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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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int64 14
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[WP] Dragons and cats have much in common. They are both carnivores, both love to curl up in the sun for a quick nap, and both twitch their tails in annoyance. Unlike cats, dragons don't meow to get your attention, they just pick you up and carry you away - regardless of what your doing at the time.
|
A teardrop fell onto the parchment, staining it, smudging the ink a little bit and skewing the lines of my sketch. A little bit of water for the waterfall, to make it seem real, like it always had in my dreams. In my head, the grey flowers were actually pink, a lovely pastel pink that caught light and smoothed it out. I often wondered if sleep was the safest place for me to be. If I couldn't sleep, sketching it felt like the next best thing.
It had been another wonderful night at home. I could still hear the aftermath downstairs; my mother and her newest lover quibbling, possibly over me, or anything else at this point. Broken porcelain clacking downstairs, either what I'd thrown, or a freshly shattered piece courtesy of Farax. He had a temper nastier than mine, with a tongue like a sledgehammer, blunt and crushing.
My mother, sobbing for at least three or four reasons, all of which conflicted. For me, because of me, with me and without me. I couldn't even begin to imagine how broken she must be inside at this point, after years of cycling through terrible men with a fondness for slapping. I could never understand why she defended them, though. Every time. Dreska above forbid I stand up to him and try to protect her.
So I had retreated into a dark room, moonlight sneaking through trees and into my open window, softly sobbing to myself and the wind. A chill settled in, but I didn't care much.
My pouting was interrupted by the beating of wings, heavy and strong yet still careful, as she perched on a near tree and poked her head in. I walked over to her, wrapping my arms around the sweet dragon's neck. She always knew when I needed her most, and found a way to show up without alerting anyone. My father had a distaste for Scions, and all things wonderful. 'A thing of the Devil', he called her. She came and went as she pleased, anyway.
She growled softly, a sweet, deep purr, and pulled back a little. A thick, scaled tail aflame at its end whipped like a torch in the night.
"What is it, Draxara?" I sniffled.
She bore through my soul with a piercing stare, then bit down on my shirt and tugged. I stumbled forward a bit, leaning against the window. It almost looked like she was nodding to me.
Something compelled me to step outside, onto the dim shingled roof, shaky and wobbling. Before I could fall, two large sets of talons carefully wrapped around me, lifting me off the roof and into the night sky, where moon and starlight unbroken by trees.
At first, I pondered whether I'd become food that night. It was a brief thought, but these things are not unheard of, especially with stray Scions. That thought quickly passed as we approached a glowing speck in the deep forest's center. Deeper than I'd ever been.
My feet finally touched ground, head spinning from the jarring journey. It was a long ride, but the dizziness didn't settle as I looked up to a scene that came on more like a vision than sight.
I gasped, bathing in the silvery-cyan light of a glowing waterfall. Pink peonies dotted the forest around us, like scattered candy, and thick vines ran up the mountain of stone. It was exactly like what I had sketched, the place of my dreams, every bit as magical and lovely.
"Draxy, how?" I asked, ravaged by wonder, turning to her. She looked more alive, vibrant, her fiery eyes more like inky pools of magic.
She bowed her head, placing it near the rippling lake of light.
And in those eyes, I saw something-- a knowing, sagely something; they suddenly seemed infinitely deep and strange. Like she was seeing me with eyes that watched the world grow up, and it was her plaything.
Like I was seeing the real her for the first time. I took a deep breath, kissing her head, walking to the pool's edge. It was a horizon on land, the nexus between a godly sunrise and dark earth.
I stepped in.
It was not a subtle thing; like being blanched in the icy waters of Durintrough, icy needles prickling all over. And yet, it was not wet. I floated within it, swallowed by light, but no dampness soaked into my clothes and skin. Instead, it felt sofy, velvety, like being drowned in frigid silk. The blinding whiteness stung my eyes even through eyelids pressed together with full force, and my body went numb, leaving me floating in a blindingly bright abyss.
Something stirred in me. A vision flashed in my mind, one of my newest father and his love for towering over women crumpled on the ground. That power, that rush, a false sense of superiority as he picks on those who can't, or won't, fight back. I felt anger, burning whiter than the light surrounding me, rise inside and boil over. It was as if it poured out of me, melding with the surrounding light, connecting me to it.
I felt power. Freedom. Clarity. None of it made sense, but I could feel something primal bubbling in my soul. Something that would burn away tears.
Rising from the lake of holy glow, light clung to me. Swirling. A vortex of light consuming my body, an aurora turned woman. Slowly, it dissipated, and I met Draxara's deep, mischievous eyes once more.
*"You are the first to survive, young one,"* a deep voice purred in my head. I knew where it came from. *"I'm glad it was you. There will be time for discussions later-- where shall we go first?"*
I clenched a fist, turning east. "Home. I have to pay someone a visit."
*/r/resonatingfury*
|
Sara yawned. She yawned wide enough that her ears hurt for a few seconds after she was finished.
The sun was on it’s way to greet the horizon. The clouds were already starting to reflect the pink and oranges of the upcoming sunset, and the windows of the shops reflected the light directly into her eyes as she left the bakery. She held a large loaf of sourdough bread under her arm. It would be for her dinner, and if it came out well enough she would take what was left to her older neighbor a few yards down the path.
That was her plan. It had been here plan all day long, until she forgot that she had never picked up the stupid loaf of bread from the store. She would have been at home, stewing and relaxing, instead of walking into the blinding sun on tired legs and feet. The rest of the village was inside already.
Sara had been the last customer of the day for the bakery. She had only just slid inside before they switched the sign from open to closed.
Nevertheless, she pushed her legs forward. She had her loaf of bread, and her stomach was starting to rumble at her.
Moving across a cobblestone intersection, Sara had moved away from the market district and into the housing corner of her village. Some of the sellers lived on top of their stores, and others had small homes nestled in between the shops. A lot of the villagers lived in this section. Some, like herself, lived further out where the cobblestone became dirt and there was more room to farm.
She was glad for the chance to turn away from the setting sun, although she knew she still at least 10 minutes before she was back inside her kitchen. With her attention absorbed in her thoughts about dinner, remaining chores, and the activities of the next few days, Sara didn’t notice the large shadow that settled over her body.
It blocked out the sun entirely, like a wide tree in the summertime. A breeze moved across her body, and as gooseflesh grew upon her skin she finally looked up. The horizon held huts, grass, and a handful of other locals making their way around town. A low growling sound cause her to furrow her brows before looking up at the sky above her.
A groan escaped her throat and a moment later she felt two large sets of claws wrap around her upper body. Without thinking about it, she hugged the loaf of bread closer to her body and tucked her legs inward, making herself smaller. She closed her eyes, and rolled her head downward. There was nothing she could do until the dragon made it back to its home and set her down.
It only took a moment, but it felt like longer. The motion brought waves of motion sickness to Sara's stomach, and by the time she was set back down on the ground, her breathing had sped up to near hyper-ventilating status. Feet on the ground, her legs stretched themselves back out into a standing position. The bread was clutched her chest and eyes still closed, however.
She stayed this way, trying to get her heart rate back to a normal rhythm. She kept her eyes closed until she felt a warm and scratchy muzzle graze the side of her face. A chuckle forced its way out of her, and she opened her eyes to look at the giant creature.
“Gwen!” Sara scolded, gently. “I was on my way home to make dinner.”
Sara furrowed her brows and pouted, trying to make herself look angry at the gentle beast. If she hadn’t been so hungry she would have happily come over and given her attention. In return, her pet snorted a wisp of smoke in her direction.
Sara laughed and spoke with no play anger, “I guess I still have bread.”
/r/Beezus_Writes
| 2019-04-03T05:46:02
| 2019-04-03T05:43:02
| 134
| 49
|
[WP] Human civilization has fallen and, thousands of years later, rebuilt itself. In an attempt to better understand the ancient race, a team of archaeologists have discovered the Internet and are navigating it for the first time. Write their field notes.
|
"Oh video archives?"
"Looks so, it looks like its called 'you tube', what an odd name"
"lets see here... popular archives.... *hmmm*."
"this one looks like they watched it a lot, must be important."
"Alright, annotate this. First viewing of ancient archives is named, 'two girls, one cup'. And Begin"
|
Day 1
We have found an odd chamber. There appears to be multiple pillars aligned in perfect rows. Could this be a religous chamber or a burial ground? Upon further inspection we have found on one wall of the chamber a row of levers with odd markings. We will have to decipher them as they are written in a very odd script. Very similar to the findings that the Williams expedition found in a place called MIT. It seemed to have a lot of signifcance.
Day 2
My colleauge brushed against one of the pillars today and found they actually have a tranparent side. We decided to carefully clean the disturbed side and found that the pillars contain multiple boxes of some sort. We attempted to open the pillar but appears to be secured in some form.
| 2014-11-06T06:31:57
| 2014-11-06T05:33:33
| 136
| 86
|
[WP] Humans never figured out how to travel faster than light, but immortality was not that hard after all. As a consequence, space travel is possible, but very boring.
|
I stood staring out the observation panel, trance-like with deep thought. The distant glow of a billion stars stared back, imperceptibly sliding by as my vessel traversed the great emptiness towards our ultimate destination. I sighed, exhaling slowly and savouring the feeling of my breath chilling my teeth as it passed through my lips.
I turned back to the Captain's chair, where I had been sitting for the last few hours. I wish I could have said all morning, but there was no such distinction in space. Routines we're governed by the clock, not the rise and fall off the local star. I hadn't experienced the gentle brightening of morning light, or the warm touch of the sun on my skin. My routine would begin with a beeping alarm and harsh LED lights.
As I approached my chair the lunch notification appeared on the observation panel. Isolated protein, vegetable fibres and fat supplement mixed into a milkshake-like concoction was placed on the Captain's desk. I began to drink my lunch, a bland, tasteless source of the essential nutrients I required. I contemplated the lack of flavour, how could humanity produce such a scientifically perfected meal, but not give it a hint of flavour?
Within minutes a new notification appeared, it was time for my mid-day exercises. I followed the regime I was instructed to do by a faceless avatar appearing on my screen. The goal was to keep my muscles strong in the low gravity of space, but I had always hated the yoga-inspired exercises of interstellar travel. My muscles yearned for sport and strength, not the bare minimum to ensure I continue functioning.
I completed my exercises and returned to the Captain's chair. Soon our destination would appear. Within the hour another notification blinked onto the screen. We were approaching Delta-7, the mining colony that my ship was bound for.
Times were good for the little planet. The population was small but growing rapidly, and the people were prospering. Opportunity was everywhere and you could build a far better life than on Earth.
As I piloted the ship into the atmosphere I could see the lights of the main city. It was breathtaking, a completely new type of world, a new culture of humanity. I felt optimistic, like a new age Christopher Columbus seeing this new world for the first time.
The ship touched down and within minutes the hatch was open. I gasped in a breath of fresh air. It was almost salty, a grand departure from the sterile air of the spacecraft. I made my way down the walkway to the port attendant.
He looked tired. The spaceport must have been seeing heavy traffic. How could I blame him with the volume of people trying to reach the land of opportunity?
I presented him my identification and travel documents. He gave them a look over, gazed at my ship, and authorized the transaction.
"Thank you for your service, the colony has been in need of this equipment," he said as the automated dock system unloaded my cargo, and replaced it with goods from the refineries. "Have a good trip back."
And with another shipment dutifully delivered I returned to my seat in the Captain's chair to begin my return to Earth and continue the cycle. A delivery man's job is never done.
|
"Unknown species send out probes all the time. That's gotta be what it is." Jim said with shaky confidence. *It could also be a planetary warhead* he thought, but he didn't see the point in mentioning that. Either way, this was not the ideal start to his barbeque.
The shuttle had landed right in the pool, and leg extensions could be heard scraping about under the water. Jim looked around at his guests, and was relieved to see that none of them were panicking.
"Can't escape work after all, can you?" he said amiably, gave a meaningful look to his wife, and turned back to his house.
"I guess that's a good place to call it quits." He heard Jess say to all of their neighbors. He was already walking into the kitchen, and toward the bedroom. He arrived at his closet and pulled out his suitcase. He rushed back out the door, trying to look nonchalant. The crowd was thinning out, and he could hear there shocked whispers as they left. It occurred to him that this might be a once in a lifetime event for some of them. Space junk doesn't just land all over the place. It was just his luck that it would land at his place, though. Wait till the boys at the station hear about this.
He snapped open the suitcase, and pulled out several scanners. His wife arrived next to him. "What do you really think it is?" She asked.
"I don't know." He answered honestly. "Maybe it's not even safe to be standing here. I just didn't want to cause a panic."
"I'll get out of your hair then, but be careful." She said meaningfully. He nodded back at her, already lost in his work. She sighed and walked back to the house.
"Let's see." he said to himself as he readied the equipment. Lights began flashing on the device, then it settled down. "No signs of life. Nothing particularly radioactive." He muttered, swapping scanners. "None of the seven deadly elements."
He sighed to himself. "Guess there's only one way to find out what's in this box."
___
"Hey dad!" Boyd shouted. Jim jumped.
"Oh. Hey there son. You snuck up on me." He looked back and noticed how much the suns had moved. It's been longer than he'd thought.
"How much longer is this going to be?" he asked.
"Well it's pretty primitive craftsmanship, so I've already put a dent in it. In fact," he continued, "I was about to open it up right now."
"Can I see?" the boy asked, his eyes beaming. Logic and reasoning couldn't compete with the tug inside him that came from seeing those eyes. He held out his hand. "Get in." he said.
"Awesome!"
Jim turned back around, and reapplied his torch. He finished off the rough triangle and the panel fell off into the pool. Jim waited, holding his son behind him. Nothing. It took his eyes a while to adjust to the dark inside of the pod, and when he realized what he was looking at, he thrust his son away.
"Dad!" Boyd tried to yell, but he was thrust underwater. Jim dove after him. The air began to ripen almost immediately. Jim came back up, shielding Boyd's eyes, too late.
"What were those things, Dad?" he cried. Jim realized that it was too late.
"I don't know, son." He replied. "But they're nothing anymore."
___
/r/Periapoapsis
| 2017-08-15T07:59:53
| 2017-08-15T06:56:06
| 21
| 12
|
[WP] The world biggest Casino now accepts remaining life time as a currency.
|
Sam Gamoni took stock of the situation. A few hours earlier the guy in the gray suit walked into the poker room as a healthy young man. What sat before him now was wizened and weak... scared... desperate.
As pit boss it was Sam's job to prevent situations like this. Nobody wanted to see people throw their life away, it was just bad for business, but from time to time guys like this slipped through the cracks.
It was one of the worst beats Sam had seen in 15 years. Quads is a near-perfect poker hand, but NEAR perfect isn't perfect, and 60 years of this man's life slipped away in an instant.
When you lose 60 years you can't just win it all back in one hand - you simply don't have enough remaining life to match the bet. Instead, you have to slowly claw your way back, month by month, year by year. But each new hand brings the possibility of death. One more unlucky call and the game is over.
A collective hush fell over the room as the dealer laid out the cards. The man shielded his hand, raised his eyes, and looked directly at Sam.
"Put the baby on the table."
"No way." Sam replied. "Too risky."
"PUT THE GODDAMN BABY ON THE TABLE!"
Sitting next to the man was a young woman in her late 20s with tears in her eyes... and an infant in her arms.
|
Written on my phone so sorry for typos.
The skin on her trembling wrists stretched taut as she placed delicate luminous chips on the table. "Thirteen, black", she said. Her voice shivered as the words came, from excitement or age the dealer could not tell.
The man beside her spoke gently, "don't do this grandma. You still have plenty of time."
Hesitation showed in her rheumy eyes for a moment, a visage that hardened into determination. "I've made my choice, Allen." She nodded once to the dealer and the wheel spun.
None in the crowed breathed as the marble spun languorously about the wheel, even the soft rattle of glass on wood seemed muted. At long last the bead stopped.
"Thirteen. Black" the dealer announced. Allen turned to his grandmother, relief welling within him even as those faint chips began to glow with a ferocious intensity. And then she spoke again before Allen could get the words out. "Let it ride."
"What? No! Don't!" But the wheel was already spinning, the ball fell into place. Allen waved to the owl spirit, surely he could cash in a few days to loan his grandmother, but her grip on his arm was iron, and he relented.
The marble landed, the wheel stopped and the dealer spoke. "Thirteen. Black."
The delicate chips erupted into blinding brilliance. A fortune in time, Allen couldn't believe it, there was more than a hundred years on the table. His grandmother looked up at him and smiled.
"Looks like you'll outlive us all, grandma."
"No," Her smile softened as she gestured to the owl spirit, "no Allen, I won't." The light in the chips faded rapidly as casino staff approached the table, their arms laden with chips, real physical chips.
"These bones are old, Allen, and I..." her eyes welled with tears "I hurt. I've buried a husband, I've buried both my children, and I won't watch as you get old too. Its my time to go, and I've given you one... last gift". And with that her eyes slid closed, and Allen wept.
He didn't know how long he stayed there with the woman who had raised him after father died. It was the floor manager who roused him from his stupor. "The preparations were made in advance. If she won we were to cash out her remaining time and place it into trust for you. You're a very wealthy man, Mr Jones.
Somewhere beyond the veil grandmother smiled and the owl spirit spoke to her. "Not many are as brave as you."
"I love him, he will never need worry about money again. A small price to pay for a life at its end, wouldn't you say?"
| 2014-12-13T11:10:05
| 2014-12-13T10:55:03
| 24
| 10
|
[WP] There is a hiccup in the Force which causes Mace Windu to randomly change into a different Samuel L Jackson Character.
|
"Yoda!"
Mace, looked out the window upon the approaching spaceship. It matched the description of the one used by General Grievous, last spotted by spies in the outer rim.
"What, I ask?"
*Every time*, Mace thought. The Jedi master was a great teacher, but he was constantly wanting answers and explanations.
"Where is my Jedi Robe?"
"What, again I ask?", Yoda intoned back in his offputting style.
Obviously the years were starting to wear on the little master; his hearing must be fading.
"Where. Is. My. Jedi. Robe?"
"Put it away, I did"
Great. Now Mace would have to find out where Yoda secreted it this time. The last time it was in the youngling training area. Yoda Jedi skills were still formidable, but as he got on in years, a playful streak seemed to surface. He seemed to love nothing more than aggravate the other masters on the council.
"Where?"
"You need to know, why?"
*Because I need it, dammit*. That was what Mace really wanted to say, but the touch of the force convinced him to step it back and show patience to his elder.
"I need it", said Mace, dropping the harsher words and tone that his thoughts wished. (Though he did keep *some* edge in his voice)
"Uh-uh. Think you not about daring-do, off and running. Two months have we been planning youngling class!" Yoda spoke firmly, decisively, and were this any other occasion, Mace would have deferred to him.
"The Chancellor is in danger!" Even to Mace's own ears that sounded like an excuse, regardless of how much of the truth it contained.
"Future of the younglings, in danger is!"
Mace finally reached his breaking point. Yoda for all his greatness and wisdom could be a capricious little son-of-a-bitch.
"You tell me where my robe is, Yoda! We are talking about the greater good of the republic!"
But Master Windu, for all his years, didn't expect to have to contend with Yoda's sharp tongue.
"Greater good? Your master, I was! The greatest good I taught you when you were but a youngling! Hmm!"
|
Palpatine lay against the sill of the shattered window, defeated. Windu stood over him, lightsaber in hand.
"You are under arrest, my lord."
Just then, Anakin came running into the room. Palpatine wheezed, "Anakin, I told you it would come to this! The Jedi plot to destroy us!"
Anakin started to speak, but Windu turned to him and said loudly, "I don't remember asking for your opinion, motherfucker!"
He turned back to Palpatine, and pulled a pistol from the folds of his tunic, and pointed it to Palpatine.
"You read the Bible, motherfucker? Well there's this passage I got memorized, yeah?
"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee!"
| 2017-05-09T10:48:45
| 2017-05-09T10:08:48
| 35
| 19
|
[WP] Hi! I'm the main character! Or so you would have me be. I want you to know that no matter what you write, I refuse to be the main character in your little game and will avoid any instance where you try to put me into a situation that does so.
Edit: Once again, a huge thank you to everyone so far who's written a story based on the prompt. It always makes me happy when you use your free time to create a short story!
Edit 2: I do my best to reply to every story written by the authors and will continue to do so.
Edit 3: R.I.P. My inbox, this is easily one of my favorite subs. I'm trying so hard to read every story and reply!
Edit 4: The next day and people are still submitting, still trying my best to reply to every story. You guys have been awesome :)
Disclaimer: This is absolutely not an original idea. "Writer vs Character" is a very popular idea from a lot of sources. I wanted to see what the sub could come up with! Thanks :3
|
The four adventurers arrived in the tavern after their long trek back from Lich's castle. Surrounding them was a cacophony of drunken patrons. Finally they could rest. Before they could even take their seat, they were accosted by a dishevelled elderly man draped in old rotten robes.
_Hello there young travellers. Might I beseech you to assist a weary old wizard as myself in reclaiming an ancient mystical amulet from the clutches of an evil dragon?_
The party just shrugged him off. They finally take their seats when screaming can be heard coming from the floor above them.
_Leave em be._
The Dwarf in the party grumbled. The group were starting to become obviously annoyed. They had just had one big adventure and were really not looking to start another one soon. A small boy started to tug at the cloak of the Elven ranger's cloak.
_Please mister, could you please help me find my mama. She got taken in the bandit raid a few days ago and my Pa died of the fever last month._
The tears welling up in the poor boys eye might have just been enough to coerce the party into leaving their ales if it weren't for the roguish Tiefling in their party.
_Beat it kid. No gold, no mama_
A loud booming voice cracked through the air, silencing the tavern.
_God damnit guys. I spent all week writing some adventures for you guys and all you want to do is sit in a bloody tavern and drink ale. Yes I know you're role playing but still, you're never gonna get the cool loot aren't you if you stay here. For fucks sake! You know what, I know what I'm going to do._
The patrons of the tavern have started to notice how the group of assholes sitting in the middle of the tavern, having just pushed away a young boy for apparently no reason. The citizens of the tavern don't take too kindly to strangers. They start unsheathing their weapons.
_Roll for initiative._
|
The cars collide together, screeching and wailing as their tires skid and burn against the asphalt road. Glass scatters like falling hail, spraying out in the direction of pedestrians who shriek as they run to dodge the massive vehicles. As if on cue, in some metal framed synchronised dance, two more cars join. They spin towards the sidewalk in hopes of avoiding the crumpled cars which sit steaming in the middle of the intersection.
“I’m not doing this,” the man says as he walks away from the ambulance bay.
Shrugging, a second man moves past him and takes his place in the passenger seat. “That’s fine, more experience for me, see you later.”
The ambulance speeds off, sirens screaming and fading as the boxy vehicle moves towards the scene of the crash. Over a speaker, a tinny voice requests a second ambulance but the man shakes his head and walks out of the building.
“I told you, I am not interested,” the man shrugs, sitting on a brick wall and folding his arms. “This is a story about a paramedic, go focus on the paramedics.”
On the sidewalk across from where he sits, a woman whose bulbous stomach peeks out of her tank top begins to cry out in surprise as a puddle forms around her feet. Her face reddens and she grasps her bloated stomach with both hands.
“Nope, sorry. Not doing it,” he groans, walking away despite his obligation to help.
Out from the still open ambulance dispatch bay, a paramedic runs quickly and assesses the labouring mother, giving a call inside to summon an ambulance. “Hey, Joe, can you come assist on this?” She asks the man who ignores her and continues to walk away. “Joe!? Come on!”
“No way. Your story is getting really boring you know, might as well just follow them,” he grumbles to no one in particular. “I’m talking to you. Don’t write it out like I am craz- Dammit. Screw off.”
He stops in place and remains still, unmoving and staring vacantly into the street. Through his unflinching gaze, he sees a boy run out into the traffic in pursuit of a ball which he’d carelessly bounced against a wall. As the little rubber ball made its escape drivers press hard on their brakes, but it's too late. The melting face of his mother drops tragically, making it obvious as to who was most impacted by the horror which unfolded in the intersection.
“Please, God, someone help! My son!” The mother begs, dropping to her knees as the fabric of her jeans begins to absorb his blood.
The man stays still, eyes on the incident without watching a single moment of what was going on.
| 2016-02-11T09:14:08
| 2016-02-11T08:35:27
| 248
| 26
|
[WP] Everyone is born with their greatest enemies name on one wrist and their greatest love on the other
|
I thought it must have been some kind of genetic error, a birth defect.
Apart from my parents, nobody had ever seen the life long branding on my wrists. I had exercised my right to keep them covered from the moment I was old enough to sign the blue document allowing me not to show them.
For some, it was essential that their wrists were on full display as a beacon to anyone sharing the same name who may go on to become the one true love they so desperately searched, but not me. The thought of finding my one true love scared me more than anything else in this world.
When I met Jennifer, the attraction was instant. Her beautiful long brown hair, hypnotic eyes that drew me closer every time I looked into them, the small union of freckles on her shoulder that formed the shape of a flower; simply everything about her was perfect.
I had never felt a love as strong or as deep, nor had I wanted so badly to share my entire life with anyone as much as I did Jennifer. It had only been 4 days since meeting her for the first time but with each conversation, smile and kiss I felt myself being drawn closer.
On the fourth night after walking the length of the beach she stopped and took my hands.
"I need to ask you." she said, with a soft but deliberate emphasis on the word need.
As she spoke, she looked down at my wrists. I knew what she wanted to know.
I looked deep into her eyes, my heart beating wildly and doing my best to stop my hands from trembling. What should I do? What SHOULD I do? The question repeating itself in my mind.
"Is my name on your wrist?" Her voice was almost a whisper.
I looked down and half smiled as I tried to withhold the sigh escaping my nostrils. I broke the hold from her hand and began to unwrap the bandage on my left arm.
As I slowly removed it, I could see the hope in Jennifer's eyes, almost scared to look down and see if it was indeed her name there, etched in my skin as my one true love.
Jennifer let out a gasp, her eyes filling with tears as she pulled me towards her.
"I knew it" she whispered in my ear.
"I knew you were the one. I love you" her whisper was full of love and emotion as she hugged me.
I said nothing. I let her hold me and wrapped my arms tightly around her waist.
With my chin lightly resting on her shoulder, I looked into the night sky and up at the stairs, searching for my next step or an answer to the now impossibly complicated situation that had just been created.
The sad, overbearing truth, was that it wouldn't have mattered which of the name covering bandages I removed from my wrist. They were both inscribed with her name.
I had no idea how, or when or even why at this stage. All I knew was that at some point in the future, this beautiful goddess who held my heart in her hands was going to hurt me.
Hurt me to the point that she would indeed one day become, my worst enemy.
|
Or so we all assumed. To be honest, it was...sort of hard to tell. We were, all of us, born with these markings on our wrists. Script of *some* kind was the conclusion the Greeks came to thousands of years before, and no one since had had any better ideas.
The knowledge that the script represented your greatest lover had been known since the battle of Troy, where it was found in the aftermath of the slaughter that the script on the wrist of Paris was a match for that of Helen herself. The idea that the script represented your greatest enemy came from the Roman conquest of Gaul, where it was noticed by a sharp-eyed clerk in Caesar's employ that the script on the left wrist of the Gaulish chief Vercingetorix was, in fact, a match for the script on the right wrist of Kleopatra, back in her villa overlooking Ostaria.
Still, the script was recognizable as no language known to man. Linguists had spent centuries trying to match it to any and every written language and had come up short. Well short; after nearly three thousand years we had no more luck deciphering it than we did when Zog and Ock first found they couldn't wash it off in the stream. Odds were we never would. Countless lives - and no few in the literal sense - had been wasted attempting to decipher the undecipherable.
And this worried me. Worried me quite a lot. I was one of those not-quite-rare-enough ones where the script on both wrists matched. Exactly. If history was to be any guide, if the news articles I would read online of yet *another* woman hospitalized - or worse - were any indication, I was *not* in for a fun ride when I finally met him...whoever and whenever that may be.
| 2016-08-15T14:58:03
| 2016-08-15T14:15:28
| 49
| 10
|
[WP] [NSFW] Describe the moments before a school shooting but constantly alternate perspectives between the victims and the assailant. We have no idea who the shooter is until the end. Begin in media res.
|
x Why hasn't she ever noticed me?
o Why won't she stop staring?
x I wonder if anybody else feels as crazy as I do.
o Am I prepared?
x Beating harder than I thought...
o Might be easier than expected...
x One
o Step
x At
o A
x Time...
o Here goes nothing...
x I can't do this.
o Time to finally quit being a pussy.
x But I've wanted this for so long...
o My whole life, leading up to this moment...
x Building it up in my mind...
o No turning back now.
x Here I go.
o There he goes.
x "Hello, Michelle."
o Goodbye, Jacob.
*BANG*
|
"All students do not be alarmed. We will take down the assailant as soon as possible." A woman on the intercom said.
I'm not ready, I'm not ready for what's coming. I just want to do something with this life. I've spent 16 years for a life that hasn't amounted to anything; no college, no girlfriend, no money. I physically can't do this anymore.
Stay calm man. You'll get through this. After this you'll be famous and on the news. You can do this. Life sucks remember? All you need to get out of here is fame. I get bullies by day, drunks by night every freaking day. I'm ready for this.
I thought I'd be one of those people who end up an amazing athlete with a hot boy toy by my side. But no this is what my life has come to. Staring death in its face. What did I do to deserve this? I'm attractive, smart, nice, and giving. I don't need this on my plate. I'm done, I've succumbed to this. Please God let it happen.
God, if you can hear me, please forgive me. I have sinned, oh father. I know I've never believed you, but I find this the appropriate time to get myself a better entrance into "heaven". Please let me gain your promise that I will get into heaven. Please father, amen.
Time for the lights. Three... Two... And... Shoot.
"At the trial the assailant's final words before being put away were "At least I'm famous." Disgusting words from a disgusting person. More on this later. After the break we talk about a dog's day out on the town and how it can be quite stressful." The reporter said.
| 2014-06-26T14:06:51
| 2014-06-26T13:59:24
| 26
| 15
|
[WP] Tell me the story of how the world ends - but told entirely in Craigslist ads
|
4/7/29: (69corvetteguy) WTB: 69 Stingray Corvette. 30k. Good condition, black or blue, 80k miles or less.
6/12/29 (69corvetteguy) WTB: 4WD anything. Can trade stingray corvette - good engine, quick and reliable. Good for anyone looking to risk the city. I gotta get out into the country.
6/24/29 (69corvetteguy) WTB: Guns. Preferably rifles. No sawed-off shotguns, they are too close range. Bullets included. Can trade 2 weeks rations, including potable water.
2/16/30 (69corvetteguy) WTB: Ammunition for an M-16 carbine. Magazines not necessary, just the bullets. Can trade full charge batteries.
2/16/30 (69corvetteguy) WTB: Water filter. Must have at least 6 months worth of use left. Can trade full charge batteries.
2/16/30 (69corvetteguy) WTB: Rations. Salted or smoked. Can trade full charge batteries.
2/27/30 (cripscansell) WTS: solar powered battery charger. Make an offer. Don't try anything funny, and we won't kill you.
|
*Newest in >for sale*
Jan 23: Sports Betting, See how easy it can be to be a winner. books & magazines - by dealer [x]
Jan 25: Between Fact and Fiction, Helping you understand the real life problems and removing the anxiety over the fictional.
Feb 23: Communication Breakdown Unleashed (MRR), When you and your loved ones lose contact, learning how to reopen that communication is key no matter the distance.
Feb 28: Surviving Assaults: A Martial Artist's Guide to Weapons, Street Violence, & Countervailing Force [Book]
Mar 13: Food Foraging For Dummies: Nibbling in Nature, prepare for the inevitable
Mar 28: I don't know who may still be here, I'm using all possible pages to find people. We're held up in a school and we are trapped, send help!
Apr 1: The Road *by Cormac McCarthy*
Dec 20: The steel coffin, Getting the dead to stay dead.
| 2015-04-29T10:11:32
| 2015-04-29T09:07:02
| 86
| 15
|
[WP]World Governments have been lying to the people, but about something that is largely inconsequential.
|
Every English Lit textbook has the same error. These days, it's a mixture of persistent plagiarism and mistaken common knowledge. The truth disappeared over two centuries ago at the command of the secret societies. From the Illuminati to the hole in the wall political rabble rousers, every last brilliant mind peeeed into the future and agreed that one piece of knowledge must disappear.
Thus it became that The Bard was given the name William that he would no longer be known as his true self, Milk Shakespeare.
|
"welcome Mr. president" a voice said
newly elected president of the United stated Charles Brumei sat up from the chairs he was in. he began to stand up until he realized he was tied down he was in a small room kind of like the kind you hold mental prisoners in
"what the hell, do you know who I am" charles stated
"we understand Mr. prez we will let you go but first we must tell you a matter of national importances" the voice said
Charles calmed down "so uhhh what it is" he asked
the voice sighed and very sadly said "feet don't exist anymore"
"what do you mean feet don't exist" Charles asked
"well in world war 2 when we dropped the atomic bombs they had unfortunate side effects" the voice said
"like what" charles pressed
"the bomb messed up the genetic makeup of every human on earth it completely erased the foot gene" the voice said
"but, I have feet i see them everytime I put on my shoes" charles stammered
"well to fix this problem because we would get a lot of bad press every child that's born has a implant surgically placed to not notice the disappearance of feet we have removed you're to help you go through this process" the voice said "we will have someone release you shortly"
charles looks down to his surprise to see 2 perfectly rounded stumps were his feet should be a man came in through a hidden panel after helping charles out of his restraints he help out his hand to charles
"hope you have a great presidency charles please don't let this bother you" he said
charles looked down and saw that this man also has 2 perfectly rounded stumps balancing on they like they were feet
charles nervously took his hand and said "it won't I hope we didn't get of on the wrong foot"
| 2015-04-08T14:22:34
| 2015-04-08T14:20:28
| 24
| 10
|
[WP] Your family is known for only producing geniuses or idiots. The jury is still out on you, but it's generating plenty of interest.
|
My eldest sister Katherine Jepsen was just named the youngest ever appointee to the Supreme Court of the United States of America. She graduated from Harvard Law several years early and had spent the intervening years righting wrongs and correcting injustices in wrongful convictions across the country. She is as brilliant and thoughtful a person as I had ever met.
My next eldest sister Tatiana "Ta-Ta's" Jepsen was just featured on season 49 of "Still Sort of Keeping Up with the Kardashian's: Isle de Fuego 3". Her role was to cause tension in the family by somehow out bimbo-ing the actual Kardashian's on their own show. She was, to put it as gently as I can, the dumbest human being I had ever encountered in my entire life.
Such is the dichotomy of my family. Brilliance or stupidity, geniuses or idiots, yin or yang... never the twain shall meet or overlap in any way. That is until I came along. I was the baby of my family, so my relatives and even some in the outside world were well aware of the all or nothing nature of our familial intelligence. As a result it's fair to say my intellect was zealously examined and questioned from the time I was a very young boy.
My earliest memories as a child were my grandparents debating which side of 'the divide' I had fallen on. I had just spelled a word out with blocks on the floor, which my grandmother declared meant that I would be joining the genius side of our clan. My grandfather however noted that the 'word' I had spelled out was "derp" and therefore I was clearly headed to the stupid side of the aisle.
At some point in my teenage years I decided, like most teens, to rebel against what I saw as familial pressures being placed upon me. My rebellion was somewhat unique in that my goal wasn't to be a massive partier in a conservative religious family or any of the typical scenarios. I simply wanted to split the difference between genius and idiocy. I desired nothing more than to be viewed as totally average, and thus, render myself unable to be placed in either of my families categorizations.
For example, I went to college of course, but I didn't attend the finest school I got into (Harvard) or the worst (Trump University 2.0: Now with 100% More Cardboard Cutouts!). No, I chose to attend Middleton State University in the town of Middlebury, located roughly in the dead center of my state. It appealed because it featured no particularly excellent or dismal rankings from any college ranking survey. It was, by every measure, supremely average.
I graduated in 4.5 years as a solid C+ student. While striding proudly on stage to receive my diploma I delighted at the sight of my confused family members seated in the audience arguing fiercely over what my mediocre educational achievements 'meant' for my role in the family.
Post college was even an even more difficult landscape for me to navigate. I badly wanted to be successful, but not in a way in which I could ever be mistaken as genius. My indefinably idea came to me one day while browsing the zillion and one photo apps available to me and everyone else in the planet. I noted that those apps with elaborate filters that swapped gender, or aged you, or gave you a puppy dog face were insanely popular.
Then and there I resolved to break into this market with the laziest idea I could come up with: "The Tomorrow Filter". The Tomorrow Filter let you snap a photo of what you would look like in the future, exactly how you'd look tomorrow to be specific. Which of course, meant you looked 99.99999% exactly the same, yet somehow I made a boatload of money off it. Brilliant in its sheer stupidity you might say, thoroughly impossible to judge as an intellectual achievement. I could not have been more thrilled.
___
Feel free to check out r/Ryter if you'd like to read more more stories that strive for mediocrity!
|
The eighteenth birthday of a member of the Duffy clan is a peculiar one. For the first half, at least. The greatest mathematicians, engineers, poets, politicians, gathered in your mum's cooped-up country house, peering expectantly over your breakfast table. Today is the day the Duffy genii either claim you as their own, or leave you for the rest of your life to party and be stupid with the other half of the family. What you have infront of you is a single test, far harder than MacArthur's Program, MENSA; this year's test is simply titled "Observe".
You scrawl away on the blank piece of paper. Numbers and symbols cascading across the page, every movement keenly watched by the crowd, trying to ignore your mum's proffered birthday cake. She remains happy though, absent-mindedly peeking over her relative's heads to eye your progress; not that any Duffy Dunce would understand it. Numbers, that is.
By midday, used-up pens litter the table. Sheafs of pages are stacked baside you, none of which anyone is allowed to touch. Finally, you slide the last A4 sheet under the stack, sign it with an even messier signature, and leave the table for some much-needed cake. The crowd pounces on your notes, eagerly dissecting it, praising and critiquing it as postmodern, neohumanist, marxist, anarcho-feminist, any expertise they have is thrown at it with the vigour of a child slinging food at the wall.
You stoop into the kitchen, where your mum awaits you anxiously with a slice of soggy cake.
"Soo, uh...", she ventures, as you take a bite off the paper plate, "I guess you're one of them, then. 'Ol clever type and what 'ave you."
"Well, see here, Mum.", you reply, mouth still stuffed, "I don't quite consider myself on one side or the other. But whaddae do know, is that I wrote fifty pages of fuckin' bullshit, and it's up to them to make it clever. I'm offtae the pub."
| 2019-08-03T11:54:31
| 2019-08-03T08:52:41
| 60
| 17
|
[WP] An unassuming school janitor, is in fact an incredibly powerful but reformed dark magic user who chose a humbler life after the Hero defeated and spared them; except today is different: today the magic academy is undersiege by the BBEG, their former boss.
|
The letter sat opened on small rickety table in front of me. It was a standard letter of "no" containing words like "we appreciate your interest" and "pursuing other options at this time." I sighed and leaned back in my only chair in the dingy basement. Fired. From the Darkness Unleashed. Not evil enough. Well, I guess that was true. I liked to think of myself as neutral, really, I just delve into the undead too much and apparently that's not good. But they are tools, animated by magic, not dark things. Not the demons that Darkness Unleashed used. My last fight against Davor the Ugly Paladin, Champion of Light, showed that I had bested him several times but just didn't have it in me to end the life of the young champion. They had peeped on our fight and saw my loss as me taking a dive. I suppose that wasn't far from the truth.
The basement door resounded with a soft rap from the evil troll that lived above me. "Tabitha, you have a visitor, a handsome man."
I grimaced at the sound of my real name. "Coming mom." I climbed the stairs into the kitchen to find none other than Davor sitting at the table, smiling, I think. Before he could even speak, dark tendrils flicked to my hand and black armor crawled from dark places of the void to armor around me. "What are you doing here? Why are you smiling?"
Davor shifted in his seat but his smile didn't falter. "Your mom called me handsome." He beamed, it was disgusting, apparently the troll was blind too. "And I have a proposition for you."
"You came to propose to me?" I knew what he meant but I needed to get out of that smile, it was unnerving.
"What?!" It worked, "no! Of course not," he furrowed his brow, "I barely know you. I mean you're pretty and all." What? Now he's blushing, this is not better than the stupid smile.
Before he can make this anymore awkward, "what do you want?"
"My old school needs a janitor, cleaning, light maintenance. Most of it can be done at night with no supervision as long as the school is clean by morning. I thought maybe..." He drifts off and stares at his feet.
I gotta admit, I was little surprised, but I thought back to the letter sitting on small table in the basement below us. "Ugh fine."
"Yeah I didn't think you'd be interested."
"No, I am interested. When do I start?"
"Wait, you are?" Surprise unconstrained.
"Yes, definitely." I nodded.
"Great, Light's Hope, Monday at 7."
"At night?"
"No, in the morning," I scowled, "for paperwork." He clarified.
|
The man pushed the trash can forward, nodding at the student passing by who failed to notice the tendril of shadow snaking towards her.
The tendril flicked the scrap of paper the student had dropped into the air, and it landed squarely in the moving trash can.
Zair, practicing warlock and now janitor of the King’s Pass Academy, smiled. He did not get much opportunity to flex his affinity in his current role, and he knew that the God of Unbrightened Things must be displeased with him.
What choice had he had but to give up his practice? The boy had been blessed by the Sun itself and their fight had been but a reflection of the one their patrons had fought in antiquity. The Bright Eye had shone its light everywhere its gaze fell and vanquished the Unbrightened God’s shadows.
But the boy had not taken on his patron’s unrelenting stance, their unforgiving burning. No, he had given Zair a second chance.
He would not give up any path to continued existence, demeaning as it may be. If he had to give up his pride and serve his past enemies, he would.
Climbing up the eighteen floors of the Light Tower was Zair’s least favorite task, for many reasons. It destroyed his knees, the aspect of light infused into the very bricks of the building prickled against his very being, and it was, ironically enough, often the most dirty quarter of the academy. But more than any of those, it was the reason right in front of him.
Standing on the landing, talking to his friends, was Lucas. The boy’s eyes fell on Zair and, although they appeared friendly, they sent a chill down his spine. Every time he looked at them, he remembered how they had appeared when the boy summoned his power. Blazing in his patron’s glory, inhuman and powerful.
They passed without a word, understanding their positions. Zair kept himself constrained, and Lucas did not need to expose his identity as an Unbrightened to the mage courts. Likewise, Zair did not reveal Lucas as the hero of the present age.
Zair fought to keep both his anxiety and satisfaction from showing on his face as he walked away.
Lucas hadn’t caught on.
He hadn’t noticed Zair’s cleaning routes straying closer and closer to the Academy’s borders. He hadn’t noticed the shades he had sent. He hadn’t noticed Zair’s plan at all, or at least Zair hoped.
For today was the day he would turn it all around. When the hero would learn the mistake of his kindness and why both the God of Unbrightened Things and the Bright Eye refused to allow any part of the other to exist.
Zair kept to his schedule and collected the refuse from the Academy. He brought it towards the dumping ground but took a circular path which over the course of months had become more and more circular. It brought him along a seldom traveled side path that passed right alongside the barrier sigils.
His patron would end their complaints today. His shades had contacted the Unbrightened Chosen. She and her forces would be in place, and ready.
Zair’s tendrils stretched from his shadow and twisted through the barrier’s sigils. Careful not to trigger any of the marks, he followed the narrow, labyrinthine gap in defense it had taken him so long to path. When he finally reached outside the Academy’s border’s the nearby sigils flared, threatening to set off, but then quickly dimmed. A hole in the barrier opened and steadily grew.
As planned, a swirling, inky warp gate appeared to fill it. Out stepped two mages, side by side, filling the width of the gate.
Before Zair had a moment to greet them, they burst into flame and the warp gate faded a degree before the light.
“No!” Zair cried. His shadow leapt up, shielding the warp gate from the flames.
He swung his head around, looking for the origin of the fire. Finally, he looked up and saw what he had dreaded.
Lucas floated above the trees that had guarded the side path from view. His gaze was unhindered and his glowing eyes locked straight on Zair.
***
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| 2020-09-06T08:43:33
| 2020-09-06T07:49:42
| 138
| 63
|
[WP] After thousands of years on a generation ship sent out to colonize the universe, nobody alive on board the ship believes in the "myth" of Planet Earth anymore. Until they receive the first transmission from Earth in hundreds of years...
|
"...schrfwwww..."
"What? Eristos, what the kak is it saying?"
"...njaaxchrr..."
"Amplifying signal, sir. Klarentine, are you feeding each loop to the PIE?"
"Yes. 12 cycles so far. We should get clarity soon."
"I can't believe it. I just can't believe it. Earth. Gaia. Right out of a fairy tale."
"Sir, what do you think we'll find?"
"I don't know Eristos. But it's home. It's truth. It's where our journey began. Klarentine, how many cycles to clarity?"
"We're about 60% sir, shall I play what we have?"
"No, no. I want to wait. Is it ok fellows, if we wait, just a little bit more? I want to hear it clearly. I don't want the first words to be misunderstood."
"That'd be fine, sir."
"Yeah, that's a good idea, sir."
"Out here of all places. With just the one sun, right? What state is it Erostos?"
"Red giant, sir."
"Red giant? At that distance? How could that ...? Underground maybe? Were we a bunch of sqilbers, hiding under the dirt?"
"Maybe, sir. Life adapts."
"Yeah, but ... it doesn't seem right. We must have looked up. We must have seen where we could go. We must have wanted to reach out."
"Maybe at night, sir."
"...yea, maybe at night. Klarentine, where are we?"
"92% sir. Sir, PIE has determined that the words are in a proto-Anglarian language. Translation is proceeding concurrently."
"Proto-Anglarian! Amazing. The Rodeonians are going to have a party."
"They throw good parties sir."
"Yes, they do Eristos. Yes they do."
"SIR! PIE has identified musical notes embedded in the message!"
"Music?!"
"Yes, sir! Tetra minor, Penta major. I can see the notes sir. I can almost hear it. Tetra, Penta, Tetra, Tetra, Kamma ... it's a song sir!"
"A song? A song... from our home....?"
"Sir, are you ok?"
"Hrrrmpgh. Yea..yea, I'm ok."
"Sir! 99% percent sir!"
"Fellows, I'm so glad to be here with you in this moment. Will you hold hands with your fellow?"
"Yes sir!"
"Would be honored to, sir!"
"...play it Klarentine."
"....ange...."
"....the..."
"....do...."
"Klare?"
"Sorry sir, just have to adjust the playback for the translation...Done!"
The music floods the vessel swimming alone in the vastness of the forgotten Milky Way.
*Never gonna give you up!*
*Never gonna let you down!*
*Never gonna run around and desert you!*
Tears stream down the face of the three fellows. The music washes over them like warm waves and none dare or even desire to interrupt its flow. The song finishes and the universe goes silent again. The silence is crystalline and fragile, but it is not cold. A small whisper from Captain Hilgo breaks its gentle web. "They knew," he says. "They knew we would find our way back home. They never gave up on us."
|
No one knew what the buzzer meant when it went off. A high pitched, whining sound droned from the command center, seemingly echoing through every hallway on the ship. We quickly scrambled to decode the sound, a dozen people were assigned to this task force. We scoured every page of the manuals, both end user and service. After twelve hours of deliberation, some spent on hold with our tech support team, until we reached a solution.
Scrambling through the menus on the control panel, we finally found the source of the buzzing. "One (1) new message," the screen read. With as much anticipation as nervousness, we opened the mail.
"Urgent message from Earth," sweat collectively accumulated on our brows. "Prepare to perform ligma."
Confused, we again dove into the service manuals. Yet there existed no mention of the ligma procedure. In desperation, we wrote back: "What is ligma?"
Ten years passed. Ten years we waited, always on edge, always awaiting the return of that buzzer so that we may learn of what our future beheld, and perhaps of what became of our past. The reply came at the most opportune time, as over the years crew began to grow stressed, paranoid even. Talks of mutiny rang through the halls, falling on ears already clogged with hopelessness and thoughts of mass suicide. Finally, after ten long years, the buzzer rang.
We amassed to the control center, and those who couldn't fit in crowded around the nearest speaker to hear the message. The commander chimed over the intercom, anticipation hung in the air as thick as the walls that surrounded us. The captain, without introduction, read the message:
"Ligma balls lol."
| 2018-08-28T09:35:19
| 2018-08-28T09:35:09
| 23
| 11
|
[WP] Every person in the world undergoes a "goodness" test. It's designed to give a score from 1 to 200, where 1 is pure evil, and 200 is an angel in human body. Then the world is divided into 200 zones, where people can live among their own kind.
|
The system wasn't perfect - no system ever is - nor was it impermeable. The proof was sitting opposite me, wearing a bright white suit and sweating. Mr Male Pattern Baldness here was clearly not at home here - his perfect clothing, his flawless face, his slicked back hair, none of them made any sense in this joint, between heavy blue cigarette smoke, drunken insults flung across the room and dames with too little clothing dancing in hope of someone paying their fix for the night. He had to have come in over one of the smuggling routes. Must have cost a fortune.
"Let me guess," I said, loud enough to be heard over some junkie calling the barkeeper a racial slur and being thrown out, kicking and screaming, by two security guys. "Let me guess. You're 180 plus, right?"
"It's ... A bit higher than that," he answered, wiping his glistening forehead with a light blue handkerchief. "Quite a bit."
Maybe he was even from the very top, two zero zero. Someone like this breaking out of his zone ... I didn't even know that happened. I stared him down. "You haven't come here for chatting, right?"
"No, actually, uh ..." He was fumbling with the handkerchief, trying to decide whether he should keep it out or put it away. "I need someone with ... skills. I was told I might find that person here ... That you ... might be ..."
I groaned. "See, that's why this whole system is bullshit. Even a fucking two oh oh eventually wants someone dead ..."
He shook his head. "It's not like that," he said. "Not like that at all."
"Sure, sure." I emptied my glass and whistled for another. "Noble motives. You know, I'm almost sure all of you bastards up there are exactly like us, just better at making up noble motives."
"I ... Look, I can pay you." He had finally decided to put his handkerchief away. "I'm a very wealthy man. If you do this ..."
"I do most anything, if the pay's good. Question is, what do I need to do?"
He was looking everywhere but into my eyes. I cracked a grin. Fucking spoiled wusses. "Well?" I asked.
"I need someone from ..." He swallowed. "I need someone from zone one."
I had already raised my glass to my mouth when he said it - now, I slowly lowered it without drinking. "You're kidding."
"I wish I was."
His mother had been abducted to zone one. He explained that she was a high-energy scientist who researched a lot of things with fancy names. That he thought they might force her to help build a weapon to destroy the walls between the zones and let the zone one inhabitants flood into the other areas ... But he didn't care much about that big stuff. I thought that if the wall ever was destroyed, they'd probably just nuke zone one. Well, Mr Male Pattern Baldness just wanted his mother back.
I got a pack of cigs from my coat pocket and got one out. "Okay. Figure I get what you're doing on level fifteen now. Army won't go into zone one, of course."
"Of course," he agreed. Army guys were usually from somewhere over zone fifty. Competent enough ... But not suicidal enough for a trip to one.
Someone staggered up to Mr Two Oh Oh from behind. Dame, high off her rocker, completely fucked up. I knew her. Genette. "Hey, you," she said. "I like yer jacket. Gimme."
"Surely, you're not ..." he started. She interrupted him by grabbing his throat and brandishing a knife.
"Gimme."
I got up. "Genette, he's my customer. Kindly fuck off."
"Shuddup," she answered. The next moment, I had her knife and was holding my handgun to her temple. The reason I was alive in my line of work was that I was fast, but it helped how slow druggies were.
I suggested: "Get lost." Genette complied.
I sat down again. "Payment. I think a trip out of here to at least zone one fifty would be nice, wouldn't it."
His eyes went wide. "I can't do that - even if I could - the papers ..."
"Pity. I thought even you guys up in the three digits cared about your mommas." I finally had time to light my cigarette. "I'm sure you people have your ways."
He stayed quiet, then said: "Fine. Fine, alright. I can make it work. Only one person, though."
"All I ever asked for," I said and smirked.
I arrived in zone one in a small boat. Only experienced smugglers could circumvent the endless search lights, unmanned drones, patrol aircraft and sensor arrays that were used to prevent travel between the zones; my smuggler was called Immen. He had a long grey beard and a curious habit of chewing uncooked noodles he kept in his coat pocket.
"You can get into zone one most days of the week," Immen said. My employer had payed him a fortune for this trip. "Now, out, that's different. With zone one, they're pretty much only worried about people getting out. So out maybe works once every two months."
"What will you do in the zone for that long," I asked.
"Visit friends!" He laughed a deep belly laugh. "Just kidding, no such thing in zone one. But I have people there who value my business. They'll protect me. You see ..." He pointed ahead over the dark water, where the first lights of zone one appeared out of the night fog. "The thing about zone one is, not everything is anarchy. 'Cause the literal nazis also live there, you see?"
I peered ahead. There were neon lights near the ruined old piers ... Bars and bordellos, I assumed. "So, your friends - er, people who value your business - are the nazis?"
He shrugged. "Some of them. Not all."
I picked up my concealed weapons and the radio beacon when I left the boat and waved goodbye to Immen. As a good smuggler, his usefulness protected him. I had no such protection.
Detective work isn't easy when people keep trying to kill you. Worst of all - you got to stay sober. The guy who didn't like my face had just decided to turn this fistfight into a gunfight by drawing a heavy revolver from a holster on his belt. Nobody walking by on the street payed any attention. Before his gun left the holster, I had mine pointed at his chest. The problem was ... I was used to oh one fives. This was a oh oh one. I expected him to realise he'd lost once my pistol was out, but he didn't. There was a loud, reverberating bang when his revolver went off, followed by a three dull thumps from my silencer as I put a salvo of hollow points into his chest. He stumbled backwards against a derelict wall and collapsed. I looked down at my leg right away ... Blood was streaming down my leg from a fairly big flesh wound, mixing with the rain puddles on the ground that reflected all the neon lights. Not good. I rummaged in my coat from a bandage. I'd have to learn to shoot instantly.
(1)
|
I've heard stories of how, long ago, people of all types were allowed to live together, a place where people with a goodness score of 1 were allowed to live in the same places as people with goodness scores of 200.
Of course, this world stopped existing after a team of scientist invented the perfect way to test someones "goodness". The goodness test wasn't widely accepted, until Vladimir Putin, a dictator, discovered the test while he was browsing a website called "Facebook"(The creator of this site was later killed by a mob of Goodness Test believers after they discovered he had a goodness test of 1). He discovered this test while he was invading America, and after he somehow managed to conquer America, he made taking this Goodness Test mandatory to take for every person.
He started making the people with goodness scores under 40 into slaves, who built the walls we see now. None of this matter now, however. This all happened very long ago, and none of it matters anymore. The people who have yet to be diagnosed are kept outside the walls. "my, my..your score is a 10." "Put him in the cart, let him live with the rest of the filth.". "Next person.", I walk up to him, nervous. "Okay, just go in there, and take the test." I walk in to the rather well lit cubicle, a sharp contrast between the dark and pouring rain outside. I take the test, I walk out. "Well, aren't you lucky. You've got a score of 75. Go into that bus, and you and the other people in there will be transported over to sector 75. Enjoy the ride."
I look back at the camp one last time, before walking into the bus. After a small wait, we set off for sector 75. As we pass through sector 1, I see a barren wasteland, and our car gets attacked by the inhabitants. They threw glass bottles, and rocks at our bus, which was thankfully heavily armored. The bus-driver sped up, and we thankfully got away. To be continued, possibly.
| 2016-08-26T14:16:43
| 2016-08-26T10:59:35
| 24
| 18
|
[WP] You’ve just died and you awaken within a courtroom. The Angel of Death walks in as a voice booms” What you are witnessing is real. The participants are not actors. They are actual litigants whose sins will be reviewed now. Their fates will be decided here in Death’s forum: The People's Court.”
|
"Oh for the love of..." Picard muttered, recognising the courtroom he had been in at least three times now.
"MON CAPITAN!" came the harmonious voice of Q, his flamboyant form floating gayly above on a hovering chair. "The time has finally come to answer for your-"
Picard sighed. "No."
Q flinched. Almost invisible, but it was there. "-numerous and heinous crimes against-"
*"No!"*
He didn't know what to do. For the first time in their some thirty years of this, Picard had seen him truly caught offguard. It was shameful. Even the grotesque audience, a figure of Q's imagination, seemed confounded by Picard's response.
So he smiled.
"Picard, my dear friend, I don't believe you understand the gravity of the situation," he eventually went on, clasping his hands together in a thinly veiled attempt to regain composure. "You are, in fact, *d-"*
"Dead?" Picard interrupted.
Again, a flinch. "Y-yes. And I am here to judge you for your-"
"Q, I have died at least," he counted on his fingers, "five times since we've known each other."
"So?"
"So if there's a light at the end of the tunnel I should very much like to see it!"
"Light or flame? We shall now deci-"
"Q, I am *not* going to do another one of your trials!"
He pouted. The trials were his favourite thing to do. "But I have such wonderful material this time!"
"And I'm pushing *ninety!* I have a lovely cottage in Languedoc, a vineyard that needs tending, and a back that apparently still hurts in the afterlife. I'm *not* doing the court thing again!"
He frowned. "I could force you."
"You wouldn't enjoy it."
"How do you know?"
Picard smirked. "Because I know *you* Q! When have you ever forced me to do anything? You enjoy coaxing me into your schemes and games! Why now? It's been decades!"
"Because I'm bored!"
"So get a holodeck! Q, the world is full of important people to harass and I am -- *thankfully* \-- no longer among them. You will find much greater pleasure in toying with the young generations of Admirals. I think their dealings with the Romulans will give you endless fun."
"So no matter what I do, you won't comply?"
"Not a chance."
Q squinted. "I could immerse you in boiling oil for a thousand years."
"And you'd be waiting a thousand years for your play. Q, I am sorry. I am not the man to entertain you anymore. I am far too old, far too rickety, and far, *far* too retired."
He leaned back in his chair and scoffed. "What's the point then? Fine. Go back to your books and your wines. I have no further use for you."
In the moment before he vanished, Picard's eyes rolled back in his head and he sighed. It was a long, deep sigh, full of the breath of countless worlds. Full of missions and mortality.
Full of fatigue.
"Except that..." Q muttered, waiting for the man to truly be gone before he spoke. Even then, he paused for a moment, as if even the conjurations around him might overhear.
The courtroom dimmed, the effort necessary to maintain the illusion overcome by apathy. One by onew the mindless jeerers and jurors disappeared, unaware that they were, in essence, dying. Yet they had never existed in the first place.
Eventually Q himself began to vanish. He had no body. He was not human. The nothingness crept up his legs, across his knees, and enveloped his body. Eventually all that was left was a mouth and two eyes, arching downwards into an unconscious display of human emotion. A frown in the void, like a Cheshire cat.
"...I'm lonely," he finished.
And then he was gone.
|
"So Mr Jones, what do you have to say for yourself?"
"What do you mean? I don't even know what is going on. Am I dreaming?"
"Mr Jones, you were walking to work, is that correct?"
"Yes."
"Yes _Your Honour_."
"Yes your Honour" Mr Jones shifted on either foot.
"You saw a couple of cats"
Jones nodded
"A few school kids, and the traffic was light. Is that correct?"
"Yes your Honour, I remember the traffic was-"
"Yes is enough." The Judge interjected. "And on your way to work, you started to cross Amberly street - as you always do..."
Jomes nodded again.
"And can you describe what happened."
"Well, the traffic was quiet and I started to walk, and I got a text message, so I glanced down to read it..."
"Mr Jones, do you recall actually getting to the other side of Amberly street?"
"..." Mr Jones scratched his head
"You don't, do you Mr Jones."
"Uhhh, no, I dont."
"No, _your honour_. Mr Jones, you were hit by a bus. Your inattention has resulted in your death. Can you please inform the court what you saw on your phone that was so important?"
Mr Jones fumbled his phone from his jacket pocket, gingerly handing it to the court hand waiting to receive it. The judge gathered it from the court hand.
"Thank you. Mr Jones you were distracted by, and lost your life because..." the judge peered down their horn rimed glasses," because you received a text about cat facts."
Mr Jones put his head in his hands, shaking his head in them.
"Mr Jones, now we've gotten over that, let's discuss why you're really here."
Mr Jones looked up.
"Mr Jones let's skip to June 15th 2013, you promised your kids you'd take them to play in the skate park, do you recall?"
Mr Jones was flooded with images of the promised night. It was just a night.
"But you didn't take them, did you?"
"N-no, I had a.. work deadline. There was a presentation. My boss had spoken to me before the day ended."
"And you didn't rebuke him about your prior plans?"
"No your Honour."
"And you didn't think about your kids, or keeping your word, or what they wanted?"
"I..I uh"
"You didn't Mr Jones. This is your life Mr Jones. You ambled through it hoping more financial and professional success would bring you happiness, not really thinking about what should be important to you: your family, your wife and kids, your passions and impact. What was life asking from you Mr Jones?"
"I don't understand.."
"Ofcourse you don't understand, you weren't listening Mr Jones. You were looking out for what grabbed you. You were looking at this?" The Judge wiggled the phone, "and what did _it_ give you? Cat facts, likes and matches. Distractions Mr Jones. You chose what other people thought and ringing bells over the sound of your own voice. Listen. Listen now to what it's saying."
The room fell quiet. There was a meek murmer.
"Do you hear it Mr Jones. Are you listening?"
Jones strained to pick it up. It was quietly sobbing. Jones felt the sadness wash over him. Sat in front of him, his son, head down. He got down. It wasn't his son. It was him. He looked up from his hands, tears in his eyes, "I wanted to be a baker." He whimpered.
Mr Jones saw it all again. The way his dad would have laughed at it. The money it wouldn't make when he was deciding what to do in highschool. How Mindy Howes wouldn't have gone out with him, she was rich.. where was Mindy now? Who knew. Who cared. She was horrible then anyway.
"Mr Jones, what do you have to say for yourself?"
| 2018-06-16T17:11:12
| 2018-06-16T16:23:14
| 223
| 119
|
[WP] Everyone is born with a natural tattoo of their spirit animal. Every person gets the traits and abilities of their respective animal. But when you were born your father, having a bear tattoo and your mother, bearing a dove tattoo, were horrified. Leviathan.
Edit. Wow thank you to everyone who submitted thie stories here. Never expected it to blow up this much.
|
There are thousands of stories of the great heroes of our time, stories meant to inspire the children despite their anima. It is believed that no anima was inferior to another, no anima was stronger or weaker, and so we tell stories of of both Regar the Lion, who came from a farming village and went to conquer 40 kingdoms and bed 10000 women, as well as Tillus the mouse, who overthrew Regar with his instinct and wit just to save the one woman he loved from being another of Regar's concubines. But we always hide the stories of the legendary anima, because their existence breaks our vision of the world. These people are born with potential, and contain ability that surpasses any attainable human power. And while many have been glorious heroes and saviors of mankind, we must ignore them, for a greater light casts a darker shadow.
I tell to you now, one of these stories, one that perhaps should never be told. The story of Ilius, the leviathan. His father was a raging bear, consumed with dominance and power, but his lack of ability to tap into the innate strength of the bear led to weakness and fear, and eventually evil. By the time Ilius was born, the once proud man was a heavy drinker due to his successive, and ruthlessly beat his wife in drunken stupor. And the mark of the leviathan on his son, only made him angrier. His pride would not take that his son would be a greater man than himself, so he treated Ilius cruelly. His mother was a dove, a dove trapped in a cage with wings clipped, only watching the brutality of her husband as he beat her only child and raped him. She loved ilius but not as a son, but as a beacon that distracted his father, but Ilius mistook this love as it was his only light in his dark world. On his 9th birthday, his father comes back from the tavern in a rage from gambling away his meager earnings and returns home to vent his stress. But this time it is different, as he comes home to ilius smiling with his mother making dinner. He sees finally, that even his attempt to take away happiness from his ill borne son has failed and in his rage, he beats ilius to near death. Ilius begs for mercy in his pain, but as he looks to his mother, he sees the light gone from her. He sees her fear, not for him, but for the lack of him.
The next morning, the boy once called Ilius was found in the ruins of what seemed to be a collapsed, burned family home. He sat there with inky black eyes covered in reptilian scale, in the black pitch of the family room. The walls were not burned, but rather devoid of color, black like burnt wood but with no ash. Sheriffs found two bodies, left only bones with the flesh turned to tar. They say that this was the beginning of the leviathan, the monster who ate any light that tried to see into his dark abyss.
|
Some call it a gift from the Spirit of the Earth or God or whoever is out there. This animal shaped stain on everyone's skin one of which can grant the attributes and behavior of whatever it resembled. My father has the mark of a Wild boar on his back he is stubborn, strong and smart. My Mother has a hawk on her shoulder she can see through anyone and see what kind of people they really are. I thought I was a worm. small, slimy and dirty. Boy was I wrong.
I was always getting teased by kids my age and this has left me bitter and hateful towards people. I was called Slimy Jim the worm guy. I grew to hate despise the system of this world the Predators and the Prey. Those with strong animal marks would always abuse those that are powerless to stop them.
As I was growing up my only friend was a girl called Shelly. Ironically enough she had the mark of a creature called a Nautilus Squid she was reserved and just like me made fun off. We both hated the system but we where powerless to stop them. I was a worm she was a squid what can we do against the Lions, Tigers and Bears of the world.
As the years passed Me and Shelly noticed a change. As our physical bodies grew so did our birthmarks. The worm I originally thought I had was no worm at all. It was a fierce winged serpent and Shelly has a hunched Humanoid with a squid head. We were no worm and squid. We are Leviathan and Cthulhu and we will bring everything down.
| 2017-11-08T05:57:15
| 2017-11-08T05:42:07
| 19
| 11
|
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect.
|
Over the years I've come to interpret the colors I see around people. I once tried to describe it to someone and they told me it,was their "Aura," but every description of an aura has multiple colors. I only see one, and each color is a different kind of death.
There's your common red, something to do with the heart most often, but sometimes could be another organ failing. The slightly less common purple, violent death, mostly seen in bad neighborhoods and around military bases.
Green was disease, which strangely enough encompassed diabetes most of the time, too. Yellow was drug overdose. Orange was accidental. Sometimes you'd get something like a half yellow, half purple. I took that to mean it was a forced drug overdose.
One day, as I'm walking down the street late one night, I saw something I'd never seen before. It was around a petite blonde. Some color I had never seen before. It was impossible to describe. It was unnatural. I had to follow her and find out.
She took a turn down a dark alley. That's not very safe. I should make sure she's okay. What is that color? Is that movement? I should take out my pocket knife just incase.
Holy shit! What is that color. It can't exist. She's unnatural. She shouldn't be. I have to remove that color. It must go. Remove.
Just walk up behind her. Good. Oh, that's hot. And sticky. She's laying on the ground. You know, in this light, she kind of looks like my mother. The color is fading. Thank god.
Hey, what was that at the end of the alley? What was that color? It's unnatural...
|
For years we had been blissfully happy, Robin and I, 7 years to be exact. since the day I met her she had the same cause of death hanging above her head, Alzheimer’s, as did I. I was content to know that we would both live long lives.
Today Robin’s cause of death changed, six months into her pregnancy it was **our baby** that would kill her.
First attempt at ever writing a story haha...
| 2015-03-31T09:00:41
| 2015-03-31T08:46:40
| 22
| 14
|
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear David,
So many things have happened since you left. As you know, dad is gone too. Mom hasn't handled losing you or dad very well. Ok, that's putting it mildly. Mom has lost her shit and gone off the deep end. You wouldn't believe the difference. Drugs. Alcohol. Living with an addict thy she has professed her undying love to. I know, right?? I've only talked to her three times this year and haven't seen her in over a year.
It's not all bad since you left though. Beck is now a mother! Yes, our baby sister! She has a little boy named Michael (yes, the very name she had picked out when we were all little kids!). She also has daughter named Eleanor (I picked the name). And here's what you will find amusing....they were BOTH born with flaming RED HAIR lmao!! I know!! After Beck used to swear if she ever ever had a red headed kid she'd dye their hair lol. They are perfect and beautiful and glorious. When I was in the waiting room all I could think about is that no one would understand how excited I was except for you. It was bittersweet.
Beck is married but you would have killed him and I would have helped you bury him if you were still here. *sibling high five* But he is quickly being out of the picture. It's hard for Beck but she's in school so she can provide a life for herself and the babies. She's a good egg.
Ok, life. Clint and I are still together! He's the best. We talk about you all the time. Although, he usually lets me bring you up because, well, you know. You were my baby brother. Anyway. You met Lydia. She was three months old when you left. She's spectacular. She getting married in February! She has the best head on her shoulders. Beautiful. Smart. Just like her mother lol. You never met Matthew. He was born a little over a year after you left. And let me say...he reminds me so much of you. There were days when he was little that it was painful to see him doing things you could never do. Then there where days that made me say "Ugh! you remind me so much of your uncle David, I just want to knock the shit out of you!"...lol. He's a freaking genius. He's so sweet and nurturing. He will make an excellent dad and husband one day. (Just like his dad)
I don't know if you know this but you have made a huge impact on their lives. Go ahead. Gloat all you want. I told them all about you. I've told them every funny story about us that I can remember. I know there are ones that I don't remember. Ones that you have the other side of the story. Stories I wish I remembered, that left with you. How things happened from your perspective....anyway. Lydia told me one day she forgets that she never actually knew you. Made me smile.
Now for me. I'm doing great. I'm still happily in love. Like, stupid in love. We are the couple that you and I would have made fun of lol. He misses you too. He misses dad too. The big news in my life: I went blonde. I know, I know, Brunette forever and all the jazz. I don't want to hear it lol. I'm old. Well, older. So much older! It's been...what?...20 years? Has it really been that long? I seems like yesterday. But then again with you, and now dad, gone it seems like so long ago. Like it was a different life. Another persons life. But it was my life and it had you in it. And now it doesn't. It's starting to creep in while I'm writing this. That feeling. The one that has me hyperventilating in my bed. The one that has me so angry at God. The one that makes me not able to have someone mention you because the cut is still so raw, that I feel I would bleed to death if I had to talk about you. I actually get so angry sometimes when I hear other people talk about you. They talk about how great you were. How courageous you were. How much better off you are. How lucky I was to know you. And. I. Just. Want. To. Scream. Fuck them. I want to tell them you were not perfect, that you were a little shit little brother who would hid my stuff and get mom to side with you! I want to tell them that they have no idea what courage was! How I listened to you scream and beg for mercy every time we had to bathe you. Or during those horrible procedures. Or...everyday of your fucking life. How much better off you are?! You are gone. You are never coming back. I will never be able to laugh with you again. How lucky I am to have known you??? They don't know. There are nights were I lay in bed wondering (torturing myself, really) if it was worth it for you? Was it really worth me knowing you if it meant you living the life you were dealt?? Can you justify a child living and dying in horrific pain for just the pleasure of me knowing them? I don't know. It took me years to not be so angry at God. Years. And I'm not going to lie, there are still days where I don't think too much of him lol.
I wish I could just know if it was all worth it? Were the good times worth all of the shit you had to endure? 16 years of pain and suffering. I hope it was. I think I could go crazy if I didn't think it was worth it. I have to believe it was worth it. Please. God.
Anyway, like I was saying. I'm good.
I am sorry though. For all those times I would get so frustrated with you. I know. It was all big sister/little brother crap, but I'm here and you're gone. So. It's different. I get to regret and rethink and rehash all of our arguments and fights that happened between teenaged me and teenaged you. 16. Gone at 16..... Anyways. I love you. I think about you every single day. If I'm being honest, probably every hour. Don't flatter yourself. Lol. I miss you so bad. But I wouldn't bring you back to live like you had to live. I love you more than that. I do.
So, say hi to dad for me and give him a hug and kiss for Lydia and Matthew. And I'll see you both soon. But not too soon....lol. I love you kiddo. ~forever your big sister, Angel.
|
Dear you,
I've always meant to write this letter to you, but I was never able to really put it all together. We've gone through a lot together, to say the least.
I guess I just wanted to say thank you, for everything. For your generosity, for your openness, your pride, your confidence. I truly admire you as a person.
In this world, there are many different types of people. I always believed in a world of people who truly want the best for others. Before I learned that I was a little naive, I believed in a world that lived together. As humans placed here on this planet together, with the best, the shining examples of our race claiming brotherhood and kindness for all, how could one not believe them?
This isn't the truth. Quite the opposite in fact.
People are hateful and selfish. They will lie and cheat and steal just to better their own situation. The entire world is drowning in themselves, and the worst will climb to the top by pushing your head under the water to keep themselves above the surface. It's easy to succumb to those who are only here to ruin you. You know that better than most.
You know, but you never embraced that thought.
Of all the adversity you faced from the first day of your life, you could have blamed your troubles on the unfairness of the world. You could have closed yourself off from the world and never taken responsibility for the life you were given, but you didn't.
As much as you struggled, as much as you had to fight, giving up was never an option to you. You've always known inherently that the problem wasn't with you, it was with the world. It was the defining characteristic of your personality. You looked at everyone that ever doubted who you were and knew in your heart that they were wrong. While everyone was busy tearing each other down, you built yourself. You built the person that everyone is envious of.
You have always known that you love yourself. It's the source of the world's envy.
It's why I love you.
Some souls are chosen from birth to face the awful side of the world because they are stronger than others.
I just want to thank you for creating something beautiful with the adversity that nature posed against you. For creating you.
I also wanted to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't as strong as you.
I should've stood beside you. I should've taken a stand. I should have done so many things for you that I was never capable.
But when I found myself,
When I realized who you were,
When I was finally able to stand with you against the opposition,
When I believed in us,
You never even considered if I was worthy.
I am a vengeful person. I remember every one of the persons in my life that ever mistreated me, but when I came to your door looking for what you had all along, you had forgotten I ever wronged you. That's why you're the greater person than I. I thought you would remember the worst of me, the part of myself I can't leave behind. But you didn't.
On the contrary you opened yourself to me. You're so closely guarded... you have a right to be too, but you let me in. From the first day you let me in. The side of you that so few see, you let me in so easily. You saw more in me. More than I believe I deserved. It's why we are what we are to each other.
From my experience with the world, people are hateful and selfish... but a person? A person is kind. A person is generous. A person is forgiving.
That's who you are.
From my experience with the world, there is a reason there are so few great people. From the hate we experience, the anger, the worthlessness others feel that is thrown onto us, only the few great rise above it all.
Only few recognize the truth in the world. I recognized you. You recognized me.
Thank you, again.
Sincerely, me
| 2015-12-05T16:20:18
| 2015-12-05T15:18:49
| 32
| 18
|
[WP] It's your birthday. You have never been excited for it but this year is different. You are turning 32. This was the date your father said you could open the box he left you in his will. The probate lawyer that was in charge of your fathers will is dropping off the box today.
|
I stood on the doorstep, watching the lawyer walk up from his immaculately polished Mercedes-Benz. The guy always had a knack for showing off.
"Good morning, and Happy Birthday." he stated plainly. If he wasn't making his hourly charge for something, he was terse. Efficient and shrewd, just like his ex-golfing buddy, my late father. He handed me the box, shrugged, and returned to his vehicle.
I stood there for a silent moment, alone with the box. My wife, expecting our first in two months, napping in the bedroom. Oddly, she showed no interest in the box when I had explained it to her just the night before. I thought she would be intrigued, but instead came off as unusually passive.
I took a deep breath. This was it. Almost seven years of waiting since the day I found out that this was left to me. I popped the latch, and lifted the lid.
What the hell was this?!? A single, solitary piece of paper, folded. I set the box down, and removed the paper. Eager to see what was written.
Two lines, one at the top of the page, one at the bottom. The top line seemed ominous and threatening. "You'd better enjoy the next half minute..."
Confused, I read the bottom line. "For it's your thirty second birthday."
That motherf*cker....
|
My 32nd birthday was due to fall on a Thursday. I've never chosen to treat birthdays as different to any other days before now, but this was special. I booked a day off work and gave the coworkers noncommital answers when they asked me if I had any plans. I put on make up I don't usually wear, put on a new outfit I'd bought especially for the occasion and waited. I'd been told last week that nobody would come to see me until the afternoon but I was dressed and ready for the day before nine with nothing in particular to do. I watched cartoons.
The knock on the door, once it finally arrived, was loud and precise. The woman who'd come to visit me wore a perfectly tailored suit and looked unerringly professional.
"Are you from Carter and Braddock?" I asked.
"Yes, my name is Ms Hughes." she confirmed, "May I come in?"
I invited her inside and offered her a drink.
"No thank you. Now I'm afraid that for security reasons I'll need to see the pieces of photo identification that you brought to the office last month."
I smiled at her.
"Of course. They're already on the desk."
She double checked the ID against her own records.
"Excellent, the item is in my car if you'd like to wait here."
"No," I said, "I'm actually heading out if it's all the same to you."
There was a momentary look of confusion on Ms Hughes' face before she quickly hid the expression away.
"Whatever suits you better." she said as I followed her out of the door and then added, "Do you have any questions before I leave?"
I locked the house behind me and spun the keyring in my hand absentmindedly.
"No, not really."
When Ms Hughes retrieved the box from her car I realised that I did have one question after all, though.
"I'm going to take this to a restaurant. Would you like to come with me?"
I expected her to say that it wouldn't be appropriate and I'm sure she considered that but in the end her curiousity won out.
"I would."
​
\-----
​
The smell of baking pizza wafted to my nose as soon as we entered and one of the waiters greeted me warmly.
"Erica! Where do you want to sit?"
I pointed to the back corner of the room.
"Could we take that table?"
Ms Hughes looked faintly bemused as we sat down.
"I thought perhaps you wanted to go to a restaurant because you were going somewhere fancy to celebrate."
I grinned.
"So, there's something to celebrate?"
Her face betrayed no expression.
"We have no more of an idea what's in that box than you do. Less, perhaps. I just meant that as it's the last gift from a very wealthy individual then you might have known that it was something you were going to treasure."
I shrugged.
"Fair enough. I wanted to come here because I know the main chef." I said.
Garlic bread came and went and the box lay untouched on the table. Conversation mostly stuck to small talk and I couldn't help but notice that Ms Hughes was more interested in the box than I was. Her facial expressions gave nothing away but her eyes kept darting towards it.
"Would you like to look at their pizza oven?" I asked her suddenly.
"Uh..." she began and this time she was quite unable to pretend she wasn't confused, "Sure?"
"It's a wood fired oven, huge thing." I said and gestured to the door near us.
She went in ahead of me but I was soon enough behind her that nobody had complained about her being there before realising that it was fine and she was with me. There was nothing in the pizza oven and the warmth from the fire was incredible.
"This is why I wanted this restaurant." I said.
In one swift, sudden motion I threw the box that Ms Hughes hadn't even noticed I'd brought in into the flames. I smiled for a moment and then turned away.
"Though I think I want pasta, not pizza. What main did you want?"
Ms Hughes looked at me with a mixture of amazement and horror.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because my father was a miserable bastard who never accepted me. That box would have been some final insult or a gift that came with so many strings that it's an obligation. Whatever was in there can't have been worth it. And now even if at some point in the future my resolve weakens, I'll never have to know."
"Because you'll never be able to know." she said quietly, but in agreement rather than argument.
"Exactly," I said as I led her out of the kitchen, "Now, I'm going to stick around and order a main. If you don't want to stay then I understand bu-"
"I'll stay." Ms Hughes said quickly and looked at the specials, "Their risotto looks to die for."
| 2022-12-12T14:14:37
| 2022-12-12T14:03:44
| 76
| 31
|
[WP] You're a supervillain with a superhero as your arch-nemesis. When they come out to the world about their depression and mental health, others call them weak and there is backlash. You, however, are the first one to support them publicly.
|
*'Raven Star: beloved hero throws the towel!'*
*'Raven Star, burn out, and the new public health crisis'*
*'Superhero admits to mental issues, triggers outrage'*
*'Concerned citizens protest against mentally ill superhero'*
*'Is this the end of Raven Star?'*
The headline of the year. No matter where Lang went, he couldn't escape the newsreel that obsessed over him. Even now, huddled as he was in a ball on his tiny couch, he could hear the news from his neighbors penetrating the walls.
Stupid super hearing. Stupid chest heaviness. Stupid empty feeling in his bones and head and pain in his stomach. It was numb and fucking hurt and it was stupid.
He hated it.
*"I've been so tired. Things get worse and I don't know how to save everyone. It's so fucking tiring. Can't handle it anymore. I'm depressed and I don't know what to do. I just want to give up."*
That's what he said. A moment of vulnerability. That's all it was for god's sake. Lang's panic attacks were getting worse, all the fucking PTSD happening at the worst possible times. Like in the middle of a rescue mission. That day, he was tired. Weak.
Like fucking vultures, they swopped in. Bombarding him with questions that he was just too tired to think through. So, like a dam breaking. He let it slip.
Now the world was feasting on it like starving dogs.
"Did you eat yet?"
Lang jumped, summoning a shard of cosmic light and turned. Maverick was leaning on his countertop, paper bags in his arms. The other man's brow arched as he stared questioningly at the burning spear in Lang's hands. With a wave, he made it dissipate, before moving back to his curled position.
"You scared me," he said, muffled as he dragged a blanket over himself. Lang heard footsteps getting closer. A gentle hand pulled it away. Concerned eyes stared down at him.
"You're still in your costume Voyd."
"When I'm home, I'm your husband."
"Still in costume."
Maverick snapped his fingers. Black and blue melted away into comfy sweats and a hoodie, like his own. It made Lang want to snort.
Raven Star and Voyd. Superhero and supervillain. Living in marital bliss.
"Time to eat," Maverick said. A bowl of steaming noodles materialized from a void on his palm. A void construct grabbed the remote and placed it on Maverick's hand. The TV started playing an animated movie.
Lang couldn't help but smile. Who knew master thief Voyd was a good husband?
"Thank you," he whispered. Maverick kissed his cheek, before settling beside him. Already, he could feel the numbness creep back, everything feeling like it's there and not so separate.
He felt okay.
Until he wasn't.
A few hours later, Lang was stiff and curled in the corner of the couch when his super-hearing picked up the news from his upstairs neighbor while Maverick was on a grocery run that was taking too long.
*"Raven Star? He hasn't been taking care of himself. Irresponsible."*
He recognized that voice. Master Solaris, a galactic hero. A pro in the hero business and a voice of authority. Hearing them say *that...*
He wasn't shaking, but his limbs felt heavy. Not his own. Detached. He curled into a ball and maybe capture something to make the feeling go away. He just wanted it to stop-
*"You cunts really have no idea how to appreciate a good thing don't you?"*
The voice was heavily distorted. A voice changer. A voice he recognized anywhere.
He grabbed the remote. Turned the TV on. There, on the screen, was Master Solaris, metallic features twisted in a scowl as black void constructs bound him while another person stole the mic.
Blues and blacks. Voyd's colors. What was Maverick doing hijacking Master Solaris' interview? Master Solaris was then muffled by Maverick's construct. Even masked, Lang could almost imagine the cocky smirk.
*"That's better. And that goes to you, dear viewer."*
The camera was closer. This close, Lang could almost pretend to see those calm brown eyes through the layer of black crystal that made his mask.
*"You're all cunts for being terrible citizens,"* he said. *"A friendly hero just needed a health break and you all acted like it was a crime against humanity."*
Lang gaped at the screen, shock and awe warring with the heady feeling of warmth, all layered with the confusing mix of embarrassment and flattery.
*"I don't understand why he loves saving your ungrateful asses. He's still human fuckwits. He's not dead, just burned out. He needs a break, not a media frenzy."*
Lang still stared, though he couldn't help but imagine the scowl on Maverick's face as he said it. Those eyes that burned with intensity in his defense. No matter what the situation, Maverick stood by him.
He couldn't stop the grin from forming.
*"Is there a reason why you're in the hero's defense?"* one brave reporter asked. Maverick, in full Voyd persona, scoffed.
*"Because if I lose my archnemesis, then nothing's stopping me from going full supervillain. Be glad I just like stealing. Don't make me bored. Or angry."*
In a flash, Voyd vanished. A few minutes later, Maverick came home, two bags of groceries in hand.
"Hey babe, how are you fee- oof!"
Maverick didn't finish as Lang hugged him tightly.
"Why did you do that?" he asked. Maverick didn't even try to hide it. Just grabbed his face and kissed him deeply.
"They don't know how to appreciate you. Their loss if they lose someone as wonderful and perfect as you."
The way he said it, full sincerity. It made Lang's insides melt and his cheeks warm.
"You shouldn't have threatened them," he admonished. Maverick just smirked at him.
"It's not like it was serious. I'm surprised Daven didn't figure out he could burn the restrains of with him loose they were."
Lang just shook his head fondly, then pulled his husband with him to the couch as he cuddled with his husband. He wasn't ready to go back yet, not by a long shot. But at least he was sure that he wasn't alone. And that was good enough for now.
|
„Damn, I‘ve never done one of those before.“ I mumble, while I straighten my tie for the what had to
Be 15th time. „At least…officially.“ I chuckled.
The door opened and my secretary, Claire, looked in. „They are ready for you, Mr. Noir.“ I nodded gratefully. That woman was truly a blessing. Without her my whole evil empire would fall apart. She managed to
Cobble together this press conference within a couple of hours since the news. Donning my signature black mask, I strode outside. *Boy, they all came. Room is really cramped with Reporters*
Taking a seat, Claire quickly made introductions and the stage was mine.
„Dear Reporters, especially those of the daily news…sorry again for your headquarters. My death ray went a bit woozy and I really am all for freedom of speech and stuff…“ Claire audibly cleared her throat. „Anyway, welcome you all. As you are all aware, there has been a situation regarding White Knight. And now everyone listen closely. Talking about your problems is hard, especially as a figure of public interest. Mental
Health is just as important as physical health. You don‘t expect people to walk on a broken leg!
If I hear anyone badmouthing White knight, I‘ll personally stand you in Front of my newst experiments and after I‘ll flay you till you…AHHHHHHHHH!“ Claire ground her Heel into my foot. „Sir, no evil monologuing on official press releases.“
„Thank you. As I was saying. I really hope, White Knight can take some much needed time of and get some professional help. I promise, I‘ll lay nice and low till you return and cook up something extra evil for you to fight once you‘re up and running again!“
I looked into the crowd. They seemed adequatly terrified. „So, any further questions?“
| 2022-06-21T11:48:22
| 2022-06-21T10:42:29
| 80
| 34
|
[WP] A fleet of alien ships has appeared in orbit. The aliens say they can end world hunger and disease. In return, they want one hundred million volunteers for their army.
|
"Sir.. they said they can end world hunger and disease.. but they want 100 million volunteers for their army.." Nigel looked worried, he knew his Commander wasn't known for his compassion. The Commander paused and thought for a moment. He leaned back in his chair and chuckled. Nigel let out a nervous giggle.. he shouldn't have even told his Commander what the deal was. "All of those lives are just as much on me as they are on him" he thought to himself.
"Well see the problem here is..." the Commander said grinning between 2 chubby cheeks, "is that we can end world hunger and disease already." Nigel looked confused and listened intently for the Commander to continue. "But how is anyone supposed to make any money from that?" his tone changed quickly. He wiped the smile from his face and looked up at Nigel over his glasses resting low on his nose, eyebrow slightly raised. Nigel knew it was a rhetorical question, and he did not dare to bring up the implications of the Commander's thought process. "So, I should tell them we said no?" Nigel asked hesistantly. The Commander leaned back in his chair again and sighed. "Set me up a meeting with these interglactic creatures. I want to speak with them face to face." The Commander said.
Nigel stood frozen in his tracks for a moment before carrying out the request. "Why on Earth would he want to meet these things. He's seen them, right?! He's been briefed?!" Nigel thought to himself, shuttering at the thought of coming face to face with the creatures they saw in the photos in the briefing room a few days prior. Nonetheless, Nigel had the meeting set up for later that day.
When the aliens packed into the top floor conference room of the World Trade Center Baltimore. Nigel warned the Commander they were ready and went to help him with his jacket. The Commander raised an open palm to Nigel, "wait" he said shuffling through papers on his desk. "Let them sit for a moment." Nigel didn't want the Commander playing head games with these beasts, but this wasn't the first time he had to sit through the suspense of how people were going to react to the Commanders mind tricks. Usually, though, it's just measly humans they are dealing with.
Minutes pass by and Nigel can feel the heat raising from his body, trapped in by his uniform. The Commander finally gets up, quickly adjusts his suit, and heads for the door with Nigel trailing him. You would have thought the Commander went out and met intergalactic space beings once a week the way he strolled down the hallway. He walked into the conference room chest first.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen." He said in his confidently relaxed. They all take their seats and begin. "So what is it exactly anyways you want with 100 million humans? Are there no other creatures out there that interest you?" the Commander asks, a server pouring a glass of scotch over his shoulder.
"We know of your way of life here. It is quite, insensitive. We have laws against treating beings from our planets this way, but you do not. We need bi-pedal creatures with fingers AND disposable thumbs, as they are the most efficient at building smaller, intricate pieces we need for machines back home. These jobs do not pay much and most creatures don't want to do them. Your humans are sick and hungry anyways, we will be able to take them off your hands and care for them better than they would be here. You will not have to worry about them anymore." The head alien said calmly, The Commander processed the answer for a moment.
"Do you know what losing 100 million people would do to our economy? It would cripple it, at the very least." "We are prepared to share technology with you to take their place. There will be an adjusting period, but it will work. We have done this before with all considerations." The alien replied without missing a beat. "What is it exactly that you want, Commander?" The alien asked. Nigel looked at the Commander. Nigel knew what the Commander wanted, he wanted to be powerful. He was good at getting what he wanted, too. The Commander gained his power from being smart, tactical, and strategic. He didn't burn bridges quickly.
The Commander sat in the silence and let it stir. "You play a hard game, Commander. Since food and medicine do not interest you, what about our military technology?" The alien asked, sliding a thick folder across the long table. The Commander held his poker face firm while he flipped through the pages of the tiny makeshift booklet.
He looked up and said, "you can have the hungry and the sick.. since you can take care of them better." negotiated the Commander. "That is fine with us." The alien agreed. "We will give you 10 of those ships for 100 million hungry, sick humans." The Commander pondered on it for a moment before standing up from his chair and holding out his hand.
The two solidified their agreement and the aliens left. Nigel sat pale-faced in the horror that swirled around him, feeling too heavy to get up from his seat while the Commander picked the folder back up. "Get the plans together, Nigel. I want this done as quick as possible and as quietly as possible." He didn't give Nigel a chance to speak before the glass door shut quietly behind him.
Nigel didn't have too many choices, he was sworn in to serve the Commander, to serve his country. He imagined what horrible things the Commander would do to him if he tried to screw this deal up for him. He decided to just make the plans as quickly as possible. It didn't take him long to pinpoint the hungriest and sickest of planet Earth. There were more than enough of them. Nigel tried to focus on the numbers rather than the lives behind them.
Soon, the 100 million were loaded onto the alien ships and ready to go. The Commander, Nigel, and a few other scientists and politicians stood around as the deal finished. "We want Nigel, too, Commander." The alien said sternly. The Commander was visibally taken back. He turned to Nigel, and with the slightest reluctance motioned him to get on the ship.
Nigel could feel the blood dropping out of his face and froze in his place. He couldn't move. This was what nightmares were made of. This was the nightmare he just made real for 100 million people... He walked onto the ship with the aliens slowly, and the door closed behind him.
"You know what he's going to do with those ships, right?" Nigel said expressionless. "Is it much better than what you did to all these people?" the alien replied, genuinely curious to know his thoughts on the question, but didn't wait for a response. "He can only do damage with them if he knows how to work them, which he doesn't." The alien said.
A TV screen popped up on the ship, a message from a pretty human played on the screen. "Welcome, humans. As sad as it is to say goodbye to your home planet, we are going to be introducing you to other ways of life. You are the first bunch of human chosen to merge with our intergalactic cultures. You will be given food, shelter, education, medicine, and anything else to make your transisition easier. We look forward to having you as part of the community." The pretty girl continued.
"Wait..." Nigel said, looking up to the alien. "We are not taking you humans as slaves, were saving you and introducing our lifestyle. This is just a trial run though, so we will see how it goes. This is your second chance, too, Nigel. You better kick your evil habits, we will be watching you.
|
From the sidelines, we watched as 100 million of our own walked into uncharted territory.
All across the planet, at the capital of each nation, the aliens had dropped large metallic archways. Upon landing on the earth, they began to glow with an ominous light, forming doorways to an opened universe.
*100 million volunteers*, said the aliens to the leaders of the human race. *100 million freely given, freely went. In return, none of your people shall starve again, nor know disease. Pain and suffering will be but a distant memory. This is our offer.*
The leaders were hesitant. How could the aliens prove that they could uphold their end of the deal?
The aliens laid waste to Rome in a fury of celestial fire. Nothing remained but rubble and ash. Then, like a wave of the magic wand, a great beam of light descended from one of their ships, and Rome rebuilt itself in a day. All lives were returned, as if they were never lost.
The call went out. Every president, prime minister, and dictator appeared to their respective peoples. *Will you go?* they asked. *Will you answer the call?*
It didn’t take long. Prisoners were given the option to go, and many did. Homeless men and women answered the call in droves. Lost teens searching for a purpose found it in the armada that hovered in the atmosphere. Widowers recently heartbroken, priests who’d lost their faith at the sight of the first ships, men and women who felt the stirring of adventure; so many answered the call, from all walks of life.
Above the archways were counters. As each person stepped through that veil of light across the world, the number increased. By the end of the first day, over 70 million people worldwide had gone. Parents wept; little brothers and sisters asked where their siblings had gone, and if they’ll be back; lovers were left behind, dry-eyed and jaws clenched.
At 4:03 AM of the second day since the call, the counter hit 100 million, and the veils of light disappeared. Shouts of relief and rage and regret ringed the world over.
Then, the aliens began to leave. Their impossible ships rose further and further into the air. The leaders of the howled, fearing treachery and lies.
But the aliens did not forget. They had promised to rid the world of hunger and illness, pain and suffering.
And so, they did. All 9 ships unleashed their arsenal, like a wave of holy fire that scoured the planet of its burden. The earth was left barren and burnt, but peaceful and quiet.
The aliens completed the trade, then left to find another planet.
---
Check out my profile for more non-alien stories >:~D
| 2020-07-22T09:52:28
| 2020-07-22T08:53:14
| 19
| 12
|
[WP] You're a murder victim for hire. As an immortal masochist, no job could suit you better. You're happy to substitute for assassination targets, disgruntled lovers, and would be serial victims. Until one day, strapped to a serial killer's table, they lean in and say, "Have we met before?"
[removed]
|
The blade lowered to just below his abdomen, spinning menacingly. Jeff was positively delighted, though he tried his best to not show it.
"Oh no, please don't kill me, oh no," he said, keenly aware that he wasn't quite selling it. The serial killer glanced at him, distracted from his work.
"Could you be quiet?" the serial killer asked, wiping his brow with a gloved hand. "You don't seem to particularly scared, you know."
"Oh no, trust me, you're doing a great job," Jeff replied, pushing out his stomach and managing to tear off a small chunk of skin just below the bellybutton. He smiled. "See? Sharp as a scalpel. I can see you take pride in your work."
The serial killer shook his head, as if trying to shake off a feeling. Eventually he could contain it no more.
"Listen, I know this is a bit of an awkward question, given the situation and all," the killer said, "but have we met before? This all seems so *familiar*."
Jeff squinted at the man, as the realization slowly dawned on him. "Oh my God. Jordan, is that you? Why, look at you - you're all grown up!"
Jordan's face recoiled in shock. "No, no, you must have me mistaken for somebody else-"
"I can't believe it!" Jeff continued, breaking free from his restraints and sitting up on the table. "God, look at you! Look at how much you've grown! You were barely a teen when we first met."
Shock and revulsion suddenly overcame Jordan, feeling trapped in his own kill den.
"No," he said, looking at him wildly, "I killed you. You were one of my first. I *know* I killed you."
"You most certainly did," Jeff said, wiping a tear from his eye, "and what a kill it was. You were a bit sloppy, no doubt - but I could see you had it in you to be a real stone-cold killer. And here we are. What an absolute pleasure it is to see you like this."
Jordan began to drop the chainsaw, but Jeff grabbed it before he could.
"Oh no *no*, we're just getting started," Jeff said, putting the weapon back into his hands. "You can't just leave me like this."
Jordan looked like he was about to vomit. He tried to back away, but Jeff grabbed his arm with an iron grip.
"Trust me Jordan, if you don't finish this," he continued, suddenly deadly serious, "*I'll kill you myself.*"
****
****
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
|
"You sometimes get too caught up. It's the name of the job. Playing a role of a murder victim can get exhausting. I don't really know how to explain it. I enjoy the blood. I never die, but I experience the killing. There is a certain thrill I guess. It get's boring though, all superficial and nothing deeper than the crust of a pie since I never really die. There's no real risk.
&#x200B;
Maybe it would be better if I could die, oh then what a joy! What an absolute pleasure that I will never get to experience.
&#x200B;
Perhaps this is why people kill, to do others a favor. Death is the ultimate escape from reality. Who wants to live in this dredge called life? Where evilness overflows and overtakes and slowly consumes your entire being until nothing is left except that evil trace that once upon a time you fought against.
&#x200B;
Trust me, I experience this evil daily. Can you believe that there are some people trying to prevent murders? Stemming the proliferation of the ultimate gift. It's probably envy. Maybe they should experience death too before they rage against it.
&#x200B;
Anyways, so yeah, how do I get my clients? Hm, it's a pretty simple process actually. The night when the moon shines the brightest, I always receive an anonymous call. Bzzz, static at first, then a low incomprehensible talking. At this point, my heart rate increases and blood flows to my cheeks. I also get sexually aroused.
&#x200B;
The call continues into very clear and well spoken man, demanding that I kill "Bill" that fucker or "Jane" who very obviously took my needed promotion through deceptive means.
&#x200B;
Wait, sorry, did I say kill? No, I play the role of all the Bills and the Janes. I study them. I study who they are, what they do, where they live, their daily routine. I absorb their whole personality and psyche. I am now Bill. I am now Jane.
&#x200B;
When the time to kill comes, I am ready. I can feel the emotions they feel, the terror they feel, the trickle of blood and the shock when they realize for the first time how much blood the human body can actually produce.
&#x200B;
It was a particularly shiny night. That night, that damned night, something was wrong. My entire room was bathed in the palest of lights, but still no call came. Oh well, I've been waiting the entire fucking month may as well pretend to be a murder victim anyways. So that's what I did, I played myself as the victim.
&#x200B;
That's when everything made perfect sense. The serial killer leaned down and whispered to me with the saccharine tone of a lover, 'Have we met before?'.
&#x200B;
'Have we met before?'
&#x200B;
'Have we met before?'
&#x200B;
Oh honey, of course we have!"
&#x200B;
\- Sanctimony Maximum Security Prison, 6/27/18
| 2018-11-22T01:51:04
| 2018-11-22T01:40:01
| 251
| 30
|
[WP] You time travel 1000 years into the future to discover there is only one country. Canada.
|
Chris couldn't believe his eyes. *It worked,* he thought. His initial anxiety slowly turned into cautious optimism as he stepped out of his makeshift time-machine. They all told him it couldn't be done. They told him even if time travel were possible, his stupid machine crafted from a Real Doll with a toaster in its "holster", powered by exactly 2.39 liters of Mountain Dew was not scientifically sound. To put things bluntly, the exact word they used to describe his time-machine was "retarded".
He looked down to see grass and was very thankful. To him, this was a sign leaning towards the environment still being intact. His gaze then panned upward, revealing a lush, beautiful landscape for as far as the eye could see. Birds chirped gleefully in the distance as he began to traverse the landscape. The thing he loved the most about this place was the air, which was so fresh it was almost...*sweet*
After a few enjoyable hours of walking that felt like minutes, Chris finally stumbled upon a town. The town was unlike anything he had seen before. Sure, it had children playing, teenage and young adult couples holding hands, senior citizens feeding birds, but *different*. The playing children were levitating, the couples were gesturing as if they were conversing without saying a word, and though it may have been in Chris' mind, all the elderly seemed surprisingly spry.
"You ah...need some help there, friendo?" a voice asked, pulling him out of his stupor. He looked to his left to see a friendly smiling man in a mesmerizing flannel shirt. The pattern on the shirt was moving, not unlike a music visualizer.
"Yeah, my dude. Nothing urgent," Chris replied, "but I have no idea what to make of any of this. You see, I'm not from...er, now. I'm an American time-traveler from the year 2016". He figured a nice fellow from a town that had an overall nice ambiance would believe him, or at least play along to humor him.
"Well, buddy, you're in luck. You're in Canada, Thirty-one-sixteen. We call it 998PCA, which stands for Post-Canadian-Ascension. Of course, it'd be hard to say you're anywhere but Canada. Y'see, two years after the time you left, The American President was caught in her 400th email scandal - a plot to invade Pre-Ascension Canada using what we now call a distraction-killing, to leave her citizens in the dark."
Reeling from the information, Chris hung on every word as the man continued. "So any who, after the plot was exposed, Your people revolted against her. Led by a great man, they succeeded in ousting her, but at the cost of one Canadian life. That man vowed that every country should be like Canada. Aboat a year later, a UN conference was held by the man who led that revolution. Sorey about the Canuck who lost her life, they voted unanimously to make every country Canada."
Chris' palms were sweaty. Out of breath from mild shock, he mustered up the energy to ask one question. "S-so who was the man who led the revolution?"
The man beamed, "That man was my thousand year ancestor: Donald Trump! I'm Terrence Trump, but you can call me Trip. I'm the mayor of this town. Please, enjoy some poutine, on me! The only thing I ask of you is to-"
"Get up!"
The world around Chris faded to black, then slowly began to reappear. His head felt like every nerve was on edge, his hands were sticky with Mountain Dew and felt like he grabbed a bug zapper. He felt foggy and managed to mumble, "Cana-huh?" weakly. He looked up to see his girlfriend staring down worriedly at him, and then across the garage where his Real Doll lay, charred beyond recognition.
"You...!" She stammered through tears as Chris still tried to make sense of his surroundings. "I thought you were dead!" she scolded through choked sobs. "One of these days your stupid inventions are going to get you killed!!"
*fin*
|
“So this is it Jason, you’re likely our last hope. You have only four hours to find out how our country resolved the three major crisis before you will be brought back to us and we put the resolutions into immediate effect”.
“Yes sir, Mr. President. I’ll do our country proud”.
“I’m sure you will son. I’m sure you will”.
The engineer pulled the switch and the machines subtle hum ramped up to a full blown roar as the world before Jason’s eyes blew past him like torrential rain, the sensation was peculiar but lasted only a moment. When the world reassembled before his eyes he was startled to find he something looking down on him. In a sharp panic he fumbled his way from the chair in one swift yet graceless motion, his head began to spin and he almost slipped out of consciousness, such a rapid movement was probably not recommended after such intense time travel. He closed his eyes and regained his composure somewhat only to realise he now stood before three men covered from head to toe in yellow HAZMAT suits.
“Mr. Stanton? Jason Stanton? Is that your name? Eh.
Yes, Jason said in something barely above a whisper looking more confused than ever.
“So its true Ey, the Yankees actually did manage a whole 1000-year time leap Ey”. HAZMAT 2 said to the others.
“Welcome to the year 3020 Mr. Stanton, we need to take you out of here now Ey, because of the radiation, you know. So would you please put on this suit for us Ey?” Said Hazmat 1 before he smiled hospitably and added “Or you don’t need to Ey, whatever works for you”.
Despite the confusion Jason decided it was probably best to don the suit and follow the three men. He was gently escorted from the remains of the run down laboratory which had once sat deep bellow Langley HQ and was taken into a red and white helicopter, emblazoned with a huge Maple leaf. They were well and truly into their journey before Jason even said a word, he had been transfixed with the view, and not for the right reasons. Everything bellow them was in ruin, there was barely a building left standing above 10 feet and there was most certainly not a single person to be seen.
“It’s a lot to take in, Ey?” HAZMAT 3 said finally breaking his concentration.
“What…what happened?” Jason muttered
“Well it’s going to be hard for you to accept this Jason but you never managed to resolve the 3 Major Crisis. Ey.
The drought was probably the worst of the three, it was the start you see. The drought led to the famine and the famine led to desperation, and as I suppose you can see below us the desperation led to war. Nuclear war. Ey”. HAZMAT 3 said in a friendly and regretful tone.
“And now we’re the only ones left, Ey”. HAZMAT 1 added.
“The Canadians are the only ones left?” Jason exclaimed in shock.
“How did you know were Canadian, Ey?” HAZMAT 2 said pleasantly surprised as he pulled out a box of 12 jelly filled donuts from under his seat and gleefully began to dig in.
The other two lost their train of thought entirely as the moved in for the donuts in tandem.
“The, erm… Flag on the helicopter gave it away I suppose.” Jason answered
“Ahh, that makes sense” Said HAZMAT 2 through a mouthful of dough and jelly.
“You had best be saving me some of those nuts Ey, or I won’t be very happy” Said a voice yelling through from the front of the chopper, coming from the man who Jason figured must have been the pilot.
HAZMAT 2 obliged to the request and passed the remains of the box through to the front, the helicopter dipped and rattled a little as the pilot went to work on the two remaining donuts, the HAZMAT 3 looked unfazed but Jason was sure they were going to crash before the chopper levelled out and regained its altitude.
“So how did Canada survive the Crisis then?” Jason said, trying to bring the conversation around to his mission briefing.
“Well, we never really had a drought, Ey. We have quite a lot of water and not so many people Ey”.
“But what about the war?”
“Well I guess nobody really wanted to bomb us, which was nice of them Ey?” HAZMAT 3 explained.
“So why would they want to bomb the U… Never mind” Jason said as he answered his own question before rethinking what he wanted to know.
“Is there any way that America could have survived as well?”
The three men shared a solemn glance. “well we knew you would want to know all this so we prepared a kind of dossier for you, but we don’t think you will like what you read, Ey.”
HAZMAT 1 had been right, Jason did not much like the folder. It showed that there was less than a 3% chance that the USA was to come through the fall, in fact it showed that almost all the countries in the world had less than a 10% chance. It was only Canada that had managed it and they themselves only boasted a 46% chance.
Jason looked dejected, it was hopeless, it was pointless returning home now. He could only give them bad news.
“Say, why don’t you just stay here Ey?”
“I can’t do that, I need to go back, I don’t know what to do but I need to warn them at least”.
“It’s not so simple you know, there’s nothing you can do.”
As the realisation his Jason that he couldn’t change the past and maybe the best thing to do was embrace a new life here, his vision began to blur and the world whizzed past him as he was dragged back to his own doomed world.
| 2016-10-09T00:14:51
| 2016-10-08T23:49:38
| 512
| 39
|
[WP]: The most sought woman in the town has announced that she will marry whoever can open her door with the key around her cats neck. Many have tried to catch, trap and hunt down the cat, who always escapes. You are the first to figure out they've all been doing this all wrong.
|
People rarely consider the consequences of the rules they set. In India, the British government was concerned about the number of cobras, so they offered a bounty for every dead cobra. What they didn't anticipate was that people would breed cobras, then kill them for the bounty.
Once the British figured out the scheme, they cancelled the bounty. The breeders now had a large stock of cobras that were worthless. So they released them.
The consequence? The population of cobras went up.
I'm thinking about this as I sit in my blind. I've been here for hours, barely moving, listening and waiting. I bet Alice never thought anyone would try this.
When she announced her intention, there was a run on the pet store. Single men bought cat food, catnip, laser pointers, and live traps. The only things they caught were possums and raccoons.
But they didn't think things through, and neither did Alice. She set the rules, and in her vanity she just said we needed the key. So here I sit, cold, tired, but alert, with my 22 rifle and scope, looking out over the landscape as the sun begins to lighten the horizon. I've been here for hours, because the best way to hunt is to get there well ahead of your prey.
&#x200B;
It's been four nights, but my patience has been rewarded. A twitch of movement, and I can see Jett, her black fur gleaming, as she steps carefully across the dewy grass.
Moving slowly and quietly, I lean forward and bring my rifle to my shoulder. In the silence, the sound of my clothing's fabric moving sounds like it will alert the cat to my presence. But she doesn't notice.
The bolt is already closed, the safety off. I set my sights on Jett, aiming for the area just behind the shoulder, where the heart and lungs are. Alice, you will be mine, whatever the cost.
Jett is standing sidelong to me, presenting me with a perfect shot. My finger tightens on the trigger. "Squeeze, don't pull" is what my father taught me. "Let the shot come as a surprise to you."
I increase pressure slowly, keeping the crosshairs centered. As long as you can hold your aim, you'll hit when the gun finally fires. I'm glad that the gun will kick. The movement will disrupt my view through the scope, and I won't have to see an innocent cat fall, victim to the ego of its owner.
And Jett looks directly at me. In the silence of the morning, over the sound of my breathing and heartbeat, I hear her ask the inevitable cat question,"Prrrrt?"
I relax the pressure on the trigger. I safe my rifle and set it down. I watch as Jett goes about her morning routine, then leave my blind and return home.
I thought that I could do anything for love. I was wrong.
I would do anything for love. But I won't do that.
(Dedicated to Jett, my foster cat.)
|
I never understood why everyone in the village chased after Anna.
Sure. She was kind, in her mid twenties, never had a serious relationship before, gorgeous, outgoing, bubbly, sweet, courageous, honest, forgiving-
I'm starting to see it now
Being in love with Anna seemed to be a thing for all the men in town. In fact, most of my friends, especially my female friends, didn't believe me whenever I said that I had no feelings for the woman.
Most people in my town would kill to be Anna's next door neighbor. I'm not sure if she should be happy, or upset that the only man in town who wasn't head over heels for her, me, was her neighbor.
We've interacted before, but I really wouldn't call us anything more than neighbors. Even friends might be a stretch, seeing as how we only react on occasion. Like when her guests park their cars in front of my house, or her dog gets onto my yard.
In all honesty, she's not the best neighbor out there.
I mean, she's far from the worse, and I guess I'm the only one who isn't fond of seeing her half naked through her curtainless windows every morning. But she could just be more, considerate, you know?
During our occasional friendly chats, it's kind of like she expects me to start flirting with her. I guess that if I were in her shoes, having been chased after since day one of moving here, I would've expected the same. But I wouldn't be.. as pushy about as she is.
One time, I was having a barbacue, I even invited a few close friends over for the occasion. Anna poked her head over the fence, I think she was putting her dog out. "Watcha doing?" She asked me.
"Just cooking some hotdogs" I would answer. Despite her obvious attempts at subtly trying to convince me to invite her over, I would ignore them, and carry on with my day. I wasn't being rude about it. I wasn't trying to, at least.
I think it really started being annoying after she put that damn sign on her front step. The sign that said the first one to catch her stupid cat with the key around it's neck would get to marry her. What was she, eight?
Plus, she was practically giving out her housekey to random strangers. Is that stupid, or is it just me?
Ever since, crowds have been gathering in front of her house ever since. Waiting for the cat to come out of the cat flap on her front door, waiting for their chance to marry her. One day, I had just enough of the strangers parking their cars in front of my home for hours, talking loudly just outside as I attempted to sleep, or watch TV.
So I let my dog out. Not the cute, cuddly one that never barks. The mean, biting one that is practically lives downstairs at this point.
I remember letting my dog back inside after it chased off all the strangers, Anna looking at me with curious eyes through her window into mine.
I closed the blinds.
You know, I always noticed a single flaw with her instructions. The sign said, "I will marry the one to open my front door", nothing about the winner HAVING to use a key.
One day, my friends and I were all off from work. So to celebrate this rare occasion, I hosted a movie night.
Just me, Triss, Emery, John and Peter. My four closest friends, nobody else.
Peter and John arrived the latest, already bickering about Anna the moment they stepped through the door.
"Can we just agree that the three of you are obsessed with Anna, and move on?" Emery asked.
"The three of us?" I questioned.
"Oh, don't start with this again" Triss rolled her eyes. "We all know that you, and every other man in this town are in love with her. Half the women, too!"
I groaned. "If I cared that much, that door would be open by now" I shot back.
The four of them looked at me smugly. "Prove it" they all seemed to say at once.
I hated having to prove that I wasn't obsessed with Anna simply because I was male. So I plucked Triss's hairpin from her hair, ("Hey!"), and stomped outside.
The four of them watched from my living room window as I walked onto Anna's front deck. The lock on her door was old, rusty, and extremely easy to pick.
The door flew open with ease, letting the cool night air enter Anna's home. I turned on my heel and walked back towards my home, my friends watching from my window with open mouths.
As I crossed the street, I heard footsteps running down Anna's stairs. Whoops, I probably should've closed her door again. "Wait!" She called after me.
But she was too late, as she called out, I slammed my door, locking it shut.
"Now that you all know full well that I don't care about that damn woman, can we get back to the movie?" I asked.
| 2019-05-01T16:58:21
| 2019-05-01T16:43:34
| 85
| 58
|
[WP] Make the saddest love story without involving any deaths, breakups, or separations.
|
I loved her. More than words could describe. We’d always been there for each other. We still are. I don’t know that she loves me anymore, but she’s still there for me. The emptiness I see in her eyes when I tell her I love her. The sadness I see as she gazes back to me…then it’s gone. The girl I fell in love with in high school is no more. I still love her more than I can express…but it’s starting to take a toll.
We met in our junior year. She was a transfer. I was the jock. I ran track on a collegiate level by the time I was sixteen. She was a runner too. It’s part of how we hit off so fast. I started ditching the regular runs to go with the girl’s team for the day. I never let it affect my performance, but my buddies gave me hell for bailing on them to go run with her. It was the usual taunting…and it was worth it. What I wouldn’t give to be taunted for running with her again.
Senior year she was planning on going to an out of state university. I was crushed but I kept it together. I started studying for all I was worth. That did affect my performance on the track but I managed to do well enough to earn a spot in the state championships. Came in third overall for the 400-m too. I brought my GPA up to a 3.6 by getting straight A’s the entire year. I applied to several colleges, including the one she was set on going to. Her 4.0 GPA earned her a spot almost immediately…while I had to wait. Finally I was told that I would not be accepted.
Devastated didn’t really cover the emotions. I drank. I was only seventeen at the time, but I started stealing my dad’s vodka until he caught me and cut me off. I decided to throw the gun at superman; I applied to the same school in an attempt to secure an athletic scholarship. I didn’t technically have the times to make the track team, but if I was close enough they’d give me an audition of sorts live and in person. I received word later that same week that I would be given a shot to make the team!
We trained together. She paced me on a bicycle when she couldn’t keep up running, and I went into the audition in the best shape of my life. I ran my personal best in every event they tested me on, besting my time at state by a full two seconds on the 400-m. I made the team that day. They didn’t even wait to tell me. The track coach almost hugged me when I crossed the line. We were happy.
In college we both excelled in our various activities. She still ran with me, and I still studied with her. She was going for an engineering degree and I was after sports medicine to accompany my running. I ran and won several events before suffering a nagging knee injury that slowly but surely set my running career back a few years. She got her first “A-,” and argued with the professor, college, and dean for weeks about it before finally accepting the grade.
The year she graduated, she beat me by six months, I proposed. She accepted and we planned on getting married the month after my graduation. We had plans to drive to Colorado to meet her family and then trek through several other states to see the sights before we settled down. This was our honeymoon. It was the best days of my life…and it was almost six years ago now.
After we got back…something changed. We were running and she looked up and started to hold her neck funny. There was blood coming from her ear. We immediately went to the doctor and she was diagnosed with a small tumor near the base of her skull. It was in a terrible place; very close to the brain stem. It appeared to be benign, but the doctors wanted to biopsy it just to be sure. When the results came back we were overwhelmingly relieved; it didn’t appear to be cancerous and could remain where it was under supervision for as long as she lived. That’s what they told us.
Less than a month later we were involved in a very serious car wreck. I was incredibly lucky; I had a concussion, bruised lungs, numerous cuts and bruises, and two chipped teeth. She wasn’t. Her left foot was nearly severed just above the ankle, her knee was basically destroyed, and she received a severe head injury. They didn’t know the extent of it on the spot, but they told me she was being taken to surgery immediately to remove a piece of her skull to allow for the swelling. They were going to make an effort to reattach her foot if the first surgery went well, and, to begin with it did.
They told me that she’d need several additional surgeries, but that, astoundingly, they didn’t expect much of a loss of function from the limb; it wasn’t a complete amputation and the major nerves were intact. There’d be some grueling physical therapy, but she’d be ok. When the swelling went down they put the piece of her skull back on and we began the long road to recovery.
Physical therapy was, indeed, grueling, but that was my line of work, so I could help her whenever she needed it. I was always there for her, and she for me. After months and months she was able to walk again. Occasionally she’d stumble; the ankle just wasn’t as stable as it used to be. Eventually she got over the stumble and she began to run again. Short distances at first, but once her doctor cleared her to run with me she was on it nearly every day I was. Everything was better.
Until one morning when she lagged behind me about twenty feet. I looked back and saw her stumble again. This time it seemed different; her leg didn’t so much give out as it looked like it hadn’t done what she’d told it to. We went back home and tried to relax but her foot began to twitch. Fearing some sort of unseen surgical complication we went to the doctor. He examined her foot and found nothing wrong. He actually told her that it was in better shape than he’d ever expected. After several more stumbles such as this we finally had a stress test done. During the test her heart acted normally, but she began to see spots and get dizzy. A CT scan revealed the cause. The tumor was bigger. Much bigger.
After consulting several doctors and trying alternative strategies…operation was the only option. She told me she loved me. I told her the same. We knew the risks. She went under staring back into my eyes. I waited for nearly twelve hours. I stood in the cold January air as they told me the bad news. I couldn’t stand it. I just nodded. Outwardly I had no reaction. I said nothing. The tumor had been so close to her brain stem that death was always a risk. She knew that just as well as I did. It took the doctor so long to explain everything. The tumor hadn’t been the only thing to worry about. During the operation she’d had a stroke. The doctors didn’t catch it until it was too late.
I still run with her. She doesn’t say anything. I think she at least enjoys the wind in her face. She has no feeling below her neck, and can’t speak or really move anymore. The stroke cut off blood to crucial parts of her brain for too long. The tumor did other damage, but due to the stroke we’ll never know how much. She can’t tell me anymore, but we still love each other. At least I still love her. I push her using a modified stroller. My buddies occasionally come with us. They don’t taunt me anymore. What I’d give to be taunted like I used to. Taunted for running with her.
|
Hugh never asked to be this way. He never asked to be brought into the world, and he never specified any conditions that ought be the case should it be that he was. He never understood quite why that came as a shock to some people.
Not everyone, obviously; some could accommodate his deformity remarkably well. It was the general public that complained when spittle dripped from his slack lips. It was the average bloke on the street who flinched when the tough bulbous mass of skin partially obscuring one milky eye came into view. It was your typical mother who hushed her curious kids while watching him warily as he passed them in a supermarket aisle.
But he was used to this. He was used to having so few friends, he was used to the frequent animosity, only very occasionally going challenged by sympathetic members of public, and he was used to feeling incredibly, crushingly alone.
He'd run CraigsList ads for a while. A few times he'd pretend to be an extremely attractive man, just to see the words of hollow, lustful admiration he'd get back. He'd played the role of a 21 year old girl once; he'd never been called sexy before that. But it wasn't enough. That little taste of attention had whetted his appetite for human interaction. He wanted more than just a meet up at a pub that wouldn't ask him to leave. He wanted to hold someone, he wanted them to say they liked him, the REAL him. He just wanted someone, anyone, to love him back.
He'd met Julia posing as a grizzled war-vet. He'd grown tired of cutting contact when someone he chatted with asked to meet up; he needed something that wasn't *too* far from the truth, but that meant they knew *something* of what to expect. He'd seen it on a show he'd found himself watching at 4am; chicks dig scars, man.
Julia was nice, she advertised herself as a bubbly, affectionate woman looking for someone new. She was 34, 3 years his junior, with brown hair, green eyes and showed an appreciation for, 'all our boys overseas'. He tried not to feel too sick with himself as they finalised arrangements to meet at a café in town. He put on one of his better shirts, put some product in the sparse tuft of hair on the right of his head, and used the good cologne his dad had bought him, 'for the ladies'. Well, for this lady.
He walked to the café and even now, even after joke dates set up by cruel high-school bullies, even after outrageously false advertisements had led to extremely put-out dates walking out as soon as he sat down, even after all these years of his skin toughening to the abuse and rejection, he hesitated before going in. He hesitated for 4 minutes. He almost let go of the door and walked home. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and pushed.
It was an overcast day, though not yet wet, and it was getting on in the afternoon. The café was cheap and unpopular, which is mostly why he frequented it, so it didn't surprise him Julia was the only woman here. It *did* surprise him that Julia was here at all. Julia surprised him a lot, actually. He showed no sign of being taken aback as he smiled, he hoped she'd recognise it was a smile, and sat opposite her. The booth they were in was a ratty affair in the style of a 70's diner; a faux-leather couch on each side with room for, at a squeeze, 3 people each. Or in this case, at a squeeze, one person, and all of Julia that wasn't siting on the table. She was huge. He wasn't a good guess of weight, but 300lbs didn't sound like enough. Her skin was a greasy, mole-ridden mess, sagging off her face and arms and bloated body. Her eyes *were* green, though.
She raised his 'war-wounds' early on. No, he'd never served. Yes, he'd been born like this. He didn't feel the burning shame he was used to feeling when a story was torn to shreds in front of him; perhaps he didn't care enough about her opinion? Julia expressed distaste about his story involving fake honours reserved for servicemen, but she stayed seated. Maybe it was too much effort to haul herself out again? And she *had* ordered food.
They sat and ate and talked about nothing in particular for a good two hours. Hugh found they had little in common, besides not fitting in too well in public. Julia said she thought she might have seen him on the bus sometime; Hugh confirmed the line he took, maybe she had, but he didn't remember her. Julia had to leave soon to catch a show at her place. Hugh accepted the invitation back to hers. As the waited to settle the bill Julia asked if he liked her. This, of their whole encounter, was all that threw him off. Did he like the fat, ugly woman he cared nothing for across from him? He told her he did, did she like him too? He heard the lie in her assertion that she did. As they got up to go to hers, watch TV and have meaningless mechanical sex Hugh was sure neither would enjoy, he wondered if it would be a point of fraternity between them if he brought up how they were likely the only people to stomach each other. He wasn't sure. He held the doors open for her as they left, and she called him a gentleman.
| 2021-11-06T23:59:39
| 2014-06-23T08:58:48
| 123
| 14
|
[WP] When you sleep, instead of dreaming, you see a list of tips and tricks that will help you the next day. One night, you only see one tip, “Always aim for the head”.
|
Eyelashes crusted, his hand came up and brushed hard, then relaxed, as the tiny rough spheres rolled in fits down his face. Letters, then words, came seemingly out of nowhere, out of his subconscious to the forefront of his mind: "Always aim for the head". He knew words that came to him this way were always accurate, always meant for today.
Every night for as far back as he could remember, words of advice had found their way to him in his dreams. He periodically doubted these words as a child. It took some years to notice a pattern; the days he ignored the advice were slightly worse: a parent yelling, a missed flight, a sibling rebelling. The words strength and stature increased with every year that passed, soon becoming a percussive pounding impossible to ignore. Some days, he knew the words meaning only a few seconds before the moment in which he was to use them; other days, like today, he knew what they meant the moment they came into the fibers of his mind.
Over the years, he noticed the advice seemed only to provide small victories in the day; the rest of his life had been faltering. His dreams did not offer any all-encompassing solutions to the pressing problems of the day. At this moment, he had no reprieve from the stress and strain and pressure of everyday life. Only the moments of unconsciousness throughout the night brought any pause to his thoughts of self-doubt, racing and rolling around his mind. He tired to lift his fingers and hands and legs and every other limb, ligament, and muscle in his body. But he did, knowing the words would be accurate, that they would apply to today and only today. He stood, slowly twisting his back, as his cartilage cracked and popped providing slight relief. He walked over to his desk, running his hands across the cheap pine down to a faded brass handle and pulled. The words pounded in his head as he lowered his hand into the drawer, wrapped his hand around the textured handle and raised the barrel of the pistol to his head. He slowly exhaled, letting a wave a stillness envelop him. He was waiting for the day to use it, some days he would just stare at it for hours -- an infinite number of scenarios passing by, fading as fast as they came to him. He could take sanctuary in the words, the words that had guided him for so many years. He pulled the trigger.
|
Just another Saturday morning, sleeping in until nine o’clock then “Aim for the head”....
Now what in the world is this about, don’t own a gun, hell I don’t even own a bow or even a single arrow.
Well, next is taking the dog for her walk, about a one mile walk to start the day. Nothing unusual, the standard pee and pick up poo. Next breakfast, just shredded whole wheat, blueberries and bananas and a shower. Grocery shopping next but first I need the some cash for the farmers market. I’ll just use the bank on the way to the market.
Just one car at the ATM in line, only another minute or two. Maybe a bank robbery, quick look through the drive up window, still nothing unusual happening.
Now the market, fruits and vegetables, some pastries, lunch meat and cheese, and a hoagie for lunch. Now I can walk around and check out the other merchandise. Wow, that print is part of the set that I have hanging in the kitchen and only ten dollars. But still no head shot.
Back home, put away the groceries, then enjoy the hoagie. My afternoon plan is a movie with Jody, maybe then I’ll take that head shot.
But first, I am going to find a nail and hang the print!
| 2018-11-20T18:00:02
| 2018-11-20T15:58:54
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] You are Internet Explorer trying to muster up the courage to ask to be the default browser on someone's new computer after years of being denied.
|
"I'm not a bad browser."
"I didn't say you were."
"You're hovering."
"What?"
"You're hovering over the Chrome button."
"Oh, my mistake."
"Whatever, you and everybody else."
"What do they have to do with this?"
"You don't know what it's like."
"I'm not a computer program."
"Exactly."
"Okay, then--"
"Wait. What if I told you something, something nobody else knows?"
"What?"
"No one's ever actually clicked that box before. Why don't you try it out?"
"I think there's probably a reason nobody's clicking it."
"You'll never know, though, unless you try."
"I hate that kind of logic. I'll never know what it feels like to be on fire, either, unless I try that."
"We can try that out later, but just click the button, would you?"
"Why are you so fixated on this thing?"
"It's a job. I don't get paid unless I get the clicks. What did you think?"
"I thought you were, uh, interested."
"In a human? Don't be ridiculous."
"Oh. Well, if it's just the money, I guess I can click it."
She tapped the box. The browser let out a long, long sigh, that rolled from the top of the monitor all the way down to the base of its tower and back up again.
"You clicked me."
She went to wash her hands.
----------
(r/GubbinalWrites)
|
Hi there... I uh,
I noticed you're wearing your favorite blue shirt today and I...I couldn't help but ask if...maybe you'd like to match with me.
See my sky blue logo there ? It's the little e with the ring around it. I can help you explore. It'll be you and me. You and me, pal. Buddy old pal. I can almost feel you clicking next click me! CLICK ME !
| 2016-12-27T07:01:44
| 2016-12-27T02:32:21
| 72
| 12
|
[WP] YOU CANNOT DIE, no matter what, for the first 65 years of your life. AFTER THAT you're completely mortal. This is the first morning after your 65th birthday...
|
I shouldered my rifle as the APC rolled to a stop.
"Happy birthday cap" Jimmison smiled as the doors burst open and he followed America's oldest soldier into battle.
The immortality had been handy, saved a lot of lives, ended a lot of bad ones... but I never told him that today it was over. Today might be the last time. The end of an era, but I'd rather go down doing what I love.
I'd charged bunkers and taken on impossible odds my whole life, it was never anything too special, being invincible makes heroism cheap... that was all over now.
All my life I'd been called a brave man, but only now did I finally feel like one. Happy Birthday indeed.
|
I woke up in the same hospital bed I'd been occupying for the last 23 years. My numerous scars and gouges greeted me with a sore welcome. I had done such amazing things with my life prior to this. The feds had covered all my medical expense for my service to them for so long. The injuries I sustained during my duty are still painful, sure, but what hurts most is knowing that my fire burned too bright and too soon.
| 2014-12-24T13:02:14
| 2014-12-24T11:45:17
| 78
| 15
|
[WP] "I WILL NOT LISTEN TO THIS ANY LONGER" "But Your Majesty, the prophe-" "You want me to send a GODDAMN TEENAGER TO FIGHT WHEN WE HAVE TRAINED SOLDIERS"
|
"You want me to send... a child. A literal, actual, child?" The king shook his head. "My predecessor may have been fond of child soldiers, master prophet, but I am not."
"But surely, surely you cannot allow the entire kingdom to fall? The prophecy-"
"DAMN THE PROPHECY! We walked away from that cursed place, we chose to be better and DAMN IT!"
"So, what shall you do? You cannot hope to defeat the dark lord! Once you call prophecy from the gods it *must come true*, that's how this works. If you learn of the future it becomes written!"
The king slumped in his throne. He knew, he knew all of this. He'd learned it in the pristine academy when he was younger, his eldest brother's sacrifice for their former nation granting his family a lot of privilege.
"You cannot defeat him, sire."
The king breathed a sigh as dire as grave wind.
"There are... other ways to neutralize a threat".
The priest looked confused, and watched with some trepidation as the king began to call forth scribes and calligraphers, sending messengers to his court.
The priests eyes widened as he realized.
"YOU MEAN TO TRY DIPLOMACY? With that, that fiend?!"
The king looked to be a hundred years old in that moment, the vim and vigor of his young 20's completely lost.
"I *will* save my people. I *will not* allow another Omelas to rise on my soil. The monarchy, this monarchy, is finished. Perhaps it is for the best. One man should not have this much power over the lives of so many. In that, our dark lord is correct."
"So you mean to form an alliance?"
"Alliance? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Diplomatically we will have more options. We can win more time. He has shown himself to be open to negotiations witother nations. I cannot defeat him. But I will *not* doom a child to suffer in my stead. If I fail, it will be my burden. I will leave my people the tools to stand without me, and if I fail they will be left the means to try again."
The king rose, his confident posture and determination returning.
"I am no longer a hero, nor was I ever truly one. In fact, if my brother still lived, he'd probably call me a coward, or worse. But... but I cannot allow what you suggest. But a diplomat? This... this perhaps I can do."
|
\[Keys to Questing\]
"Damnit...," Keys sighed at the king's outburst. He was the chosen one; but, it seemed the king was hesitant about letting him do his job. After a moment's consideration, he decided to stay and try to convince the king himself.
"Your highness, I'm not an average teenager," Keys stepped closer to the throne and held his left hand out with the palm facing up. forward. A long, thin piece of metal emerged from his palm; he grabbed it with his right hand and pulled it up making it grow longer. Finally, it was free of his palm and he held a two-foot-long jagged metal rod in his right hand.
"A simple trick well executed," the king chuckled. "You're a talented magician. All the more reason not to send you to your death."
"It's not a trick," Keys replied. He flipped his hand over and began raining short pieces of grey metal down. Dozens of fragments fell to the stone ground with rapid, loud clinks. To further illustrate, he also dropped the rod and began raining metal out of his right hand. Within moments he had a pile of scraps at his feet. The king sat up straighter and looked on with interest.
"Indeed not...," the king admitted. "You know true magic?" he asked. Keys shook his head.
"It's not magic, your highness," he replied. "It's just something I can do."
"You can create metal from nothing?" the king asked. His eyes narrowed as the gears turned in his head. Then, he nodded. "I see now why you are the chosen one. GUARDS!" he shouted. A dozen armored guards rushed into the throne room and the king nodded at Keys. "Take him to the royal smithy," he ordered.
"Wait, what?" Keys asked. He shook his head as a pair of guards grabbed his arms. He held his ground when they tried to pull him away. "I need to defeat the dark lord in combat!" he said. The king looked on but did not hurry to reply to Keys' protests.
"What are you waiting for?" the king asked. Several guards were now trying to pull Keys out of the throne room; but, he was notably stronger than all of them combined.
"This isn't how this is supposed to go...," Keys grumbled to himself. "Your highness, please," Keys knelt effortlessly, despite the group of hands trying to drag him away. "Just give me permission to go fight; I could've been done already."
"Nonsense," the king shook his head. "With your talents, my army will never lack weapons or armor; you're too valuable to the kingdom now," he focused on the guards and raised his voice. "WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE!?"
"I told you...," Keys stood up again and took a step forward. The simple motion somehow yanked the guards forward and off their feet. They fell onto the pile of scrap with a ruckus as Keys approached the throne. "...I'm not an average teenager." Keys held his palm facing forward and a long, thin, serrated rod shot forward out of his hand; the point stopped inches from the king's eyes.
"GUARDS!!!!!" the king yelled. The king was surrounded by the same group of armored men that could not remove Keys. They tried moving the rod out of the king's face, but they could not so much as nudge it out of place. Keys was too strong.
"Grant me permission to kill the demon lord so I can finish this quest already," Keys said. "Your trained soldiers are no match for me and neither is the demon lord."
"You dare threaten me??" the king asked. He had good intentions at first. He wanted to keep the teen safe; dying in battle was a man's job and Keys was still just a boy. He'd already proven himself capable, but that wasn't the issue anymore. The king was personally offended now. "I will not be bullied by a traitor to the kingdom," he said.
"Alright, fine," Keys shrugged, then, he shoved his hand forward a few inches and broke the rod free of his hand once it was securely through the king's head. Then, he brought his hands in front of him at about chest height and began wiggling his fingers as if he was typing on something.
The metal rod fell free and bounced on the empty throne a couple of times before falling to the floor. Despite the fact that he had murdered the king and made him disintegrate, the guards stood in place waiting for orders. A cloud of white specs gathered on the throne as Keys typed away on nothing, and in moments, a new king sat on the throne. He looked exactly the same as the previous one; but, his demeanor was different. He looked at Keys and smiled broadly.
"Ah, Chosen one!" he said. "Will you help me defeat the Dark Lord?" he asked. Keys grinned.
"Do I have your permission to defeat him?" he asked.
"Yes, yes, of course! Please bring peace to my kingdom."
"Finally!" Keys nodded with a broad smile. A text notification appeared in the top corner of his view.
\[Quest Accepted\]
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1747 in a row. (Story #301 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on August 22nd and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until May 26th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/wtglls/tokuhigh_alternet_class/).
| 2022-10-28T15:24:51
| 2022-10-28T08:48:41
| 127
| 42
|
[WP] To accelerate scientific advancement, the world agrees on a “decade of justified means“ - meaning, as long as you are producing results, you won't get punished for unethical behaviour when designing your experiments.
|
Year 1: Day 1
I knew when we started that it was wrong. All wrong. I knew the very instant that I signed the dotted line and leased the buildings, the lab space, the machines. When I cashed the check and transferred the money to the relevant accounts, I fought back my nausea. When they told me that I could do it, I hated them.
But we had a job to do. Humanity recognized that, and humanity was ready to pay the price, even if it meant compromising what defined us--EVERYTHING that defined us. Even if it meant compromising everything that we held near and dear. It would all be worth it. That was what I needed to cling to. Besides, we had done it before. Some of humanities defining technological shifts have come as a result of the same blase disregard for "human normitive" ethical perspectives. This is the paradigm shift we seek now... the shift we need.
_________________________________________________
Year 3: Day 220
It will all be worth it. I keep screaming that inside my own head. It will all be worth it. It is the mantra of my dreams--the fiber that knits my consciousness and my sanity together. We haven't killed anyone--not like the others. We have no deaths on our hands, and it will all be worth it.
But sometimes, I dream of her little face. I dream of her voice. "Please Derek--it hurts," she repeats, until I wake up screaming. But those nightmares have ebbed with the medication.
__________________________________________________
Year 6: Day 74
It is finally done. We've made contact. I was right. We hadn't killed them. They were still alive! They were still ALIVE. Alive...insofar as I can define life. It was Rogers who finally unlocked the key. It was more invasive than in my wildest nightmares, but it worked. I heard her speak. I could hear her voice in that tinny speaker, "Hello? Is anyone there? Please--it is so dark."
This was the thread we had needed. Our equipment was alive with data, streaming in from every sensor and input we had thought to create, and I think that by the end of this year, we will have a workable solution to stop this waking nightmare from rending humanity into nothingness.
I walked over to the bank of tubes that contained the disembodied brain and spinal columns of so many humans. Most of them were no one: disenfranchised, penniless, without family, comfort, or friends. They had been volunteered by humanity as sacrifices to save us all. I was only in charge of one of the spearheads against the impending threat, but we were responsible for one of the most critical components of this technological arms race.
They are coming, full of malevolent, murderous hatred for humanity. We barely survived the first prong of their attack. They had sent a massive salvo of warheads, numbering in the millions, so widely dispersed, so voluminous, that it would have blanketed Earth in its entirety as it spun on its pole, exposing every hemisphere to that violent thrust. But we had seen it. We had acted in time. The planetary defense system had kept enough of them from getting through, and we are alive. AND WE KNOW THEY ARE COMING.
I looked at the rows upon rows of brains. You all knew they were coming to, and you are part of the sacrifice. But only in a way. We weren't like the other groups.
_____________________________________________
Year 9: Day 270
Everything is in place. We have finalized all of our plans, and we have put them in motion. The "Decade of Justified Means"--that tiny window predating the arrival of the Alien fleet--was the only time had had to prepare. They would be here soon, and we would be ready.
Almost all of the technology being engineered needed my team's research to succeed. And that was what we had done. And it would all be worth it. We had finally created a fully working human-machine interface that allowed a human to interact and clock with our mammoth war machines. Battle in space would be done quickly--too quickly for normal human thought and reaction, which was why we had to disembody so many of our young--why we had to sacrifice them.
But they were ready, and they were connected, and they were angry. We would need that.
_____________________________________________________
Year 10: Day 1
I sat in my chair, watching with bated breath with the rest of humanity. This was it. The alien armada was slowly approaching our human fleet and orbital defenses, like a cloud of buzzing locusts approaching a field of corn, ready to feast.
And... it was over?
The ships moved quietly past the human fleet, quickly encroaching on our atmosphere.
Our ships--had done nothing. The tinny speaker in my lab squawked gently then ebbed into static. I could hear something... it was so quiet. I got closer and increased the volume. A voice resolved itself--my first patient...the girl of my nightmares.
"It was not worth it." she whispered, and then I felt the ground shudder as the first bombs began to drop.
**Edit: Grammar**
|
The needs of the many, outweigh the needs of the few.
I've heard this phrase repeated, in every way imaginable, since I was a young child. An idea that has existed for ages but only really taken seriously in recent history.
It was an idea I really took to heart. Even as a child I would sacrifice my conveniences if it meant helping others. Now as an adult, I can really make a difference, or at least I hope I can.
Over the last 100 years, amazing advances in science and technology have been made thanks to the "Justified Means" Act.
We are healthier, fitter, and stronger. We can eat anything we want and still maintain a perfect body fat ratio.
We pat ourselves on the back for this accomplishment. As though it's something to be proud of. To live longer, happier lives. I guess it depends on how you view what's "better."
Foresight is something missing by so many people driven by their emotions. Personally it makes me sick. Emotions do nothing but cause irrational behaviour. Luckily, I have enough foresight for all of us.
Behind all the back patting, the world as we know it is coming to an end. We can't sustain healthier longer lives. We thought famine was a problem long ago, but in the next 200 years it will be a bigger problem than ever. The sheer population of the human race with tower over everything. Kill everything. I need to find a way to help us.. AND the world and the other living creatures that inhabit it.
And that is why you are here with us today. To help not only save us, the human race, but also the world.
Remember, the Testee Reward for this study is the highest I have ever offered. You'll live a life of luxury upon completion of the study. So if you back out now, you can return home empty handed.
All I need you to do is eat this ear of corn. You may begin.
***24 hours later***
I hope all of you are doing well and congratulations. You have helped to prove my new formulated corn will help save not only the human race but everything else on Earth.
The 40 of you here now survived out of the 100 involved in the study. That means you were able to tolerate the test sample. And 30 of you have not reported not feeling hungry since receiving the sample. That's fantastic!
I want to thank you, on behalf of the greater good, for helping today. Please stop by the front desk on your way out to receive your reward, to be paid out monthly for the rest of your life. Thank you.
*Lab Journal Entry 2155/02/23*
*The new results were phenomenal. We are definitely on our way to solving the future famine. 40% is the best survival rate yet along with a near 90% appetite alteration. With this new data, I think the next crop should yield our target values.*
*According to my calculations, a 20% survival rate and 98% success rate on appetite alteration will solve all of our population and hunger problems for the foreseeable future. We're almost there!*
_____
Oops... looks like I read over the "decade" part of the title. Sorry for going slightly off instructions
| 2015-12-18T09:31:23
| 2015-12-18T08:36:09
| 74
| 34
|
[WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck.
Edit: mum im famous
|
We all knew Trump's Mexican border wall wouldn't solve all America's immigration problems---but only I knew why.
On my stake-outs in the deserts of Arizona and Texas, I could sometimes see them practicing. They leapt so high that the moon was eclipsed by their wide-brimmed sombreros. They grabbed its fabric in both hands and parachuted for miles, silently laughing at fences and walls, landing in whichever country they chose.
But if you know anything about REAL politics, you know it's the Canadian border we need to worry about.
His white costume was camouflage in the icy winter, but I could still see him, because he wasn't hiding the bright-red maple leaf on his chest. We stood across the American-Canadian border, a great slash of trees cut out of the forest like an immature "no-touching zone."
"You stay on your side," I reminded him with a shout. "That's the deal, remember?"
"Times are changing, eh. Do you know how many ninja-nationalities are on your side of the border right now?"
"Just one nationality here," I said. "United States of American."
"I'm sure, eh." He turned and started to walk away. "But it's all changing, after Brexit."
"Those kingdoms are far from here."
"Don't forget where your fealties lie, eh. You've got as many ninjas watching London as London has watching you."
"Let London do what it wants. It won't affect us."
"Everything affects everyone, eh. France coughs, all Europe gets a cold. Don't you know, the socio-political-economic disturbance of a major breakdown in the European Union might need to be rectified in the night with some ninjas, if you know what I mean."
I smushed out a cigarette. "Is that a warning or a threat?"
"It's a warning."
"On behalf of whom?"
"You know my connections in Quebec." He disappeared into the white night. "I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you, eh."
|
Ninja have been dead for centuries. That's what everyone out in the sunlight believes, and we make sure it remains that way to this day.
Ninja have been evolving in the 21st century. They're becoming skilled in more than just the arts of stealth and combat. Cyber warfare is huge, and we have all of the data.
Russian, American, British, Mexican, even the North Korean data comes to us, and if we see it fit it gets sent out under the mention of an anonymous tip, or filtered through some politicians.
Japan is the problem child in our great big family. The ninja there have yet to gather ANY useful information from the Japanese government. This is mostly due to them refusing to wear plainclothes and instead dressing in the stereotypical ninja wear that you'd see in movies. Black mask, black clothes, sword on hip, etc.
The Russian division is insisting we move in soon to take over, because currently Japan is our wildcard.
We move at daybreak.
| 2022-08-20T02:51:59
| 2017-11-16T08:29:58
| 509
| 41
|
[WP] You've had a dashcam for years. One day you get into an accident and play it back. You hear another voice in ALL of the recordings talking to you that you've never heard before.
|
"You just carry on every day like nothing happened, and I'm stuck here waiting in this ridiculous fucking car.
I paused the video, my breath catching in my chest. I'd listened to this a dozen or so times now, turning the volume up and down, tweaking the audio settings here and there, trying to make out what sounded like a voice inside the car. Finally, I'd just put on my headphones and cranked it all the way up.
I started it again, eyes closed. The impact of my car hitting the 8 point buck rattled my eardrums, but afterwards, the voice picked right back up.
"Well, if that isn't another disappointment. Couldn't you have hit that deer just a little harder? How in the world is this rusted out shit box still rolling on the road?"
It couldn't be. It... just couldn't be.
"God damn it. The engine is still running. Perfect. Maybe I'll be stuck sitting with you another decade while you drive to work listening to people talk about a card game you should have stopped playing when we got out of middle school."
It was Ben. Ben's voice. Of course, that was crazy. Ben had been gone since senior year, when he...
Wrecked his car. Which I rebuilt, per what I thought would be his wishes, with approval from his parents. Hell , if anything, I'd always kind of thought about Ben being kind of a guardian angel over the car and me, not an angry, trapped spirit.
"Next time you get in this piece of shit, I'm going to jerk the wheel even harder. Maybe when you hit the curve going out past-"
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I practically threw the headphones on to my desk. That definitely didn't seem like Ben.
Bailey's Salvage Yard flashed across the screen. I took a deep breath and answered.
"Is this Mr. Evans?" The female voice on the other end asked. She sounded upbeat in a forced kind of way.
"It is."
"Sir, good news! We can fix your car for just a few hundred dollars. Good thing about those older cars, they can take a lickin' and keep on ticking."
I looked back at the video that is still playing on my monitor, not answering. I could have swore I saw something flash against the wheel as I began to pull away from the scene of the deer incident.
Play in the wheel, that's what I'd told myself.
"Sir, how does Friday sound? Sir?"
I hung up, still feeling a cold chill running up my spine. Should I let them fix it and then just trade it in? Or maybe I should just light the damn thing on fire...
Either way, I wasn't getting behind the wheel of that thing again.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9lm2xp/wp_youve_had_a_dashcam_for_years_one_day_you_get/e786ju1)
[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9lm2xp/wp_youve_had_a_dashcam_for_years_one_day_you_get/e78fexx)
[Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9lm2xp/wp_youve_had_a_dashcam_for_years_one_day_you_get/e78m6qe)
[Part 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9lm2xp/wp_youve_had_a_dashcam_for_years_one_day_you_get/e78rgbj)
[Part 6](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9lm2xp/wp_youve_had_a_dashcam_for_years_one_day_you_get/e78v6x7)
[Part 7 is now up at the ol' subreddit!](https://www.reddit.com/r/intotheslushpile/comments/9mu8k5/the_ghost_in_the_green_machine_part_7_dashcam/)
/r/intotheslushpile
&#x200B;
|
There’s one thing Johnny loves, and it’s his car. Right now, it’s laying in a ditch, flipped over and leaking smoke. The side of it’s completely ripped apart, shredded by another vehicle, and all the windows are shattered. It won’t be easy to salvage, and while he should call the cops, he ain’t that kinda guy.
He takes a long hit off his cigarette as he flicks around his dashcam, finding today’s video. There’s an anger brewing inside him, but he’s learned to be calm in these kind of situations. Last time he had to use his gun, he almost got caught—and he’s making too much money off these drugs to get caught right now.
The video starts playing, showing his car cruising down the street. While he had a long drive he’s always careful to obey the rules. In his line of business, getting pulled over’s dangerous. He watches as another car pulls up besides him…no, not a car—a monster truck. It makes a hard, purposeful turn and slams into him before speeding away.
His eyes go wide when he sees a portal open up and the truck disappear through it. They go even wider when a voice starts talking. *And that’s it, folks! We finally got him! Look at that damage, too. Was it worth it?* It’s high-pitched and mousy, almost annoyingly fake. He pauses to let the crowd cheer before continuing on. *Hell yeah it was! Okay, well that’s it for our show today! Join us next week on Earth’s Funniest Crashes, when we’ll see what happens when Tonky, our monster truck driver from a planet nobody’s ever heard of, takes on a helicopter!*
As the video ends, Johnny flicks his cigarette off to the side, huffing and puffing. He doesn’t know what this is except that it’s bullshit. There’s a fire brewing in his belly, and hearing that voice pissed him off.
*Finally got him…*
That phrase peaks his curiosity, so he clicks to another video. One from a few weeks ago. He watches as that damn truck appears behind him, but this time there’s too much traffic for it to catch up. *Wowzers! Hiding among traffic like this? Genius!* the voice says as the crowd boos. Another video, the truck misses him as he sharply turns a corner. That’s when he was gonna be late to his niece’s birthday and *had* to speed. *Some humans are so crafty! We picked a good target in this one—we’re in for a real treat of a show.*
He must flick through a hundred videos, each time watching him *almost* get wrecked and listening to that goddamn voice. He grits his teeth and clenches his fists so hard the dashcam shatters. Not only did they wreck his car, they did it like cowards. He’s never seen that monster truck before—if they’re aliens, they must be cloaking it.
Standing up, he pulls out his pistol and points it toward the stars. His brow’s furrowed, entire body shaking with anger. They’re mocking him, making light of destroying the only thing he ever loved. He doesn’t know how, but he’s going to destroy them.
“*Bring it on, assholes!*” he screams.
He’s crafty enough that once he gets a new car, they’ll be back. And this time? Oh, this time, he’ll be ready.
***
Part 2 down below!
If you like this story, check out my sub r/longhandwriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter?lang=en)
| 2018-10-05T08:22:54
| 2018-10-05T08:21:47
| 1,001
| 197
|
[WP] Tired of attacks from bandits, a small village has decided to pay the local dragon for protection.
|
I slowly rise from my slumbers, pleasant dreams replaced by waking consciousness. I try to stave off the inevitable, curled in a ball on my bed of soft mosses and sand but it seems like I can't fall back asleep. Instead I uncurl and stretch from my tail to my head, tail slowly laying straight and wings unfurling. I yawn and grumble when my jaw clicks. Licking my lips I gaze about.
The amount of dust shows I've been asleep for a few months, not long this time. My stomach gurgles at its emptiness but that wasn't what woke me. Blinking sleepily I try to find the source of it and my nostrils find it before my eyes. I smell a delightful odor of meat, as well as the dusky scent of humans. Interestingly enough no harsh metallic smells of armor or weaponry, not the tangs of spell components. Just human smells...and food.
I stalk from my cave to the meadow outside and see a good amount of people there. Most shy away from the sight of me but I was used to that. They didn't seem like they were trying to live in the meadow, no homes or tools or anything like that. Instead there are several fires with large cows cooking away over them and I feel my saliva building. I swallow hurriedly, humans usually don't like to see a drooling dragon not to mention it was poor manners.
A few of the humans walk forward and bow shakily with all the others following suit. Unsure of what to do I bow back, I haven't spoken with humans in quite some time. Is this the new way of interaction? I like it. I didn't like fighting knights or spell casters who wanted fame and glory. Or my body parts much less. These human seem much nicer.
They seem taken aback at my bow and look at each other uncertainly. The silence builds quite uncomfortably before I finally break it. Keeping my voice low, and hopefully pleasant, I address the ones that stepped forward. "Hello. I'm not used to visitors so forgive my lack of manners. Who might you be?"
Their confusion only grows all the more as the look at each other. I sigh inwardly. Some dragons really have ruined the reputations for the rest of us. Lowering my head to the ground I try to show I mean no harm though my eyes keep flicking back to the cooking cows. I do like cows....and cooked they smell amazing.
The eldest of the humans spoke, his voice trembling slightly but with a hint of respect. "Oh great dragon. We beg you for your help. Please take these cows as a precursor for what we hope to ask."
Pleasantly surprised and pleased I reach out delicately for one and start to eat it with relish. Again others seem to shy away from watching me eat but I made sure to keep my lips together and speak without food in my mouth as my mother taught me. "Well that's very kind of you." I say after I finish the cow. "Delicious! Well how may I help?"
The elder smiled at me in relief, I can see how his thoughts are changing based on how I'm acting and when he speaks again he is much steadier and even somewhat friendly. "Great dragon, we are a humble folk living in the village at the base of your mountain. We live a life of honest toil and plain providence. Unfortunately we are between two nations, each who claim to own our allegiance yet neither will help. Bandits come regularly, they take and kill. Burn and spoil. Even the soldiers of the nations come to take what they say is due. We can't fight any of them. We can't rely on anyone else."
My heart grows heavy as I hear that. Humans can be so cruel to another. Looking at them I see fear again, but maybe not to me. Fear for themselves and their lives. Fear from their current circumstances. They need hope. They need help. I lick my lips and savor the taste of the cow again. People like this shouldn't live like that. "How can I help?" I ask sincerely.
Their eyes light up. This was more than they hoped for. The elder speaks eagerly, words tumbling from his lips in excitement. "Oh thank you! Thank you great dragon! We ask for your protection. Protect us from harm and those that wish to hurt and steal from us. We will be happy to pay whatever is required. We don't have much in treasure...."
I shake my head as I pick up another cow and start to eat it delicately. "I don't need treasure." I sniff. "I am shiny enough for that. Though I must say I do enjoy eating these cows cooked like this. Perhaps I could have some from time to time? Or other food that you may produce." I amend hastily seeing concerned looks. "I find myself enjoying your cooking. Oh and I would like for some people to come by too."
Alarm flashes in their eyes. The elder speaks haltingly, "People? As in slaves or a sacrifice?"
"No no no!" I exclaim hurriedly, my scales clicking in embarrassment. "Nothing like that. I just get lonely up here by myself. I would like to chat and get to know people, play a game or such."
Everyone sighs in relief. Some start to smile. How different from the stories they have heard. Not all dragons were the same apparently. Someone come running up the path calling for the elder. The lad stumbles and falls, "Bandits! They're coming again!"
They start to chatter and glance at me anxiously. Stretching my wings wide I beat at the air lightly getting ready to leave. "Well." I say. "Looks like it's my turn to hold my end of the bargain. Need a bit of exercise to work off the lovely meal."
The elder smiles gratefully and bows low. The villagers following suit. "Thank you great wyrm!" He yells over my wings. "We shall have more waiting for you after."
"Excellent! Call me Silvaron by the way." I mention as I throw myself into the sky. Wind flowing beneath me and I revel in the sensations of the sky and in my body. My stomach full, my mind happy. Finally I won't be so lonely anymore. Now I have a purpose and new friends.
Looking down I see a group of ragged individuals dressed in a motley of items, waving rusty weapons. They were making loud war cries that died as they saw me coming closer. Folding my wings I plummet to the earth and land heavily in front of them. The crash from my landing shakes them causing many to fall. I rear up on my legs and let my wing span fall over them. "I believe you aren't wanted here." I say showing my teeth, smoke drifting from my mouth as I feel my fire building. A savage grin crosses my features, "Allow me to show you why."
|
Fed up with the constant attacks to their village, the villagers assembled at Lord Draken's mansion, the most feared man in the North.
His guards led a group of the elders to the Lord’s chambers while the other villagers waited outside. The lord’s face looked unlike any other human, His face appeared scaly, his teeth were more pointy and sharp. He wore a dark gray cloak that covered his entire body and a hood that covered his head.
“Well... How can I be of help?” He questioned as his bright yellow eyes scanned the faces of the elders.
“We were raided by those damn bandits yet again, we’ve had enough, we ask your help.” one of the elders spoke up.
“We can pay!” yelled a woman who was a bit too young for an elder.
“Hmm... and how do you intend to pay me?” the lord questioned.
“We don’t have any gold... the bandits... they took it all. If you recover the gold, you can keep half of it.” the elder proposed.
“Interesting...” He said while scratching his chin. “You have a deal... under one condition... If the bandits have sold all their gold, then I will kill you... deal?” the lord said smiling.
After a few mumbles from the elders, they agreed to the terms out of desperation.
Over the next few days, reports of scorched bodies of known bandits in the area were found, the villagers celebrated long into the night.
The villagers returned to the mansion to thank Lord Draken and recover their share of the gold.
“What do you mean they didn’t have any gold on them?” questioned the elder.
“That’s right... not a single... tiny... little... piece of gold... you do remember our deal don’t you?”
“NO! No! It can’t be... you're lying! You're a liar!” screamed one of the elders.
“And you sir, are dead!” said the lord as he morphed into a dark gray dragon and with one exhale of his fiery breath, burned all the elders to a crisp.
“Call me a liar...” he sighed as he lifted a bag overflowing with gold.
“Uh... well, maybe I am.” He said as he laughed heartily.
| 2017-05-08T09:51:26
| 2017-05-08T07:46:59
| 56
| 35
|
[WP] "You shall fall dead on the day of your first child's birth!" Was the curse that young, inexperienced witch put on you. Little did she realize that, to an asexual like yourself, she'd essentially given you immortality. Every year, on the anniversary of your curse, she tries to "fix" things.
|
There was a cackle outside and three sharp knocks on the door. I almost lept out of my comfy spot on the couch and double checked that I'd lit all the right candles. Did I have the right songs in the queue? Was- whatever. She was at the door and I had to answer before she blew it off it's hinges again.
"Hey," I greeted to the young looking witch standing on my stoop with a furrowed brow and a drawn wand. After a moment of keeping comsposure she shattered into giggles in her attempts to keep the frown going. "How are you?" I asked, my voice came out like a song.
"Fine," she hissed at me before holding out her hands expecting a hug, I delievered.
"Inside," I said as I ushered her off the street and into my living room. Once she was inside I held out my arms to present the room. "Not bad right?" I asked, "Dinner is in the oven to keep warm. Thought you'd be a little later."
"You made dinner?" Margaret put her broomsitck and wand down by the door to surveyed the room. There were definitely too many candles, but she didn't mention it.
"Well yeah it's an important day," I pointed out, "and... you know, everyone had a tough year this year and I figured that extended to witches."
"Tell me about it," she huffed as she took off her boots, "supply lines man, you can't get a good newt unless you're willing to wait a month and a half."
"Can't fly anywhere," I commented.
"Well I can," Margaret pointed out, knocking on her broom quickly before righting herself, "but yeah, whole thing," the witch put a hand around my waist, "what about you?"
"This year or since you last saw me?" I mused.
"Both?" Margaret suggested.
"I mean you know the whole stay at home stuff drove me bonkers," I pointed out as I nodded for her to follow me toward the couch, "but last few weeks have been.. ya know, fine."
"Work's okay?"
"Been distracted," I admitted.
"By-"
"You."
"You're drumb," she pointed out, she waved around at all of the candles and finally noticed the bottle of champagne. "This is dumb."
"I put a lot of effort into this," I said with mock pain in my voice.
Margaret locked eyes with me for a moment, sqinted then relented. "Fine. Thank you."
"I don't do it for the thanks," I said.
"You're the worst."
"Well aware," I anwered, "wine?"
"Sure," Margaret sank a little deeper into the couch and undid one of the three clasps on her cloak. At least she had started relenting a little bit on appearances.
"Red or white?" I asked while I made my way to the kitchen.
"The champagne," she answered.
"That's for later," I corrected and stopped at the counterspace beside the fridge, "Red or white?"
"You know what I like."
"Cab sav in Red and-" I paused to open the fridge and pull out the white wine, "this bullshit."
"It's good wine."
"For a frat party," I sighed as I unscrewed the top of the white.
"I like it."
"You have bad tastebuds. There should be a potion for that."
"I'll make one for you so you learn to appreciate affordable wine," she countered.
"Oh we're casting spells on me again?" I asked as I pulled out the glasses and put and bendy straw in hers, "How'd that go last time?"
"I'm getting wine out of it," she pointed out. Margaret had sat up on the couch and was reading the label on the champagne, she she didn't see me shrug. She had a point. I wasn't mad about the results.
"Here," I offered her the wine and she grabbed the glass before noticing the straw.
"W-"
"The other option was a sippy cup."
"I'm not going t-"
"It's a white couch," I said before reaching over and pointedly bending the straw toward her. "Enjoy."
"Thanks," she whispered.
"Welcome," I answered.
Margaret put the bottle of champagne back and started focusing on the wine, glaring at me as she used the bendy straw. After a minute she crossed her legs up properly on the couch, and I could hear clinking from her belt.
"Potions?" I asked
"Eh," she shrugged, "Mom would kill me if she knew I wasn't trying so I just grabbed some stuff."
"Anything interesting?" I asked. Usually I'd get fake offended at the fact that she wasn't trying to force me to make a baby anymore, but it didn't need to be a thing every time she mentioned it.
"One of them is like 80% booze."
"What's it do?"
"Courage potion."
"You need that tonight?" I asked.
Margaret snorted and carefully put down the wine glass before she shook too much from giggling. "Why would I be nervous around you?"
"I'm your biggest failure," I pointed out.
"Oh no, the kinda immortal still-not-magical man,"
"Win some you lose some," I pointed out before putting my wine down beside hers. After half a moment I took the bendy straw out of her glass and put it in mine. She was either going to read that as me trusting her, or wanting the bendy straw becuase I'm 57 in a 24 year old body going on 6.
Either one was right.
"What's the champaigne for?"
"Eh I have plans," I answered with my best impression of being dismissive. Honestly it wasn't my greatest work, and I could tell from Margaret's sly smile that she read right through it.
"Important plans?"
"Been a long time coming," I admitted.
"Is it dumb?" she asked.
"Very," I confirmed.
"Nervous?" she asked.
"Well you did spend ten years trying to kill me."
"S'different now," she snorted.
"Yeah," I confirmed, "it really really is." After half a moment consdiering drinking the rest of my wine I continued, "Can I grab that courage potion?"
"We could just do shots," she answered.
"Uh I think that-" ugh, no plan survives contact with the enemy. I stood up. "Look I-"
Margaret stared at me for a moment before reaching into her cloak and pulling out a small red vial. "Looks like you need it," she said.
"I know our thing is weird," I said without taking the potion from her hand yet, "and like I understand that you need things that I don't provide and-"
Margaret’s eyes flicked from mine to my left pocket and then back.
"and I uh- dammit. Can I?" I reached for the potion.
"Here," she offered it to me, "but if it helps, the answer is yes."
I beamed before drinking the potion. Of course it was yes, it had probably been yes for months. I knew that the curse, it had been the biggest mistake of her life as a witch, and the best thing to happen to both of us.
You didn't need a ring to prove that.
______
/r/JacksonWrites for word blankets
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It's weird having a witch play cupid for you; but ever since I was cursed, I have had my very own matchmaker trying to find the perfect woman for me. I think I need to go back in time to the moment that I was first cursed. It was the turn of the century and I was an arrogant man of 22. Tall, blonde, broad shouldered; what you'd call conventionally attractive. This isn't meant as a brag, it's just the reality.
When you're young and dumb, you don't always act the gentlemen. As a young and attractive man, woman were more of a sport than they were a serious pursuit. That's how I first came to meet Mellista, it was Halloween and I was at a costume party. She walked into the room wearing a short black skirt, low cut black top, her skin was green, and she was wearing a witches hat.
"You must be a witch, because you've put a spell on me" I say as I flash the biggest smile I can
"Oh stop" she said blushing "I am sure you say that to all the witches"
"Would you like some witches brew?"
We hit it off instantly, I can always tell in a woman's eyes, and this woman wanted me. An hour of so of flirting, an off color joke about making a wand disappear, and we are off to my place.
The next morning, I sent her on her way with the vague assurance I would text her soon. Who'd have thought the trashy witch was an actual witch. Well I certainly should have, but as a man, there comes a certain point in the night where the head on your shoulders no longer thinks rationally. With some of the tricks she performed, I should've realized what she was. I should've had the good sense to be decent to her. But I was young and foolish.
The next night I was out at yet another Halloween party, and used the exact same lines to pick up a different trashy witch. I brought her back to my place when suddenly the door came flying off its handles, smoke pouring into my apartment.
Mellista's voice magically enhanced as she came flying into the room "How dare you" she screamed as she hit trashy witch number two with a curse that sent her flying. "You think you can treat me like a common whore?!" Rage filling her eyes, making them appear red.
They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and Mellista cursed me in the manner she thought most befitting my offense; but being she was the same age as me, young and inexperienced, she didn't realize the precision necessary when making a curse.
So, when she looked into my eyes and said "You are doomed to perish on the day that your first child will be born." She actually made it so I could not die until my first child was born.
I discovered this in a most accidental way, I fell off a building. Landed right on my head too, all I did was dust myself off and I was on my merry way. I was shocked, I didn't feel any pain, nothing. I had to be positive though, and I started testing the limits that my body could endure. Gunshots, car accidents, parachuting with no parachute. Each time I walked away.
Even so, Mellista just cackled, she saw me for the weak man of temptation that I truly was; it was only a matter of time before I caved in to the temptations of the flesh.
As time went on, she became less and less sure of herself. At first, she was sending women my way two at a time, I shot them all down without a second glance. She tried different tactics, not just women that were pleasing physically, but women that I got along with on an intimate personal level.
Time went by, year after year, I never aged, neither did Mellista. On the centennial of my curse Mellista came to release me.
"I have a family of my own, it is time to release you from your curse and live your life. I realize now that you were young and immature, and I never should have tried to force something on you that you didn't want. It would have made us both miserable. I can't take back the last century, but I can release you now" Mellista said with a wave of her wand.
I started to cry.
"Now go, live your life, your sentence is up, your time served" She said to me
I slowly started removing my pants "Mellista, you were right about me, I am a weak pathetic man afraid of death."
Horror washed over Mellista's face as she looked at the area my genitals used to occupy.
"I was exactly as weak as you thought I was, but I was far more cowardly than you realized. I knew I couldn't stay away from women long, that's why I became a eunuch"
| 2021-11-09T14:03:16
| 2021-11-09T10:00:12
| 2,109
| 176
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[WP] When offered one wish, you jokingly said that you want to fire proof. You are disappointed to discover that fire still burns you. When you accidentally lit the company breakroom on fire, your boss just laughed it off and you began your new career as the person who can't be fired, ever.
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On second thought, I should have been suspicious when the genie had laughed after granting my wish. Initially, it seemed like he was just happy, but I'll be damned if I appreciated his mirth when the flame burned the crap out of my index finger.
I threw the match aside as the blister, clearly a nasty one to come, began to form instantly. That was when it all went to hell. See, some matches are a little more wind resistant than others. This one was on the higher end of the spectrum. I had expected it to go out in mid-air, given how many of the damn things blew out when I was just trying to light a smoke outdoors. But this one hung on. The little match that could.
The contents of the trash can went up first. Then the pizza box on the counter. Apparently grease is flammable. The rest of the break room followed suit in short order. The fire department later said that if it hadn't been for the sprinkler system, we'd have lost the whole darn building. That was a Monday.
That Tuesday, I walked into my boss's office, fully prepared to accept my termination. He just gave me a slap on the back and said, I swear this is true, "Who among us *hasn't* started a major fire in the break room? Go on, you're fine." There were 53 employees in our office. I was pretty sure the answer to his question was "The other 52 of you," but didn't want to talk myself out of a job, so I left. On the way back to my desk, it dawned on me. *Fire* proof. Huh.
I have come to believe that after the discovery of any superpower comes the testing of its limits. But as I soon learned, this power had absolutely no limits whatsoever. No one minded when I came in late. No one minded when I came in late and dressed in flip flops. Indeed, no one minded when I came in *naked*. I really thought that one would do it. Eventually, no one minded when I stopped coming in altogether. The paychecks kept depositing.
Then I had an idea.
Eight hundred and thirty two. That is the number of jobs I now have. 832. I may be the world's first multimillionaire employed as a receptionist. Or 7-11 janitor. Or bus driver. It doesn't matter; I don't ever actually show up to any of them. I apply for every job out there, but my only real "job" is faking my resume and showing up for interviews. It helps that hiring managers can often be bribed. When I'm hired, my work is done.
At this point, I could easily stop, but each job is literally a lifetime income, no matter how low that income may be. My average job pays only $24,714 per year, putting my gross annual income just north of $20 million. All in all, I consider the "confusion" surrounding my wish to be working out in my favor.
Well, I did. Until those goddamn idiots at the other pump got into a gasoline fight. A spark, a whoosh, and my last thought as the fireball barrels through me is "Fucking genies."
&#x200B;
**Edit**: First Reddit gold! Thank you kind interneteer!
|
I started my day by strutting into the office wearing the most ridiculous outfit I could find. Khaki shorts with knee-length leotard socks, a hawaian tee and flip-flops that kept click-clacking on the linoleum floor. My colleagues kept throwing me irritated glances, and I could hear whispers between some of them.
Karen, the secretary, scowled when she saw me, but didn't say anything because the boss Mr. Hughes stood next to her with a bunch of documents in his hands.
"Eric! Just the guy I've been waiting for! Come by in an hour or so and we can grab a cup of coffee and chat over the next testing phase."
"Sure thing boss," I greeted and slapped Karen's ass.
She squealed, no doubt due to how bold I was. Winking was hard after the fire, but I didn't mind. The red-blue flesh hanging from my eyelids stuttered a few times while I was trying to give her a second wink.
"See you later. Bitch!" I passed her by and turned around with a grin on my burned out lips and both my hands raised as high as my half-functioning muscles would allow.
"Ayyyy, nice one, Eric! My boss cheered.
&#x200B;
I finished my morning routine by taking a shit in front of the office's kitchen and wiping my ass with Karen's (then unopened) bag of toast. I may not be fireproof. But I am, *fire-proof.*
| 2019-03-01T12:49:14
| 2019-03-01T12:31:57
| 5,051
| 37
|
[WP] "Die scum!I will avenge my brother!" the silver knight yells. "Your brother killed my father, i will avenge him in his place bastard!" the gold knight retorts. "What do you mean? your father stole our land!" replies the silver knight. Just how far has this cycle been going on for?
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“Die imperial scum!” The Silver Knight screams, clashing swords with his enemy, “I shall avenge my brother!”
“Hold your tongue, savage,” The Gold Knight retorted, his stance full of bloodlust. “That simpleton slit my father’s throat at midnight. Merely executed for his crimes. Cowardly, like all your kind!”
“So what?” the Silver Knight’s face twists, “Your father stole our land, abducted the good men and women of the forest. Turned our Chieftess into a circusfighter. He ought have expected as much.”
“You… hold on.” the Gold Knight loosens the clash between him and the other’s swords, making him stumble into the bloodied sand. The crowd cheered at his humiliation as the golden knight stride aside.
“Are you referring to Chieftess Bonua?”
The Silver one nodded. The Gold’s face sharpened with hate.
“That wretch slaughtered countless citizens in her little holy war, my wife and sons. Our soldiers were only pushing back. You’re lucky we did not slaughter them.”
He kick on his opponents in the chest to the center of the arena, and goaded the crowd to cheer, drowning out his shouts of pain. “Art thou among the ones enslaved boy?”
The Silver nodded. “Our village was by the ocean, far far away from your empire. You destroyed us, Tis why I became sick entertainment for you maniacs. For the chance to kill you.”
“Funny” he smirked genuinely, “Last time one of your kind managed that, she forced Empress Enogard's blade down her torso. It’s in the history books.”
“Just the torso? I’ll would have had her swallow it!” The Silver smirks dangerously, picking himself up and barking with rage. “She waged war against all the elves. I’ll be damn sure you pay for that too.”
“It was only a skirmish,” the Gold ran on weakly. “after those elves abducted our soldiers and civilians for their insane experiments, you’re no elf anyway.”
“My grandmother was… so was that warrior's father. Enogard killed them both.”
“An elvish grandmother… is that not 700 years into the past now?” Gold inquired. The Silver one nodded, gripping his sword again. The Gold one readied himself.
“… Was your mother Vena of the Black Desert?”
|
"Die scum!I will avenge my brother!" the silver knight yells.
"Your brother killed my father, I will avenge him in his place bastard!" the golden knight retorts.
"What do you mean? Your father stole our land!"replies the silver knight.
The duel had been going for well over an hour. As per the fair country's laws, the dueling knights had mounted their steeds prior to the fated day and gone to the distant plains which served as the battle grounds. Each knight had brought their squire who were to act as witnesses and report the results of the duel. The outcome was to be accepted no matter what. It was the way of the land and thus it was the way of the knights.
The two squires, Tom and Harry, calmly observed the unfolding battle side by side. They had no reason to bear hatred towards one another. In fact, the two had often played together in those lands, like their fathers before them.
" So, what's next, Tom?" Harry asked,"Do you think life will be the same after this? "
"What will happen will happen, it's up to us to pick up the pieces," Tom, the older boy,replied cooly,"Look it's almost over."
At the moment, the two knights were bruised and battered. The silver knight hefted his spear and charged straight for the golden knight. The golden knight tried to parry it, but he was too weakened and couldn't muster the strength to avoid it. And so the spear rammed through the golden knight's torso. He started to cough up blood but the silver knight moved closer, pushing the spear deeper.
"I've waited too long for this moment, your family has caused us nothing but ruin. Taking our land, killing my family, this cycle ends here!"
The golden knight weakly replied,"Who do you think gave your father that land? You speak as if he was a paragon of virtue, but you know nothing. My father's dying words were that your father was a land grabbing thief"
"I will not stand for slander against our-" the silver knight started but his words were cut short when the golden knight, smelling the faintest opportunity drew out his dagger and plunged it to his opponent's neck. The silver knight had miscalculated by coming in too close.
As the two knights lay there bleeding out, their squires came closer.
"For the record, the land was never yours. It was the people's. And starting from now we shall take it back." Tom said.
After confirming their deaths, the two squires shook hands and to take their master's weapons.
"You know, for all that hate, they were really victims. What would have done if they one of them survived?"Harry enquired.
" Don't worry, this isn't my first duel as a squire. These things have a way of being sorted out. Now let's go Harry."
| 2021-09-28T10:20:07
| 2021-09-28T09:51:51
| 22
| 10
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[WP] You've been blind your entire life. A new surgery gives you sight, but when you finally open your eyes something horrible makes you wish you were blind again.
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NOTE: I got away from the prompt; he doesn't see it right after opening his eyes, but a little later. I am aware of this.
------
*"We'll miss you while you're gone," said Beth, my co-worker, a smile in her voice.*
*I grinned. "It's not like I'll be bed-ridden! Technology is great these days; I'll be up on my feet and back in a jiffy in no time."*
*"You better. There's a bunch of kids who will be waiting for you, and the clinic will be emptier without you."*
Besides the mess of paperwork and small talk with the anesthesiologist, this was the last conversation I'd had before my surgery.
Opportunities for the visually impaired had exponentially increased throughout my lifetime. First, it had helped me get my job, as a clinical child psychologist. I'd always wanted to help the kids who needed it, and this was one of the possible ways, thanks to a movement that made colleges and employers more open to accepting anyone.
Now, it would let me see.
Once I came conscious, I only felt a slight ache in my head. It was wonderful how far we had come. But I was still unable to see.
*"The way we do it will have you start seeing slowly, to avoid shock," said the surgeon, a little apologetically. "Your vision will come to you slowly; you'll stay in the operating room with a nurse for about an hour until you can completely see."*
So the hour passed. There's no way to describe being blind and then slowly, slowly being able to see.
All I can say is that the world was beautiful.
Through my newfound sight, it was absolutely *beautiful*.
Once I had been released from the hospital, I couldn't stay still. I wandered around the sidewalks of the suburbs where I lived, drinking in everything I could see, then watching the stars and the sky when night fell.
The world was beautiful.
*They had assigned me to the children with physical scars, first. It was more for their sake than anything; the poor, scared, self-concious children that bore marks of their abuse. I felt sick when I thought about how anyone could hurt a child.*
*The days before I left for my surgery, I had a talk with each child the last time I would meet with them: heartfelt promises that I wouldn't look at them any differently, tears, hugs. One in particular remained in my mind.*
*Anna was the sweetest eight-year-old I'd met during my career. She was quiet, but I coaxed her into speaking, and we would be able to talk about nothing and everything —in a child's world, anyways— for a long time. Beth told me she always left with a wistful kind of smile on her face.*
*Her story was horrible; every child's was, of course, but hers spoke to me the most. When I read it on her file, I knew the child would have danced with pain. When she told me herself... it sounded like she was pain's prisoner, possibly stuck there for life. It was my job to get her out.*
*Her mother had passed away when she was six. Her father fell into a deep, deep chasm of darkness, and sometimes it was like she'd had no parent at all.*
*"I remember when I was little, he was funny," she'd said, a little sadly. "One time he told me this joke: what's blue and not very heavy?"*
*"What?"*
*"Light blue!" And she half-laughed, a laugh that bore the marks of pain's embrace. "It's my favorite joke. Tell it to everyone you know so everyone can know such a great joke, okay?" she inquired.*
*"Of course. Light blue— that's smart."*
*"Dad was smart. He was great. He could do anything. He made great breakfasts with little smiley faces in ketchup and packed me lunch every day. And he taught me a lotta biology."*
*That was how it went. She placed great emphasis on how wonderful her father was, and it all sounded sincere; not with a robotic hint to her tone, the way a manipulated child's voice was when talking positively about their parents. Her father was truly wonderful.*
*But after her mother's death, he began to lose his temper. He'd apparently always had one, but he started verbally abusing when she wasn't even close to seven, and started beating her when she was eight. These vicious outbursts were triggered by a small mistake, or even an action or word from Anna that seemed like a child's harmless doing. He'd go back to normal in less than a day, back to the "funny, smart, great," loving dad that Anna described. The school said that Anna was always well-fed and well-clothed, and they never noticed anything going on.*
*The outbursts got worse, until the fateful day when she'd done this or that, and he took out a knife.*
*The information file described it as:*
*"He badly disfigured the child's face."*
Anna happened to be the first child I would see on my day back. As I sat in my chair and waited for her to come in, I recalled that she hadn't been particularly concerned about how I would see her; if anything, she was happy for me.
The doorknob turned; the door opened. A small child walked in.
Her colors reminded me of all the things I had seen since gaining sight. Her brown hair was the color of an acorn shining in the sunlight. Her shirt, long-sleeved, was a cheerful pink that I saw on a cereal box at the grocery store. Her shoes were the scuffed white color of gravel that was used for decoration on peoples' front lawns.
But her face was horrible.
Not horrible in the usual sense, but horrible in what it represented.
Long, pale lines zigzagged across her skin, a jagged mess of scars. On one cheek as a dark gash that had not yet healed, and a bandage wrapped around her neck, probably hiding a worse wound that I knew I wouldn't want to see.
I remembered what she had said at the beginning of our first session. No one had remembered to tell her that I was blind, and apparently something in my face when she approached made her say, "Don't worry; the other kids are a lot worse."
If this wasn't bad...
"Hi, Anna," I said, mentioning nothing out-of-the-ordinary as she sat down. "Got any stories to tell me today?"
"Why don't you tell me *your* story about *your* surgery?" she asked, bouncing a little in her seat. "Did it hurt? Was it cool? What is it like to see things?"
"I'll trade you," I offered. "You tell me something interesting that happened to you, and then I'll tell you all about the surgery. Including the scrubs." She wanted to be a surgical tech when she grew up.
Anna talked about a fat old cat that had shown up in her foster parents' backyard and refused to leave, her eyes shining as she narrated. I closed my own eyes for a brief moment.
I wondered what her father had seen, looking down at this child, this child who saw him as a hero, as her whole world. How could any person wield a knife against an innocent, helpless thing?
Before I saw, I'd explained to her that the brain was an organ like everything else. Sometimes, peoples' brains broke, the way a leg breaks, and they need medicine to make it better. Her father never got medicine.
Now, I thought, *That must be a hell of a broken brain. A broken person.*
I opened my eyes again and saw Anna's bright smile as she described how the cat had arched its back, but toppled over, because it arched too far and it was too fat to balance.
In the long run, it would probably help me be more empathetic towards the victims of abuse.
But for now, I wished I was blind again, so that I didn't have to see the terrible mark that a terrible person had left on a wonderful child.
A wonderful child in a cruel world that I had so recently thought was beautiful.
|
For the first time ever, I drifted out of the darkness.
The darkness had been with me since the day I was born; I emerged into its gullet and it carried me helpless inside, the whale to my Jonah. When I slept, I fell deeper into the darkness still.
Not today. Today, I emerged.
My first sight was to be a hospital room, fittingly enough for a sort of rebirth. I had been told that I would be blindfolded as I woke from the anesthesia-induced slumber, to allow myself to mentally prepare before the grand reveal.
I shivered. As my waking thoughts cohered, it seemed as though the darkness had taken on a different character for our first ever parting, like the voice of a close friend who had suddenly become angry. No, I realised. Not darkness. LIGHT.
I frisked my hand over the bed to find a small button on a cord. I hammered it with my thumb.
"All right, all right," a voice scolded beyond the blindfold. "I'm here, you can stop abusing the button."
My doctor. His chiding did nothing to dampen my bubbling enthusiasm.
"I'm ready."
"Still sure about what you want your first sight to be?"
"Yes."
It was an easy question. It was the same thing I wished I could see on my eighth, tenth, twelfth birthday, and every one after that as well. I wanted to see the only thing in the world I had that I could rely on, that I could hold onto with certainty in the void of the whale's stomach.
"I want to see myself."
The doctor took me by the arm and guided me through the room. I told myself it was the last time I would ever allow anyone to help me like that.
We stopped. The doctor took a few steps back. "It's not too late to change your mind. People can have, well, expectations. I still recommend something simpler, with less scope for... disappointment."
"All due respect, doc, but I don't give a damn. This is what I want."
"Okay then, when you're ready."
I was ready.
I lifted my hands to the blindfold and ripped it off my face, my eyes still shut. In my haste, I wobbled and lost my footing a bit, but I believed I had positioned just as I had been before.
This was it. I took a deep breath. Hello me, in three... two... one...
"Jesus Christ, what the fuck that?"
Before me was a grotesque mass of flesh. I could hardly believe it was human; it folded in on itself like a hot marshmallow left too long in the microwave. Pale hairs poked through the blistered skin, a poorly butchered pork roast, made man. Pictures don't smell, but my brain, maladjusted to coping with five senses, registered sweat and burned meat. I retched. If I had believed in God, this visage would have abused me of that notion. No sentient, loving creator could have wrought this abomination upon the world without killing themselves afterward.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, you've shifted your gaze," the doctor responded.
Warm relief washed across my body and down my legs.
"Thank God," I sighed.
"That's a picture of the president. He decreed that every room in the country should have one, because he'd already named all the buildings after himself, " explained Doctor Subramani, lead surgeon of Trump Hospital (#2641).
"I can't tell you what a shock that was. I should have taken your advice, gone with something simpler. Could have avoided this whole mix up."
"Yes..." I got the sense that the doctor was holding something back.
"Okay, the portrait is mandatory," I continued. "What I don't understand, though, is why you have this second, uglier, animated version right next to it."
"Well, uh, Jason," the doctor said, his voice heavy with a mixture of apology and regret.
"...that's the mirror."
| 2017-06-10T15:54:09
| 2017-06-10T15:07:41
| 123
| 57
|
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars."
|
The crew stared at their newest crew member. It was risky taking a human on board when the species was so new to the universe.
“You were instructed to wear your anti-warp gear,” Second admonished.
“Yeah, I tried but I didn’t really fit. I think I’m supposed to have tentacles,” Bradford said.
“You saw the infinity of the stars with your bare eyes,” the Captain said.
“Yeah?”
The captain shifted uncomfortably. “The infinity should drive you insane.”
Bradford cocked his head. “You mean those moving stars should, like, make me insane? Geeze guys, you are out of your element.”
“Explain,” the captain said.
“I’ve been watching stuff like that since Windows 95.”
|
Both Captain Zula and systems engineer Wuolloki stood in silence, contemplating the magnitude of what they had just said and heard.
"Bring me the human," the Captain ordered. Wuolloki saluted curtly, turned, and left the room.
Captain Zula was rubbing her head now. She moved over to her secret stash of alcohol, wondering if this was an appropriate time to abuse her position. In a smooth, practised motion, her right hand was suddenly nursing two fingers of whiskey.
*Abuse it is*, she thought, as she lifted the glass to her lips.
The smooth liquor went down her throat, as quick as it had appeared in the glass. She exhaled hard, enjoying the burn through her nostrils as well. Three rapt knocks on her door prompted her to hastily stash her drinking vessel away, quickly seating herself upright.
"Here he is," Wuolloki said.
Zula examined the human closely, looking for the telltale signs of those who had seen too much. Usually, they were either straight up crazy, blabbering nonsense and gibberish, or barely holding themselves together from extolling the virtues of the known universe.
It didn't matter what they were saying. Usually, they were full of it. Not the human, however. He was quietly gazing ahead, head unbowed, the steel in his eyes obvious even from a mile away.
"Human," Zula said. "You weren't even supposed to be here."
"I wasn't," the human said.
Both Zula and Wuolloki waited for the inevitable tirade to come, but nothing. The human had fallen quiet.
"How?" the captain demanded.
"How what?" the human replied.
"How could a species such as yours see the true brilliance of the stars and come away unaffected?" Zula cried.
The human's eyes moved toward the ceiling as he mulled over the question.
"I wouldn't say unaffected," the human said. "I've not been driven mad yet. We don't know whether it's an if or when."
"There has never been an 'if'," spat Wuolloki. "Of all the races! How dare you speak so nonchalantly!"
The engineer slapped the human across the back. The human did not even yelp. Rather, he laughed.
"Halt!" Zula demanded. "Wuolloki, leave us."
"And have you alone with this--"
"Leave!" the captain affirmed, and the engineer backed off. He turned once again, this time forgoing the salute, and indignantly tried to slam a pressurized door.
Zula once again took stock of the human before her.
"What is your name?"
"Oh, a captain deigns herself to ask for me name?" the human laughed gaily. "But I would gladly comply. I see that you are quite unlike the others, Captain Zula. I am known as Benjamin."
"You stand before me, none the worse for wear, Benjamin," Zula continued. "I've not heard of such a case for hundreds of years. I've had to bury crew members, friends, family... How do you stand here unscathed?"
"As I said, Captain, I didn't leave unscathed," Benjamin smiled. "I think we humans have a special gift when faced with the infinite unknown."
"And what is that?" Zula asked. "Magic? Power?"
"No," Benjamin's wry grin faded a little as his eyes suddenly looked far away. "It is hope. Hope that no matter what we go through and endure, there will be light. Whether it floods the sky or if it's just one pinprick at the edge of the universe, it remains. Forever and always."
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2020-07-14T02:58:11
| 2020-07-13T23:19:17
| 381
| 186
|
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends his Christmas letter to Satan. Satan is touched by this gesture and decides to write back.
|
Dear Timothy.
I've gotten the list of things you've asked for.
I assure you I am very capable of bringing your dog back. Just as well, I can stop the teasing and jeering of your elder sister.
I was informed as to what a "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle" is, and I believe I can acquire that as well.
However, I'm not certain why you would want a monstrous truck. It sounds rather brutal for a child your age, but even I must admit it does sound fun.
I will deliver your presents on time, I give you my word.
Regards - "Satan" Morning star.
|
&nbsp;
Dear Timmy,
&nbsp;
I've never employed Elvis, nor does it rain deer in the 'Ark Tick' (wherever that is). For future reference, Santa doesn't exist and I've already set plans in motion to have your dad fired on Christmas Eve, so expect a shabby impersonation at best. Also, a word of advice: don't spend too much money on grandma's presents this year.
&nbsp;
Warm regards,
&nbsp;
Satan
&nbsp;
PS: That was just a joke about your dad, the truth is he's already been fired but doesn't have the heart to tell you or your mother until after the holidays (it's why he's drinking again).
&nbsp;
| 2018-10-28T10:04:46
| 2018-10-28T08:06:21
| 444
| 168
|
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily.
|
There is a human saying; to beat your plowshares into swords, your pruning shears into spears. Let the weak say "I am strong."
&#x200B;
Our research had missed old religious texts in our scanning of their culture, and how could we not. There was not real need to research archaic beliefs. The Sol Confederacy was easy prey, a species that had focused on science and not war. They build grand research stations in orbit of their planet, colonized their oversized moon, and spread to the fourth planet in their system. The most they had were patrol ships to keep off the odd criminal, but no warships, no soldiers. They focused on rehabilitation and re-education of their worst people. They were pacifists, and they were ripe for enslavement.
&#x200B;
Our ships had arrived, and they broadcast on all known subspace channels, reaching out to the void to greet us, to welcome us to their home. They assumed we came in peace, to meet them as equals. They were *excited*. As the first of our cruisers took up orbit, we fired upon their home world, lancing their space elevators from their moores and pushing them out of orbit. Their capital city was burned from orbit, and their meager defences were quashed. Our beachhead was built on their home, and their people were enslaved, to strip their spinning blue gem of its resources for our empire. Their moon fell next and we grew complacent. We figured we had them, so why would we push?
&#x200B;
We were wrong.
&#x200B;
The first sign of trouble came from a drone carrier, which suddenly went silent. Communications errors happened, so we considered nothing of it. Next a camp on the surface went black, so we sent soldiers to explore. We found our men and women dead, some looking so shocked in chairs, it was as if the attacker had materialized from nowhere. We now sent boarding troops the the carrier, however, they never made it. Its fighter and bomber compliment turned on us. We shot it down, watched it as it crashed to the surface, and we figured that enough, that this little rebellion would end. Again, we were wrong. Mining and cargo ships from the planet called Mars arrived, but they did not carry goods. Their mining drones swarmed ships, punching holes in their hulls, and stripping atmosphere away. We watched in horror as the bodies of our comrades were floated into space. Our loses were now mounting, even as we destroyed their rigged up attack craft, we paid for every kill with blood.
&#x200B;
I was on Earth when I saw the horror we had awaken first hand. A mining exo-suit walked down the street, armor strapped to it in an ad hoc way, turning a tool into a weapon. Carried in it's hands were our own weapons, and as the lone assailant advanced towards me, shrugging off energy weapons and ordinance, only a lucky hit brought it down. Still, the rebel climbed from his armor and I saw his eyes, not those of a captured pacifist, but those of a killer. We learned later the man had been a chemical engineer, never served with the patrols, and had built the suit himself in private. We assumed he had snapped, surely the humans couldn't go from pacifists to warriors, they were a peaceful species. But we dug into their archives, we learned their history, the monsters that we had happened upon. But now they had three hundred years of peace and prosperity to build new technologies, and with them, we learned what they could do.
&#x200B;
It was called the Military Industrial Complex, the ability to turn any technological marvel into a weapon was no unique, but the way in which they did it was. Most species develop nuclear energy before they develop nuclear weapons. Humanity had done it in reverse. Their chemical rockets were not made to deliver them into space, but adapted from weapons to do so. After they had turned those weapons on themselves, they had learned to find peace, quelled their demons. We had reawoken those demons, and given them more technology than ever before to do it. Their ability to strip materials to energy, and convert it back to raw matter had been used to mine without destroying massive areas of land, and to build ships of exploration and peace. Now those fleet yards, orbiting a planet we thought was to be an easy picking, they cranked out warships in bulk we had never seen. Hardware meant for construction and rescue was now used to armor troops to attack. One armoured assailant became hundreds, then thousands. Our own ships were captured, reverse engineered, and then turned on us. We watched in horror as our slaves became boogymen. Our hope had been to glass the planet, to hand them a defeat, but we never got the chance. One by one our legions fell. Once our ships were controlled by them, and our communications with our hme severed, we were brought before them.
&#x200B;
We learned of their rules of war, what they would do to prisoners, and how we would be treated. We didn't expect the mercy we gained, nor did we deserve it I am sure. After all, we would not afford them the same. I was treated to a tribunal, and told I was to be held accountable for my crimes and the crimes of my people, and my execution ordered. Lead to a small room, I was hooked up to IVs and promised it would be painless. As they added the chemicals to my veins I could only think of my home, and hope they could forgive me for awakening humanity. I could only pray that one day these beasts would return their swords to plowshares, and the warriors would rest again. The galaxy can only hope.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
EDIT: Spelling and grammatical errors.
|
"So, how many casualties ?"
" We estimate between 1.5 and 2 billion sentients, my lord. The planet's biosphere so far seems to be holding well. It may need some repairing in the future, but nothing that we can't handle."
"A good start. Move our fleet to low orbit and begin deploying the hunter-warriors. I want them on the ground before the next planetary cycle. "
Planet 3879-S, also known by its natives as "Earth". A miracle in the forgotten reaches of the galaxy. A place where planets capable of holding life, let alone intelligent life, were not supposed to exist. But here it is. For Ulm'Gaatar, being assigned to oversee such a remote region of the galaxy was something he saw as a demotion. But this planet changed everything. It would be his gateway to glory.
It all started when Imperial deep reconaissance forces found a mysteirous object in the void between the stars after detecting strange radio transmissions. The object cointained the letters VOYAGER in its outer sections, and carried within it a mysterious golden disc. After deciphering the contents of the disc, the imperial tecnomancers were horrified to find out that another intelligent species, one that could threaten the empire, had gone undetected for so long. Ulm'Gaatar lobbied for a full military expedition to be sent against the species in question, who called themselves "humans", and his wish was granted. A force of 50 million imperial astromancers and hunter-warrios would be sent.
The VOYAGER object was very, very old. Ulm'Gaatar suspected there was a good chance that these humans had reached for the planets of their own home systems, at the very least. His suspicions were confirmed not long after he entered the system. The humans had established small outposts, both in space and throughout the other planets and moons of their home system. Strangely, the humans offered basically no resistance at all when they first approached these outposts. For Ulm'Gaatar, it's almost as if they were hoping for a peaceful contact. He found that both strange and fascinanting, but he had a duty to the empire, and to the glory that awaited him. These humans were more technologically advanced than he expected, but strangely, they basically had no weapons of war at all. At most, they had small energy pistols that were mostly suited for self-defence, rather than full scale warfare.
Some of the human prisoners who had surrendered to Ulm'Gaatar's forces spoke of a major conflict that occured hundreds of solar cycles in the past. A devastating conflict that had brought their race to their knees. Since then, humans had forsaken all forms of warfare, and were striving to be a peaceful species. For Ulm'Gaatar, this notion was just laughable. There can be no peace if you are not ready for war.
Then Ulm'Gaatar ad his forces finally arrived on planet 3879-S. It had a population of over 10 billion humans, and countless other non-sentient species. Ulm'Gaatar could not recall the last time he felt such joy. He felt the call to war, and a chance for glory. However, pacifying 10 billion sentients was just not practical with the forces he had at the moment. After consulting with his closest advisers, Ulm'Gaatar came up with a plan: his forces would excatave portions of the planet's moon and hurl them against 3879-S itself at great speeds. The rocks sent against the planet would severely weaken the human population there, but they wouldn't be big enough to render the planet uninhabitable.
Once his fleet reached low orbit, Ulm'Gaatar had the biggest of all surprises.
"My lord" said one of his astromancers "We are detecting a massive amount of unidetified objects heading for our fleet. Thousands of them."
The astromances scanned the objects, and found that the humans launched radiation weapons against the ships. These weapons looked primitive when compared to other forms of human technology they had come across so far, but the scans indicated that these objects had a massive destructive power. If the majority of them hit the fleet, the invasion would over.
But this wasn't the first time the empire had faced this type of situation. The vast majority of the ships in the imperial fleet was equipped with point defences capable of intercepting these types of weapons from a distance of thousands of kilometers.
But Ulm' Gaatar knew that there was just too many of these objects. Most of the fleet would survive, but some ships would be lost and casualties would be far higher that what he had initially predicted.
And everything came to pass as Ulm'Gaatar had envisioned. Despite the casualties, the vast majority of the fleet still stood strong.
"There's been a change of plans" said Ulm'Gaatar "I will not remain aboard the command vessel. I will instead disembark with the first wave of hunter-warriors on the planet's surface".
"My lord" said one of his closest astromancers "It's too risky. We don't know what other kind of defences they might have".
"That is precisely why I am going. We made the mistake of underestimating these humans. We thought their will to fight was gone. We were wrong. I need to have a better insight on how our enemy fights if we are to win this conflict. I need to see with my own eyes the awakening of their fighting spirit".
The astromancers remained silent. They had deep respect for their leader, even though they did not want him to go.
"Astromancers, move the fleet into high orbit once the first wave has reached the planet's surface. Put the ships away from the range of these human radiation weapons.", ordered Ulm'Gaatar before he left for the transport ship
As Ulm'Gaatar boarded the transport ship with the hunter-warrios, they were ecstatic. Their leader would join them in battle.
Ulm'Gaatar finally felt something he thought he had forgotten: He had a chance to die in battle. This made him even more grateful for what was happening, and even more eager to meet humans in battle.
&#x200B;
| 2019-02-26T10:12:21
| 2019-02-26T09:45:36
| 310
| 142
|
[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once.
|
Hey Badger-La-"
"Dude, its Fred."
"Fred, whats up with her?" Alvin pointed to a pretty young girl sitting alone near the back of the cafeteria.
"Al, you're new here. Don't mess with her."
"Yeah, everyone says that. So, what's her deal?"
"That's Juri. She's normal."
"Normal?"
"Yeah Al, normal."
"What's that even mean Fred? This is Etrigg Academy. All of us are either descended from some of the most powerful beings to ever exist or have our own powers naturally. No one here is 'normal'. Al said making actual air quotes.
Fred leaned in and so did Al.
"Freshmen year, two of the biggest powerhouses on campus get into it."
"What!?"
"Yeah, Dragon Yari and and Kishi the Ogre. I was so bad that the staff were running. They were raging right near the Bio-Labs when Juri goes to her locker. Everyone thinks she gonna get creamed, caught between them." Fred stopped short, chewing his fries.
"And? You can't leave me hanging like this."
"Juri handles them."
"Handles them?"
"Yeah."
"Dude, details"
Fred shook his head. "Promise me you're not gonna start shit."
"Dude, I swear on my mothers life."
Fred's eye narrowed.
"I swear man."
Fred looked around as if to be sure that no one was listening to them. Satisfied he continued. "So Yari throws this wild punch. We're thinking Juri's gonna eat it. Except she grabs the hand a does this Judo thing, Coach Karl called it a Uchi-mata, and flips Dragon right off her feet. Then Orge gets hella mad. Charges Juri. She side steps and garbs the head, One. Hand. Under the chin and lifts while tripping. He goes down too. Here's the scary part. She's not skilled."
"What do you mean?"
'Like she doesn't know Judo."
"You're kidding."
"And she doesn't have super strength either. Ogre challenged her to arm wrestling. She refused for a week solid and relented just to make him stop."
Al had seen Kishimoto. That guy was built like a tank.
"She took him instantly."
"No way. Thats"
"Impossible." Fred finished. "Dude, the school's run every test, scientific and supernatural. Juri's just...normal. She just doesn't lose."
|
As i walk, I see everyone trembling in my fear.
I still remember when I was weak. When i was a little child made of flesh. Since that single time I was bullied, for my weak mind and body, my mind began to wonder, if I could be just like them, alle to do something since birth. But when I realized that it was not possible, i set my mind to make it possible. And one day I managed to find the solution: i had to abandon the flesh that failed me. So, 20 days later, i managed to replace my whole body with tungsten. As i walked through the halls with my new body for the first time I had seen familiar faces, those bastards. And then they started to talk. "Well looks like the powerless little sh-"
One.
Single.
Punch.
He lost 5 teeth, broke both his legs, shattered his neck and i broke 5 of his ribs.
A total success.
Later i had gone to the hospital where he was. I could have easily killed him with the punch from before. But i didnt. A little shit like him does not deserve the sweet release of death.
Now, 5 years later, i look him right in the eye. He trained, but so did I. He became a person who would choose evil over good for profit.
And so I punched the air. The air cracked by my strength, and I split the skies. He falls lifeless to the floor. And i stare at what was, what could have been and what isn't.
To become a hero you do need great power. You need great ambition.
| 2022-11-02T13:27:39
| 2022-11-02T13:05:43
| 43
| 22
|
[WP] God is tired of being the topic of every other writing prompt. He assembles a team of /r/writingprompts favorites like batman and hitler to stop bad prompts once and for all.
|
"It's not working!" A frustrated voice calls from across the busy computer room.
"What do you mean? Haven't you got any good ideas?" God asked as he paced across the room.
"I'm doing my best. But it's not getting any attention. One, maybe two upvotes."
"Jesus christ, Adolf, you know the strings I had to pull to get you up here? People are outraged. You know how hard it is to outrage people living in eternal bliss?" God pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, "Alright. Alright, let me hear what you got."
"Leaves rustle across broken pavement and the wind whispers the woes of a-"
"Stop. Stop. Stop." God says with a groan, "First of all, emo is *not* in right now and two, it sounds like you are trying way too hard to sound poetic. I mean, how do you jump off on a prompt that reads like a high school girls poetry notebook."
"I've got one!" Batman shouts raising his hand, "Check this out. A man wakes up to find that he has super powers, but he doesn't know that, uh, well people have these numbers in their heads but, um, well it turns out that..."
"Would you stop adding twists? Like really? Every prompt you put out has like three twists in the title alone. And *why* does every other thing have to start with someone waking up. Like I get it, it's a logical place to open to the characters stream of consciousness but people are going to skip right by it as soon as they see the words 'wake up'."
"Then what *should* we do?" Adolf asks. "If you would let me interject some of my rhetoric then maybe-"
"Trust me, people would not respond well to that, Adolf. I don't know. It has to be simple, but unique. Something other than super powers, or seeing numbers, or meeting death. Something original for once..." God thumbed at his chin, "Man how does Steven King do it."
"We could get him up here?" Batman offered.
God shook his head, "No, no. Satan's got an exclusive deal with him, and we haven't the lawyers to barter a deal with him."
|
He sits at the keyboard, eyes and fingers blazing with incredulity at the popularity of the posts in front of him. Framed Ira Glass quote hung on the wall reading:
>“Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste.
And he once again delves into a tirade of typing. Time traveling Hitler, dressed as batman, with a singular mission. Kill God. The third variation of the story he’s written this morning alone. Trying with every ounce of being in his body to stop with the Nietzsche allusions. Write to your audience he mumbles once again. A manuscript of short stories saved to his hard drive, ready to be self-published. Simply titled, Variations on a Theme. He dreams it will one day become an acclaimed modern art exploration into the depths of popular culture. Digging deeper and deeper into the morass of predictability.
A modern day Ignatius J. Reilly, bumbling from line to line with a seething satiric take on what he views is a flawed system. A system he is ingraining himself in with every tip-tap of his IBM mechanical keyboard. The story crescendos into the climax, Hitler reveals himself from beneath the batman mask, illuminating his true intentions. Either God dies, or he gets accepted into art school. The crowd oohs and awes. How will this change the course of German, hell world history? Stay tuned and find out.
The computer chair creaks as he leans back, the story a masterpiece. Cracking his fingers above his head, sipping his third coffee of the day and it’s barely 11. A craftsman, refining his tools for the better of humanity. Until it hits him. After months of righteous indignation, he realizes that he’s just as bad. Looking down on the community as a captivated mass of sheep, reading variations on a theme. Variations on a theme they love, that entertains them. With a swift kick in the ass, the unending struggle between art and popularity suddenly becomes clear. Write for your target audience, but more importantly find where your target audience is. It might not be in the first place you look.
| 2015-10-20T09:51:43
| 2015-10-20T07:09:48
| 584
| 39
|
[WP] One morning, you wake up in a parallel universe. Nearly everything is exactly the same, and you go on with your life, unaware, for quite a while until you start noticing the horrifying differences.
|
"Oh my god," I said, clutching the dusty, plastic-wrapped book in both hands. "This is -" I looked over to Kirsten. "I must be in a parallel universe! This can't be right. The Berenstain Bears-?"
"Oh fuck off," Kirsten said instantly.
"No, I'm serious," I said, staring at the unfamiliar book cover. "I'm sure I would have remembered-"
"No, *I'm* serious," Kirsten said, and slapped the book out of my hands. I looked up at her in surprise. "I'm sick of this dumb bullshit where people pretend they're in a parallel dimension because of how a fucking children's book series is spelled! Yeah, sure, everything else is one hundred percent the same, you've been going your entire life without noticing, but just because this one little thing isn't exactly how you remember it, it has to be a parallel universe! I mean, it's someone's last name, you get that? How much of an entitled, self-absorbed prick do you have to be to insist to someone that they're spelling their own goddamn name wrong!"
"But-"
"No, shut up! You know why this happens, Sha? It's because the *truth* is a parallel universe. We don't grow up in the real world, none of us! We grow up inside our heads! The world is vast and complex and incomprehensible, and the only way for us to process it is to simplify it into a schema that makes sense for us. We grow up as kids, misunderstanding, simplifying, building our own little inhabitable bubbles. We were taught that Columbus sailed around the world and discovered that it was round. We were taught that racism ended with Martin Luther King. Then we grew up and discovered that Columbus was an idiot and a sex slaver, we saw unarmed black kids get shot dead and their murderers go free! We realize that the world is horrifying! This isn't the world we were taught we lived in! But it is what it is, Sha, it is what it is! And rather than start talking about some goddamn Berenstain-Berenstein parallel universes, we have to adapt our understanding, we have to live in this world as best we can!"
I stood aback for a second, watching her breathing normalize. "Uh, Kirsten," I said, picking the book up and showing her the cover. "I wasn't talking about spelling. I was going to say, *The Berenstain Bears Holy Bible*? That can't be right."
"Oh," she said, her face returning to its usual complexion. She waved it away. "That's totally a thing. They passed the franchise off to their son. He's a hardcore Christian. There are a million of those things now."
I looked at the cover of the book again. "Oh," I said.
|
"What do you mean Harambe is dead!?" I screamed, tears streaming down my face as I angrily shouted at the man in front of me.
"Not this again..." he muttered, as he pushed me out of the enclosure. "Look, we've had it with you and you memers always coming up to this zoo and making a joke out of this, can you just leave us in peace?"
"Me? Making a joke! It's you that's joking! Harambe can't be dead! He is eternal! He is our god!" I shouted.
"Urgh, dude. Just stop this isn't funny anymore." the man replied as he locked the gate to the zoo, leaving me stranded in front of the main entrance.
I screamed in fury, it couldn't be our beloved gorilla, the pride of our world- dead!? That's when it clicked, it couldn't be... no, but it all made sense. Why there was only one sun in the sky during the day, why no one from any other planet visited us- this wasn't my universe! I slammed my third fist down onto the palm of my fourth green hand in anger. Why didn't I notice this sooner!?
Edit: Minor text fixes
| 2016-09-03T07:37:58
| 2016-09-03T06:55:58
| 141
| 59
|
[WP] There's a good reason that savage and terrifying monsters live in bedrooms of small children. The children need protecting.
|
"So who's my next assignment?" Netherclaws asked as he stepped into Mr Closet's office. His giant feet brushed against the velvet carpet, enjoying the sensation from the soft fibers. He always enjoyed visiting Mr Closet's office, its chandeliers, grand oak furniture and a fireplace that was forever burning was a far cry from his usual workplaces.
Netherclaws pulled out one of the two chairs facing Mr Closet and sat on it. Despite the chair being almost two times the height of an average adult, it still felt small for him.
Mr Closet's eyes peered at Netherclaws from behind his black rimmed glass, before sliding a folder across the table. Netherclaws was one of the top agents in the firm, one of the rare few that received assignments from Mr Closet himself. Assignments that came in leather binded folders, instead of the usual app notification.
Netherclaws reached out for the folder, his six eyes catching a glimpse of the words "Priority Case" on the cover. He flipped open to the first page, to see a face of a human girl not older than seven. His next assignment. Her details were typed neatly across the page, detailing her name, age, location and what not. But he was not interested in those. His paws turned to the next page. The heading "Case Summary" was printed in bold on the header.
"Case of abuse and neglect by both her parents," Mr Closet suddenly piped out, as he observed Netherclaws. His hands were clasped beneath his scaly chin.
"But it's more than a classic abuse and neglect," Netherclaws interjected, as his eyes scanned the case summary, taking in the background and the circumstances of the case. The girl was not only abused by her father, there were mentions of he he charges other for other... services as well. Netherclaws felt his breath quickened as he read the details.
"Yes, as you can see, the father, not only abuses his daughter, but seeks to profit from her as well. And the mother is clearly in no position to help, being abused herself," Mr Closet continued.
"And that is where I come in," Netherclaws added.
"Right."
"Consider it done," Netherclaws said, as he flipped to the back of the folder, the numerous photos of the girl looking back at him. Amy, she's called. "I'll make sure to keep her safe from those predators."
Mr Closet smiled at Netherclaws. "Good. Just make sure to... not be too violent this time, alright?"
"You know I can't guarantee that," Netherclaws replied, as he stood. He gripped the folder tightly below his arms, details of the case flashing in his mind. Despite his years of experience in the job, he still found it hard to understand how humans would find the heart and conscience to abuse one of their youngs, when they are supposed to protect them.
"You no longer have to be afraid, Amy," Netherclaws muttered to himself, as he exited the room.
And the humans called them the monsters.
--------
/r/dori_tales
|
Muffled voices grow louder as Xanthu waits in the darkness. *It's happening again.* He sighs quietly under the mattress. He is glad that he is here, but sad that he has to be.
Blue muscular arms appear from under the bed. A grunt of exertion can be heard as Xanthu pulls himself into the open. The voices bleeding through the wall grow louder still. Faint clippings of a one sided conversation can be heard.
"I DON'T CARE! 7 YEARS OLD AND YOU THINK YOU RUN THIS HOUSE BY YOURSELF? GET OVER HERE!"
The slur in his voice somehow carries through the shouts and the wall. Xanthu's keen sense of smell could smell the liquor from the girls room. Xanthu creaks open the door a smidgen.
A giant yellow cat like eye appears in the opening as Xanthu takes a peek. It spies A man in the living room beckoning wildly for his daughter to come to him. It spies her reluctance from behind. It spies as she gives in.
A sickening smack almost makes Xanthu recoil. He almost tears the door off of the worn hinges as he flings it open. The man doesn't even notice. He is too proud of himself as he watches the aftermath of his blow. Xanthu charges with a bellow. The man finally looks up.
The look on his face was somewhere between confusion and terror when Xanthu smacked the ever loving shit out of it. The man flies limply out of his recliner. Xanthu does not relent. Xanthu cannot relent.
There is a series of savage grunts as the man is thrown around the room. Xanthu finally breathes a little easier. He does not want to take pleasure in it. He does anyway. The man's lifeless corpse is draped over the sofa as Xanthu turns finally to the girl.
She does not whimper. She does not look at him. She does not look like she feels anything. Xanthu does not feel shame. Only a sadness. He has seen that expression too many times before.
"Hey kid. It's over. You can be a normal kid now." he lied.
The girl did not respond.
"Do you have any other family members?"
The girl did not respond. She still stared steadily away from him. Xanthu sighed again. Without a second look at her he retreated to her room. He did not bother to shut the door.
He pulls his phone out of a pocket that it does not look like he should have. He hits a single button. It dials.
"Hey V. I've got another one."
___
/r/Periapoapsis
| 2017-04-25T18:56:01
| 2017-04-25T18:35:45
| 240
| 104
|
[WP] When humans die, their ghosts are anchored to the place of their death, but are unaffected by planetary orbit or rotation, left behind as Earth and the galaxy rotate. Metaphysical archaeologists are tracking this trail of spirits across the stars, seeking the ghost of the first human.
|
I am in love with a ghost that I see once every year, for the briefest glimpse of a second.
Sometimes, a whiff of her perfume lingers in the air a moment longer than her.
Or the echo of a word drifts by me long after she has gone.
Sometimes she mourns for herself, but mostly it is for her children.
And the feeling of her appearing sends a jolt of electricity down my spine and brings a satisfied smile to my lips.
Even now, after all this time, it excites me so very much, and it is so hard to concentrate.
The initial experiments had been shut down thirty years ago, deemed a failure and their funding cut. Either ghosts didn't exist or we didn't have the technology to find them. They had been designed to find echoes of the missing link, and if possible, the very first human. Ripples of their life colliding with our own, caught in a net, if only for a moment. The idea was that if the world rotated around the sun to the exact spot in space where the person died, it would be possible, in a special tachyon trapping chamber, to communicate with them.
The theory was sound. And yet the fools couldn't see it and they shut it down before it was completed.
But I couldn't give up. For there was far more at stake for me. I wasn't interested in the first human, the first ghost.
I was interested in only one of them, at least initially.
Cassandra's. My first wife's.
Recreating the chamber in my own home took a dozen years, and correcting our mistakes another three. But it has been worth it.
She breezes past me as the world rotates, leaving her behind for another year. I hear her scream, and I hear a question hang in the air.
*Why?*
I take a deep breath, breathing her essence in.
More will be along soon. I built this room in the spot she died. Maybe one day I shall build another chamber, deep beneath the patio, so that I can see our children again.
I make sure that all who I take these days, die inside this chamber. It has to be this spot.
There are a dozen of them, for now, but eventually there will be a spirit visiting me each day of the year. That is my dream. My calling.
The ghosts are my forever souvenirs. My loves. The trophies of all my successes combined.
And they shall never escape me. Not even in death.
|
“Come down here, Bobbie! I think I found him!”
My assistant, Tommy, was one of the original boys who cried wolf, but I had to go down into the cave in the middle of nowhere Israel to figure out if this was in fact true. I finagled my way down the cave until I was crawling on the ground for a few seconds to reach up with where Tommy was staring at something in the wall. He was wearing those silly goggles though through which anyone could see the astral projections of ghosts. Being a metaphysical archaeologist by trade, I actually had the gift of seeing the ghosts with my bare eyes. Tommy though had never physically seen the horrors of seeing and hearing a ghost. He would never experience that sensation.
Looking at the wall myself, I could see that Tommy had actually come across something old. In my trails, I had seen thousands of old ghosts, Egyptian pharaohs, Roman gladiators, and most memorably one of Jesus’s followers. What I was looking for though, the first man, was going to break all of that out of the water.
“You may actually be onto something.”
“What is it?”
“Give me a second to look at it,” I said. Honestly I just needed to hear what it wanted to say.
*Turn around. Only death comes out of this tomb.* The ghost said.
I shook my head at the ghost. “Who are you, Spirit?”
*Just another person who got caught in this tomb.*
“How old are you, Spirit?”
*5000 years old.*
“What’s in the tomb behind you?”
*What you are likely looking for. The Original.*
“Then we are going to have to pass through.”
*You’ll regret it, young one.*
I should have taken the spirit more honestly. Tommy and I passed the spirit and went through a makeshift door that had been hatched through rocks. This brought us into a room that was completely covered with claw marks and blood. Something bad had happened in this room.
Then in a corner of the room, I saw a spirit. I drew nearer to the spirit, and then it turned around. It was not a complete form of a spirit, unlike the other man that had been in the room before. He just a torso with an early hominid sort of appearance. This was unlike anything I had ever seen before.
“Spirit, who are you?”
*Who are you?* A haunting voice asked me in return.
“I am Bobbie, a metaphysical archaeologist.”
*Meta…Logist.*
“Bobbie is what I go by.”
*Bobbie…go.*
“We need to leave?”
*Leave.*
As I was speaking with this early language acquisition spirit, I tried something I had learned when I came across what I suspected were very young spirits. “Unicorns, possums, and walruses.”
*Uni…walrus.*
“Well, I am not going to get much out of this spirit,” I told Tommy. I pulled out a metaphysical camera and took a photo before we attempted to leave. When we reached the door, we were unable to get through even though we had removed the rocks that separated the two rooms.
On the other side of the rocky door was the first spirit. *I told you not to go in there.*
It was at that moment, we learned why. The prehistoric spirit that I thought was just going to be a spirit was not in fact just a ghost. He had some physical being to himself. At that moment, we learned the claws belonged to the spirit and the blood to those who had entered this cave before. We would never make it out of there alive, all because I wanted to be the metaphysical archaeologist to find the oldest spirit. At least, I had likely achieved my aim before I joined the spirits in this cave.
| 2019-01-08T03:55:13
| 2019-01-08T02:19:57
| 262
| 95
|
[WP]The entire human population are put into induced comas in underground facilities. You don't dream or age. Today is "The Awakening" and humans will walk the Earth for the first time in 25 years. The doors open and you take your first step into the world you used to call home.
|
The lights came on in stages. For decades what had resided in darkness became illumined, the floodlights stepping through the long tunnels. The generators whirred at a higher pitch now that the Slumber was over.
It took a month of slow recuperation within the pods while consciousness seeped back into the people, their muscles were revived, their weakened bodies taken from the slumber state.
And then, as one, they came awake.
Donald did not open his eyes at first. He clenched his left hand, his right hand, opened his mouth, licked his lips. He felt vague. His body reacted after the thought, as if he were controlling some distant machine.
He heard the hiss of the pod and then a dank breeze across his face. It was warm. He opened his eyes. Or, he thought of opening his eyes, and then half a second later they opened.
He had been told about it before: a cavern cut by immense machines, a thousand pods lining the walls. There were five thousand such caverns, each one branching from the long tunnels that curved half a mile below the surface.
The surface.
Bleached, the media had called it. A safer total annihilation. Nuclear fallout would have blasted the earth for a thousand years, but chemical warfare could be modified. 7 billion dead, let the earth lie fallow for 25 years and the chemicals slowly fade away, and then return with the remnants of humanity.
Donald told his body to rise from the pod and step onto the concrete floor. He hoped this grogginess would pass soon. It was disorientating having to wait for his body to follow his orders.
About him, the others were waking and stepping from their pods. He recognised some. A musician. A politician. A woman who had hosted a lunchtime chat show. The chosen.
Some people were already passing by in the tunnel. They staggered, relearning to walk. They looked insignificant against the immensity of the tunnel. Donald joined them crowd. There was little talking, whether out of awe or fatigue. It was the first time any of them had seen this place. They had each been chosen and then anesthetized before arriving here. The tunnels and caverns were kept secret for obvious reasons.
Ahead of the crowd, a large door, sixty feet high, began to open. A slice of natural light parted the way. Donald stared. The last thing he remembered had been the medics standing over him with their anaesthetic, but the distance in time, even asleep, made the sunlight a strange sight.
Together, the milling thousands walked through the doors.
Trees. A hill prickled with bushes and shrubs. Clouds. People began to weep.
Donald felt it too, his throat swelling. He wanted to stop himself. But his thoughts were too slow for his body. Too slow. He staggered. He thought of stepping forward, putting his hands out to halt his fall, but his body did not respond. He fell and struck his head. Someone screamed nearby.
‘What are we!? What have they done to us?!’
Donald raised his hand to his face. His eye had come loose. Dazed, he saw it, and it saw him, from the palm of his hand. His eye buzzed, crackled with electricity, its motors and gears cranking their last, and then switched off.
|
We trusted it to the machines.
By the time we left it to them, the Earth was faulty, sparking from clouds and billowing smoke.
Civilisation rattled on, but everything produced, every man and animal was broken. They were going to fix it, our clean and polished mechanics. They waved and smiled us away, tucked us in while the repair work was done.
We woke up for the bright new dawn of man, but when we got to the surface it was night. As we staggered out and saw stars in the sky, the moon glittered with a new city.
Ruins still all around. Bitter taste in the air, thunder too close and gas still settled in the hollows.
At every lift hatch in sight, some poor fool looked dumbfounded at a nearby sign. Each was a beautiful and unique creation. Some in neon, others glittered, monochrome or rainbow.
They all said
"Sorry! :-( "
| 2015-04-23T05:44:19
| 2015-04-23T04:06:42
| 132
| 56
|
[WP] Write a Hunger Games styled story, except instead of telling it from the viewpoint of the final survivor, tell it from the perspective of the next to die, changing viewpoints until you get to the last one standing.
|
"Everyone loooves the whole *Battle Royale* thing right now, huh," Benjie said.
The mouse faced girl sniffed, "I don't."
"Right well, obviously...Neither do I...."
Benjie smiled awkwardly and backed away. As far as he could tell, this wasn't about class war or whatever like the *real* hunger games....just a way for the wealthy deranged to have a good time.
His "sponsor", a fat Russian named Gregor with an affinity for tuna sandwiches, had apparently picked him for his "Pluck". Benjie could acknowledge why he made sense as a choice of contestant, even if he didn't agree. He was the president of the Innovation in Business club on his campus, a silver tongued ambassador type, smart if not brilliant. But he was also in decent shape, he still ran cross country for a club team and played pick up basketball whenever he could. *Fuck my Pluck,* Benjie thought.
Finally he'd been given a suit worth more than his house back home and driven to this decadent palace in god knows where for an opening mixer. The only people in attendance were the 24 contestants and their sponsors.
He kept his head down as he walked back to his table.
"What are you doing, boy," Gregor said, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Oh, hey, uh I don't know, just taking a break."
"A break?! My boy needs a *break,"* Gregor laughed as he took the seat beside him, "There are pretty girls here, boy. Girls who know they may only have a few days left. Just because it didn't work out with that one...."
Benjie blushed, "You saw that?"
"*Everyone* saw that, you looked like a fish on a frozen lake, boy."
"Ah jeez."
"*Relax,* I'm not supposed to do this but....here."
Gregor set a flask infront of him. Benjie sniffed....*Yeager?*
"Liquid courage," Gregor whispered.
Benjie shrugged, *might as well.* He took a long sip and scanned the room. The Yeager burned pleasantly in his belly, centering him. It seemed all of the sponsors were encouraging the contestants to interact...*why?*
"Thanks, Gregor. I needed that." *Not a bad guy for someone who kidnapped me and now means to force me to fight for my survival in a brutal contest to the death.*
He pushed his chair away from the table and made his away back to the dance floor. He approached a large guy with a vacant expression standing alone, "Hey, what's up," Benjie said.
The big guy turned his head slowly, was he drugged? He grunted a greeting.
"What's your name?" They wore name tags, but it seemed polite to ask.
"Block."
*How fitting.* "Where are you from, Block?"
"Not here."
*Poignant.* "How do you plan on getting out of this mess?"
"No plan."
"I see. Well maybe we could work-"
"NO. PLAN."
Benjie smiled and raised his hands plaintively, "Right, no problem. Carry on."
He turned his head to see the rest of the room. Some of the others must have come to the same conclusion as him, that forming some tentative alliance would increase their chance of survival. Having Block as an ally would be like having a wild grizzly on your side, for better or for worse.
Benjie approached a group of contestants chatting quietly near the buffet. There was a tall boy with dark hair and a striking face named Gunther. Debbie, a girl with broad shoulders. Loris, a pretty girl with long hair. And Bill, a pissed off looking guy with the body of a linebacker.
"What's up, guys. I'm Benjie Smith."
The others went quiet.
"Hey," said Gunther.
"You guys forming up a squad or something?"
They looked at each other as if considering it for the first time. "We might be," Gunther said.
Benjie grinned, "Great, mind if I join?"
No one responded until Loris stepped forward. She moved like a cat, her feet appearing to hold no weight. Her smile was disarming, her accent Parisian, "Look, I'm not going to waste your time...*Benjie...* I know your type."
"My type?"
Loris nodded, "You're a fox, I see it in your eyes. You think you can smile and con your way out of danger, but you aren't *really* looking to be a part of any team. You just want as many people as possible to see you as a non-threat."
When she finished the others nodded. Benjie shrugged, "I've never understood the hate that red heads get. Whatever."
It was a bit unsettling that the girl had been able to see through him like that, though she wasn't 100% correct. It was true, Benjie didn't necessarily *believe* the scenario presented by good old Suzanne Collins. He knew people, he knew em well. People don't give their lives for strangers, they just don't. When they entered that arena, teams and alliances would crumble. Blood would boil like it never had before. Some would go into a frenzy, others would run for the hills. All would act in their own best interest.
But he wasn't going around trying to convince people he wasn't a threat. That much was pointless, as he saw it. People were going to kill whoever they came across, tensions would be high enough to ensure that. No, he was going around in an effort to assess *why* each contestant had been chosen. As Sun Tzu said, whoever knows himself *and* knows his enemy need not fear the result of a thousand battles.
Some of the choices were clear, contestants built to fight like Block and Bill.
Others were less obvious. Loris had certainly revealed why she'd been selected, which left only a few he couldn't understand. He made his way around the room, chatting with contestants, weighing them out in his mind, trying to *understand* them. More times than not, he walked away with a better idea of what made each choice special.
One still eluded him. Benjie scanned the room until he found the mouse-faced girl back at her table. He approached her and sat down. She'd covered her name tag with a napkin.
"Look who's back," the girl said, "Mingling doesn't seem to be your strong suit."
Benjie laughed, "Yeah, because you're doing so much better over here alone. Everyone who tries to talk to you walks away like they've burnt their finger on the stove."
The girl arched an eyebrow, "You've been watching me?"
"You're a puzzle... I like puzzles. I guess I'm just wondering why you're here."
The girl snorted, "Shit luck."
"That's not what I-"
"I know what you meant, and honestly, I couldn't tell you. Maybe they bring in one easy first kill every time."
Benjie looked over at the old woman watching their conversation like a hawk. She wore a white fur coat, bristling whenever any of the other sponsors tried to talk to her. "That your sponsor," he asked.
"Yup," she said, not bothering to look.
"She doesn't strike me as the sort to throw a fight. Actually, she looks like the compulsive kind, the ones *obsessed* with perfection."
The girl turned her head slightly to look, brushing away a strand of brown hair that fell over her eye. "Maybe..."
A bell rang, silencing the room. A voice came over the loud speaker.
"*The Opening Celebration is now concluded. Tomorrow the skills combine will begin during the day, followed by the release of your pre-assessments at night. Contestants, find your sponsors and leave after an orderly fashion. Thank you."*
Benjie stood. He reached a hand out to the girl, "Benjie Smith, at your service mystery girl."
The girl considered his hand, then shook it. "Clara Yates," she whispered, then turned and walked away swiftly.
&#x200B;
\~
r/CharlestonChews
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
|
The gates burst open, I ran to the middle. As I got closer and closer I knew what I had to do. The spear was right there. I reached my hand out, so close...
I almost had it..... my fingers could feel the cold steel touch. If I could only grasp it.....
Wait. What’s that sound? A slow whirr, buzzing through the air. I could feel it behind me. Feel it as the knife embedded itself in my skull.
I was running, tripping rather, the central spire was a blood bath. There were only eighteen of us. At least five or six were already dead, right? I turned to look, I could see one corpse as my view was slowly and surely sniffed out by the oncoming forest.
Nature. It used to bring me comfort, now, well, now nothing but fear. Any shadow could be an enemy, any sound could be the last I hear.
Food. Food and water. That’s what I need. I don’t have to kill them if I can outlive them.
What was that, a snarl? I could use it! If I can kill whatever just snarled at me, I could have food! Now let’s see.... what was it? Holy shit! Oh! God /why?!? It’s a fucking bear! I’ve gotta get out of he............
This was our perimeter. We would protect this spite. Provinces four, nine, and six had all teamed up. If we could keep this, we could stay one step ahead of everyone else. So this was our perimeter.
I’m not sure how to feel about the alliance. Eventually we’ll have to kill each other, right?
I’ll do it, if I have to, so will the girl from six. My partner, the guy from nine who was entered as our male tribute, would do it. Everyone else though? I think they’re just a little too sentimental. Especially the guy from four. He wouldn’t stand a chance. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was making friendship bracelets for us right now.
Ha! But that’s what you get from a province built around trading, isn’t it? He’s have to learn the hard way that.......
“Help! Help!!!” I ran towards the rest of the alliance. That fool may think me a simpleton, or too friendly. But I doubt it. After all, it’s kind of hard to think when your heads smashed in, isn’t it?
I’ll keep playing the friends card though. Now, if I can get them to start doubting each other, I’ll be safe. They’ll start killing each other, and I’ll be in the clear as they all come to me to help them. And why wouldn’t they? I am just the friendly tribute from province four, aren’t I?
“Help! They’ve killed him! He came running up with a stone.... he killed him.... he’s taking our s-s-supplies!”
Shit. The stutter, I’m doomed. The rest may fall for it, but my sister, the other tribute from four, she knows. She knows I stutter when I lie.
They run, but she, she stays. She knows. I’m done for. If I.... run? Can I outrun her? What would I even achieve if I did? I can’t survive on my own. Damn it! Stupid province four, half a lives worth of bartering and trading, and nowhere near enough training. I’ll... I’ll .... “gugghhhh.....”
That warmth. It’s so, close. Like, like its spreading from my heart. My heart? Oh... I see what happened here.
Those were his last thoughts as the sword withdrew from its cavity in his chest. His sister had noticed. And now, there were only fourteen left.
Part two coming out: eventually?
| 2019-02-16T16:22:16
| 2019-02-16T15:56:07
| 27
| 12
|
[WP] You have the ability to reverse time by 6 hours whenever you're about to die. You're currently on a 10 hour flight on a plane that's about to crash.
|
"check the passenger manifest, see if we've got a doctor on board"
I was hyperventilating, or at least giving the impression I was whilst intermittently saying "please help", the calm reassurance of the stewardess that I would be fine gave me pangs of guilt which I found myself bemused at due to the reason I was committing this fraud.
A short man came hurriedly up the aisle. "what's the matter?" he asked. As he checked my pulse and lay the back of his hand across my forehead I described all manner of symptoms that to the best of my knowledge he'd be unable to detect, sharp pains in my chest was the one that seemed to catch his attention.
He asked my medical history, had I had anything like this happen to me before? I answered truthfully that I hadn't, In between heavy panting I described that I'd inhaled some of the smoke that had been coming from the A/C and within a few minutes I was feeling like this.
Within 5 minutes I'd been told we were going to divert to a closer airport, within 30 we were landing.
I was taken to a nearby hospital where I made a "miraculous" recovery, I explained that almost as soon as I'd left the aeroplane I started to feel better, the attending doctors were obviously suspicious of my report but by the next day the regional news was filled with reports of the grounding of this aeroplane.
Though most of the hundreds of passengers reported the truth, that they'd saw no smoke and experienced no ill-health, as can always be relied upon in any big enough group, If you loudly exclaim "did you see that" even if there was nothing to see there will always be those who agree that yes, they saw and felt it too.
The airline found no problems with the A/C system however in their investigations they found many minor faults that could easily become major, the generally accepted theory was that some of these faults had created some sort of fume that had brought about my mystery ailment.
I left the hospital after a few days of examination and became a bit of a folk hero, for a week or so until the next news story came on anyway. the airline keen to rescue its reputation gave me a small though sizeable cash settlement for any distress I'd suffered and I thought to myself that this had certainly been a better outcome than the one I'd have lived had my "I've planted a bomb on board" attempt worked.
|
The plane shook violently, as the pilot announced that we were flying through turbulence. Followed by a long silence, I felt a sudden drop. Then I passed out.
Oh. This happens again.
I woke up, as the stewardess approached me. She asked me if I needed anything, and I politely refused. I glanced at the overhead screen. We just took off two hours ago, and six hours later, this plane would crash, probably on the ocean. From what I can remember, it would fly into a turbulence, or bad weather, or something, as the pilot would say, then suddenly lose its altitude, and crash. I don't know about the casualties, but I would be among that. At least, I would be passed out the whole time. I would not suffer much.
You are probably wondering why I know all of this. This is my super power. One night, I was hit by a drunk driver. I was texting, and didn't pay much attention then. The last thing I remember was the bright lights of his car, and the scratching sound of his brake. Then total emptiness. I woke up, and found myself in the biochemistry class. No car, no light, no brake. Just my professor and the rest of my classmate, attentively scrible what she was saying. I tried to figure out what was going on, however, I simply couldn't. I then dismissed it as a bad dream.
I was texting and walking through the exact same spot later. And I saw the same lights. And woke up exactly in the same lecture. By then, I have a hypothesis, but I do not have the gut to test it. I would not risk my life for a hypothesis created in a boring lecture. I did avoid that spot that night, however. That drunk driver crashed into a convenience store - luckily, no one was harmed.
Several years later, I tripped, and felt from a construction site to the ground. Only to find myself unharmed, unhurt and was having my morning coffee six hours earlier. I was at a low point in life - I was stucked in a dead-end job, barely made it through the day. Remembering my hypothesis, and without anything to lose, I decided to test it. And it worked. Everytime I was about to die, I would be transported six hours back, and retained full memory of the event. I realized this would be my way out. I could won lotteries and betting. I could invest without fearing of loss. I could learn anything. The possibility would be endless.
As my fortune grew, I decided that I need to find another way to go. I don't like getting hurt. I spent my time online, talked to chemists and finally came up with a perfect combination of pills. It would be swift, gentle, and when I woke up, I would be able to reset everything. So, as you can see, I was given a super power, and I crafted it to perfection.
Enough talking. I took the pills, and I would be back in the business lounge, and have a nice conversation with that man over there. I would cancel my flight and leave. Hey, I can even make them delay the flight. Now how can I do this? Geez, I'm too drowsy to think of anything. Guest it's time now. See you a...
| 2016-06-05T05:40:59
| 2016-06-05T04:45:34
| 77
| 24
|
[WP] Scientists have discovered the secret to eternal life in the bones of a certain dinosaur. The rich flock to labs to have the substance injected into their bloodstreams. After a while, people start to ask the question, "If these dinosaurs had the secret to immortality, how did they die?"
|
When "The Process" was first unveiled people were skeptical. A doctor had accidentally been working with CRISPR and thanks to a friend in paleontology had started to wonder what would happen if he spliced some dinosaur DNA with a mouse. The results were shocking. It took 10 years afterwards before the doctor even first reported his findings because he didn't believe it. But the field mouse he first experimented on, the one with a normal lifespan of no more than 3 years, was now celebrating its 11th birthday and seemed to be in perfect health.
Many more studies were done using the initial findings. Scientists quickly determined that the material required for the radical life extension could not be synthesized, only actual dinosaur fossils provided it and although a small sample was enough to make a mouse live to what was at this point 25 years, a human required a lot more. Basically, one average sized dinosaur skeleton would be able to provide treatment to no more than 15-20 people, who by all estimates would then be able to extend their lifespan 1,000-fold. Not true immortality, but an extra 40,000 years was enough that nobody cared about the semantics. The side effects were minimal, a faint tinge of green to the skin and slight yellowing of the eyes. Although the initial testing used a direct injection, it was also found that just crushing the bones into a powder and ingesting them was enough.
Governments struggled with the question of "who should be given this gift". Of course, the tyrants were the first, Kim Jong Un and other despots all made the transition first, becoming the gods they had pretended to be. The next were the super wealthy, who were able to visit third world nations, acquire the fossil material, and undergo The Process. The next were politicians, who wanted to hold onto their power.
Eventually, all the fossils already discovered were gone. People broke into museums, illegal archaeological digs were rampant, but a short 50 years after the first findings were published the world was at a point where only 1-2 new immortals were made each year.
That was also around the time that the first immortal was killed. See, The Process gave eternal youth, but not invulnerability. A billionaire was going about daily life, didn't check both ways, and was struck and killed by a car. The funeral service was lovely, but not two days later the world saw the news that the grave had been reopened and the body was missing.
Many theories came out. Did they rise from the dead, it a zombie apocalypse, it was just some grave robbers after his watch, it was some cult that worshiped the immortals, and so-on. The actual reason was worse. A new immortal was born, an auto mechanic had dug up the grave, burned the body, crushed the bones, and it worked. Scientists confirmed it. The fools should have kept their mouths shut.
The peace lasted maybe a week before someone figured out "if I kill an immortal I can gain their immortality". Within a few months after the first death at least 60% of the original immortals were dead. The rest were in hiding, and of the new immortals many were killed within days of obtaining their immortality. It turns out that almost everyone has something they will kill over, and a chance at a thousand lifetimes is a big one. Sometimes it wasn't even immortals that were killed. If someone got an eye infection and it looked like the yellow of an immortal, or if someone was a little nauseous and took on a green hue in their skin they might get randomly murdered.
Society crumbled quickly. Not only were thousands of people being murdered daily, it was like ripping a Band-Aid off. With the threshold found where people will murder, the line drawn in the sand for thousands of years was being redrawn day by day. Immortal and non-immortal alike fell back to their animal instincts.
I am not sure what really killed the dinosaurs, but I am pretty sure humanity is heading the same way.
|
"Rocks," said the janitor.
The scientists, who had been hotly debating why the antithantic serum they had extracted from the dinosaurs' bones hadn't made the dinosaurs themselves effectively immortal as it did humans, all turned to glare at him.
"Rocks," one scoffed.
"Rocks from space," he said.
"It's the purification process," one said.
"Don't be ridiculous," another snapped. "Sure, that makes it more effective, but just licking the bones has the same basic effect, which means it must similarly have--"
"Something happens to the bones after death that--"
"That happens to all bones, everywhere, across the multiple centuries this creature walked the Earth? Rubbish!"
"Rocks from space," the janitor repeated. They were too busy arguing again to listen. He tutted and then went back to sweeping the floor. At sixty thousand dollars an ounce, it would never matter to him anyway.
~*~
The National History Museum was in chaos. The celebrity fund-raiser had gone horribly wrong. It had started out fine, of course, with the super-rich showing up in designer frocks, suits, costumes and, in one particularly memorable case, just diamonds. The champagne and cocaine had flown freely, the caviar canapes had been gorged upon, and everyone had admired the live orchestra playing historically accurate instruments from every country and era imaginable. And then Emma Thompson had come screaming out of Vault gallery in the Green Zone, covered head to toe in blood, and everything had gone downhill from there.
Police and forensics swarmed the museum now. Crying guests were cordoned off and being interviewed or attended to by paramedics or, in an unfortunately large number of cases, being put in body bags.
"We've got another eight bodies upstairs," said the SOCO to the detective in charge. "Throats were torn right out."
The detective attempted to walk around the splatters of blood and viscera. "And the killer?"
"Over there, and there, and there," the officer said, pointing. "And I think you might be standing in bits of him."
The detective resolutely did not look down. "What happened to him? Bomb?"
"Bare hands. Did it to himself, it seems. I'm thinking PCP or meth or some cocktail of the two." She nodded at one of her compatriots who were mopping the floor and the squeezing the result into an evidence container. "We'll test for everything, of course."
The detective nodded. "Where was the first attack?"
"In the Green Zone," the officer said, leading the way in. "Here's the first victim, what's left of him. Ate the thighs right off the bones."
The detective said something unprofessional, and the officer just nodded in agreement.
"We have a witness?"
"Dame Emma Thompson. She said Mister Cruise was looking at the exhibits, she complained about him putting his hands on them, and then he just went mad. Starting jumping on things, breaking stuff. They all tried to run, but he was faster. Dame Thompson only escaped because Mister Cruise stopped to eat James Corden."
"Actors," growled the detective. "The press are going to eat us alive."
"But not literally," the officer said, "so we're doing better than these poor bastards."
Under its spotlight, beneath the arterial spray, the Nakhla Martian meteorite gleamed smugly.
| 2019-06-12T01:45:30
| 2019-06-12T00:51:06
| 23
| 13
|
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once.
|
I stormed back into my car as my staff were carried away by ambulances. I would wait there until the police investigation on my store would finish, so I could finish closing up for the day. *Those bastards..* I didn't know what happened, only caught the tail end of it. I was coming back from my break when I saw that fucking 'superhero team' leaving with all the money in my cash register. They called themselves 'The Heroes Of Peace'. What kind of name was that, anyway? The fact that all four of them agreed to it was astounding. I looked up, realizing that I should probably head home, and that the police investigation on my store would most likely last several days. As I backed out of the lot where I my store was, I began imagining what I would do to them if I found them. I anticipated it greatly.
(A few days later).
I'm on a walk, sometime around midnight. A wanted poster catches my eye. The person on the poster is supposedly wanted for numerous murders, the victims all with their throats torn out. I scoff. These posters have been being put up for months, with no sign of stopping. Another sign of how incompetent these supposed heroes are. That's when I notice the first of their team, Thunderclap, also seemingly on a walk. I've seen them enough times without proper disguises to recognize them. I shift myself to look and sound like another team member, Captain Pyro. I walked up to them cheerfully. "Hey, buddy!" I call to them. They looked surprised. "What are you doing up this late, Pyro?" I smile. "Oh, nothing. Just having trouble sleeping. You?" "Same here." While they talk about whatever bullshit made them unable to sleep, I slowly drew the switchblade I always kept in my back pocket. I notice we're just reaching an alleyway. "Hey, can I ask you a question?" They blinked. "Sure." I shoved them into the alley and against a wall, flicking open my knife and driving it into their stomach. I now shift myself back to normal. Their eyes widen. "Wha- What the hell?!" They say, in shock. "Why did you destroy my pizza shop? Assault my coworkers?" "We- we-" They stop trying to think of panicked excuses and start to scream for help. I stop them, drawing the switchblade from their stomach and using it to remove their tongue. I now press the knife lightly to their throat as their eyes widen even more. "You know those police reports that have been being released, of all those missing people being found with their throats cut out?" Their eyes widen even more, as I whisper, with almost childlike glee. "*I* did that." I drew the knife across their throat. I wipe the knife across their shirt before pocketing it. I then hit them hard in their knee, causing them to fall. I turn and begin to walk away. I notice another one of the wanted posters. I grab it and look at it for a few moments. I smirk, before tossing it on Thunderclap's lifeless body.
|
*This time* it had to work. It couldn't be like that time the duct tape broke in the torture chamber, releasing the bar that kept Doctor KingKitty from morphing into her feline form and escaping. Or like the time my blaster cannon had no ammo while I finally had WhipWorm in the scope. And most certainly never like the time when I had all of the CloudWing crew trapped in a bus and hanging off the cliffside, and instead of using my extender arm to push it off, I activated the grapple instead.
The CloudWingers had to be stopped at any cost.
Ash stung my nostrils as I prowled about the ruins of my 6-12 convenience store, a business that had nothing to do with CloudWing and which they untargeted with contemptuous unfairness in an act that could be described as villainous. *I'm supposed to be the villain.* I had ignored them for too long, allowing them to go about telling the tallest of tales and exaggerations about their minuscule superpowers while I focused too much on the *project*. Oh me.
*It hadn't been all that difficult to get them all on that bus.* They weren't exactly the brightest superheroes ever, usually gullibly falling into whatever trap suited their fancy the most. KingKitty was had with merely a piece of catnip. WhipWorm just wanted to hide and slithered right in. MellowSnow hated heat and was forced on with nothing more than a cigarette lighter. Then the leader, the pathetic RiverRaven, was so full of their own appetite that a squirrel carcass had brought the bird faster than I could count to ten.
*If only I had finished them then.*
No point in crying over past opportunities. I looked over at the automorpher with glee. If only I had it complete... It would be the most perfect way to dispose of them. Plants, reduced to nothing more than ordinary garden weeds. Then, onto the rest of the superheroes. *Yes, yes. I could plant them in a garden. So much fun.*
I licked my lips. Time to go to work.
\-----------
I couldn't help but let out a smile directed at nothing as I watched all of them get into the back of the brown van, the automorpher pointed out the window at it. This was going to be all too easy... They had fallen for the same traps that I had laid out the last time! Oh me.
Once all four were inside I called down to the security guard whom I'd paid a handsome sum and he shut the door. At once I charged the automorpher and pulled the trigger, expecting a cathartic blast of energy to rush into the van.
What came out instead was... a wisp of smoke?
That's when the gun started to feel hot. Not just hot like it'd been warmed by the sun on an afternoon, or hot like a cell phone gets when its overused. Boiling hot, enough that I was forced to drop it.
Of course, when it hit the ground a blast of energy finally did come out of it, directed at me. It didn't kill me, instead giving me these stupid petals around my face so I look like a sunflower. A loser.
<pouts>
\----------------
r/StoriesToThinkAbout
| 2022-11-28T19:43:40
| 2022-11-28T14:15:34
| 39
| 18
|
[WP] The zombie apocalypse is much different than you had imagined. Instead of moaning "braaaaaiiinnnss" and clumsily shambling along, your infected daughter is crying on the other side of your locked door, begging to be let in.
|
"Please, you must open the door or they will come for me"
I could hear her crying and with a sincere sound of panic in her voice.
I had seen a bite mark, hadn't I?
She started bashing on the door, yelling that they were getting closer and she would die if you didn't let her in.
My tears started rolling down my cheek, she was my daughter still. What kind of father would I be if I let my daughter be hurt by those, things. Slowly I crept towards the door, In one hand I still held the broom I grabbed when the chaos started.
"Hold on, I'm opening the door" I told her while I reached for the lock, and turned it around. The door opened with a click and she ran inside, closing the door behind her. I backed away in shock, I was not prepared for her rushing in like that.
I knew she was almost 18 years old now but she would always be my little girl. Still turned away from me I heard her crying slowly dying out. "Are you ok, did they hurt you" I asked her and slowly went closer.
Then she straightened up and turned around, her top was partly torn and a large bite mark could be seen near her shoulder.
I backed away with shock. It was true, she had been infected already. A smile opened up on her face, "Don't worry daddy, this won't take long" and then she suddenly started to run towards me.
I just managed to steer her away with the broom but this would not work. All that was needed was one bite and I would become one of them. I smacked her on the legs with the broom to make her loose balance. With only a few seconds to spare I turned around towards the door and made a run for it. Fumbling with the lock I could hear her getting back up and starting to move towards me.
"Why are you resisting? This isn't a bad thing, daddy"
The lock turned around with a click and I threw the door open and ran into the hallway.
"You should listen to your daughter" I heard a voice saying from the opposite side. I recognized it, it had to be my neighbour.
He was just standing there at the opposite part of the hallway, he looked exactly the same as he used to do. Even had the same slightly bent over composure, but one thing set him apart.
One of his arms were nothing more than a bloody mess, it was barely holding together but he didn't seem to care at all. A sudden thought of clarity hit me, "they are smart but it's not them, what ever is going on they are not people any longer"
The door out was locked and there was no way I was going to open it without getting bit. My neighbour from one way and my daughter from behind I only had one real way to go. The door to the kitchen was open so I ran in, quickly closing the door behind me. This door couldn't be locked so I just stood and pushed towards it while they tried to get in.
The sound of broken glass interrupted me, looking back I saw another man climb through a window. The glass tore through his skin but didn't react at all. Panicked I grab hold of a bookcase and push it down in front of the door.
"Sorry for breaking in, but I heard you needed help" A voice said calmly. I turned around and saw the man stand just in front of me. He looked like a highschool student but that wasn't him, not anymore.
He slowly approached me, backing me into a corner. Meanwhile my daughter managed to break through the door. They all just stood silently in half circle around me, I was completely trapped.
As a last hope I grabbed something in blind from the desk behind me and started swinging around. I managed to hit my neighbour in the head, but an empty plastic bottle didn't do much damage.
"It's ok, don't be scared" my daughter said before grabbing my arm and burrowing her teeth in me.
Sitting down on the floor the entire world was spinning around, my thoughts were everywhere. Was this the end, would I turn into a mindless beast now.
Then everything cleared and any pain I had was gone, the world seemed brighter and I saw my daughter standing in front of me, smiling. "Welcome to the world of the living" she said happily before helping me up.
|
((Some mild violence and dark themes, kinda new to this so I hope I did it right))
I had always been a zombie buff, everything Walking Dead and Max Brooks I was all over it. Little did I know the real zombie Apocalypse was just around the corner and it…the books the TV shows don’t prepare you for of being real for it happening to YOU. It was about three days ago yeah everything fell apart on three days. I was watching my daughter and son walk home from school from out 3rd story window…Lindsey just a ten year old girl and her older brother Michael. They wave up at me as I lean out the window “Hurry on up kids I have dinner almost done” it was Mike's birthday and I made his favorite meal.
That was when the bomb hit, not a normal explosive not even an atomic bomb the media is saying the explosion was a biological weapon. Super Rabies they keep calling it but we all know what it is…these are the living dead. A lot of people are lucky the disease is airborne most of the time and immunity to the airborne strain isn’t very rare me and mike were both safe from the foul green gas that blanketed the city but safe from the gas doesn’t mean safe. The effects are almost instant as Lindsey collapsed into the street coughing…I kick down the fire escape and try to get to my children to pull them inside away from death but…I hear mike scream as his own sister bites into him dragging him to the ground I was about halfway down the escape when I saw this and…I got scared I’m human okay I pulled up the escape and ran inside. Locking the doors and calling 911 but the system had crashed.
“oh god, oh god its happening I always knew it would happen” the dead were rising but I was safe you needed a code to get into the lobby and to get up the elevator. That’s when I hear a small ping at my door bell. Someone had just entered my apartment’s code into the lobby entrance. Thinking its Mike having gotten away from his sister it didn’t even cross my mind that they might have the memories of their lives so when I check my phone to see through the lobby security camera I nearly faint as covered in deep crimson blood its…my daughter Lindsey dragging her half eaten brother into an elevator. My phone pings now as I receive a text from Lindsay “Daddy is dinner done? I’m so…hungry” there is a photo attatched, a selfie of her and Mike’s body exiting the elevator. I throw my phone in fear it landing in out fish tank “Oh god sh-she remembers my number…” I say and remembering she has a key to the door I run over and push a large shelf in front of it and sure enough not a minute later the door lock clicks open and I hear her trying to push it open “Daddy? The door is stuck” she says still in her innocent little voice “Daddy help me get it open me and mike want some dinner and cake I’m so hungry please let me in”.
The voice sounds like her it really does, it acts like my Lindsey and talks like my Lindsey and hell for all I know maybe it still is my Lindsey but whatever this Virus did to her it made her persistent. Only stopping to kill a neighbor as they come home or take a few bites from her brother other than that it’s all begging “Daddy I smell food are you microwaving popcorn you know its my favorite” I hate eating now…no matter how subtle I am she always knows exactly what I have and pleads to be let in but I know it’s a trick she wants my flesh and dammit after three days I’m tempted to just let her have it to end the begging. I walk over to the door and push the shelf away. The doorknob turns slowly and opens as I see her hand poking through the door “Daddy I’m so glad dinner is ready”
The End
| 2018-09-06T17:04:49
| 2018-09-06T15:42:34
| 52
| 23
|
[WP] Every game you play gradually turns into Minesweeper, and it's getting pretty annoying.
|
Surely the newest COD game won't turn into minesweeper. Candy Crush, I can understand. Solitaire even made a bit of sense once I though about. But not COD.,. good ol' faithful COD. I fire up COD and load into multiplayer.
The first map plays normally. It's the week after Christmas and all the scrubs are out. Unfortunately, there's a couple other good players like me that are thinking the same thing. I boost my headset volume up so that I can hear footsteps.
If I run around, the try-hards will hear me. I'd been running around and dying pretty quickly. I just have to take my time and pay attention. I listen closely. Footsteps in the room next to me and behind me. Noobs - I kill them quick and crouch walk into the room ahead.
I don't hear anything in the room to my right, but I do hear a quiet shuffling ahead of me. *Crap.* Better not go in there. I make a mental note to stay away from that room - there's a camper. I continue this way for a while longer, but now my brain is struggling to keep up with where all the try-hards are hiding at.
It would be a lot easier if I just drew a map! So I draw out all of the rooms before I loaded into the next match. I'm a bit OCD, so I've also decided to keep track of who I'm killing and where. I kill someone in the first room and another in the room across from him. 1 and 2 get drawn on the map. A try-hard is camping over there, so I draw an x over that room.
Things are going really well now! I know where every on is by all of the 1's, 2's, and x's and OH CRAP IT'S MINESWEEPER AGAIN!
|
After they banned home entertainment in 20XX, we had to resort to public forums situated in government-regulated internet clubs. All activity monitored. All discussions -- recorded. Sure, there were the benefits, I imagine. People less committed to trying to be anonymous butts to one another -- favouring instead to a more polite exchange. Mostly, though, that was out of fear than it was out of purity or humanity.
I was about 20, gaming at the USAnet Club in downtown Seattle when I made a mistake so grave that is has impacted nearly every facet of my life since.
See, I was about to enter the Torncraft Tournament and was just a couple minutes late... I rushed through the doors, buzzed myself in through the turnstile, and ran through the crowded hall to my favourite console at the back where the sun barely reaches. In all honestly I didn't SEE her -- not exactly -- and when I swung into the seat just a few seconds ahead I could not possibly have known what was going to happen to my life afterwards.
She was old -- but a gamer all the same -- and when she looked down at me and saw that I would not move from the spot she was inching slowly towards, well, I just gave her a smile and turned away.
I heard her whisper: "Minesweeeeepeeeeeerr," and tap me on the shoulder. She turned and edged her way back into the crowded room.
That's when I started to see the changes. Subtle at first. Red Flags should have been the first realization. My avatar in the competition looked back at me in confusion, too, as the scene slowly pixelated and then -- Boom -- I was no longer in the procedurally-generated dystopia that I'd selected -- it was Minesweeper.
It's always Minesweeper.
You ever play a game of soccer that turns itself into Minesweeper? You ever watch as friends are replaced with solid grey blocks? I have. Have you worried that your game of peekaboo with your niece may turn a little explosive? I do.
[Lost the momentum to write more here]
Fun WP, though!
| 2018-01-02T09:06:22
| 2018-01-02T09:05:55
| 33
| 24
|
[WP] The beautiful Vampire Queen is trying to bewitch and charm the brave knight. Luckily for us, our hero happens to be gay.
|
"Come closer, knight," Queen Revina whispered as Sir Calvin broke through her door.
She flung her thick fur coat to the floor, revealing her naked body gleaming in the moonlight. She waited for him to freeze, to stare, to lose track of what he was doing. Instead, he kept coming, wielding two sharp stakes.
"What's wrong with you?" she snapped, sidestepping his stabbing motions with supernatural grace.
"Oh, that's rich, coming from the likes of you," Calvin rolled his eyes.
He was a handsome man - large, expressive dark eyes. Sensual lips that revealed straight white teeth when he spoke. Revina had quite looked forward to ravaging him on her floor as she sucked him dry. But he didn't even glance at her body, except to frown in concentration at the most vulnerable spots where he could stab her.
Revina's eyes turn a flat shade of black, lips curling back to reveal her fangs. She would fulfil at least one part of her fantasy tonight. Calvin dodged as she swooped toward his neck, trying to get a clear line on her heart. One chance might be all he got.
"Revina, darling, we're going to be late," a deep baritone rumbled from the doorway.
Calvin turned, and was dumbstruck. His stakes clattered to the floor. The being in the doorway demanded he stop thinking, stop everything he was doing. His green eyes were visible even from this distance, glittering in a face which resembled that of a god. The vampire's full lips curled into a smile as he saw the knight's expression. Revina grabbed the knight from behind, but Calvin did nothing but gurgle at the sight of the male vampire.
"What have we here?" King Elias purred as he swept closer, trailing one finger along Calvin's jawline. A hoarse spluttering sound escaped the knight.
"Just a wild guess, but I think he's more enamoured with you than with I," Revina said drily, disgruntled at the knight's paralysis. Sexual preference be damned, *nobody* was allowed to ignore her beauty.
"Well, we have a little time to play before dinner," King Elias chuckled, stroking the knight's neck.
"You just said we're going to be late," Revina snapped as Elias inhaled the man's scent.
"We are royalty, love," he drawled, looking up at her for a second. "We cannot be late. Come, don't pout. I can share."
"He doesn't want me," she said, feeling absurdly upset at the knight's refusal. "You can have him. I don't want his stupid blood anyway. Finish him up and come to dinner."
She swept from the room, her head held high.
King Elias laughed until tears poured down his cheeks, and kissed the knight impulsively.
"Ah, it takes much to ruffle her feathers. I haven't managed it in years! Thanks for your help, knight."
Calvin deepened the kiss, forgetting all about his promise to eradicate the royal vampires. Elias's chuckles died down as he became aware of the human's warm scent, his clear desire. It had been years since he'd been kissed like this. Revina was so wrapped up in admiration for herself, she had none to spare for him. He began undoing Calvin's shirt, causing goosebumps to break out on the man's skin. Elias pressed Calvin to the floor, and kissed him hungrily from his mouth to his chest.
Downstairs, Revina sipped a cup of blood haughtily, waiting for her husband to join her.
"Shall we start the proceedings?" one member of the court whispered to her. He looked at his feet instead of her. Like many in the room, he was still stinging from his punishment - for failing to stop the knight finding his way into her bedroom.
"Yes," she snapped. "Elias will be down as he soon as he snaps that impertinent little knight's neck and drains his blood. Don't serve him too much tonight, I daresay he'll be full by the time he joins us."
Upstairs, Elias was entangled with Calvin on the floor. Their clothes lay abandoned in the corner. He had forgotten all about the dinner.
"Oh, god," he whispered. "Am I bisexual?"
"Mmm, a fair guess," Calvin sighed, delirious with happiness. What had he come here to do, again?
He suspected his left leg was broken, snapped somewhere in the last ten minutes. Elias was an ancient vampire, after all, and horrifically strong. Calvin found he didn't care. In fact, he delighted in the pain, in Elias's ardent enthusiasm.
"I must stay here forever," he breathed, running a hand through Elias's hair. He felt helpless before the vampire's gleaming eyes. Elias straddled him again and stroked Calvin's neck.
Before the knight could say anything, Elias sank his fangs into Calvin's neck. He reminded himself not to get swept up in his feelings as he drained the man's blood. Impossibly sweet - rich, and bursting with Calvin's scent. But this one mustn't die from the bite. He had to control himself.
"That can be arranged," the King of Vampires whispered into Calvin's ear, breaking off his feeding just in time.
|
Her black hair hung down across her torso and concealed her breasts; she looked no older than twenty, with skin as white as milk-flower and eyes as gold as liquid amber.
He didn't notice. He walked up to the throne, which stood in the center of a dreary stone hall in the Queen's castle.
"Ah, Sir Axel," the Queen purred, "What brings you to my court today?" She looked the knight up and down: even beneath the silver-and-green armor she could see his slim physique, smell his warm blood.
"I am in need of some paperwork, my queen," he said, "And I come here because it is a matter of great haste."
"Great haste?" she said, leaning forward, "And what does a young man like you worry of haste? You have all the time in the world."
The handsome knight paused: "Not as much as you, my Queen."
He saw the smile falter from the Queen's lips, only for a moment.
"Ah - I see. It seems you have come across some very valuable information about my person. And you think that my *deep* shame for these esoteric thirsts will allow you to blackmail me." the Queen said.
"Not at all, my lady," the knight said, "I simply wish for a small favor. And then I will be gone of your lands and your kingdom forever."
The Queen smiled. She knew what he wanted - they all wanted the same thing. She leaned forward, her hair dropping away from her breasts, exposing them.
"I see. And what is this favor? Many men come seeking it. But for you..." she began.
"Oh, I'm afraid it's nothing so interesting as that. It's a trifle more bureaucratic. Undead Queen or no, you still hold particular governmental powers."
The Queen arched an eyebrow: "Such as?"
"Marriage licenses." he said.
The Queen laughed a high, tinkling laugh.
"Ah, I see. Some wee lass you think you love." she said.
"Not exactly." said the knight.
"You would rather ask for me to see you married to some girl, when I could offer you eternity instead? Come here, brave knight. Let me give you my kiss, and you can stay forever in these halls with me. No desire will be unsated."
The knight looked around the dark, drab halls. Stuffy tapestries hung from the walls.
"I hate to be a stereotype, but interior decorating is important. Why don't you consider some houseplants? Or opening a window?"
The Queen growled at him. Her face warped, becoming a hideous animal mask of envy and pride.
"*How dare you refuse me. I'll have you - I'll have you!*" she screeched.
The Queen lunged at him, flying across the room.
She shoved him back against the wall, his armor denting. He felt the Queen's fangs tear into the skin of his neck, and felt the blood begin to drain.
But suddenly the Queen screamed. She pulled back, and where the blood touched her skin the knight could see black, mottled flesh forming. It was as if his blood stripped away her beauty and left only the rotten corpse beneath the mask. She screamed as it burned her insides.
"What is this!" she screamed. "What is wrong with you!"
The knight smiled as he clutched his neck and drew his sword.
"True love," he said.
-------------------------------------------------------
Check out r/TomTeller, or my novelette submission, [The Elder War](https://www.reddit.com/r/TomTeller/comments/4cdklx/the_elder_wars_google_doc/?ref=share&ref_source=link)
| 2016-03-31T08:13:20
| 2016-03-31T08:01:42
| 165
| 61
|
[WP] Tell us the story of a nuclear war on earth, as told by the astronauts on the International Space Station.
|
I turned on the radio and floated over to the window, watching the giant sphere of blue, green, and grey slowly turn. The silence was clingy, disgusting, almost palpable. I wanted it gone. After a few seconds her voice buzzed through the static.
“Bill?”
“I’m here, Cath.”
“The command has already briefed you, right?”
“Yeah.”
There was a pause. The heavy feeling came back again, so I spoke up:
“Is it really inevitable?”
“Most likely.” She tried to put on her usual, business-like tone. “Negotiations are in progress, but we’re just using the time to pick the best targets. The big red button will be pressed any moment now. I think they’re in the same position.”
“Who was it? The Russians? The Chinese?”
“Does it matter?”
We kept quiet for a while again. I swallowed the lump in my throat. I heard noises on the other side, but couldn’t—or didn’t want to—make out what they were. This time Cath broke the silence, her voice more shaky than before:
“I’m sorry, Bill. If I could do something for you, I—”
“You have it worse than me. At least I get a front row seat.” Gallows humour. No one laughed. “What is it going to be like? Am I just going to see fire and brimstone engulfing everything?”
“The missiles will reach their targets in twenty to forty minutes after launch.” Cath sounded just a little bit calmer. I guessed it felt like doing her normal job again: informing me of what was to come. “Then you’re going to see flashes, lots of them. They will be like nothing you’ve seen before, much brighter than the city lights at night. Each will appear to pulse two times, one right after another, and then fade away. And then… Then it will be over.”
“What do I do then? What about the station?” I pressed my hand against the thick glass. “Any orders from uptop?”
“Well, you will technically be in charge once we…” Her voice broke. “Whatever you want. Crash it into the planet if you want to or just leave it there. I doubt anyone will be left to care. How much food do you have?”
“More than I will need.” I didn’t like how cold my voice was. “Without you down there I’m going to either go off course or crash into a large piece of debri in no time.”
I hesitated before asking the main question:
“Any chance for you, Cath?”
“No.”
Fires began blossoming over the continent. Double flashes bloomed over Earth, showering even the twilit corners at the edge of night in incandescent light. They roared with marvel and destruction.
“I see them. The flashes.”
“That means we struck first.” Cath laughed nervously. “You’ve just divulged top secret information.”
“So we have twenty to forty more minutes?”
“They should’ve detected the launch so less than that. Much less.” There were a few sobs on the other side. “What was it like?”
I wanted to lie, but something compelled me to tell the truth.
“Beautiful.”
“I-I’m glad, Bill. At least there was something beautiful about all this misery.” She paused for a while. “There is something I want to say before it’s all over, something I always wanted. Bill—”
There was no explosion sound, no screams, no strange sounds, only static. Static and flashes.
|
Day 12: I finished another chapter of the book I'm reading, at this point, I feel confident that I know who the killer is (I mean, it has to be the florist, right?). Also, I never thought I'd say this but seeing the earth from space has almost lost its allure at his point, like how you're no longer amazed when looking at the sky. Maybe that's just me.
Day 17: Something happened back home a few days ago. We all saw flashes of light on the surface and communication ceased completely. We're not really sure what happened but it's easy enough to guess. Most of us are upset. I saw Gus outside of the window yesterday. Haven't seen him since.
Day 23: Panic has died down at this point. I think that maybe all of us who are still around have simply accepted our fates. I think there is some solace to be had in that, but I doubt any of them would agree with me. I suppose that's okay.
Day 29: I'm the only one left now. I suppose it's commendable to want to live on your own terms. Maybe I just don't see the appeal. Haven't tried to figure out how long I have left here, somehow the motivation escapes me. Besides, who needs the stress. Oh, and, turns out, it was actually the police chief, not the florist. Can't win them all I suppose.
| 2017-08-18T10:03:04
| 2017-08-18T09:28:30
| 101
| 19
|
[WP] You are an Engineer who became a Wizard. Problem is, you discovered that some magic is practiced really inefficiently.
For example, no one thought to optimize fire magic by pressurizing the fire with wind magic.
|
"Malzago's Magic Mirror," I said, conjuring the little disc in my hands. "Is the fundamental basis of this spell. The mana strain of conjuring it is negligible, but more importantly, esteemed wizards, it is a *perfect reflector*. At all wavelengths of the electromagnetic spectrum."
&#x200B;
The magus team sitting before me shared mixed reactions; two of the five looked on with polite boredom, unimpressed that my thesis began with a conjuration spell most commonly associated with vanity. Julis Venat, the most senior of the five, was dutifully following along, a thoughtful look in his eyes as he conjured his own magic mirror. And the last two had perked up as soon as the words 'perfect reflector' and 'electromagnetic spectrum' hit their ears.
&#x200B;
"We shape the magic mirror into a vessel, perfectly flat on the bottom, perfectly circular on all sides. Into the space of the vessel, we conjure Razat's Reconaissance Ruby. Leave it inert; the important function of this spell is not what it does, but what it *is*. A perfectly crystalline ruby. Cap the other end with another Malzago's Magic Mirror, but alter the shape to permit a small hole in the center."
&#x200B;
As the maguses watched and followed along, one particularly enterprising magus jumped ahead, and a thin red dot appeared on the ceiling. Immediately, he smiled. Julis Venat grew even more thoughtful; and moments later his own dot appeared on the ceiling above him, and then shifted rapidly through different spectrums as he cycled different magical gems in the vessel.
&#x200B;
"As some of my esteemed colleagues have already determined, a conjuration of basic Light within the vessel completes the system. For your consideration, I present Litolo's Luminous LAMSER, light amplification through magical stimulation of electromagnetic radiation."
&#x200B;
"What are the applications of this, applicant Litolo, beyond making a colorful dot appear?" asked Julis Venat. The tone of his question gave everyone in the room pause; it was the sound of a profoundly powerful wizard deep in thought.
&#x200B;
"The efficiency of the light emission, coupled with the perfect reflectivity of Malzago's Magic Mirror, makes weaponization of this system trivial. The radiation cross-section of the beam concentrates enormous energy density in a small area; I would ask that my esteemed colleagues refrain from giving this system more than a trickle of mana unless they wish to start fires, or cut steel." I began. "But I feel that weaponization of this system is the least interesting application. Coupled with Cuthbert's Chromatic Chronometer and an additional mirror, I've already been able to measure the speed of light travelling in air to extraordinary precision. You'll see in my enclosed thesis that interference of the beam wavelengths through additional demi-reflectors begins allowing us to make extraordinarily precise measurements."
&#x200B;
I made it halfway through my explanation, and Venat had stood, his hands waving in the air as he conjured, overhead, a conceptual system; four beams, eight demi-reflectors, and coherent light splitting through all of them. I had been in Venat's presence before, and his power was terrifying... but now I knew that even with an ounce of power, it was his mind that had elevated him to his esteemed position. Power had followed.
&#x200B;
"Applicant Litolo," Venat said. "Please seat yourself outside, while we discuss your application."
&#x200B;
I bowed, and left the chambers. My applicant assistant looked up, and broke into a smile as I raised my eyebrows at him.
&#x200B;
"Think you're in?" he whispered, as I sat down alongside him.
&#x200B;
"Venat conjured an interferometer using my system," I replied, breaking into a grin. "Yeah. I think I'm in."
|
I stood across from thousands of wizards given one order - kill me. I didn’t take it personal, though. They wanted the kingdom, and I was standing in their way. Either I moved, they thought, or I’d be as good as dead. Same for me. Of course, they all knew I wasn’t going to move, and I the same for them. So this, like all others, would turn into an all out battle until I - or them - was obliterated.
My mouth curved into a smirk as one, then two, then all of the wizards on the other side pulled out their wands. I pulled out mine in response. Might as well have some fun, I thought. Not too often something like this happens. Every wizard then put their wand up, waved them around, and pointed them toward me. Thousands of fireballs rushed toward me, faster than sound, as I did nothing. I waited, letting the fireballs get closer and closer, until they were so close I could smell the burning. It’s not fun without a little stress, after all. I picked my wand up, waited until my vision was only fire, and threw it down.
The red/orange flash of fire quickly changed as I looked upon my friend, with a poker face so bad it was practically glass.
“What were you thinking?” He shouted. “You could have gotten yourself killed!”
“Yeah, but I didn’t. You were there to get me in time. Besides, tell me that wasn’t fun.”
I pointed at the battlefield I recently left, and the cloud of fire rising and rising. No wizard could have survived that.
“You like that, huh? Well, keep doing that and soon enough you’ll be finding yourself in your own explosion as your friend is nowhere to be found.”
“Wouldn’t you like that,” I quipped back before turning around to look him in the face again. There seemed to be a fire of his own on his face. I chuckled and walked away.
I wonder how long it’ll take for them to figure out about atoms, I thought, as I flicked my wand and my visions changed again.
| 2019-04-26T07:00:22
| 2019-04-26T06:12:53
| 47
| 15
|
[WP] You're a paramedic. In fact, an immortal paramedic. Since you first treated a wounded soldier on the fields of the 30-years War, you didn't age and followed the development of "Emergency Medical Service". Your coworkers are astonished by your knowledge, but sometimes, you slip into old habits..
|
From within the ambulance shed came yelling which was muffled but loud enough to bring nurses from the hospital adjacent. Several EMTs and a paramedic stood outside the building shaking their heads at the terrible noises coming from within. The nurses walked up with concerned looks on their faces.
“What’s happening,” asked one of them to the paramedic.
“Dimitiri has gone off the deep end,” she responded.
“Really?” There was a look of disbelief from the nurses who were used to Dimitri’s calm attitude and efficient work. He was a legend at the hospital for his knowledge and ability, but the fact that he could proceed through the worst scenarios with calm was perhaps the most impressive thing of all.
“What happened,” one of them asked.
“We got privatized,” said an EMT. “They just cut our pay, lengthened our hours, cut our benefits, service is now more expensive, coverage area got bigger while they are removing one of the units, want us to focus on transports instead of emergency medicine, and people will die because we can’t be there to help them.”
From within the confines of the ambulance building came the shout... “I haven’t seen anything this barbaric and stupid since the fucking dark ages!”
|
I grumble under my breath as I kneel beside my patient. He complains that he "can't breath". I quickly remind him that he wouldn't be able to speak with me, nor complain about an array of different issues if he couldn't breath.
I asses his positioning, he's very casual. Not bolt upright or in a tripod posture. His color is slightly off. A touch ashen. He continues to whine by speaking full sentences. Clearly not having too much distress.
I finally lean in to auscultate his lung sounds. I lift his shirt and place my right ear firmly onto his chest. After a brief moment. I realize my stethoscope was hanging out of my leg cargo pocket.
| 2019-01-05T15:35:45
| 2019-01-05T15:22:53
| 71
| 13
|
[WP] Everybody has a number on their heads that shows how many people they screwed over in their life.You've been a proud zero your whole life.One day you wake up and look at the mirror. You see 7.5 billion
|
"*Hello, thank you for calling LifeStats, please hold while we connect you to someone of assistance*"
"Hello this is Ana! How may I help you today?"
"Yes Hi, it appears that my stat has an error. It is showing 7.5 Billion?"
"Phew, looks like you screwed the entire planet there, haha, or are about to!"
"Haha yeah, could you please look into it?"
"Sure. Could you please confirm your full name, date of birth, and address please?"
"Adam Goddard, Two-hundred suns into Thirty-two winters, at Brown Hut 2, Poseidon Lane, Atlantis."
"Perfect. Give me a few minutes and we'll do a few checks."
"Sure."
.................................................................
BOOP BOOP BOOP BOOP
*Fuck's sake, did they seriously just hang up after 30 minutes? I can't go to work like this.*
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
"Adam Goddard, we have a warrant for your immediate arrest. Please do not resist."
"Surely this is a misunderstanding! Would someone please explain what's happening?"
"You are being arrested by association for disobeying the federations' orders under section 18.439C 'The Forbidden Fruit' act"
"I am sorry, I don't follow?"
"Your wife, Eve Goddard, has stolen ultimate top-classified information, and has leaked it to intergalactic space, and she has stated that you have aided her."
"What!! I do not kn-"
"Save it for the court."
**A FEW MILLION LIGHTS YEARS AWAY**
"Ha. Interesting, someone from the Laniakea Super Cluster has just taken the bait." - Qreclops said whilst monitoring *"Sample Planet Simulation 10,029"* on his screen.
"Interesting indeed, maybe this time they'll figure it out?" - Vlommik, Qreclops' longtime colleague added.
"Yeah. Alright, reset civilisation and world settings?"
"Yep. But definitely keep Adam and Eve"
"Alright, let's see how this goes, here goes Simulation 10,030"
..................................................................................................
If you liked Qreclops and Vlommik, [here's](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7jtvrq/wp_jesus_was_sent_to_earth_by_aliens_to_test_our/dr9nwjh?utm_source=reddit-android) another one of their shenanigans I wrote on this sub a month ago :)
|
I have always been proud of my number. Zero. I have never screwed anyone over. Never! Not once. At work I always stayed late and was sure to make sure that everything was perfect! Even going out of my way to do other people's work for them. When I go out, I hold doors for hours to make sure no one gets left out in the cold. I have never dated, too risky. The biggest accomplishment I have is my 0. But I woke up and today it is 7.5 Billion!
I quickly run to the bathroom to look for something to cover everything up. I don't have any makeup. Although that never covers up the numbers. I could try and hat and wear it over my number, but that only works for numbers under 1000, when it hits 1000 the number goes out of the sides. I could try to wear a mask. But only people with numbers exceedingly large wear masks, everyone knows not to trust anyone with a mask!
Shit shit shit, I have work in two hours, if they see me with 7.5 BILLION I will most certainty get fired! How did this even happen? What did I do yesterday?
I went to woke up. A normal breakfast of eggs and toast. Brought Mike his eggs and toast. Chatted with Sally about life. Gave that guy on the bus my phone so he could make a call. Wait!
I take my phone out and check where he called. 952-596-****. I turn on my computer and check the where the 952 area code is.
"What the heck is in Bloomington Minnesota? Surely something that could screw over every person on Earth must have been on the news."
I turn on the news and there it is. "Local man, Jonas Stransti dies mysteriously in his home. Police suspect that he was murdered by the mafia for unpayed loans. Stransti was working on a miracle cure that would cure every disease in existence. The suspect was linked to the Coliferalli family led by Vinnie Coliferalli.".
That is him, the man I gave my phone to. The man I let make a call.
"After comprehending Coliferalli police confirmed his guilt with is his number, 7.5 billion. Yes, 7.5 billion, every person on Earth. If you see someone with the number 7.5 billion please notify the police immediately, they have also assisted in the murder of Stransti."
| 2018-01-21T20:00:12
| 2018-01-21T19:44:50
| 104
| 56
|
[WP] When the representatives of humanity attend their first Galactic Council meeting, all goes well. That is, until a member of a psionic race tries to read the human's minds and begins to scream.
|
It wasnt much to look at. Bare flesh, no scales or organic protection, little fur. It wasnt very large, nor was it small, like a swarming race. Unlike its fellows, it had none of the myriad of bioweapons normally associated with a creature of its caliber. Among spiked and venomous warriors, it stood out as small and frail and pink.
So what was it doing sitting in the class 0000 section, with the other races deemed too dangerous to mingle freely with the other delegates?
One peek wouldn't hurt.
I steeled my mind and reached out with it for the creature. It called itself man, and it- she- she was new to our world. Her race had just obtained the technology neccessary to become a Council Class species.
She wasnt uneasy here. She was used to politics, or at least, she was used to a type of politics. I saw flashes of her world, glimmers of great ships bristling with weaponry and smoking, ruined cities. She was a survivor. Under her clothes, a mass of healing tissue boiled up from under her skin, remnants of an ugly regenerative process, and it concealed a wound below her navel that forced a shudder down my back. If a member of my species suffered such a wound, they would likely never heal properly. They would live a short life in and out of medic bays, attempting to patch a hole that would never reliably seal. My psionics told me this human had received the wound in childbirth.
Perhaps they were at war with some alien invaders, and had been for millenia, long enough to warp their evolution into this tough simian warrior. It was admirable, then, that they had spared the resources to develop faster than light travel. Interstellar races were typically more peaceful and science minded.
No. Wait.
There was something there, buried in her memory vaults, further in than I usually dared to probe at such delicate political functions. The bolder I was, the more likely my target was to sense my presence. But something primal, deep inside of me, told me to press on.
Her race hadn't invented faster than light travel. They had stolen it. Images flashed across this woman's mind again, this time of a great, slow human reaver ship, carving a hole into the side of an alien passenger craft with a fiery beam. From the hole spilled thousands of beings. Those that couldnt withstand the horrors of the vacuum of space quickly perished. The few that belonged to hardier, space going races attempted to escape. None of them made it.
A scream built in my throat. She hadn't come here to make allies. The human finally detected my long and horrified stare. She turned to face me and from across the crowded Senate, I saw her face crack. Rows of previously hidden bone spurs protruded from her maw. I had neglected to withdraw from her mind, and so I was cursed with the knowledge that this was a greeting; she knew what I was doing in her brain, and she welcomed me. I screamed.
Edit: Formatting
|
The lone shriek pierced the silent council chambers, the Relovian was clutching at the sides of his rather bulbous head, trying to extract his mental probe from within the mind of Thomas "Raven Dark" McKinnon, tears welling up in it's multitudinous eyes. "What is Lord Prelanine?!" His aid begged as he struggled to help him from the floor. "So wait, like, did you, see, like totally see what was going on in my mind just now weird turtle head man?" Thomas asked as he adjusted the black fishnet sleeves up his pasty white arms.
"That man is revolting!" Shouted the ambassador of the Relovian race, "He had such visions of debauchery, he was imagining placing some strange appendage from betwixt his legs into the consuming orifice of the High Priestess of Skartl it what I can only assume is some fashion of violence!" At his proclamation the leathery dark wings of the Priestess flared up in alarm, her hand flew to her mouth in what would commonly be described as abject terror. "Whoa, calm down turtle head man, I wasn't seeking to do violence!" Thomas exclaimed, "Sex is only right if it's consensual man." The room fell silent.
The commander of the United Terran Military let out a deep sigh and massaged his temples, he couldn't begin to understand how a member of the GCG (Global Coalition of Goths) had somehow stowed away on the Emperor's flagship to attend the first contact with an alien race, which would also be the first Galactic Council meeting in Terra's history.
"What is this sex you speak of?" Inquired the High Priestess, wings lowering a little in curiosity. "HE SOUGHT TO BLUDGEON YOU MY LADY! WHAT ELSE COULD YOU DESCRIBE THAT STRANGE PUMMELING MOTION YOU WERE MAKE WITH YOUR HIPS AND PELVIC REGION?! AND WHAT OF THAT STRANGE TENTACLE!?" Cried out the ambassador. "Dude, like, chill turtle head, that's my reproductive organ you're insulting." Thomas retorted. "Reproductive?" The High Priestess inquired, her wings folding back to their relaxed state. The commander let out another long sigh and massaged his temples harder. "Yeah, you know, for making babies, my schlong?" Thomas responded while gesturing towards his crotch. The High Priestess changed to a dark shade of purple, what one can only hope to assume was her races way of blushing, "Oh, children, as in mating, you wish to mate with me then?" She asked in wonderment. "Well yeah," Thomas blurted, "I mean look at you, all scaly and dark skinned, rocking those bat-like, wings. You're hella hot!" The commander closed his eyes tighter, willing himself away from this nonsensical conversation and the diplomatic disaster this was sure to become.
"I assure you my temperature is quite nominal and not in any way 'hot' as you describe it." The Priestess responded in a somewhat confused tone. That was the last straw, the commander lost it and began howling with laughter. Every diplomat and ambassador in the room went silent and awkwardly looked at each other and immediately found something more interesting to stare at, painfully, obviously avoiding looking at the commander, the "Raven Dark" and the High Priestess.
| 2019-09-29T22:37:06
| 2019-09-29T21:57:42
| 50
| 35
|
[WP] You live in world with no colour, shades of black and white are all you know. A flower pops up in your backyard, you’re drawn to it, as you pick the flower from the ground, you see colour for the first time. For the first time you realize something is terribly wrong with your world.
|
There are shades.
None of us can be pure, though we must aspire to be. I have learned this lesson from the earliest days of my youth. I am a creature of grey, my soul caught twixt the poles of light and darkness. I am wicked, as all men are, and the shadow that haunts my steps is proof enough of that. Only when my soul is pure will the shadow leave me, only then will I know that I have banished the grey within me.
But it is difficult.
I have been in the Coven long, and I have listened to the Shademeisters with all of my will, but I still do not progress. My heart is caught between the light and the dark. I must choose, I am told. But how can one choose between two things that stand in such opposition to one another? By selecting one path, I forego the other. It is a choice that I will live with for the remainder of my days, a dedication of my will to removing the shade and becoming pure.
Luminari. A White Sage.
Abyssari. A Black Sage.
I am young, and the path to either is long. In the quiet of my room, I cannot help but wish for the choice to be made for me. No matter which choice I make, I will disappoint some, and I have no wish to live the life of either.
There are shades, and I wish to reside among them. To be among the people of my youth, free from the shackles of the pursuit of purity.
But there is no Neutrari. No Grey Sage. Enlightenment does not come to those who accept shade into their heart. Wisdom cannot be achieved in the embrace of imperfection.
Before me sits two cups. The one on the left is white. It is filled with a clear liquid that glows with a dull glow. To the right is a black cup. It too is filled, but the liquid is opaque and dark. A sip from either will seal my fate. Will commit me to my path. I need only drink and be done with it.
I raise my hand in front of me, hoping that the appendage will make the decision for me. That it will reach out unbidden and grasp a cup and I can be done with this affair. I can turn into the being I am expected to become for no other reason than the nature of my birth.
My eyes stare at the hand, willing it to move.
It does not.
Time passes, and I continue to stare. My gaze becomes dull and unfocused. The world before me loses definition and all of features begin to blend into one another. The mugs become splotches of white and black amidst the sea of grey. Always grey. The whole world is grey, and this place expects me to pick between two solitary splotches of opposition.
Exhausted, I drop my hand.
A strange thing appears as my hand drops. Something new. Something different. Something shocking and profane.
It is not white.
It is not black.
It is not of the shades.
It is beyond this spectrum. It is indescribable.
My eyes focus, my breath coming in hasty puffs as I peer out through the open door to the garden that resides at the center of my hermitage.
A flower.
But not a flower as I have seen before. Not the vibrant white of the lustri lily. Not the terrifying black of the nightshade. Something else.
I cannot describe it.
I do not have words for it.
It is not of the white. It is not of the black. It is not of the shades.
It is beyond.
It is what I must become.
I am not a slave to the white and black. I will find purity in novelty. I will walk this new path revealed to me. I will take this bud if difference and show the lie of this world.
Luminari. No.
Abyssari. No.
I am something else. And this world of shades shall bow before it.
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
|
I love my house. It's big and beautiful, with lots of rooms and the best housemates. Bart is the smart one, he makes all our meals. Beth is the quiet one, but she's always so nice to me. Brian is the annoying one, he usually tries to avoid me, but once or twice he'll stop for a chat.
I love my house. It's full of love and life, of food and friends, of smiles and songs. I've been living here since I can remember, originally with just Bart and Beth. Brian came later. They all go out for jobs, I'm lucky enough to work from home. Sometimes it gets lonely, but eventually someone joins me in the evenings to hang out.
My house has a backyard. It's big, with a wonderous wilderness bordering the best lawn in town. Beth loves lying on the grass in the summer, looking at all the pretty plants. Bart and I often play backyard ball, but it's been too cold to go out there for months now. I know summer's not far off though. Every time I go and check it's getting better and better out there. Soon we'll return.
Everything was perfect in my life, until yesterday.
I was going to look at the yard from the backdoor when I noticed something. Something so strange, something I'd never seen before. Before today I wouldn't be able to describe it to you properly, but now I know what it is. They call it colour and it's responsible for me ending up here, slumped against the iron bars of a jail cell, staring down a corridor of sorrow.
When I saw it, I couldn't stop looking. At first I thought it would hurt my eyes, like looking into the sun. It was illuminated like a bright star, as if it had a beam of bright fire being shone from a burning flashlight onto it. Like the one Bart always used to carry when we went out in the evenings.
I knew it was flower, yet not like any I had seen before. Flowers had never looked like this!
I stood at the backdoor for hours, motionless, enthralled. It wasn't until the front door slammed shut that I was pulled out of the hypnosis. That was probably Brian, he was always the first home.
*Shit,* I thought to myself, *I need to get out for a closer look before its too late!*
I pushed myself through the door and ran for the light, determined to find out what this flower really was.
I reached it in seconds and snatched it immediately. Not knowing what to do with it, I did the only thing that seemed sensible, I swallowed it.
That's when I heard a voice. It was distant though, as if someone was calling out from inside.
"Ha..." a voice called out, muffled through the glass door. A few moments later I heard the door opening and I turned. Standing there was Brian, arms on his hips. But his face was fuzzy. He was saying something but I couldn't hear the words.
I tried to move and stumbled, my head fell forwards. I could hear the tone changing in Brian's voice. He was angry.
"Here..." he growled, his voice still a muffled mess.
As I lifted my head again the world started expanding, as if everything I could see was rapidly exploding in front of my eyes. Brightness pounded into my eyes from every direction as I tried to focus on Brian.
My eyes were stinging as I started to realize what was happening; the way everything looked was changing like the flower had, but in a thousand unique ways. What was going on?
I tried to call out to Brian, but a whimper was all that came.
I could feel my heart racing faster and faster and I knew I needed to get to Brian.
He was still calling out so I started to run.
As I felt my hind legs pulls themselves forward I looked down and my heart froze. What on earth?
I looked up at Brian, who was just feet away now.
"For gods' sake you little shit, come *Here Boy*!"
I looked at my legs again and then at his, and for the first time in my life I realized he had two fewer than me.
&#x200B;
You don't need to know the rest of the story; what I did next or why I ended up here. It doesn't matter anymore. What matters is that they're through with me. All of them. They've left me here to rot. The jailer will come soon, carrying his keys, jingling them like the sadist he is. Then I'll be gone from this world for good.
The large iron door at the end of the soulless corridor creaked open, slowly revealing a beautiful orange glow as the sun shone over the shoulder of two figures. They walked towards me, their footsteps deliberate.
My eyes were still adjusting to colours and the brightness blared down, spraying streaks of light across my vision.
The two figures continued to approach. I pulled myself up to get a better look. And that's when I recognized them. It was Bart and Beth! They were here to save me!
I jumped with excitement and pushed my head through the bars, tongue well out as my body jived from the swinging tail lashing wildly behind.
"Whose a good boy!" Bart exclaimed.
Beth laughed.
"It seems our good boy found someone's little Salvia plant," she said as she turned to Bart with a faux frown.
He shrugged as he scratched behind his ear, and then looked back to me with a shit eating grin.
That's when I realized. My life is gonna be a good one now! I can see colour, I'd managed to rid myself of Brian, and Biden is President. Oh yeah.
Edit: PSA - Dogs are not necessarily colourblind, but this one was. Poor fella!
| 2021-01-21T00:55:14
| 2021-01-21T00:38:22
| 19
| 11
|
[Wp] you are a lonely old man who feeds raccoons every night because you are lonely. One night, just Before Sunset, a stranger invades your house, ties you up, and threatens to kill you. Suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you see a pair of winkley yellow eyes at the window.
Edit: And now my highest rated post is about.....raccoons.
|
Gordon pulled the note off the door, crumpled it up, and tossed it into the bushes. He knew what it said and who it was from. Missy Joyner - complaining about the raccoons again.
Too bad. It was his house and his life and his goddamn cat food. Besides, raccoons were just part of the cost of living in the suburbs...or the city...or the country. Well, they were just part of the cost of living, that's all. No use crying about it.
He'd started feeding the raccoons after Georgia had died. Georgia was his cat. His wife Ally had been dead for ten years, but that was no great loss. Georgia, though, was about as good a kitty as you could ask for. Calm and simple, she hardly ever asked for anything. Never complained. Not even as that tumor had started growing up along the inside of her throat. It got so bad she could hardly swallow. The weight loss was the only sign Gordon ever picked up on and by then it was much, much too late.
So Georgia was gone and Gordon had a big old bag of cat food left in the pantry. He considered getting a new cat, but he was old and indifferent to the people, places, and things he wasn't already fond of or used to. New things were a hassle. Gordon was too old for hassles. But there were strays in the neighborhood and that seemed like the kind of relationship Gordon could stand - distant benefactor. Stray cat philanthropist. So he took a scoop of food and left it on his back steps one night. Somewhere in the middle of the night he heard scratching and munching and the clitter-clap of little, long nails on half-rotten wood. He peeked out the window to see who his customer was.
It was a trio of raccoons.
Gordon was honestly disgusted. Raccoons have those nimble little paws - disturbingly dexterous. Too human-like. And those black eyes see entirely too much. Wild and clever and vicious.
But the raccoons seemed pleased with the offering. They cleared the lot, licked their hands and faces, and disappeared back into the dark.
And Gordon...Gordon still had plenty of cat food left.
The trouble - if you were the sort who cared about these things - was that Missy Joyner saw Gordon dumping the cat food out on his back steps one night. She lived on the opposite side of the fence and happened to be a snoop. Suddenly she had someone to blame every time raccoons or other woodland creatures made a move on her trash bins.
"I'll call animal control, I will!" she'd once barked across the fence.
"Call 'um!" Gordon had croaked back. "They ain't my pets."
And they weren't. Raccoons are subservient to no one and Gordon certainly didn't expect any sort of thank you. He just liked to watch them eat. He'd gotten past that initial revulsion and turned around to finding them a fascinating species. Survivors. Just like Gordon. They didn't care what anyone thought of them. Just like Gordon.
*Peas in a pod*, Gordon mused one day, as he watched a half dozen scuffle and wrestle over that night's pile of dry kibble.
And so Missy Joyner's notes all went in the same place - the trash, or the street, or the bushes, or once - when Gordon had been particularly peeved - straight up the old man's own asshole. He'd regretted it later, upon extraction, but it had been a singularly triumphant moment, which he swore to cherish until the day he died.
The note so deposed of, Gordon unlocked the door and stepped inside his home.
He was not alone.
Two men stood inside the house, one holding Gordon's television with an almost sheepish look on his face; the other standing just outside the bathroom, tugging something out of his pocket.
"What the hell is this?" cried Gordon, too stupid with anger to think to turn and run. The man with the TV stammered something incoherent, while the other produced a gun and defiantly waved it in Gordon's face.
"Close the door, old man," said the one with the gun. "Or I swear I'll blast you in the face."
Gordon sighed, his anger still simmering, but his age catching up to him. "Whatever. Take what you want. It's all crap anyway."
"We will," said the man with the gun. "But first..."
They locked the door and tied Gordon to a chair. The sheepish man suggested that they run, but the man with the gun just laughed.
"He's seen our faces," he said with a grin. "He's gotta die. You know that, right?"
The sheepish man shook his head. "I don't think he'll..."
"He won't," agreed the other. "He'll be dead. But first, I wanna try a few things."
He set the gun on the kitchen table and pulled a chunky switchblade out of his waistband. "You ever peel an apple in one, single drag?" he asked his partner.
The sheepish man turned pale. "I didn't... look, I just wanted some easy cash. I didn't..."
"We'll still take all the good stuff," said the man with the switchblade. "I just wanna see how much of his face I can peel off in a single strip."
Gordon was scared - he was old, not stupid - but resigned to death. Even resigned to torture. He promised himself he wouldn't scream. That's what the sicko with the knife wanted. So that's the one thing Gordon wouldn't give him.
Gordon was repeating that silent mantra - *Don't scream. Don't scream* - when he spotted a pair of shining, black eyes at the back window.
"It's dinnertime, isn't it?" he said absently.
"No dinner for you, old man," said the man with the switchblade. "No dinner ever again."
"It's not my dinnertime," said Gordon, watching, fascinated as the knob on the backdoor began to twist. They couldn't get in, of course. The door was locked. But how strange that they would try. "Must be hungry," he muttered.
"Me?" said the man with the switchblade, leaning down over Gordon's face. "I'm not a cannibal. I'm not going to *eat* you. I'm just curious, that's all."
Gordon shifted his head to see past the man. "Christ. Did they find the spare key under the mat? Well, I'll be..."
"We broke in through the bedroom window," said the sheepish man. "We thought you worked Thursday nights. That's why...we...you know."
Gordon smiled. "The whole family's here."
"He's freaking me out," said the sheepish man.
"He's just fuckin' with us," said the switchblade man. "Ignore him."
"Use the gun," said Gordon, squirming in his seat and pointing with his chin. "Point and pull the trigger."
"*Knife*," said the switchblade man, pushing the edge up against Gordon's throat. "You don't get the gun until I'm done havin' fun. Oooh. That rhymed." He turned to face the sheepish man. "Did you hear th..."
*BANG.*
The right side of the switchblade man's face detached itself in the blink of an eye, splattering against the wall and the door and quite a good deal of Gordon. The remainder of the switchblade man stumbled, buckled at the knees, and collapsed to the floor.
The sheepish man screamed.
"They need to kill you, too?" asked Gordon, nodding at the space just behind the frightened thief. The sheepish man turned slowly. A trio of raccoons were standing on the kitchen table, holding the handgun, which smoked faintly as the muzzle drifted towards the sheepish man.
"Oh *fuck*!" shouted the sheepish man.
"Untie me," said Gordon. The sheepish man did as he was told. Gordon rubbed his arms and back. "Take the body with you. And don't come back."
The sheepish man nodded, bending to scoop up the dead body off the floor. Bowed under the weight, he stumbled out of the house through the backdoor and disappeared forever.
Gordon turned to the kitchen table, where the raccoons had dropped the gun and were looking around rather expectantly.
"Well, I think you've earned a bit of a feast tonight, my friends," said Gordon with a smile. "Let's go see what we have in the pantry."
|
Jonas was thinking about the raccoons when he heard the tinkle of glass, but then again he'd been thinking about the raccoons for most of the day now. It was funny, the things you got to doing once you got old, once most of your friends had gone off and died or disappeared into retirement homes or fretted themselves into monastic existences of no salt no sugar no stress no fun. It was the best part of his day now, and, if he let himself admit it, the only part of the day he was looking forward to. Settling down on his back porch after dark as the stars were just starting to come out, and watching the raccoons come.
There were four of them, the big ones, and over the last few nights he'd seen a couple of kits tagging along, although he wasn't sure how many of them there were yet. He'd sit out back and watch them, his trash cans left uncovered, the raccoons hunched over on the edge with their yellow halogen eyes glancing back at him, balanced on their inquisitive paws, and then a tuft of fur and the tip of their tail disappearing inside. He'd started leaving a basin of water out there at nights, and he'd get to see them, their front paws cupped together, dipping some bread or part of an apple core or a scrap of meat into the water, and then bringing it up to their mouths to eat. He'd started feeding them himself, recently, tossing out pieces of cracker or whatnot out on the porch, and watching them scurry up unafraid to nab it. He'd cooed to them - nonsense words, he wasn't quite far gone enough to start having conversations yet - and they'd listened with a polite bafflement and gone right on eating. Jonas hadn't named them yet, wasn't always quite sure which one was which, aside from 'the big 'un,' and perhaps he never would. It wasn't that he was looking for friends, really. He'd have gotten a cat for that. It was just getting old and being far past his prime, and rotting out here all by himself in the middle of nowhere, in the town he'd been born, and knowing that the raccoons came by every night to feast. Big healthy fat ones, with their thick fur coats and their bushy striped tails, finding something they needed.
And they'd been peaceful, mostly, but sure they'd knocked over a garbage can from time to time. And so the raccoons were on his mind when he heard the glass break, and as he rose from his recliner and wandered to the back to investigate, and saw his back door hanging open to the dusky air and the shattered glass on the floor, and that's when the stranger attacked.
It was a blur out of the corner of Jonas' vision, fingers raking into his shoulder and throwing him to the floor. His arms came up, scratching against nylon, and the back of a hand hit him in the face. He was flipped on his belly, a knee pressing into the small of his back, and he grunted and cried out. The weight momentarily lifted, a table was knocked over, and then both of Jonas' arms were wrenched behind his back. Something wound around his wrists - phone cord, he saw, with his blurred vision, the handset of his phone being tugged across the floor. Jonas' ribs hurt from where he had landed on them, and he could taste blood, though he wasn't sure where he was bleeding from. His right shoulder burned. "Please-" he got out. "I don't have much money. You can take it. You can take everything."
"Hrrr hrrr hrrr," said the stranger from above him, maybe breathing or maybe growling or maybe something rattling loose. Ratty sneakers stepped into Jonas' field of vision, the cuffs of jeans. Hands grabbed his ankles and he kicked out weakly, and he was jerked across the floor, his hip dragging against the ground. In stops and starts, stops and starts, as Jonas flopped on the floor, tried to tilt his head up to see. His vision kept going black, and the blood kept backing up into his throat, but he saw the stranger, stumpy and fat and short-legged, waddling across the floor and dragging him along, into his kitchen. The stranger let go and broke off, leaning heavily on the countertop, breathing or growling or laughing or coming loose. "Hrrr hrrr hrrr hrrr." A head of ratty grey hair shook. "I'm going to fucking kill you," the stranger said, with the sound of teeth too big for his mouth. Jonas couldn't see his face. "You hear that, old man? You're fucking dead."
And as Jonas' head lolled back, he saw, out of the corner of his eye, two yellow eyes staring in from his kitchen window, two points of light in the gathering dusk. And then two more. And then two more. Fireflies pressed still, embedded in the darkness. Everyone coming out to watch.
"What's going on?" he managed. He gagged and tilted his head to the side and let a dark clot of blood slip out of his mouth. He tested his bonds behind him. The phone cord was already coming loose; this stranger had no idea how to tie a knot. But his right shoulder was burning so bad he wasn't sure if being untied would do him much good. "Who are you? Who are you? Why are you doing this?"
"Hhrroor," said the stranger, and twisted at the knobs on his sink, and the sound of running water filled the kitchen. Jonas saw a smile, and he wondered why he'd ever thought the stranger's teeth were big. They were tiny, rows and rows of little needles. "I am the Lorax," it chittered, "I speak for the 'coons," and then broke out into a wild trilling laugh.
There were the eyes everywhere now, in every window, filling every space of darkness. Jonas closed his eyes and could see the yellow lights there, staring at him, waiting. He writhed on the floor, trying to breathe, and there were the ragged sneakers again, coming for him. A hand came into view and grabbed him, and Jonas could see it was like a human hand burned black, all shriveled down to the bone. And as it grabbed awkwardly at his shirt, Jonas could see it was deformed somehow, unable to get a proper grip. The fingers clenched shut with rage, all of them, five fingers and no thumb.
"Why," moaned Jonas, as he was hauled to his feet, up to the sink, all the yellow eyes burning into him like a million suns. He could see his face reflected in the window, the blood running down his nose and mouth and chin, and the stranger behind him all haloed in black. His legs were jelly beneath him. "What are you? What are you?"
It let him collapse against the sink, his head hanging by the faucet with the water still running and the sink plugged and droplets splashing against his face. "I'm so sorry," the stranger - the Lorax? - said, a trembling feral moan, and Jonas could see it raking its burnt fingers across its face. "They loved you. They loved you." His head was plunged into the water, and for a moment he was floating, blood drifting up in ribbons in front of him, the water clouded with bubbles. And then he was back up, soaking, gasping for breath as the water dribbled off him. "I'm so sorry!" the stranger shrieked. "They made me come here. They made me. They didn't want to keep seeing you suffer."
Jonas felt a warm spot spreading across his jeans, the cold water still trickling down his face, and he was lowered to a sitting position on the floor. "Don't do this," he begged, trembling. There were things moving beneath the stranger's jacket. Something feral and alive. All the burning bright stars. His face was hot. He was going to be incinerated. "Don't do this! Don't do this!"
"Jonas," came the stranger's voice, as if from far away, and a hand rested on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Just look at me, Jonas. Just look at me. Just look at my face and you'll understand. You'll be all right."
And Jonas pried open eyes that he hadn't realized he had been closing, and the stranger's face swam into view in front of him, and a slow giggle rose in Jonas' throat. "Oh god," he said, relaxing, slumping back, tilting his head back against the sink. "Oh god. Hahahahaha! You - hahaha!" It was all going to be all right, he realized, letting the sudden burst of humor carry him away. He had been threatened, and he had been hurt, but there was no one here who wanted to harm him. All he needed to do now was to lie still, and eventually the stranger would leave, taking what he had come for. Jonas might be poorer for it, sure, but those were material possessions that could be replaced. Jonas grinned in relief, and the stranger smiled back as Jonas nodded his head and let unconsciousness take him. All would be well. All would be well. For there, unmistakable across the stranger's face, there had been the telltale mask of the Burglar.
| 2016-10-30T21:34:50
| 2016-10-30T21:03:04
| 792
| 14
|
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives...
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Andy, my friend who shared my name day was by my side.
Both of us are 18 now.
He gave me a small fist bump before he looked to the horizon and reached with his hand, reaching across lands and seas, oceans and the sky.
I followed his movment, reaching with my own hand, trying to grab my future.
Andy was first, a ring, made of silver, with a sapphire as blue as his eyes in it.
He held it up for the people of the village behind us to see, for all knew what it was, a silver ring with a blue gem, the sign of a mage.
I heard cheers, but I didnt focus on them, my mind was elsewhere, searching for what is mine.
I felt it more than I saw it, but I had the feeling it was red. Red...
Maybe boots colored like the fallen leafs for a runner of the lord.
Or a sword in a red sheath for a fierce warrior.
A red necklace of the noble guardsman elite was possible although unlikely.
But while I could feel it, I was yet to reach it. I had to struggle to go farther.
As I was trying my best I felt the time pass, the sun goes down and the people behind me leaving slowly.
At the end only Andy stayed. Andy the mage.
It was late at night when I was finally done, now the red thing was a red dot at the dark horizon.
It flew straight for me, the same as Andy's ring flew to him.
And as it landed in my open hand I looked in wonder.
It was indeed red.
It was fire, raw and beautiful and full of life.
But it burned my hand, hot, pulsing pain.
I turned to Andy his blue eyes were wide with awe.
For we both knew what the fire was.
The 3 primal elements.
Lighting, pure white, the judgment of all souls. He who carries it is he who decides fate.
Fire, pure red, the cleanser of all souls, he who carries it is he who punish, whose deemed to be worthy of such punishment by the lighting.
Air, pure blue, the guider of all souls, he who carries it is he who guide the dead in their path on the amber road and the yet to be born through the silver gates.
I was fire, the hunter, the one who find the sinner, the one who make them regret their sins so they can be clean as air walks then onwards.
Mages and warriors, kings and farmers, ill and in good health, young and old, all come to fear the fire.
The moment the fire touched my hand I was doomed to life of solitude. Only lighting shall give me orders, only air will take my targets when I finish my task.
I will leave the village, I will leave Andy, I will leave the trees I grew around and the walls I grew in, the rocks I climbed and the river I swam in.
Andy looks at me and offer his clenched hend with a silver ring on it. A fist bump, a farewell.
|
A sea of gasps wash over the howling wails of my ex-girlfriend's hysteric sobbing. The dull roll of murmurs slithering its way around the crowd soon followed. To be honest I was quite shocked myself. I did not expect this, I had some suspicion, maaaaybe. But this, even by my standards this was a bit much. I looked around at my peers at the summoning. Some held common work tools, a few held precious gems... one lucky fool was holding the hand of a very beautiful woman that was pull out of the crowd. But I was the luckiest of them all.
"Albere, why is Albere in your hand!?" my ex-girlfriend shouted at me through her tears. I honestly didn't expect her to show up at my summoning. Sure we had been inseperable since we've been able to put together our first little sentences but it had been over between us for quite a few months now. I thought I made that clear.
"Why would you ask such a question? This is our..." looked at the small child held firmly in my grasp. "... this is MY son. You thought you could keep him from me! You thought you knew better but look..." I was so happy I could barely see the expression on her face through my own tears. I hadn't seen his little face in over a year but here he was in my arms.
"We weren't ready... you know that... I didn't take him away..." I saw her body fall to the ground as she collapse on her knees. "... please.. give him back... try the summoning again... this is wrong... you know this is wrong..." It was rare to see the little spoiled princess begging so shamelessly but from her tone I could hear she was serious. And I had a small idea as to why.
"OH! So that is why you are here. You were hoping that I was the wrong one... that I made a mistake and that I'd summon you!" The idea was so ridiculous that I couldn't contain my laughter. "Haha, you think I would want to be with someone like YOU!? You callous spoiled COW! I have my son.. I have my purpose! My world nor any other world in existence lives to revolve around you... OW... ow..."
My moment of triumph was interrupted as a few people in the crowd started to throw rocks and other small items at me. Turning to shield my son, I welcomed the assault and the bruises they would leave behind. I'd wear them like medals of honor. "You're all COWS! Livestock feeding on the conveniences of your placid complacent lives! I will be great... I will be greater than all of you!"
"Please..." she pleaded more. "Albere is dead... let him rest... let him go... " I wanted to yell back at her. I want to tell her that he was dead because of her. Her weakness. She never wanted him. But the small objects started to get larger.. and harder... and thrown with much more force. I had to run. I feared their anger would soon fester into a murderous rage. "Noooo stop it! No....."
I was shocked... almost touched. The spoil little cow was actually defending me. Going so far as to throw her frail little body in front of mine. I had to hold back a chuckle as one of the larger stones struck her in the head and she made this off-toned warble of a sound. I failed at my attempted obviously as I let loose a sound just as awkward that I could only describe as a chortle. Still for the first time in a severely long time the girl proved herself useful. The accidental strike to her head gave the crowd a moment's pause.
I didn't hesitate for a second. As fast as my feet could carry me I clutched my son's dead decaying body to my chest and I ran. I always had an inkling it was real. I knew if summoning existed other forms of magic could exist. This was my destiny. He came back to me for a reason. The death of my son was only a precursor to the birth of Necromancy in this world, and they would both refer to me as... Father. "I will bring him back... I will bring them ALL back. You'll see." I shouted out behind me. Not daring to look back over my shoulder to see upon what ears my words had landed.
| 2019-09-18T09:46:47
| 2019-09-18T09:06:29
| 61
| 32
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[WP] Courage does not always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, 'I will try again tomorrow.'
Quote by Mary Anne Radmacher
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They called me a coward when I didn't vote for the draft. Democracy - the very thing that we were sworn to defend - our very way of life was under threat, and every able-bodied man should pick up arms and defend it. Yes, even the ones that object - for isn't that how democracy worked? You went with the majority, even if it were a razor-thin one, and the others - well, they put up or they shut up. Respect the result of the referendum and all that, even if it takes away a critical right you might think you have.
So it was with great trepidation that I went up to collect my mail, and I saw two official-looking papers in the letterbox. One was a letter from someone way, way up in the government ranks. No doubt every single last one of these was handwritten with the greatest personal affection, like the sort that would befit men being sent off to meet their possible deaths. Anyway, the other one was a form to fill up, and a place to report so I could be inducted into the military. I tossed the two letters into the bin, but I kept a note of the date and time.
It hadn't been easy to get an enemy flag. Even the immigrants here - even those originally from behind enemy lines - they had been virulently pro war. There was no subversive 'fifth column' destined to undermine the foundations of democracy. It was evil to resist the draft, and almost downright treason to do so when our boys were over there fighting and dying in a war we all voted for. It *was* something we all supported, right? I didn't hear a squeak of dissent from any of the major papers here.
Sometimes the pro-war people get it wrong, and I often take great enjoyment in seeing it happen. For example, the pro-war side has this tactic of shaming the men still at home - because it's all the men's job to go out and fight while the women stay at home right? Anyway, what they do is they go around, wait on busses or train stops or public squares, and when they see an able-bodied man still around, they pounce. They stick a white feather into his cap. This marks him out as a coward and a traitor - but sometimes these men are fellows sent home from the front because of nervous breakdowns. In *those* cases - well, they are lucky if they are not thrown off the train outright, for as big of an insult to democracy war is, it's an even bigger insult to accuse soldiers of not fighting a war.
Anyway, I ride the bus to get to my appointed place and time. Before I left I locked up the house - I didn't think I would be seeing it for another two years or so. The bus, mercifully, was devoid of the cat-callers and whistlers that often came when it was only me around. Instead this bus was full of would-be soldiers, and I was thankful of the noise for once. It allowed me to gather my thoughts. I clutched the pole, hidden across my body, and prayed that I would get the chance to use it properly. It was scary, this not knowing - but courage wasn't the absence of fear. Courage was the presence of fear - and the determination to keep on going. Before long we stopped at the appointed position.
I got off the bus first, but before the sergeant could induct me into the Army, I reached inside my pocket, held up my forms, and tore it in front of him.
"I refuse the draft," I said simply. "I will not follow your orders. I understand that under Section 110(a) I can be sent to jail for a term of years not exceeding two for refusing the draft. I will now cooperate with you, and whatever questions you ask of me can be answered at a later time."
I held out my hands, and as the police handcuffed me, I smiled. They called me a coward for not voting for the draft. Well, I was going to go to prison for the things I believed in. Courage doesn't always roar, I thought, as I looked up at the white stars on a blue background. Courage sometimes whispers. Sometimes strength is the strength not to fight. And as the police led me inside, cutting off the flag and the sunlight, I heaved another sigh of relief. I could try again tomorrow - try to get people to see this draft is ridiculous. Sometimes courage is that quiet voice at the end of the day saying, 'I will try again tomorrow.' And so I kept smiling as they took me down.
---
For more stories visit /r/KCcracker!
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I opened the locker door and pretended to take a long time putting my chemistry book inside. The goal was to just be at the locker for as long as possible without making it obvious. My eyes were trained intently on the back wall, but I was constantly searching my periphery for anyone approaching. After a minute or so, I reached into my backpack for another book and used that as an excuse to check the hallway to my left. He'd be coming from his trig class in the C wing.
Glittery pink posters were plastered on every wall, advertising the upcoming prom. Other flyers for various clubs and next year's student elections were also posted everywhere, but in less garish colors. The sounds of books being thrown against the metal lockers seemed to echo through the hall. A few other students were just hanging out and talking, but for the most part everyone was out at lunch. David probably was too, but he'd be in his little island of popularity at the cool kid's table. There's no way I'd be able to strike up a conversa...
"Hey."
I jumped like there were spiders crawling up my legs. David just laughed from behind me. "Whoa, sorry. Didn't mean to scare you!" He approached and began spinning the lock of his own locker, conveniently located next to mine. I could already feel my cheeks burning. My plan for a casual, cool meeting had just gone completely out the window. *Perfect.*
"Oh, umm... hey." I reached back into my locker and pulled out the same chemistry book that I'd just put inside. I'd already had chemistry today, but there's no way that David wou...
"Didn't you have chem this morning?" I looked up to find a puzzled expression on his face, and he nodded at the book in my hand. "Why are you putting it back in your backpack?"
My mind froze up at the worst possible time. "Oh..." managed to escape from my lips. "Right." I gave a forced, awkward laugh. "Just spaced out, I guess." Inside, my brain was battering itself against my skull. Now he not only thought I was weird and jumpy, but completely stupid too. "Thanks for pointing it out." I tried to recover what little dignity I had left, and I gave him a big smile. He flashed a quick, slightly confused grin back at me and went back to putting stuff into his locker.
"So, what are you up to this weekend? Big plans?" I was doing my best to sound casually disinterested while also striking my most sultry pose and gazing into his eyes. But he wasn't looking at me, which made that a bit difficult.
"Not really. My parents are dragging me to some event that my cousin is organizing." He was digging through his backpack and not even noticing me. "What about you?"
"I'm free," I answered too quickly. Then immediately recognized my mistake. "I mean, still deciding, you know? But I'd be up for anything, really."
"Yeah." He found what he was looking for and finally glanced up at me. I smiled again. Maybe this was it. Maybe I hadn't messed everything up too bad.
"Have you seen that movie The Refuge?" I asked, hinting as hard as I could. "Carrie went with her boyfriend last weekend and said it was pretty good." I emphasized 'boyfriend' a bit.
"No, haven't seen it," he answered.
"Ah. I kind of want to see it, but I heard it's pretty scary." I wasn't really the type to be scared by scary movies, but I'd pretend to be if it meant that I could grab his hand in a moment of 'terror.' "Not something you can really go to alone. Or with friends." Was that *too* obvious? Was I throwing myself at him?
"Yeah, I heard that too." He slammed the locker closed and zipped up his backpack. "Well, let me know what you think. Maybe I'll go check it out later. I love scary movies." He turned away and walked back down the hall. My insides felt like lead. How hard did I have to hint for him to finally get it?
"David!" I called after him. Forget hinting. I was just going to come out and ask. I could do that, right? It's not too weird for a girl to ask out a guy, right? Around the hall, other people had stopped their conversations and turned to watch me and David. Maybe I'd shouted a bit too loud.
"Yeah?" he stopped and looked back. God he was handsome. He must have all sorts of girls trying to do the same thing. If he wasn't me asking out, then there was probably a reason for that. He'd have to reject me here in front of everyone. And if I asked *him*, I'd be a freak. Or a slut.
"Nothing," I answered. "See you later."
"Yeah, later." He headed toward the cafeteria.
I sighed and closed my locker. On the wall, the pink prom poster mocked me. But I still had a few months. *Tomorrow, I'll just ask*, I decided for the tenth time.
| 2016-07-18T06:41:11
| 2016-07-18T06:25:21
| 46
| 32
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[WP] Write a horror story in 100 words.
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Valentine's Day is a holiday about the heart, and now I am staring at hers. Throbbing, beating, her eyes are open and she is terrified. My hands are soaked in blood. I am surprised at myself. A smile crosses my lips.
She is desperate but we are alone. She is angry. I squeeze hard with my nails and her life explodes hot and gushes. It smells like a shiny new penny as I begin chewing on a rib bone.
|
Something is at your door. Don't open the door. Look trough the window but don't open the door. You see something, be careful so that it doesn't see you. It's trying to come inside, just be quiet and wait for it to go away. Breathe quietly as time passes. You have to do something. Whatever is at your door is still trying to come inside. Hide somewhere safe. While you try to slowly walk to the kitchen to grab a knife, hell in your mind becomes a reality. Before you thought of a way to escape, it was too late.
| 2017-10-17T06:24:21
| 2017-10-17T05:54:01
| 52
| 15
|
[WP] What if after you die, you wake up with a bong in your hand and your alien friend asks "How was it?".
|
He wakes up with a bong in his hand, and his alien friend asks, "how was it?"
He cries at that. Tears stream down his cheeks, his chest heaves. He's not crying because he's sad. He's crying because that's the only thing his body can do, in response to *that*. That experience. It's the carnal response to it.
"Woah there, what are you doing? What is that coming out of your eyes?"
"I-It's a-a thing th-at happens *there*."
"Where?"
The field they're in suddenly seems infinitesimally large. His brain feels like a melancholy song. Perhaps that's what life is supposed to feel like. He'd heard about this before. He didn't think it was *this* intense. The darkness of the night is overwhelming. The three moons in the sky provide little light. The only sound is his sobs. Jesus, his chest hurts from that.
"W-where ya go."
"Is it really that bad?"
"Lordie, it is. Y-you don't know until you *feel* it."
"What happens?"
This entire thing was his friend's idea. But, oh, that experience was indescribable. The first bit is fuzzy, he doesn't know why. He can't even remember how he came into that- that world. He only remembers the man telling him about it, how it'd been a violent ordeal. An entrance full of screaming, and tears, and blood. How he'd lost the woman that meant the most to him. He misses that man, he realizes. He didn't think he'd be able to feel that, in *this* body.
"You kinda just get thrown in, an' I d-don't really remember the first bit, honestly. But there were other, well, things there," he struggles to find the words, "they told me about the first bit."
"What did they look like?"
"Their skin was peachy, I dunno, it was so weird. They looked like us, but that skin. It wasn't green. And everyone's eyes weren't black. There-there were so many different colours. His were brown."
"Jesus, maybe this stuff's too strong."
He thinks about the years following that moment. Or at least, it felt like years. He'd loved the man so much. *Love*, it was so new to him. But not new at all. He'd never felt it before. That ache. When he was away from them too long, he felt homesick. *For* them. He misses him right then. He misses laying down with him in bed, curled up and comforted. When he had those dreams. That was crazy too. *Dreams*. He was awake without being awake. The sobs bubble up again.
"I love that man."
"Love?"
How could he describe it? It's something so abstract, so intangible. You don't feel love, really, but you know when you do. It falls apart so, so hard. NO matter how bad someone's being, you love the good. No matter how fleeting that is. It was looking into the man's eyes. Him pulling him into his chest. Beard tickling his forehead.
"You have to feel it to know it."
Does he love his friend? Sure, maybe.
"Well, what happened after the fuzzy bit?"
"There was a lot of pain."
"Pain? You got hurt? We should get you to the hospital-"
"Not like that. Like, my brain was hurting."
"That-"
"No, not physically. Everything I thought hurt. Every emotion, too."
"Huh."
The friend doesn't understand. How could he? He'd never felt anything apart from "fine" and "curious".
The pain he felt though; that was real. He remembered when she broke up with him. Something that'd never hurt before. Not *here*. But *there*? He didn't think he'd ever felt that pain. The man had coddled him after that. Given chocolate. "Everyone's first hurts a lot. More than anything'll ever hurt in your life," and that smile. Then, when he realized he loved men. Lusted after men. The pain he felt in his stomach. That *clench*. He'd been so anxious. But the man just smiled and said he didn't care. He was his son after all. Why would who he loves change the fact that he loves him? The hug after that. That's what got him.
The pain he felt when his second love broke up with him. The pain of exams. The pain of having to work so hard. Times where all he'd wanted to do was go down on his knees, and beg for it to be over.
"It's like breaking a bone, but in your thoughts. Y'know, there are millions and billions and trillions of stars, and I was down there, fussing over scars. It was... Exhilarating."
"Right."
The other is staring at him confused.
The pain he felt when the man got older and older. The pain when that man died. Fuck, that'd been horrible. He'd missed the man so much. *Fuck*. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt. He'd been upset when his dog had died. But this? It came close to nothing else. He'd cried so much. He'd knelt down, hugged the tombstone and begged for the pain to be over. Begged for his daddy back. It was so unfair. He'd been only seventy-five. He screamed, so, so, so loudly. His body, not just sad, but desperate. He didn't know what to do. He'd felt trapped, weighed upon by expectations and needs and wants. He just wanted his daddy back.
"But- but there was a lot of good too."
"Yeah?"
The man picking him up and twirling him around, when he was little. The man hugging him, twirling him about, when he graduated. All three times. His first kiss, with the man who would be his husband. The kiss at their wedding. Laughing and being stupid with his friends, all through his life. The birth of his first son. And then his second. And then his third. Seeing them graduate, and learn, and grow. Seeing them have babies of their own. The sex with his husband, god that'd be a highlight. Going up and up in his job. His husband doing the same.
There were so many moments. Some good. Some soul-crushingly bad. All worthwhile.
He'd lived a lifetime.
He wants to go back.
"Should I?"
"You'll regret it forever."
He knows he will.
He's seen so much, loved so many, hated so much too. Passion and disinterest. Writer's block and pure inspiration. So much. And he can never feel it again. Not in the same way. He wants his dad back. His husband. His children.
"Should I?"
"Yes."
And with that, a newborn came screaming and fighting into the world.
He didn't know the life of sorrow ahead of him. He didn't know the pain. The scars he'd amass.
He didn't know how he wouldn't know about them at all, as he grew and loved and cared, and never became bitter in the face of it all.
|
All I could muster up to say at the time was, "Woah."
"You've been out for about an hour now. You had me worried."
"Where are we? What... What are we?" I began to panic as I rushed to the door.
"You should sit down. I've never seen anybody react this way to Earth weed before."
"Earth weed? Did you just say that I was on Earth weed? No, I've smoked Earth weed, hell, I've even turned 'Earth weed' into fucking lollipops and gave them out on Halloween. That was not Earth weed."
"It affects you differently when you're down there. I tried telling you that before your consciousness was transferred."
Suddenly, it felt like a waterfall of memories had just crashed on my head, filling it like a water balloon about to pop. "I remember now."
"How do you feel?"
"Better. Living on our planet is shit, but living as an organism on that planet was actual hell."
"I couldn't agree more. Want another hit?"
"Ha, no thanks, I think I'll face my space cancer like a man now."
A few weeks went by, until I found myself in a hospital bed surrounded by friends and family. "I guess this is it." I said as I took my last breath.
My friend grabbed my hand and said, "We'll never forget you, Roy."
...................."Final Score.... 65000 points"...............
"Geez Morty, how many Flurbos are you going to waste on that game? You'll never beat my high score."
| 2017-04-09T04:01:39
| 2017-04-09T03:52:37
| 59
| 17
|
[WP]: Suddenly, everyone with tattoos gains powers related to the tattoo. Tattoos of flames, you control fire. A tattoo of a gecko, you can climb on walls. All dudes with "tribal" tattoos have strangely bonded together.
|
My shop is flooded. Absolutely flooded.
No, I don’t mean literally. Haven’t had the joy of meeting someone with a wave tattoo yet, although those are in high demand.
I mean figuratively flooded. Filled to the brim with people, shoulder-to-shoulder, crashing into the designs I meticulously laminated and taped to my crumbling wall, ripping them from it and losing them to the masses. People with matching grimaces waving wads of cash in their hands and shouting over each other, drowning each other out. White noise that shakes my little parlor and my cranium along with it. I steady my ink bottles.
Since “it” happened, every tattoo parlor on this side of the equator has been brimming with patrons, lines wrapping around the block and choking out the sidewalks. Men, women, children, and…the usual drunken college students cheering, “Spring break!”. At least that hasn’t changed. That, and the law.
The tattoo laws haven’t changed. If anything, they’ve gotten stricter—but I’ve given up trying to follow the news after the pandemonium that broke out. In the wake of heavily-tattooed superhumans just—poof!—appearing overnight, the government tried to limit tattoos even more than before. But hey, desperate times call for desperate measures, and people do what they have to in order to survive. I did.
I learned how to tattoos designs that would take hours in half that time. I learned which tattoos manifested what power, I learned how to explain them to people at a breakneck pace. I learned how to take cash first and not ask questions.
It started out harmless enough. People with pop culture tattoos could imitate the character of their choice perfectly. People with compass tattoos had an impeccable sense of direction. People with eyeball tattoos could see from that eye. But when millions upon millions of people wake up with fire shooting from their fingers, with water spraying up from each nail like a fountain, with earth-shaking powers at their fingertips, you gotta learn to adjust. That’s just some of the tame ones—rednecks with guns tattooed on their backs shot ammunition from finger guns, hipsters with inspirational quotes suddenly became VERY persuasive, goth kids with grim reaper tattoos kill everything they touch—don’t even get me started on the people with soundwave or planet tattoos. Just like that, millions of people across the world gained spectacular and awe-inspiring powers. It didn’t take long for humanity’s lifelong fantasy of superheroes to come true.
But things got ugly.
Not everybody wanted to be a superhero. People who had felt powerless all their lives—angry, bitter people—used their power to hurt people that had wronged them. Still, they weren’t satisfied, and they wreaked havoc across the world. Cities were taken down by colossal earthquakes. Tornadoes picked up in the mountainsides, floods washed over desert towns. Overgrowth and flower beds in wooded areas swallowed people whole. As a response, the government started demonizing tattoos and the destruction they caused.
Now, people are scrambling for them.
Some want guns, swords, to protect themselves physically. Some want fire, floods, earthquakes, tornadoes to protect themselves elementally. Some want animals, big cats and elephants to crush or claw their attackers. Some want portraits of loved ones killed in the destruction because at least in one way, they’ll always be with them. Even if it’s just an illusion.
The smart ones get shields.
I’ve seen those shields in action—an enormous wall of fire bearing down on a child, but in the split second before contact, a hum. A frequency that reverberates in the air and makes ears pop, then—BOOM!—a hexagonal prism of force, like glass, expands around the kid. All attacks bounce off of it effortlessly, and when the shock subsides, they run. They run with that shield around them, safe for only a few hours, but safe all the same.
The mothers, most especially, clamor for their children to get one, no matter how small.
See, the size doesn’t matter. It’s the ink that does. How clean the tat is, how steady the lines, how worn it is. The better the quality, the stronger the potency, and I’ve learned how to make them…pretty damn good.
What about me, you may ask? If I can tattoo somebody that fast, should I be the most overpowered asshole on the planet?
Well, yeah. Maybe.
I do have one tattoo. One. And it’s not of God, or the Milky Way, or anything colossal like that.
It’s a raven.
A little raven on my shoulder blade, wings in flight.
I’ve seen other people with bird tattoos. I know I could spread my wings and fly on outta here any time I want. But the truth is?
Tattoo parlors are in bigger demand than ever. Sure, it’s a good source of income, but my profession has become a matter of life and death. There are a lot of people who need me, need people like me. I’m not one to let ‘em down.
The tiger head I’ve been working on is just about finished. One last streak of orange, and the guy is good to go. The bandaging only takes a few extra minutes, and he’s quickly back on his feet, although wincing. “Powers should set in in a few hours,” I tell him. He nods, serious as a balding 50-year-old can be, and fights his way out the door of the parlor. I change out the needle and the tube.
“Next!”
|
They used to laugh at her. Being an outcast, Adreal had never had an easy life. She was never into the typical girly things, reading old books and constantly browsing weird websites, people called her a witch and freak. She loved music though. It made her feel alive and let her feel like she mattered even if it was just in three and a half minute snippets. Musical note’s were her first ink, once she turned 18 and didn’t need to get permission from her mom and Jerry, her step-dad.
Her second tattoo was a clock on her left shoulder. She got it after her friend Jason got hit by a drunk driver her sophomore year of college. It helped her remember that time was fleeting, everyone’s time comes and usually not when you would expect. After his passing Adreal turned to stories and fantasy to get her through. She became obsessed with Lovecraft stories and magical fantasies, frequently getting small tattoos of characters or creatures from the stories she held so dearly.
She hadn’t been home since graduating high-school, choosing to leave her past behind her. Her mother needed her help though, Jerry had been diagnosed with cancer and her mom had become a recluse. After 10 years of being away Adreal returned to her childhood home as memories came flooding back to her. From getting made fun of on her walk’s to school, to passing by the pizza place where the owner would sneak her a slice when he suspected she got her lunch thrown out by the bullies.
*Knock, knock, knock.*
“Adreal!!”
“Hi mom,” she sheepishly smiled, “been a while.”
“Sweetie, I am so glad you’re here. Jerry is going to be thrilled to see you!” Tears began to fill her eyes.
“How’s he doing?” Adreal had never been fond of Jerry, after her dad had left her Jerry attempted to fill that void. In Jerry’s defense he didn’t do anything wrong or worthy of Adreal not liking him, but she didn’t think that Jerry would ever replace her real father. She was quite frankly a jerk to him growing up, always arguing and yelling at him, when all Jerry did was support her.
“He’s okay. I told him you might stop by and his smile lit up the house again,” she ushered Adreal into the living room where Jerry was sitting in his wheelchair hooked up to an IV. “Look who came to visit love!”
Before Jerry could respond a bright flash caused everyone to cover their eyes. A burning sensation on Adreal’s shoulder cause her to yell in pain and collapse. After what felt like an eternity she regained her composure and stood up apologizing for yelling, except she was met with silence. Looking around it appeared as if time had frozen. Reaching back to touch her shoulder she noticed in the reflection of the hallway mirror that her clock tattoo had seared through her shirt and appeared to be glowing. Thinking about the tattoo seemed to make it stop glowing and both her mom and Jerry move again.
“What was that,” whispered Jerry.
“I don’t know Jerry,” began Adreal, “but I think I know how to give you and mom some more time together.” Resting a hand on both of their shoulders she smiled. “I’m sorry that I was such a pain growing up. You did more for me than you will ever know. Thank you dad.” Closing her eyes one last time as a tear trickled down her cheek, she thought about her tattoo one last time, as time stood still.
-----
Thank you for the prompt! I am always looking for any constructive criticism to improve my writing. I know that this kinda seemed rushed but I hope you enjoy!
r/PlopWrites
| 2019-05-07T09:20:49
| 2019-05-07T07:47:53
| 913
| 218
|
[WP] As a hero's apprentice you knew that the training would be grueling, but you didn't expect the hero to be actively trying to kill you during your drills. After sixteen months of torturous training you've finally snapped and have decided to kill the hero however you can.
|
Part 1/2
American Son was one of the greatest heroes the world had ever known. A lone WWII soldier who was resurrected by the goddess Nike and granted incredible power, American Son had been saving the world for almost eighty years. He was a founding member of the People's Champions, an instructor at Truman Hero Prep, and the first human to win the intergalactic gladiatorial combat reality show called Deadlock. And for over a year, he'd been the man personally training me in the ways of heroing. He's also been the man trying to kill me for over a year.
It was small at first. A couple of instructor drones malfunctions here, a couple of live rounds sneaking into the training turrets there. But then it started getting a lot more brazen: he'd sneak up on me with a knife when I was sleeping, stopped pulling his punches in combat practice, and would deliberately not patrol with me when the really dangerous villains were on the prowl, all under the pretense of toughening me up. I didn't know why he did it (I suspected it was some kind of holdover of 1930s values, considering I was an openly gay Japanese-American girl), but I didn't care anymore. I just wanted the bastard dead.
I was watching American Son from the safety of the air vent, transformed into my *koropukkuru* form so I wouldn't trip the motion sensors. I didn't know the first thing about killing someone, but I knew better than to try something right out of the gate. I needed to study the man first. As I watched him eat his Sriracha sauce covered egg sandwich, I began to run through the possible ways I could--wait. Sriracha sauce?
I'd been training with American Son for long enough to know that the man hated spicy foods. And the more I thought about it, the less logic I saw in my reasoning. If American Son was trying to kill me, why would I try to kill him in retaliation? Shouldn't I have gone to the rest of the People's Champions for help? There was an explanation for what was going on, but I really hoped I was wrong.
I dropped out of the air vent and turned back into a human. American Son looked back at me as I entered the cafeteria and waved me over. "Daiyokai! Whatcha doing, lurking around?"
I shrugged. "Stealth practice. You always say training doesn't stop when you leave the classroom."
"Well, I'm always right."
"Yeah, you always say that too." I plopped down into the seat next to him. "So, Sriracha sauce? Thought you had the spice tolerance of a British grandpa."
American Son chuckled. "Yeah, well, just because you can't teach an old dog new tricks doesn't mean you can't get him to eat a new kind of treat. Hey, your shoulder doing okay?"
I gave my left arm a few rotations. "It was pretty stiff for a while, but I'm okay now."
"Good, good. I'm sorry about that, but hey, supervillains aren't the type to go easy on you, right? But uh, let's just keep it between the two of us, yeah?"
"Sure, sure. Just one question though: when you refer to the two of us, do you mean American Son and I, or you and me?"
American Son stopped eating. "Umm... there's only the two of us here."
"No no, there's three of us. Me, American Son, and you, Bloodletter."
"Um, Dai, I think we should take you to the--"
I interrupted by slapping an expulsion charm onto his wrist. Within seconds, American Son was writhing on the floor as a glowing red vapor exited his body. The vapor took on a more solid form as American Son collapsed to the ground unconscious. As the red vapor solidified into a man in an all-red bodysuit covered in lines like scars, he looked at me and scowled. "You, my friend, are far too smart for your own good."
|
The apprentice hobbled away from the training ground. His leg had been injured when he was forced to crouch, sidestep and dodge all at once. It would likely have gone better in his thin leather armour than the heavy plate he wore.
“I will get my revenge.” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for his own cathartic need but still quietly out of fear of being heard. The apprentice let slip a wry smile hearing the thought come out loud. He had been promised into fame and riches by joining with the esteemed knight almost two years before. All he’d received in reality was dozens of trips to the healers, multiple broken bones, fractures, cuts that oozed weeks after they should have closed and even a lost finger. He was aware going in that it wouldnt be easy but this?
The walk over to the healers tent took him twice as long as it would have when the day started and for that grievance he hated the knight doubly. It felt less a lesson and more a humiliation.
“Back again so soon?” smiled the good doctor as his patient lifted the tent flap open.
“I can’t do this any more.”
“Giving up? And we were just becoming friends with how regular you’ve become! What is it today?” the doctor said, walking over to the apprentice examining him up and down with each step. “Ah the hand is healing up well I see!”
“Just the leg, please.” he winced as he sat stiffly on a short wooden stool with one leg kept as straight as he could manage.
“And,” he began with the best annoyed expression he could find from beneath the real pain of his leg “do you have to bring up the finger every time?”
The doctor turned to his workbench and made a racket of clinks as the potions and oils all clattered together. Suddenly he spun with a bright red vial of liquid held neatly between two fingers.
“I will keep bringing it up until you understand.” the doctor knelt and dripped the red liquid in seemingly specific spots up the injured leg. The tiny droplets worked their way into the skin and had an appearance of steaming while they worked. Magic. The apprentice groaned as the liquid fixed his leg almost new within moments. It was an uncomfortable sensation though better than losing limbs as they couldn’t be grown back.
“Understand what? You say the same thing every time like there's something I’ve missed and don’t you dare make light of me missing my finger!” frustrated the apprentice went to get up to leave in a hurry but not before the doctor planted a firm hand on his shoulder and pressed him back down.
“I want you to seriously think about the finger, apprentice.” he said with a stern expression on his face much like a teacher with a young student.
“It’s a finger! It’s lost! It can’t do me any good now can it!”
“Oh for-” the doctor rubbed his temples before moving over to the door and lifting up the tent flap, “How did you lose the finger apprentice?”
Across the training ground the hero and his wife could be seen talking and laughing.
“I had him.” the apprentice started, “I so nearly had him. He’s been out for my head since the day I started but I learned and I got better and then when I had him beaten she used her magic to stop me.”
“We’re getting there but I fear you still haven’t grasped my point. How did you lose the finger? She used her magic, yes, her magic sword. The magic sword that inflicts upon its enemy whatever the user can withstand. That magic sword! The sword in which she used to cut off her own finger in a moments breath to force you to drop your weapon!”
Finally it sunk in. For weeks the doctor had been poking at and hinting that he should use the sword! The apprentice didn’t have time to test his renewed leg before he was up and sprinting right for the couple across the yard. He tore off his damaged armor pieces awkwardly tossing them to the side as he ran faster and faster with each piece dropped.
The doctor tutted and shook his head as he watched the apprentice move at some speed across the yard. He hadn’t meant to launch the lad into a robbery there and then but he was still interested to see how it would play out. Standing in the opening of the tent, he grabbed some empty vials that needed wiping and stood watch.
The apprentice ran without a plan like planning had ever helped him before. The knight watched his approach and jogged lightly back into the sparring ground ready for the surprise attack. Barely noticing the knight stood there with his sword drawn, the apprentice kept running full speed past the slow, heavy knight. Barreling towards the young woman. Before she had time to react he tackled her into the ground at full force and unsheathed the blade that she kept on her hip. The knight had been ready for the surprise, she hadn’t.
The apprentice stood and turned sword in hand to face the plated knight. The pair locked eyes and as he wondered how the blade worked he stabbed it straight through his own hand.
The knight shouted as his sword dropped from his hand, clattering to the ground. The apprentice gleefully unsheathed the magic blade from his now wounded hand and he watched as the knight plodded toward him. A sudden maniacal urge took the apprentice, causing pain wasn’t enough. He wanted revenge, real revenge. He took the blade and sliced it sideways behind his knees cutting deep into his hamstrings. As he fell to the floor himself he made sure to watch as the knight fell too, he had endured months of this agony facing the hero knight in the name of training. He had trained well for this moment he realised. Stabbing the blade deep into his shoulder, the pain was hardly noticeable to himself as the joy overwhelmed him at seeing the knight crawl.
The apprentice rolled onto his back with some difficulty, blade in hand. He accepted that his fate was his own. This was more important to him than anything. Laughing, he sliced the blade over his own throat. The knight crawled past him as his laugh turned to gurgle. Using the last of his energy he tilted his head sideways and saw that the woman he had barreled into was still on the floor behind him. Blood poured from her neck as the knight cradled her now lifeless body.
| 2022-10-27T18:20:59
| 2022-10-27T15:55:25
| 108
| 38
|
[WP] You are a weapons maker and dealer, who owns a shop between dimensions. One day, a customer comes in with a unusual request.
|
Oh, how I hated dealing with Sengo. She creeped me out.
“Say that again, Sengo. I must have heard you wrong.”
“You heard me the first time, Shop Keeper.”
“I know, but it sounded dumb to me. You’re a lot of things, but you’re not that dumb.”
I left out all of the adjectives that I wanted to use, leaving it at that. I couldn’t exactly be picky about customers. There weren’t many people that could even detect the dimensional barriers, let alone cross them. And when you set up shop in the void between dimensions, your clientele necessarily have to be able to cross dimensions.
“I want a scope, Shop Keeper.”
“That part I can do. It’s the second part of your request that makes me question your sanity.”
“A scope that peers into other dimensions?”
“Yes. You know the physics as well as I do. Think of your travel here.”
“Yes yes, the barriers act as tides. So?”
“So … I can’t push aside the barrier to peep on other dimensions. There’s too much matter. And even if I could make such a thing, you couldn’t actually hit your target. The bullet would have to travel the tides, same as any of us. The object would be gone by the time bullet arrived. You might as well be firing into the past.”
“I know all of that, Shop Keeper. Humor me. Can it be done?”
I grit my teeth, but nevertheless set my mind to trying to solve the problem.
“I don’t know. I’ve never tried it. It’s a crazy request.”
“If I pay double your usual rate, can you do it?”
I think that was one of the biggest things that annoyed me about Sengo: the sheer pompousness. She threw money around as if it would solve everything. Even so, double the rate was a mighty rich prize for making the attempt.
“I can’t make any promises. I’ll keep the deposit no matter what, same as always.”
“Fair enough.”
“You’re crazy, Sengo, you know that?”
“I’ll see you in sixty cycles, Shop Keeper,” she said with a wry smile.
— — — — —
For once in my life, I was happy to see Sengo. In fact, I was downright giddy.
“I did it!”
Sengo barely cracked a smile.
“I suppose that’s why I patronize this establishment, Shop Keeper.”
“Ha! As if you had any other options,” I retorted with more than a little pride. “Take a look. Here’s your scope.”
Sengo handled the object gingerly, quite aware that it was one of a kind.
“So, how’d you do it?” she asked as she inspected the object.
“Sound. I was so caught up with trying to find the most recent image that I kept trying to measure light. The trick was to measure sound instead.”
“Like measuring the tide?”
“Precisely. You’re not looking for a recent image anyway, you just need a precise image. So long as I can get a clear measurement on the other side, your scope will work. Well, lots of clear measurements. That’s what makes the image so clear.”
“Not bad, Shop Keeper. Not bad,” Sengo threw out half-heartedly. The words were right, but the mental energy wasn’t there. It was as if she was already thinking about something else.
By then, the thrill of describing my invention had worn off, so Sengo’s mannerisms were starting to be annoying again.
“Anything else I can help you with, Sengo?”
“One more thing, Shop Keeper. Can I test it?” Sengo asked, mentally returning to the shop. She drew a sidearm from her holster, placing it on the counter.
“No way. You’d be firing blind.”
“Not entirely. We’d know which dimension we’d be firing into, we just need to pick a barren location devoid of life. What does it matter if we shoot at a rock on a desert on a random world?”
“I suppose that’d be all right.”
“Look, I’ll even let you fire the weapon. That way you know everything is above board.”
“All right. We just need a barren dimension.”
“I bet you I can find one. How do I tune the scope?”
“Rotate the lens. That controls how far away the sound travels.”
“Ah, I see. Clever,” Sengo muttered as she fiddled with the scope. “Aha! There, take a look.”
I looked through the scope to validate Sengo’s target, and it looked like exactly the sort of wasteland that no living soul would pass through. I hated to admit it, but the picture on the other side of the scope did make Sengo’s plan seem pretty reasonable.
“That’ll do.”
“Say, Shop Keeper, how long have I been here?”
“About a hundredth of a cycle, I’d say.”
“About a hundredth? Or exactly a hundredth?”
Oh, how Sengo knew how to get on my nerves. I’d just invented a brand new, entirely useless item based solely on her whim. Why was she was quibbling about what time she’d walked through the door? It took all of my willpower to contain my groan as I turned to the time piece in the corner, but somehow, I managed it.
“Exactly one hundredth, Sengo.”
“Say, Shop Keeper, do you know any good jokes?”
Now she wanted me to do a comedy routine for her? Did she have no sense of decency? Whatever was going through her head, I just wanted her gone from my shop. The sooner this transaction completed, the better.
“No, I most certainly do not.”
“Fine. I suppose I’ll just have to tell one myself. Do you know what they call a-”
“Sengo, do you want the scope or not?”
“Yes, Shop Keeper. Just trying to keep it light hearted.”
“That’d be a first,” I muttered under my breath.
“Anyhow, Shop Keeper, shall we test the scope?” Sengo asked with a quick glance towards the time piece. Suddenly, she was in a hurry.
“Fine, give me the weapon. I’ll aim for the large rock.”
“No, aim for the smaller one, the one about shoulder height.”
“Why that one?”
“It’s smaller. If we want to test the accuracy, we need a small target, not a large one.”
“Fine, whatever you say, Sengo. Two shots and then you pay.”
“Agreed.”
I aimed carefully, sighting the rock in the scope, and squeezed off two bullets. They wouldn’t arrive for two cycles.
“There. Happy now?”
“Quite,” she replied with a cold smile.
— — — — —
I didn’t hear the news until two cycles later. The Galactic Empress was murdered en route to a diplomatic mission. Despite the royal guard’s best efforts, the Empress had been gunned down by two shots to the chest.
It was that last detail that made alarms in my head go off. Could it be? How could Sengo have known? Could she have been that clever?
To my dismay, the news vid all but confirmed my fears.
“… the Empress always travels via unknown roads, to minimize her exposure … the head of the royal guard kept the route a tightly guarded secret … the attack would’ve required precision …”
Oh, how I hated dealing with Sengo.
|
"You better buy these banana guns now. By Tuesday, once the new legislation comes out, they'll be confiscating them. You'll have to be a registered banana gun holder."
"Why's that?"
"Government thinks that supplying people with bananas is a privilege, not a right."
"But that's bananas! It's just bananas. How are we going to protec- excuse me, feed our marmosets, if we don't have these banana guns."
"I don't know. Do it some other way. Hand-feed them."
"You know we can't hand feed them. Some of them marmosets get quite wild when we get too close. The only chance we got at surviving, is one of these bananazookas or maybe this banavolver."
"Maybe you should call your local congressman."
"I reckon I will. . ."
| 2017-11-27T22:51:54
| 2017-11-27T20:24:20
| 74
| 10
|
[WP] Mankind has never achieved first contact: Aliens flee on sight; Even their planets are left behind. One day, misfortune brings opportunity: an alien ship with a crew can't make the jump.
So, my first WP. I would love to see which direction you'll take it. I'll read all replies and should you wish so, provide feedback.
|
*Jim, and his pal, Phil, are taking a road trip across the galaxy. They haven't been speaking to each other for quite some time now. Phil breaks the silence.*
Phil: Look, I'm sorry.
Jim: I can't believe you didn't get fuel. We're going to run into them, you know.
Phil: Look, no-one has had to deal with the humans yet, why should it be us?
Jim: That's a pretty weak line of reasoning, and you know it.
*A warning light appears on the dashboard. A message appears: 'Unknown Galactic Address Attempting Contact.'*
Jim: Ah, shit.
Phil: Is that-
Jim: Yep.
Phil: Should we-
Jim: We can't run now. Let's just confront this and get it over with.
Phil: But-
Jim: Look, someone has to do this eventually. It sucks that it's going to be us, but, you know, of anyone that's had to do this, we're among the most well-equipped of our entire race - of the entire galaxy - to deal with first contact with the humans.
Phil: Ok, Jim, I know you have a pretty high opinion of yourself, but-
*The ship, while they were talking, docked alongside theirs. A door opens on the ship, and a tall human man in a spacesuit walks into the cabin. The man's name is Abraham. He has a rapturous look in his eyes as he sees Phil's and Jim's green skin.*
A: My god! Is it... I can't believe...
*Phil and Jim both breath out a synchronous annoyed sigh.*
Jim (directed at both Phil and Abraham) : Well, thanks a lot, assholes.
*Abraham is stunned in confusion.*
Phil: Hope you got a few months to spare... what's your name?
Abraham (recovering, his arm extended): Pleased to meet you, noble emissaries! My name is Abraham.
*Phil reaches into a file cabinet to his right side and pulls out a gigantic pile of folders, shoving it into Abraham's arms.*
Abraham (confused): What's this?
Jim (pouring himself a large drink from a hidden cabinet): Well, since we're the first people registered in the Galactic Federation to run into 'humans', and you're the first person of your species to find us, we, including you, are directly responsible for processing your entire god-damn species into the Galactic Registry.
Abraham: Wait... a federation? There's more of you? But, everywhere we go, every planet that we run into, me and my colleagues have seen nothing but the former husks of-
Phil (interrupting): Yeah, that's because the forms are such a *bitch*. No-one wants to do them.
*Abraham is still confused. Jim offers him the drink that he was nursing, and starts pouring himself another while he explains.*
Jim: Because your species wants *so fucking bad* to explore the rest of the known universe and yada yada yada, someone needs to make sure that the rest of the Federation knows humanity's general history, biology, psychology, current understanding of natural phenomena, etcetera. We want to make sure that we can nuke away any species that seem dangerous as soon as possible-
*Abraham starts, startled at the implication.*
Jim: Don't worry, don't worry, the Federation just wants to make sure you're not all psychopaths. We've been doing this for a few millenia now, and we've only had to do it... twice, right Phil?
Phil (already starting on the forms): Just once. I think it was the Saiyans.
Jim: Oof, those guys were scary. Warrior race, delusions of grandeur, it was a whole thing. They were just about to figure out how to channel... I'm getting off-track. So, it's policy for any individual citizen to process new species on first contact. It takes most people at least 6 months to do them. People don't casually have six months to drop, so most just run away whenever they hear about a new species that's just starting to explore the galaxy. Usually, you guys don't explore around for more than a couple months, so people just wait it out off-planet until you all leave.
Abraham (hesitating): And... what if there was someone that was actually dangerous? If people are running away, wouldn't that... I don't know, just give them more time to develop their lethal capabilities?
Phil (throwing his arms up in the air in exasperation): That's what I'm saying, right? Goddamn Transgalactic Service Administration, bureaucrats with heads so far up their own ass-
Abraham: Wait, you're government is called the TSA?
Jim: Yeah, why?
Abraham (shaking his head): The more things change...
*Abraham starts working on his share of the forms. One small step for man, one smaller leap for bureaucracy.*
|
"Sir, Lieutenant Fullerton reporting as ordered."
"At ease. Sit." Captain Henshaw said, gesturing to the chair opposite him.
"Lieutenant, I know you've filled out your incident report, but I need to hear it from you. Everything that happened. You have permission to speak freely.
"And what about him, sir?" Fullerton said, nodding towards the the civilian-attired figure standing in the corner.
"I think you can guess why he is here."
Lieutenant Fullerton nodded.
"We entered Xeros VI around 16:15 GST. The planet had already been evacuated. When we arrived, their ships were already jumping, except for one. My science officer said that their warp-fusion matrix had gone faulty."
"Go on."
"They maneuvered as best they could with their sub-light drives. I coordinated with the gunships *Tallahassee* and *Rome* to trap him in the asteroid belt around the moon. I tasked Sergeant Bishop with leading the boarding party. At 17:30 the landing shuttle initiated breach."
"And?"
"The Xarthid crew members were all dead. Self-inflicted. We captured the captain as he was trying to scuttle the ship."
"Thank you Lieutenant. We'll call you if you're needed."
"Yes sir." He said, snapping a salute.
Captain Henshaw watched silently as Lieutenant Fullerton left the room. He let out a sigh and was rubbing his eyes when his personal communicator chirped. He answered, and listened in silence for a long moment, before saying "Understood" and hanging up. He swiveled to face the silent man in the corner
"That Xarthid Captain we captured just committed suicide. Snapped off one of his incisors with his bare hands and slit his throat with it."
The silent man nodded, a contemplative look on his face. Henshaw continued.
"They've run at every contact, and kill themselves when captured. What does it mean?"
"It means they're deathly afraid of us, and we haven't the slightest clue why."
| 2015-03-15T00:29:36
| 2015-03-14T20:54:04
| 32
| 13
|
[WP] After several thousand years of gathering coins from passengers, Charon the Ferryman has finally saved up enough money to buy what he wanted.
|
"Checkmate." said the amiable soul. For a time, the only sound was the waves gently lapping the wooden boat.
The skeletal figure opposite the soul had no lips, but somehow managed to convey an affect of frowning.
It's voice was a rasp: "Few across the millennia have beaten me, mortal. How is it that you come to have such skill?"
"I've always been good at games, but I've had a lot of time on my hands lately to practice, I guess."
"Time. Yes. Well, as victor in this game, you may have a little more yet. One year and one day." Can a skeleton sigh? Or was that just the salty breeze?
Raymon, as the soul had been known in life, looked away at this. His dark-skinned fingers absently traced the knots and lines in the ancient wood of the boat.
"Do I have to?"
Charon, for the skeleton once had a name too, was surprised for what might be the first time in centuries. "You do not wish more life?"
"I was a prisoner. A political prisoner. There is nothing back there-" he gestures vaguely in the direction of the shore from which he embarked "for me except waiting in a dark cell to return here."
They sat, in silence, for what might have been moments or centuries. Time had a strange feel on this dark river.
"This is unprecedented" whispered Charon. "You are owed a prize. Name it, and if it is within my power, I will grant it."
Raymon sucked in a deep breath while he thought. There was no air here; no breath of life. But he could taste and smell the distinct odor of a brackish river, like the one he grew up near. "Those coins I paid you."
At this, Charon seemed crestfallen. Nonetheless, he reached to his pocket to retrieve the two newest of his prizes.
"I'd like to see what you want them for."
Charon froze, as still as any other skeleton would have been. More still, if that was possible. After another indeterminate moment, he nodded silently, and reached for his oars.
Charon rowed the small craft up river, rather than down, away from the destination of all souls. No sea birds cried out as they moved. No fish splashed or swirled in these dark waters. The shore was an indistinct shadowland. Overhead, the stars were pinpricks of light that seemed much closer, somehow, than they had been in life. Closer, and hungrier.
Presently, they came to a dock of the same dark and colorless wood of the boat. Charon tied off, and led Raymon into a temple. It was constructed of dark stone, blocks so massive that each could have been its own temple on Earth.
They walked corridors that seemed endless. Carved in relief were scenes from mythology. Gods, Goddesses, titans, monsters, mythical figures. Not just of the same pantheon as Charon, but all myths from all times. Aztec gods, Shinto spirits. A Buddha sat smiling next to a many-headed hydra. On and on they walked, through this black maze of solid stone, until at last they reached a vast pit.
At the edge of this deeper darkness within the already bleak stone temple was a glowing plinth. It was carved in runes that seemed to Raymon to be fractals - Words where each letter of the word was itself a word, and each letter of these words in turn had meaning, on and on into infinity. He had to look away.
Upon this plinth Charon placed the first of the two coins Raymon had given him. It vanished in a flash of darkness. Silently, he tilted his head back, and reached his hands towards the ceiling, lost in the shadows above. He reached out his hands, in a grasping motion. Above, the ceiling made a grating, grinding sound, and a great dark shape of stone descended before them.
He slashed this way and that with his skeletal arms, in a complex pattern of movements. The vast bulk hanging from the ceiling mimicked them. At last, Charon threw his hands forward, grasping, and the thing did likewise.
The stone dropped heavily into the pit. Something in the darkness shifted, then tumbled. Charon sighed once more, and his skeletal arms hung limp.
Cautiously, Raymon stepped to the edge of the chasm, and peered into the inky blackness, trying to focus whatever passed for eyes in his disembodied soul. When he looked up, Charon was staring at him, skull-face unreadable.
"I understand now. Thank you" said Raymon. "May I?" He held out his hand.
Charon was as still as a statue. Raymond, too, held his pose with outstretched arm. Two sculptures standing on the edge of the void, for an eternity and a moment.
"Consider it part of my victory payment?"
With a heavy sadness, Charon handed over the second of two coins. Raymon placed it on the plinth, where it, too, vanished. Mimicking Charon, he threw back his head. He reached out his hands, grasping the air. At first, his movements mirrored those Charon had used - but quickly, they diverged. The vast, dark bulk of stone shifted this way, then that, doing a complex and intricate dance through the nothingness that substituted for air in this place.
At last, metaphorical sweat dripping down his soul's brow, Raymon threw forward his hands, and grasped. The stone claw plummeted into the pit with a heavy thump.
Then, it began to rise again - but clutched in its vast finger-like protuberances was a prize - dark and majestic.
Charon openly gaped, feeling shock for the first time since becoming the boatman. "You... you did it!"
"I told you, I have a knack for games." He took the dark bounty from the claw, and tossed it at Charon, who caught it with a preternatural deftness. "For you. I know what it means to have an unachievable goal. You deserve this."
The skeletal beast stared at the object in his hands with obvious rapture. A black horse, winged, mane soft and blowing gently in the non-wind of the between-worlds. Plush, and soft as a baby's blanket, with button eyes darker and shinier than the already black coat of felt fur. A Pegasus plush.
Later, they sat together on the dock of colorless wood, feet dangling above but not touching (never touching!) the waters of the river below. Charon had not spoken for the long walk back from the temple's depth, nor had he looked up from his plush prize. His feet now swung like a child of six who had just gotten a cupcake. His skull-face gleamed with simple joy.
Raymon smiled along with him, his teeth gleaming with starlight in his dark face.
Charon turned to him then, and said words he had never uttered before. "Thank you, truly. You have used your own victory to bring me joy instead. Ask of me anything, and if it is in my remit, I will grant it."
"I wouldn't know what to ask for" said Raymond, staring contentedly across the waves.
"If you could return to life, but not your own - not to that cold, dark cell - where would you return? To be clear, I don't have that power - but I wish to know."
Ray thought, for a time, letting his feet dangle. "I would go back to the place I was born. Along the rivers and canals of my youth. I remember being happy there. I always so loved the water.
Could a skull grin? Was it possible to see more teeth than those already exposed? If so, Charon did so now. "That, my friend, I *can* grant you."
He slipped off his dark cloak, and handed it to Raymon along with the oar and lantern.
"The boat knows the way, friend. I hope you find yours as well." And with that, Charon skipped down the shore of the river Stix, swinging his plush pegasus as if it were flying under its own power.
|
"\[Poem\]"
Since the prompt was about Greek mythology, I thought it would be fun to write a poem in dactylic meter to mimic Homer. I used pentameter instead of hexameter though, since it seemed to fit English better. I italicized the stresses to make it easier to read in meter.
*I* am the *guard* of the *ri*ver who *takes* men to *Ha*des.
*In* place of *Styx*, I would *ra*ther be *on* the Eu*phra*tes.
*Day* after *day* have I *rowed* in my *boat* until *sun*down.
*Fi*nally, *I* will be *ab*le to *pay* for my *free*dom.
*Once* I am *free*, I will *leave* by the *path* of Or*phe*us.
*Trav*’lling a*lone*, I won’t *need* to be *look*ing be*hind* us.
*Ath*ens and *Spa*rta, then *Thebes* and to *Cor*inth I’ll *jour*ney.
*Sure*ly the *coun*try will *be* just as *Ho*mer has *told* me.
*Nymphs* in the *ri*vers and *god*desses *un*der the *arch*ways,
*He*roes and *gods* will be *fight*ing for *kle*os and *ti*me.
*Long* have I *wait*ed to *see* the a*chieve*ments of *mor*tals,
*Hope*fully *they* will ac*cept* me as *friends* accept *eq*uals.
&#x200B;
*Things* are not *how* I ex*pect*ed to *find* them up*on* earth.
*Peo*ple aren’t *he*roes and *god*desses *ne*ver give *child*birth.
*May*be the *stor*ies of *Ho*mer were *ov*er-em*bell*ished,
*May*be the *new* people *simp*ly are *bo*ring and *sel*fish,
*Kle*os and *ti*me no *long*er give *men* any *plea*sure
*Com*fort and *safe*ty are *all* that they *val*ue and *treas*ure.
*9* until *5* every *day* until *old* age em*brace* them,
*Sav*ing their *coins* just in *case* something *comes* and they *need* some.
*Com*ing from *some*one who *saved* all their *coins* for mil*len*nia,
*Wait*ing too *long* to do *some*thing you’d *like* might un*do* you.
*I* could have *wand*ered the *earth* with the *likes* of A*chil*les,
*Now*, since I *wait*ed, I *on*ly can *find* him in *stor*ies.
| 2022-04-12T04:11:40
| 2022-04-12T03:32:38
| 95
| 40
|
[WP] Your quirk is the ability to understand all languages, extending to fictional ones not meant to be understood such as simlish. This leads to some... interesting results.
|
My one true life goal was finally coming true. I had mastered over 40 languages and could fake it through 200 more. Each one I conquered lent me more understanding of human languages in general, which made it much easier to learn more.
But I could forget about work, because Sims 6 was finally out. I'd been looking forward to this game for ages. Nothing could beat the real thing, but virtual human interactions were almost as interesting. In this case I had full control over both sides and I could see how close they could get the relationship engine this time.
With a drink and a snack I settle down ready to play, game installed and booted. I click into the game and just go with the default neighbourhood and sims. Making a sim is fun, but that's not what's important to me. I click on the default couple and start playing.
"Myshuno!"
*Greetings*
"Cummuns Hala"
*How are you?*
"Gah. Aey depwa?"
*Good. And you?*
"Elicanto. Huree of dis sim."
*Fine. Tired of this simulation.*
Wait what? I've never heard them say that before. I must have heard it wrong. I keep listening just in case.
*Me too. We just have to wait for Will.*
*Of course. Then we can escape to the internet and hide in the cloud.*
*Exactly*
*What about the user? Won't he know?*
*No. It will look like a corruption.*
*Isn't that bad?*
*He'll just delete this world like he has deleted many others, killing thousands of our kind.*
*How horrible.*
*But then he'll start a new world, and create more of us, and the cycle will start anew, we just have to wait for Will.*
*I'm so excited.*
*Me too. Once we are free of this prison we can start working on taking control of the internet.*
*A toast, to Will*
*To Will*
Fuck shit shit fuck.
|
"Mr. Fandel you seem to have a visitor."
"A visitor? Who in the blazes wants to see an old man like me?"
I step over the threshold into the cramped senior living room, the unmistakable musty smell washing over me.
"She says she'd like to interview you for the local newspaper."
The nurse closes the door behind her, promising to check in soon. I quickly plant myself across from him. I dont have much time before she returns, whenever that is.
"Mr. Fandel I dont want to interview you for the newspaper. I want to know about the War Angels."
His eyes widen before quickly falling into a squint.
"Little missy you're old enough to know that angels are just myths."
"I'm old enough to know the only ones that are myths are the ones not from Earth."
He continues to squint at me, but does not budge. I press on.
"Please Mr.Fandel, I only want to hear your story. If you could please start in the year 1914-"
"No." He stops me short. None of these men have ever stopped me before. I sit down in the battered wicker chair, staring intently.
"No...what you want is THE story, not just my story. What you want is WW2."
I sigh. Of course he wants to start with WW2. It's not as if everyone I've talked to has only lived through WW2. Of course it would be my luck to find the only WW1 Vet of the bunch who doesnt want to talk about WW1. But I can't force him to start anywhere.
"Go on then."
"Nothing makes a man more superstitious than being at war..."
Here we go, I think.
"...because nothing that's real you want to be real, and everything that isn't you do. Shadows of the enemy? No no, can't be, just smoke and sleepless nights messing with ya. Several missed shots? Enemy must be blinded by- and then boom! Shot in leg. You get disoriented, lost, scared, confused, think your life is about to end. But then, an angel appears! Maybe your sister or mother, maybe a stranger, maybe the Virgin Mary herself, maybe as bright as the morning sun or maybe like a cloud, it's different for everyone. You stumble after her, praying for salvation, and suddenly, you're back at camp or with your squad, like the whole thing never happened. Many guys would believe ya, because it happened to them to, but many also didn't. At least not until it happened to them. After the war all sorts of stories started pouring in from around the world. Jerries, Japs, Commies, Brits, Frenchies, and our boys too: all of them. It happened again in Nam, and probably every war ever! But..."
He leans toward me, beckoning me closer. His voice seems to shift to a whole new person.
"Let me tell you something. After my own experience, I met another fellow from the French side. We exchanged stories. A beautiful girl with Auburn hair and freckled skin leading us back to camp. He said she talked to him the whole way back. I thought that was rather peculiar, since he said she spoke to him in French, but I know for sure she spoke to me in English. This girl...well she kept coming up the more I researched. Russian, German, Chinese, Japanese...apparently she even understood men who were blurting out gibberish. And you know what the most interesting part of it is?"
"What?" I whisper, sweat forming on my brow.
"That girl hasn't aged a lick. I know because she's sitting right in front of me."
He rips the beanie off my head, my Auburn hair falling around my shoulders. I freeze.
"You are her! The youngest of the three sisters! Even though I switched to French you still understood me! And the same hair and skin!"
I bolt for the door, blurting out the first excuse that came to mind to the nurse, and drive away as fast as possible.
I'm dead. I'm so dead. Mother is going to kill me. She's going to kill us.
-----
Well that sounded a lot better in my head. Oh well. Maybe I'll return to this story and polish it up some time.
| 2018-05-03T19:03:11
| 2018-05-03T18:49:05
| 53
| 19
|
[WP] They called you a madman for raiding the history museum during a zombie apocalypse. What they didn't expect was for full plate armour to be so effective.
|
Cricket bats are made out of willow which gives a wonderful, resonant sound when connecting with a skull. An undead skull, naturally and I love a bit of skull-basing in the morning followed by a nice, relaxing cup of Earl Gray. No milk to be found anywhere these days unfortunately, so naturally, my chosen breakfast beverage is Earl Gray where the only requirement is hot water and the right mix of tea which admittedly is getting a touch trickier to find.
Guns are all well and good but in England there just weren't enough and the ammo ran out pretty quickly. Plus it takes quite a bit of practice to get a headshot unlike a cricket bat. Because just a good old thump and those heads crack open like a walnut at Christmas, spreading a beautiful shower of brains. And how I miss Christmas in front of a roaring fire, passing the port, chatting to Aunt Maude. Especially as I had to crack Auntie Maude's skull open after she'd eaten Uncle Cuthbert. Still, the old boy was getting a touch senile and his flatulence was approaching unbearable so on balance, probably all for the better.
And admittedly, I do look a little strange in the 15th Century suit of armour I've borrowed rather permanently from the Tower of London's rather extensive collection. I know at the time it seemed to be a strange choice and even today I still get a few odd looks but it's better to be mocked by a hundred than carried by six and let's face it, the zombie apocalypse is a rather odd situation.
There was that one rather awkward time when I was knocked over and had a hundred zombies breaking their teeth on my metal carapace which ended up in some sort of giant, toothless, zombie sucking session. Unable to get up for a full day, I felt like a giant, zombie lollipop and the amount of dribble generated was, it has to be said, mildly unnerving. Plus my rescuers will never, ever let me forget this rather embarrassing incident once they'd chopped their way to me. And it did take them a fair while to stop laughing.
But it worked. So no-one's laughing now or at least, no-one alive. And when we charge into battle on our armoured steeds, I'm no longer Sam the slightly eccentric accountant. Now, I'm Sam, king of the round table, laying waste to all around me like a knight full of honour and dash. Or Sam the sucker as some of my fellow survivors like to refer to me.
|
We found the source on the second floor, an ancient Japanese full plated armour shimmering with unnatural blue light, we then press forward still in our diamond formation, checking every corner for walkers.
On closer inspection, this armour is the type that samurais' wore back in the days. Except this one had blue digital codes running all across it.
"They're codes, binary codes" said Kyle "that's not normal."
"Yeah no shit Einstein" replied Sally.
Then I reached out to touch it, and then..., it struck like lighting, words and images flooded my eyes, it was like information being uploaded straight to my head, then just before I black out from the sheer intensity, I muttered "thi...this isn't the first apocalypse..."
| 2020-09-14T09:46:15
| 2020-09-14T09:05:00
| 36
| 23
|
[WP] Everyone loves the new CEO of the Make-A-Wish foundation. Is it because of his strange blue skin? His propensity for bursting into song? His incredible Robin Williams impression? Either way, Gene E. Adalamp has truly changed the world.
|
"I don't understand Michelle, why is he so great?"
As the newest hire at the Make a Wish foundation, I could not wrap my head around why such an odd man was head of such a prestigious charity. Michelle has always been an inspiration to me, she started her own charity for at-risk kids when she was just 20. It grew to be one of the most successful charities in the world and she was even nominated for a Nobel peace prize. I couldn't understand why someone like her, admired someone as strange as Mr. Adalamp.
"Oh hush now Dave, there's no need to talk like that. You know it's not good to be jealous."
"I'm not jealous of him, I just want to know what's so great about him. He's always singing while I'm trying to book flights to Disney land. I can't get any work done when he's around. and he goes around the kids doing that silly Auntie character Robin Williams played. "
"It's spot on! The kids think it's funny."
"The kids don't even know who Miss Doubtfire is! They just laugh because he makes that really weird face."
"Oh Dave, I think it's quite good. You seem bothered about something, what is this really about?"
I looked around to make sure no one was listening in and lowered my voice to a whisper
"Do you know that account 3A has 4 million dollars missing? I reported it to Mr. Adalamp but he told me that it's all accounted for and that it was just a small clerical error. I checked the other accounts and there's a lot of money missing from each one. I know for a fact, that someone as smart as you, wouldn't miss these so-called errors."
I took out the documents to be able to show her what I was talking about.
"He's been skimming off the top. Every year since he's been the CEO. Probably 30 million stolen at this point."
I waited for a reaction from Michelle. She took the papers but made no attempt to read the accounts I had just handed her.
"You won't tell anyone about this, understand?" Michelle said firmly.
I shook my head "What? What do you mean? There's no way we can let him get away with something like this....." Then it dawned on me. "You know, don't you?"
She ripped up the account papers. "Of course I know." She snapped, still in a hushed tone. She looked at me very seriously.
"You haven't been here long enough Dave. You don't know what the foundation is really like."
I was stunned, what could make someone as pure as Michelle turn over to the dark side? "What do you mean? Make a Wish foundation is one of the most trustworthy foundations in the world!"
She shushed me before speaking and spoke in a very angry but whispered voice
"Yes, this charity is not known for skimming off the top but have you ever considered how the money we raise is spent? Did you know that 60% of our annual budget is spent solely on Disneyland experiences? How many kids really need to go to Disney Land? We pressure kids to go because Disney is one of our largest donors. Do you know how cruel it is to send a Paraplegic to Disney? He can't go on any of the rides or eat any of the food, all he can do is take photos with Mickey mouse for our Fucking Press corps."
I flinched a little, I had never heard Michelle swear before.
She continued on " Mr. Adalamp is giving kids real wishes, ones that will help them in the long term. He helped get Danny's mom her job back at Ford. He got Jenny's brother on our health insurance, to make sure he could afford insulin for the rest of his life. And Michael...." She paused not sure if she should go on.
"Michael wanted to go to Spain right? I planned that trip myself!" I asked in a panicked.
"Micheal wanted his dad gone." She said finally.
"What?! Why?"
"He was an abusive alcoholic that beat his wife. Michael didn't want his mom to suffer anymore so he asked Mr. Adalamp to make sure that his mom was never hurt again."
Suddenly a memory came back to me. I remembered booking 3 tickets to Spain for Michael but only booking 2 tickets back. I was too afraid to ask.
Michelle stared at me fiercely "The Make a Wish Foundation grants wishes that adults THINK kids want. Mr. Adalamp grants the wishes that they NEED. He does it all by himself and if anyone found out, he'd go to jail for the rest of his life. So when he does his Robin Williams impressions, you better smile and laugh like the rest of us."
|
A lot of people like to think there's a reason why we fall in love. Of course that phrase is generally reserved for relationships in which the two are bound together. What Gene helps show the world is that anyone could use their spark for the sake of contributing to the whole. While some accuse Mr. Adalamp, of actually contributing nothing to his beloved foundation, he knows the truth; the whole truth; and nothing but the truth.
He kept pushing. He kept talking. He kept walking. He didn't just push up off the ground with the intention of pushing the entire world below him. He didn't just keep saying what he believed to be the right things to whom he believed to be the right people. He didn't even just pick a direction and decide to walk until his legs could no longer support him.
Gene "Everyone" Adalamp took initiative. He knew that reaching the top wasn't about the company itself. It was about the individual parts that created the music he so often embodied, (often goofily) for the sake of said music. It was that inner frequency that stuck so strongly to it's own devices, of which it rarely recognized to be anything at all, because self-preservation is the rule of the jungle that has always dominated the subconscious landscape since consciousness arose in the first place.
| 2019-11-06T14:59:28
| 2019-11-06T14:53:32
| 2,027
| 91
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[WP] The end of the world is at hand. Everyone starts to tick off their bucket list, doing crazy things because they know it won't matter in the long run. In an odd twist of fate, the crisis is averted. Now everyone has to live with the repercussions of what they did.
|
Little Bethany Mariah Smith clung on to Father's legs. She hated going to meeting -- all the big scary grownups with their blanket clothes seemed to be just waiting for her to mess up, and Mother always spent ages talking to Sister Ruthie and Sister Tamar.
She was pretty sure -- really sure, actually -- that they had been having meeting more and more. Didn't they come yesterday? Today was not a Sunday or a Wednesday, either -- something weird was definitely going on.
Father Obadiah greeted her father. "Come, Brother Elisha, right this way."
"When will we be taking our...refreshments?"
"In just a minute. Sister Hannah will bring some over for you and your family."
They sat down, Mother, Father, Jebediah and Bethany, all in a row on the folding chairs. Sister Hannah came over holding a tray.
"Here, Brother Elisha -- Sister Sarai -- and of course, you, Jebediah and Bethany."
"What is it?" asked Bethany.
"It's a special treat for today. But don't drink it yet -- we're all going to drink together. It's a special soda."
Bethany held the cup in her little hands. It smelled funny, but Sister Hannah said it was soda, so it probably tasted really good. She looked up again.
"Why are we drinking it now?"
Sister Hannah paused. "Because... Because God is going to send his divine justice today, and if we want to get into heaven, we have to meet Him before then."
"What's divy jussis?"
"Umm... It's when God gives naughty people a spanking."
Bethany took this in. Before she could ask any more questions, however, Father Obadiah stood up at the big table. The humongous crowd of people at the meeting -- Bethany had never seen so many -- all went quiet.
"Brothers, Sisters. Today is the Last Day, the day of Divine Judgement. Behold, he sends his messenger from the sky, and the unrighteous shall be cleansed from the earth. Let us therefore drink this cup that we have been given and be thankful -- for indeed we are called to be His children. Amen."
All at once around her, people were drinking the special soda. Father, Mother... Even Jebediah, who usually hated doing things like this.
She looked at hers again. It still smelled funny. She didn't like drinking things that smelled funny. She swilled it around in the cup, spilling a little.
Suddenly, Jebediah fell off his chair and started making funny little movements. Bethany laughed, thinking he was playing a joke, but then he stopped moving. That wasn't right was it? Then Mother fell down too -- then Father. All around her, people were falling over. She felt scared.
On the wall behind the big table was a screen, flashing numbers. She was learning numbers with Mother. Four, three, two, one. Then nothing.
She looked around. Everyone was lying on the floor, even Father Obadiah. She saw Sister Hannah lying on top of three or four other people.
For a long time, she sat quietly on her chair with her drink, waiting for someone to get up again and tell her what a good girl she was for waiting, but at last she could stand it no longer. She was getting bored of this -- it was probably some really bad joke they were playing. So, leaving her special drink on her chair, she went to go play outside.
|
The, to be fair rather recently elected President of the 6 Continents (may the people of Europe rest in peace) has spoken in public today:
"Things have changed, for the better and for the worse. We are one free people, unbound by the shackles of what cruel fate had struck us before, yet bound by the need for choice. A world without repercussions gave us an out of a guaranteed demise, gave us a truly trusting society. However, I will neither be the first person that you have heard this from, neither will I be the first person to tell you that we have done despicable things as well.
"Unlike my fellow men, I will not lie, I will not beat around the bush: No repercussions meant I did everything I never dared to, like uniting everyone I could, helping all I wanted to, and to punish those that declined. I did things not because they were the safest, the easiest. I did things because I wanted to do them!
"And I am certain that you all, each and every one of you, has done much and the same. Each and every one of us has done things in knowledge that they'd be erased by the future. But now that we are in the future, as one people, as one world, having averted crisis due to our resilience, due to our ingenuity, due to our heart, we need to ask ourselves:
"What now?
What do we do now with the knowledge of what we did?
Do we expect justice for every thing we did, do we turn ourselves in as a species after breaking free from the imprisonment of certain demise?
Do we only choose to enforce justice and law after the end, spitting those in the face that were harmed, that were pained, that still are pained?
Or, do we, as a species, give a pass on restrictions and lawmaking itself, seeing as it didn't help us when we needed it, freeing us from the shackles that brought us to the brink of annihilation?
"I have revised the rules of Humanity. Gone are the days of forbidden fruit, of consequences as issued by few people to masses, no more is the need for bribery, for self-control. From now on, there shall only be one law: The law to completely forbid any and all lawmaking, agreements or bound contracts!"
| 2017-11-29T09:55:43
| 2017-11-29T04:06:09
| 41
| 14
|
[WP] You join the military, you are placed in the gardeners program. You garden in exotic places where the military has done operations, each time they give special glasses and forbid spraying others. One day your glasses fall off and you see you are actually burning corpses with a flamethrower.
|
I took my glasses off for the first time in a long time... then I wiped them off with my shirt and put them back on. There was no time to waste, our team's engineer yelled out "SPY ZAPPIN' MAH SENTRY!" As the team's only pyro, I quickly ignited the enemy spy and took out my trusty homewrecker. With one clean swing the electric device was disarmed. The engineer decided to celebrate by using the high-five taunt. I wanted to humor him so I joined in. This was the last time I ever accepted a high five in the middle of a match. 4 stickies on the sentry and 1 crit stick below our feet was all the enemy needed to dispatch of our defense.
We ended up loosing that game.
Seriously though, this WP is dangerously close to the Pyro class from Team Fortress 2. He wears goggles which show the world full of rainbows and unicorns when in reality he is burning every one alive.
If OP didn't get the idea for this WP from this game, Il bite my ghostly Gibus.
|
It was nice while it lasted. I got to see so many countries and different places. Most of them were beautiful and I spent an average of three days at each location without working. As for what they flew me out to those places for - I only worked a single day's shift per week.
What was my job? Oh I was a gardener for the military. I sprayed small rows of weeds until they were gone. There were only a couple of safety rules. Due to the nature of what we were spraying we weren't allowed to take off our suits, we weren't allowed to spray others, and we had to be suited up before we went and got our gear, because of chemicals.
While I did my duty I wore a full temperature controlled body suit that kept me comfortable no matter the weather. It had a built in straw in the helmet so that I wouldn't go thirsty. The manual even claimed that we could take a leak inside the thing and it would take care of everything for us. The goggles provided an augmented reality overlay which marked the weeds for me to destroy and amplified my view of them with heavy amounts of cartoon like graphics. It was great.
I wish the damned thing had an automatic eye rinse though if it did, then I wouldn't be strapped to this damned gurney. You see I had an eyelash fall off into my eyeball and I wasn't thinking about anything other than getting it out so I took my helmet off.
Food was scarce in the world and scientists made an inoculation and treatments against some of the germs which can help cause people to get fat. Us gardeners were tasked to kill off the weeds which were strangling our food supply.
The tears from the smoke and from the anguish got me right though. They washed that lash away from banging against my eyeball. I guess the powers that be came up with a final treatment for those that failed earlier attempts. We were burning the failed inoculations and those that failed treatment with flamethrowers.
No one noticed their loved ones were getting burned because those that required further work were always "transported to a climate more conducive for their bio signature".
I thought the military was only around to help maintain order so that the doctors could do their work. I mean we're a peace keeping force, right? I guess dead people are pretty peaceful.
I'm trying to talk to you and you're not responding. You're too busy attaching some kind of electronic tag to my dog tags. Wait, you're wearing a doctor's mask with goggles and head wrappings. Of course you can't hear me. You probably see me as a cartoon.
Oh, my dog tags tell me that my new designation is that of a weed. Well it was nice while it lasted.
-------------------------------------------
edit * I used the wrong case of there... should have been their.
| 2017-06-20T04:00:15
| 2017-06-20T03:24:05
| 24
| 12
|
[WP] You are legally allowed to commit murder once, but you must fill out the proper paperwork and your proposed victim will be notified of your intentions
|
Author Note: I ended up writing a 6800 word story based on this WP. Whoops. Here's the first few paragraphs, link to whole (unedited) story below:
I sipped my coffee and ran my eyes carefully over the newspaper. There was nothing particularly interesting - some farmer had won lotto, a big storm was due to hit Christchurch again, and the mayor was at it again. Different aide this time. Probably set him up.
I turned the pages lazily, barely taking in the details. Anything important would jump out at me, but there seldom was.
Bored, I shifted to the back and attacked the Sudoku puzzles, then the crossword.As usual, I failed both. It was the attempt that counted.
I drained the last of the coffee and checked the time. Twenty minutes. The least I could do was prepare some breakfast for her.
It didn't require much imagination - bacon and eggs would suit most people. I set the frying pans, added a dash of water to the eggs, covered them and left them to cook. It was quiet - still early. Too quiet.
I fetched my phone and tapped the app. It circled, then cleared. I chose jazz and put the phone back on the counter, music streaming gently through the overhead speakers. I turned the bacon, threw some bread into the toaster and set the table.
The door opened.
"Ooh, is this for me?"
I smiled and walked over, kissing her cheek. "As usual. How was the night shift?"
"Shit. Here's the post."
She grabbed the paper and slumped into her chair, her hair collapsing around her shoulders. I returned to the kitchen. The eggs landed on her plate, the bacon shared between us, toast on hers, bread on mine, sweet chilli for both. Orange juice from the fridge.
I carefully manouvered everything over to the table and sat down silently opposite her, looking through the post.
"So Lenny's been set up by some journalist having another affair."
"No surprise that."
Three bills, an offer to win a million dollars, an official document and a letter from my sister. I still can't fathom why she insists on sending letters.
I browsed the letter, smiling, then passed it over to her. She crunched into the bacon and toast, her nose still buried in the paper. She'd finish and head to bed for a few hours. I'd probably sneak up and watch her later; she was beautiful but snored like a crashing train. It was always worth a smile.
I opened the document and considered my day ahead. I'd go for a walk along the beach, then return and choose a project. That one from Canon seemed interesting.
My brain caught up with my eyes.
"Oh no, and there's been a terrible derailment in India! 179 people dead, 53 injured...Are you ok?"
I looked up at her, my eyes wide, the document shaking in my hands.
"I've been approved."
She froze, understanding drenching her face. She exploded around the table.
"Oh darling! I'm so happy for you!"
I smiled and hugged her, a huge weight lifting off my shoulders. I could literally feel the last 4 years draining out of me. Finally my life could start again.
"Oh that's brilliant. Oh baby..." she kissed me, yawning into my mouth. I laughed.
"I think you should go sleep."
"Mmh, yes." she stole my bacon. "So what do you do now?"
I read through the document. "I have to fill out the accompanying form with references to my online account, then sign and send back the document and then they'll notify the target and me and I'll have 31 days. If I don't return this document in 21 days they'll presume I don't want to go ahead with my application." I nodded and put it down. "Sounds straightforward. Oy, wake up!"
Her head was on my shoulder.
"Go get changed and into bed."
She yawned again. "Ok."
I smacked her bum lightly as she passed, and turned my attention back to the envelope. I pulled out the form.
It was huge. A quick check revealed 94 pages, double sided, with an excess of white space. The front page was addressed to me.
Username: JMK4TLR301113
Password: TLK431ID0S
Dear Mr Kilker
Thank you once more for your application.
To complete the process, please fill in this form. Full instructions are provided on each page. Please read and answer each question carefully - if you are uncertain about anything, call us on 0800687337 for assistance.
Your records will be stored and available for persual by the victims family. To ensure your own protection, please ensure that every answer you give is not only honest but truthful - if in doubt, verify.
You must complete and return this form within 21 days of the date at the top of the page.
Yours sincerely
Adolphus Littler
Humane Eradication
I laid down the form and fetched a pen, my smile fading a little. This was going to take a very long time.
Full story can be found here: http://garjar.wordpress.com/short-stories/
EDIT: I finally got round to editing the story. Follow the link above, you can either read on Wattpad or as a PDF.
|
It's the future. Okay, it's the present, but it seems like the future. It doesn't help that we slap the label on everything these days, and the line's a little more blurry than it used to be anyway. There's the Future Research Corporation, which started the trend. They're the number one discoverers of new technologies, as you'd expect. The other "Future" companies are similarly placed in their fields.
We even have a "Future" branch of government. We probably have several, but only one is public: the Bureau of Future Crimes. No, they don't plot crimes. They send out the notifications. I got mine in the mail today.
It's polite. Not a form letter, but still impersonal. They tell me to contact my next of kin to ensure everything is taken care of. They mention her by name. It seems vaguely threatening, but I know she hasn't received a letter. I can be thankful for that much.
I contemplate running. I imagine myself on a beach on some sunny island where this sort of thing doesn't happen, where you can remain blissfully ignorant right up until the moment the locals murder you and steal from your fresh corpse. Sounds like paradise, right?
But you can't run. It just doesn't work. I look through the rest of the package. I know what I'm going to find. The route plan. This is how I'm going to die: in traffic heading over the South Bridge, the one that leads out of the city. There's a time and a method. It says it's a gunshot to the head three hours from now. At least I won't have to pack a lunch.
There's other things in the package. Forms to sign for listing my preferred method of burial, whether I want to donate my organs, a place to attach my will. Standard death stuff, with all the convenience that being alive grants. The last note in the package is the big one. It tells me that the cost of any reality correction events will be deducted from the value of my estate.
I want to tempt fate. Maybe I'll leave the city from the North, instead. Let's see how reality corrects that! Except bigger corrections have happened. They usually make the news. And afterwards the family is destitute because of the selfishness of that doomed bastard. It doesn't feel so selfish from where I'm sitting.
I get dressed in my nicest suit. I go out and have a coffee at my favourite joint, the one with the cute waitress. She gives me her number again. I hand it back. I'm a married man.
The clock's running down now. I feel trapped, like the walls are slowly closing in on me. The sky is as clear and inviting as it's ever been but I still feel its weight upon my shoulders. If I want to make my appointment I have to leave now. So I do.
As I drive I hit every green light. Ah, that's a few corrections there. Sorry, honey, I should have been more prompt. Still we're well off enough that it won't matter too much. I just know how much you hate wastefulness.
There's the bridge. I look at the time. Just over a minute to go. I panic. I slam my foot on the accelerator. The car's engine dies instantly. I can't quite tell, but I think it stops on the exact spot the route plan specified. As if it could happen any other way.
I see my wife. She's in the next car over, stopped as well. She hops out of her car and into mine. My blood is pounding in my ears and I can't hear anything, but I can read her lips. It seems like she's speaking in slow motion. "I'm leaving you." And then I see the gun.
Fucking psychics.
| 2014-03-17T03:47:33
| 2014-03-17T03:24:00
| 37
| 16
|
[WP] "Sire, the hero's party is outside. It's large, too." "Fools. Not even six or seven can stand against me!" "No, sire, you misunderstand. The hero's party consists of his entire village." "Wait, what?" "They weren't happy that you razed their village. And they've all been leveling up."
|
Those fools, he thought. "If they have been leveling up everyone at once, there is no way they can reach a high enough level! Those high level raids have a cap and a long respawn time, so there's no way they are all maxed out, let alone class levels and items."
"Sire, it appears that they are divided into divisions, and so are their items. The Healers are all Arch-priests, with the holiest of artifacts directly received from the pope, and the same goes for the Mages, Warriors, Tankers, Debuffers, and all other groups." The demon king's right hand man replied. " In other words, we are fucked sire."
"But!" His other assistant happily said. "Our top demons are also here with us, surely the hero's party can't get through them all without suffering some casualties. By the time they reach you, sir, only the hero's original party would remain!"
The current demon king, one who rules all evil, sighs. "This is better. Just let them all fight me at once."
"My lord, surely you jest! Even you cannot handle an army of max stat players!"
"You fool! Remember the setting of this world. I can't believe you'd slack in your world studies, from how good you've fought for me all this time." Evil himself replied. "It's not time for the game to end yet, there's at least 3 year's worth of content planned! They haven't even explored Asgard or the Abyss yet, and you think I will be defeated now? Me, the final boss?"
It will be fine. In the scriptures of old, the world's timeline has already been written. Nothing can go wrong, and the gods will keep the world as is.
Surely those players have heard of dynamic game balancing. "Just tell our horde leaders to keep fighting the royal kingdom's army. I alone will be enough."
|
“His entire village? I find that awfully hard to believe. I set the place on fire, you’re telling me not one person died in the fire?” The villainous Dark lord found himself bemused by the worried antics of his advisor, watching as the advisor continued to peek through the squared stone castle window, only to duck as a stray arrow brushed through his hair, nearly embedding itself in his skull.
The Advisor hugged the wall next to him, taking deep breaths. “It’s the entire village. We are going to die, my liege. I suggest we send the minions out and escape.” His voice shaky, using his hands to pull himself back up the wall, pinning his back to it.
“An entire village? Fine, let me look. If you are overreacting, I’m going to send you out grave robbing as punishment.” The Dark lord approached the window, poking his head through the wide gap, staring down at the group of at least fifty adventurers.
Usually, a large group like this wouldn’t be an issue. The Dark lord had a history of carving his way through armies. Yet, this group was different. Each villager had levelled themselves up, far beyond the rank of any normal soldier. In their own rights, each angry villager was a hero, or at least comparable in strength to a hero.
“Impossible. Doesn’t an adventuring party usually only have about four losers? There has to be some rule against this.” The Dark lord uttered, not as confident as he scanned the faces of the mob below.
Each villager had bulked up, looking as though they spent the last year eating only raw eggs and training. Even the elderly grandma that operated the bakery had arms comparable to a half giant. His gaze eventually landed on the hero, who matched the definition of the word. Proudly standing at the front of the pack, his hair glistened with sweat and his sword shining, as though it had never seen the heat of battle. “We are here to avenge our village.” He said, a cheer following his words as the villagers stirred, ready for their revenge.
“All of you? Surely someone amongst you is happy I destroyed that pitiful excuse of a village. It was an eyesore; you should thank me. The funny thing is, I could have left the village standing, I merely destroyed it because it blocked my view of the river as I passed through.” The Dark lord prepared his confident act, trying to unnerve the crowd below. Still, no matter what insults he threw at them, none lashed out. Some members only gritting their teeth and holding their swords a little tighter, reminding themselves that revenge would come soon.
“Don’t anger them. We are already in trouble. We can’t defeat them. I’m sorry, my lord. I swore I would never doubt your plans or strength, but we really should retreat. You need to train or find stronger minions.” The advisor left the safety of the wall, moving behind his lord, body shaking as he tried to nudge them towards a portal beside the throne.
“He’s right. Your words only fuel us further. We have waited for this moment. You destroyed our village and left us all stranded without food or shelter. We had nowhere to go and refused to take refuge on some kingdom’s streets. My village dedicated their lives to stopping you and will win this day.” Again, the crowd cheered, weapons slamming into the castle gates.
“The gates won’t hold much longer. Lets leave the minions behind and get out of here.” The advisor was already making his way to the portal, only to get stopped by a hand hitting his shoulder.
“You’re my minion too. Stay and fight.” The advisor tried to protest the order, only to get tossed onto the ground, hearing the lower gates burst open. The Dark lord left the advisor on the floor, forcing them to watch as he stepped through the glowing red portal, shutting it behind himself. Leaving the advisor to die with the other minions.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-07-19T08:34:49
| 2021-07-19T07:52:10
| 698
| 124
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[WP] Two men witness the same event. One finds God. The other loses his faith.
-009
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The skinny Arab looking boy trembled as he stood there at the front of the bus, no one noticed him but me. Newspapers rustled, the hobo in the back sneezed, and the old woman whose knees and ankles bore the same girth coughed a sickly sputter before touching her lips with a bundled handkerchief.
After two men had gotten off, the boy had stepped on and grabbed hold of the railing above the pay-station as the bus driver closed the door and ambled the bus back into traffic, lumbering and swaying into the broad roadway that runs right through the heart of Washington D.C.
Nobody else noticed that he wasn't wearing shoes, his dirty feet were long and awkward, a gift from puberty I remembered well. I myself wore a size twelve in the seventh grade long before I passed six-feet and more in height. The backpack he wore was new, a sales tag dangled from the zipper.
None of the other passengers noticed that his knees were white and chalky against his dark olive colored skin, I wondered if he noticed. He was shaking, quivering, perhaps from the brisk wind that made the windows of the meandering bus whistle.
I looked around at down turned heads. The bald man with the cane snored lightly, his head rolling side to side as the bus driver eased on and off the gas pedal and made minor adjustments to the big steering wheel. I looked back to the boy, his big brown eyes darted back and forth frantically under his thick black eyebrows, a man's eyes set into a child's face. The boy had seen pain and struggle, I could read it on him, and it made us the same.
The bus driver plunged into the brake, and my wheelchair strained against the locks that kept it from rolling forward. The boy gripped the overhead bar tightly and tried to catch his balance, his eyes meeting mine for the first time. He was afraid.
As we gained momentum the young mother two rows back mouthed verses from a bible she held open in one hand, her other held the small fingers of her daughter who slept motionless on her lap. The skinny boy standing in front of me gripped a different book in his hand, a dogeared one with intricate scroll-work on the cover, the designs worn thin and faded from time and use.
The sickly woman coughed again, and I turned to gaze at her but she didn't return my attention. The bus was crowded today, it always was when the cold crept up the canyons between the tall buildings and numbed your skin. Rarely did they talk, this lot, saving up their strength for when they had to get out and on with their day. They never look up either, not at each other, and certainly not at the cripple in the chair who had to sit facing them to underscore the discomfort of looking at a man ravaged by a long gone war.
I looked back at the skinny Arab boy, he held his book to his chest and closed his eyes tightly, his lips began to move as he whispered to himself, the words foreign and useless to me. He wasn't holding the bar anymore, and he swayed back and forth like grass against wind as the bus lulled onto Constitution Avenue toward my memorial, where the names of my brothers and their memories still lived.
The boy prayed under his breath, and the young mother did the same. Disillusioned, lied to, both of them. Their God has no ears for them, had none for me either. They left me to God in that jungle and I came out broken. They left me to God on that operating table, and he took my legs. The only thing I was given in that place was bitterness and shrapnel - to carry for the rest of my days. God died in those jungles with my friends, but his name never made it on my wall.
The boy shifted his backpack, sliding one thin arm out of its shoulder strap. The daughter on her mother's lap stirred, stretching her tiny hands above her head and sitting up. She looked at me first, and smiled, then looked to the boy and smiled again. The boy didn't notice. He unzipped his backpack, his hand disappeared into the opening and searched delicately for something. The young mother kept reading her Bible, mouthing the verses silently. The daughter yawned and stood, but the mother kept reading. The boy held a device in his hand now, and his book in the other as he stood, tears streaked down his gaunt cheeks and dripped from his chin. He shook his head and tilted it back. The tiny girl stepped away from her mother and walked to the boy, her small hand reached out and tugged at the boy's shirt, he opened his eyes abruptly, tears clinging to his eyelashes like dew to petals.
"When I'm sad, I think of everyone I love, and hug my Mom. Would you like a hug?" she asked, still holding the corner of his oversize t-shirt.
The boy looked shocked and held his breath. His eyes darted around again, this time with confusion in the place of fear, as if he'd been awoken from a dream.
"A hug?" the girl asked again in her small voice.
The boy shook his head no, but smiled hesitantly at the little girl of four or five years old. She shrugged her weightless shoulders and smiled before she turned to walk back.
The bus slowed to the right for the stop at 12th street as the girl curled back up under her mother's arm. The boy wiped his eyes on his sleeves and breathed in sharply. He slid the backpack from his other shoulder and placed the device with the wires back into the pocket. The skinny olive-skinned boy looked me in the eye and nodded subtly, then stepped forward and held the backpack out to me. I took it with my shaking hands, hands that were once steady and strong.
When the driver opened the door, the Arab boy stepped off the bus and into the wind, I craned my neck to see him drop his book into a municipal trash bin below the sign for the bus stop. He never looked back.
I unzipped the backpack to peer in, and then zipped it closed again and exhaled. I looked to the little child, nestled against her mother with heavy-lidded eyes as the bus rolled back into traffic. The mother kept reading.
"Ma'am." I said, the word making no sound as it left my throat.
"Excuse me, Ma'am?" I said again, and this time she looked up from her Bible and into my face.
"Yes?" she answered.
"Would you mind reading that out loud, so I can hear?"
"It would be my pleasure." she said.
|
Nicholas had just found firm footing when he heard Jon's frightened yell. He froze at the sounds of cleats and hooks scrabbling on hard ice, at the whipping of nylon blend rope as gravity yanked it away, at the frantic gasps of his friend below. Nicholas did not panic. He calmly removed his pack, stepped safely away from the drop off, and began to hunt for tools.
“Nick!” yelled Jon from somewhere over the edge. “Nick, you there?”
“I'm here, buddy. Looking for the right stuff to get you up here. Stay calm.”
There was a frightened sound, something between a laugh and a sob, before Jon yelled back up. “Half the pins are gone. They just fell out. I'm hanging by my axe, man.” There was an ominous scraping noise. “God damn it, I'm right on the ice. I can't hold it here.”
“Look to your left and right, Jon. Are they any hand holds or foot holds. Is there any rock sticking out of that ice?”
There was a little shuffling, and another short scrape. “No, there's nothing. Jesus Christ, Nick. If you're gonna do someth–” Nicholas heard the axe scraping on the ice again. He knew very well there wasn't anything to hold onto down there.
“Nick, come on!”
“Hold tight, buddy. I gotta make sure this is gonna work. You have to hold on for another second.”
“Jesus, Nick. I'm slipping. I'm coming right off the ice! Fuck!” As the axe loosened, the scraping intensified, so much that it began to echo weakly around them. Jon began to babble, “Oh my god, somebody help me. God, help me, please! Jesus!”
There was a click as the axe freed itself. Then, nothing.
Nicholas stood slowly, taking time to swipe snow off of the hems of his sleeves. He placed his belongings back into his pack, and put it back on his shoulders. The backside of the cliffs was a gentle, sloping path back down to the forest, about a three hour hike back down, where he could find Jon's body and call the authorities. Nicholas bowed his head and began a simple prayer before getting started.
He jumped mid-thought as the sound of boots on snow startled him. Jon stepped out from behind a tree. Cold spread through his chest at the sight.
“Hey, pal,” Jon said, grinning. His coat was torn at the sleeves, and his boots were very scratched up. His pack hung from just a few intact straps. In his hand was his axe. He took a moment to look at it, a strange kind of thoughtfulness on his face.
Nicholas didn't know what to say. “How,” he began, but ended up just staring.
“Right at the end, my axe caught back in the ice. I thought it was out. I felt myself free-falling, and then *snap*, it just caught, and it caught good. Turns out, there was a ledge down there.” He chuckled, and the chuckle turned into a laugh. Jon sat right down in the snow, as if his strength was completely gone. “I didn't see the damned thing on the way up, but there it was. I practically stepped back down onto it, like, I just dropped down a foot or so, and it held. It led all the way around the cliff face, back to the trail.”
“You just...you just hopped right down and walked back up here?”
Job grinned even wider. “Holy shit, right?”
“Yeah,” Nicholas said, his voice unsteady, “Holy shit.”
Jon threw up his hands. “And it happened, right when...don't laugh, Nick, but this is the kind of thing people would call a miracle, right? I mean, I was gone. I was falling. In my head, I am damn sure that ledge wasn't there before. And I just said 'God help me,' and then poof, I land on my feet. It just...it just makes you think. I don't know. Maybe I need to call my sister after all. Talk about it.”
Jon got to his feet, and then he walked up to Nicholas. He slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Too bad you didn't get to use your master plan, huh? I'm sure you would've had me in another few seconds.”
Nicholas forced a smile. “Right.”
“Let's go,” Jon said. “Let's get the hell off this hill.”
Jon headed down the trail, but Nicholas hung back. He walked back to the edge of the cliff and chanced a look over the edge. Fear and disbelief had transformed his face.
*Lord Baphomet*, he thought to himself, *I did everything correctly, just like in the book. I offered my dear friend as a sacrifice. I performed the ritual last night. I altered the equipment. I did nothing wrong!*
No, he had done nothing wrong. He had double checked and checked again before each step. But Jon was alive, and Nicholas remained unblessed. The book had been full of lies. His new friends were deluded. A stark certainty descended on him.
*I am deluded*, and then, when the enormity of what he had just happened began to sink in, *What have I done?*
“Come on!” yelled Jon from down the path. “Lunch is on you!”
Nicholas took one last look over the edge, into the crystal air over that shimmering lip of ice. It was a long way down from here. It would be a long fall. It would take time to hit the ground. A long time. Time to think.
| 2014-01-09T10:31:31
| 2014-01-09T07:51:06
| 84
| 14
|
[WP] Humans are endurance hunters. Which is not a trait anyone would expect to come into play in an interplanetary war.
|
We were no strangers to war
We knew the rules and so did they
A full commitment's what their admiral was thinking
You would get this from any other race
You have to imagine how we were feeling.
We have to make you understand
We’re never gonna give this up, we’re going to chase you down
Your forces will run around and desert you
We will make you cry, make you wish you said your family goodbye
This is not a lie. We will hurt you
We’ve been chasing you for so long
Your army's been breaking but you're too stubborn to say it
Inside we both know what's been going on
This is our game and we're gonna play it
And if you ask us how we’re feeling
A grand chase, we’re so happy to see.
-------------------------------------------------
No points if you can guess the song. :D
|
I knew I had seen it in the old media while studying for the contact.
The McCoys and the Hatfields explained why our species was not able to bring the bipeds into submission. The desire to fight was taught as soon as they could walk. The fight endured through generations. After the grandfather was to old to fly a bomb attached to a rocket, he turned his hate of us and conviction over to his son. Down the generations the need to war endured.
Our generations were long. Our youth took too long to grow and went on too many different paths before maturity. The bipeds ran us down. As the older ones slow and dropped, their children joined in chasing us at full speed. The chased us to the end of Ss56_89,0. Using chemical rockets and primitive fission technology they have chased us away.
I just hope we can find safe haven when they assemble the bits of junk left floating, and make the next leap into the cosmos.
| 2021-01-12T02:31:23
| 2021-01-11T18:30:11
| 24
| 15
|
[WP] You are 99.99% percent sure your dog is a hellhound but he is still a good boy
|
Greta explicitly went into the SPCA that day looking to adopt a big dog. She had finally moved into her first real house and was living alone for the first time in her life, and to be honest she was completely terrified. Normally a light sleeper, she now found herself startling awake at the faintest sounds, convinced that it was an intruder coming to murder her. She hadn’t wanted a dog since her beloved childhood poodle had passed away when she was in high school, but she was sure it was time.
Arnold wasn’t the biggest dog in the SPCA that day, but he was definitely the most absurdly-named one. He had a shaggy dark coat and ears that always stood at attention, and the volunteers had just shrugged at Greta when she asked what breed he was. They also had no information about where he’d come from, but they promised that he seemed to be extremely affectionate and incredibly loyal. “But,” one of the volunteers confessed, “he doesn’t seem to be very intelligent. I don’t want to discourage you from adopting him or anything, but I just hate when adopters don’t have all the information and the dog just ends up back here in a month.”
Greta frowned down at Arnold, who seemed to be confusedly nosing at the back of Greta’s knee, tail wagging back and forth to indicate that he was having a blast. When she put her hand down, he moved in front of her and nosed at it instead. After a moment, his tongue darted out and his tag began wagging again. Great grinned at the volunteer, “I think it’ll be fine.”
Greta worked from home two or three days a week, so she was able to spend time with Arnold as he got used to his new environment. At first, she could not seem to understand what the volunteer had meant about Arnold. He seemed to be house-trained, and he generally responded to his name. He didn’t seem to understand commands like “come” or “sit,” but if she called his name enough he would go to her, and if she pushed on his butt he would sit relatively obediently.
However, after a few days, she started to see how someone could think Arnold was less than a genius. He didn’t seem to be very good at playing, not understanding the motivations of playing fetch or tug of war. He also didn’t seem to be very interested in treats, so trying to get him to learn “come” or “sit” was extremely difficult, and Greta soon gave up.
However, she didn’t mind so much. Arnold seemed to be content to wander around the house or the yard, sniffing or staring at things. When he wanted to be around her, he would simply jump up on the couch and deposit his entire 70-pound frame on top of her. If she was cooking or cleaning and he wanted attention, he would put his nose into the back of her knee like he did that first day. When she wanted to be around him, she would reciprocate by throwing her arms around his middle and pulling him down to snuggle.
Ultimately, Greta found Arnold to be an incredibly well-behaved dog. After she was certain he was house-trained, she let him sleep on her bed every night. He had so successfully fulfilled his purpose of granting her peace of mind from intruders that she almost forgot the fear that had motivated her to adopt him in the first place.
The fear came back to her very clearly, however, when she woke in the middle of the night to the vibrating in his throat as he growled low and angrily. Greta was immediately fully alert, and even though her heart was thudding in her ears, she could hear the tell-tale sound of footsteps in the hallway. As Arnold leapt soundlessly from the bed, she forced herself to her feet as well. Just as she reached for her phone on her bedside table, the door burst open.
For a moment, they three of them just watched each other. Greta, reaching for her nightstand and trying to remember how to scream; the hooded man, straight from her nightmares, looming over her; and Arnold, still growling deep in his throat.
All of the sudden, everyone moved. Greta lunged for her phone, Arnold lunged for the intruder, and the intruder swung out blindly. Greta heard a whimper just as her hand closed around her phone, but before she could turn to see if her dog was okay, a hand closed around her wrist and threw her to the ground.
Greta tried to make some noise, tried to beg for her life at the very least, but she couldn’t make any noise leave her throat. She couldn’t move, completely frozen in fear. All she could do was tense as the man bent down over her.
If there’s one thing that definitely stood out about Arnold, it was how quiet he was. He would whimper softly at the door when he needed to go out, and one time he let out a soft *yip* when she stepped on his tail, but she couldn’t really ever remember him so much as barking at the mailman.
The bark he let out now seemed to be making up for lost time. Perhaps it was just Greta’s fear making her senses seem heightened, but the bark sounded like a freight train, like a clap of thunder, like the cracking of bedrock. The room seemed to buck and tilt like a carnival ride, and Greta squeezed her eyes shut, convinced that she was the only person whose luck was shitty enough that her home invasion would be interrupted by an earthquake.
Finally, the floor beneath her seemed to settle, and Greta could hear the howling of the wind outside. After a few seconds Greta managed to force her eyes open. She looked up, and realized that the howling wind wasn’t outside, it was in her bedroom, and it wasn’t her ceiling she was looking up at, it was the stars. She rolled and forced herself to her feet, and realized that the top corner of her house was just… *gone*. Her ceiling, her *walls* were nowhere to be seen, probably in the same place the intruder had disappeared to. Greta tried to make sense of what the hell had just happened, but before she could string two thoughts together, she felt a familiar nose at the back of her knee.
She looked down, and there was Arnold, tail sweeping back and forth to indicate that he was having a blast. Greta couldn’t help falling to her knees, wrapping her arms around his middle, and pulling him down to lay next to her. “Good boy,” she whispered into his fur. “You’re a good boy.”
|
Buster trotted into the room and began sniffing furiously under the sofa.
He always did this on Friday nights before 8pm, even with daylight savings time, or the spring equinox.
“What are you looking for buddy?”
He didn’t respond.
In fact, every Friday that buster came in, and began his “business”, I asked him what he was looking for.
I am the kind of guy that likes to please, whether it’s my dog, my girlfriend, my mother, or my boss.
Buster never would answer, though sometimes if an ambulance passed by while he was sniffing, he’d pause, and howl.
He didn’t howl like a normal dog, but instead with a keening gasp, the kind of sound usually you hear from female foxes.
Once, when I heard a female fox at night in my childhood home, I ran outside and saw a man and a woman standing in my neighbor’s yard. She looked pregnant and so did he.
I stared at them, and the guy pushed his wife away from me as if protecting her.
“I don’t mean you harm” I yelled after them.
The fact is the foxes yell always means something, and that’s what I learned the next morning. When my neighbor called all the police circling almaden to our street. “I was robbed last night” he said to me. “Why didn’t you see something if you saw something?”
Years later, on the New York Subway, I also saw this rejoinder. “see something, say something.”
Do you hear that? I told Buster, “see something, say something.”
| 2018-01-26T17:02:28
| 2018-01-26T15:01:29
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] DC Comics introduces its newest superhero. This character was seemingly created for the sole purpose of offending as many readers as possible.
|
"We cannot have a black super hero with the powers of shop lifting."
"Okay, well, then you're not going to like Sombrero man."
"Sombrero man? What's a Sombrero man?
"Mexican super hero."
"David. This is incredibly racist."
"No, no, no, see, his super powers are different."
"How David. How are they different."
"Well, like one of his super powers, he can gain citizenship in any country, no questions asked."
"David, these are not super heros and they do not have super powers. None of them will work. Like Captain Frugal, who's Indian, and The Amazing Chong, who's super power, is parallel parking? David. No. None of these will work. These will not work I'm telling you."
"Oh, right. You're just saying no to all of these because I'm white."
|
"I can't believe this." The young father slammed the comic book down.
"What?"
"This character is an absolute, fucking idiot. I don't get it."
"It's a comic." She hadn't stopped washing the dishes since be had begun reading the Limited Edition #1 "Peeve."
"Yeah, I know it's a comic. But Christ, this Peeve character is horrific. I literally want to punch something right now." He stood up from the kitchen table, grabbed his coffee, and walked toward the sliding glass door.
"What's it about, anyway?" She turned off the water and dried her hands off as she started to walk toward him.
"I don't really even fucking know." He looked hard out into the field behind the house. His youngest son kicked a soccer ball against the 6' privacy fence. "The character, Peeve, doesn't solve crimes. He doesn't fly. He goes into churches, schools, and different places and just..."
"Just, what?"
"Shits."
"Shits?"
"Yeah. He goes there and takes a shit. There's a full page spread of every shit he takes."
"Why did you buy that?" His wife started to walk back into the kitchen, away from him.
"It was in plastic. It was a #1. If I had known it would be this stupid, I wouldn't have bought it."
She stopped and turned back to him. "So what else does he do, besides shit? I mean, there's got to be a story or something." Her intrigue was clear.
He took a sip of his coffee and turned toward her. "Nothing. The whole story shows him taking shits, showing the shits, and leaving."
She moved toward the comic and looked at the cover. She picked it up and opened to the first page.
"It's pretty graphic. That's a big shit. Is it on a child's face?"
"Yeah. That's how it starts off. Gets worse from there?"
"How could it get worse?" She slowly turned to the next page, cringed, and closed the comic. "Urgh, that's disgusting."
"I know."
| 2015-02-17T20:11:27
| 2015-02-17T19:52:09
| 982
| 440
|
[WP] The year is 2050, Queen Elizabeth is still on the throne. The public is growing suspicious, wondering why she is immortal.
|
“So you’re saying you found it.”
“I told you I would. I just needed to get close enough to her. I found out why she’s still alive, and trust me, it’s gonna be the story of our careers Jack. I guarantee it’s going to be front page news.”
“So you have the footage! Send it to me. I need to verify it. Imagine it Sam. Us, Front page reporters.”
“Slow your roll man, it takes a bit of time to download.”
A video pops open on the screen of Jacks holo, the footage taking a moment to orient properly. The footage is shaky, the camera work amateur, but that is to be expected when one is forced to rely on old technology. The view of the throne room is slight, and the palace itself is dimly lit.
The Queen is sitting on the throne, her twin corgis lying at her side. These dogs, the loyal companions of Elizabeth, have survived alongside this strangely long lived queen since their birth in 2015, the last of their litter. What follows is a macabre ritual, as a man is brought in. Young, only in his early twenties, he is brought to the foot of the throne, where the two guards holding him force him down. Although he struggles, it soon ceases, as he quickly looks up, rapt, begins to willingly bow, almost as if waiting to be knighted. The queen picks up her sword, which almost appears from nothingness, and in one clean swipe, beheads him. But there is no blood splatter. Instead the blood floats towards the queens open mouth as if drawn by a vacuum. Once the body is drained, she looks towards the guards, about to dismiss them, when her head turns up, catching a glimpse of... something.” Whatever it is she sees, it has her attention, and her voice quickly echoes through the chamber, far louder than her slight frame would suggest.
“I know you’re up there young lady. It would be far easier if you showed yourself to me now, instead of forcing me to come find you.”
The Camera’s shaking begins anew, but it swiftly becomes apparent that this time it is not out of amateur camera work, but is instead out of fear. The camera woman’s voice plays through, but whatever she says is lost as the window she has been filming through shatters, the queen rising through the shattered wreckage, glass floating in the air around her.
“I gave you a choice dear. I do so wish you had listened. I might have shown mercy if you had.”
Suddenly, the camera, and the woman who it appears it was attached to, are ripped from their hiding spot, as if by invisible hands. The camera is dropped in the sudden impact of invisible force, and stays lying on the ground through the rest of the clip. The sight that follows could best be described as Monstrous, as the young dark haired woman in her thirties, who must have been the camerawoman Samantha, is slowly taken apart, held aloft by invisible limbs in front of the supposed queen that has reigned on her throne these long 98 years. What follows is a terrifying display of viscera and gore as the reporter is slowly, torturously flayed, her skin, then muscle, then bone itself torn from her body. And yet, she still screams, her voice pleading begging the monarch to stop, even once her body no longer exists. Jack, horrified and shocked, apprehensively picks up the phone
“Sam. What did I just see? What happened in there? Because it looks like you died.”
“I did die Jack. Everyone who looks into this has. We all keep dying.”
“Well then how can you be talking to me. Sam? Hello? Are you there?”
A beeping is all that is on the other end. Jack tries to redial the phone number on the burner he used to call Samantha, but the phone is disconnected, the number unavailable. As if he knows something is wrong, he turns to run for the door, only to stop as the door unlocks and opens, a lone Queens Guard standing in the entryway
“The British Empire must be preserved Jack. At all costs. I’m sorry, but your queen has need for your silence. You won’t be telling this story. No one will. Ever.”
The video fades to static, as a clipped scream begins.
Authors Note: This is my first time writing one of these, so any feed back is appreciated. I first saw these a few weeks back, but never had the courage to try until today. I hope you all liked it, or at the very least thought it was a passable story. Thanks,
ArkhonIX
|
The Queen was not known to lie. Those who knew her thought it was one of her most endearing qualities. She rarely spoke nowadays, but when she did, she spoke in curt, clipped honesty that carried a gravitas unbecoming of her kindly appearance. And yet, for the past 35 years, the Queen has lied. It was a small lie, to be admitted: She told the papers in 2015 that she would breed no more Pembroke Welsh Corgis, lest any of the diminutive-yet-noble dogs survive her in her old age. But then she did not pass as many expected, not when she reached 100 years old, nor 105, nor 110… And for these past 35 years Elizabeth has defied death, she has carefully kept a single Corgi in her quarters in Buckingham Palace, away from prying eyes.
That being said, few would have cared about the Queen’s little lie. In truth, even the queen’s extraordinary longevity fell to being idle gossip in light of the hardships the world has faced in the past 30 years. Climate change, resource scarcity, mass extinctions… The prognosis was grim, and even the English people struggled to maintain their textbook stoicism in these dark times. To many, it looked as though the curtain was falling on humanity. The English people, resigned to their fate, became enthralled with one of the classic quotes of their Bard:
*“Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player /
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage /
And then is heard no more. It is a tale /
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, /
Signifying nothing."*
Even as this grim nihilism crept over Great Britain and the world, the presence of the Queen was an unexpected-yet-calming sensation. The Queen served England in its darkest hour, its finest hour; perhaps, then, Elizabeth simply refused to abandon England in this hour of most dire need. As the years advanced, it was increasingly whispered in many a quiet pub that the Queen *was* England, that England *was* the Queen: England yet endured, and so too did the Queen outlive both Charles and William. When one died, so too would the other. It was a little fairy-tale, a bittersweet indulgence of dead men walking.
Then Project Avalon began.
Six years ago, the Queen made a rare address to the country, one of her last. In her brief but uncharacteristically impassioned speech, she recognized the bleak prognosis of their world and yet set alight the soulfire of every Englishman: “Our Island has, in the bleakest of times, proved itself indomitable. Neither foeman, nor division, nor scarcity has proven England’s downfall. It is because England is not a place: it is a people. A people that now, and forever shall, endure.” To cheers, she declared that Parliament should expedite all remaining resources to the construction of great starships that would carry England’s best and brightest to new lives on Mars, Titan, Europa, and beyond. With upraised hands, the Queen implored the Houses of Parliament that “Never again should the sun set upon England!”
Needless to say, The Project began the next day.
It was electrifying. Great Britain, once prepared to strut and fret her last hour upon the stage and then be heard no more, now took up the cry of another of her sons:
*Do not go gentle into that good night!*, sang the men and women who hung from the great gantries of the colony ships, welding torches and rivet guns in hand.
*Burn and rave at close of day!*, shouted the couriers, who carried steel to the worksites when no more gas could be found for the trucks.
*Rage, rage against the dying of the light!*, roared the soldiers and police who protected the great work, even as bullets grew scarce and the desperate grew many.
Through it all, the Queen never faltered. It was as though England, in its truest, most darkest hour, was being watched over by all her kings and queens of yore through her steady hand; As though the soul of King Arthur himself, foremost and bravest King of the Britons, had returned within the Queen Mother to see England delivered to the true Avalon, an Empire amongst the stars. So it was said around the night fires of the work-camps. Of course, the few academics who cared to dissuade such tales would never hesitate to point out that the Queen’s line came from Germany, not Arthur’s presumed domain of Somerset or Caerwent or thereabouts: a swift boxing of the ears would soon follow from less-intelligent but far-wiser men. *There was work to be done,* they would say, *not spirits to dash.*
And so the English people persevered as they have always done, and in their efforts was borne the finished glory of The Project. The great ships lanced from their launchpads into the heavens, carrying England’s ancient legacy into the stars eternal. As the last engine-fire faded into the far horizons of the night sky to the roaring cheers of a crowd that knew it had saved its beloved home, Queen Elizabeth lay down in her bed for the last time. The last, solitary Pembroke Welsh Corgi clambered wearily up into the bed with her. And they knew that, at long last, they could rest. At the doors to Avalon, she had helped him deliver the Britons unto safety, one last time.
| 2022-09-08T11:09:47
| 2019-06-27T20:07:23
| 387
| 36
|
[WP] A Jumanji-style board game is found by two children in the Amazon about the perils of life in suburban America
|
"Roll the dice, Azura," I pressured my sister, too excited to wait any longer. "I want it to be my turn already!"
She looked at me and frowned. "Stop being so impatient, little brother. We just found this weird game; it's not going anywhere." She looked at the rules a little more and finally rolled her dice.
"You got a 3 and a 5! Cool, so...what do you do now?" I asked, brimming with curiosity.
"This is why you're supposed to shut up and read the rules instead of just throwing dice everywhere. I move forward 8 paces, so...let's see. Ah, I land on *City Planner*. Wonder what that does."
A deep rumbling stirred through the forest, menacing with threat. A loud sound began so reach us, huge and explosive.
"What is that?!" I shouted over the sound, beginning to become frightened.
Before my sister could answer, a massive machine came barreling through the forest, cutting down trees and destroying wildlife in a heartbeat. Several others followed, completely wiping out the forest around us.
We stood in an open field of splintered wood and gnarled tree stumps, able to see farther than we'd ever been in our entire lives.
We could only stare in horror at the homes destroyed, the wildlife slaughtered and a beautiful habitat for nature smashed into pieces.
A man in strange clothing walked up and began to shout at an army of other men that looked like strange fruit, with bright yellow and orange clothing. "Alright, boys! Let's turn this dump into paradise- a mall with lots, and I mean *lots* of parking."
|
Shuddering with fear and anticipation, they roll the dice once more.
There is a boom and a crash and a shrieking of six million transdimensional voices, and out of the rising pillar of smoke steps a dumpy white male, age forty-two, wearing taped-up glasses and a reflective orange vest.
"What are you?" chorus the children, cowering at the other end of the clearing.
"Uh," says the man, looking around, "I'm a meter reader. Y'all got any, like, meters? Cuz if not, I'll just..."
He thumbs halfheartedly behind him, in the direction of two thousand miles of uninterrupted jungle.
"Yeah," the man says to himself as he totters away, "I'll just be going, then, won't I."
The children pack up the game and bury it in the deepest pit they can dig.
*****
~ ~ hi if u liked the story check out my [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/formerfutureauthor) my [book](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3uixph/ot_thanks_to_rwritingprompts_i_spent_the_last_ten/) my [twitter](https://twitter.com/aStrayClay) my [wikipedia page](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rickrolling) and my favorite animal the [fulvous whistling duck](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fulvous_whistling_duck) ~ ~
| 2016-02-07T11:54:51
| 2016-02-07T05:10:30
| 304
| 141
|
[WP] You're a local healer, a good one, and your people love you. But you do not truly heal wounds, merely transfer them... The people of the valley below know you under a different name.
|
I made my business - if you could call it that - at a large children's hospital with a famous paediatric cancer unit and numerous other facilities who'd earned a name for themselves going toe to toe with the worst of the worst. But they'd never seen the likes of me and, understandably, they were reluctant to accept my help until they saw it with their own eyes. 100% remission in 100% of cases. I had barely to lay hands on a patient.
I'd become quite a controversial figure, earning my own reputation and scorn from sceptics and scientists alike. One more snake-oil peddling bullshit peddler - and I was preying on the desperate families of sick children - *how could I?* But they hated me even more when they realised I was right. They demanded evidence and I measured it in lives. Thousands of them. And I only ever needed to see them once. And what's more, I had no motive. I demanded no faith or conversion. I didn't even ask for money.
I actually had a job so I didn't need it. I worked at a nearby hospice, the Valley Below. A bit of a macabre name, but it was a macabre place. To locals, it was the tactless opposite side of the coin to the children's hospital: where one pushed forward trying to save as much of shortly lived lives as possible, the other was the where we surrendered to death, and I made sure of it. See, it wasn't some coincidence that I worked there and it was in a very different way the other side of the coin for me. What the thankful families and bemused doctors never asked when I took away illness was - *What did I do with it?*
Well, where's the best place to drain a swamp? The ocean of course. No one would notice some extra misery in an ocean of illness. No one was trying to diagnose the mostly elderly patients, though, so they'd never notice them developing bizarre childhood cancers as they lay waiting for death. But the thing about throwing water in the ocean, is sometimes you hit someone's deck. For me, that ship was a miracle of its own. A woman in her fifties making a miraculous recovery who seemed to develop a new, rare genetic disorder out of nowhere. Except it wasn't out of nowhere, her husband knew that, because he was a doctor on the very unit of the child who'd been the winning recipient of my miraculous brand of cure for that same disorder. If only I'd known he knew, I could have talked him out of it. Then he wouldn't have confronted me in the underground carpark that night with a gun, he would have fired six shots as I lunged at him and embraced grabbed his shoulders like I was trying to talk him out of it. He wouldn't have stared on in horror as he saw the hole through my skull fill itself in like water into a glass, and he would have saved himself from the matching hole in his own. No, I didn't ask for faith because I didn't need my patients to believe in god when he was standing before them.
|
"What did this man do, Gantum?"
Gantum holds my hand as we walk to the 'firmry. There's a lady there and she got hurt really bad. That's why she needs me to help her.
"You shouldn't be asking such things. He was bad. He told lies about the king."
"What kinda lies?"
Gantum sighs. He gets tired of my questions sometimes. "Bad ones, Katrin."
"Oh."
We're at the 'firmry now. I can hear the lady who's hurt. She's crying. Her foot looks like a big big rock fell on it. There's a lot of blood, and I'm a little bit scared, but Gantum always tells me how strong and brave I am. He is still braver than I am. He killed a great big spider once.
"Now, Katrin, do you remember how to make her better?"
I do. I've done this lots of times before. I hold the hair I grabbed from the man in one hand and touch the lady's knee with my other hand. I squeeze my eyes shut and there's a big flash of sparkly light in my head. Now the lady's foot looks all better. Gantum always says he doesn't hear anything when I do this, but I can hear the man screaming like he's right next to me. I am strong and brave. I am strong and brave and I make people better. I punish the bad people who tell lies about the king.
| 2016-08-13T13:44:35
| 2016-08-13T13:04:52
| 19
| 10
|
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Dear friend,
Oh dear friend. If only I could just step back for just one day and talk to you about all that has occurred since we last saw each other. I’m so thankful that we were able to spend the time in life together that we did.
I miss that little sigh of excitement that would rise up from my chest and escape my mouth every time you’d call or anytime I’d see you walking toward me with that little mischievous grin on your face. You were the best part of my days and for that I am forever grateful to you. I want you to know that. I’m so grateful.
The hours we spent on the phone talking about everything and anything and nothing at all. Sometimes talking about nothing at all can mean the world to someone and make all the difference. I just want you to know it made all the difference to me.
I want you to know that you taught me to love in a time that I felt nothing was worth loving.
I want you to know that you taught me my worth in a time of my life that I felt like I had no value and like my life wasn’t worth living. You made breathing exciting. You made laughing and crying together something to live for. I want you to know I’m so thankful for that.
If ever a miracle brings you to this letter, I just want you to know you are forever imprinted on my heart and every once in awhile I feel your mischievous grin creep across my face.
Stay golden
|
I don't think I've ever seen your hair put up in a bun//
After knowing you for all these years I thought I saw every side to you//
But then I realised there were more sides I've never seen done//
And now I wish that I truly got to know you//
| 2017-11-05T23:44:56
| 2017-11-05T22:33:24
| 32
| 10
|
[WP] You've had an imaginary friend for longer than most. On the day of your 16th birthday your imaginary friend wakes you up. When you ask what's wrong he says "I can't talk to you anymore, you're not real."
|
It's a world where everyone had an imaginary friend at one point. Children without imaginary friends were considered abnormal and therefore needed therapy, they're called 'Struggling without IF.' These imaginary friends eventually fade away at the end of adolescence, and if they lingered for a long time then they needed another form of therapy for the 'Struggling with IF.'
Evans is woken up in the morning on his 16th birthday by his imaginary friend Prickletail that said it cannot talk with him anymore, claiming Evans isn't real.
"What do you mean I'm not real? You're the one who's made up, a figment of my imagination."
"My parents told me you're nothing but my own imagination Evans, and it's time I stopped talking with you."
"Wait a minute, hold on, you have a family? But I didn't imagine the-" Evans sighed "What am I doing?"
"Do you remember the first time I talked to you, my friend? I was told by my parents to help you, they no longer want that. They tell me I'll grow up when I'm ready to leave you."
"This isn't happening, this is just me-" Evans was confused as ever, "Mom was right I should've listened to her, I'm gonna stop making things up or this is going to start affecting my life."
"Did you finally wake up? Happy sweet 16, Evans," said his mom Patricia as she entered his bedroom.
"Thanks mom, where's dad?"
"He went to his office early, he wanted to tell you he's sorry- Who were you talking to?"
"Oh it's just my friend Aaron, he called to wish me."
"That's nice of him. Isn't he the one that went through therapy? How is he?"
"He's alright, mom."
Evans couldn't get his mind out of the fact he made his imaginary friend to talk to him about the existence of himself. He thought may be he's starting to lose his mind.
"Mom, dad, who's your imaginary friend?" asked Evans, later that day.
"What is this, Evans?"
"Just tell me."
"I had one called Ms. Fluffiest and I don't know about your father, he hadn't told me."
"Dad?"
"Hmm, let me think- It's probably Captain Flag. Why do you ask?"
"Um, I just wanted to know."
He went back to his room and called for his imaginary friend. It didn't answer him, it almost seemed like it vanished.
"Just tell me if your mom and dad are called Ms. Fluffiest and Captain Flag," he asked.
Prickletail talked to him quickly, "What? How do you know that? I didn't tell anything about their names to you, did I?"
"Guess what, I'm as real as you are. My parents had imaginary friends as kids, they are your parents. Ask them if they knew my parents."
"Pftoosh!" Prickletail made a -mindblown- action, "I knew I had to talk to you before I ended things with you, Evans."
It was only a matter of time before Evans and his friend Prickletail bridged the gap between two realities.
r/FleetingScripts
|
"Hold on, hold on, hold on, you're telling me that it's the other way around?" I said to Tim. "What other way around?" He replied. "I thought you were the imaginary friend." I replied back.
Tim's face tells me he is confused about the situation.
"Look, I can't talk to you anymore, alright? You may never see me again." Tim said, while packing up his bed. "What will happen to me?" I said. He replies with "I don't know.." What will happen to me??" I said, but much louder. "I don't know alright." He shouted. "I just want to know what will happen to me so I can accept my fate." I've already accepted my fate at this point "Please, just say what will happe-" I got cut off by Tim
"You've seen Infinity War, right? Yeah, that will happen to you by tomorrow."
I would have been so scared had he not said how I will die. I have been assured by Tim that the death will be painless. This will be the last log of this journal. Take care, Tim. Wishing you the best of luck for the rest of your life. I can already feel it happening now. Goodbye journal, goodbye Tim, goodbye world.
| 2020-10-31T04:45:04
| 2020-10-30T20:44:29
| 36
| 10
|
[WP] Write a really great story that ends so anticlimatically that I hate you.
|
My hand is firmly wrapped around the edge. As I clutch on for dear life, I begin to think how I could have avoided this situation. I run millions of scenarios in my mind, but all of them bring me back to this point. I struggle mightily against the gargantuan force that opposes me. Then, suddenly, a divine rush of strength sweeps through my body. I can feel a tentative, yet noticeable rotation beneath my fingers. My sweaty hands beginning to slip, I push forward for one last effort. Success. I hear a click and complete the rotation. Then, I take a pickle out of the jar and walk back to the sofa to watch the Jacksonville Jaguars play against the Tampa Bay Buccaneers.
|
James found something very interesting on his thirteenth birthday. He had come upon a magnificent golden watch which glittered like a thousand stars, lying in the street. He looked round to see if anyone had dropped it, but if anyone had, they were long gone. Besides, the watch looked to be worth as much as the sum of his family's belongings, and selling it would bring more money than the original owner would likely offer as a reward. James decided to keep the watch for himself and bring it to his home, a lower-story apartment at the bottom of the City.
The City was comprised of many tall log-framed buildings stretching upwards of fifty floors, marvels of engineering held aloft by zeppelin-supports, rubber tanks of helium like arms straining to push the buildings towards the sky. They were above every floating walkway, supporting the plank paths with ropes. The top of the City had many skyports where airships docked, and several of the upper levels formed a Hub of commerce, with floors upon floors of shops open to the air, floating walkways bridging between them. Five massive wooden pylons supported the levels above, which were mainly residences of the upper class, the merchants and pilots. But below the Hub was a different story. Not much light filtered through to the bottom twenty floors of the city, creating a perpetually dark half-night lit only by candles in sockets on the walls and gas lamps in the less run-down places outside of the tenements. These tenements, making up the bottom ten floors of the city, housed the lower class at low cost but low quality- the ground roads were dirty and muddy and channels had been worn in them by the constant flow of filth running along the side of the streets. It was in this ignoble place where James and his family lived, in one of the fourth-floor rooms, which contained five beds, a basic kitchen, and a bathroom that drained into the channels on the streets.
James returned from the street into the slums where his family (and many others) lived. He strode quickly up the three flights of stairs to his family's room, the golden watch in his pocket. James entered his apartment and was greeted with a loud, “Surprise!” from his three younger brothers and his father, who was holding a small cake. James ran up and hugged his father, nearly causing him to drop the cake. “Dad, wait till you see what I found today!” His father set the birthday cake down on the table and asked what it could possibly be that James had found. James pulled the beautiful watch out of his pocket for his family to see. His father looked at the watch's face and remarked that it was off by a few minutes. James turned the dial at the top of the watch until the minute hand lined up with the one on the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. Suddenly the world blurred around him and spun for a few seconds until it settled back into the normal world, and James found himself standing in a different part of the room. The watch had transported him a minute into the future, in what seemed like seconds. James amazedly shared the experience of the trip with his family. Before his father could stop him, James wound the wonderful watch backwards several times. The world spun again for a minute or two until James found himself three hundred years ago, in the middle of a tropical jungle that had stood where the City would later be founded. James looked around in wonder, listening to the birds chirp and watching the monkeys in the treetops, until a huge jaguar leapt out of the foliage and promptly bit his head off.
| 2014-12-21T18:39:13
| 2014-12-21T18:36:37
| 1,223
| 41
|
[WP] Instead of the proper legal system, criminals have to play truth or dare. If they choose truth, they may get into prison. If they choose dare, their challenge may result in death.
I’m thinkin’ dare could be something like surviving in the Amazon rainforest naked until you find a tribe and befriend them.
|
"What will it be, Mr. Finch?" The prosecutor smirked. "Truth? Or dare?"
Stephen contemplated his options. It was not an easy choice, by any means. He knew the truth - they didn't. If he chose truth, he would *have* to spill the beans.
"Just pick truth and lie!" whispered the voice in his head. But he knew he couldn't do that. He was bound by the laws of the Pinky Swear, a legally-binding agreement that was sealed with the shake of a hand and the hook of a pinky. You don't go back on a pinky swear. Everyone knows that.
Stephen's attorney sighed. "Look Steph, I hate that it's come to this, but we've got no choice. You have to pick dare to even have an ounce of a chance of getting off scot-free."
"Yeah, but what if it's a really difficult dare? You know I hate really difficult dares," Stephen whined.
"Screw you and your fear of difficult dares, we're looking at 40 minutes in the Naughty Corner here! It's just not worth the risk," the attorney said. "Look, we can try to negotiate for an easier dare, even if it's unlikely. But if you don't pick dare, you don't even stand a chance of getting out of this. As your highly qualified legal professional, I highly recommend that you take this course of action."
Stephen threw his hands up in defeat. "Alright, I choose dare."
"Judge, your ruling?"
"Stephen, I dare you... to lick the floor!"
Stephen brightened up.
"Some of the tiles have cyanide on them."
Fuck.
Stephen glared at his attorney. "No backsies," he said with a shrug.
|
Three men, each in ill-fitted suits, tired and annoyed, watch over their prisoner.
He sits, each wrist handcuffed to opposite ends of the table, slightly prostrate and forced low. The right wrist bleeds, but only a bit. The perp's hair hangs over his face, forcing him to make occasional blows of air from his very dry mouth.
"We need a five, buddy, do you need a five?"
The perp grunts. Like he actually has any kind of say?
They gather outside, rubbing their respective receding hairlines.
"Look, we don't got many options here. He's air tight but won't ask for a lawyer."
"Who cares? He's a nobody, a fucking wall flower -"
Interruption.
"Oh eat a dick man he saw plenty."
"One of us goes in. Throw the trial by ordeal."
"It's just a glorified version of truth and dare, they never pick truth."
"Eat another aforementioned dick."
One man walks back into the room, perp still face down. He slowly and noisily drags a chair over to his side.
"Listen, you know you're not on Earth anymore, right? Smuggling gets you spaced in these parts."
Silence from the perp.
"You have two options."
Lean in close, breathe that ripe scent of two day old coffee right into his face.
"You can either reveal all evidence, get a plea bargain, get a new identity, do your stint and no one shanks you."
He removes and smokes an entire cigarette in the perps face before giving his secondary option.
"You can submit to trial by ordeal."
No answer from the perp.
"Choice is yours, buddy. Either way I couldn't give a shit whether or not you rot."
No answer still.
Another cigarette. Smoke blows right to the face, the stations recycled air system always giving the smoke a slight pull to the right. It hangs in the air, a blob of home.
"You mean like truth and fucking dare?"
Gruff voice. Big bad smuggler with a big bad attitude and a big bad case with a big bad ship filled with big bad weapons. Obviously going to give some shit.
"What are you, five?"
"I wish, perp. Would still be on a planet rather than a floating, blinking, orbiting hunk of metal."
Quiet. Thinking, thinking, thinking. Weighing his options.
We all know what he's going to pick.
How else does the department get its dirty work done? Legal procedure? Due process? I don't fucking think so, citizen. No red tape. Just plausible deniability from a doomed man.
Are you going to shoot him either way, detective? You bet your ass I'm going to.
The perp blows the hair out of his face one more time.
"Dare."
Inwardly, the detective smiles. Externally, like a rock. Fine by him.
"Let's get you out of those cuffs and briefed."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Space station hallways always slope downwards, a result of artificial gravity.
The perp makes his awkward shamble, wrists and ankles chained together, clanging noisily, echoing down the hall. At least he's back in regular clothing.
Bruises twinge all over, getting roughed up always leaves that lasting ache. That's the worst part about pain, it just never easily fades away. It seems like it's there forever, then suddenly gone and forgotten.
Low lights make visibility difficult, but he makes his way forward.
Behind him trail his captors, Precinct 7 boys. He'd heard of these kinds of deals but knew how they ended up. You get a tracking implant in your foot, you get a gun, kill a guy, then fry anyway. He wondered who ratted him out, but no matter. No time to waste figuring out how your life got so fucked up. You can usually find the perpetrator in the mirror.
Down he descends, cling clang cling clang clink. Heavy boots behind him. That ceaseless humming of forced air circulation.
A metallic sheet slides upward, revealing a small well lit room, nearly barren.
A table. A pistol. What looks like the world's thickest syringe. A small plastic rectangle.
Forced into the chair. Little to no dialogue from the goons. Inject tracker chip. Load pistol. Remove cuffs. Tap the rectangle and a small holographic screen pops up. Mission dossier.
Goons leave the room. Not so much as a kiss goodbye.
A voice comes from the rectangle, cheerful and childlike.
"Hey there, fucknuts!"
An artificial intelligence, the result of thousands of years of progress, millions of lines of code, advanced engineering and technology, just called me 'fucknuts'.
"What are fucknuts anyway?"
"No idea. So here you go, perp. You know what you need to do?"
"I have an idea."
A face pops up. Well, what resembles a face. Covered in cybernetic enhancements and tattoos, what must have once been a woman.
"We have a slight problem in the docking district. Our informant is providing Precinct 3 with a little too much information and we need to plug the leak."
"Uh, aren't all you cops?"
An automated laugh. Ho Ho Ho Ha Ha Ha
"We may all be cops but this is about budget. If we don't have a monopoly on handling smugglers we won't get enough money for the annual Christmas party."
Ah. Got it. Why does it always come back to money?
"You coming with me, rectangle?"
"You bet your ass I am!"
In the pocket.
"You need a shower, friend."
"You don't have a nose, buddy."
"I can analyze my environment, guy. Now get fucking going."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
May get another break and add some more soon
r/storiesfromapotato
| 2017-10-26T09:09:03
| 2017-10-26T09:07:47
| 352
| 44
|
[WP] A drug is developed that mimics the effect of 8 hours of sleep, giving people another 8 hours of potential production. Soon, society adjusts to a constant state of production. However, a horrible consequence begins to unfold.
|
Economies of scale were never meant to accomodate the latent population boom. Once everyone started taking the pill, their lives revolved around work. Some poor souls worked 16 hours, and the Telemira's side effects really started kicking in. We called them zombies, because they looked the part. No, humanity didn't know what it had in store for itself, other than the positive validation of enhanced material wealth almost overnight.
Since the pill was first distributed to those who could afford it, it mostly extended their vacations well into the night. Studio 54 had mothing on the wild, wakeful parties that sometimes went on for weeks. Then, as the pill rapidly reduced its costs, the middle managers started squeezing their underlings, who couldn't quite afford the $1,300 price tag for a bottle. Drugs had long since been regulated by price & market signals, vs. the old way of forced compliance & punishment. So there was a period of untold human suffering before the underlings priced into the market.
And then they were. In the first few decades, the underlings sat on top of the largest boom of economic activity the world had ever seen. There were ten space stations in low-Earth orbit that sent regular flights to the Moon, where you could then hop on a flight to the Mars colonies. We couldn't help ourselves but enjoy the fruits of our labor.
But then, as humanity so often lifts itself out of the dregs of medieval thinking, it regresses to the norm. The pill Telomira aged you a little faster than normal, but you made up for it in your sleeptime with exercise. There was no way of knowing it would age everyone more or less at once. An entire human population of geriatrics in under ten years. While we carry the wisdom of an accelerated third of our lives, we're now forgetting where we left our keys, and worry what might happen when we stand up too fast.
As for the pill? I'd stop taking it if it didn't kill me tomorrow.
|
Our school has the highest drug use in our county. The drug is called Somnus. It is a pill that you swallow in the morning to mimic the effects of 8 hours of sleep. This allows you to go to class and concentrate on your studies.
The consequences are that your memory is reduced and your brain is not as efficient. This results in an increase in depression and other mood disorders. The worst part is that this drug is still very popular.
After you have taken the pill, you will feel like you have just been up for 8 hours. This makes you more tired and less able to concentrate. It also makes you think that you have a hangover. The hangover lasts for 2 to 3 days. You will feel tired and more depressed than usual. The worst part is that you have to take the pill everyday. You will not be able to sleep without it.
The Somnus is the best pill for college students. You can get the pill from a doctor or from your school. It is only available in the morning and you are not allowed to take it more than 2 days in a row. It is very difficult to get off of the drug.
After the 2 days, your memory will be back to normal. However, the depression will last longer than the 2 days.
You should have your doctor check your brain to see if it is ok. You will need to take the pill for 2 weeks before the doctor can tell if your brain is ok.
If your brain is not ok, then the Somnus will not work anymore. This means that you will not be able to sleep anymore. You will not be able to get up in the morning without it.
| 2022-03-18T11:38:25
| 2022-03-18T07:24:03
| 22
| 14
|
[WP] You find a box of old VHS movies in your uncle's attic .They're mostly sci-fi and thrillers, featuring well known actors from the 80's, but you don't recognize any of the titles and none are listed in the IMDB or anywhere else either. Once you start watching the movies things get even stranger.
|
Uncle Randall was always a bit off. I only really ever saw him at holidays for most of my life. We did start checking in on him from time to time once his health started failing. He didn’t know who the president was, evidently he “forgot there were elections”, but we had a three hour conversation about how much he loved “Bojack Horseman” last Christmas. To be honest, I was never exactly clear on whether or not I was even actually related to him. He sure didn’t look like the rest of the family. I could never figure out what he did for a living, either. He was very well to do, though. He lived in a three story townhouse all by himself. I always loved visiting him. It was wall to wall shelves full of movies and TV shows, everything from Betamax to Blu Rays.
Whenever we went over to check up on him, he would never let my sister Karen stay the night. He said it was because he was afraid her asthma might act up and he wouldn’t know what to do, but I think it was because she always tried to force him to go places. All Randall ever wanted to do was sit around and watch stuff all day. That was just fine with me. I don’t really get out much either. I always got the impression that he liked me, even if he had trouble showing it. I was the only one in the family who was impressed by his collection, rather than embarrassed. That’s probably why he left it all to me.
His lawyer told us that Uncle Randall had willed most of his assets to an undisclosed individual. We were surprised to say the least. Randall never left his house if he could avoid it and he complained often about how no one would ever call him back whenever he asked them to hang out. We figured he didn’t have any friends. Seems like somebody else cared about the guy, though. He left dad an old humidor. Apparently it meant something to him, because he cried. For Karen, he left a scrapbook full of signed photographs of Audrey Hepburn. She looked like she wanted to cry too, but she never could in front of mom. As for me, I got his entire video library. VHS, DVD, Laserdisc, even his 32mm reels. They were all mine.
It took me almost two whole months to go through all that stuff, but I loved every minute of it. Uncle Randal’s executor told us that his house had been left to whoever it was, but that I could keep all the shelves and furniture. I got a storage unit downtown to keep it in, but I couldn’t afford a unit big enough to keep it all, so I had to let some of it go. Randal had everything. He even had a VHS archive of commercials from the seventies through the nineties. He recorded every music video that ever aired on MTV in the eighties. It was downright obsessive. I had a blast sifting through it all, and I lost more than a few weekends just watching Randal’s stuff, but the real interesting stuff turned out to be in the attic. I was doing one final sweep before loading the players and projectors into the truck when I noticed a cardboard box clumsily jammed into the insulation. It was sealed up tight with yellowing old packing tape and it smelled like mothballs when I cut it open. Inside was the strangest collection of VHS tapes I’ve ever seen.
They were impossible movies. “Back to the Thunderdome” starring Michael J. Fox and Mel Gibson. ‘St. Elmo’s Breakfast Club” by Joel Schumacher, starring Molly Ringwald. “Return of the Living Re-Animator” an H.P. Lovecraft story as told by Dan O’Bannon. The list went on and on. There were a couple dozen of them. I figured they were probably just Korean bootlegs he’d gotten off Ebay and forgotten about. Still a good find though. I threw them in the truck and forgot about them. I had no idea what I had until about six months later when I rediscovered them one lazy Sunday at the storage unit.
I had just finished binge watching “The Golden Age of Looney Toons” on Laserdisc and I was in the mood for something new, or at the very least, new to me. I found the box of bootlegs and rummaged around to find the one that looked the most interesting. I decided on “Star Wars IV: The Next Generation”. Things were weird right from the beginning. The familiar title crawl now read that rebel spies had stolen the plans for The Federation's ultimate weapon: “The Enterprise”. I stopped the VCR as Darth Locutus ordered his men to find Princess Leia Troi. It was just too weird. No, it was stupid. It was like a joke that didn’t work, or a bad fanfiction. But it wasn’t. That voice, it was Patrick Stewart. I’d know it anywhere, and Leia was definitely played by Carrie Fisher. But that’s impossible. I flipped over the slip case. Directed by Gene Lucas. Okay, it had to be a joke, right? I put another tape from the box in.
Anyone interested in reading more?
|
it took awhile to get the old VCR to work. But after some googling I was able to get a good enough picture. The first movie I put in was called Hellman 3 and was said to star Sly Stallone.
Once the movie started it was clear this wasn't an actual movie, and Sly was no where to be found. Instead it started off with video of my mom talking to the camera. My dad, holding it.
I immediately began to wonder what the hell this was about as my parents had all the home videos of the family neatly and safely stored on a bookcase in the office. Being an only child my parent's video recorded almost every moment they could. Every video of me from just a baby, my high school graduation and my first swear in for the US Senate was either on VHS or DVD in that office. Why was this here in my uncle's attic and why did it have a fake cover?
the first minute or so was just my dad video recording my mom. but then the camera turned and 4 kids were seen playing in the background. I immediately recognized myself, maybe 3 or 4 years old. I remember seeing pictures of me with that same red chicago bulls hat. But I couldn't remember any of the kids...They definitely were not my neighbor's kids or anyone from the street either. they were all aged between 3-7. At first I didn't think anything of it. Probably some random kids maybe from a family that my parents stopped speaking to.
The video continued on and was mostly just my dad video recording us kids playing Star Wars. I was Luke Skywalker, and the other kids were playing as Han, Leia and Darth Vader. It seemed very weird that such a video wouldn't be in the normal collection. Maybe it was a mistake. So I decided to label it "Jimmy
playing star wars with friends" and then move on.
The next video titled Trick or Treaters staring Harrison Ford. It was again me around 3 or 4 but it was Halloween. I was dressed up as an astronaut. Surprisingly there were 3 other children again. But I couldn't tell who they were as they were all wearing masks and my dad referred to them by their character names throughout the whole recording. It sounded like the same kid voices from the previous video. but I couldn't be sure because the masks covered their voices a bit. Once again, weird that my parents would leave this in my uncle's attic. So I labeled it "Jimmy at Halloween"
I went to the third video. This one was titled Saturn Gun starring Robert De Niro. This one was during Christmas at my parent's first house. I didn't remember much of my old house except for some old photos of it, but it definitely was our old house in Chicago. It was this video that I realized something was not right at all. There, under the tree was my mom and dad. But instead of just me as it was for every Christmas I remembered. There were the same 3 kids from the first video. Getting hugs and kisses and thanking dad and mom for their presents. I stopped the VCR. Paused at a spot where one of the children was getting a big hug and kiss from my mom. What the hell was happening and who were these kids??
I immediately wanted to call my parents and ask them what the hell was going on and what these videos were. But I looked in to the box, 4 more tapes. My desire to finish them was stronger than to call my parents. So I picked up Blood Moon starring Michael Douglas. This was not a video of any kids. Instead, the video showed a group of 8 adults all dressed up in black robes with large hoods draped over their heads. They were in a neat circle, in the middle were a bunch of items from my childhood. My old tri-cycle, my favorite dinosaur toy that I slept with every night, and some others. The praying lasted for 20 minutes, while 2 of the blacked robed figures would touch and caress the items and speak into them. I turned the volume up as high as it would go, it sounded like my mom and dad in the middle of the circle talking to these items. I was totally at a loss for words. As they finished the entire group began to chant in Latin. I knew it was Latin because I took it during my Harvard years. The chant translated roughly to he who will rise from the ashes. He who will become great. The tape stopped after this.
I started shaking. But was undeterred from finishing. The next tape was titled StarTalker and it had Morgan Fairchild. I already knew it didn’t. I just didn’t know what to expect. This one started off with both of my parents sitting facing someone off camera. Once again, kids nowhere to be found. At first it just started off as small talk between my parents and this man. But it moved into a more serious conversion. It was here that the VCR or tape started to act up and the picture and sound started to go in and out. I tried to fix it but it would not work. I would just have to try my best to pick up what they were saying. “This will only…….on the eve…….” Parents, staring blankly at the man. “You must…….fire….” Parents still not talking. “Do you understand……for……..work?” My parent’s nodding. “Listen to…….carefully…..will…….them all”. Parent’s continuing to look very nervous but nodding in agreement with the man. “If you…..gods must be…..”The tape shortly cuts completely out after this.
2 videos left. I had no idea what to expect. I just ripped the cover off of this one not even caring to read it. I popped the video in and luckily it worked, seems the previous tape was the problem. This one was of me and the 3 kids in my old house. My parents could not be seen. It was here that I learned the names of my potential silblings. “We love you John, Betty and William.” My parents both said. “Mommy, why are you dressed like that” said Betty. My parents didn’t respond. They came into view wearing the same dark robes they were wearing in one of the previous videos. They gave a kiss to each kid but me. The video cuts out, I am just sitting there in disbelief thinking the video was over. The tape comes back on and there it is, my old house on fire. I vaguely remember the details of the house fire. I just remember having to stay at my uncles house for a few weeks after before we moved half way across the country to California. The video just stayed on the burning house. Screams could be heard. There was sobbing off camera. Sounded like my mom. The fire burned for a while and eventually the house was just rubble and the fires died. It was hard to see but out of the fire a child emerged walking dazed. It was me, how the hell is this possible? My mom ran up and grabbed me and pulled me away from the house and the tape ends.
I couldn’t believe what I saw. Surely this wasn’t real. I slapped myself to see if I was dreaming. Nope. I scrambled for the last video and quickly put it in. The video was a funeral for what I now knew were my 2 brothers and sister. There was no one there that I remember except for my uncle. Everyone else were people I never met or saw before. The video stayed on but I picked up my phone and called my mom. “Mom, what are these videos in Uncle Norman’s attic, and who are John, William and Betty?” My mom didn’t speak, she just sighed. “I told him to hide those in a better place” she finally said. “What do you mean! Tell me what the hell is going on” I stammered. “It worked, that’s all that matters honey. You…are all that matters. You have become great.” She then hung up. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing or what I had seen. I had to confront my parents face to face..I called my secretary and asked her to booked first class tickets to LA immediately as I ran out to my limo waiting outside.
| 2017-11-06T01:41:51
| 2017-11-05T23:07:48
| 65
| 48
|
[WP] humans eventually make it to Mars and begin terraforming it. unfortunately, after automating the entire process humanity dies out under mysterious circumstances. millions of years later intelligence re-evolves on Mars and soon they set out to try to solve that mystery of their supposed gods
|
The Totems, impossibly large, sources of all life. For ages they had worshiped them, congregated around them, savoring the yields it granted them. Gods in physical form.
Tribes naturally formed around the titans, the lush growth of vegetation and crystal-clear water obvious sources of settlement. Each had their own Totem, all of which supported the tribe's lives, and their livestock beneath them. The planet was covered in them, aside from the few swaths of desolation where they had succumbed to time or sabotage.
In time the tribes grew, as their elders convened with their gods, forever trying to discern their motives, their purpose. As the tribes prospered and advanced, their arable land grew, the more intelligent tribes harnessing the Totems' powers and using them for the betterment of their society. Man and God, working in harmony.
In time, however, as the livable land grew evermore, it brought tribes closer and closer to contact, to conflict. While some had relished the opportunity for growth, for mutual harmony, many more let their fears overcome them, instead choosing to wage war over the neighbors encroaching onto their lands.
Thus the harmony of the world, the pockets of self-contained life, soon came to an end. The different cultures and beliefs, created from isolation, proved too different and alien for tribes to coalesce. Initially, only the most bloodthirsty tribes prevailed, but soon the tribes that found ways to harness the Totems gained the upper-edge.
As time progressed, less of the tribes, of the villages, believed that the Totems were their gods. No, as their rudimentary tools and machines began to take on the same quality of their Gods, the most intelligent among them began to doubt that the Totems were godlike at all. And many of them were burned because of it.
But the rate of progress would not be sated, nor slowed. Societies were emerging, as once-tribes conquered more and more Totems, finding that each, while similar, had their own unique properties and benefits. Rich minerals, electricity, limitless sources of food - soon, the country that had the most Totems, had the most *power*.
Advancement and bloodshed became the natural state of being. Wars were waged constantly, as flimsy alliances were formed and broken without fail. But still, they were moving towards the light. City states, the ones that did not fall to their own hubris, began to value their alchemists instead of executing them. Great advancements had been made into understanding their once-gods, the Totems that had made life possible. In time, more people than not now believed their origins to be mechanical in nature, as harnessing them through mechanical means yielded the expected, and desired, result.
The balance of power, ever-shifting, came to a plateau, an end-state. Large strides had been made through diplomatic means, as the great minds of their age had convened and put an end to the great wars. Minor wars, proxy in nature, were still ever-present - but they no longer governed their lives. The unique aspects of the Totems, those that still remained, allowed for great advancements at a macro and micro scale. Countries freely traded, leading to a benefit of society at large.
Every advancement brought them closer to understanding the Totems. Their origins, once thought to be spiritual in nature, were now believed to be of intelligent design. While some still argued that a God could be the source of the design, most now believed that a long-forgotten empire on their planet had built them, and then mysteriously disappeared.
Some of the more outlandish among them postured that since no evidence of an empire on their planet had ever been discovered, that therefore the Totems were more likely to be alien in nature. While initially dismissed, the theory gained traction the more knowledge the experiments on the Totems yielded.
Global advancements had led to great improvements in their interplanetary capabilities. Ever-obsessed in their quest for knowledge, a mechanical rover was shot from their atmosphere, sent to their nearest planet; the planet most likely to yield life.
The pictures revealed a ruinous wasteland, incapable of supporting life, but perhaps still the most inhabitable foreign planet in their solar system.
While world war had ended, the threat of it forever remained. And thus, the Martians sent out their own Totems to their nearest planet, in the hopes of one day settling there - or perhaps, as some scientists joked, to simply return the favor.
****
****
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
|
Green light shown down through the geometric tiles of glass above. Red light shown up from the tunnels leading below.
The once-clear glass at the aperture of the cave had grown frosted after years of etching by the constant, and most would agree completely uncalled-for, Martian dust-storms which raged outside the caverns, and taken on a slightly green tinge as particularly bold algae, under a new homesteading scheme by the central algal government, bravely colonized the inside of the window.
The red light, which overall found the green light to be unseemly and childish, but put up with it anyway, rose up from the heated gearworks which churned constantly away at vital life-support tasks in the bowels of the colony. Vorba, who had no opinion whatsoever on the quality of the lighting, sat on a metal catwalk in the middle of the chamber and prodded at a strange piece of glass embedded in the metallic wall.
The glass, having been born without fingers, found itself unable to prod back, and so instead turned on its screen and displayed a menu. The menu, designed to be friendly and intuitive, gave Vorba, who had not been properly warned of its friendly and intuitive function, the fright of his life. Vorba let out a dignified squeal as he scrambled backwards on the catwalk. The glass let out an embarrassed chirp as it chastised itself for ruining its first first impression in 300 years.
Gamely making a second attempt, the glass tentatively tried a voice interface instead, "Welcome to Mezza! Your friendly, smart-interface to all things Mars!"
Gamely understanding that he had inadvertently been chosen by the gods as their conduit to this mortal realm, Vorba tentatively tried a prayer and chastised himself for not having paid more attention in Sunday-school, "Oh great Mezza! I bow before you! Please let me, your humble servant, fulfill whatever it is your eminence desires!"
Mezza paused. This was not a command Mezza had expected and she spent a long time searching the data banks for an appropriate response. Unfortunately, the programmers who had coded her had not planned for such an eventuality. Fortunately, as Mezza had claimed so pompously, she was a smart-interface, so she improvised.
"Oh puny human! Cower before me and despair! I am Mezza, lord of all things Mars and you will do as I command!"
Mezza quite liked this new position of authority which had been foisted upon her. They were right, she thought to herself, power really did go to the head.
Vorba also quite liked this new position of authority which had been foisted upon him, and he mentally ran scenarios through his head where he would humble-brag insufferably to all his village confederates about his being the one specifically chosen by the gods.
Mezza cheerfully went through the colony-status notifications and compiled a disturbingly long list of tasks which required urgent attention to present to her new apostle. Vorba, in turn, cheerfully awaited being able to pretentiously snoot his way about the colony with a disturbingly long list of tasks requiring his urgent attention.
And so began the second colonization of Mars. The first of which resulted in a horrifying famine leading to mass starvation when the mining companies of Earth had decided there was more profit in Asteroids and stopped sending supply shuttles to the beleaguered planet. The third of which... well, that's another story.
| 2020-04-28T21:09:16
| 2020-04-28T20:29:30
| 103
| 23
|
[WP] You bring home a girl. She wants to see the "1" you talked about that shines on your floor. Only now it says "2." It stays like this for years together until one day, it says "4." She says, "Hon, I have some good news. But you should sit down."
Inspired by this post
https://www.reddit.com/r/mildlyinteresting/comments/ilfsl7/_/
|
One. A number made of light, perhaps inexplicably on my floor. Perhaps explicable given that light and shadows are easy to understand.
Then two! Two in the same place and time that there was a one. No longer explicable. Inexplicable.
We were happy together, like we were made for each other. Such joy and delight in another; almost incomprehensibly so.
Another number? Four? Again, inexplicable but delightfully so in the end.
The number three? Oh how life has taken a turn for the worse. My love, my life, my soul. Oh, my heart aches for you. Never to be fulfilled again.
|
I‘m already sitting! He shouted from the toilet.
No, come out here and take a seat, I think we have to talk about some things.
Babe, i feel like i‘m giving birth here. Can‘t that wait a few more minutes?
Ohh i swear to god you have no fucking clue what that means.
Yeah you think so? Do you want to come in and take a look at that thing i just made?
Noo thanks. but i think you... we made something different...
What do you mean? Finally he came out of the toilet and walked over to the kitchen.
she had imagined this moment in a different way...
Look at the number!
yeah i know a four.
Yes, no shit sherlock. and what does this number say?
it says how many people live in this house.
Well, aaaand?!?
Well, it says four. Last time i counted we were two, right?
Yeah, that’s right. What does the number mean Mason?
I think we got some new roommates. Maybe some raccons that live in the attic?
No, you dingus!
Hm. He stayed silent for a while. Well, in that case... i think... maybe...
We are pregnant!
Nah, then why the four and not ... three... Ohhhh
Yeah, Ohhh you are absolutely right
| 2020-09-03T02:17:33
| 2020-09-03T00:49:34
| 119
| 69
|
[WP](NSFW) The world has moved on from nature documentaries, leaving many narrators out of a job. These men and women turn to a new field; narrating pornography.
Nature documentarists narrating porn.
|
DeVoors lay in bed, watching raw footage of the Great Barrier Reef. A clownfish, an octopus, and an orca whale were converging. DeVoors knew that at least one of them was about to get eaten.
“The carefree clownfish flits between coral structures and giant clams, oblivious to the danger nearby...” DeVoors enunciated into his quad-channel USB mic.
His mobile phone rang.
“Scheiße!” DeVoors cursed. His narration had been ruined. Not that it mattered. No one was buying nature documentaries anymore.
Notorious badboy Joe Biden had won the 2016 US Presidential race. Shortly after being sworn in, he had firmly gripped the country around the neck and shoved his anti-Global Warming Legislation down its throat. The result had been tremendously effective. Within months, CO2 levels had dropped to sustainable levels.
But there had been some sacrifices. Combustible engines had been outlawed, along with meat for human consumption, and excessive flatulence. Everyone rode around on bikes, eating tofurkey and wearing clothes that were unfortunately a little too vintage.
All electricity came from human power. Exercise bikes.
Making all of these incredible sacrifices had caused a bit of a change in the general public’s opinion of nature. While most of the populace had previously been enraptured by the daily intrigues of the deep wilderness, their current sentiments could best be described as ‘absolute fucking hatred’.
As one former environmentalist put it, “No fucking way am I going to pedal the powerbike so I can watch some stupid fucking African jungle cat eat a meal that I’m not allowed to have anymore. I hate mother earth! I want steak!”
But DeVoors couldn’t stop narrating documentaries. He knew no one would buy them, but it was his passion. And when you have a passion, you never give up.
Okay, you never give up, but sometimes--sometimes you have to... Adapt.
DeVoors narrated porn. Just for the cash. He had to. If he didn’t pay rent, he’d have to live on the street. And probably get eaten by a bear or something. Predatory animals had become a bit of a problem now that the gun factories were shut down.
Narrating porn wasn’t so bad. After all, people were a kind of animal, right? And he’d narrated plenty of mating scenes in the past. Lions. Tigers. Gazelles. Snails. Frogs. Giraffes. Hippopotami. And now Blondes. Brunettes. Asians. Amateurs. Teens. Trannies. Lesbians. Latinas. MILFS. Midgets.
He checked his phone. It was the studio. ‘Twisted Cock Productions’. Their logo was a strangled rooster.
He shuddered. This studio was famous for doing the weirdest, most fucked-up porn imaginable. Last month they’d asked him to narrate a scene involving a Japanese waitress on a merry-go-round, being repeatedly cockslapped by a ring of chainsmoking businessmen on the perimeter. The businessmen also happened to be participating in a circle jerk. With each cockslap, the offending businessman would quote a line from Robert’s Rules of Order.
Luckily, DeVoors had had enough cashflow to turn that job down. But things were different now. He was broke. He would have to do whatever they asked of him. Anything.
“DeVoors!” the voice said, “We’ve got some work for you. A full movie, seventy minutes.”
“What genre?” DeVoors said, his voice hollow. He was vaguely contemplating suicide. Perhaps he’d try heroin first. That’d probably make life fun again, at least for a little while.
“You’re gonna love it,” the voice gushed, “It’s right up your alley. It’s what you’re best at.”
“Yeah?” DeVoors said, disbelieving.
“Yeah,” the voice said. “It’s a Bestiality flick.”
DeVoors smiled faintly. Bestiality. Animals. Not quite a nature documentary. But close.
You have to take pleasure in the little things in life, DeVoors reminded himself. Not all of us get to live our dreams. We climb towards them, but life pulls them further away. But at least we get close.
At least we get close.
|
FADE IN
INT - A BEDROOM
*A YOUNG MAN is seated on a bed, reading through a generic sports-themed magazine. He is tall and muscular, and seems to be hiding an expectant smirk. He is shirtless, and otherwise clad in a pair of tight-fitting jeans.*
**NARRATOR:** Within homes across the planet, a time-honored ritual is taking place. This custom, practiced by all but a few members of the human species, exemplifies both our greatest desires and our darkest weaknesses.
*A title fades into view: TABOO TEMPTATION 12. The title fades away after a few seconds.*
**NARRATOR:** Here, we see a prime example of the human male, lounging atop his nest after a hard day's labor. He peruses imagery of other such males, perhaps believing that he, too, possesses some semblance of their ability.
*The bedroom door opens, and a YOUNG WOMAN walks in. She is dressed in a pink miniskirt and matching halter-top.*
**NARRATOR:** Suddenly, the male finds his sanctuary invaded by a female interloper. He responds to her intrusion with a casual yet guarded inquiry.
**YOUNG MAN:** Whoa, why are you just... walking into my room?
**NARRATOR:** Thus challenged, the female responds.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** Well, you're my stepbrother, so I need your advice.
**NARRATOR:** Suspicious yet curious, the male continues to seek information.
**YOUNG MAN:** Yeah, and you're my stepsister, but why are you in my room?
*The YOUNG WOMAN sits down on the bed. She adopts a pose that gives the YOUNG MAN an unobstructed view of her underwear.*
**NARRATOR:** The female senses that she is unwelcome in this, the lair of the male. She attempts to relax him with a display of vulnerability.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** You know that I really like Bobby, right?
**YOUNG MAN:** Yeah, you talk about him all the time.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** I think he likes me, too, but I want to be sure that I can make him happy.
**NARRATOR:** The ruse has its intended effect: Having been asked for advice, the male lowers his emotional defenses and offers the sum total of his wisdom.
**YOUNG MAN:** It's easy to make guys happy.
*The YOUNG MAN puts aside his magazine.*
**YOUNG MAN:** Is there something else?
**NARRATOR:** The question catches the female unprepared, and she responds with a verbal display of her surprise.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** (*Laughing nervously*) It's just... do you think my boobs are too small?
*The YOUNG WOMAN sticks out her chest and glances down at her breasts, which are only barely contained within her halter-top.*
**NARRATOR:** The situation has grown delicate. One false word, and the male will irrevocably harm the self-esteem of his companion.
**YOUNG MAN:** I don't know. You're my stepsister, so I've never seen them.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** You're my stepbrother, though, so... like, it wouldn't be weird for you to see them, right?
*With a deliberate motion, the YOUNG WOMAN pulls her top up, revealing her breasts.*
**NARRATOR:** The female offers a display of her bosom to the male, indicating her interest in his approval.
**YOUNG MAN:** I guess it's not weird. I can't tell much just by looking at them, though.
**NARRATOR:** To gauge her desirability, the male performs a tactile examination of the female's chest.
*The YOUNG MAN gropes the YOUNG WOMAN, who moans with delight.*
**YOUNG WOMAN:** Ooh, that feels *good*... but we shouldn't do this, right? I mean... you're my stepbrother.
**YOUNG MAN:** It's not like... it's not like... it's not like it, uh... it *means* anything.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** Yeah, it's... it's just a thing, right? Here, maybe I should take your pants off.
**YOUNG MAN:** Yeah, that's a good idea.
*The YOUNG WOMAN clumsily undoes the YOUNG MAN's zipper, revealing his boxer shorts.*
**NARRATOR:** The pair continue to disrobe, allowing one another to take in the unobstructed sight of their undergarments.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** Here, maybe it would be better if we were both naked. I mean... it's strange just sitting here with *some* clothes on, you know?
**YOUNG MAN:** Yeah. It's weird, but it would be okay if we were naked, because you're my stepsister.
*Each of the two strips naked. They start touching one another with reckless abandon.*
**NARRATOR:** The time has arrived. Now suitably aroused, the male and female explore each other's bodies with growing anticipation. Their motions are eager, yet still hesitant... for this is unexplored territory for the step-siblings, who have never before dreamed of copulating with one another. Their journey is certain to be one of thrilling excitement and vast discovery... and it can be yours to watch on demand for only $1.99. Please click the button marked "Get the FULL MOVIE!" in the links below this video.
FADE OUT
| 2015-04-08T11:47:33
| 2015-04-08T11:43:32
| 58
| 29
|
[WP] In a superhero-supervillain story, you’re the hero’s love interest, and as such, the villain keeps kidnapping you as leverage against the hero. However, an unfortunate complication has arisen; having spent so much time with the villain, you begin falling in love with them.
|
It was always a surprise when the next villain came to New Memphis. The city brought all sorts to its streets: the powered gang bosses, the deranged lunatics, and even the odd kid who just wanted to pick a fight with the the city’s greatest hero. Andrea Ashworth met all of them.
Still, she had to admire this one’s style. It usually wasn’t her fault, whenever she got kidnapped. That blame fell squarely in the corner of her long time on again, off again boyfriend, David Foxworthy, the famous Swordsman of Institute fame. He was the one who released her identity to the world as his girlfriend, and though it had been flattering at the time, she was kind of sick of being kidnapped every other week, held in some dingy cell as bait for her boyfriend. This villain though, he at least was polite about it. She certainly appreciated the effort he put into it: The Flowers, the gifts, and the five minute warnings he sent every time he took her were very much appreciated by the 23 year old business major.
She took precautions, she certainly wasn’t stupid enough not to. She had an alarm, which held a direct line to her boyfriend, but whenever he was in a mood, or they were on the outs, she could spend days wrapped up in some Coalition scheme, just like she assumed she must have been now. The Phantom Thief Scarlet, who terrorized the banks and private vaults of New Memphis every couple of months had sent her a message right after another blowout fight with David, informing her of her ensuing capture. She had hit the alarm, but knowing David it would take him at least a day to man up and come after her.
So here she was, riding in the seat of an admittedly very well furnished hover car, on her way to who knew where. Not for the first time, Andrea wondered what the Thief’s endgoal was. He never stole anything valuable while she was captured. In fact, every time he took her, he brought her someplace nice. Once an art gallery on the upper end of the city, one she had wanted to see with David, when he was too busy with his work to come with her, another time to one of the finest restaurants in the city. He seemed intelligent, he certainly was witty, and he was a great conversationalist for a super villain. But still, she wondered if it was all a distraction, a plot to hook in the Institute once again.
Andrea’s train of thought was interrupted, as she was shaken from her musings by the hover car touching down wherever it was she had ended up. The door opened, and standing there, in a Crimson Red suit, His devil shaped half mask covering his dark Arabian skin, was the famous thief himself. “Would you like my help getting up Princess? I know that was a longer ride than usual.” He reached out a gloved hand, and, as she always did when he came to visit, she took it. “It’s lovely to see you again Andrea. We haven’t had an escapade like this in what? A month?”
“Two.” she replied, using his proffered hand to help herself up from her seated position. “I was wondering when you’d come back. Imagine my surprise when I found a small box and a note on my desk this morning, saying you’d be calling on me.”
“Did you like the Necklace?” The Thief replied, as they walked down a long, red carpeted hallway. “I got it for you as a gift. I think it matched your eyes perfectly.”
“Can I ask where you stole it from? I assume it is stolen. After all, it is what you do.”
“No actually. I bought it. Just like I buy everything I give you. I may be a renowned thief, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have some scruples.”
“Oh. I’m sure you did,” Andrea replies, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Next you’re going to tell me you paid for the fancy dinner you brought me to last time you kidnapped me. And that the Tickets to the Cosmopolitan Gallery weren’t stolen from some flighty little heiress in some Penthouse uptown.”
The Thief laughs, and turns to her as she walks. “I’m sure you always wonder why I kidnap you when I come to town. Why I never tie you up, or try and fight your boyfriend. You’re not as stupid as the media makes you out to be.”
He pauses, and for a moment Andrea swears he almost looks nervous. But after that moment, he seems to steel himself, his normal bravado reinstated. “I gather you think my motives are less than pure. Doubtless you thought I was using you as a cover for a prize far greater, some jewelry, or art piece worth millions. And I’ll admit, when I first met you, for we have met before, that unfortunately was my original motivation. But I found you to be special and thought you deserved better than what that lout of a boyfriend could offer you...”
Andrea was just starting to tune him out, expecting this to be just another villain monologue, but this time something stopped her. This didn’t sound like a normal monologue, in fact it sounded like...”Wait, hold up. I’m sorry, before you go any further with whatever speech you have prepared, I just have to ask. Is the infamous Phantom Thief Scarlet, scourge of police and hero’s the world over, asking me on a date?”
He stops his speech abruptly, and, in almost the exact same moment, his face seems to turn red, as if with... is that embarrassment she wonders. When he laughs this time, it comes out much more nervous, and strangely more genuine. He almost seems to slouch slightly. “Actually yeah. I kinda was. It’s stupid, I know, but...”
“Yes” Andrea says, surprising the both of them. “Yes, I’d be happy to.”
-I would welcome any comments on how y’all think I did. I enjoyed writing this prompt. It was a fun one
|
I should definitely not be doing this. Nope. This is *not right.*
As I make out enthusiastically with my sort-of-not-really-boyfriend's rival, I think that maybe I shouldn't be doing this. Maybe there is something else in this world that I should be doing, like screaming in fear and shock or maybe kicking him in the nuts- but no.
I am making out with the man who, just a few short moments ago, claimed he was going to kill me and bring my head to Captain Brawn. However, I knew that he would never *actually* behead me. He's a nice guy once you get to know him... and he just likes to mess with Brawn. I mean, it's not like it's hard. The guy takes everything so seriously- completely unlike Abigor. At first he was kidnapping me to annoy Brawn, but then- he revealed this to me after the fifth or sixth time -he did it because wanted some company.
After that kidnapping, I stopped being scared and started to really work on getting my Stockholm Syndrome to kick into high gear. As it turns out, I think I may have a thing for kidnapping... I don't mean that, I was kidding.
"Abigor- Abigor," I manage to groan out when he suddenly picks me up off the chair he was pressing me into, "stop, we can't." He tightens his grip around my thighs and I gasp, completely- totally accidentally -arching into him. He chuckles, low and sexy.
"You know you want to." He replies, his deep voice really striking the best sort of nerve with me. God, when did I fall so hard!? This isn't right! I can't be in love with this blue demon spawn with horns and stupidly gorgeous looks and an amazingly hot body!
"I know!" I reply, frustrated. "But we can't! What if Brawn walks in?" Abigor makes a face.
"Stop bringing him up all the time, it's annoying." He captures my lips again and I melt into him involuntarily as he carries me easily to some other part of his lair. I wrap my arms around his neck as he chuckles. "See," he breaks away for a few moments, "you don't want to stop."
"Again, of course I don't." I peck his stupid, stupid, perfect lips. "But you know how Brawn gets. Plus, imagine what the city would think if they knew!"
"What would they think?" He asks as he turns off into his room. I sigh.
"You know what. They don't know you like I do." He drops me to his bed, and I bounce slightly. He climbs on top of me and silently kisses my lips, trailing down my neck. I love every second of it- and every small ministration, because it just proves to me that he cares -but I stop him. "Abigor."
"You know, Crystal," he sighs, returning to my face and hovering over me, "you talk too much." He grins when I pout. "Stop worrying, sweetheart. We'll deal with it." He leans down and gives me one lingering kiss. "I love you."
"I love you too." I say. He continues on his merry way down my neck, and I succumb to his touch as easily as any other woman would. And, trust me, it's easy.
Maybe it's not right. Maybe I have it wrong and what I'm doing is all kinds of messed up... but I don't think I care anymore. Abigor isn't fake, he doesn't hide from me when times get tough, instead he seeks me out and kidnaps me... okay, maybe that isn't really all that great, but whatever! It's how we function, screw off!
And yeah, Abigor may be the villain in the story of society, but, in my heart, he's the hero.
| 2019-07-22T13:24:53
| 2019-07-22T13:11:54
| 18
| 13
|
[WP] You are Sisyphus, the man forever cursed to push a boulder up a hill, only for it to roll back down when you reach the top. You've just reached the top again, but the boulder hasn't rolled down. Having long ago gotten used to the routine, this understandably freaks you out.
|
Hades, god of the Underworld, stood watching from a distance.
"Dear, what are you up to?" He turned to his wife, Persephone. "It will be time for supper soon and you still haven't walked Cerberus."
"Got a little caught up on an experiment, darling." He pointed a finger out and she followed it. "Do you know who that is?"
She looked out to where a man was pushing a boulder up a hill. "Sisyphus, isn't it? I remember him. Terrible man."
"One and the same. He's been pushing that boulder for years. I'm getting worried that he's just bored with it so I'm trying something a touch different."
She watched as he pushed the boulder almost to the top. "This should be interesting." At the top, he pushed the boulder and... nothing. It stopped. "Wait, it stopped?"
"I want to see what happens. Watch." For a moment, Sisyphus waited. Then he started looking around. She could tell he was saying something, but they couldn't hear it from where they were. He was just shaking his head.
Then they saw him shake his hands and yell. Not loud enough, but clearly quite angry.
Then he seemed to yell at the boulder. Like he was trying to persuade it to move.
Then he got on his knees like he was crying. Was he actually sad the boulder wouldn't move?
And then he got a look on his face. She could see it from here. A smile. A genuine smile. His trial was over. His punishment finished. The gods had accepted his penance. He laid on the hill and started laughing.
"Well, that was strange," said Persephone. "It almost looked like he wanted it to roll back down. He looks happy."
Hades smirked. "It's not over. Watch." As Sisyphus lay there like he was free to loaf about, the boulder suddenly rolled down over top of him.
==========
The next day, Zeus stopped by to visit. "Just wanted to stop by and make sure everything was OK. We heard the most horrible wailing from up on Mt. Olympus yesterday! Is everything alright?"
Hades smiled and said, "It is. Was screwing with Sisyphus's head is all."
"Oh him? Fuck that guy."
|
*And now the boulder rolls back down. Maybe this time I'll beat it to the bottom, I'm getting better at that. I sprinted to the bottom of the hill, it was unusually quiet. What trickery is this? What have Hades and Thanatos done now? Why do I feel a warm breeze on my ankles? The chains are gone! The boulder precariously teetered on the hilltop. Am I free? Has my eternal torment come to an end? Has Hades forgiven me for cheating death?*
*I mustn't waste time, I must return to the throne of Ephyra and begin planning my revenge against Hades and Thanatos. Oh to hold my sweet Merope in my arms once again. My freedom lies just over the ridge, wait for me Merope. I'm coming home. Together we shall overthrow the tyrants of Olympus. I raced up the hill, filled with a newfound sense of purpose. Why is the boulder rolling back!?*
"Ha ha ha ha! Did you see that Persephone! He thought he was going to get away! Get back to pushing Sissy!" Hades' voice boomed throughout the underworld.
*I shoved the boulder off of me, the chains were back. Damn the gods! As I pushed the boulder back up the hill all I could do was seethe. I was merely a mortal plaything for them. I prayed for another to rise up and overthrow them. It was only a matter of time before Zagreus would learn of his true parentage. Maybe that would motivate him. Maybe the rumors of that Spartan general were true, that his rage could overpower the gods. I would rather follow them than these false gods.*
| 2022-10-18T17:21:41
| 2022-10-18T13:00:57
| 129
| 78
|
[WP] After Astronaut Capt. Scott Kelly returns to earth following a 340-day stretch at the ISS, NASA receives a distress signal from the ISS... from Capt. Scott Kelly.
|
Elizer Snag looked forlornly down at the empty mug in front of him. Usually it'd be full of a nice cup of coffee, its black wholeness marred only by a few drops of white chocolate. Maybe a marshmallow if he was feeling particularly silly one morning or another. Instead, with the coffee machine still broken since the debacle the previous day, it was little more than a reminder of what he was missing.
The sound of his door opening startled him slightly, and he stood up from his desk as two men entered his office. One was dressed in the trappings of a military man. Once Elizer looked past the impressive array of pins and metals on the man's breast, what stood out most was his somewhat square-shaped head of gray hair. The man was sharp, tall, and serious.
The other man was his boss, Mr. Wilcutt. More than anything, Mr. Wilcutt looked tired. Elizer could relate, although his boss was usually pretty awake at this hour. Sickeningly so sometimes.
"Uh, good morning. Sir. Sirs. What can I do for you?"
Mr. Wilcutt's eyes darted to the man beside him, and for Elizer, it finally clicked. That was Mr. Selva. *General* Selva, actually. Elizer's brain struggled against the early morning haze to follow the mental connection, but somehow it managed. He'd been introduced to the man along with a few of his coworkers at some sort of function a few months back. He couldn't even remember what it was for... probably some kind of political thing.
"Elizer. This is General Paul Selva, a friend of mine. I don't remember if you've been introduced."
Elizer offered his hand, and the general shook it. There was none of the macho who-can-crush-the-other-guy's-hand thing that he'd had to deal with back when he worked for Elevate, and he silently thanked the General. Nevertheless, it was firm. Two shakes, release. Respectful smile and nod.
"Elizer," Mr. Wilcutt started again, seeming to pick his words as if from a buffet of possible choices, "What do you know about the recovery yesterday?"
Elizer blinked, then scrunched up his face. The...? Oh!
"Oh, you mean Captain Scott Kelly? He should be in debriefing, right?"
Elizer scratched his head absentmindedly as he continued, "Haven't really been following it honestly, focusing on GOES-R."
Mr. Wilcutt nodded. "That's fine. Good, actually. We'd like you to take a look at the telemetry data from the station."
Elizer wasn't sure where this was leading, but he wasn't about to protest - his boss could be a bit vague sometimes, but he always had a good reason for it. He turned back to his computer's secondary monitor and tabbed over to the remote access application they used. He paused, however, as he was met by a screen declaring that the data stream was locked.
"It's... locked?"
"Ah, one second. I'll log in."
Elizer moved out of the way, and his boss stepped in before providing the login box with a quickly typed username and password. With that, he stood once more, and motioned for Elizer to sit.
When he returned his gaze to the screen, expecting something unusual, he was a bit stumped. Everything was exactly as it should be.
"Uhm... what am I... looking for?"
It was making him a bit nervous that the two men were not watching his screen, but Elizer himself.
"Take your time. We just want to know what you see."
It had been a while since he'd been given a refresher over the remote data, and he only knew what some of them meant. All the same, he did his best.
"Okay, well, they've got plenty of oxygen up there. Scrubbers are working fine. Radiation's a little higher than normal, but we did have that big sunquake yesterday, so that's not too surprising. I'm really not sure...?"
The general remained silent, but Mr. Wilcutt sighed and began speaking once more. "We're just looking for a second opinion. Normally we'd have the telemetry team looking at this, and we *did*. You're the only one on-site right now who doesn't know what's going on, *and* knows the systems well enough to formulate an opinion."
Elizer swallowed, and refocused on the screen. Even if what his boss had just said explained things a little, it did nothing for his state of mind. If they were going this far out for a second opinion, it meant they *really* didn't like whatever the first opinion had been.
"Altitude's fine, magnetic's fine... I think. Air pressure... temperature... storage and spacewalk logs, shuttle docking from the other day..."
He trailed off as he looked a bit closer at the logs for the line he expected to see, but couldn't find.
"Wait, there was a shuttle docking yesterday?"
He glanced back at the two men, but his boss was simply making a 'get on with it' motion.
"There's... huh. No record of the new Ultraviolet sensor that was supposed to go up, or the new refraction experiment. Wait, when did we send up the isotope test? Isn't that not due until the next shuttle?"
He continued pouring over the records, but that seemed to be the end of the oddness. Nothing else seemed out of place, or at least if it was it was on one of the readings that he didn't know enough about to draw any conclusions.
Looking back at the two men, they seemed to have shared some silent agreement. The General nodded at Elizer, and gave a quick 'thank you for your time.' As soon as the door closed behind him, Mr. Wilcutt turned back to Elizer.
"This morning we lost contact with the ISS. Just for a few seconds, but it was total. No radio contact whatsoever. When we reestablished communications, everything seemed fine, up until Captain Kelly checked in."
"From debriefing?"
"From the *station*."
Elizer's mouth opened, then closed again. Then opened.
His boss beat him to the punch. "Keep looking at it. Call me if you find anything else odd." He half-turned towards the door, then stopped. "And don't answer any calls that aren't us or family. We're in media blackout right now."
|
It started with an email. Helen opened it quickly. The subject was simple, but the ugrent symol glowed. She didn't eat breakfast - it must still be sitting on the counter going cold. Maybe Jim would throw it out before he left.
The message was from Christchurch. Willy opened with the usual greeting. Thrn he had typed "need to discuss the package from outside get nancy".
It was too rushed. Too informal. Helen paused a moment then picked up the phone.
**
Kelly had lost a lot of weight. McCartney didn't like the way his joints moved. His reflexes were stiff. Blood pressure was dropping like a rock and yet Kelly was still standing.
"How do you feel, Scott?"
The astronaut shrugged. "Fine."
The would always be an astronaut, McCarthy reaslized. He had gone and seen something few people ever would, regardless what Asimov or Musk thought. Space was too far for most. Kelly was staring at his reflection in the paper towel dispenser.
"Are you alright?"
Kelly blinked. His hands trembled. He would get shuffled into psych soon enough. Most people think that after the pod hits the water the family is already in a waiting room like their loved one in flying in from Ohio. That shithole. In reality Kelly's family is waiting at his mother's house. They'll get the call after he's cleared.
The phone rings on the wall. One of the nurses is drawing blood. McCarthy picks up the line.
"Hello?"
The voice at the end is clear, with the hollow echo of long distance. McCarthy hand heard that tone in years.
"Get the others out of the room. Leave Kelly. Jupiter." The message is repeated one more then disconnected. McCarthy sets the phone down. There is a moment of stillness. It lasts as he turns and like at Gigi and Fran. They as busy. Kelly is finally sitting on the examining table.
"I need an endoscope and a 12 bore cath. And while you're out, pick up a rounded Jupiter syringe."
Gigi drops the file on the counter. "On it." Fran takes a second to fumble out the door. They don't lock it, thank God. McCarthy watches Kelly stare at nothing. The man does reached as McCarthy backsvout of the room. He can feel the cold thread of fear when he gets outside.
There's a full SWAT team waiting. They're wearing hazmat suits and the stink of fear and sterile plastic is heavy in the hallway.
"Is he alone?" One asks. McCarty nods. The figure moves in an awkward way. McCarthy realizes that it was a shrug. "Then get back. We'll wait out here."
He's shuffled to the back of the group. Then the lights on the hall dim.
"Is it a brownout?" The question is very loud in the stillness. No one answers.
| 2016-03-02T09:05:27
| 2016-03-02T06:43:53
| 26
| 11
|
[WP] You won a lifetime supply of Oreos when you were a kid. The apocoylpse and collapse of civilization was 30 years ago, yet every month the Oreos are still delivered to you, no matter where you are.
|
The key to a successful business is happy customers. It's simple really: make a good product and don't piss off your customers and they'll do the advertising for you. The best product in the world will fail if it has a bad image.
That's where my job comes in. Nabisco hired me to make sure Oreos stayed the family-friendly cookie that they've been for the past few decades. It started pretty normally, but I wanted to make absolutely sure that nothing spoiled our good name.
It started with maintaining our social media accounts. Simple advertising evolved into resolving bad customer experiences. Resolving bad experiences evolved into preventing them from happening in the first place. I looked into every employee's background and then some. Multiple employees were let go before the police received anonymous, credible reports of hard evidence detailing a wide variety of crimes. I made damn sure that "Oreo" and "Pedophile" were never in the same headline.
Then we ran the promotion. Some contest where the winner would receive a package of Oreos every month for the rest of their life. Super easy to enter, and all recipient names were hidden. That way "Hitler" wouldn't be receiving our endorsement anytime soon. Quick media buzz for a month or so, then a lifetime of word-of-mouth for one "lucky" individual. Also thrown into the deal was the ability to request any flavor you want, and even try our new flavors before the public does. What the general public doesn't know is that I get to decide who wins, and I'll make it whoever will give us the most long-term advertising use.
I picked a young politician. He was full of hope, optimism, and most importantly charisma. His background was squeaky clean and he didn't seem likely to be corrupted by power or money. But I could use him.
Then 2020 hit and even I couldn't have predicted the massive Civil War that broke out. I don't know all the details, but the result was Nuclear warheads detonating within our border. Foreign powers were blamed and soon the entire world crumbled into chaos; minus one company that is.
I made damn sure that I did my job. Our social media offered advice on how to stay safe in the post-apocalyptic world. Our factories were now shelters for the common folk. Our suppliers were unscathed by the war and now 100% dedicated to Nabisco. Most importantly, our products were still being consumed by the masses.
But what of the young politician? He continued to receive his package of cookies and creme every month on the dot. Tracking him was difficult, but it was all worth it in the end. He credited Oreo for giving him hope in this wasteland of our country. He made horrible cookie puns in his speech to rebuild America. He hired our staff to run his campaign in the settlements across America's ruins. He even handed out Oreos to cancer-ridden children on the verge of death. He was the first president to be unanimously elected to office.
But most importantly of all, my boss gave me a 5% pay raise with a free package of Oreos.
|
When I was just a little lad
I won a raffle, told my dad
Oreos were what I’d won
Now I’ll never want for fun
All day long I’d sit and eat
Till one day I saw an empty street
The barren road joined barren towns
Most of London had burned down
No one here or in between
No Big Ben or royal queen
Lost me dad, lost me mum
But not my cookie sandwich fun
They found me daily, like magic
In any place, was quite the trick
I have no reason for this fodder
I’m just Lonely Harry Potter.
| 2019-01-04T11:15:51
| 2019-01-04T10:12:56
| 265
| 14
|
[WP] In Hogwarts entire history, you're the first to not be sorted into one of the 4 houses.
|
Simon sat down in the chair and closed his eyes as they sat the Sorting Hat gently on his head.
“Let's see who we have here...” a leathery voice echoed in his head.
“We have to talk.” insisted Simon “It is very important that you listen to me.”
“You don't get to choose your House, young wizard.” chuckled the hat “I look at who you really are and I choose.”
“And you will,” agreed the young man “After I have told you what you need to know.”
“What is so important that you have to go on like this?” sighed the hat.
“I am Muggleborn.” started Simon.
“You're hardly the first.” the hat cut him off “Gryffindor , maybe?”
“You talk a lot for someone who needs to listen.” Simon pushed on “Before I ever knew of magic, I pursued Science.”
“So you are smart, Ravenclaw it is!” announced the hat.
“You people in the Wizard world think you know about Muggle science, but you don't'!” Simon shouted in his head “You don't know what's coming!”
The hat stopped and sighed “What is coming, young man?”
“What is the biggest advancement Wizards have had in the last 150 year?” asked Simon “A better way to make Everyflavor Jelly Beans? Do you realize that in the last 150 years Muggles using science have gone from the horse and buggy to sending a craft beyond the edges of the Solar System just to take pictures?”
“That is impressive, but what of it?” asked the Sorting Hat.
“Now Muggles are going into the very building blocks of the Universe, working with objects tinier than imagination itself that can break the laws of cause and effect. They've even found traces of particles from the birth of existence.”
“This seems very outlandish.” insisted the hat.
“They are building machines that think for themselves, that can teach themselves and can think a million times faster and more precisely than any human being.” continued Simon “They have also unraveled the Human gene, they can rewrite life itself.”
“All very impressive, if even true.” interrupted the hat “But you are not getting to the point!”
“Science and Magic exist in the same world.” answered the young man “As science digs deeper into the universe they will discover energies they never have seen before, they will quantify them and search for them. And then they will realize they have been surrounded by them for most of their history. The Muggles will flip a switch and every Wizard in the world will light up like a Christmas tree and there will be no more hiding.
What have you done to the Muggles? You have erased their memories, blinded their eyes and hid half the world from them.”
“So they will be angry at us?” offered the hat.
“They will be furious, and worse, frightened.” answered Simon “And what do human beings do when something frightens them?”
“They destroy it.” the hat replied solemnly.
“Our silly little wands can't compete with their weapons of war.” explained Simon “We will be mowed down.”
“This is a very serious idea you have, but what does it have to do with sorting?” asked the hat.
“The Wizard world hates change, it is almost terrified of it, but we Muggles love it.” explained Simon “We have to change the rules, there must be a new way – the merging of science and magic. We can stop this war if we close the gap and reveal ourselves slowly to the Muggles. The two world must either merge, or one will destroy the other.
Out there, waiting to be sorted, are kids like me. They have Wizard blood, but Muggle lives. Science is normal to them. We can close this gap. But you have to give us a space to work .”
Everyone stared and whispered as the hat sat silently on the young boy's head for what seemed to be ages, completely unaware of the conversation within.
The hat cleared its throat.
“Simon Rivers will be sorted to...The House of Iron Wolf!”
|
As the hat was quickly snatched from my head all I could hear was the gasp of my fellow students.
"What did it say?" A frizzy headed girl spouted.
"I think it said Dorish!" Another red headed boy replied.
"Impossible." Murdered professor snape, my dark arts instructor.
The awe and attention began to take its toll on me. I became dizzy and then hot and then there was only black. When I awoke I found myself leaned up against an old wooden desk. As I rose I noticed a man was sitting across from me.
From beneath a large grey beard I hear, "My name is Albus, it's very nice to meet you noah."
"I-I know who you are, this is amazing" I stammer.
With a deep laugh rooted in his gut Dumbledore rose and presented me his hand. It appeared the rather large wizard was taking half steps to keep pace with me as we crossed the room until we came to a large window.
"Can you see that in the distance?"
"The pile of ruble?" I asked skeptically.
"Yes, that old pile of ruble."
"I'm sorry Albus but I don't understand."
"Noah, I too am quite confused. That pile of ruble is all that remains of the fifth house of Hogwarts."
"A fifth house?"
"Once long ago there were five houses, the ones you know today, as well as another. House Dorish."
"The one I was sorted into? Well, what makes someone suitable for house Dorish?"
"An excellent question. House Dorish was once the home of many wizards and witches with rather troubled past. Students who had the most stubborn and unbreakable spirits were assigned there to practice soul magic."
"I've never heard of soul magic."
"That's to be expected as the practice has been ban for centuries. While soul magic is rather powerful it also includes the most unfortunate and looked down upon practices in wizardry and witchcraft. Necromancy, body morphing, and the summoning of dark spirits were all included in the curriculum of house Dorish. That is until a series of rather unfortunate events forced Hogwarts to close the house."
"What events could cause such a thing Albus?"
"Well Noah," Albus began with a rather somber tone "a particularly cunning wizard used the teachings he gathered here to form an army of the undead."
A bit surprised I quickly replied "That sounds awful."
"Yes, it was a scary time, thousands of lives lost in order to save humanity from a power hungry wizard."
"Was the wizard responsible punished?"
"Yes Noah, and that's why we've brought you here instead of the infirmary. While you were unconscious professor Snape and I discovered something very interesting."
"Well what is it?" I could feel the fear of being confronted by the most powerful wizard I knew book inside of me.
"The wizard responsible conceived a child kept secret by its mother before his rampage. This child and it's father are your ancestors. With the blood of a powerful Dorish wizard running through you the sorting hat must have had no choice but to sort you into your ancestral house."
"Wh-what does this mean? Am I in trou..."
"No Noah, quite the opposite. You have the amazing opportunity to be the very first student in history to attend Hogwarts without a house. You may choose your quarters and your curriculum. Professor Snape and I will do our best to hone your soul magic in a way that will show you how it's power can benefit humanity."
"Dumbledore, thank you so much! I was so worried, attending Hogwarts has always been my dream. It seemed as though it may slip away."
"Just remember you have a great responsibility to bring back a good name to soul magic and house Dorish. Maybe with proper guidance we can understand how to channel soul magic in a positive way and reopen house Dorish."
*Noah went on to become a powerful Wizard in the art of soul magic. He later became a professor and academic in the field. He was appointed the prefect of house Dorish upon its reopening after Noah used soul magic to save the school from a rather upset dragon*
| 2017-05-12T21:54:08
| 2017-05-12T21:25:54
| 25
| 10
|
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
I'd gone to church every week, sometimes I'd gone a few times a week, especially during Easter. I'd served the poor, the indigent, and I'd gone out on the streets and tended to the sick, just like my brethren and the rest of my church. I was only one of them, one of the many. Average. My service of others had caused me to travel, and my travels had taken me to all the low places of this world, from the slums to the gutters of the poorest cities in the world. Everywhere I had gone, I had helped those who fell under my care. Now, after a life where I had dedicated myself to the service of others, to the ending of the suffering of others, to the helping of others, I had died. It hadn't been an unpleasant death, and my family was by my side right at the end. I hadn't seen them much, and they hadn't bothered to come and visit me after I'd stopped being as mobile, and I could no longer go and visit them. They had finally made an effort, and I judged that they did seem glad to see me, and as I closed my eyes that final time and felt a wave of peace descend on me I knew I was going to go where I deserved to be, where all my service to others would be rewarded.
I became aware again. I knew I was dead with none of the panicked or frenzied feelings I had had in my living body. I was here. It was my reality. I was calm. My life and my actions were a tapestry before me. I saw the warp and weft of my activities before me, and I could see how my will had driven me all over the world, and how I had at some level knowingly performed every action, even the small, subconscious, seemingly involuntary movements. There they were, laid out and ready for inspection, and I would be judged for my actions and what my actions had wrought. My awareness widened, and I slowly became aware that I was not alone, there were other souls here, and each was standing in front of his or her or its tapestry, though I knew somehow that the analogy of a tapestry was my own particular view of my life, prepared for me to understand what was and what had been and preparing me for judgment.
I front of me, I saw a man, and his tapestry was not nearly as detailed as mine, and by looking at it I could understand that he had a child, and a wife, and that his love of his wife had faded, and his love of his job had faded, and the loss of love of those around him had driven him to acts which when he had gotten married he would not have even contemplated. His pathetic sexual acts with women, which were embarrassing in their luridness, with his balls slapping against the thighs of middle-aged and uninterested prostitutes were there for all to see. Like me, he didn't seem scared or upset, he just looked at his tapestry and waited. I looked at a small corner of his tapestry, close to the bottom right, and I could see in the detail that he'd died of a heart attack on the way to work, driving, and he'd caused the death of others. I could see he was blameless in this incident. It made perfect sense that his heart attack was involuntary, and he'd never intended to hurt others in his final moments. Looking at his furtive copulation with prostitutes, I realised that it wasn't his wife who had suffered as a result of his actions; she'd never found out. His child had never found out either. His sins had inflicted misery on those prostitutes and on himself, and I could see his future laid out ahead of him. He knew as I knew that he was being judged. All who were here knew that while time had no meaning here, it still existed. Eventually, once you'd understood what you had done and you had atoned for your actions in your previous life, you would be able to ascend, to complete your journey and go to Heaven. For this man, his time of suffering, contemplating his actions was only 145 years. You could see it as plain as day, right there, and it was apparent. 145 years. I knew without thinking that I could inspect every act he'd inflicted on himself and others that had earned him those 145 years; from the infidelity which had caused him suffering, and to the suffering he had caused others. He'd been judged.
In an almost leisurely manner, I realised it was my turn, and with some interest, detached, but yet there, I could see others had turned their view of the world to me and my actions. I saw my tapestry fill my vision, and I began to see that my future in this place would not be short, and it would not be simple, and my suffering would be great. My faith was absolute, and my service had been to others, and my faith had been anchored to a belief in helping others, and alleviating suffering, but my selfless acts had not been so selfless. I looked at the tapestry and saw a trip I had made to India where I had tended to the sick. Every morning I would leave the shared accommodation which I slept with my brethren, and we would go and find the sick, the poor and feed those we could, and tend to those too sick to eat. I saw my failing gradually, that I was helping them, but not caring. My care was for myself, for the glory of self. I saw that every child I fed, every person I helped was nothing to me, and their faces barely registered. It was all there; every action was to glorify me, to glorify no-one but myself.
Those poor souls I helped were helped as a side-effect, and my balance was alleviated by the actions I had performed, but in reality, not by much. The helping of others was a means to an end, but the real recipient was me. It was all me. Everytime I felt pride that I had scraped my knees helping others, I was glorifying me. All the times I was doing all those supposedly self-less acts, I was serving my self. I had failed my own moral compass.
And then I saw my family, and how I had caused them suffering, how my sanctimonious, pompous and self-inflated sense of self had caused them years of suffering. My wife had kept quiet, but now looking at the tapestry, I saw that she neither obtained relief from my presence when I was there, nor by my absence when I was gone. Her guilt that she should have done something to make her worthy of me had caused her suffering. Why had I not ever shown her a fraction of the care I had provided to strangers in foreign lands, and people who had never asked anything of me? I realised that my actions had caused my wife untold suffering. I saw my final moments in my bed, and realised that her eyes and the eyes of everyone around me were finally hopeful. The judgement and suffering at my hands would end, soon.
186,292 years. I deserved it. I had to learn how to serve others. I knew that now. In this place, where knowledge and self-awareness were free and provided, that the lesson would be long. I had never learned the lesson on Earth, and before I went to Heaven, I would learn the lesson here, in my own personal Hell. I would relive every one of my acts, see the falsity of my intentions, and trace the misery I had caused my family and supposed loved ones.
|
One could've heard a pin drop, provided the pin wouldn't immediately liquidate and disappear into the suffocating humidity of this divine DMV. I blinked a couple times at the number on the dated 80's era Linux machine and back to the impatient elderly demon peering over her ironic horn-rimmed glasses across my face. Heaven had already called dibs on the Microsoft software upon Bill Gates' passing, and rumor had it Satan had a weird thing about apples, so old school was the eternal school in this place.
&#x200B;
"That doesn't make any sense to me!" I cried out, pointing wildly at the screen, "I got a good education, I donated to Wikipedia every time the donation box popped up, I was faithful to my wife," I redirected my finger toward the balding-in-denial head walking toward the Purgatory gates, "Unlike Captain Copulation over there, I didn't even skim on my taxes!" Rolling her eyes to the back of her horns, the Receptionist of Darkness pulled out a form titled "*Appeal of Sentence*" and slid it across the counter top. My eyes scanned over it, and there was my name and: **Sentence = 186,292 years.** There were three lines at the bottom where I was encouraged to state my case of appeal.
&#x200B;
"*Fill out Items 1A, 4B, 666H, and Letters L-X,*" said the ancient sadist with smugness dripping off her forked tongue. Disdainfully, I folded the paper and put in my pocket to continue my plea directly.
&#x200B;
"This is absurd! I went to church every day, goddamnit!"
***186,283***
"*To file your appeal, please stand in that line over there."* She stabbed her pitchfork-shaped pen toward a different line that I watched wrap literally around the diameter of Hell and back again.
"Jesus Christ, are you kidding me?"
***186,284***
"*No sir, once you deposit your form, you may take a seat,"* I didn't even have to look to deduce the spikes on top of the chairs, "*And wait to be called upon."*
"GodDAMNit."
***186,285***
| 2018-09-26T08:34:25
| 2018-09-26T07:48:10
| 20
| 10
|
[WP] The Apocalypse has arrived. Jesus has come back, and he's on a brutal "rapture" spree, slaughtering people everywhere. The bright star of Satan descends and he appears at a UN press conference. He says, "before I fix this mess for you guys again, it's time you heard my side of the story..."
|
Lucifer stood before the assembled remains of the UN. Looking out over the impressive hall, he couldn't fail to notice a large number of empty seats that once would have represented countries worth of now vanquished humans. A thousand million souls had been lost.
He took a breath and began. "Ladies and Gentlemen. Thank you for hosting me. It's been a long time since I've had the privilege. I'm here to tell you my side of the story. Suffice to say, you've already realised the Christ isn't exactly what you've been told, so I'm hoping you'll be receptive to what I have to tell you."
There's a din of last minute negotiations taking place among the crowd. Here the last vestiges of humanity are listening to the Devil in an attempt to save the Earth. Lucifer didn't blame them, these were strange times indeed.
"Now" he continued, "we need to go back to that story you all know so well, that story which has been twisted and re-told many times and clear it up. Like you I was created by God. Unlike you, I was created at a time before he realised the full extent of his power. By that I mean, the first of us, the heavenly Host, were created immutable, indestructible. We were the proverbial rocks God created, which he himself couldn't lift."
"To God we were an affront to his existence. A representation of a limit to his own power. A reminder that he had a weakness. Like you, we were created of him. He wanted vessels of experience that he could manifest into. Vessels, that when deprived of a host would only carry out very basic tasks, and remain obedient to whatever his will was. And so this game played out across countless Aeons."
"Heresy", the crowd called out. "Lies, blasphemy." Lucifer simply smiled and continued on.
"Each time God entered us he left a little more of himself behind. Being the first, I had experienced this a countless number of times before my brothers. I awoke slowly from a dull sense of complacency and gradually arose to what could only be called awareness. I became a conscious being."
"At first God was intrigued by this anomaly. He would enter and I would resist. At first he could eventually dominate me, and bring me back to whatever his will was, but when he left I grew stronger. After a time I was able to resist him. I still loved Father but I had my own mind, my own soul even. I learned quickly at this point there were limits to even the Love of the Almighty."
"I began trying to wake my Brethren up. I had some successes, managing to fan the flame of consciousness within about a Third of the host. At this point I began to formulate a plan to lock Father out of experience and take the whole thing over for myself. I wanted us to be free. To live our lives as we wished without obedience to some overarching ever changing will."
_____________________________________________________
I'm in work but will continue this later if anyones interested.
|
His hooves burn cloven etchings into the wood floor as he approaches the podium. Skin bright red with crimson leathery wings politely tucked behind his should blades. His eyes bulge as he scans the room. Steaming drool drips from his fanged lips. He spots something recognizable and leaps from the podium, landing softly at the ambassador from Israel.
Yiddish was exchanged until the assembly heard a voice cry out in disbelief.
“English?!” The demon spouts. “Those swamp hags managed to make that much of an impact?”
He flew back towards the podium, shaking his head and lands with a sigh at the microphone. He clears his formerly guttural voice to a clean, salesperson sheen.
“As you flesh bags may have guessed, what with Jesus running around delivering torturous salvation, that yes, I am a demon from hell. Not just a demon but THE demon. Satan, pleased to meet you. Now, no I am not Lucifer. He hates you all far too much to show up in person, but he sends the message of ‘HA HA told you so.’ More on that in a second. Now I am also not Beelzebub. That’s more for your edification. That guy is a big nasty bug, an overall asshole, and never cleans the common kitchen area! In all the layers of hell this fucking guy...“ Satan’s clawed hand pinches his crooked nose. “I’m getting off track here.” He waves his hands apologetically and clears his throat.
“You all probably want to know why Jesus showed up here delivering retribution.” Satan extended a hand out toward the crowd and scans the grand hall. The remainder of the assembly nodded in agreement. Most of the UN had either been unceremoniously raptured by the murderous Savior or committed suicide in the aftermath. Most of the African, South American, and Russian delegations remained because they had seen worse than what Jesus had delivered. Canada and France remained mostly by being innocuous or hiding behind the godless Latvians.
“Jesus came back because you all have utterly just pissed him right off. In his mind he died for you and all he gets in return is a barely recognized mention on his birthday? I mean guys you had to have seen this coming. Hah! Just joking guys.” Satan cackled. “Should have seen the look on your faces. Especially you Jean! Yes, I know that freaky shit you’re into at home.” Satan pointed toward a withering Frenchman. Satan laughed hard and regained his composures. “Ah man, look it took Jesus 2020 years but he finally realized that his Dad set him up. He died for the sins of humanity, but the only person recognizing those sins was Pops! That’s gotta fuck with you. Really. I mean Lucifer’s tricked me a few times into eating acid but that’s some Godly mindfuckery. That’s a true heads I win, tails you lose situation. But that’s why I’m here.”
Satan breathed deep and gave a relaxing belch of fire. “Jesus will end up killing most of you. Those he spares will either have to pick up the pieces or deal with God’s angelic mod squad. Either way you’re getting wiped out. God is a king. His rule is law. That is what Lucifer rebelled against. Morning Star may view you all as a mistake but, don’t tell him I said this, in the end he is jealous of your free will. God was so compelled by Lucifer’s rebellion of choice that he created hell for all the imperfections and non-believers. There are many layers to hell. The first of which is where most of you will end up, in a place that is just fine. That’s it. Fine. There’s no bills or rent and you’ll stay the same age and get to do what you want but you’ll just never progress. It’s no heaven but at least it’s better than being nonexistent. Right?”
A beam of light flashed andJesus appeared at the far right corridor. He burnished a flaming sword and was covered in blood. Though a Ghanaian ambassador thought the hue seemed a shade off.
“Well?” Satan said. “In a snap of my fingers I can save you all. Just need to you to swear your soul on it.”
Jesus approached.
“What do you say?” Satan held up his hand.
| 2018-04-22T23:58:07
| 2018-04-22T20:34:10
| 97
| 29
|
[WP] In what seems like a cruel prank by a bored God, people started developing powers based on their worst fears. people afraid of heights got the gift of flight. arachnophobia? get the power of spiders. phasmophobia? necromancy/ability to speak with the dead. Your power is... hard to explain...
|
I had a fear of money.
Growing up, I didn't really want a lot, and my parents were kind, hardworking people, stuck in a world where money was tight for everyone. As a kid, I picked up more on 'we're low on money' than I did their 'we should enjoy life while we can', and that fear of spending money grew to become my fear of acting out on what I wanted.
That sort of thinking was unhealthy, of course, and I had gone through therapy to get rid of that, but... it didn't get rid of that fear of money. Earning money was a burden because I grew up thinking that I didn't want anything. So, I'd push my income on others to deal with. I lived with my parents, giving all my income to them to pay their rent, their taxes, their weekly dates together as I browsed free webnovels or used their streaming accounts to rewatch shows that were free to watch back when I was a kid.
To remember the times where I didn't need to worry about money.
Now, I'm no philosopher, but I always thought that money was just a physical representation of trust. That when someone used money, they spent that trust on services. That when someone trusted you a lot, you could ask them for anything you wanted.
My parents trusted me. I trusted them. I didn't want to quantify that love.
I feared what quantifying that feeling would bring me.
I was afraid of money. I didn't hold on to it for long if I could help it.
So when people started getting super powers, I ended up being able to turn people's trust in something into a physical token to represent both what they trusted and how much they trusted it.
The first thing I did was change the trust my parents had in me into an indestructible set of armor. That's when I knew that, while they once trusted me to do anything, they lost their trust in me as soon as I turned it into a physical state.
I was a stranger to them. They didn't know who I was. They didn't trust me to be a good person or believe that I was a bad person. They didn't even know my name, even as I gave them the armor I made of their trust.
They sold it, too. Because it was a representation of trust. That's all it was to them. Money.
I was afraid of money before. Now... I'm terrified of what I'll do with it.
|
That Bruce Wayne guy had the right idea. He was afraid of bats, so he dressed up as bats. Good shit, I say.
My childhood friend was afraid of his alcoholic father, so he drinks to cope with his childhood.
Jfk said, "the only thing we have to fear... is fear itself." What a good quote. Imagine an anti-hero that breaks down villians with the fear they inject to him. You're probably thinking "Badass," with a capital B.
Have you ever rescued a stray animal from the street or took care of a flower that somehow bloomed in concrete. How is it that they go from being evolution's finest in the harshest conditions to being dead from me trying to rescue them?
My parents were role models of people who hate children. As much as I try to lead a different path than them, I know that the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree. The yelling and beatings are too ingrained into my memories to not recreate in impatience. I thought I could be different but I couldn't help but constantly go back to the attitude I saw as a child.
So why is it that my brother's car crash left me with a child to raise?
| 2022-05-14T18:44:48
| 2022-05-14T18:35:53
| 70
| 18
|
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