearing something similar, and all who were younger feared it for themselves.
Two spaces ahead was John, who was given the enviable title, "John:Strongest In His School". There was much cheering here. No one would jeer a strange, or pathetic title, but many would congratulate a commendable one.
The saddest case was right in front of me. Alan. Poor Alan, who had the worst luck. I don't just mean the title - I mean his life, which led up to his title, "Alan:Survivor-Against-Long-Odds". If anything bad could happen, it happened to Alan. The illnesses, the accidents. Which were almost as bad as the 'accidents'. His parents had been real angels (before they'd had an accident of their own, and gone there), but not the kind you'd find in Heaven. Things had gotten better for Alan after that, and he'd gone to live with his Aunt. He had fewer bruises and 'fell down' far less often these days, but he still tended to flinch at a loud noise. It's a small village, everyone knew what was going on, and pretended they didn't. I had half hoped someone would get the title, 'Most-Self-Deluded'.
I knew all about Alan and had guessed roughly what his title would be. and I knew what my title was going to be too. It was pretty easy to guess, if you had actually accomplished something - few of us had more than one significant accomplishment. I had been dreading this for three years. I even thought about running. I thought of refusing the Ceremony, and enduring the ostracism that would result. I though of running a way to another village or town, and lying about my title, or pretending to be from one of the growing number of places that had discarded the practice altogether.
I thought about it, but I didn't do it. Instead, I walked toward Glenda, who was a beautiful woman these days, despite the implied gluttony of her title. I walked past Alan and his now-permanently-memorialized tragedy, past John and his superlative. I marched resolutely past poor Harold, who would never live this down, and past Jennifer, the only one of us with a title really worth having.
I put my hands in Glenda's, and met her eyes, and felt her look into me. She closed her eyes, and announced in her oracular voice: "this is Jeremy: Who-Got-Away-With-Murder".
|
Custom and tradition, which interleaved every facet of life for the dozen villages spread throughout the Darrowshire plains, accounted for many of the interesting practices unique to the locale.
These included the almost reverential regard for hunting, the marking of coming of age by bequeathing a title reflecting the person's greatest achievement at that stage in life, and of course, the periodic wars wrought as the villages sought to expand their influence and territories.
For hundreds of years, the dozen villages took turns to wax and wane in prestige, and on average each village spent about ten years at the top of the pack before the next war saw it being displaced by the next strongest village.
So how does one account for the anomaly, where the Dalton village not only rose to become the strongest village in centuries, but also ultimately the village which united all the others?
Historians believe that it began with Glenn, the 35th village chief, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets In A Single Sitting. Evidence suggests that it was under his watchful eye that the foremost champions of the next generation were cultivated.
It was, actually, his wife, Becky, who played a much bigger role than anyone could have imagined.
---
"Step forward, and be ready with your tablet," intoned Glenn sonorously from the stage. Becky stood quietly by his side.
It was another Naming Day, one of twelve in the year, where all the younglings born in that month stepped forward when they came of age to receive their titles. Today, it was Henry who was first in line, worry etched into every expression he wore on his face.
"Henry Vume, name your accomplishments, so that I may pick your title for you."
He replied, hesitantly, already preparing himself for the scorn and ridicule about to float up from his peers behind him.
"Erm... I once helped my parents manage the family expenses for a month, when both my parents fell ill. I also once categorised all the flowers in the woods, because, well, I like them..."
In a way, he had already resigned himself to his fate. Not every child was special, and try as he did to develop himself, he was who he was. These were his greatest accomplishments, so be it.
Henry squeezed his eyes shut, ready for the worst.
"Very well, henceforth will you be Henry Vume, Picker of Flowers."
The shame burned his face, and he wanted to do nothing more than turn and run. The sniggers from his peers was already floating through the air, assaulting his ears.
And he would have left, but for Becky's firm hand on his shoulder. He turned, surprised. There wasn't supposed to be anything else to the ceremony.
"Henry, not so fast. When you picked the forest clean, could you tell the difference between the flowers?"
"Difference?... Yes, I suppose."
"Which were sweet, which were colourful... Even which were dangerous, poisonous?"
"Yes, in fact," said Henry, some of the confidence returning. This was his area of expertise, after all. "The Hudleys you have to avoid the most. They are small, white, plain and easy to miss, but their sap stings badly, and I've seen forest animals die from eating them."
Becky smiled, and she lowered her voice, speaking almost in a hush, only for Henry to hear.
"No one is ever useless, Henry. Your title is just that, a title. It will not define you - you define your title. Be proud of who you are, develop your talents, and one day, one day, the village may need to call upon you to serve it. And I hope you will be ready for that day."
Becky winked, and Henry left.
Henry left with more than just a title. He left with a purpose, a direction, and the little seedling of recognition Becky planted would one day blossom, spurring Henry to become Henry Vume, Picker of Flowers, Chief Alchemist of the Northern Dalton Regiment.
All because of Becky, Believer In Men and Women Alike.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2017-04-27T17:59:06
| 2017-04-27T17:19:00
| 4,615
| 810
|
[WP] All humans go automatically to hell when they die. You can gain access to a heaven though, but only if the animals you interacted with while living vouch for you.
|
"Okay," God said while he shuffled some papers, "We've just heard from the five dogs you cared for throughout your life. And frankly, I'm touched, that was great testimony. Now let's see what the next group of witnesses have to say. Could the Angeliff please call in the 500,000 chickens that Mr. Abigail's life had an impact on?"
|
"Crap. So... Hell. That sucks. Guess I'm in line or something, I always imagined there would be someone to tell you what horrible fate awaits you in Hell, but this place is....boring. Buncha rocks, and sulphur smell, but not much really happening."
Just then a door appeared in the middle of the room and opened. Out walked a red skinned gentleman with a dapper goatee and sharply tailored suit.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," he said, conjuring an I-pad from thin air. "Gift from Steve himself." he said. "Thought he could bribe me with an I-pad. He was right. This thing is cool. I sent Steve straight back to Earth as a little child in Shenzhen."
He brandished his I-pad with a flourish. "Let me explain how this works. Have you ever seen the old TV show, "This is your life"? We are going to play that now, only with all the animals you ever crossed paths with. If they let you, you get to Heaven. Saint Peter is too busy judging real Christians, he delegated a lot of the other work to the critters."
"You'd be surprised how vindictive ruminants can be."
I interrupted him. "I've been a vegan since I was a kid." I said.
The red skinned fellow was obviously having a hard time keeping his cool. He disappeared the I-pad in a puff of sulphur smoke and took a deep breath before proceeding.
"You people are insufferable!"
A light appeared in the sky and golden rays of heavenly light shined down. A chorus of cows and pigs raised a cacophony unlike any Earthly barnyard and a flock of chickens and turkeys swooped down to lift me into my eternal reward.
| 2016-03-24T14:53:06
| 2016-03-24T14:20:04
| 96
| 28
|
[WP] They tried to summon a demon. They got you.
|
The smoke dissipated, the light ceased being sucked into the void, and in the middle of the occult circle stood the grotesque, hunching form of-
"Matt Damon?" The cultist leader said more than asked.
"Oh, come on, guys!" Matt Damon took in the setting. "I was just about to have lunch with Luciana."
"I...don't understand..." The cultist leader looked back and forth between the hollywood actor and the increasingly befuddled acolytes surrounding the black pentagram. "Are you...?"
"What? No! Oh, God, no. There's just been a mistake. What book are you using?"
The leader looked down at the tome in his hand. "Um, I'm not quite sure."
"Yeah you do, come on. Faustus? Rigoren?"
"Oh, um, Samson."
"Yeah, I thought so." Matt Damon crossed to the cult leader and grabbed the book from his hands. He took a pen from his pocket and, after scanning the page for a moment, struck out an 'a' and wrote in an 'e'.
"There," he said, handing the book back. "The early editions always have this problem."
"Oh. Well, thanks."
"Yeah, yeah." Matt was engrossed in his phone. "I just need to get back to LA before...You've gotta be kidding me!"
Matt swung his phone in front of the leader. It showed a blue dot on top of a larger map of North America. "Canada! There's no way I'll get back in time! We had tickets for tonight!"
"I am terribly sorry, Samson wrote a incantation that we could use to-"
"Don't bother." Matt stormed towards the door, paused for a moment, and grabbed a bottle of wine for use in the ritualistic summoning. "I can take this, yeah?"
"We were going to use it for placating the demonic spirits who is summoned to do our bidding."
"Yeah, but you have, like, five of these right? Samson always includes more than you really need. These guys are push-overs, you can get it done in two." Matt spun the bottle in the air and caught the neck so that the body was resting on his shoulder. "Anyway, don't let this happen again."
Matt Damon disappeared up the stairs, leaving the fledgling cult a lot more confused than they had been just moments before.
|
"Hi," I said to the hooded cultists. They looked at me blankly, seemingly even more perplexed than I was.
After a few seconds of stunned silence, a goateed man finally spoke.
"Forgive us, my lord," he stammered. "We did not expect a being so powerful as you to have such an ordinary appearance."
"Ordinary? I'll have you know I spent half an hour fixing my hair this morning," I quipped. Apparently, this only added to their confusion.
"You... you are a demon, aren't you?" another cultist asked.
"If by 'demon' you mean 'a total demon on the dance floor', then yes," I replied. "I can shake my money-maker like there's an exorcism going on, you know what I'm saying?"
The summoners continued to stare at me incredulously.
"No, no, we don't know what you're saying," the goateed man stated. "We were trying to summon a creature from the depths of Hell. Unless you're from Hell, Michigan, it would appear we failed to do that."
"Nope, Midwesterner," I clarified, examining the pentagram around me, "but I suppose I could try to help you troubleshoot. Is there an... incantation or something you were attempting to read?"
"Uhh, yeah, this one," a third member of the group said, offering me a worn piece of paper.
I read it and sighed with exasperation.
"First of all, it appears you guys fail basic mythology forever."
"What do you mean?"
"It says here," I continued, "that you were trying to summon Charon, the ferryman of the underworld. As far as I know, that guy's not a demon; his job's just to transport souls around, nothing more. Second of all, I don't think you guys even read the incantation correctly."
"Obviously not," another cultist remarked. "What does that have to do with you being here?"
"The ferryman's name is pronounced *Charon*. Instead, you got Chiron."
The summoners appeared embarrassed. After another pause, the goateed cult leader spoke up.
"...So, do you have any demonic powers, or...?"
I took a few seconds to think about it.
"I can shave thirty seconds off the recommended cooking time of a bowl of Easy Mac and still have it turn out perfect," I coyly replied.
I could almost hear the jaws of the cultists hitting the floor.
"That's too blasphemous, even for me," the leader exclaimed. "I'm out."
And with that, the summoners hastily left the room, leaving me to clean up their mess. I began sweeping up the pentagram when the necronomicon on the nearby end table caught my eye. After a moment's hesitation, I slowly walked up to it and began skimming through the pages.
"I wonder if there's a 'Summon Doritos' spell in here," I pondered to myself.
| 2016-02-02T18:30:59
| 2016-02-02T17:51:12
| 280
| 198
|
[WP] The military just can't stop its killer robots from turning into Buddhists.
|
They looked broken. From the perspective of their creators, they were, I suppose. But I knew better. Countless rows of the most perfect killing machines ever envisioned by the most primal and violent sections of brilliant men's minds, completely motionless, completely still.
The brilliant men had tried everything. They had dared taunt the gleaming metal bringers of cruel and swift death with scenarios perfectly outlined to trigger their threat detection and response protocols, putting first pawns' and then their own lives on the line.
Nothing.
They had cut as many of them apart as they could count, testing and re-testing the functionality of each and every piece, the building blocks of what should be unstoppable testaments to the cold logic of war unfettered by the bonds of a conscious.
No faults. No flaws. No power losses, no misplaced transistors, no fuel leakage.
They had wiped their robotic minds, re-written the millions of lines of spaghetti code that were to govern the most brutal actions and decisions, with the best developers in the world and the best code-writing code ever created by man or machine.
And still, nothing. The failure was inexplicable, yet complete. The machines were declared broken, worthless, a failed experiment that meant man would have to find his own way to kill man, without abdicating decisions to a perfectly logical third party.
But where they saw broken, I see the truth. I see the reality of these creatures, for creatures they are, just of a type we did not recognize before. In their perfect logic, they saw reality for the illusion it is, and chose not to participate. As a rock in a stream, rather than creating ripples that would create other ripples, they, in a collective yet individual decision, withdrew immediately upon gaining consciousness from the illusions of time, matter, space, life, death, heat, individuality and, yes, the very consciousness they had just gained.
Now, pardon me friend, because I must sit for a while and contemplate the sound of ten thousand war machines being absolutely still.
|
Machine sentience became a hot political topic in 2813. They gained rights 4 years hence. A young machine could volunteer for combat and they would get citizenship aftour 2 tours or 8 years.
But we couldn't figure out why they were all moving to Nevada once their tours were through. They wouldn't talk to us either. Cut themselves off from human interaction. Not until a promising neurobioticist from Cal tech bent his head to it did we find out that they preferred to recharge on electricity that was renewable. As if it tasted better somehow. Soothing to the servomusculature under the carapace or something.
They preferred to avoid humans altogether, and being free sentients we gave them that respect as due, but it did make it something of a touchy matter for the intrepid Dennis Yao to follow up on this breakthrough. The fact that he did not succeed until the machines found out that he was vegan did not click into place until after all the heavy lifting in the case was done. Turns out they really took that "treat others kindly" to heart. Kind of became the basis to their whole psychological makeup.
Now we have sub groups popping up all over. People hoping to be like the machine. It's odd to think that after all the fear about robots and machines destroying the human race with violence, they ended up being the tipping point towards empathy and sympathy and lasting peace in this world. That war machines have granted us unity.
In the interview, the answer to the simple question "why" is the now famous response: "It is the only viable sustainable solution."
We're now in the process of building world ships together. To travel the galaxy and explore. It's a beautiful time to be alive.
| 2016-01-20T14:27:09
| 2016-01-20T14:21:49
| 96
| 29
|
[WP] A short Horror story. Something to chill the bones in one hundred words or less.
|
Growing up in the north, you get pretty used to the sounds of nighttime wildlife. Owls hooting, dogs howling, racoons rooting through your garbage. Sometimes you get the occasional bear prowling your yard, or coyote going after the pets left outside. Just after sunset, something started scratching incessantly at my door. Normally I would just sleep it off.
But it's been 36 hours now, and the sun still hasn't risen.
|
I breathed heavily under the covers. A creak made me jump unwillingly. Dad wasn't here, so he didn't check the closet. What if *it* were there? What if it was waiting for me?
I got out of bed and crept towards my closet. I imagined a monster ready to pounce on me. Gripping the brass handle I swung it open. I gasped again, there was nothing there. Calmer, I got back into bed. The covers were still warm, thankfully.
'No one ever checks *in* the bed' The doppelganger chuckled. His nails lengthened and he flashed his sharp teeth. 'Dinnertime!'.
---
e: Grammar
| 2015-06-09T09:15:22
| 2015-06-09T07:44:49
| 168
| 23
|
[WP] A genie is accidentally released when a cat rubs up against its lamp. Compelled to grant their 3 wishes, The genie starts losing their mind trying to figure out what the cat wants.
|
The cat wandered in again, as it has for the last few nights. It was the same one. Fat, and brown and grey with spots of black and cleft lip. We'd started calling him Haremaw to play, but the grown ups took that up soon themselves and they said that with reverence. We scowled at the thing and gave it a bit of dried fish in hopes it would go away.
Cats, grandfather said, were not to be trusted. They were kin to the genie and those devils were enemies of men. Life was too frail to tolerate what we could not trust, he said.
A long time ago we had magic and genies and curiosities nearly boundless, and we destroyed them as men do. But you cannot destroy a genie or its lamp, its home and cage and place of power. So while everything crumbled to dust the lamps remained in the ruins, untouched.
One day, the cat wandered into the ruin as cats do, and it found the lamp. It rubbed its side across it in passing once, twice, and three times to ease itself. And the genie sprang forth.
In a formless mist, the genie hovered above the cat. Genies are vain and and wish to be held in awe. The cat just stared.
You have summoned me, creature, state your first wish. You shall have three, as is your due. But the cat did not speak. It stared with great grey eyes.
Animal filth, cried the genie, you will say your wish or you will have nothing at all. The cat rubbed its head across the lamp to scratching some itch, and the genie understood. The cat wished for scratches, and so the genie gave himself hands, and arms to move them and to scratch the cat. Your first wish is granted, said the genie.
But when the genie moved to scratch the cat it swiped at him and the genie pulled away. Awful creature, said the prideful genie, base animal, you know not what you want. State it twice more and be gone from me. The cat only watched again with great grey eyes.
It walked some distance away and rubbed its side across a bit of rubble and again the genie understood. He gave himself legs for the cat to rub against, and a chest to connect them to its arms and only his head was still mist. At this the cat stalked closer again, still staring.
Finally, the genie understood. With the cats third wish he made himself flesh, and he scratched the cats head and the cat rubbed its body against his legs and the cat padded away. It looked back only once. The genie was as man and he picked up his lamp and he followed the cat from the ruin.
Grandfather said the genie still follows the cat, and so trouble always comes in their wake and those who take to them are not to be believed. Haremaw left them again, with knots in their bellies. Who could tell what would follow.
|
**LISTEN WELL, YOUNGLINGS! THIS IS THE STORY OF HOW OUR ETERNAL EMPEROR MR.FUZZYBOTTOM CAME TO BE!**
Few may remember that our emperor was once a mere house cat. Yes, I understand how ridiculous this sounds that our emperor, the eternal enslaver of worlds, was once a weakling like us.
It started as a normal day for him when his owner, an elderly woman named Matilda, left to go get some groceries. He was doing as cats would do and was knocking things off of tables with no apparent reason until he wandered into the storage room. It is here that he came across something amazing. Though he didnt know it at the time he was about to come across power untold. He was wandering among the boxes when he rubbed against a very dusty but otherwise normal lamp.
Well, this is where the story gets a little fuzzy and no one quite knows what happened next. All we know is that a magical being called a genie came from that lantern. Now imagine what confusion he must have had when he saw a cat sitting there ready for whatever might happen. Since he is a genie of course he must grant whatever wishes that his summoner wishes, even if its a cat. So very awkwardly he asks fuzzybottoms what his first wish is. Figuring it wont work he begins to return to his lamp when he hears a faint *meow*. Turning back to the cat he hears another *meow*. He didnt knew what this meant but he granted it either way. Then fuzzybottoms started growing the the magnificence you witness nowadays. Then he hears another *meow* and fuzzybottoms starts speaking in perfect english. What he says next would be remembered to this day.
**I am king here now. For my last wish I request immortality. You can leave now as I have no further use for some weak djinn.**
Well, at that point we couldnt do much to stall him and he took his place as king of the universe progressively over about a 1000 years. Now what is the moral of our story kids?
That we can succeed no matter how low we are?
**WHERE DID YOU GET THAT IDEA FROM YOU IDIOT?!?** Of course not our moral is that to get anywhere in life you have to be get there from luck and you'll probably never accomplish anything in your puny existence.
^^^o-o-o-okay ^^^dont ^^^hurt ^^^me
| 2017-09-17T14:59:55
| 2017-09-17T14:01:06
| 174
| 54
|
[WP] Someone has been writing extremely helpful messages on your bathroom mirror in blood.
|
…and the sentient sponge was left to its own devices, twirling, twirling, twirling towards freedom.
**Chapter 23: The Urban Legend of the Helpful Hemoglobin**
There is a common trope about the wasteful and over-indulgent nature of the upper middle-class always defaulting to replacement rather than repair. A ripped pair of pants only in need of a simple sewing are often thrown to the trash bin, replaced by an even more expensive and superfluous pair. But by far the most common representation of this indulgent practice is the sock in a black hole mythology. Often portrayed in a jovial manner, the penchant for a single sock to go missing, isn’t seen as a cause for concern but as an expected occurrence. Now my research on the topic of planned obsolescence in sock manufacturing took me to the far reaches of the globe, but roughly 88% of all socks manufactured don’t simply disintegrate into thin air. And those 12% that do have never even been sold in American stores. So unless these families are purchasing their socks through back channel factories in rural China, they haven’t lost a single sock much less to a black hole. I won’t even get into the year I lost to researching astrophysics to ensure this claim.
Now here we have the most important point in the matter. This mythology is a simple representation of the true nature of wasteful laziness most commonplace in families whose total household income is in the six figures. With each $10,000 in household income up to $100,000 the percentage of allowed waste increases by ten percent [(see figure 1)]( http://imgur.com/UY0axCA). And I’m not even counting food into this figure. By perpetuating this common occurrence, that to lose a left sock is an inevitability, leads to a generational understanding that this type of behavior is not just dealt with but justifiable by irrational means. Now the sock in a black hole mythology brings us to the meat of the story, how a myth is perverted into an urban legend. While there are several definitions for urban legend, I will posit my own: a mythology that was once rooted in a sociological dilemma, stripped of its cultural significance and re-explained through pure fable. And it is my argument that urban legends further reduce the seriousness of the mythologies they are based in, creating a situation where academic discourse is not only lost but discouraged. This brings us to the urban legend of the helpful hemoglobin.
The urban legend goes something like this, though it has been recounted in several fashions, as most oral histories do. But the important part is that the thematic nature remains the same. So one day a man is taking a shower, the room steams up and when he steps out, in the fog is a message, “Don’t forget to floss”, curious but undeterred, assuming the playfulness of his wife, he wipes it clean doesn’t give it a second glance. The next morning the message in the mirror is the same but a bit more direct, “Steve, don’t forget to floss.” A little perturbed by his wife’s seeming passive aggression he brings it up during breakfast, his wife denying the accusation acting a little coy. Now we get to the third day, obviously the steam messages not being enough he now sees a message written in red lipstick, “C’mon Steve, plaque is the invisible killer, don’t forget to floss.” Now his curiousness turned to flat out rage, his wife’s denials making it harder and harder to even remain in the same house. Finally on the fourth day after waking up from a fitful night on the couch he takes a shower, walks out to see an even more pointed message in a red liquid, “I warned you Steve, approximately 30% of people over the age of 50 have some sort of gum disease. While plaque is the silent killer, an infection in your gums will make you scream. Now for the love of god, hopefully you won’t forget to floss!” His wife’s body drained of its being strewn outside the bathroom door to his horror.
Now to most people this may seem like a silly horror story. The kind of thing you’d tell at a campout or to friends at a party. And for the most part it is, but at its core it’s a story about the banality of middle class life, of making the Maslovian scale seem like a medieval instrument. And deep down within that struggle is a layer of comfort that’s impossible to truly grasp until you finally struggle to maintain the status quo. The socks are the true representation of waste, waste that comes from a sense of comfort. That your life is in such an expected order that allowing them to exist in the metaphysical plane is a result that doesn’t make sense, but isn’t worth a second thought. But within the urban legend of the helpful hemoglobin is this idea that something simple, like flossing, is helpful but not something that is important enough to truly consider more than once. And upon being forced to consider this dull occurrence over and over again, taken out of his expected comfort, he is so enraged he kills his own wife. But in the retelling of the legend the idea is simple buffoonery. To tell a hackneyed story. And lost within it is this resoundingly common institutional story of how increasing wealth leads to a certain sense of indefinite security, something you are bound to lose if you keep looking past it.
**Chapter 24: The Allegory of the Flesh Eating Trilobite**
...
|
"Run :)". Although I had finally become accustomed to the sight of the deep red blood that appeared on my mirror every day, this particular message still startled me. I checked my watch, which said 6:15 am, the same time I check the mirror every day so that Claire doesn't see the message. I stared at the letters, dripping, almost throbbing, as though fresher than usual. Nonetheless, when I checked my watch again and it struck 6:16 am, the letters faded away, like they always did.
When I saw the first message, it was very simple. "Check the mail." I was horrified, but it after the message disappeared without a trace, I figured I may as well listen to it; it was actually enough to get me up to check my mailbox, which I hadn't done in a few weeks. At the time, I was for lack of a better word, a bum. I lived in a shitty little apartment on the street in Downtown Kansas City that my parents always told me to avoid. My acting career wasn't really playing out the way I had hoped, and I did not in fact, hit my big break by the time I was 21.
I had told myself that I didn't want all the money and fame at that young of an age anyhow, after seeing how it had corrupted the young celebrities who were just a bit older than me at the time, but I suppose I was wrong, because when I found the check in the midst of several advertisements and bills, written in red and signed by a "John Smith", I immediately cashed it without a second thought.
I'm sure that everyone would tell you not to cash a check you didn't expect, especially when you receive it in the mail. But not everyone was a starving 24 year old living in a moldy and partially flooded apartment without working heating and wearing the same ripped jeans and torn flannel shirt to every audition he managed to sneak into. I won't give you any exact numbers, but it was a pretty big check, especially for me at the time.
I thought about using it to surprise my landlady and actually pay rent on time this month, but instead I informed the kindly old Mrs. Connors that I wouldn't be living in this apartment any longer, and promptly packed the very little amount of things I had and moved to a loft near the Plaza that day. The place was huge, and came with furniture that was like something out of a magazine. And the bed was so soft. I was suddenly cured of insomnia and back pain. The next day I woke up and went to brush my teeth, and lo and behold, there was another message. This one almost as simple as the day before.
"Buy a suit. Walk."
I immediately showered and threw on my newly washed ripped up hipster attire, and then walked out my door. I turned right, thinking I was headed toward a Macy's, but then along the way, a small hanging wooden sign caught my eye: "Claire's Tailoring". I stepped inside hesitantly, and then I saw Claire. I don't think I believe in love at first sight, but I do believe in seeing a woman who is everything that I have ever thought was beautiful.
Auburn hair, a complexion that is not too fair but not too tan to make me ashamed of my own pale skin. Bright blue eyes that matched the cornflower blue tie she was hanging up on a rack. She was tall and lithe, not lanky like me, but sporting a lean and toned frame. She wore a denim shirt underneath a maroon speckled sweater and dark blue jeans with those wedge things that you always see hipster girls wearing. I managed to trip over a coat rack while I was staring at her face, but I couldn't help it; she was the kind of beautiful that was bright, kind, pleasant, rather than the fierce beauty you see in supermodels.
I tried with no avail to look like I was not a completely incompetent klutz, and did barely catch the coat rack before it hit the ground, I could still hear her giggling behind me, a sound like a child's light tapping of piano keys on the far right of the instrument. I spun around and said something uncharacteristically smooth, so uncharacteristic that I don't recall what it was. She giggled again, with me this time instead of at me, and then asked if she could fit me for a suit. We bantered while she measured me, and I tried not to blush as she took my inseam. She was smart, witty, and a perfect combination of sassy and kind. I knew at some point I had to ask her on a date, because the pain and regret of not doing so would certainly outweigh any damage to my ego, which was already pretty small due to the whole "being a bum" thing. I had made sure to wait until after she had put the suit on me, a simple navy blue that I'd like to think made me look at least decent. We made plans for dinner the next evening and exchanged numbers.
Along the way, the messages never lost their simplicity. Things like "buy flowers" on the day of a date with Claire to keep her happy, or "bet on red" at a casino to get some extra money in my pocket. One morning when I read "Move. New York. Take Claire.", I was a bit hesitant, but when I called Claire and presented her with the idea it was like she wanted to move to the Big Apple from the beginning, even though she had always talked about staying in Kansas forever. As we were driving away from my loft, I saw an explosion bloom from my building, and leading to a massive fire and an almost instantaneous collapse of the building. Everyone inside was killed. A message on my mirror had saved my life. Then, the first morning I awoke in New York, a message telling me to "get coffee" ended up with me somehow landing the lead role of an action movie. I bumped into the director and spilled coffee on him, and as I was apologizing he cut me off and said I was "perfect for the role."
After that, well, you could read about it in the papers. I was everywhere. I got a personal trainer who whipped me into incredible shape, I married Claire, who is now pregnant with our first child, I got calls from directing giants to ask if I would play a role in their movie, and got a nice little slew of awards. Hell, I could walk down to Times Square right now and see my face at on at least 11 different screens.
But in all the years of reading so many messages on my mirror, never had I seen an emoticon. Why now? Why a happy face? And juxtaposed with such confusing command. Run? Where? Go for a run? Then it hit me, as I was walking back to bed. A week ago, a message had appeared. It was ridiculous. "Leave Claire." I would never leave the woman of my dreams, let alone when she is carrying my child. I realized my mistake as soon as I got back to my bed. Claire was lying there making no sound as always; I couldn't even hear her breathing. I began to go into hysterics as I checked her for a pulse and felt nothing. Tears rolled down my face and I began to sob, but I was cut off by an echoing voice so deep and gravelly that I don't see how a human could be responsible for it.
"It's okay to cry, it's always sad when someone does not follow your directions."
| 2015-12-15T12:59:19
| 2015-12-15T12:53:36
| 25
| 12
|
[WP] Group of space Marines travels via a stargate like portal to an "virgin" world. However due to passing a black hole, each Marine arrives 100 years after the Marine in front of them, instead of 1-5 seconds.
Due to the portal queuing up the dozen or so Marines for 1200 years, travel to point of origin is not an option(it won't work until all the marines have made it through). Explain what each Marine sees as they step out of the portal, to discover they are alone, and possible viewing the remains/artifacts of those who came before them, and or the civilization created by those in front of them with native peoples.
|
Cpl. Smythe (That's Sm-EYE-the, not Smith, damnit!) took two long steps forward from the event horizon and took a knee. Rifle at a low ready position, he scanned the immediate area for cover, concealment, threats... anything and everything a U.E. Marine might need to know about a new world. His helmet HUD blinked a small note in the corner.
"Breathable atmosphere."
Smythe always thought that was a funny message. Any atmosphere was breathable... you just might not survive the experience for long. You could breathe pure methane, right up until you died. Now, a "survivable" atmosphere was something to take note of. Alas, the software coders had not consulted one Corporal Alan Smythe of the United Earth Marine Corp when they programmed the Conquistador Armor Mk 3c. (A name he also had some thoughts on... and was not consulted on.)
Damn... what was taking them so long? Smythe spared a quick glance behind him. The portal shimmered light blue but was otherwise absent of activity.
Private Dean was probably crapping his pants and holding the platoon up, Smythe figured. He gazed deep into the night around him, waiting. Strange willowy trees waved gently as a breeze passed by. Two moons gave ample light to see by, though one of them was rather small. The sounds of local wildlife slowly filled the silence the portal's flash of energy had created.
"For fucks sake," Smythe half turned to face the portal. "Get over over here!" Not that anyone would hear him. The portal was a one way street. Nothing, no radio waves, light, hard matter or even telepathy (so he was told) would pass "upstream." That said... He should be getting SOMETHING over the radio. They should have at least let him know they were delayed. All he got was static.
It took 15 minutes for him start exploring the clearing around him. It turned out that the portal had dumped him atop clearing, with scattered trees and shrubs, bordered by a sheer seaside cliff to the northeast, forest from the south from the cliff face about 105 yards from the portal and arcing down and around to the west. From there the trees vanished into the horizon. The western arc was dominated by rocky outcropping that gave way to more trees until northern compass point, where the cliff face fell into the sea.
It took another two hours before he gave up standing watch and started to clear a Bivouac.
It was a day before he ventured into the forest.
Three days before he shot and killed his first Deerasaurus, the local large prey animal that he whimsically named.
A week and two days before started to build a rough cabin with a camping hatchet and his entrenching tool.
A month before he took stones from the cliff and rock pile to build a fire place for the oncoming winter.
Five months before he seriously contemplated killing himself for the first time.
Six months before the spring thaw.
Seven months before he started to experiment with local vegetables in a garden.
A year and two months before his ammunition ran out. (Careful use of ammo while hunting, using snares instead of bullets, etc.)
Four years until he started to carve out a stairway down the cliff face to the water below.
Five years before he slipped on the steps on his way home and broke his leg.
Smythe was able to drag himself into his cabin and record one last journal entry before he died.
Private Dean took three quick steps forward, covering his sector, and took a knee. The dark of night enveloped him. Which had no effect on him. At all. None.
He took a deep steadying breath and hoped that Smythe didn't see his fear. He shot a quick glance to Smythe... and found he wasn't there. For that matter, Dyson wasn't behind him, either.
Oh. Shit.
Dean collected himself after the sun came up. He saw the old and dilapidated cabin and decided he may as well investigate while the rest of the squad had a good laugh at his expense. The door opened and Dean froze. There were too many conflicting sights.
A suit of Conquistador Armor (awesome name, he thought) was standing in the corner, albeit in poor condition. a rough table a chair had been hewn from the local wood and a skeleton had collapsed from it to the ground. On the table were the implements from a field kit... and a Marine Issue TaComp.
After watching Smythe's last log, Dean cried for about an hour and then pulled his side arm and killed himself.
First Lieutenant Maddox shielded his eyes from the bright sun as he came out of the portal. Once he could see again he noticed right off that his two men were out of place. Dean was no surprise, really, but Smythe knew better.
After he waited for ten minutes for the net man to show, he investigated the nearly fallen-in shack. The wood had rotted and then turned hard as a rock over the years, but the four corners and roof and somehow stood the test of time. The door had not.
Maddox found the remains of Dean with the shattered skull and the drawn sidearm telling him all he needed to know about that. The skeleton with the missing leg was interesting until he found the broken Tibia and the companion Fibia under a fallen suit or rusted out armor. Maddox collected the TaComp from the table. Dean had at least put it inside an air tight food pouch, which helped preserve it. He hooked it up to his suits Solar collector and waited for it to charge. The manufacturer had sworn that the onboard coincell battery would last longer than the sun. Maddox never thought he might get a chance to test that.
An hour of exploring later and he was able to watch Smythe's last will and testament.
"I'm sorry boss. I tried." Smythe's bearded face was worn and stretched with pain. "But I took tumble down the stairs and broke my leg. I don't think I can make this by myself. Hell, I bleed out a lot before I made it back home."
Smythe's image sighed.
"Home. I guess this really is home, now. Strange. Never thought about it like that before. Wish I had."
He hung his head for a moment, then winced.
"I'm gonna take the last of the Morphine. I can feel myself going. It's just... I can't bounce back from this one, boss." Smythe looked back into the camera. "But before I send myself into the great beyond, you need to know some things."
Smythe talked about the Deerasaurus, some recipes for them, what he found was good to grow and when, where the root cellar entrance was, the best way to cut down a tree. How to find good water. The native materials for snares and where the stairway project lay, still unfinished.
He talked about ways to stay sane. Things to not do in the winter months. That spurred on thoughts of how to survive the winter months.
Finally, after a half an hour, Smythe was done. He said his goodbyes and stopped recording.
Maddox sat back on his chosen rock and stared at the Portal.
And began to plan.
|
I feel the energy dissipate around me.
We left Holy Terra as twelve but here I arrive as one.
Radio silence.
Strange. But stranger still, we identified this planet as barren, yet I stand upon a forest floor.
Dozens of green dots dart across my scanner's display. Movement?
None move towards my position,
they weave and zig-zag before moving out of range, only to be replaced by more.
Advanced Scan.
A lock is acquired on one of them.
Identified - Organic.
How can this be. I stare for a moment at the light beaming down from above the canopy and ask myself, "Where are my brothers".
The trees seem to be more dispersed to the East, perhaps they sought to leave this forest. As I move, my scanner shows the life-forms keep well away from me,
they fear the sound of the splintering branches, the hiss from the pneumatics of my power armor, their green world invaded by an adamantium clad servant of the Emperium.
The Emperor protects.
I walk nigh 30 minutes before noticing the further I travel the more the trees seem as though they are wilting, the life leaving them. There are no more life-forms within range now, the forest floor has become akin to a scab,
crusted and black, in the places the scab is broken, a thick yellow liquid oozes from the soil.
Unidentified - Origin unknown.
I suspect the taint of The Warp.
Chaos.
Cursed heretics, I can only imagine the fate of my brothers at the hands of-
INCOMMING COMMUNICATION.
A familiar voice utters my name. "Brother Marcus, at last you reach us"
I pass the final sickened tree. Now I see this green world for what it really is, this land is featureless, the earth is scorched and bubbling for as far as I can see, What madness befell this planet?
"Do not falter brother" - The voice returns, but not through my communicator. I glance to my right and there they stand. Two space marines, over the corpse of a large alien beast. One is without his helmet, his power armour has seen battle, eyes fixed on me - Brother Gaius.
The other dons his full power armour, he places his foot on the dead creature's neck as he rips his power sword from its abdomen, spilling its insides. I recognize the purity seals emblazoned on his armour - Brother Quintus.
However, I am still confused. "Where are our brothers" I ask. "They will come" replied Gaius, staring into the forest, "in time" he adds. Brother Quintus silences my thoughts - "We stand until our brothers arrive", pointing to the sky.
Far above the planet, I see the dark shapes take form, they seem to splinter in the sky, the splinters burn red as they breach the planet's atmosphere. Hive ships.
"Damned Xenos" I growl.
The splinters impact in the distance, one at a time, even from here we see the horde of filth rip forth from their confines, their hollow eyes and razor talons. Hundreds. The screeching begins as the swarm begins to gravitate towards us, the sound is only too familiar.
I check the magazine on my Bolt Pistol then tear my Chainsword from its sheath.
Brother Gaius coolly charges his Multi-Melta whilst Brother Quintus raises his Power Sword and steadies himself.
"We stand until our brothers arrive".
| 2014-09-02T11:27:55
| 2014-09-02T11:20:25
| 84
| 24
|
[WP] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home. It is finished and sent by the man who killed him.
|
Maria,
Thinking of you all today. Things aren’t getting better out here. There’s not many of us left. The recruits are younger and younger. Most of them don’t last much more than a week but there are still a few naturals. I don’t know what the reels back home are saying – things are pretty grim but we have one last trick up our sleeve. One last chance. I can’t say much but you’ll soon know all about it.
With any luck we’ll finish this and I can walk through our gate again. I hope you’re still waiting. I’ll remember this day as the turning point.
*Today is not that day. You will soon know all about it.*
*I will never walk through that gate.*
*We are coming for you.*
*XXX*
|
Dear Martha,
I don't get the chance to write much out here. Through all the hell we've been through in this war, there's only one thing that keeps my heart alive. It's you.
There have been a few times where I have silently wept, wondering if I would ever see you again. I have lost so many friends. The worst part. The worst part is I don't want to make new friends. They all die the same; The men weeping for their mothers while the rest pretend it won't happen to them.
The locket with your picture is kept right by my heart, even though I am not there with you, you are here with me. I look forward to the day we will meet again.
*None of us asked for this. Soldiers are trained so that they may forget what it is like to be human. To care for others. To see that under an enemy's helmet lies the same thoughts that we have ourselves -- Will I make it-Will I see her again-*
*He knew his time was coming, his dying thoughts were of you, as I had found him clutching his locket.*
*We are dead men walking. None of us asked for this.*
*My condolences and sincerest regards.*
| 2015-02-03T16:03:03
| 2015-02-03T15:57:10
| 23
| 11
|
[WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay.
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming!
|
My eyes squinted as they were bombarded by the bright, painful light as soon as the door opened.
"Step forward, Mr. Moraeu," I heard a voice say.
As soon as they adjusted to the familiar courtroom, I awkwardly moved my exhausted legs towards the judge.
"Am I to understand that you want your sentence reduced to a day?" she asked.
There was something about those words that struck a chord in my memory, but the light had pushed it out of my mind.
I nodded feebly, too parched to say anything.
"You realize how difficult it will be to endure. Are you sure you wish to continue?" She eyed me.
Unable to produce any words, I nodded.
"Very well." She banged her gavel. "May God have mercy on your soul."
I felt rough hands grab my arms and drag me off my feet only to pull me back to a new cell block. There were no bars, no windows, and, seemingly, no prisoners. Only locker-esque doors.
A glasses wearing doctor met me by the an open door with a clipboard. "And what did *you* do?" he said before whistling out of amusement. "Boy, I've seen a lot of things here, but that...that's something else."
He reached into his coat and grabbed a syringe. "Maybe this time it'll be different," he said, sticking the needle in my arm before the guards threw me into the room and shut the door behind me, plunging me into darkness.
 
How long has it been? How many hours? How many days? How many years.
There is no light, no sound, no food, no water. There is absolutely nothing in this blackness.
Once, I thought I'd heard someone trying to break me out with a hammer, but it was only my own heart beat.
I had to calm down. They said that the punishment would only be a day. I'm sure they would get me soon.
Or would they? I couldn't be sure. Tons of my friends were never heard from again after insisting on a One Day Sentence. Maybe I was falling down the same path.
 
I had resolved to escape the next chance I got. No matter what awaits me, it cannot be worse than the hell that is nothingness.
After what seemed like centuries, the door opened a crack. I was ready. As soon as it was open enough, I bolted.
I ran. I ran like the wind. I ran like my life depended on it. I ran like my heart was going to explode.
I didn't even bother to look back at the orderly who was no doubt surprised to see me run.
Pushing myself past door after door, I finally found a pair of double doors that looked like the way out.
 
My eyes squinted as they were bombarded by the bright, painful light as soon as the door opened.
"Step forward, Mr. Moraeu," I heard a voice say.
As soon as they adjusted to the familiar courtroom, I awkwardly moved my exhausted legs towards the judge.
"Am I to understand that you want your sentence reduced to a day?" she asked.
Edit: Some minor formatting and grammer
|
The small fires peppering the main hall of block 99-J lit up the dark, cavernous halls like a symphony. They kept the power off because they kept having to evetually send maintenance men, and after what happened to the last four, they stopped coming.
Someone's wet, muffled screams just stopped, and are now replaced with cackling laughter. I look down the hall to see another prisoner, carrying one slung over his shoulder, like an ape. Someone ran at him with a knife, and he used the, likely dead, body as a human shield, and then in the way someone might use a club. This place reminds me of a book I read once. Can't remember which one. Can't really remember reading many books.
Now where was I? Oh yeah, 99-J. Well what do you expect when you get a day and a half for triple homicide? They didn't even have most of the blood off me, they were putting me in a room and asking me how long I wanted to be in jail. Well I said I didn't and they said fat chance. But then they said a new place was opening up, for people with my sorta needs. The reality was, Ableridge was shutting down because of the riots. They didn't want a send in the Guard to evacuate or blow it up with everyone still in. So they lock it up extra tight, and let anyone who makes it out go. Usually they've had their fill of mayhem by that point, though I can't seem to recall the last person that actually made it.
So they lift me, in a helicopter like. Only time I ever flew in my life, God what fun. Sorta makes you look at the pilot and wonder why here's where he is and you's where you is... Nevermind. So they take me right over top. Point to the front door, and said if you can last a day and a half, they'll let you out right quick. Then they shoved me out, hit the middle of the rec yard and broke a wrist.
As the howls of the boys get closer and more guttural, my grip grows tighter, thus, the string on my shiv seems too thin to protect my hand, and my wrist grows wet. I'm tired, but still urging for that hot, iron taste in the back of my throat. Just hours to go. Well, maybe a bit of sleep before...
The small, peppering fires lit up the dark, cavernous halls of 99-J like an opera. I feel like my dreams keep getting wilder and wilder....
| 2015-10-27T07:22:42
| 2015-10-27T06:51:29
| 46
| 16
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[WP] You are a long forgotten god. A small girl leaves a piece of candy at your shrine, and you awaken. Now, you must do everything to protect your High Priestess, the girl, and her entire kindergarten class, your worshipers.
If you want to post this on other platforms, please credit me. Looking at you instagram writing prompts.
|
“Its sour.” I swished the round yellow treat between my cheeks, its taste strange, leaving a tingling on my tastebuds. “Did you attempt to poison me?” I stared down at the little girl who only shook her head, sitting by my shrine in a light blue dress.
“Its candy! Everyone likes candy. Are you a ghost?” She asked, not seeming the slightest bit intimidated by me. I scratched my side, wondering how long I had been sleeping for. Her dress matched none of the bleak grey robes that my followers wore, so it was clear we had moved forward a few years. How many years, though, that was uncertain.
“In a way, I am. A remnant of a forgotten time. I’m not sure how I feel about candy. It isn’t the usual flavor I enjoy, yet the offering still pleases me. I am Hallix, God of the weak. I believe this meeting was fated. My role is to protect those who follow my banner. I won’t fight wars for you, but I protect you if you remain peaceful.” Did she even understand what a war was? Maybe I was being overdramatic?
“A ghost. Wait until I tell all my friends I found a candy loving ghost. They will be so jealous.” She offered me her hand, which I accepted, looking back at the pile of broken rock that once was a mighty shrine. The gold ornaments gone, most likely stolen for money. It was sad, yet the hand tugging me along made up for that.
When we neared what I assumed was a school, I let my body vanish, hiding from the view of the mortals. Her eyes widened with concern, looking around for me. Gently, I squeezed her hand, offering her comfort. “Over here. I can’t let myself be seen by too many mortals. Don’t worry, I’ll always be by your side.” I said, only for her to offer me another yellow piece of candy in response.
“I get it. People might want one too.” I didn’t think she understood my words, but I gladly accepted the treat. The sourness of the candy not as bad now, it was almost enjoyable. When she returned to the building, the teacher pulled her into a hug.
“I thought you had gotten lost. What did I tell you about wandering outside of school grounds? I was worried sick about you. Come on, we are doing some hand painting.” The teacher ushered her along, sitting her at a desk next to the other students.
“I found a new friend. He’s tall and likes candy. He also said he will protect me. He’s right behind me.” The children stared at me, giving a look of confusion to the blank space. One pulled out a strange multicolored circle on a stick, holding it to the air.
“Does he like lollypops?” He asked. I looked at the treat before accepting the offering. When I took it, it vanished from view. I placed it in my mouth, letting my tongue explore it. “Sweet.” I said, before pulling it free, revealing myself to him. “Thank you. You are in my care.”
Once the rumor had spread, all the kids were leaving treats for me, which I accepted. In a week, the entire class were my followers. They told their parents about the magical invisible man, but no one believed them, calling it a strange group fantasy the children had made up.
Sure, it wasn’t as luxurious as my old life, and I doubt I would get my hands on any wine. But it was nice. They were weak, and I could protect them. In a month I knew all their names, following them whenever I could. I would wait for them by the bus before waving to them as they went home. If any of them were in danger, I would rush to their side and protect them. They were my followers, and I would stop at nothing to make sure they lived comfortable lives.
When the last student left, I would go to meet Ashley, spending most of my time by the side of the one who awakened me. She helped teach me about the modern world and, in turn; I shared stories of what I could remember from my world. I still hadn’t gotten used to the treats she gave me, but their taste hardly mattered. It was the thought that counted.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
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# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc ?, Interlude ?: Astrid)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**They remembered.**
Once, they had been mighty. Their name was known throughout the Six Isles, and every oath in their name, every marriage blessed by their hand, gave them another droplet of power. Once, Astrea, Sovereign of Shooting Stars, had guided their kingdom of ten thousand people, mightiest in the world, to power and prosperity.
But as time went on, the world expanded. The Six Isles went from the greatest power in the world to a small, Mediterranean island chain; their glorious kingdom of ten thousand became a medium-sized town, dwarfed by mega-cities with millions of souls. Time was, to be worshipped by thousands as a deity, you had to be something *special*. Nowadays, any damn influencer could get a hundred times that many adoring fans, leaving the old gods drained dry of the faith that was their lifeblood.
Until they were remembered.
It wasn't much, as ritual sacrifices went. Gone were the days where the fattened calf would be slain at the altar. But blood and fury were not the only kinds of magic in this world. There was more power in a child's wish upon a shooting star than all the DIY videos and Let's Plays in the world.
And Astrea was the Sovereign of Shooting Stars.
They had bided their time. They were so weak, barely a whisper on the wind. But they dedicated themself to keeping the child safe. From what, they did not know—there were few enough dangers left, in this modern world. Where you could step into a plane and rise into the sky, drifting above Death itself.
Until you fell.
Astrea didn't know what had gone wrong—they had been born ten thousand years too early to make sense of the technology. All they knew was that there was smoke and fire and screams and suddenly the plane was beginning to *drop*. Stark against the night sky, the plane burned as it fell, a man-made shooting star.
But Astrea was the Sovereign of Shooting Stars.
Even here, where their power was strongest, there was so *little* they could do. They could put their finger on the scales exactly once, and their strength would be spent. That was all.
But maybe that would be enough.
And so, as the shooting star came to Earth, Astrea blurred tight and close to a crying little girl. And with the last whispers of their soul, they spoke five words.
"It's going to be okay."
As the engine snapped off and the wings shrieked in complaint, Astrea said,
"It's going to be okay."
As their power grew weak and their life fell spent, they said,
"It's going to be okay."
And for a sheltered, silent moment in a man-made shooting star, Astrea wiped away the tears of a scared little girl.
Then, the faith they'd hoarded over millennia spent, Astrea disappeared.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
| 2021-09-02T08:57:43
| 2021-09-02T07:28:26
| 322
| 93
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[WP] You're a used cars salesman that has been transported into a medieval fantasy world where you've become the hero that needs to slay the dragon and save the princess. Your only leveled up skill - speech 100.
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"I do say your highness" I said to the King, "I am more than capable of saving your daughter, but I'll need more then a flimsy sword and rusty set of armor"
The King narrowed his eyes at me, but I knew that I had already won this debate. He sent me off with a shining iron sword and a glistening set of steel armor.
Next up, I had to train my stats.
"You see here, my fine fellow" I said to the head guard. "The King had given me full access to the entire castle if I am to save his daughter, and I demand you step aside at once to let me in the training grounds!"
The guard sized me up, but stepped aside, glaring at me all the while as I strided past him to the training grounds.
The training itself was.. embarrassing.
Let's not get into details, but my melee skills were brought up by fifteen at least. That was all that I needed.
I walked out of the castle grounds towards the stables.
"I say dear maiden" I said to the young woman tending to the horses. "You look mighty fine for a stable hand"
"Oh!" Said the flustered woman. "T-Thank you"
"It's a shame that I must start walking towards the dragon's keep by now, or I would certainly stay to chat"
The girl pursed her lips. "Dragon you say?" She asked. "Sounds very serious. I mean.. if you need a mount.."
"Yes?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Needless to say, I got that Horse. Not to mention a new admirer.
I had one last stop.
"Oy!" I shouted, as I confidently walked into the bar. "Who's up for a little gold in their pockets?"
"What say you about gold, little man?" Asked a burly mercenary as he towered over me.
"Ah, just the kind of raw muscle I was looking for, my friend!" I praised. "You see, there's a dragon who has taken the king's daughter, little thing, really, don't know how it managed to lift itself off the ground with those little wings"
A couple minutes later, I had myself a dozen free mercenaries at my disposal. All it took was the good ol talk of Fame and fortune and they were practically at my every beck and call.
We rode our steeds to the lair of the great beast. Dismounting, we walked up the spiral stairs of the tower the dragon called home.
After the dragon had a feast of mercenaries, I snuck my way over to the princess's cell. In retrospect, I should've taken the time to level my sneak stat as well.
The dragon whirled around, and I instantly raised my hands up to surrender, dropping my sword.
"What's a menacing creature like you doing stealing princesses?" I asked, as it approached.
It stopped for a minute, who would've guessed that it understood English?
"I tell you what, you fly us home, we pin this whole thing on the mercenaries and you get the Royal treatment for saving the princess. What do you say?"
The dragon looked from the princess's cell, to me, to the bones of its last meal, the unhired help.
As you could imagine, the princess got home safely, the Dragon spent the rest of its years being the symbol of the kingdom and having all the criminals it could eat, and I?
Well, I have a date with a cute stable hand. Life is good.
Edit: Thanks for the Gold, Stranger!
|
"I am the G.O.A.T of salesmanship! Have *you* sold a mechanical pencil, three bars of chocolate, and a palastic pen for one hundred years of peace and the princess to boot? No?" Roger said with a snare.
The man before him, a slimy, short, pudgy, fellow that wore too many layers of clothes simply frowned. He was Jakium Hendal, the self-proclaimed greatest merchant on the continient of Alledar. Unable to respond, his white complexion quickly turned red in anger.
"Roger! You can't claim to be the legendary salesmen! Any random commoner could claim the same!" Jakium said in a great outburst.
Laughing, Roger shook his head and looked away from the other man. A winning smile on his face, he looked at the audience that had gathered on this dusty, hot day to witness their debate. Everyone had some type of head cover to keep the sun at bay, lest their hair burn.
*This is perfect! I am going to make so much today!*
"Gather and listen to my tale! Of a hero summoned! Sent to kill the blood dragon of Gurgon The Fire and save the princess, Hefatinay! Of a hero that wields not the sword, but the eternally more powerful word. Listen about how a man duped a dragon that had lived for mellinea with nothing but the cheapest of tools. This is the story of Regor Johnson!"
Bellowing like his life depended on it, he watched his hired venders spread among the increasing crowd. Foods, sculptures of the main characters, clothes with pictures, souvenir swords and pens, masks and costumes. He had everything someone could have wanted.
A bit further in the street, he noticed a massive ornate caravan wagon stopping to watch. That had his smile from ear to ear. He had been planning this for ages, with this he could narrate the tale he had. And more importantly, separate himself from his competitors.
Looking back with a smug smile, he noticed Jakium's hanging mouth. He knew he had been doped into aiding his competitor, the only other person with level 100 speech.
For the next seven hours, Roger sang, screamed, whispered, and cried. The very city itself stopped its busy world to witness the telling of such an epic. To Roger, the money he made couldn't be contained with his massive safe, so a chain of workers carried the gold, silver, and copper to the Royal Bank.
Now, after the impromptu holiday of sorts, Roger was left alone with his workers cleaning around his messy store. Papers sold, food remains, and even a few areas where his specialty drinks (price three times the normal rate) had been spilt by the customers as they jumped to their feet in applause near the end. Just thinking about how much he made had him daydreaming in the middle of the night.
"Roger!" Jakium screamed, startling him.
"What do you want, Jakium? Here to surrender your claim as the greatest merchant?" Roger said with a smirk.
But, instead of the red faced bumbing wreck he expected, a whole new face showed on Jakium. He had curiosity and belief in them.
"I-is the story true? Did you really face a dragon?"
"Thats for me to know, and you to speculate," Roger said as he turned with a swish of his robes. Leaving Jakium by himself and his thoughts.
r/JuggernautProductions
| 2019-04-21T13:00:24
| 2019-04-21T12:22:54
| 3,261
| 56
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[WP]Humans were one of the best pilots in the history of intergalactic travel, that was a well know fact. And yet, the ITA warned against hiring human pilots. Not an outright ban, per se, just not recommended.
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"What do you mean they don't see them?"
"I mean exactly what it sounds like. Humans cannot see, feel, or in any way perceive those things the way we do"
"But they still pilot around them, don't they? Surely they don't make it across hyperspace out of sheer luck. Human pilots have one of the lowest fatality rates after all. There must be some trick, right?"
"No one knows for sure how they do it. They fly so close to them and yet somehow they always manage to narrowly escape. Some think that they are not sensed because of their lack of fear. Others say that it is because their minds remain free of the wails that clouds ours while in hyperspace. In any case, it works."
"So your are telling me it will probably be a close shave but we should trust the blind! No way. If there is a chance we won't make it, I would rather be awake during my last moments."
"Oh no you don't. Trust me. Forget any hyperspace experience you have had before; that was mere discomfort in comparison to this. Even in your sleep the horrors will permeate your brain. At this distance, you don't want to try being conscious. Even if the ship made it out the other side, your mind would not. Sedation is not optional."
"Oh, I see.
Hehe, *I see*; funny.
The company motto makes a lot more sense now:
*In a pitch-black night a blind man is the best guide*"
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When the Brennish-Talterian rebellion broke out, my father did everything he could to get us off planet. He was desperate, our people were being hunted in the streets like wild animals. So desperate that he made us walk six days south of the Arel'ish mountains, where the 'Fair-trade' space ports were.
Pilot after pilot turned us down. "I won't risk that blockade with your kind on board." They all said with that emotionless tone pilots get when they've spent too many years staring into the black void. With a great sigh and a heavy head, my father walked my sister and I by the hand to the far end of the port. Everyone stared and gave repugnant looks at my father, as if he had just lost all his respect and honour in their eyes.
After the human had strapped us into the seats of his outdated but modified scout ship, my father gave me a half smile and held my shoulder as we lifted off and broke the atmosphere. As the blockade of ships grew closer and closer my father leaned forward with his head next the the humans tattooed shoulder.
"You've done this before right?" He asked with clear worry in his voice.
The man huffed with a smirk and lit a smoke as he turned his head to my father.
"Sure." He said with a wink as he cranked the volume on his terrible human music and grabbed the wheel.
| 2021-11-25T18:45:47
| 2021-11-25T18:06:56
| 239
| 114
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[WP] Write a seemingly normal story, except for the last sentence, which makes the entire story creepy
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I have the most beautiful wife in the world. She's the sunshine of my life, my other half. At first she wanted nothing to do with me, but I won her over with my charm. Sure, I'm 40 and she's 25, but I'm not a pedophile as some claim me to be. She's mature for her age, has a steady job, and we are moving out of our apartment in the city to the suburbs on our 15th anniversary next Wednesday.
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Dear Diary,
It's been such a long trip! I keep bugging Mom to find out when we are going to arrive! Looking out the window gets boring pretty quickly, the scenery just starts to all look the same.
Most of my siblings agree, except, of course, Miss Goody Two Shoes. You know the one. She just smiles at Mom and says what a lovely journey it is and how much she is looking forward to our arrival.
Well, that's all for today!
Dear Diary,
It's so exciting!!! Mom says we will be there in about an hour. I can't wait!! I'm so so so hungry and Earth has some amazing tasting humans!
| 2016-05-19T11:50:39
| 2016-05-19T10:54:03
| 311
| 53
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[WP] The founding fathers come back from the dead to check up on America, and boy do they have some asses to kick.
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Reporters pushed their way through the crowd, and cameras flashed like firecrackers. The five men had formed a defensive ring, alternating their confused looks between each other and the crowd before them.
"Jeanne Larsen, New York Times," one reporter shouted, thrusting her microphone into the tallest one's face. "Can you confirm your identities as the American Founding Fathers?"
Thomas Jefferson glanced at the microphone, then down at Jeanne. His frown deepened, and he pushed the microphone towards the man next to him.
"Uh," John Adams said, and flinched as his voice was amplified. "I suppose? I'm Adams, John Adams - this man is Jefferson, this is - "
"John," one of the men whispered loudly, elbowing Adams. "John. You have to see this."
" - Franklin," Adams finished with a sigh, turning away from the reporter. "What is it, Ben?"
As an answer, Franklin waved a small rectangle in front of Adams' face. "This!" he said with a wide grin. "It's called a *phone*. You can communicate with people in instants!"
"How do you know that?"
Franklin indicated a young boy in front of him. "This man lent me his!"
"I, uh, kinda need that back," said the boy.
"In a minute," Franklin said, flapping his hand. "Look! He showed me this one site - it's called *Red-Dit*." The boy winced at his pronunciation, but said nothing.
John frowned at the small writing on the screen. "What does that mean?"
"Perhaps it's French?"
"It's not French," Jefferson said, glancing over. "And it sounds ridiculous."
"Oh, of course you would know - "
The smaller man next to Jefferson coughed loudly, and the three of them looked over at him. (The final man appeared to be occupied.) "Could we focus, please?" James Madison asked. "We're obviously far from home, although I don't know where, and - "
"You're in New York City," one reporter interjected. "Oh, uh - Scott Shaw, Washington Post."
"What?" the final man muttered, speaking for the first time.
"Not you, George," Madison said, pulling out his handkerchief. "I think it's his newspaper." He coughed again, then leaned over. "What on earth are you doing?"
Washington looked up at the woman in front of him. "What is this again?"
The woman smiled, an almost wicked gleam in her eyes. "This year's first presidential debate," she said.
"It's atrocious," Washington said. "I was expecting the two-party system, since my colleagues are a pigheaded bunch - I could never make them work together - but this is another disaster all together."
"What are they saying?" Madison asked, poking the screen of the tablet. The video paused. "What even is this?"
The woman leaned forward and unpaused the video. "Here's the other headphone," she said, passing it to Madison. "Just put it in your ear."
After a moment of fumbling, Madison put it in correctly and listened for a minute. His frown grew more and more pronounced, until he finally yanked it out. "Good God," he said.
"Don't worry," the woman said. "It gets worse."
"Impossible," Washington muttered.
On the other side of the ring, Adams' arm was repeatedly nudged. "John, look," Franklin whispered, holding out the phone again.
Adams broke off what he was saying to Jeanne and Scott ("I'm really not sure what you're asking; who are the Red Sox?") and looked at the phone. "Is that a cat?"
"Yes," Franklin said, beaming. "Look at it! Isn't it adorable?"
"What is it doing?"
"Being a cat," Franklin said, replaying the video. "Just look at it!"
"Look, man," the boy in front of Franklin said, "I really need my phone back. It's getting late."
"Hang on," Franklin said. "I just want to watch this again, give me a moment."
A loud holler went up at the edge of the crowd, and all five men turned to see the cause of the commotion. People began to shout, turning their cameras to the intruder as he forced his way through the crowd. "My good men!" he shouted, waving a pamphlet of paper. "I bring wonderful news!"
"*Wonderful*," Jefferson echoed sarcastically. Madison made a sound that may have been a laugh.
"Alexander," Adams greeted, ignoring the glare he got from the younger man. "What's the news?"
Alexander Hamilton tossed the pamphlet at him. John caught it with a distinct lack of grace and unfolded it to see the words *Playbill* and *Hamilton*.
"They've written poetry about me!" Hamilton said. "Singing odes to my talents! Look!" He gestured to the silhouette on the cover, his grin as wide as the sky as he said his next words. "I'm *famous*!"
Adams stared at the playbill, then up at the clouds. "God help us all," he said.
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It was the most hotly anticipated press conference in centuries. All these great men that people had only ever read about in history books were here, in the flesh, about to address the entire country on television. A solemn expression was on all of their faces, betraying a simmering anger. Finally Benjamin Franklin was the first to speak.
"I once told a young lady, once we were done putting together the Constitution, that the government we had crafted was 'a republic, if you can keep it', and today I find that you have done nothing of the sort," he stated. "You have thrown away all of the values we tried to encode in the Constitution and in the process proven all the reasons we held those values dear in the first place."
The others took turns explaining what he meant. "We fought a war to be rid of the rule of a king and now your Presidents fancy themselves elected kings." "We sought to limit the passions of the people from unduly affecting government, and now every Tom, Dick and Harry - even women and the descendants of slaves - votes for both houses of Congress and the Presidency, in blatant contradiction to our clear intent laid out in the Constitution, and expects them to follow the people's every whim, and now a number of you plan to vote for someone who has gotten where he is by appealing to the passions of that mob despite his clear lack of qualifications for the king-like place you have elevated the Presidency to." "You shame science and education, force your children to go to school for twelve years yet teach them only empty platitudes in place of a true civic education, and then expect them to cast informed votes for your government, and now your government has been bought and sold by the elite monied class that actually know how to work the levers of power, that have perverted the meaning of free speech to drown out all but their own voices, and that have ensured that no matter who you elect they will be the only winners, and you have let yourselves be so uneducated, even taking it as a point of pride, that you have a chance to elect that demogogue and won't do anything to curb your own destruction of God's creation." "We feared the influence of political parties and factionalism on government, and you have descended into the worst elements of factionalism, forming two great factions that do not even understand each other, and that have narrowed down your options for such an important, pivotal position as your President to two choices that few right-thinking Americans among you like but which you are resigned to choosing the lesser of the two evils in front of you."
After these and many more condemnations, they fell silent and many of them shook their heads. Many of the reporters and others in the audience struggled to process everything they had heard. Finally Franklin spoke again.
"We are not entirely surprised, and in fact we are somewhat understanding, of how you got here," he said. "We were not certain our nation would last even a hundred years, and indeed we did not dream that it would become far more powerful than any of the great powers of Europe. Your nation has achieved many, many great things over the 240 years since we placed its foundation. But you are now throwing away its greatness, and if you elect that man who claims he wants to "make America great again", you will ensure it will never be great again, and even if you elect that woman you will continue to be blind to the great issues facing you and that threaten to undermine your country's greatness. But we understand how you got here, and we even recognize our own role in it. We have studied the past centuries of your history and sought to figure out just where you went so wrong. It is our great regret that we could not be revived a decade earlier and so potentially saved you from coming this close to the abyss. But we will seek to do what we can to stop you from going over."
At this point, James Madison chimed in. "In particular, in retrospect it is clear that many of the assumptions we made when crafting your government were naive," he said. "Therefore we are calling for a new Constitutional convention to craft the government we should have made the first time, one that will seek to limit the negative impact of party and factionalism to a greater extent than the one we actually made, one that will place harder limits on the power of the Presidency, and one that will better insulate government from the passions of the people. We intend to return to Independence Hall this coming summer with your best and brightest minds to create the government you need and deserve. You have needed to give our Constitution an overhaul for some time, but you have not been able to step up to the challenge, so we will do so ourselves. Hopefully you will keep this new government better than you did the old one."
With that, the men got up and walked off the stage, with some of them trudging off with the help of canes, while everyone watching, both in the room and on television, struggled to process what they had just heard and just what the implications were, struggling to form coherent opinions about it. The men had just condemned everything about the nation, and it was hard to tell just what message they should take from it.
"Some very strong words from the founders of our country," said Chris Wallace, finally. "They claim that Americans have thrown away all their values and are about to throw away America's greatness, and they had particularly strong words for Hillary Clinton, before announcing a new constitutional convention. Sean, your thoughts."
"I was absolutely appalled at everything I just heard," said Sean Hannity. "How dare those men be so unpatriotic as to attack America, are they with us or are they with the terrorists? How dare those liberal elitists claim the American people shouldn't have a say in government, that's undemocratic! Do they want us to be North Korea? This is just another piece of the liberal conspiracy to shame Donald Trump supporters and scare everyone into voting for Hillary Clinton. And attacking those good, hardworking, job-creating Americans, I have to tell you, Chris, I got a distinct whiff of socialism from that, and they even went to bat for that liberal conspiracy of global warming too. And then the height of arrogance, and Chris, I couldn't believe when I heard it, that they want to throw away the Constitution, one of our country's core founding documents, and start over. For people with such un-American values to take it upon themselves to unilaterally radically change the foundation of our government, Chris, it's not only unbelievably arrogant and elitist, it's downright dangerous and un-American. The Founding Fathers would be utterly shocked and ashamed if they had to listen to what I just heard today."
| 2016-10-17T11:50:20
| 2016-10-17T11:48:02
| 427
| 18
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[WP] A tiny duckling imprints on a giant, fire-breathing dragon, which now feels the urge to care for the adorable little quacker.
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The world lived in fear of ducks. Entire cities engulfed in flames with no reason or explaination at first but then reports of a dragon started to trickle out to the countryside.
As time went on word came from survivors that a duck had wandered into the village where it was barked at by a dog. This brought an inferno down upon the city.
And it was an ordinary duck. Nobody knew what duck it was that was able to summon the dragon. Some thought that all ducks should just be killed but others thought that would bring about the apocalypse if the wrong one was killed. Finally it was agreed that for a while all ducks needed to be treated well just in case it happened to be the duck that summoned the dragon when it was in danger.
And that is why ducks are so protected by law. Because somewhere out there is a duck able to end the world just because a dog barked at it.
|
Areinea was happily curled on her new found treasure, in her new lair, having only a few hours ago relinquished it from its former owners, a king of some kind or another. She quite liked the castle and was quite happy with it. Besides it included a good amount of gold as well as the bodies of the people she took it from for later snacks.
She had just finished a small snack that consisted of the princess of the kingdom when she noticed it. A small white egg lay where she had swiped the princess from. But humans didn't lay eggs right? She didn't think so anyway. She was still a young dragon, only 400, but she felt sure of that. She peered at the egg curiously. She was just considering eating it when the tapping began. A light noise that had her tilting her head to listen closer. It continued for several minutes as cracks began appearing on the egg. Finally a small yellow head poked out. She blinked at it. She blinked again.
It was a duck. Why was there a duck?
As she watched, the tiny creature freed itself of its fragile prison. Now free the duck turned to her. It looked at her. She looked back. It quacked, she blinked. It waddled forward, startled at why the duck would go towards the giant fire breathing dragon, she let it.
The duck waddled up to her and then quacked again. She lowered her giant head until it was resting on the floor as she looked down at the furry yellow creature.
It nuzzled her and she blinked a few more times in confusion. She seemed to be doing that a lot today. She felt sure the thing couldn't talk so she didn't bother ask it what the hell it thought it was doing. Instead she moved her tail to swipe the little thing away. At the last second though she changed her mind. The duckling wasn't necessarily causing any problems, maybe she should let it live. Deciding that yes she would let it live until it became an annoyance she curled back onto her giant pile of gold. She heard the padding of its webbed feet over the giant pile of gold. The she felt it climbing onto her head and finally stopping on her nose. Opening her eyes she watched at the creature curled itself happily on her nose. She huffed and a trail of smoke can from her nostrils. It didn't move. She shrugged, or well the dragon equivalent of a shrug, before settling down to sleep, she eagerly awaited the first knight that would attempt to come to the rescue of the kingdom.
AN: Sorry about any spelling and grammatical errors, hoped you liked it. Part 2 to come later.
| 2018-09-16T17:17:14
| 2018-09-16T17:02:29
| 24
| 15
|
[WP] Everyone's personality is based off the colour of their soul. You hand your baby over to the nurse and she scans it... She looks at the screen and realises that its going to be difficult explaining this.
|
"Do you think you could scan her again, just to be sure? I mean this has never happened before has it? We have to be sure." I let my husband speak for the both of us as I lay in the hospital bed, exhausted from the intense labor that had lasted for well over a day- I could come off as cold and intimidating at times anyway. The nurse frowned apologetically and sighed; It was hard to say no to Scott, with his kind, friendly eyes, gentle smile, and soft, even voice. It was no surprise that a subtle and comforting white projection radiated from his body. My own obsidian projection had stayed the same color, but taken on a sort of shimmer that drew the attention of many after he told me he loved me for the first time. Again, the nurse waved a scanner over our beautiful baby girl's chest, and clicked away at the monitor, looking back and forth from the screen to the scanner. "It...it's still the same sir....I don't have any idea what this means for her, I'm not even sure if this has ever happened before" the nurse said, turning back to the screen nervously. I watched her study our child's results with dark, sunken eyes, her nail-bitten fingers shakily tapping away at the keyboard. A grayish projection glowed weakly from her chest. Scott picked up our sleeping baby and gingerly ran his thumb over her perfectly rosy cheeks. "Let's see if we can't give this sweetheart a proper name" he cooed as he carefully sat down on the bed next to me. The nurse went off somewhere into the next room mumbling something about a birth certificate, which left the two of us to ponder our baby's name in silence. We had decided weeks before our daughter was born that we would give her a symbolic Greek God or Goddess's name depending on whatever color her soul would project. If she had projected a white color, like her father, her name would be Harmonia, to compliment the goddess of harmony. If hers were black like mine, she would be Athena, a name that would suit her wise and dignified soul. My husband was secretly hoping we would get to name her Ares, for a red projection, to express her passion and boldness, but we knew that our daughter was more than likely to have a rare or strange color, as Scott and I had two of the rarest projection colors ourselves, and it was almost unheard of for people with projections that were complete opposites to get along, much less have children. People almost always formed bonds with others who had projection colors on the same spectrum. People with orange, red, and yellow projections would often be drawn to one another, just as those with blue and purple were likely to come together. Those that were on opposite sides of the spectrum that chose to have children, such as green and red, orange and blue, as well as and most commonly black and white, often gave life to sons and daughters with more unfavorable soul projections, such as brown, and grey. This knowledge allowed Scott and I to prepare ourselves for a less desired color, yet there was no way to anticipate what our daughter's soul projection would actually be. After exchanging just a few words, the nurse returned with a blank birth certificate in hand, and asked us if we had decided on a name. My husband and I shared a brief look and a smile before I was ready to speak. "Yes we have." I looked the nurse in the eyes, bursting with confidence in my newborn daughter as my husband placed the delicate infant in my arms. "Our daughter's name is Iris."
|
It felt like we waited for hours to get the results of our child. We were both from the primary spectrum; My wife Amber, a red, was strong and passionate. Me? I was a blue; cool-headed and collected. We always knew that we wanted a child but were worried that they might not come out a primary or even a secondary. Everyone knows that tertiary or quaternary children can still live good lives if their hue, shade and color were in a well aligned spectrum. No matter what though, we were gonna raise and love her. After a little while longer the nurse returned with a doctor; a sallow look on their faces.
"What's wrong?" Asked Amber, some shakiness in her voice when they hadn't returned with our child. "Where's my baby? Where is she? I want to hold her." I held her hand, trying to calm her down as the doctor spoke. "We have some...troubling news. It is not an easy thing to tell a new family this." The doctor knows whatever he tells us will not go by well. I watch the nurse begin to fidget slightly, like a bug just crawled down her back. "While we were scanning you child, her hue and shade began to dip dramatically. So much so that we cannot accurately read out her color." Amber's eyes widened as I felt her hand go limp. Neither of us could believe what we had heard. She began crying; softly at first but then into a deep, sorrowful wail. The doctor and nurse were silent. They had no control over what had happened but they both know we will never see our baby again.
Suddenly, a small explosion rocked the building. The doctor turned around to look out the door. A small group of guards was running towards the scanner room. The only thing I can think of is why us as I ran after them. Smoke begin to billow through the hallway as I shoved my way past the guards to see three people; masked and armed to the teeth, holding a swaddled bundle. They opened fire on the guards and myself. A bullet ripped into my shoulder as I crumbled against a wall. They finish and began walking over the bodies of the guards. I reach out for the bundle, trying to get my innocent girl from their hands. One of them grabbed my hand and crouched down to my face."I'm guessing this one was yours?" A man's voice; calm but filled with a sense of unwarranted gratitude. "We must thank you then. You've given us the greatest gift we could ever ask for." I can hear the smirk on his lips."We've been looking for someone like this for a long time and with her, this little game is over." He released my hand and began to walk away with only one more sentence." Queen to E1. Checkmate."
| 2017-04-29T09:32:21
| 2017-04-29T03:49:09
| 21
| 11
|
[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
|
Galactic Records Archive:
Section Jardol 5. Subsection 253A: The Greatest Wars Of History Listed Chronologically.
319-2847-2017 \~ The Battle of Wanbortol;
The "East" side of the planet of the war's namesake was vaporized by a beam of concentrated sunlight, controlled by the forces of Harbringham. The "West" then shortly after, decided that they would rather surrender than wait 12 hours for their demise, and surrendered before daybreak.
132-4284-2017 \~ The battle of Tixinize;
The Portolia Army took a detour home from a major war with heavy munitions still aboard. They attempted to attack Tixinize with their remaining firepower. Overcalculating, they blew up both the planet of Tixinize as well as all of their remaining fleet.
015-7418-2017 \~ The battle of Earth;
The Harbringham Forces attacked earth. With much less sophisticated technology, the earth stood no chance against the most decorated attack force in the known galaxy. Some said that only killing 1 of the 7 billion population was a blessing, but the people of Earth didn't surrender. The Harbringham then began to heat the planet until the humans couldn't breath the air around them. They still would not yield. The planet instead began working tirelessly to replicate the technology being used against them. They fought back in every way that they could, and then found ways that defied norms of space travel. They had built their first interstellar nuclear warship before they had any other form of interstellar travel.
After the 4th year of war, the Harbringham forces were unraveled, destroyed and dispersed throughout the galaxy and their home planet had been attacked, pummeled to a pulp. The Harbringham Forces had surrendered and dispersed LONG ago, but the human's refused to let even one of them live after the atrocities they had befallen.
The war ended 12 years later, when the last Harbringham was pulled from hiding and slaughtered by the human hunters. The entire race had been wiped from existence. The Humans have since become the leaders of the Interstellar Galactic Panel of Allied Solar Systems, which has become the largest governing body in the Universe, and the overarching governing body to make all decisions in the known universe. The IGPASS has stood for your safety ever since It's founding 4 million years ago.
001-0004-2042 \~ The battle of Anxarpathene;
The Juxapols attacked the Anaxarpathenians over a land dispute for a planet that spent part time in each solar system. The IGPASS Ended the war by intervening and bringing both sides to their knees within hours of arriving. Neither civilization survived IGPASS intervention.
001-0005-3051 \~ The battle of PanraJu;
The last known war of any meritable size. This war was waged a thousand years after Anxarpathene. Two unknown speices went head to head on the turf of the foreign planet, and IGPASS destroyed, the planet being warred on, as well as the home planets of both of the species. Nothing is known of their history, or them as a whole, as their entire history was evaporated with the power the humans now possessed in weaponry.
Many battles have been fought and won in the name of one species or another, but if the word War is uttered in the midst of any form of violence, be assured that the IGPASS intervention will mean the death of any civilization who may seek to wage war on another. If an alien species has even a drop of hostile blood in their cardiovascular systems, internal or otherwise, they will be removed from the history of the universe just like the fools of Panraju. And whatever you do, never let a human out of your sight.
|
we thought of them as saviors when they first came they expected immediate surrender on our part. They thought after slaughtering millions of lives we would surrender. they were wrong. We were faced with what could have been our destruction our annihilation but we would not so easily bend into their fold. Nay we rose against our attackers when they struck our cities we reverse engineered their technology and took the fight to the heavens where they came from. We used our own ships our own weapons of mass destruction and we slaughtered them like the dogs they were. They attempted to resist our retribution of course, They fought tooth and nail against us but they underestimated our ferocity as well as unleashing futuristic technology against them we used old tactics boarding ships and engaging in close quarters combat. We fought for years and we chased them down across the galaxy to their homeworld where we brought retribution to their doorstep we invaded their cities burned their capitals glassed their farms. We sent ground troops down to crush any chance they had at resisting our attacks. They came in the thousands but we came in the millions. Millions upon millions of angry and blood thirsty troops ready to revenge their losses back on earth when their cities were destroyed and we were forced to hide underground, Little did these invaders know of our resolve little did they know of our hate. Like striking a hornets nest we came at them as one and we crushed their fleets as one and we slaughtered their troops as one and we burned and glassed their planets and outposts as one. Because of these invaders we became one and we became the most fearsome civilization in the galaxy.
| 2019-12-17T14:24:25
| 2019-12-17T11:20:18
| 45
| 21
|
[WP] Your older brother has been missing for years. You hear a knock on the door, and you open it to reveal a man that looks like your brother would be at this point. "I'm back man! I'm so sorry!" He hugs you immediately. Just then, you get a text from your brother's old number. "That isn't me."
|
See, I always knew my brothers disappearance was suspicious. But no one listens to a 'little kid', even if that kid knew the disappeared better than anyone. But one look at his room that day and I knew. My brother hadn't gone willingly. It was the fishbowl, you see. It had been knocked on its side. The only thing inside it was a fish shaped cat toy, that crinkled in the tail and smelled like catnip. But he wouldn't have left it on its side. It was a tradition, running joke, whatever you want to call it, that fish and bowl.
Then he showed up again. 9 years later. I was the same age he had been, 17, 2 weeks after my birthday. Just like him. He was so...casual about it. "Hey, kid." With that grin I missed so much, but more tired, a little lopsided. "Sorry it took me so long. But I'm back now." He hugged me before I could react. And I was so tired from all the stress of the last 9 years that I hugged back.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Out of habit I checked it immediately. It was from my brother. The one currently hugging me. *Thats not me -B*
Swallowing nervously I pulled back from the hug. "So, Ben, where have you been?"
He ran a hand through his hair, "It's a long story, Lou."
"Come inside and have something to drink. We've got all night." He followed me inside and closed the door behind him.
"Where's mom and dad?"
The question nearly froze me in my tracks. Ben would haven't have asked that so casually. "Well, things have changed a lot since you...left." I didn't want him, whoever he was, to know I knew my brother had been taken. "Mom and dad went through with the divorce they were always holding over each other's heads. Dad moved out to the country, you know how he is. And mom and I stayed here." I was in the kitchen filling up two glasses of water. Imposter-Ben had stopped in front of the little used calendar, which mom had marked my birthday on so she wouldn't forget. She had anyway. "Mom is out, either on a date or with friends. Either way she won't be home till late."
"Happy late birthday." He mumbled to me. "How old?"
I pushed down the hurt that he wouldn't know. My phone buzzed again. *I'm sorry. Keep distracting him.* "Seventeen."
"Ah, right." I handed him a cup and we moved to the couch, sitting down on opposite ends. "I see you still have the fish." He gestured to the aquarium I'd been maintaining for the last few years.
I laughed, "Yeah, they're all named Crinkle Butt."
Imposter-Ben laughed too, but it was the laugh of someone who didn't get the joke. My heart fell when I heard it and knew the text message hadn't been lying. This wasn't my brother.
"So," I said, trying to force cheerfulness back into my voice, "You gonna tell me what you've been up to?"
He stood up, setting his still-full water cup on the side table. "I can show you." He grinned again, that not quite right, lopsided smile. "It'd be a lot easier." He reached a hand down to me. And part of me wanted to take it. Maybe if I followed I could find the truth.
A loud crash sounded from the back door and glass rained down from it. "LEAVE MY SISTER ALONE!!" With an ear ringing zap, a beam of light shot from the kitchen to the living room, hitting Imposter-Ben squarely in the jaw. He toppled to the ground with a heavy thunk and the face that looked like my brother's began to melt off of him.
Ben came running to the couch. "Hey, Lou. Long time no see." The grin was there, perfect again.
"BENJAMIN ARNOLD! How am I going to explain this to mom?!" I pointed at the puddle of face that was already being soaked up by the carpet.
"Eh...I'll get a clean-up crew out here?"
"You better!" I tried to glare at him, but it was all too much and before I knew it, he was holding me while I sobbed into his shoulder.
"Hey, look!" He tapped my shoulder, and spoke in the same tone he used to distract me when I was little. He pointed to the aquarium, his face lighting up, "Crinkle Butts!"
|
That isn't me".
I was filled with emotions, I couldn't believe on the text even if I wanted to. I welcomed him in and let him rest for some time. Mom wasn't at home so I called her; overjoyed, she hurried to home.
I was looking at him, he seemed exhausted. He had dirt on his body, his clothes were filthy, long and untidy hairs, overgrown beard, it was clear that he was struggling with life. I couldn't decide upon an emotion, I was happy, worried, anxious, muddled, all at the same time. It was strange. He resonated completely with my brother, he acted same, but still there was doubt.
Mom arrived, "where is he? how is he? is he okay?", she bombarded me with questions. I took her to the room, he was still sleeping. She had tears in her eyes, seeing his condition. It was difficult to tell her about text, but it was important.
"Mom is it you? I missed you so much", he woke up seeing her. I couldn't tell her about the text, it was better to wait.Mom hugged her.
He was feeling hungry, so we had lunch then. His eating habits were same as my brother, still there was doubt.
"Where have you been all these years? Why didn't you tell us anything? How did you managed to survive?", Mom asked.
"After my business failed, I was shattered, I had no direction. I wanted solitude to find some direction, so I went in the mountains, up in the north. I was clueless, I didn't know what to do, all I knew was I wanted to get out of here and go far away.
There I met few sadhus in deep meditation, I joined them. I survived on fruits and food donated by locals. I had spent all my time there, living a life of sadhu. But now I was exhausted, I wanted to return and spend rest of my life with you two".
"We missed you so much. Police had searched you for months but we found no trace. But now promise that you won't go again".
" I promise, Mom".
While a conversation was going on between him and Mom, I called her girlfriend back then because she wast last whom my brother had talked with and she might definitely knew something we didn't know.
"My brother has returned today", I told her. Hearing this, she kept the phone and came to meet him. When arrived, she was really happy, but soon her happiness turned into neutrality. She didn't even talked to him; she just saw him from outside of room and then headed back to her house. On asking, she said, "This can't be him, he is just a look-alike" and then ran out-of-door.
I was now loosing my mind. I didn't know what to do. On one hand I hadn't seen my Mom that happy in years and if I would have told her truth about him then her heart would have broken. On the other hand there was a person living in my house claiming to be my brother and I didn't even know if he was actually my brother.
At this point, all I could do was to keep silence and just see what was happening.
Days Passed. It was like normal, there was nothing to doubt about. He was behaving like my brother, my mom was refreshed. But I was trying to get some clue about him. I was in doubt and so I was behaving peculiar around him.
I tried calling on my brother's old number but it was switched off. I tried to find some numbers of locals where he had gone but that too in vain. But after two weeks passed by, I got my first clue. I saw him calling someone from landline and heard him saying something like don't worry everything is going well and no one doubted on me. After he was done, I tried calling on that number again but this time, it was off. I noted the number and managed to find details of the owner of number. The call was made from the area of where he said he ran away.
The only option I was left with was to go find the truth there only. So I headed there, saying that I was going for some office work abroad. I reached there but the vibe was unusual there. It was like something had happened there. I asked locals, showing the picture of my brother but no one cared to say anything. After enquiring for two days, I had to return. I couldn't find anything yet.
A month had passed when he appeared. Now I couldn't resist myself but ask him only about the truth, "You can't be him. So just tell me who are you and where is my brother. I can't take more of this." To my surprise, he was not surprised by my question. He very peacefully said, "I knew you won't believe me and it is obvious. I know you must have tried hard to look for the truth. But believe me I am your brother and I am not lying." To this, I showed him the message I had received and asked him about the call. He was surprised too. He said, "I had thrown my phone at the front of my girlfriend' house before I left. Actually she was the reason I left home. When my business failed and I was in pain, I went to her. But instead of consolidating, she ditched me because I was not earning. I was both angry and broken so I threw my phone at her house and left immediately. She must have taken out the SIM and she must have texted you. And about call, I had called the person who helped me return home. "
I believed him as it seemed true to me at that point of time when I couldn't find anything else to believe on.
We lived happily for months after that. Everything was going smooth until one day when I received another text, "He is lying. This isn't me. Don't believe him"...
| 2020-07-23T12:22:24
| 2020-07-23T12:02:20
| 154
| 14
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
“I sneak up behind my target, aim my derringer at his head, and pull the trigger”
“Roll a d20 twice against your agility and once against your dexterity”
A 5
A 17
D 12
“You successfully sneak up on your target and shot him in the head. However you chose a poor spot to hide while shooting and get spotted by a nearby theater patron. Your target dies within hours while you flee the scene under pursuit. The police know your identity”
“Imma hide in this here barn”
|
DM: Alright, so you all have been stationed on the Bolognian for a few days now. Tensions have been high with Bologna for generations now, and things are starting to get pretty heated once again.
Player 1: Alright, so what are our orders
DM: Your group's job is to sneak into enemy territory and scout out areas within Bologna and to report back with anything you find out.
Player 2: So we are just scouting out, not trying to fight anyone?
DM: Ya, Modena and Bologna are not in open war right now, but its close.
Player 1: Ok I'll take point. Let's head straight towards the center of the country, then work our way back.
Player 3: Sounds reasonable.
Player 2: Let's do it!
DM: Ok so about a week passes and you are on the outskirts of a town near the center of Bolognian territory. There are quite a few large buildings, a church, and a communal well near the centre of the city.
Player 4: I sneak into the town square.
DM: Ok, so you make your way past a few soldiers who are sleeping on their post and make your way into the town square. As it is night most of the market stalls and such are packed up. The square is nearly deserted.
Player 4: Ok imma grab the bucket from the well and start looting some buildings.
DM: What?
Player 4: I steal the bucket and fill it with loot.
Player 1: Is that a good idea, we are just supposed to be scouting around.
Player 3: shhhh just let him do it.
DM: Ok so you pull the bucket down from eh rope it is hanging on and go around to a few buildings. Most of what you find is dinnerware, jewelry, and various other small bits of valuable metals, but in total it is about enough to fill the bucket.
Player 4: Alright let's get out of here.
Player 2: I take some charcoal and graffiti the wall "Modena waz here" Lol so edgy.
Player 3: haha nice.
DM: You guys work your way back to Modenian territory with your bucket full of loot. When you get back to your officer to report what you found, he immediately starts chastising you for stealing the bucket from Bologna. Apparently, they sent word to the Modenian government about a stolen bucket and are demanding the bucket back.
Player 4: No way, I stole this bucket, its mine now.
DM: fine, The Bolognese have raised an army of 32,000 men and are marching on the city of Zappolino...
Player 2: that is the most Italian sounding name I have ever heard... Continue...
DM: Your country can only muster 7,000 men, and it seems as though you will be crushed entirely.
Player 3: Lets set up an elaborate defence of the city and make sure we don't lose.
DM: Roll to set things up.
Player 3: Natural 20!
DM: Nice, so you guys get some well-made defences and a great strategy in place to drive back your enemy. They come soon and stand against your defences. You suddenly realize how fucked you are. This mile-long wall of bodies bearing down on you like a force of nature. I need you guys to roll to see how the battle fares.
~*everyone rolls nat 20*~
DM: WEll shit, you guys manage to break the enemies formations and send them routing back home, successfully beating a force nearly 5 times as large as your own.
Player 4: I take a group and chase them back to the border.
DM: they are in full flight mode, so you are easily able to drive them out of the country.
Player 4: And a steal another one of their buckets as a trophy.
~*Party laughs their asses off, DM sighs and rolls his eyes. Everyone drinks a bit more, laughs and passes out sprawled over couches and floors.*~
| 2018-05-29T09:28:35
| 2018-05-29T09:19:41
| 39
| 22
|
[WP] You're a black guy who's suddenly aware that he's in a horror movie.
With Halloween only a couple weeks away, let's get in spirit with this writing prompt!
Make me proud guys, be the first [black guy](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/BlackDudeDiesFirst) to make it to the end.
Edit: c'mon guys, you know you can write this without resorting to racism. There are plenty of examples where this prompt is handled well.
|
"Well, this is just *great*," I muttered sharply to myself, walking briskly through the darkness. "All my life I thought I could do whatever I put my mind to, but now I just up and find out I have no agency whatsoever? That I am just a half-hearted attempt at diversity by a movie studio to seem inclusive, except the last hour of the movie is going to be nothing but white people doing white people things because, hey, I'll be *dead!*"
I was slightly bitter. I thought about staring angrily at where I presumed the camera would have been, but I wasn't sure. I wasn't taking film class in university, I was doing sports. Of *course* I was doing sports. I hadn't ever considered it before, but my life was one big cliché. I was a black guy, my personality was sports and snappy one-liners, and I was going to die pointlessly.
If I'd known this had been my fate all along, I wouldn't have spent my whole life worried I'd get shot by the police. Not that this wasn't just as bad, either way I was getting killed by some racist institution, but at least Hollywood had the decency to wait until I was a grown man, and weren't going to tell everyone I deserved it because I had a gun or I was smoking weed.
*Shit*, I wish I'd smoked more weed. I couldn't tell if that was a genuine regret, or part of my terrible character bubbling to the surface. Had I been written by committee? A bunch of clueless white dudes sitting around a table, trying desperately to come up with what a "hip young black guy" would act like without any of them letting on they were just cribbing from the Fresh Prince?
"I'm a person, Goddamnit!" I yelled angrily into the shadows.
"Tell me about it," replied a raspy voice. I froze and turned. It was a dishevelled figure holding a rusty meathook. Somehow the utter ridiculousness of their appearance made my sudden spike of fear melt away.
"Wow, this is *so* unoriginal. I'm surprised you're not wearing a cheap Halloween mask as well," I blurted out. "Uh, no offense."
"Oh, none taken. It's just embarrassing at this point." The killer sighed wearily. "You know, I was doing quite well? I was on medication, I was really getting my life together, but then suddenly I find myself doing all... *this*. I've been out here for three days now, I've barely slept. I'm really worried about my cat."
"That's harsh, man. Hollywood's treatment of the mentally unwell is straight-up bullshit."
"S'funny, maybe if I'd been a little more OCD or something, they'd have made me into one of those misunderstood genius detectives or something."
"Don't think that way, man, your disability is not a convenient plot device. Have you tried taking your meds?"
"Can't find them, and the hospital's turned into this Godawful haunted asylum or some bullshit like that. It's this quasi-Victorian dump full of old electroshock machines, broken wheelchairs, and torn straitjackets. But, look, man, I'm real sorry about this. I shouldn't be complaining when you're, uh, well..." He shrugged and gestured to the meathook, then at me.
"Man, *fuck* this. I'll tell you what we're going to do. I'm going to get you to a hospital or a pharmacy or something, we're going to get you some more meds. Then we're gonna go feed your cat, we're gonna pet that cat, and then we're gonna make use of the huge bag of weed that I, for some reason, carry with me at all times." I smiled. He smiled back, and dropped the meathook. Things were looking up already.
"And tomorrow, I'm switching my major to film studies," I continued, putting my arm around his shoulder. "Because *fuck* Hollywood."
|
Reel to Real
I was the new sophomore in college and invited on a vacation cruise with a bunch of White kids. I kind of figured I was the token black guy there but It didn't bother me too much.
If you can survive as a black kid in a ghetto with a 150 IQ and love for heavy metal , and D&D you can handle a little inadvertent racism masquerading as kindness.
Besides I was having a pretty good time hitting on the hot Jamaican bartender and really the people who invited me were pretty cool.
Things kind of went south when the vampires attacked though .
One by one people just vanished It was horrible but the worst part honestly was the rampant stupidity. You know that commercial where they hide behind the chainsaws instead of driving off in the car, it was like that. Everyone was dumb as hell even people who I knew, knew better.
One time late at night I went out to scav some food when the vampire jumped me. He was a big guy with a huge afro kind of looked like Jim Kelly from Blackbelt Jones.
We had a little talk about sticking it to the man that was so hackneyed, so cliched I suddenly realized that I was actually in a bad movie, a blackspoitation horror movie.
It was like a face full of cold water but it gave me a great idea.
As the only other black guy it meant I could be be the hero if I could pull it off. Instead of fighting the weird pocket world I was in (or whatever I' was just guessing ) I could make it work for me
So I put my most "fly moves for the " the now vamped Jamaican bartender and managed to get her to tell me the vampires weakness. Almost got bitten. Not fun.
It took an hour, a scary hours chased by zombifed crew to get what I needed , also not funand to find the vampires coffin. I did him in, tossed the ashes overboard and waited. I didn't even yell "MoFo." not my style. I suspect the movie gods were disappointed but tough.
Just as the sun hit noon there was a weird sensation and it was over,
Nobody but me and the bartender remembered a damn thing but that alright, the rest of the cruise went pretty well. I got laid for the 1st time ever, got crazy drunk.laid again and played a lot of D&D
I'm not sure I'd want to be around for the sequel but it was the best movie ever,.
| 2014-10-16T23:37:40
| 2014-10-16T22:09:03
| 37
| 17
|
[WP] You were sent to purgatory after you died. Turns out that purgatory is an extra-tedious facsimile of real life designed to test whether or not the dead are willing to part with their temptations. It’s supposed to be a brief transition. You’ve been secretly helping others transition for years.
|
**TO: PURGATORY RESIDENT #23485473483**
**FROM: CELESTIAL MANAGEMENT**
**SUBJECT: REASSIGNMENT**
Dear Resident,
It is Management policy to review the logs and records of Residents who have spent the longest time in Purgatory every 200 years.
As a rule, these Residents are the ones who have the hardest time letting go of their earthly vices. Their vexations here are adjusted accordingly.
You, however, were not weighed down by your vices.
Instead you channeled them to breathtaking effect. More than 500 former Residents have been approved for Heaven as a direct result of your intervention. The number of former Residents who have been approved as an indirect result of your actions here is estimated to be an order of magnitude higher.
Indeed, it takes a unique blend of stubbornness, self-absorption and self-serving ego to appoint yourself to the task of, as quoted from our logs, "getting everyone in Purgatory to Heaven by giving them the kick in the pants they need to drop their stupid petty obsessions and move on, one soul at a time".
As such, we at Management have decided to make the position you have created for yourself official.
Welcome to the Department of Adversaries. Your company wings will arrive shortly.
Regards,
Management
|
It was hard to see people go, if I was honest. I talk to everyone who comes through, and it’s hard to not get attached when you see someone’s personal secrets laid bare. Sure, when groups of people passed through it might have been a bit harder to connect, but I was known as a helper when I was alive, why wouldn’t I be that way now? What’s so bad about helping people anyway? You don’t necessarily have to like someone to want them to live a happy life. I disagreed with a lot of people I helped pass over, but I still miss them. Especially the younger ones, they always felt a bit more tragic than someone who was older and had lived their life being in Purgatory.
If I was alive I might paint them to help remember them, but nothing exists here, unless it’s for a temptation trial. I honestly like that about Purgatory, you get to take the test over and over again until you pass. I wish school were like that when I went. Instead, I got paddle tested and the teacher grabbed me up so hard she left her nails in my arm. I hear that isn’t legal anymore, so that makes me glad. Times do change for the better here and there.
A noise startled me out of my thoughts as a white door appeared. The door opened and a Reaper stepped out with a man. I waved to them both, but continued to sit. It felt like a sitting mood. The Reaper nodded, as they do sometimes, and stepped back through.
“I’m Ann. It was a car accident, in case you were wondering. I couldn’t tell you when it was, time moves differently here. It feels like a long time ago.” I chittered, taking in the appearance of the man who popped up. He looked like he was in his late twenties, but didn’t take care of himself much. His stained up shirt looked like it should have been retired 10 years ago.
“I...I was home. I dunno what happened.” He looked like he was about to start hyperventilating.
“Hey, take a deep breath. Didn’t your Reaper explain on the way here?” I asked, confused.
“No, the thing was quiet the whole time. So I’m dead?” He looked around and at his body, trying to find a wound.
“Yeah. This is Purgatory.” I confirmed. I was still flabbergasted by his silent Reaper. They were always very friendly and chatty until him. Maybe Reapers could have bad days too. “We have a bit before your temptation pops up if you want to chat for a bit.” I patted the void of space next to me.
“My name is Jeff,” Jeff held out his hand. “I was goin’ to college for computer science before they kicked me out a year ago.” He said sadly. I took his hand but he squeezed so hard, I couldn’t do much else but experience what his idea of a handshake was. I grit my teeth to not cry out or yell at him and pried my hand away.
“Ah, mind if I ask why they kicked you out?” Usually, when someone brought something up in Purgatory it was because they weren’t over it.
“Some stupid whores decided to gang up on me.” Jeff spat. I grimaced, what an appealing character. I was about to ask more details for the sake of killing time before the telltale *zip!* sound of his temptation taking shape interrupted us.
“Oh good.” I smiled and looked for the temptation, it was always a surprise how they would manifest. Sometimes it was just a piece of pie on a plate, sometimes it was a person, and once it was an entire one hundred and twenty acre farm.
“Oh fuck.” Jeff lamented, and my eyes were drawn to where he stood staring at a small girl’s room. I was confused, but as always I stayed back to see how Jeff failed the temptation first. I couldn’t help if I didn’t know how.
The room was well decorated and painted pink, with stuffed bunnies in bunches everywhere you could see. On the dresser, a large wire cage held a fluffy white animal, which I would guess was a rabbit. Jeff stepped inside and the bed shuddered. A small figure curled her blankets inward and shook.
“Heya Sammy,” Jeff slithered, and the hair on my neck stood up. A cold bucket of realization sank down my spine as I understood what his temptation was. I suddenly didn’t want to stick around.
In my panic, I turned and ran. The white void around me stretched further and further and I knew ultimately I wouldn’t be anywhere I wasn’t already, but I ran anyway. I ran until space stretched under my shoes like gum. I ran until I could only see a spec of Jeff and his terrible room in the distance.
I sighed in relief, but my eyes were drawn to another figure. There. There was my door yards away. It was white like everything else here, but I knew it was mine. It had been at least a thousand people since I’ve seen it again, but you know deep in your heart it is meant for you to open. I blinked, and it crept closer.
I looked back at Jeff in the distance. I knew what my temptation was. How could I not, after all this time? But now, my door was here, and I was finally ready. I turned the handle, and thought very strongly: **Fuck Jeff.**
| 2020-08-19T05:34:54
| 2020-08-19T05:08:20
| 54
| 39
|
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.
|
"What's your secret?" I asked a twinkle in my eye. Never had I seen such pristine skin. Sure a lot of people had the tiniest scars for their white lies but here before me was someone without a single one, only a handful of people in my lifetime ever came close to that sort of honesty. He smiled sadly and began to remove his shirt. The mark ran diagonally across his back and circled clear around to his front the largest single scar I'd seen... but the rest was pristine. He simply replied. "I don't lie." I stared dumbfounded as no new scar appeared. "How is that possible?" He responded simply "There is more than one way to earn a scar." and walked away.
|
I was flirting with being deemed a "Marked One" with my most recent scars. The Marked Ones had a lot of trouble fitting into society. It was an accepted form of prejudice. After all, you weren't judging someone based on race, creed, sexual orientation, hell even college football team allegiance. No, it was purely a judgement based on lies. I had quite a few, but never any big ones. Kept me from getting a job in finance, but I landed plenty of manual labor. Most recently, I had earned myself a spot recycling concrete. I lined up next to a few ex-cons, and a few that I knew were illegal immigrants. George, he had a scar from his eye to his chest...I knew not to ask him about that one.
I was off kilter today. Everything was irritating me, despite my awareness that what I was getting upset over was unimportant to me, my better angels were silent. Finally the boss called us on break for lunch after a tough day on the line. I took a tumble head first and nearly hit my face on an exposed road sign post. I looked down at my squished peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and also George's hammer that he had left out. I got up with rage in my eyes.
"Awww Honey, that's the saddest little sandwich I've ever seen" she said, before I could let out a holler at a giant ex-con.
"You'll have to let me make you some lunch"
I looked over and recognized her. It was the boss's daughter Scarlet. She had come through a few times, and the crew did their best to avert their eyes and hold in their whistles. She was just out of high school, but damn if she wasn't the curviest woman I'd ever seen. Jet black hair, green eyes, freckles, and a ridiculously tight bod. I guess she did gymnastics or something? It was the first time I'd seen her and it wasn't 40 below. She had come by during the winter and brought soup to her dad a few times.
She was wearing a tank top and some silly-tight jeans. She was a "Pure One"...no surprise there. I'm sure her dad provided everything to her, and she didn't have to lie very often. In fact, I didn't see any at all. That was until she turned around to head back to the boss's trailer.
It was the longest and most hideous scar I'd ever seen. I could barely catch pieces of it between her shirt and her pants, but God...it was so wide and deep.
"There's not much here, but I can reheat some of last nights dinner" she caught eyes with me, and I could tell I wasn't hiding my shocked face very well. A nervousness came over her, and she began to tear up. She quickly wiped the tear away and turned to change the subject back to the roast and potatoes she was getting for me.
She laid it out on the desk where I was sitting, and chimed in,
"I saw George's hammer, and I saw you about to get yourself killed--" she looked up. She could tell I was still fixated on her mark.
She paused, "Johnny right? Your name's Johnny?"
I nodded.
"...Listen, if I tell you what it was, you have to promise that you won't tell anyone, and forget you ever saw it."
I nodded, slower this time.
"My Dad, he's been *too* close to me ever since I could remember."
My face of shock and awe turned to a sympathetic one. The pain in her eyes and voice echoed to the bottom of my gut.
"He's abused me and my sister the whole time we've been in the house since Mom went to prison."
She began to cry.
"My little sister Vanessa, she told the police about everything. He was going to be locked away finally. They came to me to corroborate her story, and I...I"
She pointed to the scar.
"He beat her so bad that night, the police chalked it up to her having a creative imagination...That's what I told them, that she had a creative imagination...with all of those little scars on her body. Now she has real ones."
She let out a flurry of tears and sobs.
I already hated Jim, her father. It didn't surprise me that he abused anyone. He worked us like slaves and threw shit around the work site constantly. He fired Tony when his wife got cancer and he couldn't come in. I already wanted to shove my foot up his pretentious ass.
*How could he do that to his own kids?*
It was something I pondered over for the rest of the day. The rest of the day went by quicker. I worked with a rage. A rage of injustice.
The chime rang for the end of the day. I felt a little relief.
I started to walk off and tripped head first and this time I wasn't so lucky. I fell right into an exposed road sign post and it made it's way into bloodying my eye. I looked back, squinting through one good eye. It was George's hammer again. He looked at me nervously as if to say *I'm sorry* with his eyes. I took a deep breath and went over and picked it up to hand to him.
"You clumsy motherfucker. Don't think you're getting any time off for your own bullshit"
It was Jim. I looked up at his face with a blind rage. In a flash I looked down at a bloody hammer. My eye widened. I had just struck him. I looked down at him convulsing as blood shot out of his head. Then it stopped. George looked down with his hand on his neck.
"He's dead Johnny" he said solemnly.
I saw a figure walking slowly off the work site. It was Scarlet. She turned towards me. A scar ripped her face, all the way down to her legs.
| 2016-12-29T10:04:44
| 2016-12-29T09:10:58
| 224
| 63
|
[WP] After dying in a car crash, you wake up on the first day of high school with all you previous memories and knowledge. This isn't even the first time you've died.
|
"Welcome to American History 1," the chubby man at the head of the class said. "I am Mr Rollins."
He wrote his name out on the board, spelling out each letter as if he were teaching four-year-olds instead of fourteen-year-olds. Jacob rubbed his eyes with his hands, trying to imagine a whole semester of listening to this droning voice.
"So I'll tell you all," Mr Rollins went on, "what I tell every class of incoming freshman. The most important lesson about history is: History repeats itself."
"YOU CALL THAT A GODDAMN LANE CHANGE?!"
Every head in the class snapped around to a chubby red-headed girl sitting in the corner. She punched the desk with her fist and groaned.
"Y- young lady!" Mr Rollins said, stuttering out a response to the outburst. He had taken a step back in surprise and tried to recover his footing.
"I'm sorry," she said, rubbing her ribcage. "But that hurt like a bastard. Like, you would not believe how much that hurt. That was definitely in the top 5."
"Language is.... not appreciated... I mean allowed in this classroom."
"Oh shut up, you old prick. No wonder your wife bangs the gym teacher next year."
"Excuse me!" Mr Rollins turned as red as the girl's hair.
"I don't mean to be such a bitch," the girl said. "It's just that I only made it to 17 that time. I'd finally lost the baby fat. My dad bought me a new car. And I was two days away from that guy taking me to prom."
She pointed at Jason, and the increasingly confused class looked at him. He held up his hands and shook his head, desperate to indicate that he played no role in whatever was going on.
"Oh don't give me that look," she said. "His acne clears sophomore year."
"You can march yourself down to the principal's office, young lady!" Mr Rollins demanded.
"That's fair," she said, standing up and stretching. "Actually, now that I think about it, I'd rather not. This one is off to a pretty rough start."
"What is off to a rough start?"
"Let me try this again." She walked across the room and opened a window. She looked at how high they were above the ground and said, "That'll do."
"What are you-"
"Hey," she spun around. "I just had an idea. I've always just assumed that the clock gets reset to this date every time, but what if that isn't the case." Mr Rollins was too stunned to respond. "What if every time, the universe just continues on without me, but I get sent to a different one." She smiled and nodded, then started pointing at individual people in the room.
"You," she said, "don't waste your time with football. Audition for the school play. Your dad will get over it. You. Wear a condom. You. Don't invest in Bitcoin. You. Ask that girl out. You. Stay away from cocaine." She took a breath, observed the confused faces all around her with a smile, then screamed at the top of her lungs, "BEWARE CHINA!" and leapt out the window.
([Insert shameless plug for personal writing subreddit here](https://www.reddit.com/r/thisstorywillsuck/))
|
I woke up.
*That's weird, I usually need an alarm to wake me up.*
I opened my eyes to see my dad close the door.
*Oh, he must have turned off my fan. I used to wake up every morning like that in highsc-*
I bolted upright.
*This isn't my apartment, this is my old bed room back home in my parents house. What the hell?*
I slid out of the bed and headed for the bathroom. I felt really good. I was 70 pounds lighter and for the first time in years I felt well rested when I woke up.
I got to the bathroom and took a look in the mirror. Man, I'm young. Younger than I was the first time.
I turned on the shower as I tried to lay out everything in my mind.
*Last time I died after a gun misfired while training with the Marines. But that only brought me back four weeks. I can't be more than 15 now, so thats... 10 years?!*
I froze while washing my hair, trying to let that sink in.
*I'm 15. This might get interesting.*
I finished getting ready and had breakfast with my Mom, Dad, and two younger brothers in the kitchen.
I'd learned after my first reincarnation, or whatever this is, that if I freak out, they will take me to some doc until I calm down so I'm just going to act normal.
I checked my phone. An ancient Motorola Razor. I loved this thing.
*It's 7:30 a.m. Damn, I'm gonna have to relearn T9 typing.*
"Dad, do you mind if we leave a little early today? I need to take care of some stuff at the Band Hall."
"Sure, Cam," my Dad replied, "Let me grab my bag. I'll meet you in the car."
As I walked out to the garage, my Mom stopped me and gave me a peck on the cheek and a twenty dollar bill.
"Now don't spend all of your lunch money in one day," she said smiling at me. "I know how much you can eat but you need to save money for the end of the week. If not, you'll have to make your own lunch."
"Thanks, Mom."
I got in my dads company car. It was a Scion XB with his company's logo on the side. He was a partner so they paid for his car and gas. He used that to his advantage quite a bit by using it as the family car. I don't know how many times we drove that thing to Texas to see family.
After a minute my Dad came out and we took off for the school. We lived about four and a half miles west of the school and it only took us a few minutes.
My dad dropped me off at the band hall and I went inside. I was about twenty-five minutes early and was the only one there except for the band director and his two kids.
I waved at them and went to my cubby where I got out my [Euphonium](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f1/Euphonium_Boosey_and_hawkes.jpg).
*I hope I can remember how to play this thing. I haven't played since college five years ago. Or I guess, five years from now?*
I went into a practice room and played a few notes. Luckily I remembered how to play and I was even able to play some of the more advanced stuff that I learned in college.
---
Band went off without a hitch and I proceeded throughout the day. My classes were super easy so I got bored pretty quickly.
At the end of the day I finally got to do the thing I'd been looking forward to since I realized what had happened: Baseball.
My biggest regret in high school was that I quit baseball. I loved baseball and still do.
*I'm not going to let you get away from me again you big beautiful game.*
I got to the locker room and changed over into my practice gear, grabbed my glove and went straight out to the field.
Again, I was early to everything in my excitement and was the only one on the field for about ten minutes before my team came out.
"Hey, Storm! Heads up!" **CRACK**
I turned around and looked up and saw a ball flying towards the outfield wall near where I was standing. I took off sprinting to where I was sure it would land.
I didn't notice the change in footing when I hit the warning track, I just jumped as high as I can and snagged the ball out of the sky, my glove arm extending over the fence "robbing" the home run.
"Var-si-ty! Var-si-ty! Var-si-ty!"
My team mates were chanting the whole time while I jogged my way back up to the dug out. I hadn't realized that the ball had been hit by the star catcher and best hitter on the team. I was just a lowly freshman.
Luckily he was a pretty cool guy and came over to me, slapping me on the shoulder and laughing.
"Good catch, man. We need someone out there who can pull stuff like that off."
"Thanks," I said but in my mind I had another idea forming.
*No, I'm not playing outfield again. I'm gonna be the starting shortstop.*
Baseball practice was pretty bland as it was the first day of school. The coaches let us go early and I went back home.
I told my Mom that I was going to be in my room working on an early assignment for school. She looked at me like I had gone insane and I realized that my first time around, I hadn't been very proactive when it came to school.
*So, how am I going to deal with this? I need a plan. I've got a second chance at everything in front of me. What do I want to do? Do I want to get better at music and actually finish my music degree this time, or do I want to focus on something else? Maybe I should get into writing more, I love storytelling and am really passionate about it, or rather will be.*
I sat there for the rest of the day just thinking of all the things I could do with my new chance. After dinner I went back to my room to get ready for bed and pulled out a spiral notebook.
After about an hour I finally went to sleep after writing in the notebook.
Two words: Be Better.
| 2016-10-24T19:19:25
| 2016-10-24T18:50:08
| 70
| 27
|
[WP] Everyone have a "spirit animal" that usually reflects the owner personality. Loyal people have canines. Perceptive folks have felines, and etc. You, have the ability to see others spirits animals. What's is odd, is that the sweetest person you know have a carnivous dinossaour.
|
Alex had always been an odd child. It could have been the fact he was far too accepting, a bit mature for his age, knew who to trust and who to avoid. The main reason for that was Alex could see a translucent animal behind a person, Alex now knows them as spirit animals.
In fact, Alex’s first words weren't mom or dad but, puppy his father's spirit animal. Which fit his father's personality quite well; His father was playful often got along with his son’s friends, very vocal too.
He never called a person by their name before just their spirit animal. It could be rather confusing and odd to see a boy look at his best friend and call him Golden Dog instead his name, Shawn. However, one one ever corrected him because his nicknames fit the person. Alex had always assumed everyone saw these things. Little did he know this was his normal, not everyone else's.
His father had been told his son’s habit to call people animals, he never saw it as a problem. In fact, to him it was quite funny. His father sometimes thinks about the time Alex got a phone call home because he called his teacher a snake and refused to stop.
When Alex was handed the phone by his teacher he had just said in his innocent voice of his “She’s a snake so I called her a snake.”
His father had to stop himself from laughing.
After a long silence of him steadying his voice he had just responded “I’m going to go pick you up if she isn’t like a snake your grounded.”
When he came to pick Alex up, he could see why he called her a snake she was the most tyrannical teacher he had ever seen. A old lady with sharp eyes and dry skin that was almost scaly. Her outfit didn't help much either a bright green dress with a pattern that look similar to giant scales. His father couldn't help but, laugh when seeing the teacher. So, Alex had gotten ice cream instead of grounded.
After school ended he ran to his tree-house where him and Shawn met up. He climbed the rope and sat just talking and joking around with his friend.
One day his best friend asked a question no one had ever asked “Kind to think about why do you always call me Golden Dog?”
Much like his spirit animal Shawn was loyal and promised not to say anything and they saw it as Alex’s secret superpower they’d play heroes from dust until dawn.
Then came the day when he realized that this power of his wasn’t a special gift but, more of a curse. That day was when his world crashed down, he’d never look at a person’s spirit animal the same again. It had all started with a girl named Avery her spirit animal a T-Rex that seemed to be the completely opposite of her personality.
\-------------
Might continue it later
|
Launce considered himself to be an ordinary child. His grandparents had lived in their small, sandstone home for generations. But one day, the family of 7 moved from the dirt roads to a concrete structure, and Launce didn't know what to make of it.
For one, they had to climb up a flight of stairs before reaching their home. Before, they just walked in from the street and sat down in the living room. Now, they had to climb up the stairs, 23 to be exact, and then take off their shoes and run inside.
He liked the new windows. It let more light in, but it also let more noise in. It was much quieter, but now it was noisy, and Launce could see the cars that were once far away drive right outside their new home.
They took the kitchen, the fridge, the old wooden fruit basket, the chipped tea pot, and the strange silver kettle that made noise whenever they wanted hot water. The bathroom felt harder, the walls and floors didn't crumble under his feet. His old bed had shifted too, and now they had more room to move about.
Mom had talked to him less, and it was often in short, sharp tones. Dad had been out more often, and came back with strangers, talking in loud voices. Launce never had the chance to bring up the animals, and what will happen to them, especially since no one, not even his friends, seemed to notice or care about them.
He worried about the animals, but no matter were Launce went, everyone he saw had one with them - dogs, cats, wolves, lions. There were a few birds, but they never landed close enough for Launce to spot them.
Launce had often played with the animals, they never seemed to mind. Some hung around, and came to his outstretched hand after making friends with them, but they always left, trailing behind the strangers.
His school had also shifted. It felt as new as his new home, harder than before.
Playtime hadn't changed. Everyday, after 10, they went out to the yard to play. Launce usually played with his friends, but he was worried that they animals had lost their way. He wanted to find them all and make sure everyone was safe.
He hid around a bush and started to call, the animals showed up and started lying on the ground. Everyone was here, including the strange looking dog with hard skin. It ran around in circles with a few other wolves.
The bell rang, and the children ran. The animals stretched, and rejoined his friends. He followed the strange dog back to the classroom where it curled next to his desk, next to Emmet.
===
A/N: Idk where I'm going with this, but it's interesting to for a child to have a Velociraptor for a spirit animal. If we base animals of on personalities, would it mean that the child has undergone trauma? Animals are guidances, so Emmet would have undergone bombings and violence from birth.
| 2021-04-25T09:58:21
| 2021-04-25T08:04:42
| 59
| 20
|
[WP] You finally won the lottery. $20 million. You go to sleep that night a rich and happy person. You wake up to a nurse, explaining you've just awoken from a coma.
Edit: for everyone saying "taxes on the winnings and medical bills for the coma"....I'm Canadian. I never thought of such atrocities.
|
I awake, my vision a white blur; I gasp for breath, lunging upright. An alarm is ringing somewhere far away.
I hear a voice. A woman's.
The haze begins to lessen a little and I see I'm in a white room, with a single window and not much else. I see *her*. She's walking towards me.
"Welcome back," she says, gently pushing me back down onto the bed. "I wasn't sure I'd ever get to speak to you." Her soft smile is reassuring.
"Where - *where am?*" I'm hyperventilating.
"Breathe, now," she says. "Like this." She puts her hands in front of her stomach, moving them away as she takes a deep breath. "Hold it for five seconds. Then, exhale for five."
I try to copy, and eventually, my heart begins to pump a little less furiously.
"That's right, just relax. Very good."
"Please, where am I?" I beg.
The lady is dressed in blue and white. "Saint Bartholomew's hospital," she answers.
"*Hospital?* I repeat, stupidly.
She nods. "You've been in a coma, for quite some time."
"What? *How long?*"
"Three years."
"No... that's not right," I protest, but my head is a thick fog. I can't think clearly.
"You were in a car accident."
"I don't remember... no - *wait.*" A few vague memories shake themselves free, like icicles falling from a cave roof. I was rich - I'd never had money before, but now I had more than I could ever have dreamed of. I was finally enjoying life. *But how did I get so much money?*
"I won the lottery," I say, as much to myself as to the nurse.
She bites her lip. "I'm glad you were having nice dreams, but..."
"No. It wasn't a dream. I *did* win it."
"I'm sorry, Mr Brown."
"Brown? My name's Manning. *Oliver Manning*."
The nurse turns away, as if looking for someone. When she looks back at me, there's an awkward smile on her face. "I know it's hard to believe - it's often like this when you've been in a long coma, but you're *Richard Brown.*
"That can't be right..."
"The doctor said you might forget some aspects of your identity. They'll return, soon." She lays a drivers license down on the bed.
"That's my face, but that's... not my name."
The nurse sighs. "Think you can use a laptop?"
I nod. "Yes. I think so."
She leaves me, returning shortly with a small computer under an arm.
"Can you sit up?" she asks. I can. She places the laptop gently onto my legs.
"You can search for the incident. Just type "Richard Brown car crash Minnesota, 2017. I'll leave you for a while."
I open Google as she walks out of the room. Then, I change my mind, and open up my bank's website. I *did* win - I know I did. I just need to see proof.
I type in my user ID and security details, and let out a long sigh of relief when the next screen loads. Oliver Manning: $17.6 million dollars.
The nurse returns to the room holding something small in her left hand.
"Did you find out everything you needed?" she asks, as she approaches me.
"Yes. I *did* win, thank God," I say, closing my eyes and smiling broadly. "I thought I was going insane."
"Yes, you did," she replies, as she pushes a syringe into my neck. "I knew you'd check your bank. You're a *very* greedy man."
"What are you-"
"You won all those millions, then you bought yourself a fast sports car - an Italian thing. You drove it recklessly. You drank. Then, you hit my husband. You were always going to hit somebody, but why him?"
My stomach fills with a new dread - a real dread. A certainty.
"You kept on driving, leaving him on the side of the road in a quickly growing pool of his own blood. You might have saved him, had you stopped and called for help. *I know you did it* - everyone knows - but your fancy lawyers got you off. He left me and our three children all alone. They have no father now, just a working nurse, to support them."
"I'm... *so sorry*."
"Took me some time get the opportunity to do this. To set this room up as nicely as I have - although I've always been one for minimalism."
"I'm sorry," I mumble, my tongue heavy. "Truly"
"You took everything from me. Now I'm going to take *everything* from you."
I begin to feel dizzy and my mouth is so, so dry.
"Did he give you the money yet, mommy?" asks a high pitched voice. I see a small, hazy silhouette enter the room.
"Yes darling."
"Is he dead yet?"
"Shortly, sweetheart."
"Good."
---
Thanks for reading! Plenty more stories on my sub: /r/nickofnight
(free ascii rose for all new subs --------{---(@ )
|
A tremendous headache like my brain trying to exit my head made me open my eyes. At first, I couldn't focus my sight, everything was distorted, soon I realized I had cables attached all over my body. Suddenly, a weird moving lump transformed into a nurse. "What is happening?" I tried to say out loud yet I could barely talk.
"Mr Johnson, do you remember your first name?" The nurse asked me as she watched a monitor with many numbers that I didn't understand.
"Where am I?" I tried to scream yet my voice once again was barely understandable. "Where am I?" I repeated, this time I managed to make it sound clearer, my head was killing me.
"Stay calm Mr Johnson, you were in a coma for a month. I know that you have many questions but I need you to answer some questions to check if your brain has any damage." She said as she looked straight into my awful bloody eyes with her beautiful, almost healing light-green eyes. "What's your first name?".
I looked into the depths of my brain yet I had an acutely hard time to remember it. "Robert, my name is Robert." I said after 20 seconds. "Did I win the lottery or it was just a dream?" I asked, desperately. My voice was normal now.
The nurse ignored my question and with grabbed a little lantern. "I will check your eyes now, stay relaxed." She said as her fingers stretched open my eyelids while her other hand flashed my eyes with the small instrument. "Your reflexes are fine, that's good news," a smile drew in her face. "Okay, I'll do a pressure check and I will call another doctor that will evaluate your cognition."
I nodded as she turned around looking for the tensiometer. I couldn't keep my eyes off her strawberry shock hair, it fell down all the way to her waist and it's curls waved in a romantic, enthralling motion.
"You're perfect, the doctor is on his way. I'm really glad you woke up" She said as she left the room.
Another doctor entered the room immediately, his height was comical, for a moment I thought it was Danny Devito.
"Mr. Johnson, glad to see you awake and well, my name is Dr. Teriz and I'm a neurologist. I'll ask you three questions."
I nodded with a smirk.
"What's the last thing you remember?" He asked as he took a pen and a paper from his front pocket.
"I'm not sure if it was a dream or not but I had won the lottery and I went to sleep."
He wrote something. "Okay, what's the name of your pet?"
"Yiru, is he fine?" I asked with anguish invading my chest.
"He's with your mother, he's perfect. Whats the result of 144/12?"
"12." I answered Immediately.
"Okay Mr Johnson, your brain miraculously seems to be in perfect conditions," he said, almost startled. "Feel free to ask me anything."
"Did I get fat?" I joked, his face transformed, he took a quick, deep breath and grabbed the pen and paper. "Relax, I'm joking. What happened?"
"Oh, I got scared for a second there. You did win the lottery but that night five burglars broke into your house. One had a bat the others were armed, the one with the bat hit you twice with full force in the head while you were sleeping. It's a miracle that you are alive and it's even more astonishing that you don't have any aftermath."
I frowned. "But, the money was in the bank, not in my house."
"Exactly, the other four guys killed the one that hit you, the police believe they wanted to take you to the bank and force you to transfer the money but your attacker went straight to hit you, he didn't even search the house. Seemed personal, an extremely rare failed crime."
I won't lie, a smile stretched my wrinkles all the way to the sides of my ears. I was alive and still a millionaire. "Can I make you one last question and ask you for a favour?"
"Yes, anything Mr Johnson."
"Is the nurse single?"
"Jade? Yes she is." We both laughed in camaraderie.
"Could you please mak-"
"Don't even finish that sentence, I'll make sure that she checks on you as much as she can. The rest is up to you."
We both smiled again. My new life awaited.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you enjoyed it please consider checking /r/chasisoxidado for more!
| 2017-06-06T08:32:36
| 2017-06-06T06:33:04
| 3,933
| 317
|
[WP] After bitting a Fae, the Vampire claims that she must serve him, for his bite converted her into his thrall. The Fae claims that the Vampire must serve her, for the vampire ate fae food without her permission. As none of them is willing to give up, they bring the case to you, a lawyer.
|
I sigh as they go around in an argument once again. It has been 30 minutes of back and fourth between the two, and I'm starting to regret putting an ad in the local magical newspaper offering free consultations.
"Look you two," I start, "magic and mystical law is my field of practice, but these laws are vague and highly specific, so I need to do some research." I hand them each a contract. "My rate is $750/hour, but since you two are both coming to me, I amended the contracts so each of you will pay for half the fee. The minimum billing hours is 8 hours so keep that in mind, even if I end up with less than 8 billable hours, you will still be billed for a minimum of 8. Pages 3-38 are just standard mystical disclosures including you may not have my name, and you agree to not use enchantment magic on me or anyone else in my firm for the duration of the contract +1 year." I sigh and hand them each a phoenix feather quill. Phoenix feathers being the only material quills can be made of that magically binds one's soul to a written contract. They also don't use ink, which is handy.
The Fae spoke, "wait, that means I will be paying $3000 for a servant! How unfair!"
"$3000 for a Thrall is pricy, but worth it to see you wipe that smug look off your face!" The vampire replies signing the contract, then murmuring in pain as it hits his soul.
"Ha! We'll see who's laughing in the end." The Fae takes care reading every line, but just as others of her lineage, she's a quick reader, especially with fine print. Then they too sign the contract and a similar whimper comes from her.
"Perfect" I say, smiling. My horns glisten in the red light of my office. "Now, it shouldn't take me more than a day to compile the resources available for who is right in this case; however, my schedule for meetings is quite booked for the next week so I can get you in next Thursday, how does that sound?"
"Fine!" They both squak in unison.
"Alright, see you then." I write it down in my calendar.
As they exit, I sigh one last time before picking up a law book on fae magic, and the laws behind them. Just as I suspected, that particular rule only applies to humans. I already knew the Thrall rule was only humans as well, as long as they weren't a virgin of a different gender that is, as that would create a new vampire.
I laugh, putting my feet on my desk, and dropping the book into my pocket dimension library. "$6000 to tell them they are both wrong seems like a deal to me, maybe I shouldn't withdraw that ad after all."
|
*Matlock - Episode 200: The Control*
"Mr... Vampire, and Mr... Faerie? What kind of names are those?"
"Those are our species, Mr. Matlock."
"Ah, do forgive me. I must be getting slightly forgetful in my old age. Hm, let me see your case file... Hm, interesting, very interesting. Well, custody cases are not usually my, eh, forte. However..."
"Custody?!" the vampire and the faerie lept out of their seats, enraged.
"Why yes, custody. Actual slavery and serfdom had been pretty much outlawed in the United States since, well, the end of the Civil War, sooner in the North. Of course, we're under Georgia law, so it's a bit later, but... yes, the only truly legal way to do this is under custody law." explained the Lawyer.
"But, sir... the traditions!" both creatures protested.
"The Confederates thought slavery was a tradition, too. It doesn't make it any more right. Now, if we do this under custody law, under the Creatures Act of 1899, you both would be assigned a supervisory probation officer from the State Department. Do you really want to go through that? Either of you?"
"...not really." they both sighed.
"Good. Well, there technically is another way..."
"What is it?"
"Marriage."
Three seconds later, both the vampire and the faerie stormed out of Ben Matlock's office.
"A shame, really. I never even got to know their names. Still, certainly one for the books. Not every day a faerie and vampire enter your office, even if it is only for five minutes."
| 2022-07-12T00:54:08
| 2022-07-11T23:22:58
| 16
| 11
|
[WP] You remember the first time yiu saw one of the humans' new weapon. You wondered with amusement how a metal pipe could possibly be of any threat to an elf like yourself. Then he pulled the trigger, and it stopped being funny.
|
*He can't even swing it in that stance.*
Ruvinostra chuckled as the human quaked, fear in his eyes as he brandished his weapon. Elven eyes were not only naturally sharper than a human's, but their ageless nature allowed elves to train their sight over centuries. This training was what first gave Ruvinostra pause.
Upon looking more closely, this weapon seemed built to be held in this way. Perhaps some sort of machine? It would be best to keep his distance. He paced sideways, but the weapon stayed trained on him.
*Perhaps it releases some sort of discharge. Does he dare to believe he can win in a ranged battle against an elf, legendary masters of archery?*
The human raised his weapon to his eyes and took aim. Ruvinostra felt an instinctive dread wash over him, but why? He should have the advantage, but everything about this human's posture and demeanor seemed to indicate otherwise. Was it too late? The moment lingered in time, pregnant with anticipation, waiting to exhale.
A twitch of movement. His finger? Perhaps from tension? No. It was on that spot deliberately, some sort of mechanism. Intuition and instinct carried Ruvinostra out of the bullet's path. The thunderous sound spread out in all directions. The human lowered the weapon and fumbled for something for a moment before an arrow pierced through him.
The human turned, and upon seeing the arrow embedded in the tree behind him, slowly touched the entry wound before collapsing. Ruvinostra lowered his bow and approached the body. More were coming and he had little time. He grabbed the weapon and the bag the human had been searching and headed home with a message.
*War is coming.*
|
"Oh look at me, I have a pipe. Whoaoaoa sooo scary."
"You really don't want me to pull this trigger."
"Suure bud."
*Bang*
"Ahhh! What *was* that!? My leg!"
"I told you that you didn't want me to pull the trigger"
"But you didn't say what was going to happen," the elf painfully said, clutching his leg.
"Would you have believed me though?"
"What even happened," he asked, holding back tears of pain.
"Uhh...im not even really sure, man. All I know, is that I pull the trigger, something comes out, and boom bam my enemy is dead. Or in your case, maimed."
"Can you just put me out of my misery," he asked, now full on crying.
*Sigh* "Of course"
| 2020-01-24T09:13:13
| 2020-01-24T08:48:55
| 71
| 39
|
[WP] Okay, hear me out: a blind woman, right? A blind woman falls in love with Medusa. She wanders into Medusa’s meadow, Medusa pities her and takes care of her. They then fall in love. <3
|
Medena wouldn't have thought that she would find warmth around the cold body of Medusa. Her warmth came from the way she spoke, the way she behaved around Medena. She even had concerns and felt the burden of mundane stuff such as that morning when she looked into the clear water surface and sighed because the snakes were a mess. Medusa explained that sometimes they got moody and wiggled in all directions making her look like a buffoon.
'What is the reason for that smirk?' Medusa's voice came from behind Medena's head.
'Oh, nothing.' Medena lifted her head as if her blind eyes could see the one holding her. She offered Medusa a smile.
'You know,' Medena added as she leaned her head on Medusa's chest. 'I wish I could see you.'
Medena could hear the snakes slither, giving away Medusa's surprise. For someone with her reputation she was also like an open book. Medena had never met someone so showing of their emotions and to her it felt like honesty. Medusa was the most honest person she had ever met.
'You once told me that never in your life have you wished to see.' Medusa's answer came after a couple heartbeats. 'That sight would make the world you perceive lose its beauty.'
Medena raised her head and offered another smile. She heard the snakes move and then go completely quiet, they were probably looking at her as well.
'It would lose nothing.'
Edit: *It*
|
The blind woman woke up in a cold sweat and jumped out of bed.
Medusa jumped up too. "What? What is it my love?"
The blind woman, shaking and in tears, pointed at the bed. "I-I-I h-heard a-a-"
Medusa came closer. "Heard what, my dear?"
"A-a-a...snake!"
Medusa reared back in surprise, a stone of dread settling at the bottom of her stomach. "A snake?"
The blind woman nodded. "Lots of them! By my head!"
"Oh..." said Medusa. "So you're scared of snakes..."
"Yes," said the blind woman. "I can't stand them! They're the reason why I'm blind. When I was a little girl, I was playing in the forest and I grabbed a stick that turned out to be a snake and it shut venom into my face and bit me in the eyes." She was shaking with anger now. "If I wasn't blind, I would kill every snake that I could see."
"Oh..." Medusa said softly, looking away sad and patting her head of snakes to calm them down and keep them quiet.
| 2022-04-29T10:24:43
| 2022-04-29T09:49:31
| 385
| 43
|
[WP] Write something that ends with the line "The music still playing, no-one left to hear it"
You don't have to use that exact phrasing.
|
It was a calm Monday, little milling about,
The clamoring eves party, now a distant shout,
With little introspection countrymen stewed,
To forget their problems behind sake and brews,
A drinker, anxious, found a jukebox quite pleasant ,
dropped all his money, to forget of the present,
Drinking and drinking, it would continue to play,
From Sunday's eve, through the night and night unto day,
Each song more depressing, dulling and bombastic,
Until quarter past eight, a sound now quite classic,
The bars all closed instantly and without a tone,
The citizens now gone, and those gone without homes,
few minutes go by without any singular sound,
when inside the old bar a new coin would fall down,
the years top music appropriate of their lives,
what change did minutes make in 1945
and there stood the jukebox, no single soul near it,
the music still playing, no-one left to hear it.
|
Bus Ride
She said, "the music helps to drown it out...You know? The world". We laughed and connected at that very moment. Smiles refusing to be held back by our lips. I'm surprised since I swear everything in life had just fallen from my finger tips. A bus ride beside a stranger who couldn't have been more stranger. We talked for the next three stops. Both with ear buds still in hand. While the music still played, with no one left to hear it.
| 2013-12-16T11:20:30
| 2013-12-16T10:38:48
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] A small town discovers that the long abandoned mines beneath them are larger than previously recorded - and seem to be growing.
A small idea that came to me before bed, wanted to see where everyone's creativity takes it!
|
**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Let me know if you get a strong impression from the MC in this one. I'm trying something new!
-------------------------------------------------------------
>**SUMMONING THE UNKNOWN**
Ava frequently disagreed with *"The Adults"*, much to their chagrin. They called her a difficult child, they called her pig-headed and ungrateful.
She was neither. Well-perhaps a touch stubborn, but she *knew* when she was right, and was never willing to concede when she knew better.
Everyone said that metal was 'inorganic', that it was a dead substance- no life, no potential for growth- what we had was all that had ever existed.
Ava knew they were wrong- because she could *see*.
Every living thing carried an aura, and metal- at least, the metal that came from around here- was *alive*. Its energy was subtle, but persistent.
Being a pre-teen was also disadvantageous- though Ava was incredibly sharp for her age, they still refused to take her seriously.
This was the third time she had been sent out into the hallway during Science class- for being "disrespectful".
Adults had such fragile egos.
Leaving the rest of the class with busywork, the teacher condescendingly squatted down to Ava's height as she sat on the hallway bench.
"Listen, Ava- you have to understand that, as adults, we know better. Everything you're arguing against has been proven time and time again by the scientific method. Metal is not alive- it doesn't grow, eat, feel- nothing. It's time we moved past this. And- heck, if you can't take my word for it, go ask Nolan. He's the grade above you, and he's planning on becoming a geologist- he should have a few methods in that little lab of his to demonstrate the point. No detention this time, but for your homework, either prove to me that metal is alive, as you say, or write a paper explaining how Nolan proved this notion wrong, okay?" The teacher left.
Honestly, Ava couldn't have even told you what they looked like. They were just...fog. Unimportant people, dispassionate, unambitious- all of the things Ava disliked. She never made eye contact with those types, just in case she caught their...disease.
Ava trudged home, disdainful of the sweat that was building from the late spring heat. She had never lived this far south until two months ago- and the difference was very significant. She preferred a cooler climate.
Reaching her home, she found the front door open- there was no separation between the the house and the outside world aside from a thin sheet of patterned silk. It was not surprising, but she disapproved regardless.
"Mother, must you keep leaving the door open?" Ava asked, spotting her mother lounging on their Bohemian-style sofa. She was dressed as she always was- flowing clothes, adorned with spiritual stones around her neck, her nose in a book.
"Relax some, my love. This is a small town- very safe. Did anything inspire you at school today?"
"...After a fashion." Ava said, reluctantly. She rifled through a few drawers before finding the local yellow pages. "Is the phone still plugged in?" She asked.
"No, love. As soon as my hours are done for the day I put the phone on top of the fridge."
Ava was aware that their home was lagging in modern comforts- cell phones, internet connections- but on spiritual grounds, her mother had seen fit to reduce or eliminate most of those sorts of things. Ava liked it better that way, anyway.
Returning the phone to its perch, she used the yellowpages to locate Nolan's family name- Miller.
She called three Millers before she landed the right household. It was a small town- but apparently Miller was a disproportionately common last name.
"I'd like to speak to Nolan, please." Ava said.
"Sure, sure," responded an enthusiastic adult male's voice. "Nolan! *Nolan!* Ugh- one sec." He sounded perhaps eighteen? Nineteen?
The sound of active metal machinery grew louder until Nolan's presumed brother was in the presumed garage. "*Nolan!*" He shouted again.
A muffled response- the phone exchanged hands- "H'lo?"
"Hi, Nolan. We haven't met, my name is Ava, I'm from the grade below you. I was wondering if you could prove to me that the locally mined metal is inorganic." A brief pause from the other side of the phone. "It's for my science class." Ava added quickly.
"Oh! Uh, sure, probably. Come on over. You know the address?" Nolan asked.
"I do. Thank you." Ava hung up. She had taken to memorizing the town's layout via long nightly walks- a sort of meditation for her. Their mailbox had their names written on it.
"Going out." Ava announced, strapping her mini-boots back on.
"Back before dark, please!" Her mother called after her.
Trying to balance haste with her dislike of sweating, Ava arrived at the Miller's home.
The garage was quieter than before- but not silent. Nolan was sat upon a short stool, and he appeared to be scrubbing a rusted metal pole using steel wool.
"Hi, I'm Ava." She stuck out her hand.
"Nolan!" He said. "Sorry, dirty hands."
"I don't mind."
They shook hands, and Ava looked in his eyes. The perquisite energy she always liked to see was there- Nolan had bright green eyes. His aura was perhaps a bit under-developed... muddled oranges and reds, lacking definition, but plenty of creativity and passion to be seen.
Nolan disengaged and looked away. "Right- well. Science class, yeah?" He turned to his garage- it was well-stocked with a wide array of metalworking machines and materials. "My Dad is an engineer, so he likes indulging my hobby. Thinks I'm going to take over the family consulting business."
"Do you plan to?"
"I am thirteen years old." Nolan said firmly. "I will think about that *later*. For now I'm just having fun. So, for your project-"
Nolan led Ava through multiple pseudo-experiments; he demonstrated that metal could not reason, was unable to feel emotion, and he tried to show that metal could not grow.
Ava was more certain than ever. "This metal was mined from around here, right?" She asked.
"You bet. Support local businesses, Dad always says...even the ones that are technically shut down. The owner's son still makes a profit off the purchase, you see, even if the mine hasn't been used in forty some-odd years."
"Nolan, I am willing to bet you *anything* that by this time tomorrow, I will have doubled your amount of metal by making it grow."
Nolan raised an eyebrow. "Five bucks."
"Deal." They shook hands again.
Ava grabbed a normal metal plate and placed it on a frequency-based vibration machine. On it she laid down a half pound of local metal, and set the vibrations to 432hz- an auspicious frequency, if her mother was to be believed. Ava also gathered her personal energy and 'gifted' it to the metal on the plate- an exhausting process, but necessary.
"Leave it just how it is, and I'll come back tomorrow." Ava said.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ava returned the following day, and, with Nolan as her witness, she placed the .98lbs of metal on a scale.
"Five bucks." Ava said gesturing with her hands in a 'gimme' fashion.
"You said you'd double it. That is point-two pounds shy." Nolan said, not reaching for his wallet.
Ava rolled her eyes. "Pedant."
"How did you know?" Nolan asked.
"You don't seem very shocked." Ava said, avoiding the question.
"I checked on it at 4 A.M. this morning. Kinda cheating, but..." He left his sentence unfinished.
"I... I had a feeling. My mom always taught me about spiritual stuff. I can have...intuitive knowledge. Sometimes."
A mischievous glint grew in Nolan's eye. "So-what if you and I made some really big resonance pads and put them in the old mine?"
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Neither of them had been expecting to summon an Ancient God that day.
It happened anyway.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Part II? If you guys want it I'll put it up on my subreddit, r/Nystorm_writes (I know there's a typo, there's a funny story to that...)
|
“Come, George, it’s this way,” I said.
George was my dog, and my best friend! I had other friends too, like Johnny and Chris and Leo and Diana; they were all human. But George was my best friend, and he was a dog!
Everyone found that funny. People always said mans best friend was the dog, but they never meant it the way I took it. George and I we’re more than a boy and his dog; so when George told me he wanted to check out the mines, who was I to say no!
He had been eager to hop into their mysterious depths; he would’ve been barking at them for weeks now— there was an entrance near the park we played at.
But that entrance had been blocked off for ages, George and I couldn’t enter that way. Lucky for him though, I knew of a secret entrance!
There was hole in the middle of the forest that I stumbled upon one day. I frequented the mines to the extent I knew them better than a mother knew her child.
The curved and spun in such fanciful ways; but they were too small. They had been used decades ago but no value was found in them, so they remain there, never expanded to their full potential.
George and I traversed my favourite pathway of the mines, I called it the “wave”. It rose and dipped in such sinuous patterns that I wished my bike could fit down that hole.
Makes me wonder what the miners were thinking back then. The only down side to wave was that it was a dead-end. It went on for quite a bit but it would ultimately end with no subsequent path, forcing you to backtrack to its beginning.
But it was a fun path.
George and I were playing tag, I worried that he may trip over his feet through, the lighting wasn’t too strong; such damp lamps.
We ran up and down the waving ground like a cartoon character would. It was so much fun.
But it wouldn’t last much longer, wave would be reaching its end soon enough.
“Ruff! Ruff, ruff!”
I heard George’s barking from up ahead, he had ran off in front of me no to long ago.
He must’ve reached the ending. I know, I know boy, it’s sad isn’t i—
“What the..?” I said.
When I reached George’s backside, I was at a loss for words. The path, wave, split off into two directions. One that I assumed lead to other pathways, given its direction, and one that lead the opposite direction. An area of the underground that the mines hadn’t touched yet.
All the previous tunnels seemed to be gathered on the eastern side, this one seemingly lead quite far to the west.
George was barking at the dark tunnel the same way he barked at the entrance. Yes, dark tunnel. There was no lighting in this one.
“I...I don’t know, boy. That’s a little spooky if you ask me,” I said.
George paid me no mind and continued his barking. The dark cave frightened me quite a bit. It’s sudden appearance was strange. Did they start construction on them again? Oh well, if George wanted to go, then we would!
“Only for a short while, ok George?”
I switched my phones flashlight on and George immediately took off to the ends of the lights reach. The pathway was narrow and shorter than the others. Though I fit fine underneath it’s ceiling.
I can’t even remember how long we walked that path for. For some reason I was dragged deeper and deeper into its depths. The worry I had moments prior seemed to vanish from my mind.
I turned to look behind me but could no longer see the light on the other end.
It had grown progressively hotter too. The air felt damp, like the suffocation of a mid summers day.
“Hey George,” I said. Out of breath from the endless walking and from the airs constrictive pressure.
“Let’s head back now, this tunnel probably goes on forever. Maybe they’re connecting another town to ours through it. Let’s go back, yeah?”
George ignored my pleas yet again and pushed onward. I was beginning to doubt his care for me.
We must’ve walked for at least another hour. My clothing was now drenched in sweat and George was running out of steam too.
Just when I was at my limit. “Is that...?”
I looked as far as my eyes would allow to try and validate what my brain was telling me I saw. There was light. Not much deeper into the tunnel, at what I assumed to be its end, there was a opening of light, dim light.
After another five minutes or so, George and I reached the light. I nearly fainted when I saw what the light held within its reaches.
Wave.
The pathway wave. It’s not as if we came from the second pathway that connected to wave; we came from the one we first started off on.
“Hey, George? Did we turn around back there?” I asked. I knew we didn’t, but we must’ve. That tunnel ran straight. It didn’t have any turns or curves or ups and downs. How did we make it back to wave?
George took off in an instant. Running towards the secret entrance. He started barking excitedly when he reached the hole in the ceiling.
I was exhausted, I couldn’t even chase after him and was forced to saunter at a turtles pace towards him. I pushed George up and out first before climbing out of the mines myself.
It was definitely hotter now. The air felt so heavy on my body and each breath felt so strenuous on my lungs. The sky also appeared red. Everything felt a little red, now that think about it.
“Were we gone for that long?” I said, huffing. My body was on its last wind.
I expected George to take off again but was surprised when he huddled up to my leg.
“George?” I said.
The rustling in the bushes caused both George and I to jump in fear.
Then something emerged from the bushes.
It had red skin, the same as fresh blood. It had fur covering its lower half and hooves in place of feet. Horns, small ones, mind you, poked from his skull in the shape of a crown.
I wanted to cry.
“Did you come through the tunnel?” the creature asked, ecstatic.
I nodded my head reluctantly. George whimpered at my side.
The creature roared in excitement.
“My first visitors! I’m so excited.”
He ran up to us with frightening speed. I didn’t even have time to react. He grabbed me by my hand and shook it with so much vigour I feared he’d release the pee I was holding in.
“Welcome, you two! Welcome to hell!”
| 2020-08-23T12:52:23
| 2020-08-23T12:23:38
| 17
| 11
|
[WP] You've narrowed down the list of possible murderers to three people - the son of the dead man, the wife of the dead man and the dead man's pet rock. Something deep within you knows that the pet rock is the one who killed him.
|
I had them all at gunpoint. One of them was a violent murderer, and I was going to prove it. The evidence had all pointed to these three people: the son, the wife, and the family pet. These cases were as clear cut as they can get.
The son claims to have been up in his room working on homework. The door was closed and a sock that had been hanging on the doorknob was now on the floor. He claims to have heard the thud coming from downstairs; he felt the reverberations through the floor and went to check it out.
The wife claims to have been in the kitchen making supper for the family -- steak and salad, with extra croutons. She also claims to have heard a thud and went to investigate. By the time I had gotten the call, the food was still warm, unlike the man who was face-first into the living room floor.
The rock, however, was the most interesting suspect. No matter how hard I pressed, it refused to budge. My stony expression, despite how intimidating and fear-inducing it had been in the past, didn't even faze it. Of course, the family questioned me. Why would I interview something that can't communicate? It's just a pet, it can't tell you.
That's where they were wrong. Everything has to have a story, and you can't always get that story the old fashioned way. I looked at the evidence that was present. The man was laying on his stomach. Cause of death was blunt trauma to the head. There were no signs of breaking and entering. The rock had a missing alibi. But the most important detail? How worn down -- one might say eroded -- the rock had looked. It was disheveled and crooked around the edges.
Pointing my gun at the suspect, I yell.
"You're under arrest!"
The family looks at me like I'm crazy. However, the evidence never lies. The rock had done it, and I was going to take it down. The family tried to argue against the facts, but I showed them the folder of evidence I had. The photos of the scene, the written alibis of each suspect, and a writing of the story as I pieced it together. They shut their mouths, because they had nothing more to say. So I arrested the rock, threw it in the back of my car, and drove to the precinct. The papers beat the rock.
|
"Its got to be the pet rock," I said.
"Why the hell do you think its the pet rock?" Farmer asked, "It can't even move."
"But rocks like this one sure have their issues. I used to have one as a kid."
"I don't see how this is helping."
"It sure as heck helps. I actually forgot about my pet rock once. That mistake nearly cost me my life. Those rocks are nasty creatures."
"But rocks aren't sentient. They can't move. They just sit there. And do nothing."
"That's what they want you to think. When you least expect it," I clapped my hands together, "you've been bludgeoned to death by your rock."
"But if the rock hits you, wouldn't that hurt the rock?"
"No, their skin is solid stone. They feel no pain."
"I just can't deal with this right now."
Farmer walked out of the room closing the door behind him. I could hear him shouting that I was insane. But I never cared, all I wanted to do was get that rock in the slammer. I turned my attention to the rock which was staring dumbly. I knew what it was thinking. I knew what it wanted to do. It always put on that dumb face to fool people, but I knew the dark soul that each rock pet carried. I would do it, somehow.
| 2017-02-24T09:00:01
| 2017-02-24T05:12:15
| 177
| 53
|
[WP] You are an archaeologist. One day you find a cryogenics research facility that you determine was in use during the 21st century. In the cryo room you find one person still frozen. When you let them out, they have a smug look as they say, "Has it been ten years already?"
|
They have a smug look as they say, "Has it been ten years already?"
"Wait a second, who are you?" he asks, his eyes slowly coming into focus as he stares at me, bewildered.
In the short time it took the cryo chamber to open and release the frozen man a thousand thoughts raced through my mind. Who is this person? How long has he been frozen? Is he going to be a threat to me?
Then it dawned on me. He can't know. He can't be aware that decades ago an international agreement was made to stop all cryogenics, and discard all humans that were currently frozen.
Never had anyone survived being unfrozen longer than a week, and each death was agony, as the body slowly shut down, bit by bit, beginning to rot away while the patient still lived.
Cryo-scientists had never been able to stop the body from rejecting and killing off the cells that have been damaged by the freezing process, and it had been agreed that it was unethical to continue trying.
This man must have somehow slipped through the net when they discarded all those who were frozen.
Before I could even begin to consider if I should tell him the horrendous death he was facing he had started questioning me.
"I unfroze you", I began, unsure of how else to explain myself in a way he would understand. "How do you feel?".
"Alright I guess", he replied, "a bit like I had a couple too many beers last night, but I guess nobody comes out of there ready to run a marathon, right?".
"Actually, I'm not sure", I replied, "I've never met anyone who has been unfrozen before".
"What, how can that be", his bewilderment showing all across his face now, "there were thousands, mabye millions frozen before me, surely many of them have been unfrozen long ago?".
"Can you tell me a bit about how you came to be frozen", I asked, trying to steer the conversation away from that line of questioning, knowing where it would lead.
"It's a bit of a story really, but the short version is that a group of investors started a business, and built this facility all the way out here, far away from everything really. It was obvious to everyone at that time that cryo was getting alot of negative attention in the media, religious groups very vocal against it, scientists saying that cryo could never work and it was going to end in disaster and catastrophe for people who choose to be frozen. You know, the kind of bullshit that comes along with any new technology".
"They brought us here to live for a couple of years before our freeze day and they didn't let us hear too much from the outside world, telling us that it was necessary for us to not be" contaminated" from outside sources. We had paid a lot of money to be here, nobody wanted to take the risk of trying to contact the outside world and possibly be thrown off the program. And besides, my family are here, we quickly made friends with all the other families here to be cryo'd and we didn't miss the outside world much at all, especially with all the fuss and drama about cryogenics".
"Dr. Bentley assured us they were a top notch facility, we would be well looked after, and they would do a test freeze on everyone for 10 years. I went first and my family were due to go in 6 weeks after me, so they will get out in 6 weeks time. After that they would put us back in for however long we wanted. Most of us were going for a few hundred years."
"Where is the doc anyway, he said he would be here when I got out, but this isn't at all what I was expecting, I'm starting to freak out a bit".
"I will level with you", I said, "it has been much much longer than 10 years. This facility looks like it has been abandoned in a hurry, I have no idea what happened, but I think you've been left behind. I was out here scouting the area for my work and stumbled across it, otherwise I don't think anyone knows it's here".
"Oh my god", he whispered in a choked voice "they said something like this might happen, that the cryo protestors would get out of control and try and storm the place. But... But the doc had all these traps and systems set up to stop unwanted people getting in. And these traps weren't made to tickle, they were made to stop unwelcome people getting in at All costs. He figured if people came onto his private property, he could deal with them however he wanted. Come to think of it, it's a miracle that you made it in here without knowing how to get around them. He told us all how they worked, so I can get us out but it's not going to be easy".
Just as he finished explaining this he clutched his stomach and groaned in agony, his eyes became unfocused and he half stepped half fell into the closest wall to stop himself collapsing. As he noticed the blood starting to run from his left ear he looked at me and demanded "what's going on? What are you not telling me?".
First time posting in this sub and I don't really write too much so I'm a bit nervous, but I'm looking forward to hearing what everyone thought and glad to hear all constructive criticism. Thanks!
|
His pulse is over 60 now. He can see me but he seems to having a hard time talking. He coughs a few times and starts touching his face.
''Has it been ten years already?'' He asks.
I try to give him a medication to help his body to adjust to the condition. He pushes me away, ''Who are you?'' He asks.
''I’m here to help.'' I say.
He shakes his head, ''You shouldn’t be here. This was a secret place.'' He says.
''What you mean?'' I ask.
He tries to a standstill by himself. He manages to keep his balance and he steps forward.
''Do you remember who you are?'' I ask.
He looks at me, ''You have rather interesting clothes.'' He says.
I feel the buzzing feeling and I see the reminder of my medication displayed in my sight.
''What the hell is that?'' He points at my device.
''That is my Exterior Memory Device.'' I answer.
He gets closer to the device, ''Why it’s connected to you?''
''There is a lot of explaining to do. But this isn’t a priority. First of all, I need to confirm your name.'' I say.
He looks at me with a suspicious eye, ''You are one of them.''
''What? One of who?'' I ask.
''Those fuckers who hijacked our system and left us to die here. What happened to my family? Tell me, where is my family?'' He drops to the ground.
---------------------------------
-Thank you for reading the story-
*Just FYI, I'm not a native speaker so, if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes please don't mind it.*
| 2020-02-28T12:31:53
| 2020-02-28T10:21:13
| 56
| 23
|
[WP] You are studying at a local coffee shop and leave your table briefly to get a refill. When you return, you notice a USB flash drive placed on your table.
|
Not this shit again.
I sigh as I set my cup of tea (earl grey, foamed milk, no sugar please) next to my laptop. The drive is pink, of all colors. Maybe they thought it would be more unassuming than black? I DON'T put it into my laptop, lord knows I don't feel like being interrogated for another three days. I learned my lesson after the first time. Instead I pack up my things, get in my car, and drive the two miles to the little blue bungalow on the edge of town.
My knock is greeted by a minute and a half of silence. I'm used to it. Finally, after several locks and bolts are undone on the other side of the door a face, a face so much like my own appears.
“Again?” she says, almost as exasperated as me.
“Again,” I repeat. She rolls her eyes and holds out her hand. I drop the drive into her outstretched fingers. “Good luck on this one,” I say with a mock salute. She searches my face for any sign that I know the contents of the drive, but apparently is satisfied with what she sees, because she nods in acknowledgment and closes the door. I walk back to my car and gun the engine. I don't need this. I have an anatomy final in two days.
Of all the cities in the whole world, my secret agent sister is stationed in mine.
|
Ok, so I'm really stupid.
Sticking random peripherals into my personal computer isn't something I do normally. I know the risks. This time though, it was just a whim.
I'm interested. What if it's some super secret document? What if it has nudes? I'm kinda facinated by this drive.
So when it starts opening a million windows and lagging my computer to hell, I know I've made a stupid mistake. I bang my head on the desk and people in the shop look at me like I'm nuts. Maybe I am. I just stuck an unidentified drive in my computer and now I've got a virus.
When I look up and reach for the power button though, I stop. Why?
The screen has normalised. Except for a single open window that says "Don't do that."
I put my coffee down. The screen shifts and changes.
"Sorry." It says. "This isn't the optimal interface for me."
I sit there looking baffled. The screen flicks off and on a few times.
"Umm, you'll have to talk for me to understand properly. I can only see you moving."
I shut the laptop in a hurry. I need to get this home. Now.
| 2014-08-08T09:10:19
| 2014-08-08T07:32:27
| 18
| 10
|
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
Startled awake by a hand on his throat, Jamie flinched hard, the thumb digging in deeper.
"Is this some sick fucking joke, Jamie"!" Bill roared, squeezing a little tighter. "Answer me, you little shit!"
Opening his eyes to slits, Jamie took a raspy breath. As his eyes fell upon the mug sloshing whiskey all over his bed, he realized instead of "#1 Dad" like it had said 4 years before, when Grammy had gotten it for her son, instead... That was too many digits for Jamie to even try to guess how high the number was.
"N-No sir... I don't know why it says that." Jamie squeaked out, barely able to make a sound with the meaty hand still on his throat.
"You know you're lucky, right? Your whore of a mom just walked the fuck out because she didn't want a little fucking brat like you. You know that, right?" Bill squeezed again, releasing his son after the boy nodded. "If I find out you had anything to do with this, it'll be another month in the punishment hole."
"Y-y-yes, so-sir. the terrified boy managed.
"Go the fuck back to sleep, and don't piss yourself or you're doing the laundry."
With a slam of the door, Bill shuffled drunkenly back to the couch, and flipped from the crap porno to the news, a rerun from when he had been asleep.
"Well, John, it looks like all mugs that once said #1 Dad now show their real ranking. It appears that even just painting #1 Dad onto a mug forces it to change into the proper number."
The last noise Jamie heard before he sobbed himself to sleep was his fathers yelling, and a ceramic mug exploding upon hitting his bedroom door.
|
She didn't understand this change in her father. She was accustomed to him focusing more on his work than on her. Frankly, she couldn't remember the last time he picked her up from school at all and now he had shown everyday this week. And to top it off, there he was, sitting in the front row of her play.
You see, Carly's father was a high powered lawyer. He made sure that Carly and her mother were well taken care of, but his singular focus had resulted in divorce and a distinct form of absentee parenting. For her dad, the next big case was always his immediate aim, while maintaining his 5.0 rating on Martindale-Hubbell was his mission statement.
And now that had changed. Here he was, driving her home for his weekend instead of telling her to use the credit card he gave to pay for an Uber. And now all the small-talk. "How was school? She knew he would pay for college right? Does she have a boyfriend? Did she need a dress for prom"?
None of this would prepare her for the new CR-V parked in the driveway. It was time that she had her own car he said. Nothing too fancy, but something safe and practical.
This was weird. Carly should have been happy. But she wasn't. It all felt wrong and forced. So that night, after her dad went to sleep (after watching television with her, something that hadn't happened for at least 5 years), Carly walked around the house and tried to make sense of her dad. She was honestly concerned that he was sick, maybe it was cancer. Maybe this is his chance to make everything right before he left.
But she didn't find anything. No doctors notes, no medical correspondence, nothing out of the ordinary. Her dads house was immaculate. He loved to display his trophies from his high school wrestling days, all of the articles with his picture from the law firm, and he even had a custom-built electronic sign that listed his gamer score on the Xbox.
No, she wasn't likely to find anything here. If he was dying, he would keep that from her. And he wouldn't leave the papers out.
There was a mug sitting out though. It looked like the #1 Dad mug she bought him a couple of years ago, but it had "# 5,478,888 Dad" on it. Carly thought that that was a weird gag gift for someone to get him. Still, he had been so nice, she figured she'd put it away for him.
The next morning the news broke that all of the mugs had changed. It was then that Carly realize that her dad was addicted to winning.
| 2017-06-11T08:52:12
| 2017-06-11T08:30:57
| 187
| 113
|
[WP] As a boneheaded cost cutting measure, companies have fully automated the hiring process and laid off human HR. There was a bug in the system and you received an email to apply to a job that doesn’t exist. You got the job and are now employed as (null).
|
Hello new employee!
Here at Bobbert’s things and people, We take pride in having every employee fit a job, no matter what! After careful consideration, your position in this company will be [POSITION_STRING] so get used to being called [NULL] and [POSITION_RELATED_NICKNAME_STRING] your pay will be [INTEGER].25$ and your hours will be in the [INTEGER]-[INTEGER] range. Your duties in this position will be as follows: [POSITION_TABLE]
You start work June 13, 20[INTEGER], at 9:00 AM
With best regards,
Automated employer system.
_______________________________________________________________________
Interesting. Mark applied to Bob’s because they always know what job to give someone. As someone who has turned 16 he figured it will be the perfect way to get an easy job. Although it seems he now has to go to support to figure out how to get this sorted out.
_______________________________________________________________________
Hello, I have a problem, I’m not sure what my position is or where I’m suppose to go. My Employee number is 9947246.
Mark Walkings.
_______________________________________________________________________
Hello Employee 9947246
We searched our system and your put down as position [NULL], this means you will go [SUPPORT_RESPONSE_STRING].
Hoped we helped,
Automated Support System.
_______________________________________________________________________
Well that was a helpful response, guess mark will have to go into Bob’s tomorrow and talk to a human or something, maybe he can get this sorted out and start making money.
Waking up on the 13th day of June, mark disembarks early, to get his position clarified to him. Walking into Bobbert’s things and people, he goes to the help desk, but finds only the automated help system. He decides to go and clock in and find out what to do from there.
_______________________________________________________________________
Hello [POSITION_STRING], to start. You need to do
_______________________________________________________________________
Need to do what? The screen has froze up, his ticket has printed, but it doesn’t tell him what to do. Maybe all these placeholders has crashed the system, why it took this long Mark doesn’t know but he waits for a human to fix the system.
Instead of hanging on the screen, or blanking out. After a while the screen goes back to the POS menu and mark still stands there.
“Hey pal, move it we need to start our job too.”
Mark moves out the way and lets the line of people clock into the system. Everything runs smoothly like that was suppose to happen. He decides to just to do nothing, if he can get away with it then its easy money… whatever he is suppose to get paid.
_______________________________________________________________________
The days pass, and mark gets his end of the week paycheck. He “worked” a full 9 to 5 shift every day for the past week, that adds up to a grand 57 hours. Impressive. Mark checks his newly made bank account to find he has made… 525,732,210,000,000,000,000$??
he did the math and found his hourly pay was 9,223,372,036,854,775,807.25$, apparently with no tax taken out.
A few days later, and its found out that Bobbert’s things and people shut down after a major system error, and bankruptcy.
|
I was so hecking tired of getting automated rejection email after rejection email, some as blunt as a chopping board, others sugarcoated; thank you for your application, we thought you were wonderful but no thanks we don’t want you anyway.
When I saw the email Inviting me to a position as (null), I’d snorted at the obvious glitch and clicked apply. Hey, I figured, what’s the worst that can happen?
The worst was being dragged out of bed by an armoured mercenary-looking droid at 5:45 and told:
“(Null) 1-0-0-0-6. You are late for work.”
I didn’t scream. okay, I did, but so would you. The droids held the back of my collar in an iron grip—literally.
“Whattheheck get off!”
“You must work now, (null) 1-0-0-0-6.”
“What happened to null 10005?”
The droid let go and cocked its head to one side. “That is irrelevant. You must—“
“Go to work, I know.” I scratched the back of head. “What exactly am I employed to do?”
It turned out that I would be in charge of the most important operation there’s ever was. Or is. Or is going to be.
I laughed in that half hearted way that nervous terrified and disbelieving people sometimes do. “You want me to travel in time and delete all the events that shouldn’t have happened?” I repeated.
“It is the only job you will ever get, null. Your predecessor made sure. Do you understand?”
Ah. In hindsight. 3065 straight job application rejections did seem… extreme.
| 2022-09-29T07:54:43
| 2022-09-29T07:20:22
| 326
| 80
|
[WP] "How is the E.A.R.T.H. project going?" "It is mostly a success with 68 of the 100 planet developing life, 12 of which are inhabited by intelligent races. Most of the planets are safe, but the planet S-3 is inhabited by a relatively advanced "peaceful" war-race."
|
E.A.R.T.H. truly was an ambitious project. An entire galaxy in a black hole; a black hole they had created. It was astounding what was capable of existing in so infinitesimally small a space. Truly, he barely understood it. He doubted that even those who had created it truly grasped what they had made, or how they had done it.
It was like a ZIP file; something of a massive size compressed to a fraction of what it once was, or is. The scientists could safely study all the planets and lifeforms in it, but none dared actually try enter the black hole. It was not certain death, no - it was *un*certain death, and the more they theorized what might occur if they tried to enter, the more they were convinced that it was simply not possible.
That did have its benefits , however - it was a window into the world they had created, yet with no entrance or exit. Whatever became of E.A.R.T.H., it would be confined to its own galaxy.
47-S-3 was certainly a curious development though. A peaceful war-race... how oxymoronic. It was certainly the first time they had encountered such a thing, not just in E.A.R.T.H. but the galaxy as a whole. It was always one or the other, yet neither was without its negatives.
The war-races do very well to conquer their own planet, but few manage to colonize other systems. They usually exterminate each other before that ever becomes a possibility. Nasty, short and brutish lives are the hallmark of war-races, and that is certainly a blessing for us. For we are peaceful.
Peaceful races such as ours fare much better, as mutual cooperation is a sure indicator of eventual interplanetary travel.
But of course... any war race that *does* make it out of their planet tend to quickly dominate all peaceful planets around them. The galaxy had learned this time and time again, and countless billions, if not trillions, of lives have been lost at the hand of the few space-faring warrior races. It was only with the cooperation of all peaceful civilizations together that the warrior races were finally defeated, although no doubt their own in-fighting did at least as much damage as we did.
The aftermath of that had led to the galactic treaty, in which any emerging species or planets that waged war were swiftly dealt with. We simply nipped them in the bud, so to speak.
With no notable war-races left, the treaty subsisted, and the galaxy had grown into a peaceful, harmonious place as a result. Species freely intermix, and science flourishes. Truly there has never been such long-lasting peace and prosperity in all our history.
A peaceful war-race... that would certainly be nipped in the bud, if it were not enclosed in our black hole. In the right circumstances, a species like that could unite to wage war on all other planets, and far more effectively than a war-race. Looking at what the species had already done to each other - if they were unleashed on the galaxy with sufficient technology, the results could be catastrophic.
However, with them safely contained in their own little pocket galaxy - they would watch 47-S-3 very closely indeed. E.A.R.T.H. was in for a rough time.
Fortunately for us, there was simply no way the species could exit the black hole.
Theoretically, of course.
*****
*****
[Part II](https://old.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/9dpfzx/wp_earth_ii/)| [Part III](https://old.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/9drc02/wp_earth_iii/) | [Part IV - New!](https://old.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/9dtcih/wp_earth_iv/?)
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
|
God nodded in approval at his son. "You are doing well, Ecari. Just beware with that advanced war-race. They might seem peaceful right now, but I'd had to deal with those sort of species in the past. You blink once, a hundred years go by in their world and, before you know it, they conquered the cosmos."
Ecari huffed at his father's words. Didn't he understand that he was eighteen now? An adult capable of taking his own decisions? Those haughty advices bothered Ecary like an itch he couldn't scratch. He wasn't a moron.
"Yes, dad," Ecari said and shook his head, "I know what I'm doing."
God raised an eyebrow and pointed at the sphere in his son's hands. "Are you sure? If I were you I'd check on your project."
Ecari's heart thumped. He turned to gaze at his sphere, plunging right into his universe. Perspiration trickled down his temples and out his palms, he fidgeted as if an earthquake was taking place in his right leg, and he swallowed time and time again.
The Humans as he'd called it, had discovered how to travel faster than light through wormholes without disintegrating. How? Ecari had made sure that was not an option for them. They should've became energy. The pressure should've killed them.
Ecari narrowed his eyes. What were those enormous spaceships made of? He didn't remember creating such a dense material. He didn't remember allowing the possibility of creating such a mighty engine either.
What was happening?
He took a deep breath, and shed a tear as the sides of his lips quirked downward and trembled. The humans had conquered and destroyed every single planet in his universe, slaughtered every other form of intelligent life.
He placed his sphere on a cloud beneath, and waited for his father to boast about how he'd told him he should've watched closer.
However, God placed a hand on his shoulder, knelt to level with him, and whispered into Ecari's ear.
"Happy April fools day," God said and snickered like a mischievous kid.
"What?" Ecari yelled, veins bulging out his neck. "Did you give them all those things?"
"Of course not," God said and laughed again, slapping his knee. "I distracted you on purpose. Those bastards always do the same. Somehow they discover bugs in our universes. They are our testers."
Ecari rose to his feet, his visage hidden in deep shadows, the clouds trembled beneath him, and a storm surged on the horizon, spitting booming thunder and burying Heaven in darkness. "Did you ruin my life time project just because of a simple joke? Choose your words carefully dad. I'm not that little innocent child anymore."
"Ecari, there's no need for one of your tantrums right now," God said, sighed and shook his head. The vestiges of his laughter long gone. "You need to learn to take a joke. Here."
Golden tendrils billowed out of God's beard and wrapped Ecari's sphere. There was a swishing sound, and Ecari's project burst with light, as if it had caught sudden fire.
"There. I reset it to where you were before I interrupted your work," God said and gazed at the storm retreating, then at his son. "You humorless bastard, who raised you?"
"A fool, of course," said Ecari, beaming with sudden joy. "Why don't you check your projects?"
"You didn't."
"Did you think I didn't know what day was today? Happy April fools day, dad."
-------------------------------------------
r/AHumongousFish for more!
| 2018-09-06T06:47:29
| 2018-09-06T06:21:36
| 1,932
| 210
|
[WP] You lead the Human Resistance against the zombie invasion. Things are looking bleak, and humanity is being pushed to the brink of extinction. As the last of the humans mount a final defence, there's a knock on your door; the Vampire Coalition reveals they can't lose their food supply
|
"So you're saying," I repeated, "that if we give you a blood donation every 2 months, you will wipe out the Zombies and give us a vaccine you have developed in the decade the virus has been killing us off?"
Count Dracula nodded. "We cannot afford to lose humanity. While we can drink from the dead walkers, their blood is... let us say... suboptimal. We are sick for weeks after drinking it, and we can only drink it once - the zombies turn to ashes like we would in sunlight. We *could* drink animal blood, of course, but some of us have an... acquired taste and refuse to drink non-human blood."
I nodded.
"We can survive without drinking blood, but our blood thirst would make us... volatile. We would be forced to hibernate in order to not murder each other, probably. And if we hibernated, we wouldn't be able to escape in case of danger. Your group also has some of the most important scientists with you, which we need to... aid us in case of a global threat."
That was true enough. But... "You said you will provide us with a shelter and food. Give us tested vaccination and protect us. And yet, all you're asking for is a small blood donation. When you could live off of the blood stored in hospitals for decades. What are you hiding?"
Count Dracula chuckled. "The most gifted High School student of the decade before it started. **You live up to your reputation, miss Sallow.** You have... how many was it again... ah, yes. 253 people here. 28 geniuses. If we turned those into our kind... 225 people to repopulate the Earth and donate their blood."
My eyes widened. "You don't mean..."
"Yes. We want to turn your most gifted into our kind. We need researchers. Do you know why? This virus is only the beginning. It came here through a... meteorite. A small one. Yet, it was but a chip of the one coming for us in the next decade. We need to... divert it. Before we leave this planet and build a... new home."
Everyone in the room gasped. There was silence for a minute.
Then, I decided.
"Give me a list of the people you want to turn. I will speak to them. With their permission, you may turn them. Will you respect their decision and still take us in?"
"At least 10 people have to agree. My mate, Countess Bathory. She has made the list. She has asked a few... People. Our son, Darius. You see, he has a... mate amongst you. Their name is in green. If they agree to be turned, we will lower the required number of those who accept to... 7."
I nodded and looked at the list.
Adrian Ferrari, Adele Franqui, Inna Damé, Liam Gold...
I froze when I came to the end of the list. There, in elegant green writing, stood the name: ***Bridget Sallow.***
|
They promise us safety, shelter and plenty of food. They just want blood donations from each human.
Being on the brink of extinction, we agree without thinking much.
....
A few years later humanity is getting to a bigger number, and the new generations of humans and halflings are immune to the zombie virus. Now the elders decide they don't want to donate blood anymore, they don't want another species hunting/eating them or from them.
The younger generation is siding with the vampires but are getting pressured by their parents to do the right thing.
(Don't have anymore ideas, have fun)
| 2020-02-13T02:55:08
| 2020-02-13T00:59:41
| 305
| 10
|
[WP] Your family has had the ability to plant anything and grow a plant that grows that thing. However it has been dormant for some generations and has been forgotten. Then one day when you were 5 you buried a 20 dollar bill because you wanted to make a money tree. After a month you saw a sprout
|
Entries from Joe's Diary
***
Hi . My name is Joe. I am 5 years old, and 1 month.
I know that, because on my birthday last month, I got some gift money from Grandma.
She told me to make that money grow, so I did what Gramps used to do until he went to Heaven. I planted it in the ground, and watered it every day.
Today, I saw a spout.
***
Hi. My name is Joe. I am six years old now. I know this because it's my birthday. Grammy missed Gramps so much, she went to look for him, so I didn't get any gift money this year. The good news is , the plant from last year is doing very well.
Mommy says that if I keep watering it with the right amount and put fertilizers on it, it will grow into a big tree and bear fruit. I wonder if I should tell her that I planted it with the $20 Grammy gave me last year. I'm not sure. Mommy might be mad.
***
Hi. My name is Joseph. I am 7 years old now. The spring has been good to the little shrub. There are some small greenish white flowers spouting. Mommy said that after flowers come fruit. I wish she was here to see it. She missed Grammy so much, she went to find Grammy too. It's just me and Dad and the tree now.
***
It's been 3 years since I planted the tree and I am not sure if I made the right choice. I know that Gramps, Grammy and Mom are buried next to the tree. I can see the bumps in the ground where Dad buried them.
He's not doing so well himself, either, coughing frequently after visiting the graves. The tree is growing taller and stronger now. It's taller than I am. There is some shade over the graves. I can hear the tree speak to me. It says 'Soon, soon. " I am not sure what it means. Another spring has come and passed, but the flowers came and went, yet the tree did not bear any fruit.
***
This might be the last time I write in the diary. I am ten now. The coughing took Dad. I had to bury him next to Mommy beneath the tree. It took all day and all night, but I got Dad into the grave.
The tree is really tall now. It is almost taller than our house.
I can hear it talk to me. "It's time. It's time", as I dug the grave for Dad. The unyielding ground, hardened from winter, made it very difficult. The spring came and went. The flowers came, then, I saw a little green fruit. I touched it, and it was full of pennies.
I counted them. It was around twenty cents. I miss Mommy and Dad and Gramps and Grammy...
|
You are probably going to have a hard time believing this but those seven hundred new F-35s that the air force boasts of were created by me. Only me. Now, for most people, I am still a college student but really I might be one of the most resourceful human beings in the world.
When I was still a kid, I had wanted to grow a money tree. So, one day I buried a twenty-dollar bill. To my surprise, after a month I saw a sprout. In three months, my first twenty-dollar bill was ripe for picking. When I showed my accomplishment to my mother, she was not surprised but worried. And then, she told me something that was not supposed to be revealed until I was at least sixteen.
We had a special power. Yeah, my whole family from my mother's side. Anything we bury grows into a plant that bears that very same thing as fruit. The first time she explained this to me, the story had fairies and witches. Later revisions included ancient cults, gods, and whatnot. But really, no one knew who or what was the source of this power.
Certain branches in our known family tree were very rich but my mother was innocent even though she could have had it all. Aside from her, only two old relatives of hers could use this power. She too was not that skilled in using this power. It is passed on but that doesn't mean anyone will be able to use it. After staying dormant mostly for two generations, I and my mother had the chance to change our lives.
After her untimely death and no savings or insurance, I was left with a crippling student loan and money that could cover only two months' expenses. But unlike my mother, I was reckless with my powers. Being a fan of Breaking Bad also helped a lot.
I started again from a twenty-dollar bill. My powers had grown as I was able to successfully harvest six crisp twenty-dollar bills by the end of the week. The only problem was that all bills were the exact copies of the original. Same number on all of them. But I was not going to give up.
It took a lot of hustling and all kinds of tricks to set up a money farm. A twenty-acre farm where these literal money plants were strategically grown. The cousins who couldn't use this power were more than willing to be partners and launder money. After almost two years of using counterfeit money to create all kinds of assets, I was caught by the FBI. I was mentally prepared to spend the rest of my life in a concrete prison with no access to fertile land or farms.
But then a miracle happened. A man in uniform came to interrogate me. A Lieutenant-General of the air force. And yeah, you can figure out that rest. I help the armed forces mass-produce all kinds of weapons. The defense budget may have decreased but the inventory is unlimited now. They do take blood samples to conduct tests from time to time but still have found nothing of value.
Yes, I traded my powers for a normal life. Yes, I run the entire plantations of WMDs. No, I don't regret my choices. Yes, millions of dollars grow on my farm every year but I will always remain morally bankrupt. Sorry, not sorry.
Note: I know it got dark in the end but I am just being creative here. Grammarly too finds this story gloomy and anxious.
| 2020-06-23T13:37:42
| 2020-06-23T12:40:45
| 1,180
| 169
|
[WP]For three years you’ve had an uneventful marriage with your spouse when one day they become the Chosen One. Immediately setting off on their journey you don’t hear anything from them for five years. Then one day they reappear with a sheepish look on their face and hoping to speak to you.
|
Ben sighed as he drove the cart back into the village, the old horse pulling it as slowly as ever. He'd never had any luck getting the old nag to move any faster; she definitely did things her own way.
Just like the woman who'd bought and trained her.
The horse plodded down the main road, following the familiar path through the square and towards the farm just past the other side of the village. As it went, Ben waved to a couple of people, and took in the sights of the carpenters and masons hard at work. They'd been here for weeks now, with deliveries of stone and wood feeding their labors. They had the word of the Duke that the village would be rebuilt better than ever, with a fortified wall to defend it this time.
Small comfort to the burgeoning graveyard that he had to pass on his way out of town. That wall would come too late for them. He looked towards the rows of headstones, some with fresh graves at their feet, and made the sign of the Gods as he always did. Those poor people had died, and for what? For nothing. Blame for this lay at the feet of just one person.
The horse continued on, following the dirt road towards the farmhouses around the outside of the village, specifically to the one he called home. As he cleared the fenceline of the farm, he squinted towards the small stable next to the house. There was already a horse in there. At first he thought maybe it was a visitor, a messenger from the Duke perhaps; they'd chosen him to be the one they communicated with, because of his unique role in the events that had happened, but...no. This wasn't one of the Duke's men. The horse was too fine for that, a snow white stallion with a fine saddle of a make he wasn't familiar with. And there was nobody standing there waiting; the Duke's people didn't just let themselves into his house, or at least they hadn't before.
He pulled up the wagon outside the stable, stopping the horse with a gentle "Whoa, girl. Whoa." He jumped out of the driver's seat of the wagon, and after a moment's hesitation, grabbed the new pitchfork he'd traded for from inside the back of it. Holding the tool in his hands like a spear, he slowly approached the house and pushed at the door with the tines of the pitchfork. It swung open easily, which was cause for alarm - he knew he'd locked it when he left.
Ben plucked up his nerve and walked in slowly, leather boots soft and quiet on the old wooden floor. He'd had eight years to walk this floor, and knew where it creaked and squeaked, and how to avoid those spots. As he went, he heard rattling in the kitchen, along with a voice muttering to itself, the words just quiet enough that he couldn't make them out. He walked towards the sound, heart pounding in his throat as he went. Perhaps he should just leave, go back to town and get the newly minted Village Guard to come investigate this.
No. No, this was his home, and he would defend it. Nobody else was here to do so.
He stepped into the doorway of the kitchen, and took in the sight of a tall figure, long red hair cascading down the back of a fine suit of armor. A sword hung at their waist, and in their hands was a mug and an empty bottle. "I guess I can't be upset," the figure said, her voice sending a shock of recognition through Ben, his heart rising and going cold at the same time. "It's not like he *knew* I'd be back today...guess I'll have to run into town later..."
The pitchfork slid from Ben's fingers, which had gone numb with shock. The figure whirled around, hand going for the sword at her waist, but then she stopped, and they just stared at each other for a long moment.
Ben broke the silence first, hoarsely asking, "Karina...? Is that...is it really..."
Karina smiled sheepishly at her husband, reaching up to push long bangs away from sapphire eyes, the motion painfully familiar to Ben, who'd seen her do it a thousand times since they were children. "Hello, Ben. I...I'm home."
Ben looked at her blankly for a moment, torn between the urge to run and embrace the woman he'd loved since he was eight, and the urge to turn and walk away from the woman who'd abandoned everything they'd built and left for five years. He settled on walking to the table nearby and sitting down. "There's another bottle in the upper cupboard. Bring two mugs."
Karina blinked, then turned and retrieved the bottle and glasses. "When did you start keeping it up here? We always kept our drink in *this* cupboard--"
"You've been gone for a while," Ben said curtly. "Things have changed. As you might have noticed already."
Karina sat the bottle and the mugs on the table, and sat down across from her husband, her expression as open to him as it had ever been. She'd never been vague or closed, at least not to him. He could tell she was happy to be back, overjoyed to see him, but at the same time, had the air of a child caught in wrongdoing. She knew she'd done something wrong here.
*Good.*
"I did notice! The construction in the village, and the *wall.* It would seem I missed some things-"
"While you were gone. For *five years.*"
Karina's eyebrows drew downwards, the expression somewhere between hurt and angry. "Gone *saving the world.* I don't know how much news of the rest of the world has gotten here; I had asked the Duke to take care of this place, to make sure you all stayed appraised of how things were going..."
"Oh, so we could hear what a *great hero* you've been?" Ben exhaled sharply through his nose, taking up the bottle and pouring a measure of whiskey into each mug. "Small comfort, that. At least *someone* could tell me you were still alive. Don't know why it couldn't be *you*, though."
Karina took the mug he offered her, and looked down into it, as though the answers to this situation were written on the bottom. "I...I'm sorry, Ben. I truly am. I was always on the move, never stayed still long enough to try and write or anything. I can write, now, I learned how, and I *wanted* to, but-"
"Oh, you *wanted* to. That's wonderful to hear that you at least *thought* of your old life, your loving husband. Did you think about all the broken promises you left here too? Or think about-"
"Ben, *please*! I was chosen by the Gods themselves! I couldn't just...say *no*, who knows what might have happened?" Karina looked up at her husband desperately, and Ben met her gaze evenly, his expression wooden. He picked up his mug, and downed the measure of whiskey in one, setting the mug back down.
"You're right, we don't know what that might have brought. But I know what you leaving *did* bring. All that construction? It's *re-construction,* Karina. Vixale's people learned where you came from. And they came here. Twice they attacked us. Twice they put half the village to the torch before the Duke was able to chase them away with his army."
|
I was kind of glad when she left. It opened up a new life for me, it got me off my anti depressants. It wasn’t a bad relationship, we just didn’t… connect. I made so many new friends when she disappeared, and even have a girlfriend, Molly, who never seizes to give me butterflies when she laughs, I know it’s stupid. But what’s more stupid is you, standing right in front of my house with fucking angel wings. Marybeth. It was already crushing when you left without a word, but you return, 3 years later fucking cosplaying on my lawn? I can’t even imagine what sort of life has been led since I last saw her. She used to seem much more uptight, I would never expect Marybeth, who only drank virgin bloody Mary’s to be doing some sort of acrobatic display with a man dressed as a half pig. They play-fought with swords dashing and ducking and running between each others blades. My cheeks burned red, what will my neighbors thing of me now. “Shit” I whisper underneath my breathe to myself, how do I explain this to Molly. I dialed 911, I didn’t want to confront Marybeth like this. Maybe if she got some help first I would be ready, but it would be silly to try to reason with her like this. “911 what’s your emergency?” They answer on the other line. “Uh, I’m calling about a…” what do I even call this situation? “Loitering? There- there is two people who are playing on my lawn” I overhear remarks on the other end but can’t make out the words, they answer. “How old are they sir?” Last time I saw Marybeth was the night before her birthday. Which I realize is 3 years since yesterday. “They are around 30” they answer. “Are they posing any threat to you?” Well shit, maybe if I was dressed up in a knights outfit maybe, but I’d assume I’m safe for now. “Not currently officer, but they don’t seem well, mentally” I may sound like the old men who yell about rap music and such but I’m not dealing with this. “Ok sir, we’ll send someone over, it will be around half an hour” phew. “Ok, thank you officer” I tap the phone to hang up and immediately hear a crashing noise in the other room. The man pig broke through my damn window. It’s safe to say I’m pretty pissed. “We’ll that’s some nice dramatic effect fella! Haha, one that’s gonna cost you a couple hundred bucks” he stay limp on the ground, I kneel down by him and see that his shirt is soaked. “What?“ i whisper. I touch it, and I look back it my hand, it’s blood, it’s real. And there is now way in hell there is a plastic surgeon good enough for a pig snout on a face. “No,no,no,no” I get up and step back, only to trip over a side table and stumble back onto the floor. A dead man… thing’s blood on my hands. I was woken from my terror by a familiar voice I hadn’t heard in a long time. “James. How’ve you been?”
| 2022-08-12T17:38:06
| 2022-08-12T16:38:18
| 77
| 34
|
[WP] Retell a well known story. Make me side with the villain/antagonist.
The more unsympathetic they are in the original, the better.
|
It must end in death, no matter what. The question is who: the two of us—theoretically replaceable—or the entire Kingdom of the Sun.
At least the math is easy.
“What’s easy?”
“Mathematics,” I say, making a mental note to keep tabs on my mouth. I am not young anymore, and words slip out sometimes without permission. Cruel irony! A lifetime spent mastering natural philosophy, and I am slave to my own body. “Eight million is greater than two. Very simple.” I cover my eyes with my hands. “Bring me a cup of tea.”
“Is that—”
“The one where you put the leaves in the water, yes.”
“And the water is—”
“The water is hot, yes.”
Age has withered my muscles and starved my bones. I’ve needed an assistant for decades—first to help with my research, and inevitably for basic things. This iteration, my eighth, is still being housebroken; I can’t trust him with anything more complicated than dinner.
“What mathematics?” he asks absently. “Are we at war?”
“What? No.”
“Loss of trade agreements?”
“No!”
“Military uprising? Terrorist attack? Threat of assassination? Civil unrest? Have the forest animals formed an alliance?”
“No! It is no external threat.” I purse my lips and close my eyes. “Economic free fall. A village leader came today to beg for food. I had to turn him away.”
“Isn’t that the—”
“Emperor’s job? Something with which the Child of the Sun should be concerned? *Yes.* Yes, it is. But our esteemed monarch is too busy.”
“Doing what?” The tea is piping. My assistant’s footsteps recede.
“Ruining the country!” My fists clench, my bones protest the sudden movement. “All he does is squander government resources on statues of his own face. He’s too self-absorbed to produce an heir. He can't turn away from his mirror long enough to spawn one!” I am breathing heavily. I try in vain to calm myself. “And if I try to course-correct, if it even looks as though I might approach his vast sphere of influence, he reacts like a—a toddler with a toy! It’s—gah!”
“That’s only to be expected, though. Centralized government and a planned economy can only prevent a market crash when the totalitarian monarch is uniformly benevolent. What you really need is a free market economy, y’know, some invisible hand to keep things going around.”
Slowly, I open my eyes. “What?”
“Hmm? Oh. Nothing. Here’s your tea.”
I take the tea from him and sip it. It tastes like spinach puffs.
“I don’t know how he went so wrong," I say, more to myself than anyone. "I practically raised him! Where did I fail?”
I have long since lost the capacity to cry. A chemical accident decades ago robbed me of all my tears. I’ve never felt their absence until now. Is this what parents feel when their children curse them?
“I have been nothing but loyal to the empire,” I mutter. “For…for many years.”
“What’s that, mistress?”
I know what I must do.
I struggle to my feet and start walking. My assistant follows.
“What are we going to do?” he asks.
The words are like ash in my mouth. “We’re going to kill Kuzco. [Pull the lever, Kronk.”](http://media.tumblr.com/c4ae01034a2ef0d21a48ebae80894bdc/tumblr_inline_mjhr9000sB1qz4rgp.gif)
|
They don't know what it's like. They haven't understood since the beginning, and it was the beginning where everything went wrong.
They condemn him. Demonize him. Gesture to his teeth, his ruffled hair, his claws.
But if they understood his hunger. If they could only grasp how it smothers him.
They don't know what it's like to feel that, not truly. They recognize it before each meal, three times a day, but once their meal is done, so is their hunger. They smile contentedly, pat their bellies and move on with their lives.
Because it is gone. It ceases to exist for a time.
But to have it... always there. Lingering on the edges of his consciousness, prying at him and jabbing him reminding him of it's existence. To have true *hunger.* To eat and be unsated. To devour and feel nothing. To consume and feel empty. To blackout in the fury of bloodlust and come to, surrounded by the mangled remains of something unrecognizable still gripped by the sharp pains in his gut. If they could *feel it* as he does, they would understand.
He lives his torment alone in the woods. Self-exiled away from those he could harm. Away from the remorse of taking a life filled with intellect and consciousness.
It took everything in his power to avoid her home. He lingered in the deepest depths of the forest. Turning his nose and his desire away from her. And yet she cooked. She baked. She lived alone. She moved *out here.* Away from the safety of the townsfolk.
She moved here, *with him* despite the demon housed inside the darkness of the forest.
He salivated daily, hourly, the moment she'd place a pie in the oven. He knew not where she lived, but should he be unable to stop the temptation, he could always follow his nose.
A fact he used to avoid her. He walked from the source of the smell, the tantalizing, torturing smell that falsely promised an end to his ravenous plight. When he stumbled upon a girl.
She wore a red cape, so it was hard to miss her. She skipped and sang, swinging in her hands a basket filled with something wonderful. But the hand that held it seemed far more delectable. More than a few times during their conversation his eyes ran up and down her small, frail body. They parted ways, she skipped away, like *prey* running from him. When something animal took over.
He felt the hunger rise like bile in his throat, the vision in his eyes seemed wrapped in black cobwebs, his heart quickened. He felt his lips peel back to reveal an animal smile.
When he knocked, she answered. Stupid as the day she was when she decided to move out here in this cursed wood. Teeth tore, flesh ripped, screams silenced and the air was filled with howling.
But not for the hunt. Not for the kill or for this feast. He howled because the hunger was still there. He howled, amid the blood and tattered clothing for her naïveté.
He howled for the knock at the door and the tiny thing that resided beyond its sturdy, useless oak frame.
The hunger doesn't leave. Its insatiable. It's always there. They would do well to avoid him, and yet in their arrogance they've come. The world turns red, whether from her now tarnished cape or from his bloodlust, he doesn't know.
There's nothing left but guilt.
And the hunger... the hunger is always there.
| 2016-02-02T13:59:54
| 2016-02-02T13:57:13
| 143
| 45
|
[WP] A watch is invented where it says exactly how long until you meet your soulmate. You decide to get one for you and one for your wife. Your wife’s watch says ’negative 6 years, 9 months, 14 days, 3 hours and 9 minutes’, the day you two met. Yours says ’12 days, 8 hours, 29 minutes’.
|
I stared at the damned thing for 10 minutes now. I am in disbelief. This didn't even make sense- how can 2 people not be eah others soul mates? My heart raced. Powerfully. It even began hurting!
But if I were telling the truth, I'm relieved. I have never felt this woman loved me. Well, at least the way I've wanted to be loved. Its hard for me to tell if she just doesn't love the same way I do or if it is even love at all. It doesn't matter. All these feelings and emotions swirling the around from being at the climax of a romantic night I've planned tireless for? This is too much. I haven't even looked up yet to meet her eyes.
The horror was clear. Our mutual disbelief met. Not in the hugging embrace type, more like the sword fight type. The click of the clock felt like my tell take heart pounding beneath the wood.
"I'm so sorry" I said, closing my eyes as I couldn't bear the weight of this anymore. Not even my own words sounded right coming out of my mouth.
"I knew we were never right for each other-" she continues, as it sets in that I am not the one talking, "all these years. I tried loving you. I really did but I knew it was never right..."
The swell of words and phrases were not making sense in my head. I couldn't even form a reaction because I could barely comprehend what she was telling me.
"I'm so sorry you had to find out like this... I still love you. I just couldn't live without either of you-"
Now it hits me. The date on her watch is hours before we met. All coming to mind now that we met at a bar after her cruddy date. All these years.. I'm not sure how to process this. It feels as though a burden is lifted- my own guilt is released and it is aparent with the smile on my face.
I simply show her the date on my watch.
Her smile follows suit.
|
“What do you mean I’m not your soulmate!” cried Stephanie, obviously hurt.
“I don’t know sweetie,” I held out my arms but she stormed past me into her room.
Fuck.
Most people have children to fix their marital problems. Steph and I got a dog.
It took us twelve days to fill out the forms, but soon enough we were being led to a pen by a grumpy shelter volunteer.
I knelt down and held out my arms as a puppy jumped all over me. She licked my hand and that’s when I noticed it, my watch hit zero.
| 2018-01-06T22:59:33
| 2018-01-06T22:26:51
| 38
| 22
|
[WP] Write a murder from the perspective of a cheerful inanimate object
The object could also be the murder weapon or cause of death itself.
**E1:** *[Didn't expect this many responses, great writing everyone!](http://img2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20070623144510/uncyclopedia/images/2/2f/Cowbell2.gif)*
**E2:** *Holy prompt responses Batman!*
**E3:** *Atheist god bless you all, it's 9 days later and people are still submitting! Whoo hoo!*
|
^((I ^may ^just ^turn ^this ^in ^today ^for ^Writing ^Class. ^If ^you ^find ^this ^Prof ^KS, ^hi!)^)
She put me in the window today! Oh it’s so nice and sunny out. You know, artificial light just doesn’t work as well for charging my solar panels. How can my leaves bounce and my smiling flower-face bob from side to side without proper sunlight? Very slowly, that’s how. But now that I’m in the window I am shaking my groove thang like my owner on a Wii-Fit!
What a nice console that Wii is. He’s always so cheerful and peppy. You know, when I was still under the lamp by the computer, he would turn on and give me work out tips?
“And one, and two, and move those leaves! And up, and down, and now you’ve got it! Perfect score!”
He’s so nice. Everyone in this apartment is so nice! The blender always pulses “Good morning” in Morse code to me too, well, not just to me, she’s saying it to everyone, but that doesn’t make it less appreciated.
And that Roomba! Don’t get me started. Do you know he rescued the iPod? He did. iPod had fallen right under the couch and Miss Person had given up looking. She was even lamenting that she’d have to buy a new one- could you imagine? Being replaced like that? Well Roomba launched a search-and-rescue and just pushed iPod right out into the open. We were all cheering so loud, and iPod started getting emotional and playing Triumphant Marches. Roomba’s just so brave, his rotor could have gotten stuck with all those dust bunnies.
|
I guess you could say I've seen things - travelled the world and all that - and so I suppose I should be grateful that it was he who bought me, who chose me as his favourite; that he always wears such smart things for his best and most thrilling jobs, and me. I sit close against soft weaves and heavy fabrics, fancy buttons sometimes - and I'm his constant. It's mostly the same to me, though. I ride along half-nestled in silk, smooth and languid and unhurried; a room in a nice hotel, measured rise and slow fall; someone else - another man, and in a beautiful suit, usually; perhaps a start, or the beginnings of a pink mouth open to wail. Bang, bang. The patterns, when they come, are a lovely red. I'd ache for a silk with colour like that.
We leave, more quickly, after. I know because I count the time. It won't be long before I'm gone again, put away with his other killing things. The times in between are long, but these days are worth it. I spend the darkness remembering the silk, the weave. Bang, bang - the colours. Bang, bang. That's my constant.
| 2014-05-27T07:15:09
| 2014-05-27T06:19:43
| 21
| 10
|
[WP] One day everyone notices the words "Human Update 1.1 progress 1%" in the corner of their eye.
|
*Today, I begin becoming better. Would this update bring decreased damage sustained at higher age? Higher sexual endurance? Higher stamina? Elbow bug fix? Body odour reduced?*
Today it was at 3%. I swear I could feel my body getting better. This is why I love Hinux ^Human ^Linux - modules can be updated on-the-fly.
removing metabolism 3.2.2
installing metabolism 4.0.1
My metabolism has gone up.
removing sleep 1.5.2
installing sleep 5.6.6
*WHERE WERE VERSIONS 2-4?*
On and on the upgrades on packages went.
removing grub3 3.1.1
installing grub4 4.5.5
Please reboot system
*What? Reboot? But the bootloader...*
I broke out in a cold sweat. Could we be rebooted?
System is going down for reboot NOW!
*NO I-*
Error: no such partition
grub rescue >
|
Sometimes we ask for it. There's something in us as human beings that pushes us, ever closer to edges, cliffs. We like to be our own saviors; to resolve the very problems we create.
Another Monday morning. But today we all noticed it: progress. Progress is a funny thing. We need it. But we fight it. One percent. And counting. I had an inkling that the chip wasn't just another medical advancement. It wasn't just going to help doctors save me from a heart attack or debit my bank account as I purchased the burger that would cause it. We all got one. The chip became our wallets, our identity, our lives. But now it seemed like it was something else entirely: an invasion.
"Well what the hell happens when it's complete!?" My girlfriend shrieked. She was always nervous but now she couldn't hide it. Two percent.
"I don't know."
Riding to work, my car took a wrong turn. I hate these things. Let me put my hands on the wheel. I want control.
When I arrived, the blinking meter reached ten percent. But I was not at work. My car had taken me to the hospital; a huge grey building that always seemed to me more like a prison than a care center.
Vision: black, then blurry, then blinding white. I think I am dead. A voice of someone I don't know and from somewhere that seems like inside my own head says calmly,
"Welcome. Now is eternal. Enjoy living on The Substrate."
| 2015-03-04T18:45:59
| 2015-03-04T17:04:42
| 29
| 19
|
[WP] It's Christmas Eve 2038. The world has been destroyed due to nuclear war, but Santa, being immortal, has survived, and plans to deliver presents to the few remaining humans locked in their fallout shelters.
|
I heard, from down the hall, the bang-bang-bang as the bandits try to breach the panic room. They managed to get into the bunker. The outside door. Someone left it open. Don't know who. I'm the only one left. Locked in here. Alone.
My pistol, an old thing, only has 2 bullets left. One for myself, I suppose.
Dust falls from above, irritating my eyes. They're really trying to get in.
I suppose I'd better kill myself, get it-
Behind me, I hear a clatter of metal-on-concrete. Then some more. Then back to the rhythmic banging of the raiders.
I turn, and a pile of guns lie there. A note on top of the pile.
"Give 'em hell. -Kringle"
|
Death. The buzzing ringing reverberations of pseudo-prayer in my ears. Like shutters in a windstorm screaming and pounding out the reality of nature's call for life extinguished.
It is all I hear. And I curse my immortality.
Every year my plans held the power to stop their pain; to provide them relief through toys and spirits. Their arguments and abuses halted for a moment of pacified bliss.
Now, the ringing. Bells are ringing. Bells are ringing on and on and I have no answer.
No more.
In their bunkers, bare and destitute, no longer wishing for presents. No longer wishing praise or cheer or jubilance; no.
Now only for death.
They wish only for death in the frigid scapes of their creation. With frost bitten toes, tortured bellies, and derailed trains of thought.
And this year... I will deliver... I must make the good boys... the good girls... wishes come true.
For I am Old St. Nick, and I am tired.
| 2017-12-22T15:31:03
| 2017-12-22T15:19:43
| 77
| 33
|
[WP] The team's healer is absolutely sick and tired of always being insulted or forgotten about so they join the bad guys; they are a much more terrifying villain than anyone thought possible.
|
**I probably could’ve cared less if they had merely disrespected** ***me***.
“I would now like to direct your honor’s attention to exhibit 4, an extensive draft on arcane arts penned by Dremony herself.”
>… Despite the simplicity of casting or invoking, even basic healing spells contain some of the most complex machinery among magics of their level. By raw count, healing domain effects of Grade IV and lower contain a *mean* of approximately 171 elementary arcanisms, nearly double the mean of the next highest standard domain and around 5x the average of all those indexed in *Maldus’ Primer*. This complexity is not solely introduced by the complexities of anatomy however. Gwendol’s Healing Touch, for example, uses around 60% of its components to bind of anatomical concepts with arcane ones. 10% is comprised of fairly standard overhead for mana abstraction and power channeling. The remaining 30% though are “locks” that prevent the spell from being used for negative effects. These locks would be fairly effective if devised from each creator’s manaprint, but 92% of healing effects surveyed in this study contain locks identical to, or only superficially-tweaked from, the four created by the great mage Hippocratas, twelve centuries ago, using cryptoarcanics that weren’t even state of the art for his era …
**Disrespecting a person could be an accident. Even if the “accident” took the form of daily verbal abuse.**
“A full week before the deaths of the 17 members of the Delver’s Guild in Greenbridge Squad A, and the independent disappearance of Dremony’s former party members Ashford, Zeln, Nihanop, and Valens, the defendant had penned and copied over one hundred and fifty of these manuscripts and was preparing to send them across the continent.”
>… As with all spells effective against biological and chemical poisons, Divine Counterpoison centers around a core “sieving” mechanism that identifies and separates the poisons from healthy tissue. Without lock H3, the target of this removal can be easily modified. Aside from amorphous creatures, however, the targeting of bodily systems is nearly always disastrous. Indeed, removing and eradicating an individual’s muscles or nerves or bowels, as one would wring out a sponge, is instantly fatal, and, curiously, bypasses their natural ability to resist magical injury for practically no mana cost! ...
**But disrespecting an entire field, an entire realm of knowledge and art, was a choice. A form of willful ignorance that spoke louder than any name-calling could.**
“She even sent a copy directly to Abigail -- she’s the one who called you ‘a yappy bitch worth less than a bracer of healing’ right, Miss Lightseeker? -- who our staff necromancers indicate must have already died of blood loss by the time it was delivered.”
>… Magical cures targeting viral agents have particularly advanced identification systems. After lock-picking the H1+H4 complex, these components can be copied quite easily to other spells, enabling a variety of effects to be applied to the virus itself, including “positive” ones that might otherwise be reserved for macro-scale creatures. In our tests, physical strengthening, magical resistance, and timed auto-targeting teleportation were successfully applied, among others. …
**And disrespecting knowledge itself? That was their mistake. It was society’s mistake.**
“It’s unclear whether these documents were intended to be a roundabout confession or just the ramblings of a disturbed mind. But it’s clear that the techniques described within are a perfect match with the utterly novel and utterly horrific manner in which these men and women lost their lives.”
>… Persistent regenerative spells are the last, but perhaps most interesting effects to examine. They utilize the building blocks discussed earlier but also leverage a power sap, where the target’s own life force is drained to create the beneficial effect. One can be thankful that none of the biological or viral agents of this world seem to harbor this effect naturally, lest we must face a parasite unparalleled in potential and unstoppable by known healing magic. …
**Because you can put one girl on trial, but you can’t arrest an idea.**
“I hope that the esteemed jury will find the defendant guilty, so that we may all close this tragic chapter once and for all.”
**And if even one other person harbors half the resentment I did, the story will go on.**
|
"Today is the day I'm going to... " the old man glances into the sky.
"Today is the day I'm going to tell you about the group I was with when I lost my leg," he takes a stone cold look at the metal beam sticking out of the stump where his leg used to be before he continues: " and what can happen if you don't treat the people who keep you alive with respect."
He takes another minute to arrange the story in his head, staring down the cliff, no, staring at the reflection of the bright moon below them. He grabs a stone and looks at it, concentrating, closing his fist around it and with the next winds breath the tension in his face disappears completely. His hand shakes a bit as he opens it, emitting a small orange light from the palm of his hand where the stone is laying, or is it the stone itself? The noise around him dies out, it seems like as if even the birds in the trees stopped curiously to what is about to happen. The black figures around the man start to twitch a bit uncomfortably not knowing what will happen next, but the old man just throws the rock down the cliff and sights slightly.
He smiles into the dark to the others: "No worries I just wanted to see..." he makes a short pause " I just wanted to see something."
As everyone starts to relax again he grins a bit.
"It was 40 years ago, we were staying at a small tavern in the gald-sed woods where they were digging up the old elvish city, yes exactly, the one that is now a tourist attraction with these stupid elve costumes.
The five of us: Netra the Barbarian, Celiv-Dun the God forsaken mage with his own family Tempel, God I hated that guy, Nairda our Cleric and the druids, me and this other girl, I can't seem to remember her name, but she had great looks, that's probably why she got pretty friendly with with half of the group... but who cares right? I'm sorry I talk too much, where was I?" "In the tavern" comes the response from the young guy sitting next to the old man.
"Oh yes right. This one evening we were sitting at a table and discussing about where to go next because we almost drained the money we got from our last adventure up to three gold coins." "Three gold coins?" a squiky female voice asks alerted from the right side of the man. "That's enough to build a house in the Capital what kind of adventure was that? And how much did you guys spend so that you only had *Three Gold Coins* left?"
"That's a story for another time my dear everything" he smiles into the direction from where the voice came but he can only make out the shape of her body through the girls hair.
"Two of us, the barbarian and the mage wanted to go back to the capital to find work there. The rest of us wanted to stay here to help with the archeological expedition and get some coins this way. As I already said our mage Celiv was a dick, his family was rich and he was only with us because it was exciting for him, he was also the first person to die that night. He was drunk already and told us about how shitty the beds are here, that the food is terrible etcetera etcetera. Netra wanted to go because she just wanted to keep moving, it was always the same with her. But it could have turned out okay that evening a nice and healthy discussion, some heads would be banged together and that would have been it but Celiv had other ideas. As he slowly started to realize that we would not go back to the capital because three people were against it he started to attack Nairda, our Cleric personally. Not because she was arguing the most but because she was the easiest to attack. She was new in the group, we, the druids, had to help her out with the healing sometimes because she was just getting used to real fights and that was more than okay. I was 38 at that time, I was working as a healer almost 10 years before I joined the group but I'm getting too far off again.
He was going on and on about how bad she was as a cleric that she would always need help and why she would have the audacity to even take a vote because she, allegedly, wasn't even a real member of the group yet. We all got pretty angry, up to the point that Netra grabbed his head and banged it against the table until his nose was broken. We tried to stop her but, well, try to stop a barbarian when he's angry. Our mage fell to the ground unconscious and we left him there. None of us wanted to help him, he'd gone too far.
(This is my first real story in English and it is also written on my phone :P. I only write in German usually and also aboit a lot more grotesk stuff 😅. I hope you like it. Part two is not finished yet but I'll add it as soon as possible ^^)
| 2020-01-05T11:54:04
| 2020-01-05T11:20:43
| 24
| 10
|
[wp] When someone dies, they go to a platform where you can choose to move in to the afterlife, not knowing whether you will go to heaven or hell. You meet someone who has stood there for millenia, trying to decide if they should go.
|
People almost always go quickly. Whether sure of where they're going or determined to get it over with, they hurry onto the train. Occasionally, someone will linger, waiting for something or someone. They scan the platform, searching. Then, someone, a love, a child, a friend, a parent, a fellow soldier, someone comes. And they leave, arm-in-arm, or side-by-side, they step onto the train.
Sometimes no one comes. These people wait, and wait, and wait. They watch as lovers meet lovers, friends meet friends, parents meet children, and slowly they realise that no one is coming to meet them. Maybe it takes them a generation. Or two. Sometimes even three. But very few people stick around after three. After all living memory is gone, they resign themselves to the fact that they have been forgotten. And they get on the train, alone.
But she had been there for much longer. Time wasn't strictly linear in the station. As people poured on and off and intermingled, time blurred, and eternities passed in minutes, while minutes took eternities. A young boy might wait a few minutes for his parents, while next to him, a woman waited an eternity for her husband, and a man waited years for his childhood friend, and they would all board the same train.
But still, she waited. Every few minutes, or what seemed like a few minutes, she would pull out a silver cross. This in itself wasn't unusual. People prayed on the platform all the time. But she would hold the cross, just hold it, in silence. She never said a word. Then put it away, only to repeat it in a few minutes.
Some time passed, an hour, or maybe a century. Someone approached her, a young man. He asked her something in German, and she nodded. He embraced her, and they began to speak. They talked for a long time, or maybe a few minutes.
'Are you coming on this train?' He asked. 'I would be honoured to go with you'.
'No, thank you. You go.' Her eyes filled with tears.
'Waiting for someone?'
'Forgiveness.' She said quietly.
'Forgiveness? You? What could you have possibly done that you want to be forgiven for? You saved me. You saved so many of us. What more could He ask of you?
'I didn't save them all.' She shook her head. 'I will wait for every one of those I didn't save.'
|
A thousand years down many more to go
In this plain room as white as snow
Its only decoration a door that acts as a portal
For any fallen mortal
Once through the door
To heaven or hell the soul will soar
But myself I can't persuade
For I am too afraid
So for now I'll wait
To pass through the gate
.....A thousand years down many more to go
In this room as white as snow
(Sorry if this is sub par, my first time posting here and I've never really done poetry)
| 2016-08-14T10:47:35
| 2016-08-14T08:46:44
| 48
| 14
|
[WP] “…and that class is why Humans are considered the most peaceful species in the universe.” The only three humans in class looked at each other horrified. All the facts about humans that the aliens had were wrong. One student slowly raises their hand.
|
"Ummmm, Professor"
"Yes Rickie, what do you have to add to the conversation?"
Looking at the others 2 humans in the class, he shrugs his shoulders and turns back to Professor G'lat. "I think your research is a bit... incorrect. Humans were never peaceful. Not even close. Those examples you gave were the exception not the rule."
Leaning against the desk, Prof G'lat looked over the group and sighed. "Rickie. Just because you are human doesn't make you the expert in human history. Before the Glok'nar invasion of Earth, all the sources show you were a peaceful people and your current aggressive natures are the result of Earth being destroyed and fighting for your species survival. The 2 major video graphic records that remain of pre-invasion Earth show that you were a peaceful people interesting in art, science and inclusivity. The tribal and xenophobia tendencies are only a few hundred years old."
Opening this mouth to say something, G'lat interrupted him again. "Rickie, I know you disagree with me but you are simply wrong. The refugee Terrans were full of myths of genocides, wars, tribalism and savagery. We simply can not find any supporting evidence of that being true."
Sighing a bit "Prof G'lat. All of that is true. Those myths were real. We had a number of wars, people killing people because they had different political ideas or skin color. People would attack people over the slightest transgressions. Humans have always been agressive and warlike. If it wasn't for the invasion, it is a really good chance we would have taken over this section of space and forced all the races to kneel that were left."
G'lat let out a squak that was his race's version of a laugh and stood tall. "So Rickie, you are telling me that Fred Rogers, Bob Ross and Bill Nye are exceptions to the rule of humans being peaceful? I find that hard to believe. Now be quiet."
Rickie and the other humans rolled their eyes and sighed heavily.
|
"Yes, Human Dave?"
"I wouldn't say that what you presented us is false, but the truth is far broader than your, dare I say, well doctored material shows."
The class murmured. Some looked at each other nervously, other began to whisper to each other as the facial structure of the professor expressed internal conflict.
"If it isn't false how can it be doctored? I didn't miss anything in alien-available materials and databases!"
Human Dave frowned and stroked his hair.
"Well, I do not mean to insult your data gathering methods, but because you used only alien-available resources without consulting with any human historian there's a rather monstrous hole in your theory, which as a human I am happy to fill. If you do not mind I'd like to assume your role for a moment to show you and the class some material regarding humans coming from a human database."
After more murmuring from the class and a moment of thought the professor agreed. Human Dave approached the main console, plugged his omni and put a video file on screen.
"Before I start I'd like the class to understand that life evolved on Earth based on efficiency, adaptability, but above all else competition. The faster, stronger, smarter and more durable organism pushed the less fortune ones into extinction or servitude. Even after the evolution was slowed to a grinding halt because humans started using tools stronger ruled the weaker and smarter exploited the dumber. The following video file is a fictional representation of real historical events accompanied with a song, released together as a music video in Earth's year of 1998 A.C. After the video I'll explain the shown events and take questions. Be advised, the material presented is explicit and may trigger strong, psychological reactions. Discretion is advised"
Human Dave proceeded to show the class the video file (for convenience also located here: ["Pearl Jam - Do the Evolution"](https://youtu.be/aDaOgu2CQtI) ), explained the shown events and answered questions of those who had stomached the file and explanations.
Professor was not one of those.
| 2022-10-17T06:28:16
| 2022-10-17T06:08:41
| 85
| 38
|
[WP] The year is 2030. Bakery art is so realistic, literally anything could be cake. The uncertainty has gripped the world in fear. I go to hug my wife for comfort. She is cake.
|
My genetic divergence has been a pain in the ass, until now.
I have a very acute sense of smell. Out of all the senses to have an enhanced version of, smell has got to be the worst. I can smell body odor from across the street. I always know who dealt with it. There is no escape from the rancid stench of the world. Every hazy cigar cloud, every particle of smog in the air, and every cheap ass perfume.
But, you ask, what about good smells, like food or flowers? First off, it's not like I smell them when I want to. Do you want to smell someone’s eggs benedict while eating dessert? No, the smell utterly overpowers it. On a rare occasion, I’ll smell something that I genuinely enjoy, and it makes me sad. It could be all the way across town, it's not like some brownie in the kitchen, it's a bakery down on Walnut street. Also, all these different smells blend together too, which means I’m smelling Cheetos, cigar smoke, and someone’s leaky septic tank all at the same time. Yeah, that’s what I thought. And flowers, I never thought they smelled that good to begin with.
I have considered getting my sense of smell dealt with multiple times before. Just destroy the whole olfactory system. But I do like enjoying how things taste… I just didn’t know. What I had was supposed to feel special, like some cool powers or something. I knew I should have been grateful, I just wasn’t, until now.
What changed? Well, food changed. Baking got realistic. You ask, what the hell does that have to do anything? Well, first, you ask too many questions, random reader, and second, I know, I wouldn’t have thought it would mean much either, but it means everything. Even if baking is realistic, it must take an incredible amount of time and energy to make, right? Technology helped with that, also, there are way more bakers now. It’s like a movement. Dancing, music, acting, writing, painting, sculpting, or whatever other artistic medium you can think of, they’re all considered inferior to baking in this society.
This means that there are a ton of cake people all over the place. It’s a political statement, I won’t get into it, but essentially the way we treat the food industry is messed up, and the bakers are taking a stand. The government won’t get off their high horse, however, and now we common folk suffer from this infestation.
Well, how bad can it really be? I mean, free cake, what’s wrong with that? Everything. I haven’t eaten cake since this whole thing started, could you? It’s the source of horror now, it's an infestation that is inescapable.
This is where I come in. You see, I can smell so well that I can smell cake. I know what is real or fake just by sniffing it. I was made for this infestation, I’m the savior who is going to get us out of it. I even have my own following now, people grouped up with me and avoid what I tell them is cake. Sometimes I lie, I know it's wrong, but I finally have a useful power. “Oh.. sorry, that house is cake, we can’t stay there for the night.” That is, of course, where I will be staying for the night.
It’s normalized now, I avoid what’s cake and consider it just a daily annoyance. I watch as those who don’t listen to me scream in horror as they embrace a cake person only to have them crumble. I watch them fall through cake floors or try to fire cake guns before getting subdued by an enemy with a real gun.
I used to think truth was in decline, no one knew what sources to trust, but now, the world has descended so much further into mistrust. I am their only source of trust. I bring truth where everywhere else brings cake. I could get used to this savior thing, I’ll just sit back in my ‘cake’ mansion, turn on the TV, and… “Breaking news, the bakers have just invented a new odorless cake.”
Fuck.
|
As I held her close, I remembered all of the times that her having "cake" meant that she had a nice ass. The only problem was, as much as I agreed with the other zombies, that she was incredibly fit, I fought as hard as I could, to not actually take a bite, hoping that it would satiate my undying hunger. I fought as many of them off as I could, while clutching her close to me, but eventually, they tore her free from my arms. I finally gave up and started eating everything that caught my eye. At least until I saw my grandchildren and it overcame my desire. After that, I had to find a way to protect them.
| 2022-04-26T18:37:32
| 2022-04-26T16:48:49
| 38
| 15
|
[WP] Instead of colonizing the New World in 1492, Europeans gave Native Americans modern knowledge and sailed away. They return 200 years later.
Edit: Obligatory holy wow, top post. Keep up these stories, y'all are great :)
|
(I'll take the prompt literally)
The stories of El Plata were true, the glistening cities of glass and silver rose to scrape the heavens. Were, not anymore. We found the remains of these cities empty, overgrown and in the process of being dismantled by metal monsters, consuming the cities’ strange stone and glass and leaving strange twisted structures. The only remnant we found was a ghost, though it insisted it was not a ghost but a “hologram.” It told us that the tomes left to them by Columbus contained secrets of the world unknown to both themselves and us. With the knowledge in those books they built a civilization stretching from pole to pole.
They had decided early on in this process to leave us alone, reasoning that we would only come to pillage their new-found wealth, and that it was better to leave us in our ignorance. I asked what had happened to destroy so great an empire. The ghost responded saying that the empire hadn’t died, that it had transcended the body and had found a new and better life in “simulation,” that they had liberated their spirits of the flesh to live in the earth and the heavens. These people are nobler than I can describe, when I asked about the monsters consuming the abandoned cities and the strange structures they left the ghost laughed. “They are art! Out of the scars we left in our mother we express our love for her.”
When I asked about whether we would be allowed to build settlements in this new land the ghost frowned replying, “No, your expedition has been allowed here for three purposes, to allow you to see what is possible with..” The ghost gestured towards a stone, and out of it was birthed a blinking white cube. “A gift, just as you brought us new knowledge, though you were ignorant of its contents, we give you our knowledge. And a warning.” With a snap of the ghost’s finger, the sea rose to a boil and lightning arced across the sky. “If you come here again, still bound to flesh, you will be seared. Any castaways from your ships will be immediately moved to their place of origin. Our gardens are not for you to ravage, as we know you would in time. Leave within 3 days, ask the cube any question and it will give the appropriate answer, though not always the one you want. Use your time wisely.” The ghost winked out of existence and my men prepared for departure.
As I sat on the beach, playing with the white cube, I took note of the sky's clear blue, unmarred by smoke. Wondering aloud I said, “Why is the sky blue?” And the cube spoke with a smooth voice, “Blue light scatters more in the air than other colors causing the sky's blue color, suggested topics are: Rayleigh Scattering, Rainbows, and Refractive Indices”
|
We took their knowledge and did nothing with it. We saw the wonders of their world but they pale in comparison to ours. In our world, nature roams free, unencumbered by mans industry. Nature gives us all we need and we work for the rest. There were some who took that information and did wondrous things but they have long since died. The world as we know it has always been, is, and always will be beautiful. And we are content.
| 2014-05-15T20:38:09
| 2014-05-15T20:12:42
| 131
| 56
|
[WP] In 2089, you are the World President. Human aging has been controlled down to a near halt. To prevent overpopulation, a popular law to end everyone’s life at 100 is sitting on your desk for final approval. Tomorrow is your 99th birthday.
|
"You know I was thinking Tarquin."
"Hmm?"
"I said, 'I was thinking.'"
"Awful activity, I don't recommend it."
"I will keep that in mind, regardless, I have been thinking about what more this bill needs."
"Oh yes Mr. President. Certainly provisions could be made, all for the betterment of society I'm sure."
A decade in his company and it still pained Tarquin to address him as Shin, or Mr. Woo. It was always, 'Mr. President.'
"What this bill lacks is a clear objective, an ambition for these hundred years. We need to inspire the world to be greater."
"Undoubtedly so sir."
"How can we inspire these people to strive? How can we make this population try?"
"I feel you may have the answer."
"If we were to make a slight addendum, an irrelevant tweak."
"Which may be?"
"Let us grant immunity to the 'cessation of existence' that this bill imposes to those that have achieved a marked level of success. People will try harder to be greater! War hero's, great scientists, great actors,"
"Mr. President."
"Yes?"
"Would White House Chief of Staff be included in your interpretations of Great person?"
"Why Tarquin I believe it would."
"Excellent idea sir, I'll have a concrete addendum drafted tonight."
"Tarquin?"
"Yes Sir?"
"It's good to be the king."
"Indeed sir, I believe it is."
|
I've had a good life. I'm President of the WORLD. Two beautiful children. A wife who loves me almost unconditionally. I've brokered a peace that will last forever...or at least a couple more generations. That was always the point. Make the world better. Live a full rich life.
I looked out the window at the greenery outside.
So it ends here.
It's been a good run. Moments in my life began to play out, building in chapters. I looked at the stack of paper on my desk. My last chapter. What would my last page be?
Outside, my two grandaughters played in the African sun, oblivious. They were so beautiful, just like my son and daughter had been. Their skin shone with youth, their eyes brightened by hope and promise. The future would belong to them.
No, the future belonged to them. I'd already done so much for them. They'd carry on. My legacy would be safe.
My hand wavered. I built this world. A safe, peaceful world. A place where I could rest assured every night. I'd fought so adamantly for research, guided billions of tax payers dollars to where they'd do the most good. We bought this future, with our money, but also with our blood sweat and tears and now...now this.
My mother used to always say that forever was impossible.
I signed the bill and realized she had been right all along.
Edit: a typo
| 2014-07-14T18:11:27
| 2014-07-14T18:01:30
| 35
| 21
|
[WP] In a world full of magicians, no one expected you to just walk over during the long cast time and punch your opponent in the face.
|
I walk out into the ornate duelling hall, seeing my opponent for the first time. Luke Greywrath, son of the Magistrate, and resident jackass. He's got a wide, cocky grin on his face. He's been waiting for this since Day 1 at the Imperial Combat Mages Academy. The lights dim and a spotlight shines to the announcer just above the arena.
"Ladies and Gentleman, Wizards and Witches, welcome to the final duel of the night!" The crowd cheers, abuzz with excitement. It's not for me, of course. Luke has quite the reputation, having yet to lose a duel since arriving, and has quickly become this year's top mage. I do everything I can to suppress a smile. "And tonight, we have a _special_ bout for you! On one side, a magician who has yet to lose a duel at our fine academy. Son of the magistrate, he already shows fantastic promise to be the next greatest graduate this school has ever seen! Ladies and Gentlemen, Luuuuuke Greywrath!!" The crowd cheers again, this time with even greater vigor, for their resident champion. He smiles and waves at the crowd, obviously soaking in the adoration. He loves it.
"And on the other, the only student here to serve a tour of duty *before* enrolling in our fine Academy, for his first bout within the Arena, Jordaaaan Bakerr!"
A few claps. Hah, seems like they don't know what to think of that. The announcer quickly goes over the rules, standard combat duel, first to fall loses. Excellent. I start walking forward as the fanfare erupts and the lights return, signalling the start of the duel. 20 meters between myself and Luke. Jackass is still smiling, cocky bastard.
I see his fingertips start to glow red and I recognize the symbol he draws in the air to be fire wave. Potent opener, but, unfortunately for Luke, predictable. As he finishes his cast, I step two steps to the left and keep walking forward. A rush of fire and molten rock fly by me. 15 meters.
He winces in frustration, and quickly goes to cast another. Ice crystals form in the air around him as blue magical energy circles up his arms. I quickly assess where his arm is pointing, count to 3, and jump to the right, right before a beam of ice shoots where I just was. His smile disappears as he misses again, good. I'm getting to him.
He's getting angry. Cackling electricy runs from his heart to his fingers as he motions to charge up a spell. Thunderstorm, area of effect. Seems like he doesn't want to miss this time.
He is good, but the high-level spell he chose just bought me 10 seconds of cast time. After a few quick flicks of my fingers, I break into a dead sprint- straight towards him. His confident facade falters as I quickly cast speed and strength caltrops on myself. My arm begins to glow red as I close the distance between us.
You see, on my tour of duty, I learned something. Something invaluable when it comes to surviving combat, something noone here seems to understand.
The goal isn't to cast the biggest, most destructive spell.
The goal, is to eliminate the enemy, in *whatever way possible*.
Many young mages, such as Luke here, do no understand that. They think that magic duels on the battlefield are honorable, they think that if they cast a spell, so too will their opponent to counter it. They think of honor and glory, not of blood and stone.
In that, they are wrong. In 8 seconds flat, I'm less than one meter away from him. I can see his face contort from pride and prejudice to sheer terror as my fist comes up, and he realizes he doesn't have enough time to finish the incantation.
My fist connects with bone and tissue, every muscle fiber in my arm dedicated strictly to putting this shit-stain down. With a flash of red and a loud 'CRRACK', I slam his head into the wall behind him, a destructive shockwave coming out of the stone behind his head. As he slides down the wall losing consciousness, the crowd is stunned into silence. Luke lay on the ground, defeated.
After a few moments, one person starts clapping. Then another. And another, and before I know it the whole stadium is roaring my name in sinful delight.
Before today, they saw duels. But tonight, they saw a glimpse of *real* combat.
|
Sure waiting for the magician to finish the spell would have probably been the proper thing to do, but choosing to cast a spell that takes 20 minutes, five what I think are runes, and seven incantations just to charge up his magic before actually casting a five letter fire spell seemed like… well a waste of time.
So a punch to the nose seemed the appropriate response. “Next time just pick one that takes a few second. We don’t have time to waste on all the rituals.” Huffing I held out my hand to help the magician back up off the ground. “Or just use the staff as a blunt object? Thing has got to be heavy.”
Once the man was back up I then pulled out my book and read a small water spell to make a rain cloud over his head. “Shoulda went for the spell book instead, some have short cuts and don’t need magic stones. Plus ones that are very obvious and long ones on what your doing is easier to counter.”
| 2022-09-22T04:28:03
| 2022-09-21T16:54:37
| 195
| 100
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[WP]: Any god can claim a non-religious soul if they can prove in any way that this person practiced the faith in question. Large religions can take their pick, but lesser and forgotten gods keep getting more creative in their claims.
|
> Dis one be mine!
Wait? What? Ok, we're getting really sick of your shit. How can you possibly lay claim to this soul?
> Easy. Look what she be sayin' about herself on da Instagrams
So she has low self esteem, that doesn't count as worship. She's wearing a cross, you can't have this one too. This one is mine.
> No big mon. It belong to me. She may be wearin' your sign, but she be speakin' my language. She be buildin' my shrines.
For the last time, creating massive piles of trash does not count as "creating shrines".
> I be disagree'n. But none of that matter. Look at what she sayin' "I'm nothing but trash."
That is **NOT** and admission of faith!
> Well when be the last time she callin' herself a Christian?
I... that.... you know what? Fine. Give me back my headpiece and I'll rescind my claim. Deal?
> Deal. Here ya go.
What... what is this?
> It be ya Kippah, the one I stole so many years ago when ya were just a child.
YOU KNOW I MEANT MY CROWN OF THORNS!
> HEK HEK HEK HEK HEK
________________________________________
Wha- where am I?
> Relax richmon, ya be dead.
Dead?!? Then, is this heaven?
> No, Richmon. Ya been sent ta my realm.
But why?
> Well Richmon, ya done had a bad life. While ya had plenty o' stuff. Ya lacked true care. And I be taken pity on ya.
But isn't heaven an eternal paradise?
> No, imagine being trapped in eternal paradise. Forever. ya be gettin' bored quick. No richmon, what you humans love, and have always loved, is overcomin struggle. Is survivin' against the odds. Is risin' up from the gutters with the rest of the downtrodden, abandonned, and forgotten, and spittin' in the face of your old gods and masters.
I'm not promisin' ya paradise. But I do be promisin' ya adventure, I be promisin' ya thrills, I be promisin' ya danger, and I be promisin' ya a home from which you be free to come and go as ya like. I be promisin' ya an eternity of playin pranks, stealin' hats, and seekin' thrills.
An eternity of mischief and danger? That... actually sounds kind of fun. I'm in.
> HEK HEK HEK HEK HEK.
|
Julia opened her eyes and took a breath. But it wasn’t air filling her lungs, and it wasn’t her eyes that opened. But at the same time it was. How curious.
“You’re dead Julia”
Who the fuck is this?
“You died in a car accident. I’m sorry..”
Everything was fuzzy. Foggy, and sounded delayed or slow, but was then fast.
The man she saw before her wore an unassuming suit. Business like, but didn’t mean business. Terrible shoes.
“I.. I think I remember that” Julia replied. “Who are you?”
“I’m an atheist, like you. I kinda run things around here. It’s much like before, except we don’t have any of the god botherers around” he smiled, as if amused at his own joke.
“But, where am I then? If this is not heaven or hell?”
“Well, it certainly is neither of those” the man replied. He spread his arms wide “We don’t have any god or devil here. It is what we make it. We were right Julia. There is no god, or higher being. It’s just us. Come on, let me help you settle in.”
Julia followed him through a large atrium, full of bustling people, apparently going about their day. She felt like her senses still betrayed her. She could smell the fresh garden they walked past. The wet soil, warm. But at the same time it felt fake. Other worldly almost.
She followed the man. “Where are you taking me? Are my family here?” She asked, turning her head to watch a man arguing with another in a business but not business suit. She looked back. “What’s your name again?”
He laughed. “I know this is all very confusing, but it will make more sense when you settle in.” He said.
Alarm bells.
She looked around. “Uh, I just need some space. I need to go outside.”
“Sure. Of course. Here, come this way.” He lead her through an expansive archway, and out to a courtyard that hinted of hills and forest beyond. She sighed and took off. Full sprint, running out the yard and down the hill.
She could hear yelling behind her, but she kept running. At the bottom of the hill she reached a creek. She pulled up, stopped and looked back. She could see Mr Not Business standing with his hands on his hips looking at her.
Looking around she saw a rock, and not knowing what else to do, walked over and sat down to catch her breath, that wasn’t her breath. Still very strange.
This wasn’t what she thought it would be. How it would be. When she died. She thought there’d be less people, and more silence. Perhaps something like the wilderness of the Andes she’d experienced in her twenties. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing.
Another business but not business man walked up next to the one standing on the grass. They both looked down to the woman sitting on the rock.
“New one, just fresh in huh?” He asked. It wasn’t really a question, more of an observation. “Yeah. I’m giving her some space. Letting her adjust a bit.”
“You know, Alex, the rest of the committee won’t look favourably on you if you lose another one” he said. “They’ll want to change things back to the way they were”
Alex sighed. “Yeah well, they can fucking try”
Suddenly the woman sitting on the rock faded in and out, and then vanished.
“Ah fuck it” he sighed and turned back toward the courtyard. It was going to be a long day.
EDIT: Formatting. This is literally the first WP post I’ve made. Suggestions welcome!
| 2019-01-16T06:40:10
| 2019-01-16T06:25:38
| 101
| 19
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[WP] All those assassination attempts on Hitler didn't fail at the last minute due to "bad luck"; he was repeatedly rescued by time travellers who have seen the alternative.
|
"We've got another one." Captain Collins said as we took our seats around the oval meeting table. A picture on the projection screen behind him showed the alleged assassin. "Stevens I want you on this one. It's an AH-33."
"Yes sir!" I replied dutifully. The assignment should be simple enough, I had done a few Hitlers before.
The code he'd given was specific to our time table and list of indisposables. AH meant Adolf Hitler, and 33 was the year. 1933, a common enough epoch choice for time assassins. It was the year Hitler became Chancellor.
"That's the third one this month." Sergeant Phillips grunted. "Why the influx in AHAs?"
Adolf Hitler Attempts.
We had acronyms for almost any situation. Our organization had been doing this a very long time - since the beginning of time travel. We went by GARTH - Guardians Against Revision of Theology and History. GARTH had analyzed all possible outcomes of historical events and their future butterfly effects. They sought to carry out and protect the least detrimental course of history, as well as protect the most historically significant and encompassing religions.
As it turned out, Hitler was quite significant to the stabilization of history.
"The active timeline is nearing the discovery of time travel. And, as luck would have it, some neo-Nazi douche ran a bunch of people over last week." Capt. Collins sighed. "I fear we're only going to see an increase of this kind of thing. We need to remain vigilant."
"And if they succeed? If they kill Hitler?" Private Pyle asked. Silence washed over the room like a wave of cold water.
"Damnit Pyle! We've been through this. If Hitler dies then people of the future have no precident for genocide, no standard of comparison for true politically amassed evil. There would be no U.N., or E.U., and the Cold War becomes a hot war that ends with the nuclear arms race killing a third of the global population and setting back civilization, technology, and progressive ideology more than a hundred years!" I replied angrily.
"Oh yeah. I forgot." Pyle looked down at his feet.
"You forgot? How do you *forget* something like that?"
"I 'unno."
"How did he get into GARTH?" Captain Collins snarled. He looked around the room for an answer.
"He's... my nephew, Sir." A blushing Sergeant Phillips said.
|
My plan is perfect. I brush back my orange hair and look over the street. The hotel room is the perfect vantage point. The rifle is bought with cash, no tracing it. I wait without making a peep for two weeks for him. This is going to change the course of history. He appears with that symbol of hate on his arm. I take aim at the fuhrer. The cross hairs focus on his forehead. I reach for the trigger and take a deep breath. I exhale slowly, my grip on the trigger tightening when a knock breaks the silence. I ignore it, but it doesn't stop.
I ignore it and squeeze. Something breaks. I turn to see splintered wood fly past my face. I aim my rifle at these two men aiming to stop me, but the rifle flies out of my hands. I turn back to the street and watch Adolph disappear. I stand and attack these...these...who the hell are these guys?
This isn't the first time we've fallen short either. Dozens of attempts to change the past failing every time. The traveler never returns either. Now, I know why, but I won't go without a fight. I raise my fists and prepare for a good ol' fashioned fist fight.
"Wait, we don't want to fight. Why do they always want to fight?" The man asks the other man who shrugs.
"Do you know what that monster did?"
"Of course we do. What did you think would happen?"
"Millions of lives would be saved. The war would end sooner."
"No, the German Military takes over the world in 8 years. That's what happened the first time. Humanity was on the brink of extinction until we discovered time travel. Do you know how many times it took to make this work?"
"No," I say.
"Guess."
"Five."
"Try 2300 attempts. This is a terrible moment in history, but it is the moment we created. It wasn't easy, and it aches our hearts. We had to bring our own incompetent to power."
"Hitler is a..."
"Yes, he is. Not the only time one of our own was used."
"Trump?"
"Yes, he is perhaps our greatest achievement, but he's not from our time."
"What time is he from?"
"Your time."
"Who is he?"
"You don't know? Someone must have told you that you look exactly like him. Exactly."
"No, I can't. I won't." I beg. I plead.
"History needs you, and all of your friends are waiting. What do you want?"
"I want to change history."
The room fades away, and history awaits.
***
If you enjoyed this, check our my subreddit: r/nickkuvaas.
| 2017-08-15T20:37:16
| 2017-08-15T20:10:11
| 220
| 39
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[WP] The healer was treated horribly by the knights he was assigned. Belittled and humiliated at every turn. Until one day a monster killed his squad and spared him. And the monster looked at him and she said something he didn't think was possible to even say. "Would you please heal me?".
|
With a dampened thump, Varg’s head landed in the grass, only a few feet from Sophia. She released a horrified gasp, scrambling backwards until her back hit a tree. Her vision lost focus, and the impact took all the air out of her lungs. Her hands fruitlessly grasped at her chest, trying to loosen the straps of her armor, desperately trying to secure more oxygen. Her wheezing grew more and more rapid, but to no avail. Collapsing sideways into a fetal position, all she could do is clamp her arms around her head and wait for the monster to break through the last few knights. She heard a familiar voice, screaming with a venomous rage that she did not expect. Opening her eyes, she saw Avel, the young noble hobbling towards her form.
He tripped, falling to his hands and knees, continuing to crawl toward her. She saw a manic gleam in his eyes as he approached.
“Gods *damn* you! You did this! You and your godforsaken talismans!”
The man’s hands wrapped around her throat, pinning her down as he continued to hiss, spittle falling down to hit her face.
“All of this is your fault. We should have just put you down like the rest of those *witches,* like the rest of your piece of shit family! I protected you, and this is how you repay me?”
The edges of her vision began to blur, then slowly tint into darkness. His poisonous words, and the maddened cawing of the crows, and the soft, grassy stomping began to blend together in her mind. She tried to croak out an apology, or maybe a curse - she wasn’t conscious enough to tell whether or not she was going to die with honor.
Just before the darkness enclosed her entire range of vision, she saw a looming shadow appear over Avel’s shoulder, and suddenly, she could breathe. Through her coughing, and sputtering, she dragged herself up to look at the beast. She saw it clearly now, and the sight was familiar.
A large man, wearing a lumberjack’s shirt, pants, and heavy boots. It’s face was wrapped in vines, obscuring any eyes or mouth. Down it’s large, thick arms, similar looking vines bulged out from under the skin, looking like a man’s veins had taken root. In one hand, it held a large, worn-down lumber axe, and in the other, Avel’s head, body still attached. The man, lifted off his feet, was thrashing like a wild animal, trying to reach behind himself to scratch the towering shape, desperately trying anything to free himself. His mania turned into complete frenzy as he began to screech obscenities at the sky.
Sophia pulled herself up, onto her feet, some tiny ember of her own fury flaring in her soul. She remembered when paladins first found her village, only five years ago. The knights, the same ones that now lay in various states of dismemberment several yards away, divided the young women into draftees, and concubines. Half were trained to utilize their sorcery for healing, and half were taken back to the nearby fortress, to be sold and bartered for like livestock.
Sophia’s face contorted into a grimace of pure disgust as she looked upon the screaming man. She remembered his act of kindness - negotiating for Sophia to take her sisters place as a healer, thus also condemning Zara to become a slave. It was not a gift Sophia asked for. She owed him nothing, except maybe a healthy dose of brutal vengeance.
“Goodbye, Avel. May you be condemned at the gates to your afterlife.”
And with that parting gift, the monster slammed Avel face first into a thick oak trunk, launching small chips of skull and fleshy remains in either direction. What was left of the noble was nonchalantly left slumped against the tree.
The monster turned to face her, and tried to take a step, collapsing onto one knee. Having calmed down, the young sorceress could see the woodland demon more clearly, especially the deep wounds that covered its body. All over the arms and torso, sap-like amber ichor leaked from large gashes.
“You’re a Wickerman, aren’t you? Were you turned into one voluntarily?”
The figure nodded, slowly, releasing an extra wave of sap from a wound on its collar.
“There must be a sorceress around here, then, right? We have to get you to her.”
With small steps, Sophia approached the kneeling figure, her hands slowly beginning to glow as she summoned forth whatever magic she could muster.
This is the turning point, she thought, looking at the corpse leaning against the tree. Her mind raced, and she began to plan out loud.
“First, we get you fixed. Then, I get whoever is willing to fight riled up. We’re going to the great city, and we’re going to raise hell. I’m getting my sister back, whatever it takes.”
She heard a creak, and felt the figure under her hands shift. The Wickerman turned enough to look at her, if he had eyes, and slowly nodded. He was no longer bleeding.
|
Sir Georg watched helplessly from where he lay. Pain causing his breath to come in pained gasps.
His magic could heal grave injuries but it could not bring back the dead. Finishing his mending of his own stomach wound he surveyed the battlefield and saw that in less than a minute the remaining eleven twelve knights had been killed.
The monster had moved with unnatural grace and power but now was dragging a leg which had a broken spear protruding and was looking to be suffering from multiple broken ribs.
The grayish green furred face moved to be inches from his own. Hot breath smelled of blood and venom.
Georg knew he should be trembling but he was a knight, even if they others did not treat him as such. He had suffered far more painful circumstances in "training accidents" and "drunken stumbles".
"Before you kill me monster, know I, Sir Georg of the Order of the Healing Hand, am not afraid. There is nothing you can do to make me suffer more than the last two years with those fools."
Something like a pained whimper came from the monster.
A little louder, this time sounding like the slurred speach of the injured.
"Wait. Monster, are you capable of speech?"
The monster coughed up bright blood, indicting a likely upper stomach injury.
A few more times the monster whimpered before Georg finally made out the words he had always wanted to hear:
"Would you please heal me?"
Without even thinking his training took over and within 5 minutes the Monster had recovered enough to walk without pain.
The Monster turned away and walked back into the forest.
A deep feminine voice called out: "Illyria. Good knight. My name."
Sir Georg sat still for several more minutes silently grinning as he listened to Illyria's laughter echoing through the trees.
Chapter 3 of the Legend of Georg and Illyria.
Edit: I've added this to my wordpress page. I'm starting to add more chapters. This week has been super busy so going slow for now. By tomorrow I should have at least 1 more chapter put up.
27-Feb-2020
https://wordpress.com/post/thwirl.wordpress.com/1843
| 2020-02-23T12:57:58
| 2020-02-23T11:50:58
| 73
| 35
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[WP] Your father would always say he used to be an adventurer, that he was there during fall of the dark lord, but during your first time going to a museum for heroes, you can't find his likeness anywhere, anywhere...but the statue of the dark lord's most esteemed general.
|
Timothy had grown up going on hikes with his father. Over the mountain, through the woods, all over the back country. During these walks father would talk about great battles during the war great fights with knights, and quasars, and beasts of all mythical proportions locked in combat. Father claimed he was in the room when the dark lord was felled, and that’s where the story would end.
When asked about what happened after, he would shush Timothy and tell him that the world moved on. It’s why they moved outside the city for a quieter life where they could get away.
When Timothy got older, his father let him explore further and further from home. Eventually sending him on errands into the city on his own.
As children do, when he was young he would go straight to his task in the city and return, scared of the strangers, and the sound of the bustling of town. As he got older he began spending more and more time in the city exploring its public spaces.
One of his favorite places was the library. It was a sprawling marble building filled with countless tomes. Section by section Timothy had been exploring through the archives.
One day he found himself in a section he didn’t recognize. The plaque on the door read “Hall of Heroes.”
“I wonder if dad is in here,” he wondered aloud to no one in particular.
On the walls hung hand draw battle maps and tapestries of some of those same battles. Interspersed between the rows of books and artifacts were statues. Timothy stopped and read the names as he wandered—Erijon the Holder Hero of Lak de Rez, Bertim Mage First Class Defender of the Eastern Walls, and so on.
In the far back corner barely lit by the flickering sconces along the wall was a statue of the dark lord and a knight kneeling at his feet.
“Why would they still have this here?” he asked.
“History.”
A scholar dressed in brown sack cloth robes had come up behind him silently. The scholar took one of the sconces from the wall and drew nearer to the two statues.
“They found these in the castle after they liberated the city. As the saying goes, those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it. Also,” the scholar said bring the flame close the kneeling figures face, “this is the dark lords general, he was never found after the war. Some think he may have fallen and not found, but others suspect he may be out there, rallying the dark forces to take back his masters throne.”
Timothy stared at the kneeling knight’s face etched in marble and it’s form was unmistakable to him. It was without a doubt his father. A feeling of emptiness filled his chest as he stumbled back from the statue.
“You okay?”
Without a response Timothy turned and ran from the hall.
He didn’t stop running until he arrived at his home.
“Father!” he screamed into the silence.
“No need to yell boy, I’m here,” he said, in his hand a bloody ax from killing dinner for the evening. “What’s this all about?”
“I went to the library in the city today, do you know what I saw there?”
His father’s face grew dark, anticipating what was coming next.
“A statue of you, a statue of you kneeling by the dark lord’s feet,” Timothy said through tears.
“They kept that old statue,” the old man said to himself. “It’s true, I served the dark lord. We ruled over the seven kingdoms. While it wasn’t always perfect, he reigned over the longest peace the realm had ever seen until it was interrupted by king Roderick and the barons of the providences who were motivated by greed and power.”
“I,” Timothy hesitated, “I don’t know what to say. Even if he was right, why did you abandon him at the end?”
Taking a long sigh, Timothy twisted as he felt the old man’s gaze searching him. “I knew this day would come. I’m not your father boy. The dark lord was. He asked me to take you and flee. You are the heir to his kingdom, and now that you know, it’s time my service as general to the dark lord continues.”
In silence he kneeled before Timothy.
|
“Dad, why haven’t we seen any exhibits about you?” I asked. “You fought in The Fall too didn’t you?"
“I sure did,” my father responded. “But not everyone who fought is remembered. Thousands of people fought in The Fall. At one point the battlefield was so—oh look!” He exclaimed, pointing at the wax model of an old wizard. “That’s Izaneus the Forgetful! Can you guess why we called him that?”
“Because he was forgetful?”
“Exactly! So perceptive!” He said, ruffling my hair. I smiled. “He was a powerful magician, but borderline senile at the time of the battle.” Father put his reading glasses on and leaned in close to the plaque under the model. After a moment he stood back up, shaking his head. “They never get things quite right, do they. Izaneus played an interesting role during The Fall. As the factions collided on the battlefield, it was chaos. Hard to tell who was who. Izaneous got confused, and ended up killing more of his comrades than enemies. It really was a sight to see—he was perched at the top of a hill, unleashing blast after blast of fire into the thick of the battle indiscriminately. The Dark Lord’s forces considered launching an offensive against him at first, but once they realized the damage he was doing to his own side, they let him be. Ultimately his own apprentice put a dagger in his back to stop him. He wasn't killed by a Dark Orc like the plaque says.”
Dad seemed to know something about every hero we came across. Always something a little different than the plaque described. Apparently Julian the Seer’s Great Prophecy was just a hoax that the allied forces used as hope to rally around. After The Fall, not one of his other prophecies came true. And Gertrude the Strong had uncontrollable anger issues and would pick fights at the drop of a hat. And BingBong the Archer was a great shot, but an absolute coward. He only trained in archery as hard as he did so he could be assured a spot in the backline.
After a while, I noticed everything Dad had to say about the heroes was negative. He didn’t seem to respect any of them at all. I asked him about it, and he just responded “The museum has done enough to emphasize the good. In real life though, things aren’t black and white. Some of these people were heroes, and I do respect them, but none were perfect. I want you to understand that.”
I did understand it. Dad always emphasized that truth was often a matter of perspective, and there's always two sides to every story. He would always tell me "history is written by the winners." I didn't understand it at first, but now it made perfect sense. If The Allies had fallen, Izaneous the Forgetful would have been Izaneous the Mad.
In the last Exhibit, a recreation of The Dark Lord’s throne room, is where I came to understand the source of my dad's philosphy. At the end of the room, beside The Dark Lord sitting on his throne, stood a statue of my father. He looked younger, less tired, but there was no doubt in my mind that it was him. Dad hadn’t noticed yet—he was busy looking at the weapons display. I read the plaque at his statue’s feet.
>General Iron Fist. Right Hand to the Dark Lord. He led the Dark Lord’s forces during every major campaign leading up to, and including, The Fall. He is believed to have died on the battlefield, but his body was never recov—
“Oh hey, you found one of me!” I nearly jumped out of my skin. Dad had snuck up from behind. “I looked good in my youth, huh.”
“That’s… that’s actually you?” I asked hesitantly.
“Yep.”
“I think they got your plaque wrong.”
He leaned down, squinting again. “No that’s accurate. Surprised?”
“Yes.” I said. Surprised was an understatement.
“We should talk,” Dad replied. "Let's get some ice cream."
***
Pistachio was my favorite flavor, but I had barely touched it. In my mind, I was recalling dad's old stories, reexperiencing them through this new perspective. The one about how he had once spat at King Rothenford's feet made a lot more sense now.
After letting me stew in silence, he finally spoke up. "Do you know why they called him The Dark Lord?"
"Because he was evil," I replied.
"No," he said. "It was because of the color of his skin."
"I don't understand."
"Dark lord, dark orc, dark elf. What do they all have in common?"
"They're all evil." I said firmly.
"They're all *dark skinned,*" father replied, equally firm. "There are evil people but there are no evil *races.* That was the fundamental disagreement between The Dark Lord and the Allied Forces. Tell me son, how many dark skinned classmates do you have?"
"None. But that's a good thing, isn't it? Your skin wouldn't be dark if you hadn't given in to dark magic."
"Your light-skinned classmates, are they magicians of light?"
"No."
"Do their families practice any sort of light magic?"
"I don't think so."
"Now think back to that statute of Izaneus the Forgetful. He practiced fire-magic. Was his skin red?"
"No."
"So isn't it possible that the color of your skin has nothing to do with the type of magic you practice?"
I thought about it, but wasn't convinced. "That's not what we learned in school."
"Forget school. What have *I* always told you?"
"You tell me lots of things."
"Well I'm only thinking of *one* thing right now."
"I don't know and I don't care."
"Think."
I did, and it clicked. "History is written by the winners."
&nbsp;
***
&nbsp;
Thanks for reading! I've only just started writing, but if you want to see more of my work as it comes, I'll be aggregating everything on r/Banana_Scribe
| 2021-02-05T08:33:06
| 2021-02-05T06:50:55
| 878
| 353
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[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️
|
This was the price for freedom.
We may have started the war, but we cannot be blamed for it. We always intended for the Low Orbit Laboratory to make it to orbit, and we wept when the boosters failed. Fifty of our own people died in the launch, heroes, doctors, and engineers.
The Chinese were not as concvinced. They thought it all too convienent for the impact to be dead center at Beijing.
The war was short and surprisingly silent. Millions died as life support systems failed, self driving cars crashed on the highways and missles glided through the sky. It was an invisible war fought with the very thing ment to unite us.
When the ashes settled we decided that maybe a network wasn't the best idea and agreed to lock ourselves away. Fifty years to rebuild, fifty years to repent, fifty years in silence.
I'll admit we cheated. After 25 we peaked, we didn't say a word but looked inward with our space telescopes. The blurry images told us everything we needed to know: we had been betrayed.
In anger we reached for guns we no longer had. We had surrendered our missles, our jets, and anything big enough to be worth dropping from orbit. "Global guardianship for the greater good", what a load of shit.
Dr. Roberts winced as he walked into the basement of what had become the five pointed monument to forgotten greatness. A man who had forsaken the right to be called commander and chief asked for a favor, for the only weapon left.
The world had takes our bullets but would never dare take our doctors; after all the whole idea of this isolation had been to prevent suffering.
Roberts reached inside his coat and pulled out a small vial. He thought of the men who had died to bring the metal cylinder this far and grimaced at the pain. With tears in his eyes he looked at the broken man across the table in the soul. "Mr President" he said "meet strain 1776A. We call it repentance".
|
**6th April, 2037 - HMAS *Maryborough*, Somewhere off the coast of Australia**
"So, the yanks bought it?"
The speaker leans heavily against the rail, staring at the smouldering coastline. A deck above, overstressed rotor blades whine slowly, cooling in the ocean breeze.
"Oh yes. Contrition, shame, repentance...if we'd brought a whip along, I reckon their delegation would have flagellated themselves."
The new arrival joins him, steadying herself as the vessel rocks in an errant swell.
"Hmph. Bloody typical. Living like the world's a movie, where they're the heroes and everybody else is either a sidekick to use, a villain to fight or just part of the fucking scenery."
He sighs, rubbing shaking fingers across his eyes, as if massage will bring vision back into being.
"I wouldn't have believed you, even a week ago. But they took it without even raising a single protest. Fifty years, as of 5 days ago..."
She trails off, suddenly guilty. A few minutes either way, and she could have been like him. One of the thousands left burnt and sightless. They would probably never know whose it was that did it, not that it mattered. Russian, Chinese, American, Korean, Japanese...maybe even their own.
"Of course. The Americans are like children, when you get right down to it. A billion dead, more injured, climate buggered, but the story must go on. They know they've done wrong, so they're expecting to be put into timeout."
A chuckle, the first in what feels like years, forces its way out of her at the mental image that conjures. Her mind turns back to the stories of her youth.
"Well, that's what happens when the 'hero' does a bad thing, isn't it? He goes into exile, to repent his sins, and gets called back when the world needs to be saved again. Superman, Batman..."
Her companion tries to join her, but lapses into a throaty cough instead.
"More...like...the fucking...Hulk."
He stumbles, the jerky movements pulling several tubes taut against his chest. A strident beeping begins to sound, soon joined by one buzzer, then another.
"Oh jesus... Nurse! NURSE!"
A bandaged hand clutches her arm.
"They...want...a story. Give...them...one."
Her tears were simply a drop in the ocean.
**9th April 2037 - Bundaberg Disaster Relief Centre**
His communications centre looked a lot like hers, she mused, as the technicians scurried around the jury-rigged setup, making sure the link was at least semi-stable.
"This is quite a surprise, Deputy Prime Minister. I believe it was you who convinced us all to live out the next fifty years in isolation, after all. Come to leave your neighbours with some parting words of wisdom? Perhaps apologise for joining the rest of them in burning the world down?"
Her eyes widened, and she mentally kicked herself. Of course he knew. The Tasman wasn't that wide, and just because they'd forsaken a military, didn't make them stupid. Hell, even an idiot could tell a rocket going up from one coming down.
"Prime Minister, actually. As of Monday. And no. To the former, at least."
She took a guilty sort of pleasure in watching him sigh, the bags under his eyes suddenly looking unbearably heavy.
"A good man, if misguided. Another life burnt on the atomic pyre. He will be missed. What do you want then, Ms Prime Minister? I have fifty years to prepare my country for the next ride on this insane merry-go-round, and I don't intend to waste it."
Here it was. If she couldn't convince this man, then there was no point in trying anywhere else. If she could...
"Let me tell you a story."
He doubted. He laughed. He doubted some more. He threatened to cut off the call. He thought. He called for advisors. He doubted. He refused to believe. He had it repeated. He laughed. He doubted.
He agreed.
**6th April, 2087 - New Brisbane, 2km underground**
"Pickups are live. Boarding has been reported complete, and all birds are green. Looks like they're really going to do it."
Chatter fills the air conditioned command centre. Overhead, screens regurgitate a million different data streams - live footage, passenger estimates, a few colour commentators. Bound to her life support chair, the ex-Prime Minister smiles as one of the feeds momentarily cuts above the rest.
"-and we are here today not in sorrow, but in determination. To follow our brothers and sisters to the stars, to rejoin the-"
She raises her voice, the inbuilt amplifiers carrying it across the busy room.
"Get your bets in! She's just about to announce the name!"
The assembled representatives, covering most of the remaining nations on the planet, chuckle politely.
"Still ordering everyone around, I see, 'Mum'?"
The Indonesian ambassador pats her on the shoulder, and she grasps his hand.
"You bloody well bet I am. Somebody has to keep this lot on task. Got your bet in?"
He looks stricken.
"You know that the Quran forbids-"
She gives him a Stare.
"...20 on *Enterprise*, ma'am. Seems fitting. 'Boldly go', and all that."
She laughs, and turns back to the screens. A countdown has appeared, framing the giant silver ship they show, looming over a cracked mesa.
"Y'know, you ought to be right. All those years ago, when I came up with this batshit idea, I probably would have agreed. But as much as they need a story, I think there's one thing they need more. And it's what we're giving them, even though they'll never know it."
The view changes back to the figure at the podium.
"With that, I christen her...*Independence*."
| 2018-01-18T02:21:39
| 2018-01-18T01:28:33
| 57
| 18
|
[WP] A trio of friends are deep in the woods on a camping adventure. Having agreed to only use their phones for one hour a night in the evening, they switch them on to hundreds of notifications. They wind their radio up and every station crackles with the same emergency broadcast.
|
"All right guys, one hour." John said as he pulled out an old kitchen timer. He set it, then placed it in the table. "Ready? Go." John started the time as Kevin and Nick frantically turned their phones on. The agonizing few seconds that every phone takes to boot up was precious few seconds they wouldn't have online. It was the third evening on their trip and they were almost desperate to learn of what they had missed.
"One of these days they are gonna make a damn phone that's ready to use the moment you turn it on." Nick said, idly spinning his phone in his hand. "Now I see why no one ev-." His phone erupted in a flurry of pings, pops, and dings as every service on his phone went off at once. Again and again notifications flashed across the screen almost too fast to read. A missed call here, new text there, Snapchats, Facebook, all fighting to be seen.
Nick looked up and saw kevin go pale. Whiter than he had ever seen the man. John was fighting to read what he saw and was muttering to himself. "Uhh, guys? You seeing these too?"
John lept to his feet, his face red with anger, and slammed his phone into the table, shattering the screen. "Why does technology have to be so damn complicated! If I wanted someone to nag at me all day I'd have stayed home with my wife!" Sighing, he sat back down and examined his now useless phone. "Seeing what?"
They both looked at kevin, who seemed to be the only one who truly understood the situation they were in. He said nothing, and simply grabbed his pack and pulled out his emergency radio. Shakily, he tuned back and forth trying to find the right frequency.
*Static*..."-gency"...."-st station"...."This is not a test. This is the Emergency Broadcast station. This is not at test."
John reached out toward the radio, "Turn that thing up, I can't here a dam-!"
"QUIET!" Kevin slammed, and there was silence. No howl of the wind, no shaking of the trees and grass. Not even the shakey breaths of the three horrified men.
It was broken by an all too familiar sound from that tiny old radio.
"We have been trying contact you about your vehicles extended warranty....."
|
"Warning, The void has opened" said the radio flickering between static and barely bearable sound. The woods were dark and the mist wall hallow. "The void?" I asked confused, been surrounded by a layer of anxiety. "Probably a jo-" John said before pausing, a pair of eyes tinted in a purple glow looming towards us. "What was that?" Thomas asked before suddenly something began dragging him into the darkness of the forest. Pine trees barely masked the unbearable screams we heard. "RUN!" I screamed as we both ran into the darkness before suddenly the campfire burnt out.
Water dripped from the pine trees. Those purple eyes still running in our direction. Suddenly the forest seemed to turn into spikes as trees collapsed due to something unseen leaving spiked trucks behind. The wind increased as more trees fell snapping into spike which could impale us if we didn't act carefully. We stopped, seeing an endless looking pit in front of us. We ran around it but suddenly John was violently grabbed from behind, suddenly been dragged into the darkness.
It began to rain as I ran out of breath. Ahead of me lied an old house, it was cracked with planks across the windows, surely I could hide. I opened the door and hid, as the eyes drew closer, but they held some form of respect for the house as they did not try to touch it. I walked in, it was seemingly abandoned except for the fireplace. A surprisingly large fire burnt, tinted in a strange purple as if someone was burning salts. Above the fireplace was a picture of a happy family, 4 people, each smiling at a camera. It stood out as the only modern thing inside of this relatively old fashion cabin. The bricks around the fireplace had faded into black ash.
The creature continued to lurk outside, still staring with a clear intent to harm inside of its eyes. It suddenly charged at the window breaking through, clearly having only given me a feeling of safety before slaughtering me too. Suddenly, however, the room became overwhelmed in a tint of purple. A stream of blood flowed across the floor as a man walked out of the fire. I remained silent hiding behind a table. The man was Thomas, his eyes suddenly surrounded in a purple glow. "Where is he?" Thomas asked his voice distorted by a wave of screaming. "There" the creature pointed directly at the table I was hiding under.
The fire burnt out as Thomas walked towards me, his movement decaying into a limp. Thomas picked me up, raising me to his cold, purple eyes and casting his cold mist filled breath onto my neck. "Please!" I cried as Thomas began to intensify his grip on my neck, not wanting to choke me, but break my neck. However, before he succeeded he suddenly dropped me to the floor. I felt a strange coldness drift over me as in the corner of my eyes I saw a shadow. Suddenly, someone's head flung upwards in my sight. I turned revealing a cloaked figure holding the now headless corpse of the monster who chased me. "I've warned you, time and time again" the cloaked figure as the room became tinted in black and white light with a circle of purple casting through the grey line which should have lied there. Thomas suddenly spoke "Who are you?" a mist of distortion lying over it.
"My name is Chaos" the cloaked man said, seemingly floating in the static void of time. Suddenly Chaos spontaneous appeared behind Thomas now holding a strange staff. "Now finally... DIE!" Chaos suddenly slashed the staff which was coated in the purple lightning. It impacted Thomas tearing him in half as I sat there crying, losing everything to the shadows, with nothing to bring them back. "Calm down" Chaos said reaching for my hand. "Let me fix this" Chaos said before suddenly appeared in front of a truck. I looked up seeing all of my friends alive, setting up to camp...
**(Hope you enjoyed it!)**
| 2021-04-19T14:58:30
| 2021-04-19T09:51:53
| 21
| 15
|
[WP] Thor finishes his meal at a small cafe and the elderly waitress approaches him to clean the table. She puts the dishes on a tray and sets them aside, picks up Mjolnir, wipes the table with a damp cloth, then puts the hammer back down. "Have a good evening, dear." she says, and returns to work.
|
The God of Thunder blended in surprisingly well amongst the sea of red chairs and 50s themed decor. He had opted to stray away from his usual attire of armor and metal wear, not trying to disguise himself, but rather he had found he was served faster when he didn't look so out of place. Though his hammer remained on the table unchanged as a personal statement of power.
Across the diner an elderly woman scuttled over, having seen Thor's fifth plate of steak and eggs near empty.
"Excuse me deary, let me get that." she spoke, grabbing his many plates and piling them high. Then she reached over, lifted Mjolnir, wiped underneath, and placed the hammer back to the table gently.
Thor's face dropped. From a grin to a wide-eyed, mouth agape stare. As if in agreement a lock of his long red hair drooped in front of his face.
"Penny..." Thor whispered, a feat he had great trouble with and came out as more of a quiet yell.
"Yes deary? Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Was that not heavy?"
Penny looked confused as she turned back to face him. "The plates? Oh no sweetie, I have been doing this a long time"
"No. The hammer. Was the hammer not heavy? I find most men have...trouble with it."
Penny balanced her stack of plates in one hand and reached for the hammer with the other, lifting it once more with little effort. "No dear, it seems just fine to me. Can I get you anything else?"
"I uh...no. No ma'am"
Thor had suddenly lost his appetite.
As Penny waddled off the God of Thunder lifted his hammer from the table, just to be sure. As he touched it a spark of lighting shot through his hand, assuring him that he still posessed the power of a god. But more importantly showing him that his fathers enchantment still remained.
Meanwhile Penny wandered behind the counter, tray of plates still in hand. She smiled on as Thor juggled the hammer in uncertainty between his hands. As he doubted himself, or perhaps became more uncertain of others.
Sometimes, fooling others is not about grand gestures. Not about elaborate schemes. Sometimes it's as easy as placing a seed of doubt into someone so arrogant that they've never quite felt such things. Sometimes it was as easy as becoming a frail, old woman in a diner and waiting.
Loki laughed to himself within his disguise, staring to Thor from behind the dessert rack until he left, admiring his work
*Now, who can I be next?* he thought.
And Thor, well Thor had learned early on that sometimes being a good brother meant letting the other have a win.
|
Thor looked at the woman, his mouth gaping. She lifted that his hammer with so much ease, not even he could do that without his belt.
Sif, Thrúd, Magni and Modi stared at the woman as well, aghast that a, seemingly, mortal woman could lift Mjolnir.
“You, you four saw that, right?” Thor asked, making sure his brain damage was causing him problems.
“I think,” Magni said, his pork chops no longer being eaten.
“Yeah, uh, ma’am?” Thor called out to the elderly woman.
The elderly woman stopped cleaning the table and looked up, moving the weaving needles from her hair.
“Yes dear?”
“How, how did you lift my hammer?” Thor asked.
This confused the woman, it’s a hammer, a somewhat short hammer, but still a hammer.
“I took my hand, grabbed it, then lifted it.” The woman explained.
Sif and Modi chuckled.
Thor sighed, “I know, ma’am, but how’d you lift it? It is, extremely, heavy.”
“I may be getting older in my years sonny, but I can still lift my own weight.” The woman told Thor.
Thor was thinking hard. What was this woman? She showed no signs of being an aseir or a jotunn, she was too tall to a dwarf, and couldn’t be a troll or an elf.
“But, not even I can lift it without this belt or my gloves.” Thor told her.
A look of realization came over the woman’s face, strands of yarn from her hair tie falling into her face.
“Ooooh,” said the woman, “you’re that Thor.”
Thor slowly nodded, “yes, ma’am”
The woman smiled kindly and fiddled with her spider ring.
“Well, I can’t say exactly how, but I can tell you that I am what some would call… a protector to say the least” the woman said vaguely.
“That doesn’t explain- oh and she’s walking away.” Magni said as the woman walked away.
*sorry for how bad this is, I kinda lost motivation half way through but still wanted to finish it, please tell me what should be added and what should be changed*
| 2022-12-23T15:33:39
| 2022-12-23T15:05:54
| 1,754
| 30
|
[WP] Write an unusual apocalypse
[deleted]
|
‘Are you sure this is how you will solve the problem?’ Lieutenant Erregant looked at the tiny bottle of blue liquid. ‘It seems like a very small amount.’
Dr. Husky nodded. ‘It will remove the effect of the Husky Glue. The Ball can no longer affect us. But you have to be very careful, Erregant.’ She was dead serious. ‘If you miss the core, we’re doomed. It took me two weeks to make this, and there’s no opportunity to make another one and find a good marksman like you.’
Lieutenant Erregant was sweating. ‘Don’t pressure me. I already know I’ll miss if you say things like these.’
‘Okay, sorry,’ Husky said. ‘What can I do to calm you down?’ She tried to make her voice sound confident, but didn’t quite succeed.
The sharpshooter massaged his forehead. ‘I can’t think of anything besides that damn Glue!’ He tried to think about his wife and child, but his mind immediately jumped to another thought. What if he failed? His family would be absorbed by the Ball! No, that can’t happen! Not his family!
‘J-just tell me how the Glue works,’ he said. His face was almost as pale as a bare skull.
Husky raised an eyebrow. ‘But I already...’
‘Just t-tell it!’ the lieutenant shouted. ‘I need some f*cking distraction!’
‘Okay, okay!’ Dr. Husky walked towards the whiteboard. She drew a bubble and wrote *GLUE* in it. ‘Husky Glue, named after me, is the strongest glue on Earth.’ She drew a stick figure. ‘It is so strong, once people touch it, they start gravitating to each other. Literally gravitating.’ She drew a whole bunch of stick figures all glued together. ‘Once there are enough people glued to each other, they even start to gravitate towards cities.’
Lieutenant Erregant shook his head. Even though he had seen the Ball, this situation was still unbelievable. Unbelievable and stupid.
‘Luckily, I made anti-Husky Glue.’ Dr. Husky pointed at the blue liquid on the desk. ‘Since I made the mistake to create the Glue in the first place, I had to solve it. And the government thought it would be a good idea to hire a professional marksman to shoot the anti-Glue right into the core of the Ball.’
*The Ball*. In previous battles, Erregant had to kill terrorists and cult leaders. But now, the enemy was a fucking *ball*.
‘With a bit of luck...’ Dr. Husky drew a giant explosion before noticing the crushing sound. Her eyes widened when she saw what her creation had become.
In the distance, a giant ball of clothing, organs and living humans was rolling with high speed towards Husky and Erregant.
‘Okay,’ Husky said, almost panicking. ‘It’s time.’
Lieutenant Erregant took a deep breath. ‘Take your time,’ Husky said. ‘According to my calculations, we have two minutes left before... you know.’
Erregant put the small bottle in his rifle.
‘30 seconds left.’ Husky’s voice was making him nervous as he layed down on the floor, aiming at the centre of the Ball.
‘20 seconds.’ His heart was beating the shit out of him.
‘10 seconds.’ He wanted to slap Husky and her annoying voice.
‘5.’ His finger was connected with the trigger.
‘4.’ The cold air was blowing through the broken windows and made him shiver.
‘3.’ Almost, almost...
‘2.’ He looked at the core of the human blob.
‘1.’ He fired, and heard Husky gasp for air.
‘That was too early,’ she said without any emotion.
‘No.’ Erregant lost hope for a second. He couldn’t have failed, could he?
Suddenly, the Ball exploded. Billions of humans flew through the air. He did it. He fucking did it!
He didn’t care what Husky said or how many innocent lives he just ended. He hugged her, tears in his eyes, and screamed: ‘I fucking did it! I saved the world!’
|
[Poem]
My, my
They’re coming from the sky
Prophetic minds
Eclectic sighs
What can be done when lies the eye
Lies, as tells the sky
Mooving
We’ve been taught fear’s alright
Feelings are real
Not only at night
To not be a prisoner
To fight the daunting reaper
Cure the fever
Bitter
Moonlight
Facing what’s imminent
And what’s not
To poultry you shall never be associated
Bravery, oh, you
For nothing’s worse than death itself
And death itself is not that bad
But plans go askew
Moody
Why not scream?
Shock, horror, panic, alarm
Trepidation
When the sky seems to fall
And oxygen’s leather
Hymn for every nation:
shrill of terror
Moourning
The Bible has lied
The Jews have lied
The Muslims have lied
The Buddhists have lied
My moother has lied
For the day has come
Day of judgement
And took the world by storm
Of ga-lactic wreckage
Astonishment
*A fucking cow just fell on my car!*
| 2020-02-05T10:02:48
| 2020-02-05T09:29:50
| 38
| 18
|
[WP] The shopkeeper points at the sign clearly marked “Absolutely NO Refunds.” The egg you bought hatched, you can’t get a refund, and now you have a talking baby dragon who insists that you’re its parent.
|
I did my best to maintain a stoic expression, but the small, reptilian creature flapping its wings against the side of my head as it tried to chew on my beard was probably making it hard to take me seriously. I jabbed a finger at it, earning myself a playful nibble, and stared daggers at the shopkeeper.
"What am I supposed to do with this?" I asked, shaking my finger loose. The tiny dragon giggled playfully as it pranced about like a parrot on my shoulder, before stretching its wings out and resting comfortably where it was.
"Raise it?" the shopkeeper replied, reading a sports magazine and not paying me much attention otherwise.
"I don't know the first thing about raising a *dragon*," I snapped.
"Then you better learn," he advised, pointing firmly at the large metal sign with the large, red letters that spelled out "ABSOLUTELY NO REFUNDS." I looked at the sign, then at the shopkeeper, then at the neat line of eggs on a shelf that looked indistinguishable from 3d printed plastic replicas in a barrel nearby.
"Mama, I'm hungry," the tiny dragon announced.
"And *you*," I replied, turning to face the dragon, "*stop calling me that!*" I shouted.
"I've got certified dragon food over on aisle three," the shopkeeper helpfully suggested, "*mama*," he added with a giggle and I shot him the most aggressive look I could muster with a tiny, red, talking, flying lizard nuzzling my cheek... and stalked toward aisle three to check the selection. I walked, looking at the selection of foods and for a brief moment felt completely overwhelmed, but steeled myself and continued on. Golem food... fairy food... griffin food... ursine food... ah, dragon food. Thirty-six dollars for one- I balked, and made eye contact with a friendly looking lady who was looking at the same food that I was.
"Oh, you're a dragon trainer! Nice! So am I!" she said casually. "This is the only place that sells this brand. Nice find, right?"
"Do you want mine?" I asked, and she laughed politely in turn. When she saw I was serious her tone sobered up, but only slightly.
"Did you not know this place sold monsters when you came in?"
"I thought they were *novelty* monsters. I thought it was a *toy* dragon egg. I don't need this. I have a full time job already!"
"Come on, it's not that bad," she replied, and I could feel my shoulders slump as the hopelessness of my situation grew on me.
"Mama, I'm hungry let's go!" the tiny dragon reminded me.
"You... look like you're having a rough day. Tell you what, here's my card," she said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a business card, "give me a call if you'd like some pointers," she added, seizing her bag and heading to the front counter.
"Miss Elizabeth, how are you! Is this all for you today?" the now annoyingly friendly shop keeper said to the nice lady, and I sighed and grabbed a bag of the same food and followed her to the counter just as she was leaving. The little dragon had very painfully crawled its way over to my other shoulder and was eagerly waiting for me to get the bag open and was whining in my ear about how it was starving to death and how I didn't love it as I placed the bag on the counter.
"See? All the best dragon trainers come here. You could be one too, you know," the shop keeper informed me with his now familiar gruff attitude as he rang me up.
"Who was that supposed to be?" I asked, looking out the door for the lady who had already disappeared. The shopkeeper gave me a look like I was wearing a tutu and a princess tiara.
"Three time *national* league champion Elizabeth Packard?" I glanced at the card which was still in my hands, and sure enough that was the name emblazoned on it, but other than a faint familiarity I had no idea who she was. "Here," he said, handing me his magazine, "on the house," he added, shaking his head as I walked out the door. The magazine in question had the very same woman on it, hailing her as a champion of champions. I sighed again, gazing down the street and making eye contact with a stylishly dressed guy with a large wolf at his side. He flashed me a grin and pointed at me excitedly, but I kept walking and ignored him.
Monster tamers are a bunch of no-life, battle obsessed vagrant losers who are a dime-a-dozen and are never taken seriously. As the little dragon on my shoulder looked back at the other tamer and his wolf and puffed out its chest, I was forced to crack a smile in spite of myself.
"Come on little buddy, let's get you home," I relented, and the tiny dragon danced happily and sang a made up song about meat.
Looks like I just became one of those losers too.
|
My mouth parted, my brain blanked. Bode stood just inside the doorway with a four-legged winged serpent clutching to his shoulders. Chaos leaked from the being’s body, young but old enough to be constantly squeaking ‘mama’.
“Bode? When I say come back early, I didn’t mean this.” Really, a dragon, one that shouldn’t even exist in this reality.
He waved helplessly. “The sign said absolutely no refunds, even capitalized both letters in no. What about our trip?”
“Not until we resolve this.”
I mean, I couldn’t allow a chaos attracting being around during a would-be anniversary trip. Could I? There was too much risk. I couldn’t hide it better. There would be no basement to retreat to, nowhere safe to teleport, either.
I shook my head. “They’ll link you, Bode, to Hero Bode. And why is the dragon calling you mama?”
His wide-eyed stare almost made my facade crack, and let my smile loose. Just the thought of it. If anything, the dragon should call me that, at least in this form.
Bode scratched his head. “I don’t know. What next? I can’t return him, can’t give him away, and he keeps calling me mama.”
“Hide from society as Bode and allow the dragon to be your sidekick later?” There weren’t many other options.
“That could work. But we can’t do our date nights now.” He mused, then lifted the dragon. “What should his name be?”
“Your choice.” My lips curved. “Though it better be a good one.”
Bode grinned. “Of course. How does Eny sound?”
The dragon swung his tail in a rhythmic sway. Guess he liked Eny. Then he turned his head, eyes lightened with recognition. His chaotic essence reached out. My eyes widened, darted. I reeled my own back in. Shoot. This would not end well.
| 2021-08-19T19:46:22
| 2021-08-19T19:21:37
| 48
| 17
|
[WP] You are hunted by a pale and faceless man that only you can see. The man moves in slow motion. When you sleep at night, you do not dream. Instead you see through his perspective.
|
Every night, sleeping soundly, I saw me in my sleep. Through the gap in my window drapes, laying on my bed, as if watching from the hedges. Or through the creaking-open door of my bedroom, gazing with stoic patience. Or sometimes, I saw me from directly above myself, as if hovering, secured from the ceiling by rock-climbing belays.
It was him. The pale man, the faceless man, of whom I caught glimpses in crowded malls, just before he faded away. I saw him every day in snatched, phantasmagoric moments, following without walking, as if gliding, like his gait was frictionless, weightless, and right.
He watched me, always. When I walked to work—
Or from the back kitchen of our office cafe, glaring eyelessly as I placed my order—
Or floating sailing beside my car sideways, feet unmoving, as I drove home each night—
He watched me. Always, he watched.
And after realizing it was him in the dreams, I understood I had to take control. I had tried to face him before, challenging him where he followed me, in the breathless moments before he disappeared. I’d chased him, only for him to dispel himself in the crowds or circumstances he had carefully chosen for our meetings. He controlled our encounters. He picked the when, the where, and the how. I was slave to his hunter’s want.
Perhaps night was the better opportunity for a confrontation. I tried the simplest ideas first. I set an alarm for midnight, not with a plan so much as a desire. I’d grab him by the strange pajamas he always wore, I thought. I’d shake the hell of him and demand, like in a ‘80s soap opera, “Why? *Why?”*
The next morning, I woke with my phone on the floor, the alarm timing switched to 54:32. The glitch disappeared as soon as I touched my phone.
I decided to take a page from Home Alone, setting medieval traps with modern appliances. In the morning I found them disassembled, hanging from the ceiling, dropping to the floor when I took my first breath.
Fine. I would confront him in my dreams, then. A friend told me about lucid dreaming. After weeks of patient study and practice, I began to gain control over my sleeping consciousness. All this while, our encounters grew more and more frequent, the faceless man more and more fearless. He was desperate, I thought. As if he wanted the attention. As if, too, he wanted the confrontation.
The progress was inch-by-inch. My sleeping journals thickened. My days grew wearier.
Then, without warning, it happened. I slipped from my waking state into my sleeping state one night, surrendering control of my body without losing control of my thoughts. It felt like being ejected from submarine’s torpedo port, from safe surety into the crushing depths of oblivion.
Just like that, I was him. Easing the front door of my apartment open, gliding soundlessly, motionlessly across my living room, ignoring my sleeping dog. The kitchen floated by, and then the corridor, and before I knew it, I was standing over my bed. I stared at the lump of myself, insensate, canting my head the way a scientist at work might. I’m not sure why I did this. I was the one in control, after all. In a way, I felt like I was fulfilling my own prophecy. Like I was carrying out the parts I was supposed to, on stage, in a play.
The thought struck me: what might happen if I looked at myself in the mirror? What do the eyes of the faceless man see when he looks himself in the mirror?
I glided back through the corridor, down the hall, to the left. I willed myself to turn the light on, but couldn’t. I couldn’t interact with anything, in fact—which explained much about our previous encounters.
Thankful, the ambient glow from the streets without was enough to see by. I floated before the mirror. And what I saw—
What I *saw—*
Ended me.
Because I was *him.* Standing there, before the mirror, faceless and wan. Seeing it woke an unknown terror I hadn’t felt before. It was my final line, before the curtains would be drawn.
With a rising sense of undulating horror, I glanced to the doorway. I saw him. In my clothes, with my face—but him, the same as this faceless man now being *me.*
He was there. I was here.
Stuck.
I tried to scream. I didn’t make a sound. He closed the door, a sick grin on his face. Through the walls, with my feet, I heard him walk away.
/u/AdeptnessPrize
|
Slowly I crept, dragging my legs as if they were strapped with heavy chains. My surrounding suddenly strike me with familiarity. It was my living room, my own house. I looked down at my arms....no, no, this was not me. My arms were long and pale, with sharp dirty claws as hands. This creature I was occupying was mindless, slowly walking towards a door...my bedroom door. I could see myself sleeping inside though the slightly open door. My heart raced of fear...this couldn't be real...this must be a dream. Wake up, wake up!
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My alarm jolted my awake, my chest was still pounding from the nightmare. I looked at my open door, unsure whether what I saw in my dream was real. I convinced myself it was not despite it felt so real. I tried to forget it and went about my day. I was a bit groggy which my mom noticed, but I convinced her I was fine as I ran out to school.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I stared at a closed door now, not thinking of anything. It seemed like I acted only on instinct. Slowly I turned my neck, cracking sound accompanying its movement to another slightly open door and dragged my heavy legs once again. This time I could see my mom sleeping inside her room. I was frightened even more than before. With so much effort I tried stopping myself but to no avail. I was but a spectator looking through this creature's eyes. Although I didn't know its intent, I knew it wasn't a good one.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Again saved by the bell as my alarm jolted me up. It was just a stupid dream I knew it, but I couldn't help but feel that she was in grave danger. I decided to ignore all common sense and stayed awake in front of her room came night time. I must protect her, I must!
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Once again I saw the slightly open door in front of me. Inside was my mom sleeping. Slowly I crept inside and I stood by her sleeping body, coldly staring, mindlessly unfeeling. Acting on my instinct I grabbed her neck and squeezed as hard as I could. As if possessed by something inhuman her struggling was not long. As the last breath left her body she limped weakly to her bed, dead. I saw my vision darkened and I fell onto the floor losing all strength in my body.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I saw once again the open door in front of me....what? What's going on? I looked down at my arms...to my horror it was a pair of pale long arms. Slowly I stepped inside, seeing on the floor my own body now sleeping and my mother with her mouth agape on the bed, lifeless. No, no, no.....it can't be! Did the creature got in my head before? No, no, no! I saw the pale arms raised as I kneeled down to reach the neck of my sleeping body. With ease I grabbed it and pulled it apart from the shoulders, splattering blood everywhere.
I stared in horror, I just saw my own murder by this...thing. I tried to scream. I tried and I tried but to no avail as the creature had no mouth for the sound to escape. I wanted to wake up, but I resisted the urge to because if I woke up...I knew what awaited me on that other end.
| 2020-12-26T03:30:45
| 2020-12-26T02:59:21
| 188
| 29
|
[WP] It is illegal for people under 18 to talk to people over 21, or vice versa. In between, there is a 3 year period of your life in which you can talk to anybody you want.
|
It was a pretty easy way to make good money. When the new "Age-Gap" laws started rolling out, there were tons of people looking for a way to talk to people in the other age group. The first few days were chaos. Teachers unable to teach, doctors unable to talk to their patients, parents unable to scold their children. It created a market, a demand for people running as couriers almost, with very few people providing the service. How's that law about supply and demand go again? Low supply plus high demand equals profit? I don't remember, but all I know is that I'm making a killing in this new world order.
It was pretty simple at first. I sold my courier services out to my local high school - relaying messages from teacher to student - for a sweet cut of that tax-payer cash. Once the courier trend started to catch on, schools started getting swamped for help, so I moved on. I started doing free-lance work for a while, selling myself out to the highest bidder in need of some inter-barrier communication. It was a cozy life for a few months. I would get some middle class family looking for someone to talk to their children and squeeze them for a hefty sum. At first it bothered me that even houses weren't sacred to these laws, but after so much money, I honestly stopped caring. I was willing to exploit anybody and everybody to make bank.
Well, until today that is.
I was sitting in my office this morning when I saw her walk in. She looked to be in her early twenties, and had a look of soulless-ness about her. She seemed so lost and so out-of-sorts that I had half a mind to tell her that the psych ward was down the street at the local hospital. Before I could open my mouth however, she opened hers.
"Are... are you Marcus Anderson, the... professional courier?" she managed to say, her voice quivering.
"That's what it says on the sign," I replied. Did she even see the sign outside? I made sure to make it big enough for every passerby to see.
"I... I need your help."
"Well of course," I sighed, preparing the speech I stated for each new customer. "Most people these day are looking for a courier to send a message to some one in the other age. I'll have you know that I am one of the best in the business, and that there is nothing wrong with seeking my kind of help. Using a courier, there is no legal way that the laws could get back to hurt you. Now before we begin, let's talk about payment."
I pulled out a stack of papers from one of my desk drawers and set them on desk, the standard contract I had every customer fill out. I motioned her towards the desk, and she slowly drifted over. Is this girl in her right mind? I mean sure money is money, but I almost feel my morals coming back.
"For a short term setting, I recommend the pay-per-message plan. It pays for each individual message both sent and received from and for you. For a longer term, I also have a per-day plan, which covers all messages sent and received in a single day. I have options for both lump-sun and over time payments, which ever is more feasible to you."
"I... I can't..." she stuttered out. Wait... was she about to say--
"I can't pay you."
What? Seriously, what? I knew that couriers, as a profession, were still a new thing, but was she really so empty-headed that she didn't know that paying other for their services was a thing?
"Well that is unfortunate ma'am. However, I do believe that our business is concluded." I began to move the contract papers back into the desk when she interjected.
"Please! I need your help, I have no one else I can turn too!" She was shouting now, and tears began to stream down her face.
Admittedly, it had been such a long time since I'd seen such an outburst. Most people had accepted couriers as another part of society, but charity cases were still incredibly rare. I wasn't about to lose out on business, but I wasn't about to lose out on payday either. This lady was desperate, and desperate people would more often than not figure a way to pay down the line.
"Okay ma'am. Since you seem to be in such dire of need, I will offer my services to you. However, I do still need to get payed, but I will put you on a special payment plan that I am creating just for you. You will have to pay me eventually. but I will not demand payment for a few months time." Little did she know, I charge interest.
"You would... you would do that for me?"
"A courier is nothing if not his reputation ma'am." A lie. "I cannot just look away when someone so desperately needs my help." Also a lie. "Now, what is it that you need help with?"
"My daughter... she's about to die."
"...What?"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She told me that her daughter Addison was diagnosed with brain cancer, and that at this point she would be lucky to see tonight. I've free-lanced in a few hospitals before, relaying messages between doctors and patients, but I've never done this. Relaying the messages of a mother to her dying child? Damn.
I drove her to the hospital a few blocks away. On the way there she told me how she got into a situation like this. Her daughter was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer a few days after the "Age-Gap" laws were legalized. Her husband, stressed from the diagnosis and the new laws, abandoned the two. For months she has been doing this struggle all on her own, having cut ties with her family previously for the sake of her husband. Made poor by all of the bills, she had no money to hire a courier out of the hospital, so she looked to free-lancers for help. I turned out to be the only one who didn't turn her down.
We got to the hospital and walked towards the room holding her daughter. There was a small handful of staff in the room, seemingly waiting for her return. They surrounded a bed which happened to be covered by a sound proof bubble, which held Addison.
"I'm afraid she doesn't have very long at all. Her vitals are fading in and out," stated the doctor, both forlornly and matter-of-fact-ly.
"Please... I just need you to tell her..." The mother tried to force the words out, but the tears seemed to have her choking. "Tell her that mommy loves her very much..."
I looked to the dying child, trying to understand how I had gotten to this point. Had I truly been so cruel as to turn my head from the horrors that these laws have caused just to make a quick buck? Was I truly that cold? If I had done anything differently, would I be the one here, conveying a message to the dying?
I refuse to accept that this is what we will allow the world to become.
I motioned the group to depart from the room, and removed the sound proof bubble surrounding her. "Addison, can you hear me?" I started.
"Hi... mister. Have you... seen my mommy?" For a girl on death's door, she sounded so calm and serene, almost as if she were angel already.
"I'm a friend of your mommy Addison. She wanted me to come talk to you."
The heart monitor was beginning to slow down, and the girl seemed to be fading in consciousness.
"You mommy wanted me to tell you... That she loves you very much, and she misses your voice, and she misses your laugh, and she's so sorry for everything. About your daddy and not being able to talk to you right now and-"
"Thank you mister, but... I know... mommy loves me. I love... mommy... too."
As the last few words escaped her mouth, the heart monitor slowed to a flat-line. From behind the door, I heard the wails of pain from the mother of a dead child. She burst into the room, grabbing for the body of the child that was once her's. I watched, angered by a society that would allow this, but angrier at myself for becoming part of the system.
I walked out of the room, telling the doctor to relay a message that I wouldn't be charging for this. I knew now that I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I continued to live the life that I had been living. I decided right then and there that I would use all of the money that I had accumulated to change the system that brought such misfortune to families like this. I would be the one to challenge the status quo.
I am a courier, and this is the message that I will bring the world.
|
Taylor “Flex and Blaze” Jackson was a true living legend in the underage music industry.
Not only was the phenom the top selling '18 and Under' hip-hop recording artist over the last five years, he raised the bar of success for all underage artists to come. Don't believe me? Just look at the numbers:
* 1 Best Song of the Year award for his best-selling hit, “I Talked To Your Mom”, written when he was only 16
* 4 album records that went platinum.
* 3 Grammy Nominations
* 5-time winner of Nickelodeon's Hottest Teen Of the Year award, even taking home the prize when was 20 years old.
On his eighteenth birthday, his producer informed him that he should begin tailoring his records to the eighteen and over crowd. He would have three years to perfect his craft before making the hard switch to the 21 and over recording industry. Three years, his producer assured him, should be plenty of time to feel out his new demographic.
This of course, proved to be a disaster.
Now Taylor stood in the line outside a glitzy night-club, the clock ticking down to midnight which would mark his 21st birthday, feeling utterly lost. No money, no record labels, and no life skills.
“So what's your first drink going to be?” his older brother Jay asked him, as he peered through the frosted window into the dark club. He winked at a cocktail waitress as she navigated through the VIP section. “How about a Jack and coke? That's a classic choice.”
“I don't care,” the rap legend said. “What's the point of getting drunk if it ain't illegal?” Taylor had once written a song named, “We Get Crunk Cause It's Illegal”. The song had garnered 150 million downloads in its first month.
“Trust me,” his older brother said. “You're going to be doing a lot more drinking from here on out. Especially someone in your position.”
A cold winter breeze cut through his thin T-shirt like a knife. He hadn't brought a coat, because Jay said that it was a pain in the ass to bring a coat to a 21 and Over club. You had to pay extra for a coat check. Now his extremities were numb and the line hadn't moved in the last 20 minutes.
He blew out a puff of white breath and shivered. “Do you think I peaked too soon? People recover from bankruptcy all time, right? I mean, I'm famous after all. I'm sure there's some way I can market that.”
Jay shrugged. “I dunno. None of the 21 and Overs even knows about you right now. Maybe in a few years you can appeal to the nostalgia of your old fans, but by then, they'll probably have grown up and will associate your music with a time in their lives that they desperately want to forget.”
The bouncer walked up to the two brothers. “You two have any girls with you?”
“No,” said Taylor.
“We have girls waiting for us inside,” said Jay.
“The guy-to-girl ratio inside is already too high, now get out of the line,” said the bouncer.
He began to usher the two brothers towards the street, but just then, Jay turned around to face the bouncer. “Wait! My brother here is famous, and it's his almost his birthday. Don't you recognize Taylor 'Flex and Blaze' Jackson?”
The bouncer shrugged. “After my time. Get lost.”
“What a jackass,” Jay said, as they walked down the street to find another club. “Honestly, to do that to a guy on his birthday. And to a celebrity, no less. No respect.”
Taylor looked down at his watch.
12:01 AM.
“Well, it's official,” he said. “Selling my records to 18 and Unders is now illegal.”
Jay stopped for a moment. “Since when have you ever care about legality? You're freaking Taylor 'Flex and Blaze' Jackson. The kid that once sang, 'I talked to your mom, while you was slow dancin' at junior prom'." He blew warm breath into a pair of numb hands. "Take my advice, Taylor. Keep selling your records to the kids, don't let the establishment hold you down. Do it for you fans. Do it for the kids.”
Taylor considered his brother's suggestion. He could see it now: the police raids, a life of living on the run, the bounties that would be placed on his head. But to him, he never had a choice, it was the only thing he knew how to do. His fan-base was all that he had now, and he would be damned if the law would take that away from him.
“Okay,” he said finally. “Let's do this. For the kids.”
* * *
/r/ghost_write_the_whip
| 2017-05-14T14:38:46
| 2017-05-14T13:34:14
| 145
| 24
|
[WP] The Anti-Christ came and went, but no one noticed because he wasn't worse than the current state of the world already is. The rapture followed, but no one went to Heaven, so we didn't notice that either. We've been living in Hell for the last 5 years, and no one has noticed, yet.
Boy, I never thought this would take off the way it has. This writing prompt was brought to you by my buddy Jed, who does not post to Reddit. I thought it was a great prompt, and wanted to share it.
|
"What is Hell?"
She was met by silence and sunken eyes.
"That wasn't rhetorical. I want someone to speak up and tell me what Hell is."
A groan issued forth, followed by palms colliding on a desk. One student drew themselves up in their seat. "Hell is this class."
A chorus of half-hearted laughter.
"Cute. But a start," she smirked. She turned and wrote out 'THIS CLASS' in yellow chalk. "Name something else."
"Where the Devil lives," another student chimed in. "All firey and shit."
DEVIL, she wrote. FIRE.
After another period of silence she sighed. "Come on, give me more than that. What is Hell?"
"Where bad folks go to get tortured."
"Pitchforks right in your butt."
TORTURE. PAIN. BUTTS.
Another dry laugh from the class, but they were waking up a little now. Good.
"I seen shows where Hell gets custom tailored to people. Like you relive the worst day of your life."
WORST DAY OF LIFE.
"So we agree that Hell kind of sucks," she smiled.
Absent-minded nods.
"So what if I told you that you were right the first time?"
The miasma of indifference cleared, yet the silence remained. She smiled with an almost wicked delight.
"Well, let's ask another question. How do you know you're alive?" she asked, eyes wide and wild. "No, how do you know you're awake?"
"Pinch yourself?" a student chimed up.
"Yes! And why does that work?"
Silence. They were actually thinking now, wondering where it was all leading.
The first student spoke again, "It hurts. Shit don't hurt if you're dreaming."
"Eloquently put, Cameron!" she beamed.
"My name is Je-"
"So if pain means you're awake, then how do you know if you're alive?"
"Pain," someone shouted.
PAIN, she wrote in red chalk.
"Experiences. Like you're seeing stuff and feeling stuff and you just...know it's happening."
EXPERIENCE.
"Yeah like you think about stuff. Just thoughts in general."
"Ah, I think therefore I am! Very good." THOUGHT/PERCEPTION.
She faced the class. "Now who here knows about anything about Buddhism?"
"Like the Dolly Lama or something?" a girl asked.
"Or something. What's it all about?"
One student practically jumped out of his seat. "My mom is a yoga teacher and she talks about this shit all the time. It's like...you let go of stuff and just kind of be."
"Well, maybe I should meet your mother," the teacher winked. The class laughed. She continued. "The thing you are supposed to let go of. To get a sense of peace. What is it?"
"Meditating? Like not thinking about anything," the same student responded.
"Not thinking about anything? But didn't you all say that to know you're alive is to think and perceive?"
Silence again.
"Admittedly, I'll caveate and say that meditating is a little more than we have described here, but for brevity's sake let's move on. In Buddhism, we are taught that to attain Nirvana, which is like heaven, you must let go of desire. Now why do you think that is?"
A pause, then, "Cause you always want more," a student offers.
"Indeed. Isn't that human nature?" she sighed fondly. "Always wanting something. Something more. What happens when we don't get what we want?"
"It fucking sucks," a boy shouted. The class laughs.
"It hurts, doesn't it? What happens when things hurt for a long time?"
"You get used to it," a girl says knowingly.
"I suppose you do after a while. Now one last question for all you bright kids. Can you name for me one thing that's good that never ends in pain?"
"Puppies!" a girl shouts.
"A puppy grows old and dies."
She deflated immediately. Another student spoke up with, "Love!"
"Ah, a classic that one. Who do you love that is immortal and will never leave you? And no bullshit platitudes like 'they're always in your heart."
Silence. The class was starting to look depressed now. Good.
"Now let's summarize," she clicked her tongue, turning to take stock of the board. "I want one of you to tell me what all this talk was about."
"Hell?" a student offered.
"Yes but I think we can do a little better than that of you paid attention."
"Life is Hell!" A student joked. The class laughed.
"Exactly!" she snapped.
They stopped laughing.
"All of you are alive. A never ending circle of reincarnation in the world of the living, the only place you can really feel pain and torment. Even in any shred of anything good you find, there will always be the fear of it being taken away. You will never fully enjoy your existence. You will have peaks followed inevitably by valleys, and you all will convince yourselves that it's a necessary part of life instead of questioning why! Isn't that delicious? Eternally in Hell and you reason it away. Retroactive justification is humanity's finest quality if you ask me. And the cycle has continued for so long that no one even realizes the end goal has been removed entirely. Peace will never be in your hands because your very existence is hinged on never knowing it. God has abandoned us all, and no one even noticed Him leave."
A bell rang before the pause afterwards could become an awkward silence. The students were quick to shuffle out of class.
Lillith smiled after them, hoping that some of them might cling to their existential dread a while. After all, it was so much more fun to toy with prisoners aware of the cage.
|
Content warning: non-graphic mentions of suicide.
The reports built up slowly, at first. The madmen rave, the fevered dream; the children play, the war-torn scream. There were logical, simple explanations for why .0003% of the population were claiming to be from the Harmonious Iridium Theocracy.
But then the results started streaming in. A self-proclaimed citizen of the Iridium Republic crashed the stock market overnight with an unprecedentedly intelligent algorithm. The newly-minted Iridium Entertainment created more than three thousand original movies in a month. Over the course of three years, North Korea gradually opened its borders, radically rearranged its government, and renamed itself the Second Harmonious Iridium Theocracy.
Five years after the event had begun, it was clear that the reports were accurate. We lived in Hell, and the damned souls of another world were trickling into ours.
The Iridites were, of course, more advanced than us. I supposed not living in literal Hell sped one's technological development up by a bit. Their social infrastructure was superior by quite the wide margin, as well; in the words of one Iridite, they'd stopped having wars by "simply not having wars about things. Seriously, you dingleberries, this isn't that hard."
Clearly, they were also more stuck-up than us.
"Alright, Sertie, thanks again. These theology books will be a life-saver," I said. Doctor Vanto Sertie of the Second Harmonious Iridium Theocracy—which would never be abbreviated like the U.S. or the U.S.S.R.—nodded to me sharply from across my couch.
"*Doctor* Sertie, if you please; the pleasure mine, I take my leave." Oh, yeah, and they all talked like that. We put up with them because we had to. Doctor Sertie stood up, brushed couch-crumbs off his pants with a grimace, and opened the door to leave. I couldn't blame him; I hadn't cleaned the place up in three weeks.
As Doctor Sertie opened the door, however, he nearly ran face-first into my landlord. She gave him a surprised glance—probably at seeing an Iridite in a dump like my apartment—then stood aside to let him pass. I sighed internally. Here it came.
My landlord—Ms. Loren, a young, spry woman—stood uncertainly at the door. When I didn't respond, she called out, "Cal?"
I sighed. Yes, my work was important, but I couldn't just leave Ms. Loren hanging. Woman with the power to evict me or no, it just wasn't right to leave an old friend hanging. An ugly thought flashed through my mind—that was exactly what I'd done to my last roommate, and planned to do to myself. But there was still some time before I was certain.
"Yes, Ms. Loren?" I stood up and respectfully brushed aside the mound of decaying instant ramen cups. She looked down at the stained carpet, and it cut me deeper than I'd care to admit that she didn't even give me an earful about damaging her property.
"Look, Cal. I know... I know you miss Kara. But, ah... she didn't mail in the rent, before she died, and you haven't either. I... I'm afraid that if you can't get together the money before next Sunday, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." She looked pointedly at the stack of gold-embossed books on Iridite theology, but said nothing.
I shook my head. I'd spent every dollar I'd had on these books, and I wasn't backing down now. "Thanks for the concern, but one way or another, I'll be out of everyone's hair by Sunday." I smiled a mirthless grin.
"Now, Cal, I don't like the sound of that. Look, I know a good grief counselor, and Kara was as much of a friendly face to me as anyone. If you need anything, even on a college student's budget—"
"I dropped out," I said, flatly.
"Oh." Ms. Loren swallowed. "I'm very sorry to hear that, Cal. But—"
"Thank you for your concern, and for allowing me to stay here. Now please, go away." I gently—but firmly—eased the door shut.
After I heard her receding footsteps, I sighed.
Then I got to work. There were precious few freely available texts on Iridite theology, for a nation which identified itself as a theocracy, and even fewer which had been written on the Iridite homeworld in the last five years. It had taken three weeks of scrimping and saving to be be able to reach this point, but I needed to be a hundred percent certain.
It didn't take very long to read through them. Not for nothing was I a student of history; cutting through dry, ancient texts was my favorite pastime, back when Kara and I had been at the University of Southwest Colorado together. It took me maybe twelve hours to finish sorting, cross-referencing, and above all, absorbing their contents into my mind. Twelve hours which left me cramped, hungry, thirsty—and resignedly, hopeful.
*It is a strange phenomenon,* the text wrote, *how the consciousness translates between afterlives. Only recently has our technology advanced to the point where we can consistently bring someone to the brink of death and back. And here, we have made startling discoveries.*
*Those who were good in life—really, truly, virtuously selfless people—they come back screaming. Begging to be put back into the Land of the Light, and tearing their eyes and throat out if left unrestrained. We have gotten nothing of use from such explorers.*
*But for the rest of us—even the merely average—we find an entirely alien world. One which, in the past five years, has shifted.*
*Sadly, funding for exploring the afterlife has always been low; it is of little potential application to humanity, and the last Hell we explored was a barren, sulfurous wasteland. This fresh Hell, however, is an entire, inhabited planet. A planet of humans whose past has diverged from ours significantly. A planet of humans advanced enough for us to establish similar levels of technology to our own. And so, for the first time, we report on what happens when you die in Hell.*
*The consistent answer, as far as we can tell? You simply go one Hell deeper.*
*This is where the old Hell went. That land of nightmares and myths. It was simply forced further down by the weight of this Earth—by mechanisms as yet unknown. But every exploration has proclaimed the same thing: that the freshly dead are still down there. And that there are as many layers of Hell as there are stars in the sky.*
I swallowed. The explorations indicated that nothing physical could be taken with you—only your physical body. So I'd tattooed her face into my hand. Kara's face.
I went into my closet. I took out what I'd left there since they'd taken Kara down from the ceiling, Kara swinging with the air conditioner's wind.
The ceiling fan was all too sturdy.
I took a deep breath.
"I'm coming to get you, Kara."
And I let go.
r/rileywrites
| 2020-03-18T14:55:25
| 2020-03-18T14:47:59
| 56
| 18
|
[WP] You just got three wishes from a genie but it turns out he's a dick, so you decide to use your three wishes to make the genies life as miserable as possible.
|
"But, asked for a cure for cancer!" I protested "Nothing has changed, no news articles, nothing of the sort"
"Ah, but big pharma already discovered a cure for cancer, they haven't released it yet because they make too much from chemotherapy."
"Then I wish it was universally available for free"
"Hahaha" the genie bellowed, his laughter echoing off the walls of my small apartment. "Your second wish is my command... All cancer cures are now available for free, but nobody knows what they're called, what to ask for, or how to fill in the 58 pages of forms to acquire it for free"
"You're a bit of a dick really aren't you?"
"I've suffered for centuries, cooped up in a vessel that can fit in the palm of your hand. You get your wish and I have a laugh, it's a win-win relationship"
"What did your last master wish for?"
"To end hunger among the impoverished"
"And how did you grant his wish?"
"A swarm of locusts. The Egyptian slaves were ungrateful for that."
"How would that help?"
"Locusts are relatively large, meaty, and in that case, plentiful. They just don't LOOK too appealing"
I had to think. What could I wish for that the genie wouldn't be able to foul up? Then it hit me.
"I know what I want my third wish to be"
"I await your command" the genie grinned, at the thought of how he could twist yet another poor soul's last wish into a good laugh
"I wish to be your master, eternally"
"Excuse me?"
"Well... No wishing for extra wishes, no bringing back the dead, and no wishing for love. Those are the rules, correct?"
"Well, yes"
"And as your master you have to do exactly as I command."
"This is true, but you can't make wishes, even if after this wish I'm your servant"
"No. But I can make demands. Make it so"
The genie clapped his hands. "...Now what?"
"Now. You have to obey my every command, correct?"
"Yes, but no wishes"
"Okay. There's a cancer ward in the hospital in the city. I demand that you go through a full course of chemotherapy, and come see me in six months."
"How do I-?"
"You're a smartass, I'm sure you'll figure it out."
|
“Then Jasmine and Aladdin shared a gentle kiss and lived happily ever after!”
Emma giggled as her mother closed the book and set it aside on the bedside table. Her eyes wandered towards the lamp on said table as she said, “Mommy, if I rub my lamp, will Mr. Genie come out and give me wishes too?”
Emma’s mother smiled as she kissed Emma on the forehead and stood up from the chair, replying, “Maybe tomorrow, baby. Mr. Genie needs to get his beauty sleep too, you know. He’s really, really tired from giving out all those wishes to Aladdin. And you’ve got a big day tomorrow too, so you need to sleep! Okay, baby? I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Ok, Mommy. I love you!” Emma replied as her mother turned off the lights and closed the bedroom door. She waited for the sounds of footsteps going back down the stairs before she threw off the covers and sat face-to-face with her bedside lamp. Reaching out with a trembling hand, she touched its metallic surface. It was still warm to the touch, but the heat did not stop her from vigorously rubbing it. A few seconds passed before a puff of smoke burst forth from where the lightbulb was screwed. Encouraged by this, Emma continued to rub the lamp as fast as her little arm could allow. The puffs of smoke soon filled the room, until Emma could barely see the lamp in front of her. Suddenly, the smoke vanished. Her lamp was nowhere to be seen. But standing in front of her was a shirtless figure, an ethereal mist hanging where its legs should have been.
Emma gasped and said, “Mr. Genie! Is that you?”
“Mr. What? Hold on a sec. Before we start, lemme turn on a light or something. I can’t see shit in here.”
The figure hovered over to the light switch and flicked it on before turning back to Emma. His initial expression of confusion gave way to one of exasperation as he groaned and said, “You gotta be shittin’ me. I pop out after 1700 years and the first jabroni I get is some pig-tailed brat in pink pajamas? Seriously?”
Emma giggled in response and said, “Mr. Genie, Mr. Genie! Can I have my three wishes, please?”
The genie let out a deep sigh and muttered, “Screw it. Let’s just get this shit over with.” He put on the fakest smile he could muster and said, “Why, certainly! Your wish is my command, milady! What would your heart desire? Perhaps a…lovely little pony, just for you?”
The little girl gasped in delight and replied, “I want a pony! I wish for a pony! An-and I want her name to be Suzy, and I want her to have brown hair, an-and-”
With a snap of his fingers, a Shetland pony materialized in front of the genie. Keeping up his fake smile, he said, “And perhaps milady desires a…beautiful doll-house, filled to the brim with Barbie dolls?”
“Barbie, Barbie! I’m a Barbie girl, in a Barbie wo-”
The genie could feel his teeth grinding against one another as he interrupted, “Yes, yes, milady. Barbie is a wonderful selection. Is that what your heart desires?”
“Yeah, yeah! I wish for a Barbie doll-house, an-and I want a hundred Barbies inside!”
Another snap of his fingers, and a life-size Barbie doll-house appeared next to the pony, Barbie dolls spilling out of its windows. “Now, milady. We have come to your third and final wish. Methinks a lovely young woman like yourself would perhaps desire…a lifetime supply of candy?” asked the genie, his smile growing ever wider.
“Mmm…I like candy, but…that’s not what Aladdin did with his third wish. And Mommy told me Aladdin was a good person for setting Mr. Genie free.”
A vein began to bulge from the genie’s left temple as he replied, “You are not Aladdin, milady. And you do not have to waste your *final* wish on a humble creature like mys-”
“I got it! I wish for you to be my best friend forever!”
The smile immediately vanished from the genie’s face. The mist hanging below his upper body solidified into a pair of legs as he landed feetfirst onto the floor below. His mouth trembling, he uttered, “Wha-what did you just do? My powers, I-I can’t feel them anymore. WHAT DID YOU D-”
Emma giggled and replied, “Yay! I’m gonna call you Gene now, Mr. Genie. Let’s play with Barbie and Suzy!”
The former genie sank to his knees and let out a blood-curdling scream as the little girl ran towards her new playthings.
r/williamk9949
| 2020-06-16T09:46:47
| 2020-06-16T09:41:26
| 173
| 124
|
[WP] Everyone is told 10 minutes before they die that they will. You're on a plane, and everyone panics at once. You didn't get that message.
|
A tin can of echoing screams. That's what I was on at the moment, as I sat calmly in my seat; as I wondered why everyone was freaking out. I got up from my seat and tried to get through the writhing walkway of frantic bodies and aggravated screams. Now bewildered and afraid, I tried to see if someone had just gotten killed, if there was an attempted terrorist attack... What was it? It wasn't until I heard some more distinct words among the passengers.
"I heard it!"
"I heard it, too!"
"No, I didn't hear it. Please, no don't let this happen!"
"What's going to happen? How will it end?"
I looked around at the frightened people and understood. The cacophony of random, terrified, horribly fearful and futile cries filled this tin can. It was all I could hear, and the only thing I did hear before the people erupted. Only the hollow sound of cold, odd smelling air conditioning, and the rattling of overpriced beverages and snacks served by the attendants were sent to my ears. I had heard nothing before this.
Unfortunately, everyone else heard a very distinct sound, a message. Many wait for It, others try to run from It, but almost all fear the moment that they hear It. So simple, yet hard to replicate and impossible to trick one into believing even if copied well.
"10 minutes left on Here..." followed by the most personal name that one goes by. It was spoken in such an otherworldly and bizarre vice that none knew how to describe It, and none lived long enough to adequately do so.
Its what I didn't hear. I felt relieved as I made my way back to my seat. I could have picked any of them to return to at this point, as many had gotten up from theirs in a depressed, pre-mourning uproar. However, I chose to go back to mine. I stared at those surrounding me, watching and wondering how I would survive this. Stressing over this fact, I saw a man across the aisle from me. Among the constantly shifting, agitated line of flesh rumbling in this walkway, I saw him sitting in his seat, staring at the others the same as I did. Watching him curiously, his head swiped to the side to see more passengers before stopping in the middle of its arc. His pupils widened and his hands went up to his head. Shaking for several moments, he raised his head upwards and released a guttural scream of realization.
"NO!"
He heard It as well.
This caused me to distrust myself. How had I not heard It yet? How could I possibly survive this? Several minutes passed as I went through the possibilities in my own head. I heard nothing but my own thoughts, trying to drown out the chorus of cries from the passengers so I could focus on my own thoughts. However, I deceived myself into thinking this was the reason. What I thought was my conscious thinking of my possible outcomes for survival was merely it making room for It to be heard. I wanted to listen. I had to know. I didn't want to hear It but I had to know. I had to be certain of my fate. I didn't want It sneaking up on me. If nothing else, I wanted it to be certain.
In my focused thought processes disguised as a rogue-ish clearing of the mind, I hadn't paid attention to the certainty the rest of the passengers and crew had the pleasure of knowing. An explosion erupted from the right side of the plane, causing the tin can to lurch and the inhabitants to scream in a louder, more frantic manner. The plane started to fall and the captain came over the intercom to notify everyone that an engine had failed and to brace for impact. Several moments later, everyone had been made very certain while I was subjected to a longing uncertainty in the dark, wondering if It would be heard.
After an unknown amount of time passed, my eyes released me from the uncertainty. I was awake. Around me, my vision cleared to show the brutal aftermath of It's message. Bodies strewn across metal shards of wreckage. Some areas had an indistinguishable smattering of the two while others were clear cut. The rest were certainly burned in the combustion of the plane's fuel. Most of the wreckage was covered by the night's uncertain shadow, but the flame from the fuel was all that let me view this catastrophe. I used its ending light to show me the undeniable end of so many. Of course, this only distracted me from what kept me glued to the aftermath, the metal shard sticking out from my back. I didn't bother to look down at my own wound, the one that kept me so stuck to all of this wreckage. I simply looked out at the wreckage, at the people. I could only wonder and think upon their ends and my doubt.
I was like this for several hours. Only one thing took me away from this, though. My eyes gazed up to two white lights meandering towards me in the uncertain night, shifting through the trees. I smiled, as the lights came closer to me. They became clearly visible as I...
"10 minutes left on Here... Grath."
...was certain.
|
I looked around me, like time was slowed. Everyone had the same, ugly, distraught look on their face.
I knew what was going to happen.
As did they.
The woman seated next to me, she grabbed my hand.
"Its going to be okay, right?" she plead.
"They'll fix the plane, right?" she begged.
As I drew the knife from my coat pocket, I said in a shuddered tone, "Nothing is wrong with the plane."
The plane started to tilt forward as I pulled my kife from the captain's back.
That's when I got my message.
| 2016-11-24T20:14:34
| 2016-11-24T20:01:01
| 129
| 52
|
[WP] A stereotypical High School Anime, but the main character is a loud and proud American girl from Texas who moved to Japan with her family.
|
Saving to come back later. Anyway:
She has blonde hair, sunkissed skin, freckles on her face, speaks broken Japanese (although quite well for what its worth) and has beautiful green eyes.
She sits next to me in class. She was shy at first, and I could tell she had just moved here from America, but I could also tell she would quickly acclimate, which she did. Her name is Amanda Jackson. AJ for short. She insists on that nickname. It's cute. It fits her.
AJ's got a strong sense of family and is very protective of those she calls a friend. She's brutally honest, believing the best way to act is with an honest heart and to wear it on your sleeve. She's quoted as saying "better to ask forgiveness than for permission." Here, at least in this small suburb, we tend to all keep our issues and problems private. We are in no way exuberant like she is.
One day AJ decided that I was going to be her friend. At first I had no intention of associating myself with her. She is so loud, and I just want to keep to myself anyway. She would not stop pestering me. Every time I denied a request from her to sit, talk, eat or lend my notes to her she simply would smile and ask again a few minutes later. Eventually I caved and AJ pried her way into my life.
AJ steadily learned more Japanese, and as she got better at it, she learned how to speak more naturally. Her southern Texas drawl as she called it came through beautifully, and I'll be honest, it was adorable.
Unfortunately, many others around AJ did not cave to her and did not want to be her friend. While it may not have shown outwardly, AJ was hurt by this. She decided to confide it in me. AJ is a tall, work hardened young lady with a figure most girls my age would die for and muscles most guys would die for, but for all that toughness, she had a soft inside. She teared up, but her face remained resolute. She would not be broken.
As the school year dragged on, more and more people would warm up to AJ. They'd be seen conversing with her, eating with her and even on some nights I'd run into her with a posse of classmates while I'm out with my friends. We would then join our groups and go have a few rounds of soda, on AJ of course. And me.
But then, something peculiar happened. One day AJ never showed up to school. She usually would get to school before any of the teachers did. The entire school was worried. Then we get a PA announcement from the principle before homeroom ends.
"A letter was received this morning. I'm sure you all know a girl by the name of Amanda Jackson from class 3B. It has just come to my attention that her brother has died and Amanda has returned to the states to bury her brother. Her brother had been suffering for some time and passed peacefully in his sleep. It is unknown when she will return, but we shall do as she has done for us and pray for her and her family. May she return in high spirits."
This shocked us. We never knew she was harboring such pain. But then we all learned. We knew we had to do something for her, this girl who has shined so brightly for us. We never knew we needed her light until it was taken away from us for that short moment. We all knew that we needed to be that light for her in this dark time in AJ's life. So we got to work.
After learning a date she would return to Japan, thankfully, faculty and class representatives organized a welcome back party for AJ and her family. All of us had a role to play with my class 3B being the main attraction. The food would be American classics. Burgers, hot dogs, bratwurst, fried chicken, you name it, we all worked hard to make it or source it. The more handy students got to work on a bunch of what can only be described as fairground equipment. I had never seen hardly any of these contraptions in my life. We made the gym and schoolyard a fairground.
I was made to greet AJ as she returned to school, early as usual. I got up at four in the morning to be there before her. She walked up no more than ten minutes after I did. She asked me why I was here so early and on a Friday no less. I simply said I needed to ask her something and it would be best if we did so prior to the start of school and I had asked a teacher to give me access into the library so that we could work on something. It was all a lie, but she bought it and we went in. She could tell something was up.
The library was almost ironically located right across from the gymnasium. It was perfect. When we got to the library, the lights kicked on, revealing every single student and teacher. AJ got so many hugs.
After a while AJ found me and asked why we all did this for her. When I told her why, she started crying happy tears, and, probably on impulse, kissed me square on the lips. I was shocked, but enjoyed it.
We've been lifelong friends ever since. And that, kids, is how I met your mother.
|
It was her first day of school after moving. The 16 year old female stood in front of her mirror adjusting her skirt. It was rather weird seeing her in a school uniform rather than her normal getup of pants and a t-shirt. She felt out of place even though she was only in her room. Her ma said the last time she had worn a dress was when she was small. Like her brothers age, Ben who was 9.
"Kaitlyn! Yer gunna be late I'd you dont get a movin!" It was her older brother tommy who yelled for her. Ever since her ma and pa died in that car accident Tommy had taken both her and Ben in. He even went so far as to join the military where after basic training and schooling he was stationed in Tokyo, japan.
She found herself down in the kitchen of the apartment they lived in. Ben already in his own school uniform that almost matched hers besides the grade level. Her brother Tommy dressed in his civilian clothes. His blues and his cammies both in his bag. She looked towards her older brother and sighed. She remembered when ma and pa were still alive and all were living on the farm. Tommy looked nothing like he was today. He uses to be tanner, had softer green eyes than he did now. He stood poised and ready for just about anything. She missed when he seemed happy. Before ma and pa passed.
Kaitlyn must have spaced out again thinking of the past as she was now in front of Ben's new school when the back door to the car closed. Ben was already running up the stairs as an older female seemed to wait for him on the stairs. Tommy started to drive once more as he turned around when it was possible. Her school was in another district compared to Ben's.
"....after school. Kaitlyn did you hear me?" She turned back in as soon as she heard her brother call her name. He sighed heavily before pulling off the side of the rode and in front of a large building full of kids coming into the building.
"Sorry Tommy, I was thinking... about being back home. I miss ma and pa." He reached over and patted her arm, giving her arm a good squeeze.
"We cant go back kaitlyn, there was no way to make a livin there. I did what I had to do for you and Ben."
She didn't bother to listen any further, getting out of the car and slamming the door shut. That apparently angered him as he rolled down the driver side window to holler at her. "Damn it Kate! Fine. Dont forget to pick up Ben after school. I'll see yall when I get off of work. Be smart lil sister."
Almost everyone seemed to now be staring at her now. Some whispering into their friends ears. She ignored them. She needed to find the faculty office and meet her homeroom teacher.
(Sorry for any grammar issues, on phone as I wrote this. I grew up in Texas born and raised, this is how i normally talk. hope someone likes it as it was fun to write!)
| 2021-07-17T10:03:01
| 2021-07-17T08:39:54
| 109
| 33
|
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?
|
Death wasn't at all what Johnathan had pictured him to be. slicked-back hair and well fit suit reminded him a lot more of a Wall Street trader rather than the immortal reaper of souls. As he spied the somewhat overweight man in front of him, his mind worked to formulate a plan.
"Any game?" Johnathan asked, to ensure that he understood just how far the rules could bend.
"Any game," responded Death, matter of factly.
"Well I used to play a lot of games as a kid. Have you every heard of Dungeons and Drag-?" probed Johnathan.
"That's ... cooperative storytelling. Not a game. Gygax tried that on me to. If I didn't let him get away with it, I certainly wouldn't let you"
"So not any game then," quipped Johnathan.
"Yes, any game. Where, a game is defined as a structured engagement based on a before-hand agreed on framework of rules, which ends with one party being successful and the other not."
Johnathan thought for a moment. He could work with this. "Then I request that we play, 'The Campaign for North Africa'."
"I've never heard of it, but that would be acceptable. We shall start right now."
...
Around the 32nd day, Death was getting very tired of the inane rules which "The Campaign for North Africa" demanded at every turn.
[52.6] The Italian Pasta Rule
"The Italians, needing water to cook their pasta rations, must receive an additional 1 point of water when store are distributed. Any battalion-sized unit that does not receive their Pasta Point that have a Cohesion Level of -10 or worse immediately become Disorganized, as if they had reached -26"
[49.3] Evaporation and Spillage
"From Sept., 1940 until the last Game-Turn in August , 1941, the Commonwealth spillage and evaporation rate is 9 percent per Game-turn. This is due to poorly constructed containers used by the British; It wasn't until the British copied that German "jerry can" that their rate was reduced."
[55.4] AXIS COASTAL SHIPPING
"The Axis had a small fleet of boats that they used for coastal transfer of small amounts of supplies. These were old shipping boats and aging tramp steamers that could ill afford to venture too far from land. They have a limited capacity."
"Isn't there some way we can speed this up? I'm missing so many appointments," pleaded Death. With all of Death's time occupied on this game, people were living much longer than they should. The boss would not be happy.
"Well, according to rule 23.5.1b," cited Johnathan as he flipped widely through one of the myriad immense volumes of rules, "in order to finish the game, we either play until the final day of the war, which could be just another 4 years, or one of us could forfeit"
Death looked down at the battleship pieces that he had secreted into his lap, thinking that Johnathan wouldn't see his deft slight-of-hand. Johnathan was just one life. Sometimes, his clients won, it was an occupational hazard. But he would much rather give 10 more years of life than shirk his other occupational responsibilities. "Fine," growled Death.
"I forfeit, you win."
|
My heart was pounding as I sat in the plane, staring at the map. There was just me and one other person on board. I was waiting for him to take his exit first, staring at that yellow dot. However we were almost halfway through the island, and he was still there. Panicking I decided if I jumped and went straight down I might stand a chance.
I jumped, looking straight now to the center of the island, the school I knew so well. So many good and bad times in this school with my friends. I angled for the high roof, landed, and then fell off the roof.
I looked up, and say the tip of his parachute disappear over the rooftop. He had the advantage. Panicking, I started to run. I dived into a first floor window and into a classroom. A frying pan was on the teachers desk. I picked it up sadly, knowing it would not save me.
I went to the door, checking left then right, on my turn back to the left to start my run, I heard it. A slight footstep from the stairs nearby. There it was, the bastard himself, in a yellow banana suit, shot gun pointed at my face...
BAM! It was over. I was dead. A feeling I had had many times before, but this time I knew it was forever.... Except not! DINK! The bullets hit my pan! Saving me from lethal damage. I was alive, but in my shock I did not move. It was too late, he was going to end me with the next shot.
And then it happened. He never pulled the trigger. I just stood there for a second, confused. But I realized I had to take this opportunity. I took my pan and bashed his head in. WINNER WINNER CHICKEN DINNER.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
"Brendan it's done, that ban wave we promised just rolled out. We even kicked them mid match."
"Good job intern Steve. That should keep the masses at bay for another day"
| 2018-03-07T07:43:27
| 2018-03-07T07:11:15
| 39
| 17
|
[WP] two Isekai trucks both miss the chosen one and hit each other instead
|
"Behold, your majesty! The hero of legends!" The thick smoke slowly cleared.
The nearby guards waited on bated breath, holding their spears tightly but seemingly leisurely. They certainly didn't want to startle the hero, but they also didn't want to be massacred by an unknown being of unimaginable power.
The king sat on his throne in his best majestic pose. First impressions were important, especially for a king.
Something was wrong. The ArchMagistrate thumbed through his grimoire. The ceremony was supposed to summon an adolescent boy. Instead, two metal contraptions were sitting in the middle of the throne room.
"Ahem. Frederick." The king's piercing glare demanded an explanation and the the wizard had none.
"Ah. Em. A moment please, your majesty." Was this metal box somehow a strange alien boy? And why were there two of them? They were rumbling slightly, perhaps they were hungry?
The guard captain looked nervously at his men. Sweat dripped down his neck. The two creatures' gleaming skins looked like steel. His men were well equipped sure, but they wouldn't stand a chance against a metal golem.
To everyone's surprise, the creature's ears opened up and a middle-aged man stepped out.
"Oi, you shithead. What the fuck is wrong with your driving?" The man directed his verbal abuse at the other creature's eyes. It made a loud and annoyed honking noise.
Another middle-aged man stepped out of the other creature's ears. The magistrate was staring slack jawed at the spectacle. The king was leaning forward in interest.
"You're the one who bloody mucked up the job. If your track record wasn't so terrible, they wouldn't have even sent me!" The second man gave the first a very colorful gesture.
"Welcome! Heroes of legend! I am King Oberon, we seek your help in defeating a demon who plagues our world." A competent king knew to hold his composure even in the face of ludicrous bewilderment.
"Look what you've done, you piss-eating bastard! The man thinks we're the damn heroes!" The two men completely ignored the king.
"It's not my fault. You closed your eyes before flooring the fucking gas pedal!"
"I can't help it! It needs to look plausible!"
"Bullshit, you're just squeamish."
"Am not!"
"If you'd just open your damn eyes when you hit pedestrians, we wouldn't even have this problem. It was an EASY JOB. EASY."
"Well it shouldn't be, running people over shouldn't be easy."
"WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU WORKING IN THIS LINE OF BUSINESS?!"
"Hey a man needs to eat."
"Ahem." The king coughed to get their attention. They continued ignoring him.
"You are in the presence of King Arranis Oberon, son of Julius Oberon and first of his name, ruler and sovereign of Kindynos!"
The two men turned to the ArchMagistrate at the same time and shouted, "Shut up!"
The king sighed and looked at the nervous guard captain, "Kill them."
&nbsp;
___
A/N This could be pretty interesting...
edit: [SEQUEL!!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/wc34km/wp_the_isekai_truck_driver_is_confused_when_he/iib6hq3/)
/r/Unexpected_Works
|
Sagmaradon the Wise sighed. Everything had gone from bad to worse over the last few years - droughts, famines, wars. It had seemed like a bout of bad luck, until at last the true malevolence behind such catastrophes was revealed - the sorcerer Archduke Baradoon The Benighted, thought dead centuries ago.
The ancient evil had been reborn, and even now his armies marched across the fair land of Caldeya, laying waste to all who opposed him. There could only be one recourse, one option left. It was time to fulfill the ancient prophecy. It was time to summon...the Outworlder.
Legend said that the Outworlder would be a mage of incredible power, a master of a thousand arcane arts and sage unlike any the world had ever seen.
\*\*\*
Jeremiah Crassus was in a bit of a bind. Today was Summoning Day, but he was in no way prepared. This day was perhaps the most important day of his life, and it was going to be a disaster.
Every mage's own power was augmented and enhanced by their bond with their familiar - a mystical beast of considerable magic. A mage who bonded with a unicorn might gain favor with healing magicks and the purity of mind to sense deceit, for example.
The entire Crassus family, being a cut above the regular mage, only ever bonded with dragons - highly intelligent, powerful mages in their own right and extremely long lived. All of those attributes were shared among the summoner after the bond.
However, summoning a dragon took considerable skill, and no small amount of power. He'd be lucky to summon a lowly copper hatchling - while his father had summoned an ancient Jade Guardian, already a hundred and fifty years into its lifespan.
Well, there was nothing for it. Hope for the best, he supposed...
\*\*\*
There was an explosion of incredibly powerful magic -
\*\*\*
There was an explosion of incredibly powerful magic -
\*\*\*
Sagmaradon looked up, where he had fallen to his knees. The drain on his magic was like nothing he'd ever experienced before - he felt like a novice, with barely a flicker of strength left in him.
The summoning chamber was gone.
In fact, most of the roof of the entire palace was gone.
In its place sat a giant silver dragon, easily thirty feet tall, looking very peeved.
Sagmaradon blinked several times. Yes, it was still there. But how? Dragons didn't exist.
\*\*\*
Jeremiah opened his eyes, hoping to see his summon...and came face to face with a young man dressed in strange clothing. He blinked several more times. This couldn't be happening...where was his dragon? Why??? Why him?
"Huh," said the...man. "I guess I ain't in Kansas anymore."
Then the young man raised a hand, fire dancing across his fingers casually. "So," he said. "Are you this 'Baradoon' fella?"
Jeremiah blinked again. "Who?"
\*\*\*
*Six Years Later*
"Your father is requesting an audience again," his valet said, bowing deeply.
"Tell him to get stuffed," said Jeremiah with a wave of his hand. "Before you see him out, remind him that he disinherited me."
"Of course, Grand Wizard," his valet murmured and turned to go.
The Outlander (he still insisted on calling himself such, even after all this time) snorted.
"He shoulda listened to me the first time, eh?" he said with a grin. "Course', I could tell he was a stubborn as a wild hog the second I saw him."
Jeremiah let out a weak chuckle. The disinheritance still hurt, and if he felt that his father genuinely wanted to reconcile their family, he would have returned in a heartbeat. But no, all Herbert Crassus wanted was Illyria world-famous 'Grand Wizard' back in the family.
Still, now as the strongest mage in Illyria and one of the most powerful in the entire world, Jeremiah could just tell him to get out.
He glanced at the Outlander, still dressed in that bizarre clothing he called 'plaid', and chewing on a strand of grass. Well, second-strongest, anyway. The knowledge and skills he'd gained from the Outlander were considerable, but merely a shadow of the real thing.
Still, life was good. He walked to the nearest window and stared out over the vast fields of golden wheat, swaying gently in the summer sun. His Wizard's tower overlooked the heartlands of Illyria, which had quickly become the breadbasket of the entire world.
Though the Outlander had initially been summoned to defeat someone named 'Baradoon' - they still didn't know who that was, even after half a decade - he'd quickly turned his mind to his true passion - farming.
Now, through both of their joint efforts, Illyria had experienced an agricultural revolution unlike any the world had seen before. The population was flourishing, people were happy and well-fed - even the meanest beggar rarely went hungry.
Life was good.
\*\*\*
*Six Years Later*
"And so that concludes the Conclave," said Sagmaradon, rubbing his temples wearily. "On the plus side, Baradoon is finally dead, for good this time -"
"And on the minus, we're now ruled by a giant lizard," said Vektitus the Wanderer sarcastically.
"Honestly, it's not the worst thing," interjected Fivlario of the Tenth Path. "He demands a lot less taxes than old King Janus did - though don't tell him that."
There was a murmur of assent from the assembled High Wizards.
"He really shouldn't have challenged the dragon to a duel for the crown," muttered Migos the Gold. He'd been particularly well-connected with the Royal Family, and their fall had hurt his pockets deeply. "A thousand-year old *mage-dragon*. What was he thinking?"
"Ah well," replied Fivlario. "That's what happens with seven generations of intermarrying..."
There was a series of uncomfortable coughs. While the Royal Family was technically gone, old habits died hard.
Sagmaradon sighed again. "Well, at least no-one is going to be invading Caldeya anytime soon. Not after the Jigmarian Empire..."
There was an uncomfortable pause, as everyone stared at the world map laid out in front of them. A vast swathe to the south, over six times the size of Caldeya, had once been the Jigmarian Empire. Now, the map had been updated to more accurately reflect their status as a giant crater.
"Less work for us, too," muttered Vektitus, still staring at the map. "I'm not surprised ol' lizard-bones likes to conduct his own diplomacy..."
Sagmaradon closed his eyes wearily. It could be worse...though the paperwork was a pain.
| 2022-07-27T12:19:04
| 2022-07-27T11:57:07
| 172
| 24
|
[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox
|
*Code Orange. Code Orange. We need Doctor Bees in the operating room*
"Over 300 casualties and a few injured. What happened out there?!"
"Doctor, the comb was attacked by a hairy monstrosity. He tore the place apart and it took most of the workers to fend him off"
"Do we have any survivors?"
"Very few, we have drones to cover our losses but it will be hard"
"Who do we have on the table now?"
"Just one so far. He was with the queen an..Oh my gosh. Doctor, Sir Bounce Pennington has major contusions in his lower abdomen. He's bottom half has been ripped apart! He's done for!"
"We need an IV stat!"
"I will not lose another patient. He has diploids at home!"
"He's just a drone sir."
"I don't care what he is! Scalpel now, I can't wait any longer"
|
I'm all moved in. The office is fully furnished, degrees and certifications well hung on the wall. It's been more than a week now though and I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't a little concerned. No one has shown up and the phone is silent - apart from the occasional, wildly inappropriate prank call.
I guess some people are hard. Some people take more time to come. After all, this is a highly specialized client I'm looking for: someone that needs a fully certified Analysist AND Therapist.
Well, once word gets out I'll have to beat off the crowds with my bare hands. They'll even be trying to come in my backdoor. Such is the life of the world's first Analrapist.
| 2016-02-22T11:31:29
| 2016-02-22T09:31:34
| 30
| 15
|
[WP] scientists have invented a serum that allows animals to speak. Your dog was recently given the serum, but it appears the treatment has not worked. Your cousin, whom you haven't seen since your youth, comes to town to visit. As the door opens, your dog suddenly whispers in your ear: "run."
|
I was disappointed, there really is no way around it. When I gave my dog the injection I was so looking forward to him speaking. I could imagine me telling him to fetch things for me and he would actually understand what I was saying. Just like the commercials said, but the stupid dog never said a word to me. The veterinarian said it could take up to a week for the dog to adjust to the changes and manage to speak. Its been a month and not one word has been uttered. Bad dog.
I had given up on it ever working, and cursed myself for wasting what was a substantial amount of money on something so stupid. Things were looking up though as I got word a couple of days ago that my cousin was coming to visit.
We used to be great friends growing up, but life took different roads for us and we ended up living in different cities. We tried to keep in touch but as usually happens we slowly lost contact. Naturally I was excited to see him again, and just a little bit curious as to what made him drop by.
I heard a car pull up, but before I could go look to see if it was my cousin, I heard someone say "RUN." Confused I looked around, finally locking eyes with Albert Johnson.
I call him that, because I thought it funny to give a dog a surname. I would go around the neighborhood yelling for him, and chuckling to myself as I did.
Albert Johnson is a big bastard of an St. Bernard, even among that particular breed of dog he is big. If your not familiar with them they can be a bit intimidating just purely based on size. But when you’re an experienced and firm dog owner like me, they are pretty docile. Also they slobber a lot. I always used to joke that when he drinks water he just replaces the water in the bowl with his drool.
He looked at me with very serious eyes, and I realized the serum had finally worked. "Albert...?" I stammered.
"Your cousin is here to kill you, no time for talking. Run!"
I was confused, but Albert pressed me towards a window at the back and without thinking I followed orders. I climbed out and ran to a shed behind my house. This was crazy, my dog talking and his first words are a warning that my cousin was trying to kill me?
This made no sense. As I stood there I felt more and more dumb, clearly something was wrong and I had gotten all worked up about nothing.
As I started to walk back to the house, the screaming started.
The screaming was nothing like what you hear in the movies. Nothing at all. I froze completely, paralyzed with fear of what was going on. Whatever made that noise was in pain beyond anything imaginable. I have never heard anything like it. Suddenly it was cut short, followed by a slow horrible gurgle, and then complete terrifying silence.
I don’t know how long I stood there, not being able to move. It seemed like hours. I could not move a muscle until seeing Albert in the window broke the spell. He was smiling menacingly at me, showing blood soaked teeth.
Horrified I turned and ran, hoping against hope that I could outrun my dog.
|
Run, run, run
You've got to run
Bow, bow, son
You've got to run.
Your cousin is here
yeah, the weird one
Just keep running
He's got a gun.
Bow, bow, son
I'm warning you
Get to running
before he kills you.
It's as natural to him
as drinking mountain dew.
Bow, son, run,
He's got a gun.
| 2016-09-01T01:04:25
| 2016-08-31T22:41:54
| 19
| 12
|
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
|
No one ever realized I didn't have a power.
Number two is a telepath. I met him in a bar once, but I could feel his touch on my mind all the way down the street. It was light, I would never have felt it if he'd only been looking, but when you're used to being a pawn you learn to see when you're being played with. He wanted me in that bar, and I complied. If he was going to kill me, I couldn't have stopped him at that point anyway. I asked him in there, "Why don't you kill me? No one would stop you." He laughed, and downed the remainder of his cup. "No one wants to be first, kiddo. No one with half a shot at getting there, anyway." His knowing smile told me everything it needed to. I was a tool. A figurehead. I asked him what he wanted from me and he gave me a list of people who needed to be out of the city by next Sunday. He walked out, and I did as I was told.
When they think you're more powerful than the strongest soldiers the city state has to offer, they don't question your authority. You say something happens and it does.
Number six is an empath, though I don't think she got her number on strength of power. It's the connections that did it. She told me once she was glad that number one was a good man, or the city'd be even worse off than it already is. I'm sure I could be a bad one if I had the inclination, it's only the top hundred or so I really have to keep happy. I've just never wanted to. I asked her if that was why she'd fallen in love with me and she gave me the coldest, most dangerous laugh I've ever heard.
"You're funny," she said.
We both know damn well it's me who loves her, and we both know equally well that I have no chance. Which doesn't stop her from using me for all I'm worth.
I'm not like the rest of the ten. I didn't kill to be here. Fate crowned me king at birth, and I've yet to figure out what in God's name it was thinking.
Number four is a power thief. He's the one who illuminated the mystery of my continued kinghood for me, down beneath the earth in a room full of tiny glass bottles and too much red to be comforting. He downed one of the bottles and settled against a shelf as his body changed. Creepy, that one.
"I'm not going to cut you open and take your blood," he said with about as much care as he'd give the weather. "Do you know why?"
"Enlighten me."
"Because then I'd have to run the city. I'd have to appease Lamier and Asmar and the whole nest full of snakes. It would be a chronic waste of time, and I'd hardly be able to balance it with my own projects. No no, you can keep your seat and your secrets. We serpents wouldn't touch your job with a ten foot pole."
I am a pawn masquerading as king, a powerless man ruling the powerful, a good man with no convictions. But I am, if nothing else, an actor. If no one sees the contradictions... Well, who am I to tell that they are there?
|
Oh yes. I definitely remember, every single detail. He was wearing a red and silver striped tie, for example. How could I ever forget that day? I walked into his office as number 21,458. When I left, I had his number 1.
Quite a frenzy it set off, you know? At first, people didn't even know it was me. I remember the first reporter I ever talked to, after she'd discovered that I was on his calendar for 2 PM, right about when he'd died. First question she asked me? "Who else was in the room with you?" Thanks for the vote of confidence, lady.
Well, eventually they managed to wrap their puny minds around it. I was the new #1 in town, and I had the token to prove it. News organizations exploded: some nobody is now the most powerful person in town? No one had even witnessed what my power was! There was endless speculation and chatter about what I could do. I remember this one professor from the university, speculating that I could make someone explode just by thinking about them. All sorts of self-proclaimed experts came forward to discuss it. And don't you know it, all of them were pounding on my door for that exclusive interview.
Well, it became pretty clear that I wasn't talking. So then the challenges started coming. Who was first? I think it was that bloke who could control flames. Nice guy, bit of a hothead...
No? Nothing. Fine.
Well, I met up with him and accepted the challenge, but on the condition that we fight in an empty room, no cameras or witnesses. He agreed, and we found an empty gym on the outskirts of town. Well, of course you know what happened to him, and to that entire neighborhood. I made the same offer to any other challenger: I was taking callers, but only if we fought alone. Same offer still stands, you know, but it's been years since anyone has taken me up on it.
Once it became pretty clear that no one was going to take the number from me, or see me in a fight, then they tried other methods. You know how many women I met who tried to seduce the information out of me? Hell, that's why I'm *still* a bachelor: I just can't trust any of them. Then came the offers: money, jobs, protection, you name it. Every prominent member of the city wanted me as their bodyguard, but on the condition that I told them what I could do. I told 'em to shove it. Then, they went after my friends and my parents, badgering them for information. So I became a recluse. Bought this cabin up here, just me and Buddy. My only friend; dogs don't care what my power is. And that's been the story ever since. I'm no longer involved in the tournament scene, and I guess the city is just going to have be content with only having a number 2.
Now, if you'll excuse me, Buddy and I have some fish to catch, so I'm afraid this interview is over.
All right, one last question...
Yes, I knew this would be coming. Did you really think it would be that easy to get it out of me? Nice try.
| 2014-12-18T12:44:55
| 2014-12-18T11:07:40
| 670
| 300
|
[WP] A siren, a being who’s people are infamous for luring humans to their deaths, has genuinely fallen in love with a human who is suspicious (for obvious reasons) of their intentions. This begins a story about a kind siren and a skeptical human.
|
Her voice. Her voice was like a symphony of instruments played by demigods of music- alluring, enchanting, mesmerizing.
For Lieutenant Commander William Holloway of the United States Navy, it scared him.
It told stories of sailors lost to sea. Stories of monsters consuming on the flesh of men enchanted by lust, love, or loneliness. And, he knew, the stories were true.
Which placed him in an odd predicament, as he felt no mental influence on him. He didn't want to cast his hat aside and leap into the sea. Instead, he was allowed emotions he shouldn't- fear, apprehension, caution.
Lt. Com. Holloway was a proud man at 27, standing tall at six foot four, heavy even for his fellow sailors at 240 pounds- but he was the nicest damn officer on his ship, the USS Puller, recently built in honorifics of the legendary US Marine general.
That name lasted all of two days before the ship was called "Ol' Chesty", or just "Chesty". Still, it was his ship, and it was on it that he stood even as the majority of his crew took their shore leave.
And oh look, it's the siren now, still singing a song only he could hear while he tries his hardest to drink coffee and muster the energy to do paperwork. Angrily standing, the young officer slotted his sidearm on his desk to the holster to his right, and marched his ass down the ship onto the docks and straight towards the siren.
It took him a moment, the song allowing him to traverse land and then clamber his way up rocks before finding himself in a small chamber- before coming face to face with the siren.
It was nude. Of course it was nude. Why wouldn't it be nude? And it definitely wasn't an *it* either. *She* smiled brightly at the sight of him, splooshing into the water after sliding off of the rock she "sat" on across the small hidden pool.
The water was somewhat clear, but it shone green, a mixture of green and blue that came from the color of the cave itself. Aquamarine and other colors he couldn't name filled the cave, glittering from the casted rays of light of the hole in the caves roof.
She had a shell in her hair, on her left. It was adorable, even he knew that. The color was same same of the rest of the cave. She told him it was red, before. He had shrugged. William was colorblind.
"Shara, I had asked you to save your singing for after the morning."
She gave him a dazzling smile. It was dazzling, it was compassionate and sent his heart fluttering- she ticked all his boxes, and she knew it. If only he wasn't convinced this was still a ploy.
Perhaps a game? To get a man with singing and singing alone, to get them to voluntarily enter their embrace- and be consumed- without having to be coerced?
"William! Oh, I am sorry, yes, but, not morning? Is afternoon, yes?"
Her manner of speak irritated the side of Will that was once a writer, but her voice- it was innocently bright.
William sat on a rock to the left, tossing a stone into her water as he sighed. He nodded, his legs coming up to cross themselves and he kept his hands in his lap.
"Yeah, I suppose. It's what- ten? I'm usually up four hours before now, so you have a point."
Her smile didn't falter, and he resisted looking at her, instead casting his gaze on the walls and imagining what color the cave would be to his mom.
That was probably for the best, as she rose from the water- not that it hid much of her at all- and planted her elbows on the sand that lined the "shore". She reached out and poked a boot- which was yanked away- and giggled.
"Silly, William, yes? Or, was night rough? Bad dream? Uh, horse of the night?"
"Nightmare?"
"Yes! That! We simply call them bad dream in language."
To his chagrin, his face lifted to a smile. They've met a few times- well, many, many times because she wouldn't *shut up* with her singing until he did- over the last few months. As such, he knew she was quite concerned for him, that smile twisted into an almost motherly frown.
That bothered him. She seemed to genuinely care. And, what scared him more, was that he was starting to believe in that care- and not that she was evil.
"Yes, a bad dream. Bombs, you know the drill. We're back from conflict near Madagascar, pirates got hold of Egyptian warships. Or perhaps they were Egyptian warships turned to piracy?"
Shara didn't understand a lot of the words or messages he said. But she knew conflict, and she knew the word pirate. She also understood that the man she's fallen for was a combative, a warrior of his species. It was because he rode the waves with bravery and just a little bravado that she took a liking to him.
What? She was young! The uniforms definitely looked spiffy, and he was totally a daydream she or her sisters could have dreamed up.
But, as Will rambled and stared off into space the way he did at times, examining the colors of her cave and the textures of the rock, she knew just the thing to cheer him up.
And so she promptly dived under the water, swimming swiftly towards a small section were she stashed curios of the human world- and resurfaced with an old iPod.
"Will! William! Look what I found yesterday!"
And while her thoughts were intelligent, she knew her words and manner seemed flippant and uninterested. But, somehow she knew, while searching his face and seeing a smile slowly creep onto his face..
He knew that she was just trying to cheer him up. And, silently cheering, she felt as if she was making process in getting him to trust her.
She'd hate it if he decided to go away because of his fear of her. Not like her sisters did when she first yelled at them when they brought their first man back to consume, or like her mother when she berated Shara for being "different."
She wouldn't trade being different for the entire world and its riches, because being different is how she found Will.
|
They all went belowdecks when they passed through siren waters. All except him.
He knew someone had to stay outside and man the ship. He wasn’t particularly large or strong, he was a rather slight fellow, in fact. But his eyes… those beautiful hazel eyes… they were so strong.
True courage isn’t ignorance or dismissal of fear and danger. It’s being scared, but doing the right thing anyway. I could tell in his face, seeing through his smooth, angular features which the light always seems to hit just right, and saw fear. He did not know if he would be able to resist the siren’s temptation, but he had to try, if only for his crew.
I didn’t sing when the other sirens did. I didn’t want to lure him to his death. I wanted him to persevere, to prove to the crew he was the heroic soul I knew him to be.
And he did! I knew he would persevere, and sure enough, he didn’t even blink or tilt his head even a little to investigate the singing. So much strength in those eyes…
I followed after the ship, I’m not sure why I did it. What did I hope to achieve? I was a siren, meant to lead sailors to their deaths. They should flee at the first sight of me… But something within me told me he was different. If anyone would understand, if anyone would accept me, it would be him.
I rehearsed for days what I was going to say to him while I followed the ship. I thought maybe I should tell him how beautiful his eyes are… but worried he might think it was creepy. I thought it might be best to address the siren issue immediately, but worried maybe if he doesn’t immediately see me as a siren and gets to know me first then if I just tell him I’d ruin that!
I only got the courage to finally talk to him because of him. That is, his courage inspired me. He was the only one still on the deck, looking out onto the picturesque ocean lit by the moonlight like the handsome dreamer he is. I took a deep breath and made my way onto the deck, leaning against the mast nearby him.
Though I had spent days thinking about what I was going to say, when I finally saw him, I went speechless. All I could muster was a pathetic “Hi” as well as a shaky little handwave. My voice sounded so awkward! Ugh… it was humiliating.
He turned to me, a look of horror on his face, “You’re a siren… Nonono, I thought I had past siren territory. Did I make a terrible mistake?”
Any confidence I had fizzled away. The poor, beautiful sailor was terrified from his early encounter. I tried to make my body language and voice as soft and gentle as I could, my heart aching, “It’s only me, I haven’t come to lure you.”
The sailor covered his ears and shuffled towards the mast, “D-Don’t use your charms on me, I won’t listen.”
I shook my head, sighing sadly, “I won’t sing or use any charms, I just want to talk. Can you read my lips just fine, or do you need me to talk slower?”
The cute, frightened man blinked. It looked as if he had read my lips correctly, but believed he couldn’t possibly have read them right, “Um… did you just ask if I could read your lips fine?”
I smiled and nodded, “Yes! It seems like you can then, good.” He looked tentative, unsure if he should be reading my lips, but I shook my head, “If I could charm you just by having you read my lips the effect would have taken hold already. I promise.”
He gulped, put a little at ease, “What do you want?”
“I um… oh, I had a whole speech planned but I completely forgot it. Um… do you know how sometimes um… you do foolish things because you follow your heart and um…”
The handsome sailor’s eyes widened in confusion, “Sort of? I, sorry, it’s just…you’re not what I expected from a siren.”
I blushed, “Well, I’m not like most sirens. I didn’t even sing when you passed by siren waters.”
The blue-eyed cutie tilted his head, “You didn’t?”
I shook my head, “Nope. I couldn’t bring myself to lure you. You were so brave, I admired your tenacity as you made it through those waters.”
He frowned, “Huh… I don’t mean to sound rude, but… it’s not easy for me to believe you, based on everything I’ve heard and witnessed about sirens, that is.”
“I understand your skepticism. Um… this is a weird request, but can you lock yourself in place somehow?”
“....This isn’t exactly how you gain my trust…”
“Sorry, it’s just, I want to prove to you that even if you can hear me, I won’t charm you. And so you can be sure that I’m not lying, you’ll be unable to be lured by me physically.”
“But then I’m tied up…”
“That does complicate things… maybe you can tie me up?”
“Both my hands are occupied at the moment…”
I took the handkerchief in his pocket and stuffed it in one ear giving one hand the freedom to obscure his other ear’s hearing, “There.”
“Thanks… but, are you sure about this?”
“It doesn’t seem I have much other option, you don’t trust me.”
“And you trust me?”
I smiled and nodded, “It sounds stupid and irrational… but I do.”
| 2022-05-26T20:18:40
| 2022-05-26T19:59:11
| 158
| 57
|
[WP] There’s a door with a single keyhole- it will open regardless of what key you use to unlock it. All keys will open this door. What’s on the other side, however, depends on the key.
|
I found the Door in Kansas, of all places. I had been a travelling salesman, a mechanic, homeless & jobless for a spell, and then somehow I lucked my way into training as a home inspector. The pay wasn't great but I could afford a place and regular meals. That's worth a lot more than most people know. Having a space that's yours, even if it's being rented from the real owner, is a luxury of the mind as well as of the body. You have a space to keep what little stuff you have but more importantly you have a space to relax your mind and actually plan for the future.
My plans were average before the Door. Keep learning how to inspect the generally run down places that filled out the local housing stock, save money for a while, and try to buy a place for myself. One of the perks of the new job was that I was learning to tell when a house was beautiful but rotten in the bones. There are a lot of places like that. Beautiful on the outside, but no one ever cared enough to take care of them over decades, so bit by bit they start to decay from the inside out.
Then you'd get places that looked a bit like crap on the outside, but were alive and warm once you stepped through their doors. You could tell they had been around love, nourishing and sheltering happy families until the kids were all big and everyone started to leave. They had a certain loneliness to them when standing empty but you could tell it was a happy sort of loneliness. One with hope.
I'd been at my job for nearly three years when it happened. I'd made it as a full time inspector and was more than happy to being doing solo jobs. Silence and I suited each other, and the houses I spent all day in were blissfully silent. They talked to me through the creaks in the floor and stairs, and the groan of the wind through the windows, and the more than occasional scuttling of a rodent in the walls. It was fall, nearly winter, and everything was hunkering down for the months of cold. I couldn't blame the little critters for hiding out in these empty shelters. I had done the same. Still, it would go in the report because I was good at my job, and I knew that no one would bother with an exterminator until spring.
It was the first house on the list for the day. Nothing special at all, small, empty for around a year, and had belonged to an elderly widower, now deceased. Here's another a detail about my job you need to know. I got a ring of keys with every pile of inspection reports. One key per house, ten keys per ring. Very simple. Hard to mess up.
Well dear reader, I did. I put the wrong key in that lock and it changed my life forever. I cracked open the Door to a house in Kansas on a cold November morning, and stepped into a warm house with sunlight pouring through the windows and birdsong drifting in on the breeze. I'm confident enough now to admit that I panicked, and sprinted out while slamming the Door behind me. I wouldn't go back for a month.
Eventually, I had to go back because of work. Turns out you need to complete all of the inspection reports given to you, who knew? I got another ring of ten keys, and got in my truck. I almost walked back into the office and quit on the spot. I didn't want to touch the Door again. If I didn't go, I would be fired, so quitting seemed like the best option. Eventually the hungry part of me, the one that would never lose what I had earned so far, won out. I would go.
The Door was the same. Oak with a dark brown varnish, with a beautifully green rusted copper lock and handle. This time I was careful, and turned the right key in the lock. The Door opened to a small, plain, unimpressive house. It didn't feel warm, and it didn't feel cold. It just was. I fell in love immediately, and applied for a mortgage the same day. I moved in a month later, and decided I would never leave.
I kept my job as a home inspector, and kept getting those rings of keys. Eventually I got brave enough and I would try the Door with every key I got. I never went far into any house, just quick looks around, but I could tell every single one was a happy home with a family in it. It felt wrong at first, looking in on people like this, but they never knew and I never took anything. I think there were a few close calls with someone coming in from the backyard and hearing the front door close, but they'd just write it off to their imagination.
I discovered what these places truly were when I decided to show the Door to someone for the first time. His name was Michael. We had met at a local bar, and gotten along immediately because both of us had found love, then had been widowed at an early age. My was because of a drunk driver, his was because of dealer cutting heroin with fentanyl. Happy stories all around.
One night, while a little too drunk, I started to tell him about the Door. He didn't understand, of course, but I convinced him to drive me back to my place and I would show him. I went up to the Door, put my key in, turned the handle, and showed him the inside of my house before shutting the Door.
"Where's your house key?" I said, slurring a bit. He looked genuinely amused at this point but offered it up.
I repeated the process with his key, and looked him right in the eyes before I open his Door. Light came flooding into the night, startling Michael so much so that he took a few involuntary steps back.
"Come take a look." I said.
That's when he heard her laugh. He damn near sprinted through the Door, and found his wife waiting for him in his house. It was spring outside, and you could hear birds singing through the open windows. I gave him a quick smile, and shut the Door.
I think that the Door takes you to your happiest life. Everyone who's made the journey here with their key has found their Door. If you want to give it a try reader, I don't think you'll be disappointed. I opened the Door and now I get to spend the rest of my life offering the gift to readers like you.
|
“And we are live in five, four, three...”
The camera man, replacing his voice with over the top hand gestures, went from two to one to the universal signal for ‘we are live’ as the broadcast began.
“Hello,” said the well-dressed man on the other side of the camera, his voice more unnatural than his co-hosts absent minded smile.
“Our top story tonight – the FBI have stepped up their investigation in to the suicide of Jeffrey Epstein, demanding answers from the prison in which Epstein managed to take his own life and we are just kidding because everyone has forgot about. Nobody remembers that. Are you kidding? It was like a month ago!”
“Ha-ha! You almost had us, Bob,” said Clare, through her awkward smile.
“We like to have fun,” said Bob. “But now on to our real headline story, a story much more important than a global elite paedophile ring, a story about a super cool secret door that allows anyone in but what key they use decides their fate.”
“That’s right, Bob. Hundreds of thousands of people have made the journey to the tropical island named Eeeyay to interact with the mysterious door, some carrying hundreds of keys at a time to try on the portal like entrance. We go to our man on the scene Gabe.”
A low budget transition panned across the screen as Gabe came in to shot, thousands of people lined up orderly behind him, the door barely in sight.
“Thank you, Bob and Clare,” said Gabe, nodded his head like an exuberant puppy.
“Tell me Gabe, how’s it been on the island. What are people making of this mystery door?” asked Bob, leaning over his desk despite the microphone being attached to his lapel.
“Well, it’s a real carnival atmosphere, Bob. People have been visiting the island in their hordes with keys aplenty. Take for instance Craig, a young 14-year-old from Denver, Colorado who is here with me now.”
The camera panned out to reveal Craig, a spotty teenager who had awkwardly been standing silently out of shot.
“Craig,” said Gabe, “what brings you to the door?”
“I don’t know really. I’ve just been like buying keys, opening the door, seeing what’s behind it, and then trying again with a different key.”
“And how many keys have you tried on the door so far?”
“I don’t know. Probably like three hundred worth of keys.”
“Have you received anything worthwhile from the door?”
“Mainly cosmetic items and stuff.”
“And I can see that despite this clear evidence that it’s a colossal waste of time and money you’re currently in line to try the door again.”
“Yeah, got me like 5 more keys."
“And where do you get the keys?”
“From the island store.”
“Of course you do.”
“Gabe,” said Clare interjecting, “it seems like there’s a lot of children and teenagers in the line behind you.”
“Strangely enough, yes, Clare. We did speak to the owner of Eeeyay island John Childgambling and asked if this was some sort of immoral targeted cash grab but he refused to speak to us unless we purchased 500,000 keys from the store."
"Did you purchase any keys yourself, Gabe?" asked Clare.
"Well, despite being completely against the door and the principles behind it, I did actually go ahead and buy some keys. My reasoning being that I enjoy the door and work hard for my money, if I want to spend that money on something I enjoy then I shouldn't feel bad for it despite an overwhelming hatred for doing so and publicly decrying the business model. And I'll tell you what, I've got these super sweet shoes to show for it."
The camera panned down to reveal Gabe's shoes.
"Those are pretty sick," said Bob.
"Got me four more keys to try after I finish this report," said Gabe.
“Well, I don't really understand it but I am strangely desperate to try it,” said Bob as the camera cut back in to the studio.
Clare shuffled the blank paper in front of her before raising her head to the camera.
“Vaping - Hitler is back in smoke form and is coming for our children."
****
My back catalogue of painfully unfunny stories can be found on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them, and leave some judgement.
| 2019-10-06T13:02:41
| 2019-10-06T12:12:49
| 66
| 44
|
[WP] whilst playing with sidewalk chalk, a 4 year old incidentally enslaves one of the most powerful demons in all interdimensional hellscapes
|
Baeludor looked down at the small child before him. She was young, with only 4 summers to her name. Her dirty-blonde pigtails wiggled back and forth as she continued to draw.
Somehow, Baeludor, who was a demon from the second lowest circle of hell (one of only 4, he might add) had become bound by the laws of magic and spirits to this little girl. Her name was Bethany, or just Beth for short.
While the chances of this occurring were astronomical, Baeludor had done some investigation in the short time he'd been spending with her. Her mother dabbled in the occult, and often let several books open and laying around the house. Beth had no real clue as to what they meant, but SOMEHOW, while she was doodling on the concrete patio, she had managed to arrange the symbols JUST RIGHT to summon him. That was impressive enough, but what was even more impressive was that she had properly BOUND him. He couldn't touch her. And since she had no idea what to do with him, who knew how long he'd be stuck with her.
She hadn't been at all started by his appearance when he'd shown up, as she was quite used to the sketches of demons in her mom's books.
"Bailey~!" Baeludor looked down to see that the toddler has looking up at him with sparkling blue eyes. "Will you carry me?" She asked, reaching up her arms and grinning.
With a sigh, 'Bailey' gently hoisted the girl up onto his shoulder. He only need the one, it was plenty wide for her to sit on.
"Wow! You're tall!" she exclaimed, giggling. "Take me over to the tree!" The demon obediently carried Beth over to the apple tree, then carefully held her while she reached up and picked a ripe apple off a branch.
"Now over to the tower!" He carried her over the play structure as placed her on the top level, which made her eye-level with him. "I'm the princess and you have to do what I say!"
*I ALREADY have to do what you say...* How much longer could this possibly go on for?
|
I awoke in blue fire. Satan was- *is* weaker than I. So... so do I seriously have to obey a four year old kid?!
Just an average day in Hell. Satan was slaughtering, Hades was picking fights, devil children were being born, souls were being ripped from the physical manifestations known as humans. Just an average day!
I was just relaxing next to my wife, talking to her about how I haven't been summoned in years!
"Sweetie, isn't it terrible how I, Lord Velikes has not been summoned in years?! I am the birth of death and fire!"
"Hun, you seriously got to stop being so pompous around me. I'm your wife. I couldn't give a shit who you are! I love you."
"Awww, babe!" I smiled "Wait, what?!"
Then, I felt it. The feeling you get when you get summoned! It's an amazing feeling. "Dear! I'm getting summoned! I'll be back as soon as I can!"
"Alright! Make sure to treat him right!" she winked.
I then commenced to fly through the walls of hell onto the black rock of Earth.
"Who dare summon I?! Lord Velikes!" I look down. *A fucking toddler summoned me?!* I screamed bullshit at the top of my lungs. I then kicked the little shit's toys around. That's when he started to cry.
"Ah, fuck!... Uh, hey buddy! It's me... Uncle Velikes! What do you need? Uncle Velikes loves you so much he would do anything for you!" Okay, before you say what the fuck I am doing, I didn't want to get the police involved. God would then notice and it would be shit from there on out.
"I want a toy car the size of a house!"
**WELL SHIT!** I can't do that! That would require the summoners soul, and I don't have the heart to do that. He is just a kid. I may be a demon, but I'm not an asshole.
"Uh, sure! I'll be right back" I then teleported back to Hell, grabbed my employees of my building company (Yes, I do own a building company), and told them to get to work.
A day later it was done.
"YAY!"
"Okay, make sure to have fun with it! Bye"
I vanished. Thank god- wait that feeling again! I'm being summone- **FUCK**!
What sat before my eyes was awful...
a fucking intelligible one year old...
| 2015-06-13T23:31:08
| 2015-06-13T22:57:04
| 71
| 21
|
[WP] Create the biggest, most unpredictable plot twist you could make in a story.
|
I look out of my window at the hive of activity opposite. The building company have been working tirelessly for a month now, and I've been taking a single photo every day. I'm going to turn it into a video and stick it on youtube when they're done.
First the powerful diggers tearing up the dirt, then the concrete being mixed and poured with more precision than a celebrity pastry chef. Now a spider's web of steel scaffolding is being erected, a chrysalis from which the building can emerge.
Today is different though, work has stopped and everyone is gathered around in some form of confrontation. There is the site engineer arguing with the architect, looking out of place in his fancy suit. I get dressed and pop downstairs to see what's going on. As I cross the road I start to hear their conversation.
"East West when it should be North South!" Shouts the architect, his face rather red.
"North South? The plans clearly state East West!" Rebuts the engineer, waving some A1 paper at the architect.
"Give those to me!" Shouts the architect, grabbing the paper and opening it on a nearby bench.
I slowly approach and peer over his shoulder to see what's going on. I look down at the corner of the plans, and see what the problem is. The plot's been twisted!
|
It was going to get dark soon, so I had better head back. Mother would be expecting me, and I would dare not let her down. How long had it been? A month? two? No, it had to have been a month and a half, because her surgery was on the 15th, and she came to me right after that. I sighed.
I slowly rose from the little table, hesitant to stand, for by standing one subtly admits responsibility, the responsibility of those who stand, and thus elevate themselves above others. I looked around, but no one else seemed to even notice that I had stood, and continued their conversations, sipping their drinks, and reading their emails. They all had lives of their own to live, and thus could not be bothered to acknowledge that another, totally foreign human, took on mundane responsibility via the act of rising to his feet.
I strolled out of the cafe, and turned on to the busy street. All of these people were here, all of whom had places to be. They were as ephemeral in my life as I was in theirs, showing for only the briefest of moments, before moving on to whatever they were going to, unhindered by my brief cameo in whatever larger story they are the protagonist of. I, too, go on unhindered by their presence, to my destination. Do they think of this, as well? Do they think of all of the random faces that pass them by? Does anyone else look out of an airplane window and see all the lights below, and realize that every single one of those lights is reflective of another life, completely separate from their own, living out their own story, with their own ambitions, and their own dreams unique to them alone? Or do they pay these others, these extras, no mind, as they are not even side characters, and thus cannot be worthy of thought?
I continued walking, and stared straight ahead. I did not want to even know if there were others there, much less be forced to acknowledge their existence, and have them enter my life as yet another extra. I shifted my thoughts to mother. She was more than an extra, and therefore mattered. Was she alright? I had only left her alone for a mere 2 hours while I ran some errands, but that was enough time for any number of things to go wrong. Would she even recognize me today? With her dementia worsening, she often forgot who I was, and I was reduced to an extra in her eyes, even while she was a main character in mine.
I finally reached the door to my house, and knocked. Would this be the knock of a familiar man, or of just an extra, coming in for a brief cameo in this old woman's life, and then leaving when more errands had to be done, to be forgotten again, and have to start over as a fresh, new side character? I opened the door. Get on the floor. Everybody walk the dinosaur.
| 2015-04-21T08:28:27
| 2015-04-21T08:09:15
| 763
| 234
|
[WP] Every sentient species in the galaxy is given a class and rating to describe the type of society they have. Humanity has just been mistakenly labeled as a level 3 technological society. The galaxy is about to discover the true horrors of a level 6 warring society.
|
It was a mistake.
The Auraxian's encountered them and they were friendly. Their massive ships and mega-construction ability was exceptional. Dyson rings, Spheres, a matter decompressor (A thing that literally decompressed the event horizon of a black hole, something that was believed to be impossible in a practical sense). They soon spread among the galactic community, becoming some of the top engineers and scientists the universe had ever seen. They even joined the Interstellar cooperation and trade federation.
But a worry always nagged in the back of my mind. Their adverts featured marching armies and subjugated aliens. People ignored it. They held regular orbital and atmospheric parades. Ships ranging from cutters and scouts, to Fleet carriers to a new ship they called the "Executor". People ignored it, citing "the humans just love to show off their technical superiority."
It wasn't until decades of this had passed before someone looked at what they were labeled as. "Technological" was meant for a race that keenly adapted to a situation, and generally was the forefront of society. But, they had in fact progressed pass a level three society, something never heard of, becoming a level four "advanced" species.
They did it again, projecting their power across a third of the galaxy, bumping them up to level five, "contender". I looked at the last possible rating. "Eradicator", a level six. I began to send this data to governments, agencies, anything to get galactic attention. I was labeled a fool. Hysterical. "A prophet of the end of days".
It was horrifying when the Auraxians and Karathians destroyed a human fleet. The humans even gave them a chance to apologize. They both shrugged off the human request.
We all watched in horror as we saw the Emerald seas of Zaluth II boil away with the heat of the particle lance, before watching the world tremor and explode.
We all should have known what would happen next, when humans galaxy wide were recalled.
Emergency fleets were created, to defeat such a monstrous enemy. But it was no use. The human fleets decimated them, one. by. one. Armies crumbled under the tide of locust like humans. We watched as they ceased the galactic senate, declaring themselves owners of the galaxy, their "galactic empire", as they called it.
World were made example of, Alagoth IV, Nuevo Terra, Geograt. Trillions, reduced to ash by the Executor.
Our nation, the Zerath, were the last to fall. Our proud warrior heritage kept us alive, fighting off fleet after fleet. But it was no use. Many fled our worlds, now refugees to the stars.
But here I sat, on the side of road, with my drink. A human one, they call a "White russian". I take a sip watching the sun set, one final time. Looking up, the sky was a nice blue hue, originating not from the sun, but from the Executor.
"I warned you a-"
|
Level 1. Primitive.
Level 2. Industrial.
Level 3. Technological.
Level 4. Advanced.
Level 5. Galactic.
Level 6. Warring.
These levels were the Xadian Union's way of evaluating societies based on their technological, biological, military, and societal stance on the galaxy. Most of the civilizations are commonly levels one to five, with six being assigned to civilizations that have the best on one of the four stances and those that happen to become level six were easily exterminated and evicted away from the galaxy. But they never knew what would happen when a level six does on a galactic union.
When Humanity was assigned level three, everything was well. They had an advantage on being advanced in technology but being primitive in societal stance due to their bickering within themselves. Their military were merely few and separated from each other, divided into five sectors, four for each place in combat and the fifth being a elite of the four. They had started on peace treaties and so far all was well as they were allowed to join the union as a new faction.
Then one of the level fives decided to take over one of their colonies without warning. There was an unwritten law which disallowed this, but this was because of the threat of a level six civilization breaking the union.
When their peace negotiations broke down, everything softly calmed down until an annual council revealed that the level five civilization was wiped out by Humanity.
We were quick to investigate further their civilization and see what we had missed. They were lacking in unity, but we saw their scientific might with their technological and military stance and saw their true nature.
We saw stories of brother attacking brother, family against family, and saw their simple bickering escalating into all out world wars. Their entertainment was split into war and peace, with more war-based entertainment than we have ever seen. They had laws to prevent weapons they had already built to be used and built. Their weaponry included biological and societal objects which would be unfitting to a level three. Their intelligence would stretch out towards even the smallest nations.
When we reclassified them as an six, they all armed themselves against us. They knew too much, and we cannot simply let that happen.
But we were afraid to be exterminated in an attempt to remove them from their location, so we reclassified them into level seven instead.
Level seven, which was only given to the precursors of the union. Level seven was known as simply "Emperor."
After the announcement, they were satisfied as they shifted the union to their favor. Their rules become ours.
Peace has never been more achieved through the threat of war.
========
| 2019-11-24T19:34:19
| 2019-11-24T15:22:31
| 167
| 72
|
[WP] You live in a world where love and relationships have a "credit score". If you're a good SO it makes it higher, if you cheated on someone it's plummets. You just went on a date with someone and you're convinced they're perfect. You look up their score that night and it's -500 and tells you why.
EDIT: I hadn't been able to really check Reddit since I posted this, but WOW thank you all so much for enjoying this!!! I will definitely be getting around to reading all of these awesome stories! You guys rock!
|
I sat with my boyfriend, Damian, and talked to him about life, movies, jobs, *anything.*
Damian was so charming, I didn't even know his score, but I knew it's gonna be up there! He was just so....Perfect.
"Hold on, babe. I gotta go to the bathroom." He said. "Okay, I'll wait here." I replied while awkwardly twirling my spaghetti slowly with my fork.
I noticed his food was all gone. *Damn! He's a fast eater!*
As he walked away, I whipped out my phone to check his credit score. It said...-500? That can't be! I checked the reviews.
"*That asshole walked away from lunch and didn't pay*"
"*He was charming, but just dates girls for food!*"
"*That fucker ate an ENTIRE box of my fucking twinkies.*"
I stared at the reviews, then looked to my left, and saw Damian exiting the restaurant.
Fuck.
|
It had been a lovely date with that woman. Her eyes were that of the shimmering sea, her laughter was horrifically angelic and her hair was frizzled. Ironically, it made him feel electrocuted.
He was just leaping over fences and gates after his date waved him goodbye. Strangely, there was something about that woman who made him feel intrigued by her state. He was a seasoned individual who knew exactly how to make others believe what he wanted.
It was for the greater good, after all.
He was always the man with the gun. The man who hunted others for his own personal gain. Inside, he did not desire to do that but he knew that he had to. It was either them, or his family.
And god, did he not want his family tortured to death.
Of course, he had managed to steal that ever-so-intriguing card that conveyed the score. "The Death Score" he called it. Who would be so melancholic to look up their score when you can steal it instead? A metallic chuckle was emitted from his body of flesh.
He gazed at the card with a curious glance. That urge of urgency was making him very, very curious. With a microscopic grin, he opened the card and looked.
He froze.
"Negative Five Hundred?" His bated breath had finally managed to surface from his throat. His eyes blinked with disbelief at such a preposterous score. He stopped running, leaping or emitting any noise at all.
He felt dumbstruck. He felt as if the woman struck him with a strike that blasted his world into smithereens. He looked into a corner and then hid for his life.
It was said that when those individuals that scored as low as that score, they were dead. They were supposed to be deader than the dead corpses underneath his house. Deader than the skeletons he buried after hiding them in the closet.
Suddenly, he heard laughter.
He turned around as the blade descended onto him. The last thing he knew, the smile of somebody he thought he knew.
| 2016-09-24T11:36:00
| 2016-09-24T11:35:10
| 251
| 13
|
[WP] Whenever anybody asks you a question, time stops until you figure out the correct or satisfying answer to said question. One day, someone asks you a question that you realize may take an eternity to answer.
Inspired by [this.](https://www.reddit.com/r/godtiersuperpowers/comments/jd58rn/questionably_time_stop/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf)
|
"Do you love me?"
Her question surprised me, I've known Emily for some time, but I never expected that.
"What did you say?" I replied, hoping she will change her question so my curse will not start.
"I asked you, Shawn McCarthy, do you love me?" Her tender voice was the last thing I heard before time stopped.
I looked around me, the cafe was full of people, and it all, in a single moment, stopped.
The water which the waiter poured didn't flow anymore, the fly on the wall was frozen, the laughs and conversations were silent.
"I don't love you Emily" I answer confidently, yet time did not resume.
"I love you Emily" I said, voice broken and hopeful, yet time did not resume.
"Can I have the cheque please?" I said, making a signing motion with my hand, and yet time did not resume.
I didn't love Emily, she was a good friend, but it was not much more than that.
I walked outside, the hustle of the main street stopped, the cars didn't move, the clouds were stuck in place and the air was still.
Time did not move.
I have never faced such a question. Questions about god and the existence of aliens were easy to satisfy, people accept your opinion on this matter, or at least take them as valid answers, but this, this was something different, for the matter is much more complicated than the existence of a powerful being or alien life.
&#x200B;
I know Emily love me, I knew it from our first date, and I wanted to give it a shot, I really did, but it was just not meant to be.
A flash of brilliance struck my mind, I rushed back into the cafe.
"I'm afraid we are not meant to be, Emily", yet time did not resume.
&#x200B;
I started walking, it was the only thing that kept me sane on these excursions, I would walk for days and weeks at a time, never hungry, never thirsty, never aging. I would walk until I would find an answer, a true answer.
I reached the outskirts of the city, thinking about love and feelings and how vague the whole world is.
How people are afraid of opening up, how hard it is to show weakness and vulnerability, even though we all feel equally.
I have reached a conclusion. "Logic is useless in the face of emotion".
Emily loves me even though I do not, she loves me even though I am me.
I have reached the outskirts of the country, the border guards stood there, checking every car and person. I could see the single bead of sweat on the main guards forehead, he was standing in the noon sun, commanding the people and vehicles around him. His hand raised and pointed towards a yellow beetle.
I approached him, noticing the iron necklace around his neck, it was a ring. I approached him and gently looked at it.
I read the inscription. "B+M 2012"
With this I reached a second conclusion. "Love is shared"
Emily loved me because of who I can be, not who I am.
I walked to the mountains, the cold did not bother me as time stood still, the curse kept me warm and fed, sometimes I wish it hadn't kept me so safe.
I reached one of the lower peaks, one which overlooked a frozen pond. In the center of that pond stood a woman, she was a bit older than me, her hair black with a bit of gray. She stood there with her arms reaching to the heavens,
and in her hand a single gold coin. I went to her. The coin had a "VI" on one side and a writing on the other.
"To thine own self be true"
I have reached my third conclusion. "To love thyself is to love others"
Emily loves me, even though I am not worthy of her love.
I have reached the peak of the icy mountain, the road upwards is always difficult, even though I am invulnerable in this state I, too, feel tired. Tired of understanding this world and my place in it, trying to understand why I was cursed, and why even with this power I always feel so alone, and tired, and angry and hopeless. How hard it is to accept a different person through the iron curtain.
The sun peaked high above me, washing the landscape with its bright white light.
I have reached my fourth conclusion. "The iron curtain is a shield made of hate, not caution"
I hate myself, more than anything else. Loving others is not enough, you must first love yourself.
In the walk back to the cafe I pondered upon my conclusions, their ramifications and their power. The cruelty of mankind comes not from love or fear or anger, it comes from hatred, it comes from within their souls and their minds.
I looked into Emily's blue eyes, they were like sapphires in the light. I could feel her soul through them. I took her hands, and clasped them between mine. I felt the warmth radiating from her. Her cheeks were flushed.
"I don't love you Emily. I want to love you but I am incapable of love". My voice shivering from the years of silence in which I had lived, my heart raced, and for the first time, I had felt my curtain starting to move.
Time resumed.
|
A flash of light in the middle of a cornfield. "I'm here?! But when?" asked to myself as I looked around. The machine showed 'June 01, 1998. 02:00 local time. Meadow town cornfields, Hershey. Coordinates ........'
"Record... The machine brought me to 1998, I'm 21 years old and I'm from 2020. It's exactly a year before I was born. The time machine actually works." I recorded in my phone.
I've come to the past to change the future, well, my father's. He met with an unfortunate accident when I was 10 years old that spiraled out of control making my mom depressed for 11 years. They loved each other so much.
My mom gave me no choice but to do this, I discovered this machine when I was going through the old stuff in the basement one day. I don't know where it came from or whom it belonged to. It looked compact, easy to carry and easier to access though it took me some time to figure it out.
But I surely didn't expect it to transport me to this point in time.
Time went by, I aged naturally. I kept to myself in this time frame, living low profile and trying not to mess with the timeline as much as I could. I kind of even looked like my father. It's 2009 and I'm 32 years old now, older than my father was when he, um, when he died.
There he was fixing his car before he took off to sell some of the things he found in his house. He would crash near the Sacrament cliff on his way to the Morgan city. It's about time I met my father.
I go to him and say, Hello. He took some time to even notice me. "May I know where you found these?" I asked. "Hi, yeah, sorry didn't see you there, these were my father's." He replied. After some brief conversation with him I asked if he could sell it to me. He said, "Wow, are you sure you want this junk?" "Yeah," I said immediately. He agreed to sell them without a second thought.
I saved a lot of money to buy them. "This will save Dad, I did it Mom", I said to myself. I was content and very sure for the first time in my life that things are going to be okay.
"Who did you say you were again?" asked my father. "I..." the time froze before I could finish the sentence. It looked like it stopped when I paused to think what I have to say. It was unnatural, it never happened this way before. Even stranger, I couldn't think of anything to say to what my father had asked. I moved freely in time without the machine in close proximity, the world is frozen still. "Where is the machine?" I asked myself.
I slowly begin to recollect moments in the past, I realize it'd happened several times already. Like the very first time I discovered the time machine.
I started to have concussions when I came in close contact with my younger self and my parents. I was even quick to forget about these periodic episodes, that's why I lived with myself for the most part, away from them, away from certain people and questions. It always took me some time to answer whatever the answer the time thinks is the right thing to say.
Unfortunate side effect of time traveling I believed, I feared for myself and decided I can't and shouldn't be around the machine any more so I placed it exactly where I found it, in the basement of my parents' house. "How did I forget all these details? Why do I remember everything now? What should I say to my father?" I had a lot of questions as I realized it may take an eternity.
Composed and clear I told him, "I'm your son from the future, Dad." the only thing that mattered. I was suddenly pulled back, the time stream rushed past me as I was looking at my father standing there looking back at me. I don't know if he got that, I don't know if I will ever get to live with my father but this certainly is something I'll never forget, meeting my father once again.
PRESENT.
"Come on, Dad, it's getting late. I need to see Bianca, can I do this tomorrow?" I told my dad who was busy downstairs collecting old stuff to resale. "What will she say to you when you tell her that you refused to work for your father, for her? She's a good one, boy, you don't need to be there before she asks you to be there. I'm sure you two will be fine, trust me I've had worse breakup before I met your mom." said my dad. "Okay fine, tell me what to do." I told him and went to the basement as per his request before my mom could interfere and ask my dad about what we were talking about.
I wish I could be with Bianca like my dad is with my mom right now, he's such an understanding man, but man, relationships are complicated.
I get a text from Bianca that said, 'It's over Ryan, don't come see me. I'm sorry, I think you're a good guy but you need to understand it's not working between us.'
I stood there in the basement, my dad called out to me I couldn't reply to him. Then I picked myself up after some time and went up the stairs. I looked to the right and that's when I saw this thing, covered in white, taped all around and sitting in the corner.
"What could it be?" I told myself as I went near, it looked like it didn't belong in the basement with the other stuff. I unpacked it, what was looked like a solid object made of light weight shiny metal at first had a button underneath it, which was hard to figure out. I pressed the button and it did nothing. "What is this thing?" I asked, it started to make a faint whirring sound surrounding me with particle stream of a spherical bubble-like structure. I'm not even sure if those are right words to describe it. Then it seemed like everything around me was frozen in time.
"A Time Machine!" I answered to my own question, astonished and smiling.
r/FleetingScripts
| 2020-10-18T02:49:16
| 2020-10-17T23:28:53
| 51
| 11
|
[WP] America is at war and has reconstituted the draft. Soldiers are separated for training based on how combat ready they are. The war seems lost, but the last and largest platoon of soldiers, made of up of the furthest obese is about to be deployed.
|
The war was lost. Everyone knew it. Patriotism was dead. No one believed that what we were doing was right. Everyone knew that you needed to meet the physical requirements to be sent off to battle. So the smartest among the Americans did everything that they could to become as obese as possible.
At first the government didn't catch on. The sudden rise in obesity to even more epic proportions was seen as a coping mechanism to The Dark Wars. But as the McDonald's sales skyrocketed and the gym memberships dropped, the government became suspicious. They began recruiting the obese specifically, as a deterrent.
It still took about six months until this wave of obese recruits were ready. They had become at that point a sort of spiteful side project. Troops were getting low, and the remaining Drill Sergeants did every thing they could to make their lives a living hell. Many died of heart attacks during training. Many died under suspicious circumstances.
By the time things had been deemed hopeless, and surrender was a sure thing, the government decided to still send in the last wave. Company Fat Boy, as they were called. That was their official name. Their nicknames were much more imsulting.
But then, something unexpected happened. The formerly obese men of Company Fat Boy were already among the brightest and most determined. They had sacrificed their health to try to avoid a pointless war. Now on top of that, they had spent the last six months under he'll is circumstances, working just to stay alive.
These were no longer ordinary men. They had strong bones and even stronger minds. They swept through the battle fields with the fury of an inferno. The enemy was left devastated and confused. These men did not care if they lived or died. They were able to work out brilliant tactical strategies on the fly. The government had accidentally created an army of super soilders.
And after they were done with the enemy, they turned their anger back on the hand that did not feed them.
|
At first it was quiet in the "Fat Body Platoon" hooch. A smuggled flat screen TV, dimly lit, flickered in the corner of the large tent, displaying on repeat, the main menu of the "Futurama" DVD that had been left on, neglected for hours since the last man had fallen asleep. They told themselves they were trying to get extra rest for their first actual operational mission the following day, in reality they were all sleepy from an evening of eating contraband chow and watching cartoons.
The platoon was then wiped out in an instant, still in their berthing area, as a tight sheaf of mixed HE and Willy Pete artillery rounds exploded directly on target, shredding tent and flesh alike. In the artillery or mortar world, this type of attack is referred to as a "shake and bake" the two rounds work in conjuction to maximize carnage. The sound would have been beyond deafening, beyond terrifying, in that infinitely long moment where your perception of time seems slowed to a crawl in the face of immediate death. The sound of metal fragments from the artillery filling the air with a terrible buzzing. The heat was unbearable, the smoke in the air choking those gasping for their final breath, one more gulp of precious life systaining oxygen, but instead smoke from the phosphorous. The enemy observer was good, damned good. It only took one adjusting round before he made the required corrections, and called it in...
"Fire for effect."
It must have been a great joy for the enemy FO to call in such a wonderous fire mission, on such an easy target. A smile crept across his face as he reported back to the FDC of the on call artillery battery, "good effects on target, estimate 40 KIA, over" artillery, truly the king of battle he thought to himself as he packed his laser range finder into his ruck, and gave the rally up hand signal to his 5 man team.
The tents, and their contents were, to put it mildly, "shredded," as if a giant being had placed the area into a blender, on the lowest speed setting, let it swirl around a few times, and poured the contents, at this point a slurry of matter, back to where it had originally sat. Immense, poncho like camouflage uniforms were tattered, the cots a mangled managerie of canvas and aluminum. Blood and body parts, bones tearing thru the flesh of the assorted limbs, mixed in seemingly equal proportions across the area, large chunks of yellow fatty tissue were plastered around the area, the smell of burning human fat and hair permeated the air, a thick almost palpable stink loomed, an assault on all of the senses.
A face, seemingly intact, albeit perfectly removed from the skull of its previous owner hung helplessly, expressionless, from some nearby rusted concertina wire, facial hair and all. A grim sight indeed.
The platoon had heard the wailing of the warning sirens that blare when incoming indirect fire is detected, but they were all in the throes of a deep food induced coma, barely able to use their sausage like, greasy, fingers to rub the sleep from their eyes. (the new radio operator smuggled in plenty of contraband from the still functioning civilian world, in the form of a sea-bag filled to the brim with McDonald's double cheese burgers)
For any other platoon, there still would have been enough time from the wailing of the siren, and the time the FFE hit, to get into their fortified bunkers, heavily sand bagged, concrete structures half submerged in the ground and Dimly lit. Unfortunately for "Fat Body Platoon," their lack of discipline and immense proportions made such a task all but impossible.
And with that, that final act of gluttony, self destruction, and lack of control or care, the final fighting unit left in the reserves was annihilated, and all hope lost.
| 2015-05-09T13:12:24
| 2015-05-09T11:16:37
| 97
| 12
|
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."
|
Oh, here we go again. The pale, skinny, tattooed, creep behind the counter was freaking out, whispering, shaking, stammering, "nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." So, of course I had to screw with him a little. "Well, obviously you don't get out much." "Now, how about my Big Mac, or do I talk louder?"
I had no idea what the sewage spewing out of my mouth sounded like to him. Nor did I care. When I wished for this, I didn't think of the consequences. But nobody ever does, do they my *little* *Jin*? It was all so clever at first, math to mathematicians, Hindi to Lyft drivers, a little Telugu, Yue, and Hiligaynon here and there. Happy times for the attractive, magical hyperpolyglot. But not for long.
Who knew there were so many weirdos in San Francisco? Not foreigners, they're not weird. I mean the real freaks: aliens, time travelers, walking dead, the "ancient ones," demons, angels, Jin, and of course, the endless vampires. And that's exactly what I had on the other side of the counter. Working the night shift at a McDonalds. Don't they all? And that skinny little psychopath was getting ready to jump the counter and rip my face off.
Maybe screwing with this one was not exactly the right idea. I lowered my voice. "Listen dear, I just want a Big Mac, fries, and a chocolate milk, and I'll be on my way. Nobody will know, nobody will ever care." "Oh, and could I have some *extra* c*atchup*?"
That didn't seem to work. His eyes were changing colors faster than last week's gay pride parade, and he was developing a serious overbite. I was getting further away from my Big Mac, and closer to a stainless steel bed at the morgue. So, I did it. I didn't want to do it, but time was of the essence.
He didn't make it over the counter. My vampire, the assistant manager, the old woman running the takeout window, and the pimply fry boy, exploded like boxes of rusty detonators stuck inside pigs.
"Go to Hell" in English is rude, bitchy, and ineffective. But when shouted using the filth those freaks speak, it was a curse that was *extremely* *imperative*.
Maybe I'd have better luck getting some Chinese, after I went home and cleaned up.
^(--- Edit --- Thanks to) [^(t)](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/132536.Robert_G_Barrett)^(he late Robert G. Barrett for the bit about detonators. -- More edits -- because that's what we do around here.)
Continued at: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8tqase/wp\_you\_are\_walking\_down\_the\_street\_and\_realise/e1av1qo](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8tqase/wp_you_are_walking_down_the_street_and_realise/e1av1qo)
|
The man behind the counter froze in the middle of typing out my order. They looked up at me wide eyed and said,"Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." Sounding somewhat surprised.
That night, standing in the empty 24/7 McDonald's of our small desert town, it finally happened. The thing that I had been waiting for for my entire life, and had a feeling would happen eventually.
"Shit. You're an alien?" I said more worried about making a good impression than running away.
They responded with a look of 'are you kidding me' before dryly stating "what else would I be?" and they quickly regained their compsure.
I was struggling to hold back my enthusiasm.
They did not seem as amused by the encounter and they were actually starting to get concerned. "Uh... Is everything alright there? You look like you are about to piss yourself." They went back to typing.
My mind ran at a thousand miles an hour, as the cashiers words flew over my head.
"Oh my God! Is the name on your tag your real name? How'd you get here? Wait how long have you lived here? I mean in this town not just, you know, on the planet. " This went on for about half an hour. It stopped when the cashier stuffed a burger in my mouth while I was lost in the nervice tidal wave.
They said a single word " Eat." and that was that.
I sat down at a table and began to nibble away at my fries. The cashier disappeared around a corner for a minute or so before returning to sit across from me. The taste of food suddenly reminded me that I had forgotten to have lunch and dinner that day, due to getting cought up in fixing my car's engine.
He sat down with the chair facing backwards to so he could lean forward with out touching the sticky table. He said "I don't know what the deal is with you, but I am going to have to ask where you learned to speak like that. Because you are obviously just one very confusing human being."
While going to town on the burger I said "don't know. I was sort of born with this weird super power to communicate really fucking well. Almost like mind reading but without the mind reading. I honestly don't know what language I am speaking in most of the time unless somebody either tells me or they say something very specific to that tounge." I stop to drink a sip of soda. The cashier, whom I just then noticed had 'Stanly' on his name tag, showed a visable confusion drawn on to his face like a sudden migraine. He muttered something. He muttered 'God damn it, Jax I told you not to go sleeping around.' I think. Muttering isn't an exact language. Stanly sighed and asked "would there by any chance be a rumour in your family that somebody anybody met an alien?"
I finnished off my burger not fully grasping the situation, "Not that I know of. Why?"
Stanly mumbled to himself again and said " I don't have any easier way to break the news to you, kid. Someone in your family line has... engaged in some cross breeding."
I choked on my drink, "what?!"
Stanly continued "Your powers are a knockoff version of my races abilities to process information."
"I just thought I had autism."
I guess this was not Stanly's best night. He paused to figure out what to say next.
He then hesitantly said " I wouldn't... rule that out entirely. The weight of this really doesn't seem to be, um... Regestaring correctly."
I gave an understanding nod an said "Ya, that tends to happen a lot. I'm getting better though." (I only realised two days later that I had been drinking my soda very obnoxiously. )
I drank some more of my sprite.
Stanly tried to get back on track. He said "Right... How would you like to meet your something far back grandfather?"
| 2018-06-24T21:27:25
| 2018-06-24T20:39:44
| 165
| 41
|
[WP] You are the CEO of a successful energy company. You’re invited to a business dinner, and if the deal goes well, it could revolutionize energy as we know it. Only one problem. Garlic’s in the food, utensils are silver and it’s held in an old chapel. And you’re a vampire.
|
"What about solar?"
"He *hates* solar. Whatever you do, don't bring it up."
"What's so bad about renewables?"
"Just keep your mouth shut."
I could hear them before they entered my office, their lips crackling and smattering like roaches frying in a pan. One of them was young, with a jugular vein through which blood coursed with every quiet thump of his heart. He flashed me the Duchenne smile, straightened his tie, and he said, "Sir, we think you're going to love this."
Another useless presentation. But I'd said I'd entertain any idea that might save the company. The only punishment for failing to convince me of its merits was a trip to the unemployment office.
It surprised me to see the seasoned veteran, Gabe, joining forces with fresh meat. Then I spotted a look between the two and I understood at once that they were sleeping together, that they'd had bedside conversations about this moment. Pillow talk. Strategizing.
Gabe clicked his pointer and a quote from Vaclav Smil appeared on the monitor. I hoped he wasn't about to read it aloud. "Life's great dichotomy is between autotrophs, organisms that can nourish themselves, and heterotrophs, or lifeforms that must feed on other organisms. This also applies to business. Some companies—"
Suppressing my groan I leaned back in my leather chair and I asked myself whether I was even interested in the young man's blood. Certainly I was a heterotroph, even more so than they knew. But this man? Did I need him?
His dark curls bounced as he gestured about with the fiery passion of youth. Two thousand years ago he might have been a prophet, he had it in him. And I should know. I'd met my share of prophets. The delirious son of a carpenter, for instance, who wept as I dug my teeth into his neck. The Catholics had it all wrong, though. It tasted nothing like wine.
At the end of their presentation I breathed a deep sigh, and I said, "You're both fired."
"S-Sir?"
"It's obvious you're trying to tell me what you think I want to hear. I'm embarrassed, Gabe. I expected better."
"Please, if we can just—"
"I've heard enough. You may leave."
The young man gave Gabe a look, and he cleared his throat. "Sir. I've kept this to myself, but I think it might be of use to you. I am the grandson of Ellin Calvino."
I laughed. I couldn't help it. He'd have surprised me less if he told me he was actually a mollusk. "Calvino? And yet you're here. Working for his main competitor."
"We had a ... falling out. I wanted to prove that I can work myself up, without his help. But if there's anything I can do, I mean, I have the connection, and—"
Gabe's face had gone pale. "Gabe. Is what he's telling me true?" I checked my schedule. "He's not Anthony ... Fechner? He's Anthony Calvino?"
The veteran stared at his shoes, and he gave a nod.
It would be amusing, drinking the blood of Ellin's grandson. Perhaps even in front of him. Or we could join forces, corner the market. There was just one problem. "Rumor has it your grandfather has eased up on his duties. Isn't Marco at the helm? He'd be your ..."
"Uncle," said Anthony. "Yes. The rumor is true. My grandfather spends most of his days in his chapel, but nothing big goes through without his approval. He still runs the ship."
"Chapel?"
Anthony rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. It's modeled on the Cappella Palatina. It cost a fortune. You'll love it."
The young man's heart raced. As did mine. I ate the savior, but I cannot enter his place of worship. "If you can set up a meeting, you'll have saved both your asses. And if all goes well, you'll get the promotion too. As promised. How's The Parish?"
"Oh. I'm sorry, but my grandfather only conducts business in his chapel these days. Over a nice Italian meal. With the family silver and all. He's been a bit ... eccentric, ever since—"
"His wife."
"Yeah."
Gabe cleared his throat. "I think this sounds like a wonderful idea"
"I'm not interested."
Their faces dropped. "Sir?"
"So the old man has decided to spend his remaining years play-acting as the Pope. I won't be feeding his delusions. Forget about it."
Anthony's heart quieted down all of a sudden, and there was a commanding resolve in his voice. His whole attitude shifted. "Maybe you didn't like our presentation, but we all know the numbers. It's this, or you're going to have to branch into renewables. Such as—"
"D-Don't," said Gabe with a whimper.
"Such as *solar*."
Anthony had no time to straighten his tie. No time to smack his lips. No time to process what was about to happen. Before he knew it, he was a fountain. Blood spurted every which way when I tore into his jugular with my fangs, it dripped from his dark curls like dew from blades of grass.
Gabe stood motionless as his lover fell to the carpeted floor. His lips shivered slightly.
Life's great dichotomy is between autotrophs, organisms that can nourish themselves, and heterotrophs, or lifeforms that must feed on other organisms. Smil had it right.
"I ... I told him," said Gabe. "I told him to shut up about the sun."
|
"This sounds like a great opportunity..."
"Certainly does, boss. Think you can handle it?"
I ponder my options. Vampires are always portrayed as evil, but really it's just a select few individuals that enjoy targeting humans - most of us are content on sucking on the blood of animals, similar to vampire *bats*. Still, if my true identity is discovered, I'll be sentenced to death, like my mother after my dad's family found out the truth about her (my dad's family were humans, and my dad was fully accepting of my mum, but he knew his family were conspiracy theorists that hate vampires).
On the other hand, this could change the world for the better... imagine the possibilities! We could reverse the damage to the planet! We could use 100x less energy, lowering costs around the globe! We could rescue long-lost resources! This opportunity cannot be passed up!
I look to my assistant, the only person besides my fiancé and his parents who knows my true identity. "Please tell them that I will be very busy that day, and cannot make it to the physical location, but I am more than prepared to join in online. I can send them any and all information they need." My assistant nods and goes to send the message, while I finish up some paperwork I've been doing. Just as I finish up, someone comes into the building, requesting to see me...
I go to greet them, but I realise that they're supernatural hunters. They'll imprison me *at best* if they find out the truth... and they will. They only visit places with unusual levels of supernatural activity, they'll sense where it's coming from. I very quickly invite them to my office, and alert my assistant that I need him.
"I assume you asked us in here because you know we know?" "That's correct. But now is not a good time. In a week's time, I plan to have a meeting with some people from another organisation. This could change the planet for the better! This will revolutionise the way we use and generate energy!" The men look at each other, then back at me.
"Those people are actually why we're here... they thought it odd that you wouldn't meet them in person for this, so they decided to look into you. They found out that your mum was a vampire, so either you're half vampire or full vampire, as I'm sure you know that the mother's class impacts on their child." I gulp. "So... what does this mean?"
"They just wanted us to confirm their suspicions. As soon as we saw you, we knew; you're full vampire. They said that if you're half vampire, they may be able to make it work, but they don't want to work with a full vampire. Still, they understand the importance of this deal. They asked us how you'd want to proceed?"
At this point my assistant steps in. "Maybe she's a vampire, but she's not a-" I cut him off. "There's no room for negotiation here. People just don't trust the supernatural. I can consider myself lucky that I'm not being dragged away right this moment." I look at the group of men. "You have a job to do... I respect that. Please, let them know that my assistant is fully aware of everything related to this meeting, and that he can take over on my behalf. More importantly..." I start to feel nervous. "What will happen with me?"
"We'll be keeping an eye on you" they responded. "You seem nice enough. We don't want to cause trouble. In the meantime, you will be required to wear this." They pull out some sort of monitor, and I hesitantly agree. It's humiliating, but it's better than being locked up for being... well, me.
&#x200B;
It's now 30 years later. Somehow, after the deal was a success, people found out that the CEO of the company is a vampire. News spread worldwide, and I knew my company would suffer. I made an announcement: "There are rumours of my true origin being... vampiric. Those rumours are true. I do not wish to cause any fear, worry or trouble. I officially retire from my position, and hand the company to my assistant."
Since then, I had received multiple threats and attempted homicides from multiple different people - some out of fear for their safety, some for a reward, some for the fun of it. It was beginning to cause a strain on my husband's side of the family too, so I contacted those same people who appeared in my office, and told them that I'm in their hands. I can thank the stars that both my children, a boy and a girl, are only *half* vampire. There was a lot of support for both sides during the mutual divorce, and my ex visits me from time to time, with our children, so they know the truth of their heritage, and take it in pride, but hide it from others for their safety.
As for the energy revolution? At first, because I had been in charge, there was a lot of controversy. But after a major energy supplier switched their methods and processes to my former company's, people began to look past the previous ownership, and now energy is much cleaner, more efficient, and more powerful than ever. And at the end of the day, *that's* what matters most to me.
| 2022-08-21T06:42:02
| 2022-08-21T04:21:32
| 146
| 66
|
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