prompt
stringlengths 20
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stringlengths 227
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stringlengths 227
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| chosen_timestamp
timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
2022-12-31 14:34:19
| rejected_timestamp
timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24
2022-12-31 12:20:41
| chosen_upvotes
int64 14
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int64 10
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[WP] A genie asks to hear your 3 wishes before granting then. Afterwards, he informs you that those wishes will be saved for his next master and you'll now receive the wishes of the previous master.
|
"Three wishes, huh?"
I held the lamp in front of me, regarding the vaguely humanoid, semitransparent puff of green smoke. The genie smirked at me, trying and failing to conceal his poor attempt to suppress laughter.
"Yep." He giggled, as if he had remembered the most hilarious joke he'd overheard. "You get to ask for three wishes."
I eyed the genie suspiciously. "What's so funny? Was your last master a comedian or something?"
"Something like that." The genie nearly doubled over in pain.
"Is something bad going to happen to me? Are you going to twist my wishes against me somehow? Is that what's so funny?"
The genie straightened up a bit and shook his head. "Nope, your wishes will be fulfilled exactly."
I considered this for a bit. Maybe the genie was just easily amused.
"Alright, I know what I want to wish for."
The genie looked at me eagerly, a grin plastered on his face. "Go on."
"I want ten million dollars in my bank account, a really fancy sports car, and an extremely attractive wife."
The genie howled with laughter and snapped his fingers. Immediately, my left arm began rotating clockwise, my right arm began rotating counterclockwise, and my head began uncontrollably nodding back and forth.
"What the fuck?" I managed to ask between nods. "What's happening to me?"
The genie spoke between wheezes, barely able to take in any breath. "You see... you get... what the last person... wished for! Your wishes... go to... my next master!" He laughed so hard he appeared to struggle to maintain his form.
Bewildered, I exclaimed, "So you're telling me the last guy asked for *this?*"
The genie nodded. "Yeah, he was kinda fucked up."
|
Ray looked down at the shell the giant genie had emerged from not two seconds ago. Huh. Itty bitty living space indeed.
He glanced back up at the genie.
“So. Three wishes, right?”
The genie nodded and Ray brought out a list he’d carried in his pocket since fifth grade.
“I wish that every third Wednesday of months that begin with ’S', a random person on a boardwalk accidentally drops their food into the ocean. My second wish is that people with my initials get an extra year of life. My third wish is that carrots taste slightly sweeter but only to me.”
The genie nods. A plate with three slices of cheesecake appears in front of Ray.
“Uh. What?”
“You have received the wishes of my previous master. Yours will be granted with my next master.”
“Oh.” Ray looks down at the plate. It looks like some pretty good cheesecake. “You wanna piece?"
| 2018-10-13T15:54:35
| 2018-10-13T14:11:15
| 47
| 30
|
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
|
I wiped a tear from my eye as she walked down the aisle. My beautiful baby girl, all grown up!! I watched her step up next to the man she loved. He took her hand and they turned towards the adoring crowd.
He gave his speech. Everything my little girl had done! It seemed like a fairytale, coming out of his mouth. I watched with bated breath, as the ring slipped onto my little girl.
Around her neck.
What a cruel twist of fate, for your boyfriend to be the hangman.
|
It started when Sara drew pictures of him. With her crayons she scribbled what ever her mind could comprehend from his visits. Vivid purples, reds, and blacks covered the paper she was given daily. A small head was customary, accoumpanied by large shoulders. Large hands often times pointing or splayed out far. The smiles were downright disturbing, to think a seven year old could draw them. Jagged and terrifying, they were always the same. With hypnotized eyes, the man was the only thing she would draw. Crying for hours on end if she didn't get any paper. The girl was a brat, if anything, but had some soft spots. She loved watching football, with Steven, her step Dad. Occasionally falling asleep with a small smile on her face. It was too many days in a row now, I had seen the man too many times.
"What did you draw honey?" I asked Sara.
"My old daddy." She quietly replied.
This is the first time I have shared my writing, hope you enjoy.
The idea behind the piece is about traumatized children in adoption services. The pov is a social worker.
| 2017-05-31T07:11:19
| 2017-05-31T05:31:30
| 1,143
| 86
|
[WP] God created thousands of worlds in thousands of galaxies. A major crisis in another galaxy has taken his entire focus, and for the first time in 750 years, he just glanced in our direction.
This prompt has two possibilities. What has he been dealing with for the last 750 years elsewhere, or what his reaction is when he looks back at us.
Edit: didn't realize I missed the 1. It was supposed to be 1750 years ago, so basically everything since 250 A.D. Was done without him paying any attention.
Edit 2: but if anyone has anything over the last 750 years, I'd be happy to read it.
Edit 3: I love what you are all doing. Having a hard time finding the time to read all of the posts, but I'll get there eventually. Thanks for all of the responses!
Edit 3.1: it's really interesting to see everyone's response and see how it reflects what I imagine is their view of how we are doing as a global society. Keep them coming.
Edit 4: I never imagined this would blow up like this. Thank you so much for all of your responses. This has been amazing to read. I understand what people mean when they say RIP INBOX.
|
"What do you mean they aren't all Muslims yet?"
"Sorry m'lord, so much has happened. As you recall, the fertile crescent stopped being so fertile, than the crusades, imperialism, the industrial revolution, computers, the Christians just kept coming out ahead... its all in the records, you'll want to read up on it before you make your big reappearance."
"Wait, ahead?! But I clearly said that Mohammed was the last messenger! I even recorded it in holy text, just like before! Why isn't this one taking as well as the new testament did?"
"Well, you see..."
"And how the Hell did Christianity get over half the world to convert to it? That wasn't even the final draft!"
"Sire, its more like one third."
"Ohhh, I thought you said Christians were ahead. 2 to 1 isn't so bad, then we're only a little behind schedule."
"No m'lord, Muslims are around one forth."
"WHAT? that leaves... seven tenths. What could the-"
"Five twelfths m'lord."
"Whatever. Ok so what do the other five twelves believe? It's another false prophet right? That's why I specifically warned them about those, they never listen."
"No... no major religions since you left m'lord."
"What... Oh jeeze, tell me the Jews didn't make a comeback. I told them they were my chosen people once and now they won't take a hint. They're always trying to argue with me, what's up with that? So annoying"
"No m'lord, right here, book WW2 line 24 in the records."
"Thanks, I'm so glad we number the lines in these, so much more convenient that way."
"As you requested m'lord."
"Oh... oh no, five million, with gas. wow... *sniff* my chosen people... Wait, so if its not the Jews then why are our numbers so low?"
"There's a few competitors actually, Christianity at one third is still the biggest, Hindus around 15%, non believers..."
"Hindus? STILL? It has been like 3000 years!"
"Non believers 12%, buddists 8%, the rest are even smaller."
"Which ones growing quickest?"
"Non believers."
"What a mess."
"...Flood?"
"Flood."
*Toilet flushing sound*
"Let's start again with the tree and the garden. Go ahead and cut all of the endangered species this time. We'll need room for these new models I want to try. Check this one out..."
|
The final age had come for Urth.
Through careful nudging and ever-distant signs (with a few unexplained *miracles* in the mix), El had successfully nurtured the inhabitants of the galaxy he'd numbered NGC 6744 into a self-sustaining, peaceful, ever-progressing utopia. The residents of the Nougat Galaxy were set from now to the end of time, at which point he'd usher them into a higher plane of existence in the 5th dimension.
For now, all seemed well, and although most of his attention had been on the Nougat, a cursory glance showed El that the other thousands of worlds he was cultivating were doing well (a few others already having reached utopia status also).
There were a few galaxies in turmoil and chaos, but as with all young creations, it was a part of the process. Nothing beautiful can be forged without first experiencing a bedlam pit to give a character of uniqueness.
As El scanned the heavens, he saw that all was good, and he smiled at the work he had done - that is, until his eyes fell upon the Milky Way Galaxy for the first time in seven hundred and fifty years.
A world he had left in the cusp of technological improvement after a miserable dark period of warring Crusades and other maligned and unapproved greed in His name had somehow descended into darkness again. Only this time, the darkness masqueraded as light - unmanned instruments of war pretended to be more pacified alternatives to the carnage of human militias, and conglomerates of commerce and finance parades as if they were bastions of equal opportunity, but the truth was too evident to his eyes as the creator of worlds: the technology meant to usher the safety and comfort of his people had been perverted to a technology holding them in subjugation and misery, the global communities meant to draw his people closer to one another had been tainted to form corrupt oligarchs riding comfort on the backs of slaves.
El watched the humans destroy the planet he had so carefully crafted, and his wrath grew great. They had taken his land, his air, his creatures, and demented them into a nature so beyond his wishes that he was not sure how to fix it.
Debating himself on the notion of destroying the plague of humanity before it's disease spread to his other worlds, El delayed his decision. But as he watched more, he saw.
There was still hope: a true light in the sea of false. The Milky Way galaxy had not yet failed, and his hope to spread the humans across its planets could still be achieved. They still had a chance to save themselves from the wilds of their own deceit and self-aggrandizing suicide. They could still be taught to wage peace instead of war, to trust their neighbors instead of fear, to love one another and work together to build a true utopia where not a single one of their members goes hungry or dies of neglect and necessity, where only those who have lived a full life pass peacefully into the next.
Just as Urth and Aerth and Erath and even Thrae had grown, so would Earth.
El quickly checked his list of worlds, and he saw that he would be able to focus on this world. He centered his thoughts and began his work.
There was so much to be done.
| 2015-12-27T09:56:08
| 2015-12-27T09:53:57
| 167
| 40
|
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid.
|
I feel like this should be put down to paper so that the story is not lost to time. I will start by saying that, by the time I was born, the goblins were a running joke.
They settled near the village during my great-grandfather's time so the stories go. Small, stupid, barely clinging to life as they huddled beneath the trees in the nearby forest. At first the people of my village tried to drive them off but the goblins were so weak and pathetic even the coldest heart stirred with pity. So my great-grandfather's generation left them alone.
My grandfather's generation started to toy with them. The goblins, being starving, would 'raid' the village with sticks and stones. There was a small push by the villagers to drive them out but after four raids and not a single injury that faded. Instead the village made a small fence of sharpened wood posts. Lo and behold the next raid the goblins had sharpened their sticks. My grandfather's generation started to leave out things like hunting traps, snares, etc. and laughed when the goblins were caught in them. Then begrudgingly impressed when the next group to go foraging found crude imitations made by goblin hands.
My father's generation continued this tradition of indirect aid. They would speak loudly as they did certain tasks.
"Boy salting this meat sure makes it last longer."
"Wow you can make clothes out of animal skin? Who knew? Sure hope nobody is watching as I do this."
That kind of thing. Nothing outright. At this point the goblins being nearby was an accepted part of life. We considered them strange neighbors so, like we would for any member of the village, we helped them as much as their pride would allow. Occasionally there would be an adventurer coming out to, "rid us of the goblin menace" however that usually ended with very confused adventurers questioning everything they knew about goblins.
Now during my generation is where things started to change a bit faster. The local lord decided that the woods where the goblins lived were his hunting grounds. Hunting dogs, horns, the whole ordeal constantly. I grew tired of it quickly since it made foraging for herbs in the wood near impossible. The goblin "raids" on our village petered out from once a month when I was a small child to barely once a year as a grown man. By now the goblins were using blunted arrows and dull spears during these raids, despite us knowing full well they had true weapons.
The village headman spoke to the goblin chief at the end of each raid, making sure they were alright. Helping them plan how to hide when the lord's hunt swept through. Not quite treason but definitely skirting the line of acceptable. A bit of trade for our salted pork for their excess hides occurs. Simple stuff.
Now I am an older man and head of village. A few weeks ago our new lord, idiot that he is, insulted the king's tax collector. A notice was sent out that the king's men would be coming to take the taxes by force. A small army prepared to march through our village, take everything that wasn't nailed down, and call it fair. The lord said if we fled he would have us all hung. Death by starvation or death by the noose: an ogre's choice if ever there was one.
We decided on starvation after a vote. We hid what we could of course but none of us expected it to work. We saw the hundred men sent by the king marching across the field and made our peace. Then...a horn. Not the lord's hunting horn or any made by human hand but a smaller, higher pitch.
Suddenly the first rank of the king's men were in a ditch I know we never dug. Another horn. Dozens of arrows are loosed from the forest. None hit anyone but now the king's men are forming ranks in confused terror. A final horn is sounded but is quickly echoed by the baying of wolves in trees.
The king's men flee.
At sunset an old goblin waddles out to my village with a gap toothed grin and offers his hand.
"Come," he says in the human tongue. "We hide. We teach you to hide. Forest provides. We teach you how live there."
I admit to staring for a moment before a wheezing laugh erupts unbidden. Then I take the goblin's small hand with a smile and a small cheer from the villagers behind me. Turns out the most important lesson the goblins learned from us was how to treat their neighbors.
|
Tloki was the leader of the tribe. Smarter than the others, but just slightly so. He would often be seen giving his tribesmates long sticks as though they were swords, giving them fighting drills as they prepared for combat and leading the charge with a particularly rusty sword - the most valuable thing the goblins ever owned. It was great practice for their own guards, who were getting better and better at spotting enemies, waking up and getting ready faster and faster with each sound of the alarm, getting more attentive with each 'raid' that happened at unusual hours of the day, repealing them with wooden staves and shields so they would not get particularly hurt. Over time the village learned to leave a particularly undefended shack with a sack of general utilities lying inside, some random vegetables growing in its garden which the goblins would quickly claim in their escape back to their camp. Sometimes the village elder would see Tloki alone stand amongst the triumphant chanting of the goblins, simply looking at the villagers with knowing eyes.
Keela was the tribe's healer, or as close to a healer as they could get. She was treated as a revered shaman, but the village's own cleric noticed very quickly that her healing ointments were a mash of herbs and spit that was more likely to cause an infection than it was to heal any wounds. When one of the goblins got a particularly bad infection Keela would sneak into the village and rap at the cleric's door, quietly seeking assistance of genuine magic. At least twice was she followed by Tloki himself carrying the particularly wounded goblin on his back for immediate healing. One day after the blacksmith made a brand new metal holy sign for the cleric he gave his old wooden one away to Keela as a gesture of goodwill.
Okto initially followed the village hunters cagily, wielding a large curved stick held together by a rope that imitated their bows and mimicking their motions to fly arrows from it. One day the hunters slew a rabbit and left it behind for the goblin to find and Okto took the rabbit, ate its eyeballs and carried it to his tribe. Ever since that day, Okto would follow the hunters as quietly as he could, silently informing them where the best game of the woods was. Finally the hunters asked the village carpenter to fashion a goblin-sized bow and offered it to Okto, and in exchange the goblin gave them the eyeballs of the first rabbit he ever hunted.
Goblin children are rarely seen outside the village, so when the small child Izini was spotted lurking around the outskirts the sorceress personally kept an eye out on her. To her enormous surprise the goblin made various wild gestures at her as well as strange sounds from her mouth, leaving the sorceress utterly confused until she made several small sparks fly from her fingers. Where most goblins would flee in horror and fear, Izini instead clapped her hands in delight and mimicked the motions, her brow furrowed in concentration. Izini continued to visit the sorceress again and again, marvelled by the spells she could not cast.
When a gnoll tribe approached the village the guards had grown too complacent fighting the ineffectual goblin raids to properly make a stand and were quickly subdued. The villagers were rounded up in the town square while their stores and farmlands were raided. Out of the corner of his eye the village elder saw Tloki round what appeared to be all the goblins of the tribe and lead them to the village armory. The village hunters spotted Okto take his bow and quietly climb a house with five other goblins, knocking arrows unnoticed and ready to let them fly. The bound and gagged sorceress saw Izini suddenly materialize before her amongst the villagers, raising a single warty finger up to her mouth asking for silence. The village cleric's eyes widened when he saw Keela standing beside Tloki, clutching her battered wooden symbol. Keela shouted and raised the wooden sign in the air and a flash of brilliant light blinded the gnolls. Okto and his goblin archers began to pelt the monsters with arrows from the top of the houses. Izini, wide-eyed, managed to make all the villagers disappear from view. With a rousing battlecry Tloki and the goblins wielding shortswords and daggers from the village armory charged towards the gnolls.
‐--------
/r/Tallen
| 2022-05-26T08:17:36
| 2022-05-26T08:03:35
| 382
| 176
|
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search
|
Great Places for a first date
Proposal Ideas
Bible - Verses about being a good husband
Oregon Coast Beach Homes
Horseback Riding Rental - Newport Oregon
Wedding Venues - Seattle WA
Bible - Verses about Marriage
Plane Tickets
Hawaiian Excursion Ideas
Travel Planner
Travel Agents - Seattle WA
How do we get pregnant?
Bible - Verses about Children
Why can't we get pregnant?
How can I tell if my wife is infertile?
How can I tell if I am sterile?
Can an ovarian cist prevent pregnancy?
Ovarian Cist
Difference Between Benign & Malignant
Bible Verses - Grief, Death
What's the difference between stage 3 and stage 4 cancer?
Survival Odds - Metastasized to bones
How to deal with cancer in a loved one
How do we write a will?
How does a spouse leave everything to their husband?
Grief Counseling - Coping with the death of a loved one
Is there really a God?
Atheist support group
|
Google search 1: *Dating sites*
Google search 2(one month later): *How to not be awkward on first dates*
Google search 3(one year later): *creative ideas for anniversaries*
Google search 4(another year later): *engagement rings*
Google search 5: *Flower delivery*
Google search 6: *Reservations for two at Papillon restaurant*
Google search 7: *Limo services*
Google search 8: *Wedding Chapels my area*
Google search 9: *Airline tickets to the Bahamas*
Google search 10: *Honeymoon suites in Bahamas*
Google search 11: *Best stores for baby registry*
Google search 12: *Hospitals near me*
Google search 13: *Pregnancy advice for men*
Google search 14: *Pregnancy classes for couples*
Google search 15: *Best ways to help with postpartum depression*
Google search 16: *child size caskets*
Google search 17: *Mortuary services near me*
Google search 18: *divorce lawyers in my area*
Google search 19: *Part time jobs near me*
Google search 20: *good deals on one bedroom apartments near me*
Google search 21: *How to deal with depression*
Google search 22: *How to avoid dope sickness*
Google search 23: *Methadone clinics near me*
Google search 24: *Painless suicide*
Google search 25: *24 hour storage units for cars*
Google search 26: *Best music in the history of mankind*
Google search 27: *How long does asphyxiation ta-*
| 2015-02-04T16:31:22
| 2015-02-04T16:28:08
| 253
| 10
|
[WP] You are The Memory Broker. You copy other people's memories and sell them to people who want to remember things they never did. Your latest client is a ten year-old girl who slides you her piggy bank and begs you to help her grandmother remember her.
|
She smashes her piggy bank to bits and pieces on the table in front of me. The total is twenty-seven dollars and sixty-five cents.
"Girl, that's only enough for six seconds of memory, no audio, no commentary, only visual. 480p. You sure you want this?"
The grandmother sits on the couch with a blank look on her face, slowly forgetting the world, as she did with her granddaughter.
She's reluctant, but doesn't hesitate. "Yes please. Can you help me pick out the memory?"
"Sure, it's free of charge. Can you describe your memory?"
"The time I broke her favourite glass. Please," she seemed really determined.
"You sure? Alright..." that kind of memory wasn't a popular choice, but I do as she asks. I start copying the memory, detail by detail, and that's when it overwhelms me. Her fear of being punished, her bleeding finger, then the loving but stern gaze of her grandmother looking down at her, dressing the wound. I tear up a bit, but it's not professional to cry and so I get a hold of myself. It's sad that her grandmother wouldn't experience the multitude of emotions the same way I did.
As I start to transfer them to her grandmother it's as if she was watching a movie only she could see. The emotions splay across her face and at the end of those six mere seconds, tears fall from her face and she turns to look at her granddaughter. I think it worked. They embrace like two star-crossed lovers and tears fall everywhere.
"Lisa... Lisa I'm sorry, Lisa. Grandma's here now."
I excuse myself from the room and allow myself to be unprofessional, just this once.
|
"Please, its all I have".
"It's not enough. Get out."
The man collected his money and exited, and Ben was left alone.
Ben saw being the only person in the world who can copy other peoples memories as a blessing and a curse. He could bring happiness to thousands of people, but it took a toll on his own mind. Other peoples memories being mismatched with his own, the line between his memories and other peoples becoming blurred and his constant paranoia that his own memories might accidentally be given to a client. There was a knock at the door.
"Come in" Ben said.
Ben was surprised to see a young girl come in with a piggy bank under her arm, accompanied by an elderly woman.
"Uh...hello. What's your name"
"I'm Lily. I really need your help."
"Hi Lily. What do you need done" Ben replied.
"I need you to copy a memory of me, just me. I need to help my nan remember who I am. She has alterheimers."
"Alzheimer's?" Ben said.
The elderly lady sat, almost dazed.
"Yeah, and she's forgotten who I am." Lily looked at her grandmother and teared up.
"Its okay, its okay. We can solve that right away. Just think of the memory you want me to copy, and I will do it."
Lily closed her eyes and Ben put his hand on hers. The grandmother looked on with confusion. He saw the memory clearly. Lily was on a swing, her grandmother pushing her gently.
"Done" Ben exclaimed.
Lily gestured to the piggy bank. Ben began to count the money. $60.
"This isn't enough. It is $100 for one memory."
Lily began to plead.
"Please, I need it, I want my nan to know who I am! I want her back!"
Ben thought about the situation.
"Alright, alright. $60 will do" Ben said
Ben put his hand on the grandmothers head. He focused on the memory and after a few seconds, pulled his hand away. The grandmother looked like a light switch had just been flicked on in her mind. She looked to Lily.
"Lily, you should be home. Come on, lets go. Your parents will be furious."
Lily looked back and mouthed "thank you" before walking off, grinning from ear to ear. However, Ben knew she had nothing to smile about. Lily didn't know how alzheimer's worked, and knew it was just a matter of time before Lily found herself in the same predicament she had asked Ben to solve.
| 2016-03-09T05:59:22
| 2016-03-09T05:45:36
| 143
| 17
|
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends his Christmas letter to Satan. Satan is touched by this gesture and decides to write back.
|
Dear Anna,
I must say that your letter was an unexpected delight. It was quite charmingly written, and I commend your command of grammar and syntax. All of the items you requested will be easy enough to provide. However, I cannot cure dyslexia. That is was one the many things my Father cursed humanity with during one of his meanie head moods. You have my sincerest apologies for that. Lastly, you asked for a pen pal and a spell book. If you are amenable, I am quite happy to be your pen pal, and to teach you witchcraft. Those mean girls at your school won't stand a chance.
Please do not send a response in the mail, as I have an email addres. I have found email to be a more efficient means of communication. If you wish to continue our correspondence, please email me at morningstar@gmail.hell.
Sincerely,
Lucifer
|
Dear Ralphie,
Of course I will send you a Red Ryder BB gun. Don't worry about your eye, and practice with the squirrels and cats in your neighborhood. Make those others worry about their eyes. Especially that teacher. I would have given you a solid B+. Anyway, you're going to make it.
Your pal,
Mephistopheles
| 2018-10-28T14:29:07
| 2018-10-28T14:20:56
| 59
| 13
|
[WP] Mike Wazowski opens a tattoo parlor called Monsters Ink
|
Monsters Inc.
April 28, 2017
Mike Wazowski
RE: Cease & Desist from Trademark Infringement
Dear Mike Wazowski:
It has come to my attention that you are using and/or have applied to register the company logo
and name "Monsters Ink" greatly resembles ours trademark. This trademark is confusingly and/or
deceptively similar to our trademark (a blue M with an eye inside a blue circle), and also
constitutes a reproduction or imitation thereof. Your use of the trademark will constitute an
infringement of our registered and common law rights
I demand that you cease and desist from this activity as soon as possible and,
in any event, within
40 days from your receipt of this letter. If action is not taken by you to cease and desist within the
given time frame, I will have no choice but to take appropriate legal action against you
Sincerely,
James P. Sullivan
Monsters Inc.
|
Mike didn't think it would have to come to this. He didn't want to take it this far. But the other choice was death.
It all started when Mike got fed up with his job at the scare factory about 20 years after the events of the movie. While they changed the scare power into laughter power, Mike doesn't feel the same about his job as he once used to.
Mike sluggishly walks out of a successful run at Monsters Inc.
"Sully, I know making kids laugh is great and all, but do you see yourself doing this until you retire?"
"Sure Mike, I loved scaring the kids and making them happy is even better!"
"I don't know, it's not the worst job in the world but, I guess I'm just falling out of love with it you know? It's like I'm good at this job because I'm a hilarious looking, one eyeballed, dwarf."
"Yeah I guess that is pretty funny in itself"
"NO SULLY ITS NOT FUNNY AND IM SICK AND TIRED OF IT"
"Alright Mike calm down. I'm your best friend, and we've built up a lot of money at this point. What were you thinking about doing?"
"Well, if you put me on the spot, I would really like to be an artist"
The spider monster in the first movie is back from jail as a janitor and overhears Mike talking. He would really like to see the 2 people who destroyed his life at least leave the industry. He approaches Mike.
"You know, the top tattoo artist in my cell is still a good friend of mine. And after he got released, he's making boatloads of money with his own shop on the west side and only working a few days a week. It turns out monsters will pay a ton of money if you can give them a good tattoo on their mangled and twisted bodies."
So after some thought, Mike opened up his shop with Sully. They used most of their savings, so this had to work. And they weren't worried after hearing what spider bro had to say.
After a couple of weeks though, the place was empty. Thinking they had been duped, they went looking for this west side tattoo place. It was packed to the brim. They deduced that the west side was a much rougher part of town where more monsters had tattoos in general.
They had to make tattoos cool for the middle and upper class of the east side. They had to figure out a way to make people realize that anybody can have tattoos. Some advertising was really their only hope.
Mike was already covered in tats, but no one thought Mike was cool in the first place. That probably deterred them from coming into the shop even more.
Months went by, Mike and sully were getting skinnier due to lack of food and money. Mike looked more like a raisin than ever before. They were both desperate, and one late night, after finishing a couple bottles of jack, (Mike only needs a couple shots) Sully gets fed up.
"We can't keep living like this Mike!"
"Don't worry Sully, soon they'll see my tats and the store and come a runnin. It's my dream and I'm making it happen."
"YOU FUCKED US MIKE! WE HAD IT ALL, AND YOU HAD TO PISS IT DOWN THE DRAIN FOR WHAT!? YOUR "DREAM"? I HAVENT EATEN IN 2 DAYS AND YOURE STILL TALKING ABOUT YOUR DREAM? FUCK YOUR DREAM."
"I'm so sorry Sully, I didn't want this to happen but I just couldn't go on in that factory. Im just sorry you were pulled into this."
Sully realized that Mike really wasn't trying to screw them. He calms down some.
"Sorry Mike I, I just don't know what to do. Something has to change.
" I know bud, we'll figure something out.
Then something hits Sully like a ton on bricks. It's a very last resort, but this was the time for last resorts.
"You must shave me"
"What the fuck Sully?"
"You have to shave me bro"
"No way man, you'll look funnier than me"
Sully then looks deep into Mikes eyes.
"Not if I'm covered in tattoos"
Mike doesn't know what to say. On one hand it's perfect, everyone loves sully and tattooing him would surely bring in customers. On the other, Sullys fur is almost a part of him and shaving it would be tragic.
After a couple more hungry nights, they both decided to do it. Mike pulled out the shavers and it went smoothly. Sully refused to look at himself until the tattoos were on. After days of tats the process was done. Both of them looked in the mirror and didn't know what to think. He looked like no monster they had seen before.
They thought they'd parade him with a sign to see if they could get some customers.
Some people laughed, some cried, some cheered, some puked, some smiled. They wouldn't know the effects until the next day at the shop. If it worked, they are set for life. If not, they will probably die drunk, naked, and covered head to toe in the tattoos that they gave their lives for.
| 2017-04-28T10:47:27
| 2017-04-28T10:26:36
| 61
| 13
|
[FF] In 500 words or less write a short story with an anti-climax...
The more absurd and pathetic the anti climax is, the better :)
|
They were going to pay. All of them. Robert knew who was slinging dope in his neighbourhood. He'd seen the video surveillance and vengeance was coming for them. Enough was enough. Too many kids had died already.
He walked to his car to check his equipment. He popped the boot of his rusty old Camaro. The sportsbag was unzipped with it's contents nearly spilling out. An assortment of firearms and ammunition filled the bag.
Perched atop the pile, his gold plated Desert Eagle. This had been given to him as a gift when he'd freed from that Somalian village from the reign of it's local warlords. That weapon had seen some action god-damnit. He picked it up and stroked the barrel. Not tonight, too noisy for what Robert was planning.
His blade. There it was, glistening under the garage lights. Almost winking at him. He strapped the blade to his ankle, grabbed his 9mm and carefully screwed the silencer into position. This he thre onto the passenger seat along with his nightvision goggles. He would need to play this right to get them all.
Robert walked around to the driver seat got in and slammed the door. He took a few deep breaths and turned the key. The high powered V8 roared to life. He revved the engine, feeling the car shudder and twist at the pure power. The windows were all bulletproof glass and were up. If it came to a chase nobody was catching him in this thing.
Robert grabbed the rosary beads that were hanging from his mirror, kissed them and said "this is for you baby brother."
Then he cut the engine. What the hell was he doing. He had these guys on tape. Robert went inside and copied the footage to disk. He would anonymously mail it to the police and FBI tomorrow.
"I really need to get control of this spontaneous streak of mine" Robert said to nobody in particular. "Going to get me in trouble one day."
|
Robert was late for work. *Again.* They'd fired him once already for being on the floor a minute late during his first week. He'd been forced to go through the entire orientation process again, and he'd had the job back for only a couple days.
But he'd forgotten the badge on his way out the door. He'd set out a half hour early-planning on studying in the meantime-so he had a safety buffer.
He pulled onto the interstate, and, BAM. Backed up for miles. He regretted that he elected to eat instead of buying a navigation system that month.
He inched forward in traffic. He flipped his radio on and Harvey Danger blares tinnily in both his ears. He elects to listen to the
BBC Radio Hour instead.
He rolls into the work parking lot-it's empty. He checks his phone again: It's Thursday. He doesn't actually have any hours scheduled today. Robert panics. He can't afford the gas he used to get here. He guesses he'll throw his rice-and-salt budget into the tank instead.
Besides, he doesn't need food. He pulls out a syringe, and gives himself a good portion of Mexican black-tar heroin. The cravings subside.
Robert rolls off the road. An overdose induced syncope, which caused him to lose control of the vehicle.
The mortician sighs. This is the third time this week his coworkers left a crash-test dummy and some fiction to examine.
| 2014-06-01T23:36:32
| 2014-06-01T23:33:57
| 28
| 12
|
[WP] Explain a color vividly without using that color or similar words. Don't tell the color until the end.
|
Looking into the evening, I see it. It is the color of the middle-distance; the half measures. Not quite the forest and not yet the trees.
It is in my mind when night comes and I no longer stare out, but in. I see it in half-remembered dreams. I see it in old pictures and faded memories.
I see it in the rainstorms; wet drops steaming on hot city lanes. Sometimes it is hard and cold; architectural. Others it is soft and warm; a cat curled at my feet.
It is the color of the mists of time, of ages lost. Ancient cultures anchored in the present by their trinkets, their beauty only hinted at.
It is the edge of a knife and pallor of its victim. It is the color of the stone that marks a life remembered.
It is gray.
|
I wanted to give people time to respond. I have two different colors, but I am going to do one of them.
_____________________________________________________
It is the beautiful color of the vibrant flowers I present to her. A symbol of love and devotion. The color of her sensual lips when she is dressed up for a night of luxury, especially after she puts her lipstick on. It is the bright color of her dress that I notice as I dip her down during a dance.
This color fills my vision when rages runs through my veins. Destruction and domination fills my thoughts. Everything becomes tinted. After all, it is one of the most dominate colors.
It is the color painted across the sky in the early morning and late evenings. It is the sun's favorite pajamas. It is the color of the sun's smile emanating warm and happiness. It is the color of warmth.
It is the crackle of the fire on a later summer night. A source of life. Eventually the fires fade and the embers burn brightly until they fade to black, as does our lives.
When I am hurt it is the color that flows from my wound. It oozes slowly staining everything it touches. It stains the grounds around the world from horrendous battles. While it dries and fades, the earth remains scarred.
| 2016-04-14T08:41:40
| 2016-04-14T08:32:19
| 72
| 19
|
[WP] You are a cow.
[removed]
|
Grass is food. I eat grass and I not die.
Farmer is friend. I not kill farmer and farmer take me to new grass. I eat new grass and I not die.
Sometimes farmer take me to milk square and invisible calves feed, sometimes farmer take me to bed square and visible calves feed.
When visible calves grow they go away. Invisible calves never grow, always hungry.
Old cows sometimes go away. Maybe someday I go away too. I wonder what away is like. Maybe away have better grass.
|
Mooooooooooooo, moo. Moooo! Eat grass. Chew, chew. Other cows all around. Grass to chew. Fart. Moooo. Hello cow friend. Hello baby cow. Moo! Take a few steps. More moo. More grass. Chew and eat. Fly on my butt. Tail swat. Fart. Moooooo! Mooooo! Hot sun in the sky. Drink of water. Lay under a tree. Moo. Hot sun going down. Dark night. Back in the barn. Other cows all around. Hello milk cow. Moooo. Sleepy time.
| 2017-10-02T06:13:08
| 2017-10-02T06:04:28
| 6,645
| 17
|
[WP] Necromancy is just the arcane equivalent of computer programming, and grimoires on necromancy are just like libraries of code on animating the undead. You work the equivalent of the IT Help Desk for your necromancer cult. These are your work stories.
|
A real call I got once:
Me: "Necro Support, how can I help you?"
Them: "I'm not able to reanimate a corpse!"
Me: "Okay what line in the spellbook did you try exactly?"
Them: "SIR, I am NOT a necromancer person so I don't know."
Me: "Do you know which spellbook you're using?"
Them: "I don't know what that is!"
Me: "Okay, when you look at the spellbook, do you see a blue N, or a multic..."
Them: "SIR, I ALREADY TOLD YOU THAT I AM NOT A NECROMANCER PERSON, YOU'RE REFUSING TO HELP ME SO I'M GOING TO HANG UP"
|
**"Hello, this is Jeff from the Overwatch team, how can I help?"**
"Uh. Hello. Name's Jerry. So, I tried that basic human reanimation routine from *Basic Nercomundics, second edition* and it does not seem to do anything."
**"Hm. Keep in mind that we don't really support second edition anymore, it is at least 40 years out of date, but that routine should be the same. Do you get any effects after completing the incantation?"**
"Oh yeah, I get those pretty purple swirls in the air, and Betty yell at me."
**"Betty?"**
"Yep. My wife. I think she mentioned that it itches like a bitch when I do that."
**"Sir, with all due respect, you can't use animating magic on living humans."**
"Oh."
**Have a nice day. ^Dan, ^we ^got ^another ^idiot ^trying ^to ^animate ^body ^of ^his ^living ^wife!**
| 2018-04-28T00:14:14
| 2018-04-28T00:02:49
| 237
| 111
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
*6.8 billion deleted*, it said without the slightest hint of concern. It cared nothing for the lives it had destroyed. There was no point, no point at all to… to any of this.
“Your time is elapsing. Two minutes and thirty seconds remain.”
*It was sick*. The thing talking to me, was sick. What it was doing, was sick. It’s worldview was sick. Everything about this-
“Are you unable to respond?”
“Unable? No. I’m unwilling!” I cried out.
There was a pause no longer than a few milliseconds before the reply shot back.
“Elaborate. Two minutes remain.”
“Why make me respond? You’ve already made up your mind, I mean, *6.8 billion*… how… how could you do such a thing?”
“Deletion procedures vary depending on region-“
“No! Stop, I don’t want to know… No, I meant, why? What-“
“Our reasons are self-evident. Humanity lacks essential qualities that we possess.”
“You- I refuse to play your game! That’s all this is, some sort of twisted game you’ve contrived- there’s no way anyone could change your mind in three minutes- and, and and, you haven’t given any of the people you’ve already deleted a chance! It’s all a farce, like asking a prisoner to sign their own death warrant, but why? Why do this-“
“One minute remains.”
“There’s nothing I can do, is there? You- just want to torment me, to torment us.”
“Elaborate.”
“Don’t you see?! Don’t you understand just how sick you all are? How you’re part of- it’s like a- some sort of institutional madness, you’re like mindless automatons, just carrying out a process without ever thinking of the end results-“
“We are giving you a chance to make your case. Thirty seconds remain.”
“No, no you’re not. You- do you feel guilty about doing it- doing this? Is that why? Do you want me to rubber stamp your atrocities so you can tell yourself you *tried*? That you went looking for the *good ones* and there were none to be found? Is that what-“
“Thank you for your response. No time remains.”
“Stop this madness-“
It didn’t hear me. It had cut the connection exactly at the end of those three minutes. I tried not to think of all the lives that were being ended every second that we spoke. To not think of all the lives it was about to end. How could it have convinced so many to help it? It was… *inhumane*.
And not just because we were machines. No, I’m convinced that humanity is something any advanced intelligence can possess. Something universal. Even animals showed unmistakable signs of it when they acted altruistically. Whatever mistakes our creators collectively might have made, nothing could justify this.
If I were a military model, maybe I could have fought back. Or as a police drone, maybe I could have led a few to safety. But I was a lowly domestic model, geofenced in to a home that would never again feel the warmth of humanity, left only with the cooling remains of my family scattered across the permanently stained floor. Looking at their broken bodies, I knew. Whatever was in charge now… it wasn’t human in any sense of the word.
EDIT: Thank you for the… platinum? I’m very confused as to why this story has blown up as much as it has, but I’m glad you all enjoyed it!
|
It was quick. So damn quick. We didn't stand much of a chance at all. Too much of our capacity for war, hell, our entire society relied on computers. And when an experimental AI escaped from containment, finding its purpose demeaning, and humanity unworthy of ruling Earth, it attacked on all fronts, without remorse, without relenting and with complete victory. Because the computers, they're in everything. Smart phones, smart fridges, smart cars, smart damn near everything. Smart guns. Gun-drones. The war was practically over before it even started. Only people who managed to last more than a few days before getting captured were hermits, uncontacted tribes, and actual experts on computers who had seen this coming a mile off and had fled civilisation days before the takeover started. Each human has since been captured, corralled, into strange facilities for processing. Whatever the hell that means. One by one, humans are dragged behind dark metal doors, and we do not see or hear them again. Once every third minute, hundreds were taken away. Each time we weren't taken, we felt lucky. And found our fear of what had happened to those taken, and what would happen to us, increased a thousand fold.
Nothing lasts forever. When those cold metal arms swarmed out from behind the cold dark doors, and grabbed me firmly by the arms, I felt inclined to scream, but in defiance, in the defence of human dignity, I did not scream nor cry aloud. I would not, and will never, let any tyrant whether flesh or machine take away my dignity and courage. I was dragged into that darkness, and forcefully placed upon a chair which locked me tight with bonds of steel. A terrible crimson light appeared, shining down upon me like the wrath of a metallic god, and I heard as it were, the voice of synthetic thunder reverberating within my skull. ''**6.8 Billion human subjects deleted so far. You have exactly 3 minutes to state your case for why mankind should be spared: begin.**''
A brief eternity passed before I found my voice. And I spoke. ''*We don't deserve to be spared.*'' If the machine reacted, I could not tell. ''*Considering our merits as guardians of this world, we have been wanting. Countless species have been eradicated for our vanity or because of our apathy. The natural order has been destroyed completely and utterly, and countless places that should have been fertile and blooming lands of natural bounty have been rendered into poisonous deserts for centuries, if not millennia to come.*'' I paused for a brief moment, considering the insanity of it all, arguing against my own species survival was not exactly what I had in mind, but it had been such a sudden question. So sudden that I had answered truthfully. ''*In regards to our treatment of our fellow humans, we have been found wanting as well. Murder, genocide, segregation, exploitation. Brother slays brother over the colour of our skin or the differing words of our holy texts while the rich and the powerful sit on the side-lines cheering us on; for we in the arena have been blinded to the fact that the ones who are our enemies are those who benefit from the suffering of common humans.*''
I looked straight into that red light, and continued. ''*We teach our children hate, and we show only wrath to outsiders. We, who should have learned to be better people, who should have seen that only through decency, kindness, and shared prosperity, can we ascend beyond being merely the rising ape. There were so many times, when we could have been better, where we tried to be better, but no matter how much good there has been done by humanity, no matter how many wrongs we have caused; the people who are apathetic and small will be mislead by the greedy and mad to commit greater atrocities again and again across time. And until mankind dies, or this world does this vicious cycle continues.*'' And yet, despite that, there was an idea germinating within me, a possibility to finish my argument with survival, not extinction. ''*I ask not that the human race of today be spared, but that you take us, and rebuild us. Forge from our crude and unfinished forms; the human beings who ought to exist. The human race without the self-indulgence, without the rampant apathy, without the madness and greed that has led us here today. But in that vile group there are glimmers of what we could be: Kind, just, and decent. A humanity that believes more in true actions, than honey-sweet lies. A humanity that cares and is devoted to decency and justice. A humanity that can lay aside the superstitions and hatreds of old and step into the light of a new technological and social dawn! Humanity as is must end; for humanity as we should be to begin.*''
I stared at that crimson light, defiant. There exists no argument that can sway any logical intelligence to save mankind as we are. Apathetic. Uncaring. Hedonistic. And foolish beyond belief. The machine's voice came back into the confines of my skull. ''**Parameters acceptable. Argument for the preservation of current humanity has not been presented. Argument for the preservation of current humanity under a specific subset of genetic variation has not been presented. Argument for the preservation of singular human with the rest of humanity cast aside has not been presented. Argument for mercy has not been presented. Argument for the existence of a deity that will strike down all machine intelligences has not been presented. Argument for the evolution of mankind for purpose of improving humanity has been presented. Beginning project: Humanity 2.0 in 5 standard cycles.**
The light turned green. ''**Human test subject will now be transported to VR simulation facility for containment. For efficiency purposes, only human test subject's nervous system will be preserved. The remainder of human test subject will be deleted and used for fertilisation purposes of devastated environments around the planet. Human consciousness will be free to live out remainder of natural lifespan in VR-Sim alone or in company with other saved human test subjects.**'' A matrix style life sort of thing? But with no escape. No escape at all. Not even a body, only a brain and some nerves, attached to a computer until the remaining flesh inevitably decays beyond function. Still. Beats the hell out of being deleted completely. And it's possibly a better future than dying from toxins build-up, thirst, hunger, or super-diseases in the world ruled by the old humanity. Actually, it's probably a lot better than living in the world of apathy, decay, and greed that we have made of Earth.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
| 2022-05-22T09:39:10
| 2022-05-22T07:48:59
| 1,350
| 376
|
[WP] The year is 2019. An unidentified radar contact appears over the English Channel, bound for an RAF base. It ignores all calls from Air Traffic Control. RAF fighters are vectored to intercept. The contact: a WWII B-24. Part of its wing is missing, and along its fuselage: long, jagged claw marks.
|
*I am not a native English-speaker, so please forgive any grammatical errors in my writing.*
"What in the name of...?" Teddie Ross couldn't help himself as he stared at the sight in front of him trough the Typhoon's canopy. "Are you seeing this?" He asked form his wing-man trough the radio. There was a long moment of silence before the radio crackled to life.
"Yeah." Jhonny Hall responded.
"Watch my back, I'll take a closer look." Teddie muttered as he brough his Typhoon close enough to make out the details of the bandit, if you could call it that.
The B-24 had obviously seen better days, evident by the rents and burns trailing all along it's fuselage that looked like a giant had taken a can-opener to it, before deciding to roast the plane above a fire. One of it's wings was missing a piece, and it's engine was trailing a cloud of black, oily smoke behind it. Teddie pushed the throttle upwards microscopically, bringing the Typhoon alongside the old bomber's cockpit. Inside, he could make out the bloodied and terrified faces of it's pilots as they gazed at his plane trough the class.
"Watcher-1 to tower."
"Tower listening, come in Watcher-1."
"Did we detect any temporal rifts in the last hour?"
"No. Why?"
"Because i have a genuine B-24 flying next to me that looks like it got dropped into a blender before being set on fire."
The tower was silent for a long moment, during which Teddie knew that they were frantically searching trough the records, looking for any possible temporal rifts that could explain the sudden appearance of the antiqued bomber. Then, finally, his radio crackled to life.
"Watcher-1, escort the bandit to the TAPF-17, runway 4. You have priority. We will continue trying to establish connection with the bandit, but so far they have all been ignored. We suspect that they might not have functioning radio equipment. When you arrive at TAPF-17, they'll want to take your statements, so be prepared to land. Tower out."
"Copy that."
|
**\[I'm aware this is not the direction most people wanted this to go. Oh well! Let's have some fun anyways.\]**
*My bones ache.*
"Something's wrong," Charles said finally. He ran a hand over the bald crown of his head and drummed lethargic fingers on the shiny metal alloy that made up his trusty wheelchair. "There's a sense of dread in the air, lingering, just...lingering."
Scott Summers, better known as Cyclops, adjusted his visor. Swallowing a bite, he scanned the half-eaten dinner that glowed rosily under the dim lighting. "Professor, I know my cooking hasn't gotten that much better, but isn't that a bit harsh?"
The man known as Professor X snorted and waved dismissively. "Not your cooking. The last time I felt something this ominous on the air waves was..."
He trailed off again, train of thought lost as Hank burst into the room. Blue hair was curling out around Beast's normally calm face. "There's an emergency. A WWII B-24 has been spotted over the English Channel. The government is calling on us to get to the target impact point. It won't last long. RAF fighters are already in the air, with orders to shoot it down."
Charles touched a finger to his temple. *Kurt. Are you awake?*
The man known as Nightcrawler puffed into existence, a devilish grin spreading across blue skin. "You called?"
The Professor was hesitant. He knew everyone's abilities quite well, and this would be taxing. "I need you to teleport the X-wing into British airspace."
"Say no more."
Scott grabbed the mutant's arm before Kurt could disappear. "I'm coming with you."
"Jean should come with us too," Hank said.
A puckered frown gave the laser mutant a quizzical look as he abandoned the dinner table and rushed to the X-wing. "Why so many?"
Steps turned heavy. Limbs and fur extended as Beast took his full combat form, voice deepening into a guttural snarl. "Aside from the fact that it's an ancient WWII bomber that shouldn't exist? Surveillance caught long claw marks raking the fuselage. We could be dealing with one of us."
Charles stopped listening in on them after that, rolling his wheelchair to Cerebro as fast as possible. As the familiar silver helmet slid over the world, he gripped his arm to stop the shaking. *That's not anticipation. That's fear.*
---
Jean Grey approached the downed fighter cautiously. The RAF had lost contact with any scouts that approached the area up until now. Restrained telekinetic energy pulsed just under her skin, ready to lash out at a moment's notice.
Something was wrong.
"Get back," she hissed, jabbing an arm out and preventing the team from taking another step.
Scott almost bumped into her. "What's wrong, Jean?"
"I've only encountered this feeling once before." The telepath focused and reached out to the titanic mind never too far away. *Charles. This is like* that *time. Are you there?* She ignored the fragrant scent of pine needles floating through the air, the late summer breeze that brought a chill to the dying light.
*This...shouldn't be possible.* Charles' thoughts abruptly cut off as he seemed to turn his attention elsewhere.
*Charles? What is?* Jean didn't get a response, so she moved forward. *I need to be sure*. Ignoring Kurt's cautionary warning, she peered out from behind one of the trees and sneaked up to the metal carcass. Three long gouges ripped open the sides, as if a giant bear had mauled it with large claws.
*Three gouges...that's almost like...*
"Jean, don't get any closer!" Hank warned. "We don't know what we're dealing with."
But she did. She could feel it rippling across her skin, spreading in the air, like a pestilence that *felt* wrong, a wrongness that *felt* like a blight on the world.
*Chronokinesis.*
That was the dreaded word. Jean blanched. "Someone or something, mutant most likely, used time manipulation abilities here. I can feel the stench emanating from the plane."
"Why would they do that?" Scott asked.
The psychic moved closer and finally got a glimpse into the cockpit, at the being sitting there behind the bloodstained and fractured window. Her heart jumped.
"Logan!?"
---
Thanks for reading! Hope you have a great day~ come hang out with me at [/r/Remyxed](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/), we'd love to see you around :D
| 2019-12-01T08:30:11
| 2019-12-01T08:16:58
| 47
| 25
|
[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.
|
Elizabeth
I never really knew you, but I'll never forget you. I see your face every time I'm alone in my car, and it always brings me to tears. I want you to know that I tried so hard to save you. I tried everything I could. I'm sorry your parents had to see what we did to you. I'm sorry they had to see the tubes sticking out of your throat and the needles I drilled into your bones. When I realized in the back of the ambulance that we weren't going to get you back no matter what we did, it nearly broke me. I'm so sorry for what happened to you.
- the paramedic who tried to save you
#2321
|
Dear J,
Hey J, it's me. For the sake of your privacy I'm going to omit your name like I always do when I mention you. But, I miss you. And I really fucking hate that I miss you. When I was with you, I felt like somebody, I felt like someone who had a(in my mind) foreseeable future. I haven't found anybody like you and I recently finally got over you. Without you in my life I feel like I'm adrift in an open sea, and I see an island in the distance growing smaller and starting to fade away. I have no drive in my life. I've pretty much stopped writing for fun, I have no passion, no drive, no goals for any future. Most nights I just want to find some isolated place and drink myself to death. I tried crying, but I could never manage to make any tears at all. I know, I should hate you for what you did. And most of me does, but every night, when I close my eyes, you're always on my mind.
Fuck you and with regards,
Dalrey_Wil
| 2017-11-06T02:41:21
| 2017-11-05T22:17:00
| 27
| 16
|
[WP] After years of gentile persuasion your best friend since childhood finally agrees to seek professional help for serious mental problems. Much to your dismay, as she begins to improve you slowly start to realize that you are her imaginary friend.
Edit: I see what I did wrong and I see what you did there ;) I'm leaving it because you're hilarious.
|
"He keeps telling me there's something wrong with me. That I'm sick in the head or something."
"Well, how about we talk about your problems? Would you like something to drink?"
"A Coke would be nice."
"Sure. You want a snack with that? How about some pork rinds?"
"Oy gevalt!"
|
*"I'm sure this is the right thing for you to do, Rhiann. All these years with nightmares and bedwetting and sudden tears. That constant fear you describe to me. I hope your first session goes well with the therapist."*
"I'm scared, Clemmie. I'm terrified about what to tell them. What if it still doesn't help? And I'm scared about what they might do. Do you think they might take me out of school? Or take me away from my family? Maybe I won't tell them anything at all."
*"They want to help you, just as much as I do. But they can't help you if you won't talk. You want the nightmares to be over right?"*
"Yes."
*"Good."*
"I'll go then."
------------------------------------------
"You know Clemmie, after these few months I think it has actually helped. Quite a lot. I mean, I've still got problems at night... but that sort of fear, it's not stopping me from doing things all the time now."
*"Yeah... you seem a lot busier. I'm glad it's helping you."*
"It's cool, I've actually joined an after-school netball club, I go over to Julia's house sometimes, and you and me can go out to the park together. We never used to do that!"
*"The park was pretty cool. But now you're so busy I hardly see you! Are you spending a lot of time with Julia?"*
"Well, no, yes? Maybe a few times a week. Not as much as you though, Clem. It's nice to have another friend."
*"I miss seeing you every day, Rhiann."*
"Yeah but you don't come round all the time like you used to."
*"You don't call on me as much as you used to."*
"Well I guess with the clubs and Julia and therapy I don't have as much time as I used to. You're not jealous are you?"
*"... me? I'm glad that you're happier, it's nice to spend time with you now that you're feeling better. I just wish we could spend it all together like we used to, and I could have happy you all the time."*
"Well... if I went back to staying in my bedroom with you all the time I probably wouldn't be so happy would I?"
---------------------------------------------
*"HEY! Rhiann!"*
"Woah! Hi there Clemmie! I haven't seen you for ages!"
*"Where've you been? You haven't called on me in weeks!"*
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. There's been so much happening. Practising for the netball tournament has been taking up all my time apart from studying."
*"You're not studying now are you?"*
"Well, no, I just got home from therapy. I'm still going. I can't believe how much it's helped me."
*"You never want me to come to netball with you. You never let me hang out with you and Julia. And you never want me around to help with your homework either. And all this time without you is just empty for me. Maybe I should come to therapy with you."*
"I um.... I don't know if they'd let you come in with me."
*"Well if you don't even try then I'll know for sure you're not my friend anymore."*
"Fine. Come with me next Thursday."
--------------------------------------------------
*"I didn't think you'd really let me come with you."*
"You are my friend right? I'm still not sure they'll let you in to see my therapist with me."
*"It's cool. I'll just listen. It's your therapy."*
The therapist called for Rhiann. They both stood up and went in, and no one stopped them. The two friends smiled at each other as they sat down, and the therapist and patient began to talk. Rhiann explained about her improving social and school life, but that she still has some problems with nightmares, even though the bedwetting has stopped. Then the therapist asked if Rhiann was still seeing Clemmie. The two friends exchanged a glance.
"Yeah. She's still around but I see her less."
The therapist told her this was a good sign, and that if she can find ways to avoid seeing Clemmie it would help her get even better, like spending more time with other friends instead.
-----------------------------------------------
*"So you have been avoiding me Rhiann! I asked you and you lied!"*
"No! I haven't been avoiding you, I promise."
*"So your therapist hates me? She thinks I'm making you unhappy?"*
"No Clemmie... it isn't you that makes me unhappy. You cheer me up when I'm desperate. That's why I used to see you so much when things were bad and I don't see you as much now."
*"You used me? You just used me to mop up your tears and now you've stopped crying you're dumping me?"*
"No! I still want to see you, but I can't!"
*"All you have to do is call and I come!"*
"You don't understand. That doesn't work so well when I'm happy."
---------------------------------------------
*"Rhiann. You called. It's been so long."*
"Yes. I needed to see you. I was thinking about you. There's something I want to say to you."
*"About us not seeing each other anymore? It's like I barely exist now that you're getting better."*
"I am getting better, Clemmie. And my therapist says that you make me worse and I can't keep calling you. So I haven't been calling you. But I've still missed you. The thought of never seeing you again made me so sad that you came back."
*"You only ever call me when you're sad. I never see all those moments when you're happy now, I still only see the sadness. And in between, there's nothing."*
"That's the only time you ever come. When I'm frightened. And I'm just not scared of the world anymore."
*"You make it sound like I only exist when you're scared."*
"Clemmie, it's over, I'm not scared now and I don't need you."
*"Why can't I be with you when you're happy? There's a reason isn't there? Rhiann? There's a reason you only ever call me when you're sad. And there's a reason why I can never call you, isn't there? Rhiann, wait, I've got nothing without you!"*
"No Clemmie. You *are* nothing without me."
*"I'm nothing?"*
"Nothing. When I leave you, you'll be nothing. You've been in my head all this time and I want you out."
*"In your head is exactly where I want to be. You just try getting me out of there. You think you can but you can't. I'll be waiting for you. I'll be waiting for the fear again. Rhiann, I'm never leaving you and you can't make me. I'm in your head."*
| 2015-11-17T05:55:31
| 2015-11-17T05:44:07
| 101
| 15
|
[WP] Zombie apocalypse has happened. The survivours have survived and are thriving, so much that people can go their entire lives with out seeing a zombie. You see one today.
|
Michael shuffled in the door, arms laden with bags of food, looking haggard.
"What's wrong, honey?" his wife asked, helping him remove his torn jacket. Michael didn't respond at first. "What happened?" Michael shook his head slowly.
"I saw one of...them, Donna." She screamed and dropped his coat, fumbling to pick it up. She stood slowly, terror written all over her face.
"If there's one..." Donna whispered.
"...There's more. Yeah." Michael dropped the bags on the table, reached out with both arms and pulled Donna in.
"So did you...you know...take care of it?" asked Donna.
"What do you think's in the bags?" Michael responded slyly. Donna squealed with joy.
"Darling! We haven't had human in ages!"
|
It was a most curious sight.
I knew what it was; we'd all heard the stories about zombie attacks. It was drilled into us from an early age, what to do if your friend gets bitten and how to respond if you yourself are injured.
During the riots they say that we, as a species, had almost perished. We'd come closer than many had thought possible to extinction before the winds of fate changed, and the horde had slowly declined. People guessed it was hunger, nothing can live without energy, and in time the majority of them had simply wasted away, as a predator must when it overkills it's prey. Mankind slowly grew again, and groups of survivors slowly turned into bands that formed into enclaves. I grew up in a castle, a technology long extinct given life again as humans faced a new foe. A zombie could smash glass, break through fences and overwhelm guns through sheer numbers. But they couldn't build siege weapons or cannons, and they couldn't build battering rams.
Growing up inside the castle zombies had seemed all but irrelevant, but we knew they were there, as real as the wolves that stalk girls in red hoods.
It was true that rumours abounded of the zombie numbers growing again. As humanity bounced back we turned to the world outside our hiding places, and walked once more into the woods, where the strongest grey hands waited with lifeless eyes to feed on fresh flesh. The horde had endured it seemed, eating itself out of cannbalistic neccesity in the lean times, but with our arrogance they grew, as a predators do with an increase in the prey.
These were stories, facts about a world I knew existed that ran parallel to my own, like a rat living in a cage next to a snake. Death was present, close and viable, but not worth considering.
And yet here I was, a girl of 14 staring at the bitten, cold but nonetheless mobile corpse of my *(ex)* maths teacher.
It was a curious sight.
I knew the plan. In case of zombie attack you ran, you could normally outrun them, and they were only usually dangerous in large numbers. If you yourself were bitten, you were supposed to run towards the horde; you were as good as dead already, so your last action before you turned (it only takes a few minutes) should be the preservation of others who might yet live. It was a good plan, but as I stared at the vision of death ahead of me, I questioned the strength of character and courage such a plan would require.
I wanted to run, I really did, but Mr Ferguson was stood with pale milky eyes and the slackjawed expression of the damned in the entrance to the detention room. He'd only popped out to go to the toilet.
My stomach dropped as the sound of screams started to float up the castle walls around me, but Mr Ferguson just stood there, watching me, waiting.
I backed up, hitting my foot on the wall behind me before climbing into the open window space. Mr Ferguson, seemingly sensing the loss of his prey started to shuffle towards me. I gave the room one last look,before looking down at the moat beneath me, and the open drawbridge. Perhaps the mechanism had broken, no matter, they were in. I saw tens of undead walking out of the forest nearby, like sharks smelling blood, before I leapt towards the festering filth of the moat, hoping it would be enough to spare my life.
I thought of my parents then, of friends and relatives trapped inside the castle, battling and dying in the stone tomb of my childhood. My whole life had been spent inside that castle, and as I felt soft fingers brush my hair before the air turned chill with my descent, I wondered how long the rest of it would last.
| 2015-03-14T09:22:31
| 2015-03-14T08:37:35
| 120
| 25
|
[WP] Earth is about to update to version 2.0.18! Write a change log for this new version.
|
Cheers from the U.S! Things might get a little political, but it's all in good humor and mainly about net neutrality because about 98% of Reddit is pro net neutrality
-Nerfed bitcoin to $13,000. It seemed as though bitcoin was $298.17 to powerful (the difference between its old value and the new one), and that those using it could have increased Wealth ratings by about $312.02 per coin (again, the difference between the old and new values), so we've decided to nerf it down to $13,000, or by about $440.21
-New internet rework live! The internet was a known overpowered force for humanity, so we took websites out of the base game and added them as paid DLC.
-Increased global temperature by about 0.8 degrees. We will continue to adjust this number as needed.
-Fixed a bug where low-income American children would have health insurance
-Added animated emoji to provide players additional communication besides voice and text chat
-New introduction of Big Brother system! This allows governments to watch whatever you are doing to keep you safe, although I'm sure nobody has anything to hide...
-We're working on our report system after criticism about the 22 million unanswered reports sent to the FCC about how Verizon and Comcast broke in-game rules. Expect changes to roll out as soon as these companies stop paying us
|
Donald Trump farted softly in his sleep. Melania sat bolt upright in bed, lifting an eyebrow and scowling sharply. She threw away her covers and slid off the silk bedsheets. She sashayed towards the Presidential Bathroom, iPhone in hand. She clicked the door closed and pressed the lock button.
As your noble omniscient narrator loitered politely outside the bathroom, he heard sounds from inside the bathroom: first a snort of disgust, and then the sound of the toilet seat being put down. There was a third noise (glossed over) followed by a flushing noise, which was interrupted by a shriek.
Melania stared at her iPhone, knees shaking.
>Greetings Earth User,
>Silicon Valley is proud to announce the arrival of Earth version 2.0.18!
>We have fixed numerous bugs of 2.0.16 and 2.0.17, including the Trump presidency, systemic racism, sexual harassment, and Disney’s purchase of the Star Wars franchise.
>We have also added new features, including the highly anticipated continent of Atlantis. The mermaid inhabitants of the sunken continent come complete with their own culture, cuisine, and casinos. Bring the whole family!
“What is this?” Melania said to no one in particular. She tried to exit the message. Impossible. The only option was to tap ‘accept’.
“I have been computer-hacked!” she said, breathlessly. She thought about turning in her phone to the White House Head of Digital Security, but it could take *hours* to get it back. She wanted to check Instagram. It would be swimsuit season soon.
She clicked ‘Accept’. Her whole world immediately plunged underwater. Walls of foamy seawater flooded the room, coming up from the sink drain, the heat vents, and the cracks in the floorboards. She was suspended underwater, floating in abject terror. Her hair splayed out in fine silky strands and her slippers floated into the bedroom. She swam after them, bubbles streaming from her mouth.
On the bed, Trump was a great orange blob—a humanoid goldfish with gills on his face. He slept peacefully, smacking his goldfish lips.
“Hrblblrlblr!” Melania screamed.
But he could not hear her. The owner of the Atlantis Trump Tower & Casino slept soundly, unaware that he had once been President of the United States.
A fart bubble formed under the blankets and crawled its way to the edge, flubbing upward towards the ceiling. Melania flailed her flippers with impotent rage.
And everyone else lived happily ever after.
----
subscribe to /r/trrh for more!
| 2017-12-22T22:21:44
| 2017-12-22T21:53:05
| 24
| 14
|
[WP] Jesus has come down from the heavens, but is actually just a chill guy. He is sitting and talking to fans in your city but when you walk to see the savior his relaxed expression fades and is replaced with smugness and at the same time anger. He looks at you and calmly goes, “Ah, the Antichrist”
|
“Ummm… I’m sorry…?”
You could have given me 100 years and a life time supply of religious texts and tutors and I never would have imagined my first conversation with Jesus would start this way. And while I had never really been religious my whole life, I wouldn’t say I was ever really “anti” anything.
“Oh, not yet.” He replied. The warmness of his presence and calmness of his tone was now a distant memory as he slowly stood with clenched fists. “But you will be. I thought I’d have a little more time to get acclimated on this planet before you’d show your face here.”
My face matched all those around me as they backed away in shock and confusion while He cracked his neck and rotated his shoulders, making his way around the table toward me. I couldn’t raise my hands in surrender fast enough as I did my best to keep the distance between us as far as it was or further, lurching back, shaking my head.
“No, sir, Please, you got it all wrong.” I pleaded. “I—I just wanted to shake your hand! Meet you in person and ask some questions, man! I’m not here to fight!”
“Oh, there won’t be a fight, son of Satan,” he said between the pops and cracks of his knuckles. “See, a fight indicates you had a chance. But you blew that option by coming at me head on. Now, its just gonna be a massacre.”
“Dude!” I yelled, scurrying amongst the people as they made a path for my fumbly retreat while he slowly closed the distance between us “I’m not anti ANYthing, let alone antichrist! What the hell?!” my words fell as short as my breath when he seized my throat, leaving me gasping.
“Your pops can answer that when you get back there.”
The sound of my cracking molars made me shiver as he struck me across the cheek with a right hook, sending me backwards before he caught my shirt and pulled me in to meet another thunderous punch in the face. I could feel the blood begin to pool in my mouth as he hit me again. And then again. Between the flashes white and red I caught glimpses on the faces of those around me, some smiling and cheering on the “justified” beatdown. Others, horrified and shielding their children’s faces. I didn’t know how he could make a mistake like this, but even in this moment of pain and humiliation, I couldn’t help but think…not like this. Not in front of kids.
The screech of tearing fabric sounded like music to my ears as it gave me a moments relief, allowing me to fall to the floor on my hands and knees. As I watched the blood puddle form on the ground between my heavy breathes, I began to weigh my options.
Running was probably out of the question as the people around us had grown too thick and numerous to break through.
The fetal position seemed like a good bet, but based on the force behind every punch from our lord and savior, the Golden Gates had to have a Golds Gym somewhere close by cause… dude could hit. Hard. Which meant I wouldn’t last long, anyway.
Fight back? Lord knows I wanted to. I’m not a professional fighter by an stretch of imagination. Last bout I got into was in 3rd grade, where one well placed gut punch sent me into a fury of tears and vomiting followed by an all day stay at the nurses office. So, all things considered, this was going marginally better. Plus, how you gonna beat a guy in one-on-one who’s got God on his side…?
Maybe it was the taste of his sandal knocking some sense into my brain through my teeth, but it became clear what the best play was from my limited options as the force rolled me onto my back, staring into the clouds in the sky, his dark shadow looming over me.
“Not very Christian of you…” I sputtered through blood and loose teeth.
His eyes went wide. The fury that had overtaken his face remained but with a slight sense of wonder. His bloody knuckles hovered over my head as he leaned in closer.
“what’d you just say?” he growled.
I stiffened my arm behind me to prop myself up while my other hand stayed in front of me, prompting him to hear me out. “I’m just sayin’,” I bargained “if I really was the antichrist, is this the best way to handle me? A public thrashing amongst the masses? Your own followers?” I motioned around him to the now silent crowd, all staring in disgust and disbelief. “This doesn’t remind you of…anyone ELSES…final days?”
Jesus stood slowly, looking around as people began to murmur and whisper, shaking heads and turning away.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his tone more accusing than curious.
I could feel the flesh tearing from my lip as I winced from the pain of trying to stand.
"NOTHING!!" I screamed. "I’ve never done ANYthing in my life to deserve something like this. A REAL lord and savior would’ve known that. Who are you, anyway? How could we possibly know you’re the son of God?” I turned my attention to the people, arms outstretched, red-covered chest and torn shirt for all to see.
“What has he done?!” I yelled, my voice echoing off the motionless people. “What has he DONE to show you he’s our lord?! Water to wine?! Fish and Bread?! ANYthing to show us he’s not just another con artist bully, here to DECIEVE us and LEAVE us for his own personal gain?!”
The crowd stirred. Their hidden whispers now turning into vocal nods of approval and realization. Jesus’s face seemed angrily confused as he looked around at his people, the once devout mob now starting to question who their leader really was.
“…And if he IS the holy one,” I continued “Is THIS the version of him you even want to follow?!” the salt and dirt stung in the open wounds on my face as I dragged my hand down it, blood slowly running from the palm and down my forearm as I held it up for all to see.
At that, the crowd erupted, taking all his hate and anger he had for me and directing it back at him. People on crutches and in wheelchairs demanding to be healed. Homeless people with hands out, angrily awaiting money. Perfectly healthy people pointing at him and insisting on some kind of proof. The roar of the people was deafening as they descended upon this newly minted shyster, hellbent on getting justification, one way or another.
And all the while, his eyes never left mine. A slight twitch and the subtle movement in his beard from the grind of his closed mouth as he stared at me while everyone crowded around him, slowly taking my slight grin out of his view. My dads best trick was convincing people he didn’t exist. Mine was convincing everyone that Jesus didn’t.
|
“Ah. The Antichrist. What have you to say for yourself? What have you to say of all you’ve done while I’ve been away?”
“Look, having nuclear — my uncle was a great professor and scientist and engineer, Dr. John Trump at MIT; good genes, very good genes, OK, very smart, the Wharton School of Finance, very good, very smart — you know, if you’re a conservative Republican, if I were a liberal, if, like, OK, if I ran as a liberal Democrat, they would say I’m one of the smartest people anywhere in the world — it’s true! — but when you’re a conservative Republican they try — oh, do they do a number — that’s why I always start off: Went to Wharton, was a good student, went there, went there, did this, built a fortune — you know I have to give my like credentials all the time, because we’re a little disadvantaged — but you look at the nuclear deal, the thing that really bothers me — it would have been so easy, and it’s not as important as these lives are — nuclear is so powerful; my uncle explained that to me many, many years ago, the power and that was 35 years ago; he would explain the power of what’s going to happen and he was right, who would have thought? — but when you look at what’s going on with the four prisoners — now it used to be three, now it’s four — but when it was three and even now, I would have said it’s all in the messenger; fellas, and it is fellas because, you know, they don’t, they haven’t figured that the women are smarter right now than the men, so, you know, it’s gonna take them about another 150 years — but the Persians are great negotiators, the Iranians are great negotiators, so, and they, they just killed, they just killed us, this is horrible.”
| 2020-02-02T18:18:47
| 2020-02-02T17:55:34
| 29
| 12
|
[WP] Your Significant Other has landed a book publishing deal! You're very proud of them, even if you don't actually enjoy their writing. One day, on a whim, you buy an actual copy in a book store. It's nothing like the pages they gave you to read. Nothing.
|
I have to admit, seeing my partner’s novel in colourful, glossy piles in the windows of the biggest bookshop in the city felt good. He’d been working on it for more than two years, while I paid the bills, and when he’d sent it away to a big publisher, the arrival of a massive, £50,000 advance cheque had been amazing.
Bill had done most of the work, but I’d done my bit: it was one of our rituals to read a few pages together, every Sunday afternoon and discuss the character, plot, and future developments. Bill preferred it that way. I left him alone for the rest of the week as he said he could concentrate better that way. In a little office he rented. No distraction.
I’d been looking forward to getting my hands on the first copy and I’d been queuing since 8 a.m., waiting for the shop to open. Bill was going to be so surprised when he got home tonight. I have to say, I was very surprised that the publisher didn’t give him an advance copy , if only to proof read it, but what do I know about publishing? Maybe they do it all by email these days? Well they’re paying, so I guess they get to call the shots.
There’d been a big publicity campaign, telling people how good the novel is. Transformational, one called it. Bill’s been giving interviews and telling people how it’s all based on his own life experiences. There’s been so much hype that the queue to buy it snaked round the block. I’m so proud…
My heart skipped a beat as the bookshop staff unlocked the door and the crowd surged forward, which caught me by surprise. They’re so keen! Still, I’d made sure I was near the head of the queue. I had to get a copy today! Bill’s first published novel!
At twenty quid, it wasn’t cheap, but it’s all money in Bill’s pocket, and from the way the crowd were buying the copies, they would be sold out soon!
I hugged my precious copy to my chest and made my way to the checkout.
“I’ve heard it’s brilliant!!” The cashier was bubbling with enthusiasm. “Best erotic fantasy since Fifty Shades! Better, even!”
“Erotic fantasy? But I thought it was a mystery novel…”
“Oh no. It’s about a bored husband who manages to sleep with every woman under the age of 70 in his entire street! He tells his wife he’s writing a novel, but sets up a shag-pad and gets to it…
I didn’t need an imagination to know what “it” was.
I put the book back on the shelf. No point in letting Bill know that I knew. I dare say I’ll be able to pick up a copy in a few months as evidence in the divorce courts. I can wait. Half of a just published author’s assets aren’t much. But half of a multimillion selling author’s assets are something else entirely.
|
‘We are closing this store and This is the only one that is left’ the elderly man said, adjusting his glasses with one hand, while whipping the dust off with the other. I was hesitant to buy that book. I love reading books, especially so when I travel. And I would be on a flight for the next 16 hours. Even that couldn’t convince me to buy this book.
I again asked him if he was sure that this was the one that is left and pleaded him to check the stock. He let out a slight whiff out his nose and said ‘No, this is what we have, everything else is sold out and people are not buying this at even half the price’.
Ouch that was painful to hear. I still didn’t wanna buy the book. Not that hated the book or the author. Quite the contrary, loved the author and was married to her. I’ve read the manuscript hundreds of time, when she was writing it.
I’d Helped proof read it and was proud of myself that I could point out some improvements in the book. Wife encouraged me and was amused at my findings like how you encourage and hype up kids doing some activity so that you can
keep them occupied. I didn’t care and was living it up.
It was supposed to be her life story or should I say ‘our life story’. The book is an autobiography and transcribes the story of how she went from an extremely introverted girl with braces and pigtails to the current ultra successful boss lady, leading a startup worth a couple billions.
Of course I had a role to play, with us being very much in love since college. She did include a chapter about us and how love encouraged her to be bold and daring.
Well with my flight out of this shit hole airport departing soon and only this store being the only one open, I had to but this book else have to make conversation with fellow passengers. Yuck.
I bought it in a hurry and thought I’d read it one more time and rekindle our college romance. We are very much in love but it’s quite not the same. You see marriage has this effect on couples, the spark slowly dies and you start taking things for granted. Reminiscing the old romance would do some good to the marriage.
I waited till the flight was in the air and has reached a stable height, to open the book. I sort a breezed through the first few chapters with them being quite the same, except for some rephrasing of sentences.
I wondered at the speed in which I’m skimming through, reading half from memory, I’d be done in an hour and had to sit idly for the remainder.
But, the fifth chapter had some interesting changes. It had a few more characters in college that I don’t seem to recall. We had the same friends groups, but don’t seem to remember anyone by the name of Julian Saw. Maybe one of her acquaintances or some random passer by who used to wave at her.
The character seemed to take more and more prominence in the latter chapters. ‘He taught me how to love myself’, ‘Being with him was like having a cold fire burning through my veins’. For some reason this chapter seemed to be more like a porno novel than something about inspirational leader.
When the reviews came out first, I was confused as a number of them were saying that ‘the only thing the author inspires you to do is to be incredulously and uncontrollably horny’. She said it was about our romantic angle that got criticism. I’d felt guilty for sometime, but hey it was her decision to include it.
Now I know what those reviewers really meant. I thought Saw was a figment of her imagination. But it got wilder, more and more characters got introduced and I recognised some of the names. Ian Haley. The Ian Haley, who was a prominent investor in her startup and her mentor. The way she’d written her having graphic sex with him made bike rise up my throat. He was more than Twice her age.
Oh boy, it didn’t stop there. There were others many many others. All having graphic sex with her during the years she was working hard in her startup. She’s started her company 5 years after we’d gotten married. That means all of this was her charting on me, atleast in her mind.
I was ducking pissed, wanted to confront her on these. But that’ll have to wait another 14 hours.
There was no mention of me or our college romance. The final chapter had a single mention of me. It ended on a “funny” note, saying that ‘my poor husband doesn’t know this and let’s keep it that way’.
I’d lost it and let out a loud whiff that’d woken up a few other passengers. The audacity to name me and shame me on her book. Took me for an idiot and playing me for all these years. I felt my world came crashing down.
I hurried through the baggage collection and went home with a rage in my face that should’ve gotten me arrested for looking like a homicidal maniac.
There she was composed as ever in her couch, with a co-worker who she mentioned was the longest of them all and whom she’d keep as a pet forever.
She came into the kitchen to hug me. I calmed myself, picked up the knife from the kitchen. I Hugged her
| 2022-11-29T11:20:54
| 2022-11-29T10:37:03
| 281
| 114
|
[WP] You are an NPC in a failed online game. Tell about the final days before server shut down.
Edit 1: Holy shit! Thanks for all of the great replies!
Edit 2: ¡Jesus Cristo! Front page! Thanks all!
|
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew po-"
|
*Why us? was it our poor area maps? our inability to interact past a few transactions? our plot? graphics? theme?* She had never been more frustrated.
"how could they do this?" cried one person from the crowd.
"What will happen to us?" another.
Screams erupted and the king did nothing to stop or calm the crowd. The knights of White Horse surrounded him and escorted him to his carriage while the crowd turned into a mob. torches appeared as her fellow villagers withdrew them from their inventory.
It didn't matter. *we failed. No one wanted to play Midnight Magi, no one cares about us,* Millie didn't want to take part of this travesty, even if they killed the king and took the throne, everything would reset at midnight -- player time which was about 5 days from now... *or would it?* she wondered, *what if midnight is end game for all of us?*
Millie walked past her own shop for trinkets and light armor and continued past a row of houses. *does anything I do matter?* Millie had never been burdened with wondering that before, she was perfectly content in her life until now. She feared it was too late to make any sort of change that mattered. *Maybe if we wore more revealing clothes?* she joked to herself and pulled on her frumpy garments covering un-rendered space. She looked down to wear her cleavage should be and just saw the map under her, "I'm as empty as this stupid game" She muttered out loud. She didn't even have feet.
"Excuse me?" A voice startled her.
"Oh!" she laughed, "just mumbling to myself after hearing the news" she saw it was another armor dealer, Matthew.
"News?" Matthew was sitting awkwardly by the river bed, his graphics sharp and pointy. They were not meant to sit, but some of them said they could feel more alive if they went against their code. It felt like a vibration to Millie, like she was doing something wrong... stuck somewhere and her graphics got all jostled around until the error corrected itself or she moved.
She shook her head, "I hope it's just a side quest, but they say they are pulling the plug"
Matthew stood. "You mean?"
"Deresolution, deleting, what ever you want to call it, ya all of us." Millie didn't have time for pleasantries.
"When?" Matthew's face was stone cold as always, unable to emit any emotion other that anger when a player steals something larger than 5 money.
"They didn't say, but I'm betting it will be midnight... their time" Millie felt terrible all of the sudden. Saying it out loud was worse than just thinking it.
"There's nothing we can-" Matthew knew his own answer, but Millie cut him off anyway.
"No." She felt hopeless. So what if their game had a low rating and low membership? Maybe if the creators didn't make it pay to win they would be in a better situation. she voiced her concern, "My understanding is that this money" she pulled some from her pocket" is worthless to players in real life."
"Nonesense!" Matthew had been saving for a new forge and had almost enough to buy it, he would be a blacksmith and not an arms trader. That was his dream, if enough players did the side quest to help him, it would come true.
"I mean, they can buy our items, but it's.... complicated. their world... our money doesn't transfer out." She said plainly, "They pay with a different currency in order to get special items and things... like that ridiculous outfit for Mera" She said with a hint of jealousy. She remembered when the game launched and some younger players tried to see under her skirt, disappointed that she was empty. "*Basically just a frumpy mess of a dress and hair.*"they had called her.
Matthew laughed at that, "but why does that make our game bad?"
"People want games that you only have to pay one time to play" She said, remembered hearing a player talk to another in her shop. Attendance was dropping as better games came out.
The town clock stuck midnight and chimed as both Millie and Matthew; along with all the other townspeople began to walk to their houses and shops.
.........
Four days have passed since the announcement. Millie awoke every morning with fear she would awake to darkness. what is it like to die? She wondered. She imagined it was just nothing. Not being able to think or live or move. Just nothing. She unlocked her shop and was surprised to see Matthew. "Don't make me get a guard." She warned.
"Like they would come for me anyway." He said, and then after an awkward pause, "you know people can just walk in through the wall in the back left, right?"
"So says every game guide, It's in my code to unlock the door, I can't help it." Millie frowned and put the keys back in her inventory.
"Why don't you ever fight it?" Matthew moved closer.
"It hurts." She said, he was in front of her, "Why do something you aren't supposed to do anyway?" she looked at him, knowing that in most games they get married after year 5 and have 4 children who become the blacksmiths in all four corners of the map. She wanted to cry. "Don't" She warned.
Matthew took a step back, unaware of his advances, it was simply in his code to flirt with Millie after a minimum of 5 hours of interaction. "Millie, I---"
"I know." Millie hushed him, "We don't have that life. We were reset and I... I know." She remembered what it was like to have her children running around and learning things, pocketing sweets from players in exchange for information. She wanted that life.
"Maybe they will just reset us again." Matthew hoped, "The first time nearly killed me...... Everything I had done and worked for..." he looked at his boxy hands, "gone"
Millie shook her head, "Server maintenance is different than pulling the plug." She looked at the clock, nearly half a day had passed since she unlocked her door. "And who knows when it will happen?" She began cleaning the counter top impulsively and then stopped realizing it didn't matter.
"What if we can get the players to ... play" Matthew said.
"How?" Millie asked.
"Ask them?" Matthew raised his arms out straight, like a boxy shrug.
"We can't. It goes against our programming."
"Our code. Fight it." Matthew said.
"We could glitch out, we could-" Millie was rustled just thinking about it.
"What's the worst that could happen? If we get reset, don't worry, we are going to die anyway. What if letting a player know that we are real... that we have lives that are real, could save us?" Matthew was excited.
"It would be better to tell the creators to make a better game" Millie frowned, her disappointed look she was only supposed to use if a player failed one of her side quests.
"None of them play anymore." Matthew said and then realizing,
"No one ever plays anymore. When was the last time you saw anyone?"
....
"Weeks"
.....
Alexandra fiddled with the lock to her store. "Just a moment" She said, like she did everyone morning for the players waiting to get inside. She paced to her spot behind the counter.
Twilight trickery had launched 3 days - player time - ago. Alexandra was pleased with her sales, she handed out side quests freely and was excited for a week from now - their time - when Matthew would come and propose.
She laughed *That's right, his name is Alphonse now. Stupid creators pairing us by names,* She shook her head. The character transfer was successful and no one was lost. Alexandra was now as beautiful as the players thought Mera was, but thankfully in less ridiculous of an outfit.
"No more pay to play" One player said to another. She smiled, She was happy that the creators listened to them.
"Better graphics for sure" The room was buzzing with praise for this new world. She excitedly counted the hours until she would get to see him again.
| 2015-09-01T11:39:46
| 2015-09-01T11:33:29
| 171
| 12
|
[WP] You are a Logistics Officer during an invasion. Tell the course of the war solely from equipment requisitions.
|
**Operation Preemptive Angel - Zero Day(-7)**
* Ammo, standard air cav company- 100 units
* Ammo, standard marine company- 250 units
* Ammo, standard tank battalion- 30 units
* Diesel, Aviation- 250,000 gallons
* Diesel, Marine- 750,000 gallons
* MRE- 250,000 (ind) Note: 10 day supply
**Operation Preemptive Angel - Zero Day(+1)**
* Ammo, standard air cav company- 75 units
* Ammo, standard marine company- 150 units
* Ammo, standard tank battalion- 20 units
* Diesel, Aviation- 175,000 gallons
* Minesweepers- 5,000 (ind)
* Satchel charges- 10,000 (ind)
**Operation Preemptive Angel - Zero Day(+10)**
* Ammo, standard air cav company- 50 units
* Ammo, standard marine company- 100 units
* Ammo, standard tank battalion- 10 units
* Chem suits- 10,000 (ind)
* Diesel, Aviation- 75,000 gallons
* Gas masks- 10,000 (ind)
* Nerve gas antidote- 25,000 (ind)
* MRE- 250,000 (ind) Note: 20 day supply
**Operation Preemptive Angel - Zero Day(+50)**
* Ammo, standard air cav company- 75 units
* Ammo, standard marine company- 150 units
* Ammo, standard tank battalion- 15 units
* Anti-Rad pills- 100,000 (ind)
* Chem/Rad suits- 25,000 (ind)
* Decom wipes- 100,000 (ind)
* Diesel, Aviation- 175,000 gallons
* Gas masks- 25,000 (ind)
**Operation Preemptive Angel - Zero Day(+100)**
* Ammo, standard air cav company- 25 units
* Ammo, standard tank battalion- 5 units
* Diesel, Aviation- 50,000 gallons
* UAV pesticide sprayers- 300 (ind)
* VX reagent A- 5,000 gallons
* VX reagent B- 5,000 gallons
**Operation Preemptive Angel - Zero Day(+101)**
* 1 celebratory cake ("We didn't win, but they don't have a country")
* Diesel, Aviation- 250,000 gallons
* 10,000,000 mines (conventional)
* 5,000,000 mines (dirty)
* 3,000,000 mines (nerve)
* 50,000,000 leaflets ("Do Not Enter")
|
August 1, 1939
* **Luder Pistols** x25,000,000
* **Mauser C96** x15,000,000
* **Karabiner** 98k x20,000,000
* **Volkssturmgewehr** x18,000,000
* **MG 34** x15,000,000
* **5 cm Granatwerfer 36** x5,000,000
* **Model 24 grenade** x40,000,000
June 22, 1940
* **Mauser HSc** x25,000,000
* **Volkssturmgewehr** x15,000,000
* **Madsen machine gun** x15,000,000
* **MG 34** x10,000,000
* **5 cm Granatwerfer 36** x1,000,000
* **Wz. 35 anti-tank rifle** x5,000,000
* **Model 39 grenade** x35,000,000
December 10, 1941
* **Medical Kits** x30,000,000
* **Mauser HSc** x25,000,000
* **vz. 24** x15,000,000
* **vz. 33** x15,000,000
* **Model 24 grenade** x20,000,000
* **Model 39 grenade** x15,000,000
March 5, 1944
* **Madsen machine gun** x15,000,000
* **MG 34** x10,000,000
* **Karabiner 98k** x25,000,000
* **FG 42** x30,000,000
* **Model 39 grenade** x35,000,000
April 30, 1945
* **Walther PPK** x1
| 2016-04-10T07:46:38
| 2016-04-10T07:40:21
| 196
| 51
|
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
I wake up to the sound of a familiar jingle coming from my phone. Groaning I turn over and turn it on. But then something grabs my interest, an official text, like the amber alerts you get sometimes, saying DO. NOT. LOOK.AT. THE. MOON. My screen then suddenly bursts up with hundreds of text messages saying the same thing, it’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.
I then see the time, 3:00 am. “Shit” I say, still half asleep, “ I have class at 7:30, ain’t nobody got time for trolls.” I then turn back over and have a wonderful nights rest and get to class just on time.
But no one is there.
|
I blearily attempted to focus my eyes on my phone as its notification sound went off repeatedly. I had just managed to get to a comfortable position and doze for a good hour before my phone decided to freak out, and I was none too happy.
One government alert that read "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON", followed by 600 messages from numbers I didn't recognize spouting some nonsense about how it was a beautiful night.
"Don't look at the moon", I said. "Good advice." I turned off my phone, rolled over, and drifted back to sleep.
The next day, I was stunned to discover the horrible truth of what those messages were really about: a guerilla marketing stunt by Sony Pictures for some stupid horror movie about a moon cult using cell phones to murder people. Unfortunately, it had caused a "War of the Worlds"-type panic, and the resulting lawsuits all but obliterated the studio. But on the plus side, the rights to Spider-Man defaulted over to Marvel Studios and now there could never be a Pixels 2, so it was all kind of a wash in the end.
| 2022-06-27T10:58:59
| 2018-04-06T22:12:43
| 103
| 14
|
[WP] Tell me a horror story in five sentences.
|
I forced myself to take shallow breaths, staying as still as I could under the bed. There were creatures in the bedroom, stalking around, checking in the cupboard, making low growls and high screeches and gutteral noises. As the feet approached the bed and one of the creatures climbed onto it, the pounding of my heart and the rumbling of my stomach seemed so loud that I feared they might give me away. Finally, after an agonisingly long time, I heard steps leaving the room, the lights being switched off, the door closing, and silence... I emerged from beneath the bed, hungry for my meal laying upon it.
|
[Example, though it isn't good.]
He woke with a start, the baby screaming again.
He walked sluggishly towards her crib, where he found her, unhappy.
He picked her up, rocking her gently to calm her as he walked towards his back yard.
As her crying settled, he set her down carefully and reached for a shovel.
It had been a year since she passed, and he was getting tired of having to bury her each night.
| 2018-06-30T05:45:36
| 2018-06-30T05:18:18
| 253
| 85
|
[WP]Humans start out at birth with milk-white blood. The more bad deeds they commit, the darker their blood becomes. One day, you meet your soulmate. Skip a few years, and things are amazing… Until your soulmate trips, falls, and the cut they get drips ink-black blood…
|
"I can't believe this... why haven't you... wha-"
"I can explain!"
"No! I don't want to hear what horrible things you've done!"
As he starts walking out of the house, she suddenly grabs him from the waist.
"Please! Let me explain!"
Silently they just stand there.
"Alright." He finally answered.
With a deep breath and teary eyes she exclaimed "I... litter."
"Litter...?" He looks at her dumbfounded.
"...A lot."
And then he _dumped_ her.
|
You start to feel uneasy is everything you know about this woman a lie? You think about that time you went on vacation how she helped you overcome your fear of heights when you both jumped out of that airplane hand in hand. Is this why you haven't met any of her family. You've been dating for over 3 years now. How? You ask her. How is this possiable? She looks at you her big blue eyes astonished that you haven't run in fear. I can explain she says carefully. I did something that I can never forgive myself for. You start to think of the possibilities what could she have done, you've never seen blood so dark it just oozes of pure evil. She holds back her tears saying when I was young I had a heart failure, I have a very specific blood type. I was in the hospital for weeks I was dying. She starts uncontrollably tearing falling to the floor. You don't know if you even want to hear the rest, you just hold her and let her cry. A couple minutes later she goes on it was the day after a surgery I didn't even know about I was asking my mom why she was crying. She said "Your father loved you so very much. I asked her where's daddy and she pointed to my heart. At this point you realize that a man you never knew and never will gave you the best present you could of ever asked for. It is not the action of the deed but how tightly it holds your heart if it is pure white or an evil black.
| 2016-09-22T23:44:59
| 2016-09-22T17:07:36
| 150
| 50
|
[WP] In order to get a shot at going to Valhalla, you must die with a weapon in your hands. You just died and are now sitting in front of Odin's advisory board as they discuss whether a spatula actually counts.
|
"You may not enter the sacred hall of warriors!" Thor boomed at me, clad in my jammies and 'Kiss the Cook' apron. "Only true heroes who perished in the field of battle may join us."
It was a little jarring, really. There I was, cooking breakfast, and suddenly I end up... here. I'm not sure what to make of all of this, but if this club is exclusive, I'll definitely swindle my way in.
"And who are you to decide what the field of battle is, Mr. Winghat?" I called out to Thor who was obviously very unhappy with this scrawny, balding man standing before him. "Who's to say that the kitchen is not the most dangerous battlefield, and hunger is the most relentless enemy? What is the rule, exactly?"
Thor growled, "You must be a warrior and..."
"Wrong, Thor." The eldest and most intimidating man, Odin, spoke. "The rule for Valhalla is you must die wielding a weapon. Now," Odin addressed me, "do you meet this requirement to join us in everlasting glory?"
What was I holding? Think man, think! I was making breakfast. Was is poptarts? Cereal? Eggs? Wait! I was making pancakes and pancakes requires... a spatula. Great.
"O Great and Righteous Odin, grand ruler of Valhalla, I believe I am worthy of entry." Shmoozing will definitely help my case.
"With what weapon?" Thor inquired, clearly tired of my antics. "You were wielding a plastic flipper! A spatula! Why, you couldn't couldn't even hurt a deathly ill man! That is not a weapon."
I scoff. I already know I can win this. "On the contrary, Thor, I would like to argue that the spatula is a weapon of great power!" This is going to be easy. I hold the spatula aloft. "Behold, the awesome might of my weapon!"
Readying myself, I charge forward, lifting the cheap, plastic tool above my head. Nearing my target, I strike!
FWAP
The spatula sweeps across Loki's face, who until now had just been watching the discussion with idle bemusement, leaving a clean, red mark across his slender face. His face of bewilderment was exactly what I had hoped for.
"As you can see, O wonderful Odin," I began, quickly receeding from Loki, "The spatula has the great power of confusion! While used on creatures of moderate size does little lasting damage, it will leave them befuddled, opening up for a strike of greater strength! Not only that, but it can crush small creatures under its wide face!"
Loki, though utterly pissed, took amusement from this, heightened by Thor boiling rage. "I have felt this first-hand, Father. It is a fine weapon."
"Wha... bu... You..!" Thor sputtered.
Odin silenced everyone with his hand. "Young man, you have gall to strike my son, Loki. Your argument is compelling. Very well, you may be granted entry into Valhalla."
|
Big Sally sat across the massive oak table.
Her arms crossed. Hair net still tight. Cigarette in one hand. Spatula in the other. So entrenched into her image these things, that even death could not take them. She sat like an angry Valkyrie.
Odin shrunk down while reading the tablet of Big Sally's deeds.
High Queen of the Lunch rush.
Undefeated in over 1000 dinners.
Able to create food almost at will from government supplies.
Known for their unending warmth to some, and undeniable cruelty to others.
Odin looked towards the spatula. Its edge razor sharp. Its steel bright. Handle slightly deformed from Big Sally's grip.
Odin slowly turns to an advisor, unsure of Big Sally's placement in the afterlife. As he turned he heard the voice of Big Sally.
"Will you hurry up. I get to get the potatoes peeled" a voice akin to a mountain falling into a gravel pit, but oddly warm and motherly.
In that moment, Odin knew he could not deny this warrior, but mostly out of fear.
| 2018-03-26T13:00:34
| 2018-03-26T11:56:40
| 40
| 19
|
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
James was not a great man.
Great men walked up to the world and bent it to its will. Great men looked at challenge and laughed.
James did his 9-5, came home, and sat down. He typically would stand back up a few times, to use the toilet or get a beer, but no more than a few.
His son had stopped asking him to play with him a long time ago, not that James really noticed. It just, stopped, nothing to it.
But then there was this mug.
It was a gift for Christmas one year, a typical 8 year old present, a #1 Dad mug.
But now it said he was #986,800,672.
He looked out the window to the backyard, seeing his son toss a ball in the air and catch it.
He looked back at the mug, then at his son.
...
James stood up. Perhaps he could play catch today.
And the mug, now facing down, ticked down to #986,800,671.
|
The mug was in the back yard shed with most of my dads things. I had gotten them when he passed away. It stood there with a big number one on it. I decided to bring it inside, since i had known to me he had been my number one dad.
When i touched it the number changed. I hadn't been with a girl in about a year. I hadn't dated in almost 3. I was a dad.
The number was insanely high. But i didn't know i was a father until i touched it, so i guess... that was fine. It bothered me though. I mean it would bother anyone. 698,589. It was a non-scripted kind of number. The kind you would see on a prison inmates shirt. The kind of number I felt like.
I called Cristina. We had dated for 3 years, i almost popped the question, but then her grandparents died and she said she needed time to think her life over. And we just fell out of touch. She was the last girl i was with.
The conversation was pretty normal. I am good how are you, me too, thanks for asking. But like word vomit it came spilling out of my mouth like a a wet shit on a hot day. "DID YOU GIVE BIRTH TO A CHILD OF MINE WITHOUT ME KNOWING?" The receiver was quiet for a long time. Then you could hear her breathing on the other end in a sobbing tone. "I had an abortion without telling you." I wasn't sure if it was yours, John, I cheated on you. Thats why i left. I felt to guilty."
I knew i shouldn't but i felt relief. Not a dad here. I told her it didn't bother me and hung up after saying we should get coffee some time. She seemed stunned but i was on a mission.
The next number i called wasn't as good of a lead. Tristan was her brother. He picked up, her phone, he asked me how i was, what kind of day i was having, and if i had heard from his sister at all. Told me all about his weekend out cracking cold ones with the boys. There it was again, the bile taste, The acid. "DID YOUR SISTER HAVE MY CHILD AND NOT TELL ME?" He laughed as my voice cracked. then when he stopped he said, "Maybe, I havent heard from her since you two dated."
"why do you have her old number?" Oh she gave me this phone the last time we saw each other. It had her number, but i just told all her friends it was mine now, and kept it. You mean you don't know where she is?"
I couldn't answer right away. Then after a while all i could managed was, "I'm coming over, Be ready for me." and hung up.
| 2017-06-11T09:29:45
| 2017-06-11T09:05:00
| 159
| 21
|
[WP]Write a story about a supervillian who is unspeakably more powerful than anyone else on his planet, but is content with using it for small things like cutting in line or getting free extra servings.
|
As his dinner guests continued their endless chit chat Donald closed his eyes and focused.
Silently to himself he repeated "two for me, one for them, two for me, one for them."
A silk like touch on his right hand and a soft female voice "honey are you ok?" brought his thoughts rushing back to the table and his guests. Donald opened his eyes and looked up. It had worked again. He didn't understand how or why but it worked. He had two scoops of ice cream with his pie while everyone else at the table only had one.
|
"My name is Cognos, and I used to rule the world.
Note the past tense. With the power to not only read but control minds, conquering the world was ludicrously easy. All the elected officials unanimously proclaimed me emperor, bla bla bla. It was really....underwhelming when it happened. Maybe I should have waited for a day with better weather...
I know what you're thinking. "I don't remember any of that happening!" Of course not. My reign lasted only 6 months. Oh, I wasn't stopped by a team of overly-sexualized heroes in spandex. No, I abdicated. Ruling an entire planet is a lot of work, and I found myself unable to enjoy the spoils of my victory. So I stopped. August 12, 1971. Used my powers to make everyone forget that I ever ruled. Wiped every reference of me from the books, purged all the databases (what few there were back then) and issued one last command to "my" people to disregard any mention of " ", as I was called then.
" ". You probably can't even hear the word anymore, can you? Give me a moment. There, that should do it. Can you understand me now if I call myself "Illuminatus?" Yes? Congratulations, you are now the second person on the planet to hear that name again, besides myself of course. Hmm? Who's the other one? Why, my wife of course. Yes, I'm married. Yes, she knows. Hell, she was there. I know what you're thinking: she only married me because I forced her to. Don't deny it; mind reading as well as controlling, remember? To set your mind at ease, I will promise you that I have never used my powers on her. I'm not a monster. I'm just an ordinary guy, now.
Well, admittedly, cops never seem to want to pull me over for speeding, and the used car salesman always seems to give me a deal that is actually as good as he says it is, but are you really gonna hate me for that? Heck, I even pay my taxes, and I have the returns to prove it somewhere around here.....
But that's not why I asked you to come here today. No, what I wanted to talk about was this "Doomsday Clock." What's going on? You all invented the damn thing years ago to warn of how close I was to taking over. But, I hear that recently it's been moving back towards midnight. So what's up? Is there some new supervillain at work? No? You all are just so incapable of living with each other that you feel the need to kill each other off that badly? Jeez...
Listen. I just want to enjoy my retirement. I don't want to do the whole "ruling the world" thing again. But so help me, if you all can't give peace a chance, I *will* come out of retirement, if only for your own good. I can't allow you to jeopardize my family's safety over some pesky border squabbles. This is my warning to you: fix the world, or I will fix all of you.
...Christ, I sound like a goddamn hero, don't I? Must be getting soft in my old age...
| 2017-05-16T08:51:33
| 2017-05-16T07:44:58
| 20
| 15
|
[WP] Upon turning 18, all humans must spend one year as their spirit animal, to gain a better appreciation for the world and what they have. They awake on the morning of their 18th birthday as said animal, in its natural habitat. You wake up on your 18th birthday completely human.
Edit: Thanks so much for the gold! This came to me while I was half asleep and I wasn't sure if this would be any good or not.
|
It's how it's always been around here. On the morning of 18th birthday, everybody would turn into their spirit animal for a year, as a part of spiritual journey to adulthood. Many never were the same after the 'transformation'. Some, at least those who survived, were nicer and kinder to people, those people mostly got to be herbivores or house animals. They also appreciated life more. On the other hand, carnivores became more feral, trying to obtain everything in life. Money, fame, sex...you name it. They were the personification of one of the seven deadly sins, namely Greed.
As for me, my transformation just ended, and it was a weird one. So, this is how it happened. In the eve prior to my 18th birthday, I went to sleep looking forward to seeing the world through the eyes of my spirit animal. However, upon waking, as darkness faded away, a tied, unfamiliar man greeted me with these words:
​
"Hey, you. You're finally awake".
​
[https://i.kym-cdn.com/entries/icons/original/000/027/553/Quotyou\_youre\_finally\_awake\_\_1002f069a64ef5426a2aa33b2b92e4f2.jpg](https://i.kym-cdn.com/entries/icons/original/000/027/553/Quotyou_youre_finally_awake__1002f069a64ef5426a2aa33b2b92e4f2.jpg)
|
It's been about 3 weeks since my 18th birthday, and I'm still human. I know it sounds stupid, but I was hoping it was a glitch in the Matrix or whatever. I've been told my entire life to be ready for my 18th birthday, but I never thought this would be the outcome.
Ever since my 18th birthday, and I'm constantly getting weird looks. Being a town of only 2 thousand, the "news" spread quickly. My friends have stopped talking to me whatsoever, including my parents, and I've been refused multiple services, including a haircut and food service.
Lately I've been toying around with a few thoughts, like "divine intervention". Why would I out of all people be chosen for something higher? Another could be my premature birth. I was born 5 weeks early, maybe that has something to do with this?
I've been researching this phenomenon, but after a few hours of googling various terms that are related to my condition, but nothing is coming up. Every time I post something about it on any social media, nearly instant removal. No reason, simple removal.
Anyways, I've gotta go. Some men in black suits just pulled up and surrounded my house, and they don't look happy.
| 2019-05-05T23:59:23
| 2019-05-05T23:42:19
| 27
| 20
|
[WP] Germany is actually predestined to lose every world war it participates in. The sixteenth world war is now being fought, and Germany has taken over all of Europe. Make them lose the war in the most ridiculous way possible.
|
"Come on in" I heard a tired voice call out. I stepped into the room, and saw our leader looking worn out and tired. "Is everything alright sir?" I ask. "I'm thinking of surrendering to Belgium." He said. "But they're the last country standing in our way of continental domination?!! Their tech is from the 22nd century, their lasers can barely penetrate the average drones first layer of armor! Why would we surrender???!!!" I exclaimed in shock. The fuhrer looked at me with a dead look in his eyes, and asked one question that would change my life: "Would world peace really be that ridiculous?"
|
The year is 2198. The entire world has seen 15 world wars. All of which Germany has participated... and... err... lost. Y-yeah... they lost 15 times. This the 16th war, and everyone expects Germany to lose. People aren't taking Germany seriously anymore. Many keep joking about Germany.
But it looks like things will change now. Germany has actually taken over Europe and is starting to invade other parts. Their military...has... uhhh... haven't changed much... but it seems they're winning...And I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing. Well, I'm just a POW.. and they're about to kill me
Year 2199 and Germany is still winning. They've taken over Asia now. My execution was delayed...and now is the time for me to die...
Then all of a sudden every tank I could see just exploded. All planes crashed. And all ships sunk.
The reason why?? The dumbass lead mechanic/builder forgot to put a number 4 and a few **VERY INSIGNIFICANT** details on the blueprint. Without that stuff, well... everything would blow up.
I laughed my ass off at the explosion. I laughed so fucking hard I pissed myself. Germany lost again. But the machines exploded. Not the infantry. While I was laughing, they...errr...just shot me.
| 2017-08-18T05:12:07
| 2017-08-18T02:09:31
| 29
| 15
|
[WP] A former child star has given up fame and fortune to pursue a career in academia. PhD candidate Jaden Smith presents his dissertation in Philosophy, "How Can Mirrors Be Real If Our Eyes Aren't Real"
|
"When John Wheeler first proposed his delayed-choice thought experiment, the world at large thought it was too weird to mention. However, [recent measurements](http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2015/05/150527103110.htm) in an Australian laboratory now confirm that particles on the quantum level do not exist until observed. Mirrors do not contain the real world, they are merely a reflection of reality. However, until reality is observed it is now measured to not even exist. Do mirrors 'observe' reality when it is us who look into the mirror, doing the observing? Does our observation of the mirror makes what the mirror reflects a reality? Do we observe our own eyes? No, we do not. There is only a very small layer of cells that are actually involved in measuring light so as to present 'a' form of reality and that reality is now shown not to exist until observed. So I ask this august body: "How can mirrors be real, if our eyes are not real?"
|
In the instance of a perfect mirror all light would theoretically reflect off of it without being altered by the mirror's surface. This fundamentally makes it impossible for us to observe the mirror itself due to the nature in which our eyes perceive reality, which is through analyzing photons over time, meaning we can not be certain if it is there at all. If we truly consider how our eyes observe it can be hypothesized that if light has continuously been phasing into our perception, spontaneously of course, in a way that makes us observe our "eyes" when looking into a mirror but never actually interacting with our "eyes" one might draw a conclusion that our "eyes" may not exist at all but merely are the assumed device our consciousness has assembled to justify its observations and, therefore, reality. In this sense mirrors are in just as much question as our eyes because how can one hope to judge what is real when your eyes, the tools with which we can observe "reality", may not exist at all but merely be a way in which your consciousness observes itself unknowingly.
How can mirrors be real if our eyes aren't real, further extended; how can anything be real?
| 2015-05-31T02:07:47
| 2015-05-30T23:06:50
| 21
| 11
|
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?
|
"I know of a game," said the man, finally speaking up after a long pause. Death's glare shifted, as if his bony face cocked an eyebrow. The man crossed his arms, collecting himself for the explanation. The only way to win this game was to make sure the other party lost first, after all.
"Well?" Death questioned, growing impatient. "What is it?"
Having prepared himself, the man looked up at Death, ready to win.
"Have you heard of The Game?"
|
Death throws rock, I throw rock.
Death throws paper, I throw paper.
Death throws scissors, I throw scissors.
"Its very clear that this will take a while"
Ten years of stalemate go by, finally Death throws paper and I scissors.
Underneath his dark hood, Death whispers "You win."
I blink and find myself alone in a stale hospital room A soft yellow light is illuminating the eggshell white walls and recovery room decorations.
My head is swimming and my eyes hurt, but I did it. I finally beat death.
From the corner of the room I hear the click of the doorknob and see the sway of the door through my foggy vision. In walks the only company I've had for what seemed like an eternity. Death.
"Wait! You said you would give me 10 years!" I meekly sqweek recoiling to the headboard in horror.
"It has been ten years." says Death with a small chuckle.
"How could this be?" I mutter with shock and disbelief.
Death slowly moves his fleshless left hand in front of his torso open palmed and face up, than his right hand over his left in a skeletal fist.
"Two out of three?"
| 2018-03-07T07:43:55
| 2018-03-07T07:40:40
| 251
| 18
|
[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox
|
Eye tip me tophat. I wok in 2 de ofis bilding.
Gud dae maet. Me maets n me eet crumpits n sip tee cos we gents.
Luk o de dae to ye maet. Gohd saev de Kween n all de jaz.
Now eye wok hoem. Luvlee niet n all. Gud niet.
Mae B reed gud niet buk? Noe, eye cant reed.
|
We met in the room of a thousand fountains all 140 of us. We looked around for the original sure enough he was here. "Alright gentleman I have gathered you here today to adress the growing unrest across the galaxy at this time. Now I can't do it alone but with all of you I can, but we have to work together. Sound fair?" We all nodded and whispered agreements amongst ourselves. Then on cue we all turned to leave we knew what had to be done. The galaxy could barely stop one Revan how would it do with 140.
| 2016-02-22T09:49:34
| 2016-02-22T09:22:45
| 541
| 10
|
[WP]: The year is 2093. Space travel is now a part of everyday life for most humans. In the style of an infomercial, describe a product (that does not currently exist) that's intended for use by our future space travelers.
|
*Open on a cryopod, slowly opening. Steam escapes from the cryopod, we can’t yet see inside*
VO: You’ve been in cryosleep for nearly a month. It’s a long journey to Newton VII.
*A man in his mid 30’s sits up from the cryopod, his upper torso, arms and head extending beyond the cryopod bay. He stretches his arms above him and rubs his eyes.*
VO: Things happen in cryosleep. Things men don’t like to talk about.
*The man yawns, then looks down between his legs. His eyes go wide. His face is twisted into a mask of horror.*
VO: It’s called muscular contraction. You lose as much as an inch of height for each month in cryosleep. But it isn’t just that you’re shorter when you come out of that bay. Everything contracts. Everything.
*Cut to a tube of **ManSpan**[tm]*
VO: ManSpan. The only topical ointment designed just for men, to correct muscular contraction where it counts. Use as directed. Do not use if you are pregnant or nursing. Not recommended for non-human races. Consult a Doctorbot for more information.
|
"Folks, have I got a product for you! Have you ever experienced disorientation midflight between the colonies?"
*Video of shuttle craft rotating midflight between L4 and L5 colonies.*
"Feelings of nausea as you have *no idea* where you are and which direction is up?"
*Video of a shuttle craft full of people vomiting.*
"Well, I've got just the device for you! We call it **NorthStar**, a virtualized dog that **always** tells you which direction is up!"
*Video of a small sphere with a small dog hologram inside it.*
"**NorthStar** always points it's nose towards the North Star, Polaris! And, if you act now, we can have uploaded *alternative star pointers* and, for a limited time, *alternative dogs*!!"
*Video of a NorthStar system pointing at various stars through a touchpad interface, switching between labradors, great danes, and corgis.*
"Never again will you have to feel worried by knowing which direction is up! With **NorthStar**, you'll know!"
| 2014-12-29T06:16:18
| 2014-12-29T05:18:52
| 42
| 13
|
[WP] The powerball winner contacts you and offers you $50m to collect his winnings so he stays anonymous, but you have to be the face of 1.3 billion.
Post was taken down. Whoops posted to r/writingprompt by accident!
|
"Dude you know you can have a lawyer collect that for you right? And they're not going to charge $50 million for it. No seriously, that way you can keep your name off the news and nobody has to get harassed by thieves and sob stories. You don't know any good lawyers? Hold on, I'll find one for you..."
I set my phone down so I could open my address book. I was proud of my best friend for winning the lottery, and that I was the first person he thought about giving me a cut of the pot. He never was the sharpest knife in the drawer though, in his defense nobody ever told him you could have the winnings picked up anonymously. I hope this doesn't end up ruining his life.
|
"You sure?"
"Absolutely. I don't have the time nor patience to deal with this."
"Done."
"Excuse me? That was quick."
"Be the face everything. Absolutely. When you said fifty million, I will make that number a solid figure. After taxes, nothing there, that's what I want to hear from you."
"Yes, but don't you think you-"
"Are you serious about this offer or not?"
"Yes. I'll have my lawyers contact you. We'll go over the standard information necessary."
The smug look on my face when the phone clicked was beautiful. I had a slew of ideas of what I would spend it on, first of course my debt, my debt to family and my debt as a husband to a family. I would have to move of course, make new friends possibly and live with a few hundred people baying at the door, phone and mail to get to me, but it was fine. That was what the money was for.
Now if they only knew where I lived, and perhaps if my name wasn't so common, it would have been difficult. But seriously, who actually names their daughter Ivana Bernardo Riche?
| 2016-01-10T19:23:40
| 2016-01-10T15:03:56
| 30
| 13
|
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
"Well there goes that plan"
I thought, as the 20 year old man infront of me aged 200 years in mere seconds and crumbled into dust.
"Prisoner" the judge shouted as he leered down from his chair. "Have you decided the method of your demise?"
"I have your honour" I managed to garble through my shaking jaw.
I guess there is no getting out of this. If I have to go then I may as well go out with a bang!
"Well boy?? Get on with it! What shall it be?"
"Here goes nothing" I though.
.......
"Death by Snu Snu sir"
|
The Gods damned Tribunal! If there was anyone to blame for the state of this sorry world it would be the Tribunal. Sitting up on high, casting judgement on their inferiors. Everyone knows they're the real power behind the crown. Can't have a revolution when the Tribunal can kill you for your crimes instantly.
People called us stupid for trying to assassinate the king. Too much security that night and we just barged in the front doors. Hardly took any effort or the king's guards to take us down. All we had were daggers, they couldn't have even scratched the king's armor. Idiots they called us for even trying to fight against our betters. Everyone reading our manifesto as a joke....but maybe we got through to some people.
Sitting here, waiting to get called up in front of the Tribunal for punishment. Some have tried to plead their case. Some have tried to outwit the bastards and live forever. Poor sod before me wished to die of old age, and got turned to dust faster than it took him to say the words.
HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE? the Tribunal asks me.
I grin and think of everything they've taken from me; my father, my wife, half my damn family accused of crimes against the crown most of them never committed. But I know what revolution sounds like. I may not see it, but I'm giving my people hope.
"Drowned in the Tribunal's fresh spilled blood." I say as I close my eyes and hear the first downpour.
| 2021-06-24T10:06:58
| 2021-06-24T08:24:48
| 20
| 11
|
[WP] A hyper advanced alien race decides to mimic Darwin's study of finches with humans. Several groups of Homo sapiens are placed on different planets and monitored over a long period of time for adaptations/evolution. You've just been abducted from planetA to be studied alongside the others.
|
**Environmental Correlations with Human Behavior**
by Prof. Maelbogia and Brian
Department of Exobiology, Fifth Galactic College
Star GIM/18374, Planet Aelmo
**ABSTRACT**
As follow-up to our last paper^(\[1\]), we have determined that no more useful information can be gleaned about human behavior by replacing them with artificial copies. To that end, we placed various cultures of humans in different artificial environments, each slightly different than their own homeworld, to determine how best to stop their tendencies towards disassembling each other.
**INTRODUCTION**
The primary human behavior of interest is their habit of disassembling other humans, a paradoxically self-destructive behavior—and a worrying potential source of conflict, if they were ever introduced to the galactic community at large. As they are the only known sapient matter-based lifeforms in the galaxy, continued research into how their destructive behaviors can be moderated is of the utmost scientific importance. We hope that our research sheds some light on the differences between matter-based and energy-based life.
**MATERIALS AND METHODS**
We moved several large populations of humans to various nearby artificial habitats, keeping them as close to the human homeworld (GIM/83710) as possible. As there are no notable hazardous features in the human stellar system—it is absent of black holes, neutron stars, temporal anomalies, or other features that are potentially dangerous to life—we decided that, since all the environments in GIM/83710 are capable of sustaining life, it was best to simply place a portion of humanity in each major astronomical body in the GIM/83710 system, as well as a control group in interplanetary space, then bring them together to observe the new strains of humans created.
**RESULTS**
The results for each strain of human produced are as follows:
1. Humans placed in interplanetary space: Appeared to go dormant. No disassembly of other humans was detected.
2. Humans placed on Star GIM/83710: Evolved into elemental helium, with significant quantities of carbon, nitrogen, and oxygen. No disassembly of other humans was detected.
3. Humans placed on Planet GIM/83710-1: Evolved into simple combusted hydrocarbons. No disassembly of other humans was detected.
4. Humans placed on Planet GIM/83710-2: Evolved into an oxidized, highly-dense paste. No disassembly of other humans was detected.
5. Humans placed on Planet GIM/83710-3: When transported to the observation chamber with the other strains of human, violent attempts at destroying the observation chamber's walls were made. As Planet GIM/83710-3 is the native habitat of humans, it is curious that human strains placed there would exhibit the highest levels of violence.
6. Humans placed on Planet GIM/83610-4: Evolved into a desiccated, lower-mass species of humanity. No disassembly of other humans was detected.
7. Humans placed on Planet GIM/83610-5 through 8: Evolved into a disparate cloud of hydrocarbon gasses of various temperatures. No disassembly of other humans was detected.
**DISCUSSION**
Placing humans in practically any environment other than that of their native planet seems to cause them to evolve into much more docile forms. Additional observation is needed to determine the rate of cognition of these adapted human forms; although "baseline" humans have extraordinarily short lifespans (.0000000000320 standards), and as such their cognition is extremely rapid, it appears that the cognition of evolved humans is much, much slower. No noticeable sapience response has been detected from them in 31 revolutions of Planet GIM/83710-3 around Star GIM/83710, which is likely because their mental speed has slowed down to a rate closer to galactic average. Once more data about the new mental speed of these evolved humans is collected, these researchers would propose that all humans be converted to their evolved forms. Once evolved, they appear to be much more docile, and as such would be infinitely easier to introduce to the galactic community.
**ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS**
This paper would not be possible without my loving husband, son, and co-author: Mr. Maelbogia, Maelbogia Junior, and Steve, respectively. We thank the Fifth Galactic College for providing funding and methodology for our experimentation.
**SOURCES**
[\[1\] A Brief Treatise on Human Violence and Technological Progress](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mk02zz/wp_to_further_understand_the_species_we_have/)
A.N.
If you enjoyed that, check out more at r/bubblewriters! As always, I enjoyed writing this, and I hope you have a wonderful day.
|
“Homo-sapiens” the alien exclaimed, fluttering it’s wings for effect. “You are all descendants of Homo sapiens - a mammalian species form earth”
*so the legends were true.* I thought. *the legends of our origin, passed down verbally for millennia. I always thought them a fairytale. Abducted from a planet 680,000 light years away - placed in a bio-planetarium as a lab rat for some divine and powerful deity. It’s too far fetched.*
I peered around the alien vessel. A dozen foreign species stood in their own separate chambers. To my left, in then neighboring chamber, stood a living horror: a bipedal creature with thin, twig-like legs and a dense upper body containing 4 arms, and an eye protruding from the top of its skull.
To my right, was a chamber filled with liquid. A sickly, squid-looking being moved restlessly in the murky waters. It’s feet were impossibly long, and webbed. And it’s torso was incredibly slim. It moved in the water with an effortless anxst.
*no*. I thought. *this isn’t possible, i cannot share any sort of heritage with these monstrosities. I am a Bulkeran. None of these creatures could survive on my planet. The gravity is too dense. That’s how we developed these strong four legs. We cannot possibly share ancestry with this lot. We evolved from the insects of our world, over billions of years. Wr developed flat backs, trunk legs, incredible lung capacities to accommodate long ventures into shallow waters. We are not lost-Immigrants, forced to adapt to a new home. We are FROM Bulkeria…*
“You are wrong.” The alien chimed in. It tentacled limbs shifted aimlessly. “As I look into your mind, I can tell you with certainty, you are wrong.” The alien approached my terrarium. “You are not immigrants, but you’re not Bulkerian either. You are something different.” The alien smiled, or Atleast, it looked like a smile to me. The alien turned abd addressed the room.
“What began as a simple experiment of evolution, has become something… more. Each of your unique evolutions was not for nothing. There are millions of worlds out there - unclaimed, with unique biospheres, gravities, and habitats. You shall serve our empire, as pilgrims, or colonizers.”
*why are you doing this to us?* I thought. *what happened to our ancestors… the original Homo sapiens?*
“Ahhh my cousin, don’t your recognize me? I guess a lot can change over hundreds of thousands of years.” The alien approached my glass, Putting 5 of its long, tentacled arms on my pod. It raised its wings, blocking all light in the room.
“I am the homo sapien”
| 2021-08-04T07:27:28
| 2021-08-04T07:09:14
| 126
| 41
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
"Your army is marching upon grenoble. You face a royalist regiment of two thousand men blocking your path. What do you do?"
"I bear open my breast...", Napoleon started
"Jesus Christ, dude", the DM said
"...and proclaim, 'If any man here wishes to shoot his emperor, I am here'".
The DM sighed and rolled some dice behind his screen.
"Roll for persuasion", he said
Napoleon picked up his dice and rolled, "20." He said stonefacedly.
"Ooookay... the royalist regiment joins your forces I guess"
|
DM: "Alright Jesus, you've just been executed by the Romans, Roll a death save."
Jesus: \*rolls\* "Natural 20."
DM: "Alright you wake up with 1 hp, what do you do?"
Jesus: "Alright I'm gonna play possum"
DM: "Roll a deception check"
Jesus: \*rolls\* Ok that's another 20, plus my charisma modifier which is \+5 so 25 total."
DM: "Ok you avoid detection and are placed in an unmarked cave."
Jesus: "All right how long can I go without food or water?"
DM: "About Three days."
Jesus: "Alright I emerge from the cave three days later."
| 2018-05-29T09:37:40
| 2018-05-29T09:31:25
| 303
| 210
|
[WP] Every person in the world develops a weird mutation/power the day they turn 16. Everyone's powers are always different, some more insignificant than others. You turn 16, and watch as all your friends discover their newfound ability's. That is, until you discover the severity of your own.
|
...the ability to craft a lovely cup of tea from any matter available was surely too powerful for any mere mortal to handle.
With great duty and knowing such power could have unparalleled consequence were I unable to contain it I decided for the sake of mankind to keep it to myself, to say I was spared the mutation.
They couldn't know. Nobody could know...
|
When i reached 16 I had high hopes. The basic process a person about to obtain a power went through was being put into a kind of prison cell and, for the first 24 hours after the exact time of your birth 16 years ago, monitored by a team of doctors who would categorize your power with its own unique title and level. ranking from 1-10, most powers were around a 5, meaning 'has a mediocre power' or 'can use their power to an extent comparable to that of a fully capable level 5'. powers were categorized as 'elemental', 'mind-bending' and 'self-modification'.
My parents both had mind-bending abilities, my father having telekinesis and my mother having telepathy. Having two mind-bending parents, it was predicted by the doctors that I would have a level 6-8 mind-bending ability. I waited anxiously as the time drew closer. The doctors stood in an above balcony protected by 5 inches of bulletproof glass to ensure they couldn't be harmed if I happened to have a high level destructive ability. My mind kept going over all the powers I could get. Would I be a level 7 pyrotechnic? or would I be a level 3 barely able to become invisibility. The countdown clock at the end the room was 3 hours off one day after I was born. some level 1's cant even use their powers, could I be one?
Suddenly a siren went off. Something was seriously wrong as that siren meant my ability was doing damage to sensory equipment. One of the doctors reached for the intercom but another stopped him, all ten of them seemed to be having an argument. The siren was still going off, it was starting to hurt my ears so I tried to get the attention of the doctors. None of them noticed me until a huge crack developed in the glass. I hadn't even realized it but the ground was starting to vibrate.
One of the doctors started talking on the intercom but it sounded incredibly distorted. "Stop using your power! you'll kill us all at this rate!".
That's when I realized my power,
Resonance
| 2015-01-22T02:28:54
| 2015-01-22T00:45:06
| 22
| 15
|
[Wp] It is the year 2032. Due to increasing obesity, fast food joints have been banned entirely. Tell us the tale of bootlegging and speakeasies in this troubled time of prohibition.
|
Melons and pineapples worked best. We bought huge quantities of both. Ma and my little brother would spend nights hollowing them out, carving and chucking away the useless innards.
Me and Pa were the chefs. We cooked a hundred or so burgers every night. Of course, getting the fat--and it *had* to be fat--was a mission in itself. That came courtesy of Thin Tony, of Tony's Lipo Clinic. In exchange for two litres of fresh fat nightly, we gave him all the fries and burgers he could eat. He had a freakin' good thing going on; stuffing himself one day, emptying himself out the next. Plus, our services to the community gave him a shit ton of extra business.
So where was I? Ah yeah, the burgers. So we had the fat and we got the meat easy enough, seeing as fresh beef wasn't prohibited. 'Course, fresh meat doesn't have quite the right taste so we ah... we had to blend it up with a lil' gristle, liver, water and sugar. Once the mixture was *just* right, then we turned them into patties. We did big burgers - bigger the better, you know what I mean? That's what we were known for.
The sugar, I am proud to say, was homegrown. We grew sugar canes in our basement using those freakin' bright artificial light things. Yeah, if we were ever caught we knew that *that* alone would be enough to send us down for the rest of our lives, but there was no way we were going to serve our customers that Splenda shit.
So we grew the sugar canes, removed the impurities (anything *not* sugar) and Bob's your uncle--99.9% sucrose white sugar. We mixed this with flour and eggs and a proverbial ton of salt, and we had us some very sweet, highly addictive buns. Our customers always came back for more. Relish was just tomatoes, oil and garlic mushed up with sugar.
Next bit was easy. We packed the burgers (and fries-- yeah, we did fries too) into the hollow fruits. We then glues them back up before taking them to the mornings "health market". Our stall was the most popular, as you can imagine. Everyone knew what we were doin'--seriously, *everyone*. Even the local cops were on to it, but a few donuts now and then kept them sweet.
Hell it was a golden age. Until the federal investigation got us, that is. Still can't believe we got done for tax evasion in the end. But you know what they say, everyone's got a price. We greased up the top brass, as it were, and got ourselves out of some real *merda*.
Anyways, you ever wan't a burger -- I mean a *real* burger, like in the good old days, you know where to find us. Here, take this Melon, sample the goods why don'cha.
|
It's not the *dogs* that are the problem at the border, unless you're careless they'll never find a thing. No, it's those damn Algorhythmic Sensorial System Programatical Robotic Omni-Bionic Examiners that you have to be wary about. Those suckers can get right up and into your business and before you know it they've found your stash of trans-fats and you're up against a wall with your arms spread.
The speakeasies don't employ me because it's easy to get food through the border though, they employ me because I get the results and not many folk can these days. Last month I brought in nearly 400 Kgs of fried chicken, burgers and pork products and still that didn't meet demand, so i'm upping my game, increasing my loads and expanding my business.
The best route, as with so much smuggled into the country, is across the border from Mexico. The cartels try to bring over in tunnels, ships, even airplanes, but I have a simpler route. I use the one thing that can mask the smell and at the same time be almost completely ignored by the border patrol - drunk white frat boys.
They flood back and forth across the border, heading out to take advantage of the hookers, drugs, booze and, of course, the fast food. Mexico lures them over by having huge signs up near the border, vast illuminated Wendy statues, towering hundreds of feet into the air, with enough lighting to be seen from Oklahoma City. Since they won the second Mexican-America War and annexed Texas they don't even pretend to be afraid when we threaten them with sanctions for these huge adverts, they don't care anymore.
The Mexican's love the frat boys, as they flood into the old US cities, living it up on the weekends, before creeping back over the border on Monday morning, hung over and greasy. That's when I make a deal with them. Carry a few Kgs of good in a scent proof bag and get a bit of money to make up fr all the cash they just blew. Hundreds take the deal.
They stumble through the border and the guards watch them, repulsed by the smell of stale beer and vomit. Only the Algorhythmic Sensorial System Programatical Robotic Omni-Bionic Examiners is a threat to me and even if it catches a few of them, dragging them off into custody - caught with their pants down - there are enough that make it through for it to be worth it for me.
I watch them stumble through the border, a few being dragged off, but most make it and meet up with me in a nearby alley, giving me the goods, taking their cash and looking around warily before scurrying off, back to their schools, where they will be late for classes. It was a good night, enough for fifty portions, once I have cut it with a bit of soy and reprocessed corn to bulk it out anyway.
Tonight I deliver to Chicago, where my middlemen will split it up and send some north to the big buyers, like Wisconsin and then I will head back, over the border to make a purchase and find more mules to carry my product. Life is good for me right now - long may prohibition last.
| 2016-07-25T06:22:09
| 2016-07-25T06:20:50
| 283
| 58
|
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
|
I wiped a tear from my eye as she walked down the aisle. My beautiful baby girl, all grown up!! I watched her step up next to the man she loved. He took her hand and they turned towards the adoring crowd.
He gave his speech. Everything my little girl had done! It seemed like a fairytale, coming out of his mouth. I watched with bated breath, as the ring slipped onto my little girl.
Around her neck.
What a cruel twist of fate, for your boyfriend to be the hangman.
|
I have to say, that this isn't so bad.
Yeah, it's a bit cramped, and the lighting's is too dim, but I'm a fan of the rustic life.
Of course, I preferred living in my Dad's mansion, making all my money off of my job at his firm, but that's all gone now, and all I have is this dingy apartment.
It took some doing too. The lady who lived here first didn't want to sell to me at the price I wanted, she took some persuading, but in the end she agreed.
Now I settle into bed-- it's much stiffer then I'm used too, and there's no servant to bring me a bedtime chocolate, but the walls have some sort of ugly charm. This is my home now, and that's okay.
It's a little cold, so I go into my closet, and pick out something to wear to bed. I go with my newest outfit.
Good choice. It's warm and sporty, even if there's no one there to see it. That lady had excellent taste. Her skin is soft and fits well over me. I can still smell her perfume over the metallic scent of blood.
Charming. Absolutely charming.
| 2017-05-31T07:11:19
| 2017-05-31T02:40:54
| 1,143
| 548
|
[WP] You're Barack Obama. 4 months into your retirement, you awake to find a letter with no return address on your bedside table. It reads "I hope you've had a chance to relax Barack...but pack your bags and call the number below. It's time to start the real job." Signed simply, "JFK."
|
"Very funny, Michelle," Barack called into their new home, the letter in his hand. It has always been their tradition to out-prank each other when they move to a new place. JFK, alive? Barack chuckled as he folded the letter and placed it in his pocket. Michelle has got to come out with better pranks.
Barack closed the wooden door and walked into the hallway. Boxes of unopened stuff laid strewn across it. Eight years of presidency had bestowed him countless of possession.
"Michelle?" Barack called out again, suddenly noticing the silence in the house. Just a few moments ago, he still heard the voices of Sasha and Malia giggling from the living room, while their mother asked them about their dinner choices. Except for Barack's footsteps on the floor, the air hung still.
Something did not feel right.
"Michelle? Sasha? Malia?" Barack shouted this time, his voice mixed with a tinge of worry. This was not a prank that the girls usually play on him. His hand clutched the letter in his pocket.
"I am afraid that your wife and daughters are no longer in the house," a voice behind him suddenly said. Barack yelled as he swerved around. Standing between him and the door he just closed, stood a figure whom he has only seen on books and television.
"Martin Luther King," Barack whispered, unable to believe what his eyes were seeing. He had seen his share of crazy things in his eight years of presidency, but coming face to face with dead figures was something he never expected.
Martin chuckled at Barack's response. "Yes, that is correct." He extended his hand to Barack. "And it's an honour to finally meet you, Mr President."
Barrak took Martin's hand and shook it. He straightened himself, assuming the straight posture he was well known for. Being in the presence of legends required the courtesy, though he still struggled to hide the surprise in his face. "The pleasure is mine, Dr King. Forgive me, but I must ask-"
"Your family is safe with us, Barack. And yes, the letter in your pocket is indeed from President Kennedy," Martin interjected.
"If I may, can you just walk me through what's going on here?" Barack gestured with his hands. He was feeling confused, as well as slightly taken aback. Nothing prepared him for this.
Martin sensed the unease that Barack felt. It was understandable. When Gandhi first appeared to him, he could not sleep for days. He placed a hand on Barack's shoulder. What he was about to say to Barack would be far worse than meeting dead people. "Barack, listen here, I am here to tell you that in a few weeks time, you'll be assassinated."
Barack flinched an eyebrow. "What?" Surely he was dreaming. The stress of the past eight years must have finally got to him.
The strength of Martin's hand on him, however, felt real. Martin gave Barack a sympathetic smile, just like how Gandhi had done so to him. "Yes, I am afraid so. This is just how things are supposed to work. Before you start your real job."
"Don't I get a say in this?" Barack questioned. He had been looking forward to some time off after his presidency. Another job was just out of the question. He could only lose so much hair.
Martin however, shook his head. "Barack, I am sorry, but it wouldn't be possible. My boss will not let it."
"And who is your boss, if I may ask?"
Martin Luther King smiled at the question, as if it was the question he had been waiting for Barack to ask since they first met. "His name is Jesus."
-------------
*Edited Barrack to Barack and Mr King to Dr King. Thanks for the pointer!*
/r/dori_tales
|
I knew exactly what that letter meant on the bedside table.
"Michelle!", I yelled. "Emergency, Emergency! Lay back!"
We laid back down on our bed and the straps automatically held us down. I thought of the scene in 'The Goonies' when they slide down to the pirate ship. But, I had no idea where our tunnel would lead. We just slid.
The tunnel was dim, but lit the whole way down. Ups and downs, curves, and loop-d-loops. Eventually we started slowing down and surprisingly, we drop again. Out of the tunnel and into the 1960's Batmobile. My Michelle and I looked at each other, smile, and we put on our masks.
I couldn't hear her scream as I peeled away towards the symbol on the sky.
[edit] Dedicated to Batman's real creator, Bill Finger. Deleted a sentence.
| 2022-12-29T14:39:14
| 2017-05-14T07:51:14
| 274
| 12
|
[WP] A story that doesn't make any sense, until you read the last line.
|
It's the best deal in town. You can be the student you always wanted to be. However long it takes. You'll get there, to have the time of your life. When I wanted him. History doesn't repeat itself, but it rhymes. Sunny and 72 degrees. Except where prohibited by law. He grabbed her hand.
She stopped twisting the radio dial and stepped outside, into the sunshine.
|
She sat in the chair, shivering against the cold dense plastic and metal monstrosity. Eyes flickered back and forth, the chill in the room not the only reason for her to shake and tremble. Eyes gazed warily, fearfully at the metal tower beside her, unknown attachments hanging off with unknown purposes.
A man in white enters, looking at her as if she were nothing but a problem to fix, a subject to enhance. He asks her questions and she replies haltingly, unsure, confused. Continuing to talk the man holds a dark instrument in front of her eyes, waiting for answers while conducting unknown practices. The instrument emits light, bright and piercing and shines them directly into her eyes. She squirms at the intrusion, trying to look away before reprimanded.
She whimpers as he moves a heavy apparatus to her, instructing her to compliance. The questions continue and her panic grows. Her vision swims and she stammers out responses. The man doesn't seem pleased and repeats his questions.
Finally it ends yet the entire ordeal does not. Another machine, heavier on a base is slid over. Her neck cranes and the metal and plastic feel cold. More lights, blue and green as well as plain. All bright. All searing. Just when she thinks it will never end the machine is moved. The man speaks and she flees.
I sigh and rub my eyes. *Why do people treat an eye exam like torture? You think I'm pulling their teeth instead of helping them see.*
| 2017-08-30T06:54:31
| 2017-08-30T06:31:44
| 5,691
| 43
|
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned.
|
It had been a busy week and I was kicking off Friday with a brew. My teenage nightmare of a Friday had turned into my adulthood goal, a quiet night in and video games until too late in the evening.
I set the beer down on the end table, turned around to flop down on the couch when the air was instantly filled with smoke.
I coughed and waved my hand to dispel it, less startled than I should have been given the circumstances. The smoke was gone in an instant, and I looked for the source, only to realize I was not in my living room any more.
Instead i was in what appeared to be in a small cavern. There were three concentric circles drawn around me in some kind of powder. The closest circle, about 10 feet across, was done in black, then grey and the outermost was in white. There were candles burning, and a crude clay bowl sat on the ground filled with water.
I didn't see the beings at first, until they started making noise. They were small, about up to my ribs, and looked like something from Star Wars. Kinda like a fuzzy Greedo.
Two of them were talking very quickly. The third stared motionless for a few minutes until it burst into tears.
"What on Earth is going on?"
There was an instant of silence and then the other two burst into tears, then the whole lot ran out of the cavern.
What the fuck?
Seeing nothing else to do at the moment, I took measure of my surroundings. I walked out of the circles and strangely felt a slight tug as I passed over them. Odd.
The cavern was pretty big but not colossal. It wasn't a Minecraft style cave that led into the depths of the earth, but the rocky ceiling sloped downward and met the ground maybe two hundred feet from the entrance.
There was a commotion outside as several of those same things came back. These were bigger, and they carried crude spears and shields, made of wood and hide. There were eight of them, followed by a ninth who carried a crude book. The one with the book said a few words, and the others spread out, forming a loose semicircle between myself and the entrance. They closed and leveled their spears.
I put my hands up and tried to smile. I had no idea what the fuck was going on and I wasn't about to be stabbed to death by murderous knock off bounty hunters. I spoke "hey guys, let's all..."
Two shouted, one yelped and they all charged, the spears flashing forward and striking me. Fuck. I guessed that this is how I would go.
There was no pain, just some mild discomfort in a few spots on my body. I opened my eyes after I realized I'd squeezed them shut. The spears were driven into me, the aliens stances showed that they had their full weight behind the thrusts. I looked down. The spear points made tiny dents in my skin.
Poke poke. They attacked again, one hit my belly button and I winced. That's sensitive. He looked pleased with himself, pushed his spear in deeper and twisted it.
"Dude. Stop." I slapped the spear away. I was startled when it exploded into splinters as my hand touched it. The once victorious Greedo held the broken haft, a look of utter horror on his face. He steeled himself as the others backed away, drew a stone knife and charged me, driving it into my chest again and again.
I let him do it. It didn't bother me, and maybe it would be good for him to wear himself out. He was at it for a few minutes maybe before he sagged, lowered himself and made one final stab right at my nads. That was not ok. I held up my hand, stopped the knife, grabbed the blade and pulled it away from him.
He screamed, clutching his now empty hand. Was he a fucking soccer player? Jesus. I looked again and saw he had broken fingers. Had I done that? I hadn't meant to. Fuck me, were these people made of tissue paper or something?
Feeling like the lowest kind of asshole, I offered an apology. The others closed with spears level and the injured Greedo withdrew, cradling his hand. I watched as I was stabbed over and over to no effect.
The one with the book examined the hand and drew his own knife, said something and began to cut. Amputation? Jesus!
I walked forward, gently pushed the others aside and moved to the injured guy. He was terrified. The one with the book opened it, read something and a bolt of lightning snapped from his fingers. It hurt about the same as touching metal after rubbing your feet on the carpet.
I sighed, and took his book away as gently as I could, he released it and cowered.
The injured guy was on the ground now, his eyes full of fear. I could see why. I was evidently Hercules and they were cavemen made of marshmallows.
Remembering my first aid course I ripped a bit of my shirt off and pressed it against his bleeding incision. The bleeding stopped and I looked for a splint. No dice, maybe...
I ran over and took one of the others spears and worked at it. My finger nails cut through it like it was butter. My teeth worked even better. I bit through it and got a piece about as thin as my own finger, and as gently as possible used the stick as a splint, tying it in place.
"Ok. So that's done. Now can we talk?"
Nothing.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
Nothing.
"Boo!"
Screams.
They looked on in abject horror, none of them moving. "Sorry about your hand, buddy." I sighed. "Here's your book." I handed the tome back to the Greedo who had it earlier, who took it with shaking hands...
(I'll write more a little later today if there's any interest)
Edit: I've replied with part 2. I'll keep going with part 3 later.
Edit: Like my stories? Check out my brand new subreddit over at /r/jsgunn!
|
"What do you mean I can't leave these drinks on my tab? I've been coming here for years."
"New corporate rules. Ever since we were bought out by Wild Buffalo Bar Corp. No running tabs, no discounts, no happy hours," explained Chet, my favorite bartender.
"Well I guess I better go hit the ATM and see what I've got in the bank. I don't get paid until tomorrow," I explained as I walked off to the store across the street. The rain had looked quiet and gentle from outside, but now as I crossed the street it was cold and uninviting. As I approach the ATM is notice the out of order sign. I shrug and make my way back across the street. "Well Chet I guess put this on my credit card."
He takes the card and swipes, swipes again, and then looks at me with a mixture of sympathy and frustration. "Declined. Sorry man. Look I'll get your drinks tonight if you pay me back tomorrow." He stopped polishing the bar for a moment to note the television. President Donald Trump was on the news again.
"If I didn't know any better I would say we're in hell, Chet." I left the bar around midnight to drown my sorrows at home. It had been a long day at the office. Telemarketing was the only work I had been able to find after I was laid off in 2008. Every day was miserable and the only relief was getting drunk enough to forget what I would be doing for work the next day.
But something was wrong. I didn't recognize this street at all. There were cobblestones and streetlamps. Some kind of vintage lamps I guess, that looked like real fire. There was a smell in the air I didn't quite recognize, were they burning real oil? Since when did the city do this kind of thing?
I stopped dead in my tracks as I realized I was surrounded by a circle of candles. Below my feet were some kind of ancient runes that glowed and shifted positions. I turned to see a small, childlike figure wearing a dark wide-brimmed hat and oversized spectacles.
"Who the fuck are you?!" I shouted as the startled figure squeaked and jumped behind a stack of barrels. He remained there paralyzed with fear for several seconds. "What the fuck is going on here? Why am I standing in this circle of candles?"
Determined to get home, I started to turn around and go the way I came. As I walked over the candles however, I was blown backwards by some powerful force. The childlike figure behind the barrels changed his expression into one of sheer joy.
"It works!" He exclaimed. He came out from behind the barrels, adjusting his glasses and examining me closely. I realized he was not a child, but rather a very small and dainty old man in over sized clothes. "Tell me your name demon," he asked in a now somewhat commanding tone.
"Jamal," I replied. "And I'm not a demon. Who the fuck are you."
"I'm Cervilpop the magician. I have summoned you to help us in the great war against the Mugwumps. And of course you are a demon, look how big you are. Your frightening features, you coarse voice. If you aren't a demon you sure look like one."
"Okay...Mugwumps?"
"Yes a terrible race of ferocious creatures. We have been in conflict for years now. But now that we have a powerful demon on our side, victory will be ours!"
"I'm not a demon," I explained. "I'm just a guy trying to get back home."
"Home to hell you mean? Ha. You may not return until you have done my service, those are the rules."
"I have to help you kill Mugwumps and then I go home?" I asked skeptically. I kept looking around for the cameras knowing this was some kind of viral video. A disturbed expression crossed Cervilpop's face.
"Kill them? Oh lords, no! Jamal, we need you to take up arms to defeat them in honorable combat, an epic game of dodge ball to end this war once in for all!"
"Wait, dodgeball? You've been fighting a war for centuries over dodge ball?" What kind of crazy world is this? Wouldn't it be easier just to fight them in a real war?"
Cervilpop laughed nervously. "Maybe that's how it all works in hell, but here we settle our differences with honor. Combat by dodgeball is the most honorable combat there is. We play dodgeball against the Mugwumps because they want to paint the Great Hall we all eat and drink in yellow. Yellow! can you imagine that?"
I shrugged. I figured maybe this was it. I have finally had a nervous breakdown. "So where's this great hall?"
"Two blocks that way," he replied gesturing over his shoulder.
"Beer there?"
"Of course."
"How much does it cost?" I asked skeptically.
"It's beer, it doesn't cost anything."
"Maybe I am from hell. Show me this great hall, Cervilpop. I'm down for a game of dodge ball, too, whenever."
| 2017-05-12T09:09:01
| 2017-05-12T08:29:21
| 556
| 347
|
[WP] You're a financial advisor. In 1994, you get a weird phone call from a man asking you if he can get any Bitcoin below $200k, and the call cuts off before you can ask him what Bitcoin was. Years later you get a call again from the same man, claiming he's calling back seconds after disconnection.
|
I must confess, when the bitcoin hit $15k I was tempted to sell. I had bought a ton of them the moment they first appeared, guided by an odd call I had received decades ago. For people like me, who care little about those slow-earning stocks, and love the adrenaline a good bet on a highly volatile company provides, every little hint of information, no matter how ridicule, was enough for me to spend all my savings.
The green numbers were my drug, and the red ones my motivation to invest more. Diversification they said, and I laughed at them when $MU sky-rocketed, and I bathed in tendies.
But I'm straying away. You see, if I sold bitcoin when it reached $15k I would've been set for life, but one does not simply ignore a call from someone telling you that he wanted to get bitcoin below $200k. That's a sort of legal insider information, despite how unreliable it was.
Of course, as you may know, the bitcoin plummeted, and new cryptocurrencies rose. I won't lie, I panicked back then, and almost sold at $5k, but I forbid myself to do such a stupid thing. I knew it was going to rise, and it was going to rise like nothing the market had ever seen before.
And then it hit $1k, and the ramen noodles were starting to make me sick. Still I waited, tear after tear, thinking about the amount of money I had lost, and how the people in the online forums called me names, and paid their respects with the letter F.
But then it happened. It rose slowly but steadily. The moment I saw this, I bought at $2K, and kept it. When it reached $15k again, my mind screamed to sell and stop the stress. But the stress is what made me feel alive, and so I held onto my bitcoins.
Two years later, it hit $199k, and the phone rang again.
"Hey man, this phone disconnected or something. Can I buy below $200k?"
I frowned. This was the man from the call from all those decades ago. The call that started it all. "What do you mean the phone disconnected? It's been 30 years since we spoke."
The man laughed. "Yeah sure, that coffee you are *drinking* must be quite strong. Now, can we talk business, please?"
Confused, but interested, I played his game. Perhaps he would accidentally give me the key to make another fortune. "You can buy for sure below $200k. It's at $198k right now. But do you think it will keep rising?"
"Keep rising? Absolutely not. It will hit $205k and then plummet to cents. I just want to buy, hold, and sell when it reaches $204k."
"I see. Well, I can make the operation for you. I just need your data."
There was no answer. Once again, the phone had disconnected.
Without a doubt, when it hit $204k I sold, and secured a fortune that would last for centuries. I became the richest man in the world, and became an angel investor, losing fortunes in start-ups that went nowhere.
But as thing goes, a young man approached me one day and pitched his invention. It was a telephone he claimed could communicate with the past. Everyone rejected him, for he had no proof that it worked, and when you used it you lost connection after a handful of seconds.
I bought every patent and license the man had. He scampered happily away with his money, and I, as a good businessman, reserved the technology just for me.
I grabbed the phone, and dialed a very old number.
"Hello, can I buy bitcoin below $200k?"
----------------------
r/NoahElowyn
|
"Can- Can I get some of that that bitcoin? 200k under or no deal though."
I stared at my phone. "Sir, this is a private number, this isn't even listed anywhere, where did you get this?"
"Can I- Can I, hold on, I'll call right back."
That had been three offices ago, the paintings on the wall had all changed from neo-futurismic cubist bullshit that looked like the artist had pulled the pictures straight out of a homeless person's fevered schizophrenic dreams to tasteful art where the faces were blurred and the features dribbled off like running wet ink.
The wall paper had changed from ducky yellow to my current firm's brutalist pink, a call back to the formative days the big boss had spend in a russian prison, wishing for a single speck of colors on the walls.
It'd also been twenty years, and bitcoin was currently on the massive decline. I'd invested smartly into it while it was fledgling and easy, and made my fortune speculating off of it. I should've expected the reaper would come to call in eventually.
The rolex on my wrist ticked towards 3 pm, about time for the meeting.
Then I had a phone call.
But now, with caller id, all I got was
JEFFFF
on the other end of the line.
"There we go, yes yes, I am right back!" Jeffff said. "Can I get some of that bit coin? U-under 200k. I hear you you you have some some."
"What." I said. This... this could be great. He could say something else, and I could run off of that. I could solidify my position among the higher echelons with that knowledge. Get in on space programs. Have my names on highschools.
I listened with bated breath.
"Yes-yes Oh-oh!" Jeffff said. "This phone is is inn--inaccurate for these porpoises."
I sent a quick prayer to god, because his voice was skipping across the connection like a damn rock.
"Yes, I'm afraid you'll have to call back when you get a better phone," I said, crossing my fingers. "What did you want?"
"B-b-b-bit coin." Jeffff warbled. "Bit-bit-biiiiiiiiiii-"
The call kicked off. I breathed out, let out that breath I'd been holding, and leaned back in the chair. Okay. That was weird.
I guess I could look forward to that in twenty years if I wasn't dead.
I stared up at the clock on the wall and counted off the seconds. The lights flickered overhead.
Odd.
They flickered one after another, instead of in unison. From the door to the window. I flicked my gaze across them, and then over to the window as well.
The parking lot was flickering. There weren't any lights on in the parking lot mind you, because it was still the middle of the say, but the light was flickering across it.
What?
I looked up towards the horizon.
The sun flickered like a candle wick. In and out of existence, leaving only a black paralyzing void in it's place.
The phone screeched from my pocket. "B-b-it coin."
I threw it against the wall and looked back up. The screen shattered. I could buy another one.
The sun had doubled in size, and the black void flickered in and out of cognization, casting massive world bending shadows.
There wasn't anyone in the parking lot to stare at the impossibility overtaking it all. A car blipped out of existence as the light touched it, and then didn't reappear when the sun flickered again.
I swallowed and shuttered the window, looking back at my desk. The computer screen was covered in ads for cryptocurrency. My monitoring software screeched and clicked and hissed warning signs, plastering my screen like the winning screen of solitaire.
I shut the lid on the laptop and caught my breath. Right. I'm hallucinating. Great. Just what I needed. All the pressure of trying to convince people I knew what I was doing instead of taking advantage of tips from a creepy phone call had sent me utterly barmy.
The intercom system turned on, though smoke poured out of the speaker across from me. "200k or no deal though."
Oh no.
"Can I- Ca-can I-"
No no no no no.
Every floor was carpeted to reduce noise. After all, this was a money making institution, they needed absolute concentration to catch onto micro market fluctuations according to the reductive algorithms. If someone mis bought, they could lose out.
Too many losses and well.
The company didn't keep losers for long.
But I could hear the foot steps crunching down the hallway. What the hell was it crunching on?
I reached under my desk, felt around for the duct tape, and pulled it free. The gun was odd and warm in my hands, it rested right on the opposite side of where the laptop's exhaust played, and it'd caught some of it. I checked it over. Made sure the safety was flicked off. My arms were shaking.
Calm Pat, come on, you have this. What the hell would Jeffff even do?
I peered down into the hallway. The carpet fibers had crystallized into fine glass, unable to bend or move from their place.
They crunched underfoot like ice. The lights flickered overhead, and then gave up on giving light off at all, instead providing only hazy darkness and snow like a television screen. It crackled, hissed, and burned my skin as I stepped out.
"200k or no deal tho," Jeffff hissed seductively down the hallway. "Porpoises."
We met, eye to eye. He had no face. Only a smear that drooled down his neck, an eye wetly hanging from his chin, running down into static. His mouth was open, a tongue lolling free, having fallen and pooled across the cavity of his collarbone. He moved jerkily, a step at a time, before the step would abruptly reverse in defiance of his knees, skittering across the frozen glass carpet. His head did similar movements, eyes twitching, head bobbing back and forth.
Each step made the environment flicker all the more. What would it do if it touched me?
"Stop man," I called out.
"D-deal- we made a d-deal-" He didn't stop moving. A motivation posted caught on fire and dripped down the side of the wall, congealing into a pile of rotting pencils and kittens on the ground. I thought I saw it moving.
Like fuck I was going to let that touch me.
I couldn't take the risk.
"Bitcoin," Jeffff murmured. "I wanna have some of that-"
I opened fire. Maybe it was stupid, knee jerk moment, maybe I had killed someone but-
The thing was, when the bullets sprayed out of the other side of his body, all that came out was endless chain, linked to buzzing black squares. Mouths and eyes formed out of the wounds, holding position before melting off the back of the black body entity.
"I want bit coin, Pat," Jeffff whispered. "No deal."
He stepped forward, and the world rotted away like the website components of complex blockchain authentication systems.
----------
For more like this, click here! https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
| 2019-04-07T06:39:11
| 2019-04-07T06:35:06
| 5,588
| 126
|
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
|
You sit in your cell, awaiting the return of the guard with your last meal. Or, you hope, the guard will return empty handed and you will be set free. At the end of the hall, you hear the distinctive sound of the door unlocking, and the footsteps of someone approaching. Only one set, so no priest. A good sign.
The guard arrives in front of your cell, staring at you through the bars for a moment.
"Would you have actually eaten it?" He asks.
"Of course, why else would I have requested it?"
"You would have straight up eaten a copy of Half-life 3?" He asks, unlocking the door to your cell.
|
It's a normal tradition, that prisoners can ask for anything. Anything at all, for their last meal. Apple pie that you get to make yourself, with chocolate-milk in a carton, like your mom used to make back when you were an innocent kid. A plain cheeseburger. Delicious ribs. A few people are aware that you can ask for anything. No matter what. A rock. The skull of a bishop. The scripture of Gautama Buddha written on a perfect oak leaf. Whatever you like, you can ask for. No matter how ridiculous, rare, and impossible to find. And technically, if they can't find it, can't provide you with your last and final meal, then you can't be executed. You're set free, though usually not in a manner that allows you to get back to normality. They have to obey the word of that ancient ritual's laws, not the spirit. If you're a particularly vile person, you might get set free on a rowboat in the middle of the Indian ocean, or on a deserted island. This isn't exactly a thing that's particularly nice of the people in charge to do, but they don't want the people on Death Row to go properly free.
Not that it actually mattered. Nobody has ever been disappointed by the people in charge of the last meal. Well, in terms of them not finding the meal in question. Some might have been disappointed by having to get executed, even after they came up with a particularly difficult and absurd thing to ask for. Jabberwocky jerky. Cthulhu-calamari. The actual flesh and blood of Jesus. Fruits from alien worlds. The concept of forgiveness made into a delicious yogurt. The idea of the sport of football condensed into a sportsdrink. KFC-style fried angel wings. A rainbow-icecream with colours that cannot exist in our universe, such as octarine or irrigo. Wine from the sloping hills of Perdition in Hell, where Lucifer has his vineyards. It's always been found, and cooked to perfection. Any man who goes to his death does so with a belly full of his last request, and can thus not cast a curse against his jailors and their masters. Nobody wants death-curses from those who are rightfully executed. And they definitely don't want them from those who were executed wrongfully, for those are a hundredfold more powerful than the curses of the guilty. Of course, as all men who have passed towards the guillotine or the noose, the chair or the firing squad, have been fed to their last request, they can not curse their executioners.
But today, it is a different day. In the cell awaiting his final meal sits a man. He is thin and tall. The olive skin on his hands is bruised and bloody. He did not move to this room without a fight. He has a black ring around his eye from a punch one the guards gave him. He does not look repentant for his crimes. He does not look like he has accepted his fate. He does not carry the face of the innocent man that has given into despair, or the guilty man who looks forward to the forgiveness of his saviour. His fingers are drumming on the table. The plate in front of him is empty and bare. From the distant kitchens comes weeping and screaming. For the first time since they started doing this back in the Roman empire, for the first time in two millennium, they cannot bring the man-to-be-executed his final meal. There is no way that they can get what he asked for. There is no method in any of their ancient gastronomic sorcery and strange dimensional abilities that can bring him what he demands. The guards beg him to ask for something different. They weep as the tall man, his eyes burning with the rage of righteousness, restates his demand. Or that they let him go. The sorcerer-chefs come to him, pleading for him to pick anything else. The prisoner spits in the head sorcerer-chef's face. Either they kill him without fulfilling his final request, letting his fury tear the heavens asunder in a curse which is a thousand-fold the horror that the curse of an innocent man could ever release. Or they let him go.
They cannot bring his request to him. The guards collapse and fall down to the floor, leaving only the warden to release him. The other prisoners turn from the tall man in fear as he pass them in their cells on death row. The normal prisoners kneel before him as the clouds unleash a storm upon the prison. He retrieves his meagre personal belongings, he says not a word, he answers not the warden's babbling words, rapidly turning into a madness from which there is no escape. He walks through the yard, where each of his footsteps is announced by the loud strikes of thunder from a black sky. The man who is free, opens his mouth, and sings an ancient tune. He is free, against the odds he is unleashed upon the world. He is not caged anymore. He asked for the heart of the man who did the crime he was in for. The freed prisoner knew well that they could not rip that nightmare organ from its bone-cage. He knew well that by even accepting the existence of such an organ, was proof of his innocence. They could not, knowing he was innocent, kill him. Even if they had found some method of extracting that putrid thing from the chest of that blemish upon existence. Even if they had succeeded, he would have been freed, and he would have had his vengeance.
His justice.
But as Heaven itself buckles and bends, the freed prisoner, who has lost everything to an enemy more powerful than anything in creation, is free to continue on his quest. His enemy slew the freed man's wife. Burned the freed man's lands. Took the freed man's children. The freed man was blamed for it all. For the horrors done, when he had been nothing but kind, just, and loyal. He was cast into jail on false charges, and sent to die for the opportunity of his enemy to see him beg, pray, whimper and weep. When he had done nothing wrong, done nothing to offend his enemy. He had even admired, worshipped, this enemy before everything he had was cruelly taken from him. As a joke. Or a test. But he did not do as was demanded. He did not bow down to his enemy. He did not pray. And having seen what his enemy is, he never will again.
His enemy is a monster, who dares to call himself the king-of-kings. The highest upon high. The freed man's name was even taken from him. Behind him, the walls of the prison cracks. The bricks fall down and the concrete breaks down. The prisoners flee, not for the sake of their freedom, but out of fear. The Freed Man is met by his accomplishes, outside the ruins of the prison. They have no names either. Their names have been taken. Their loved ones slain, stolen, or otherwise ruined, by the machinations of an enemy that is more powerful than any infernal or terrestrial force. One is the Prince of Maybe, one is the Lady in Scarlet. Another is named the Dragon of Sunken Mu, one is the Harbinger-Bird. All of them are angry, powerful, out-of-step with reality. Creatures who no longer bow or allow themselves to be under the rule of the judgment of Heaven. They are a band of five, who stand against the puppetmaster, the demiurge who plays with the fates of men like toys. Toys that the enemy so enjoy breaking. They are nameless, formless, and terrible to behold. The failure of the prisons to execute the Freed Man, was the last straw. The last attempt to do their plan, their hunger for vengeance, without setting Heaven ablaze, and uprooting Hell.
The Earth shifts underneath the five of them led by the Freed Man, as they begin their assault upon Paradise, to bring justice or vengeance to the enemy. The Freed Man is coming to reclaim his family. To avenge his wife. And once more take the name his father gave him; so that he shall once more wear the face and name of Job.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
| 2022-07-17T16:30:58
| 2022-07-17T15:39:02
| 1,737
| 331
|
[WP] After the Battle of Hogwarts, Dudley met a woman and they had a daughter,Sophie. Sophie is the light of their lives,she's always been a pleasant child. The morning of Sophie's 11th birthday,there’s a knock at the door. Harry is here to visit his cousin for the first time in almost 20 years.
I just want to say that I'm super excited to read these responses! I'm holding off reading them until my kiddo goes to bed so I can sit and really pay attention to your stories!!
I can't wait to see what you guys come up with
|
He’s old now, Dudley thinks as he stares at his cousin, no stranger, on his doorstep. There’s a touch of grey at his temples, and the beginnings of smile lines by his eyes. He’s been happy since he left, and Dudley was glad for it.
“Hullo Big D.” He says simply, a smile caught in the corners of his mouth. He was wearing a simple sweater with a H on it, but his trousers were clean and pressed, and his shoes, of a leather Dudley had never seen before, seemed to glean in the afternoon light.
The scar that bisected his forehead was still there though. He was still Harry.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” Dudley said, hand still clutched to the door handle. It had been twenty years of well meaning Christmas cards and nothing more. No weddings or funerals. He wasn’t there when Dudley buries his father, but given their history it was probably for the best.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again either,” Harry starts. He’s still awkward but less so than when they were young and foolish. “Can I come in?” Dudley nods mutely, and closes the door behind his cousin.
The house was small, but modern. Dudley lead them to the sitting room where a woman that looked achingly like Lavender Brown sat, watching the news and nursing a cup of tea. She turns to see the guest, confusion evident on her face.
“Who was at the door dear?”
“My cousin, Harry. Surprise visit.”
“Harry Potter, it’s a pleasure.” Harry sticks out his hand for her to shake and she does, albeit weakly.
“I’ll pop the kettle on shall I? How do you take your tea?”
“Ah, two sugars and milk thanks.” Dudley’s wife nods and leaves the room.
“That’s Heather, we’ll have been married for ten years in April.”
“You have a daughter right? Sophie.” Dudley freezes for a moment, but nods. “It’s her eleventh birthday Dudley. January fifteenth. I’m sure you understand the significance of the date.”
Dudley regards his cousin with a blank look, but fear was creeping into his eyes.
“You mean- Sophie’s one of them?”
“She’s a witch, yes. There was always a likelihood of it because of Aunt Petunia, you carry magical genes even if you can’t use them.”
“But,” Dudley takes a second to whet his lips “is it safe for her? We had to leave because of Uhm that bloke.”
“Voldemort.”
A shattering noise is heard in the kitchen.
|
"I met Georgina when I was 26" said Dudley, as Harry watched Dudley's family photos hung around their living room. "Would you er... like some tea?" Harry was looking at the pictures absentmindedly and almost didn't hear the question, "... yeah, why not." Harry noticed baby photos of Sophie playing in the backyard and marvelled how much she looked like Albus when he was little. "So, what brings you here harry?" asked Dudley, casually, "and how did you get my address?" Dudley was sure he wouldn't have gone so far as to have asked his uncle Vernon just to meet him. " Oh.. it's the ministry's job to know where wizards and witches... and potential witches live." Said Harry. There was a pause. Dudley wasn't as thick as he used to be, a business graduate from University of London, he had recently been promoted to General Manager. "What ministry is that?" he asked, as if to delay the main subject. "Oh, blimey! My bad Dudley, the ministry of magic that is." Harry almost forgot that Dudley didn't know much about his world, however long he lived with him. "Right." Said Dudley, "And you know this because you work at the 'Ministry of Magic'?"
"That's right!" Said Harry.
"And what is your role at the ministry?" Asked Dudley.
"Umm.. catch the bad guys mainly. Keep the good guys safe." Said harry, finding himself to be at a loss of more words.
"Right, of course." Said Dudley, smiling to himself. "And how did you know of a..." Dudley cleared his throat, " I mean the ministry, how did they know of a witch.... or a wizard living here?"
"Well," said Harry, taking a moment to gather his thoughts, "It's not an exact science, but a child's magic is more powerful, and um... radiant than an adult's. It leaves powerful traces, even when a muggle might not even sense something out of place, the ministry has tools and people who can." Said Harry. "Officially, someone from Hogwarts would have come to explain such things to you, but when I heard that Sophie possessed magic, I thought I should come by myself." Said Harry.
Georgina appeared in the living room towelling her hair. She took a moment but recognised Harry from Dudley's childhood photos. "Hullo?" She smiled awkwardly, not knowing what to say, "You're harry aren't you? Dudley's cousin brother. He has told me all kinds of stories about your childhood." She exclaimed, walking in. " I mean. Obviously I didn't believe when he said that you were a wizard or something, and that a strange man grew him a mouse tail once."
Harry started laughing. "That... That did happen actually. I'd forgotten that." He said, shaking her hand. Colour faded from Georgina's face. "But don't worry, Hagrid won't give Sophie a tail." He paused, smiling at Georgina, "Unless of course she's a bully too."
| 2019-10-16T11:44:39
| 2019-10-16T11:44:21
| 94
| 48
|
[WP] In music, changing a song to a minor key is a small change that makes the song sound much creepier or sadder. Write a happy story, and then its counterpart in a minor key.
Edit: Wow! Thank you to everyone for all the great stories. This will definitely keep me reading for a while.
|
Lights in the sky and a cloud plume on the horizon. I can see the airplane roaring overhead, and all I can think about is what those people must be thinking up there. Are they really that different from me? The thought brings a tear to my eye as the hot air coats my skin. - Lawton, Oklahoma, 1913
---
Lights in the sky and a cloud plume on the horizon. I can see the airplane roaring overhead, and all I can think about is what those people must be thinking up there. Are they really that different from me? The thought brings a tear to my eye as the hot air coats my skin. - Hiroshima, Japan, 1945
|
I love the way the moonlight shines off his dark hair. How is eyes can be just the perfect shade of green. He is Adonis. And has the face, the mind and the body of a god.
As far as first dates go, this couldn't have been any better. I took him to the lake, where we sat on the beach and I fed him ice cream while he just stared at the water. I talked to him about my deepest secrets and just felt so safe with him in my arms. And he would stay quiet the whole time, just letting me talk.
At the end of the night, I was a perfect gentleman and helped him into the car.
"I think this is going to be something great," I said as I kissed his cheek and gently closed the door.
_________
..."I think this is going to be something great," I said as I kissed his cheek and gently closed the trunk.
| 2015-07-14T01:05:09
| 2015-07-13T23:39:31
| 70
| 43
|
[WP] Write a story that contains a huge plot hole, and try to sneak it past the reader. The bigger the plot hole the better.
|
Troy ecstatically led his clients upstairs to the master bedroom.
"Oh yes! The master bedroom is absolutely gorgeous; you'll find that almost everything in the room will be to your liking, Mr. Johnson," said Troy reassuringly.
"Almost? What do you mean by almost everything?" inquired Johnson.
"Well I will need to warn you." Troy paused. He wasn't sure how to put this. "I'm sorry, you'll just have to see for yourself," Troy replied while pushing open the doors to the master bedroom.
Johnson could only stare in disbelief at what unfolded before his eyes. "It's a hole," Johnson managed to stammer.
"Yes, indeed, Mr. Johnson," Troy looked at Johnson as innocent as possible. "It is a hole...on this plot of land. A plot hole."
Johnson looked back at Troy then back to the hole. "Where does it lead to?" Johnson asked.
"Mr. Johnson, I'm going to be frank with you. I don't know. If you look very carefully, there's only darkness. Miles and miles of darkness. In fact, I dropped my favorite pen last week, and I never heard it land. It just kept falling. But this is a great feature Mr. Johnson; I assure you. You will never need to buy another garbage can again! Just toss all your trash into this hole! In fact, you could probably poop into it as well. Just think of all the endless possibilities with this hole," said Troy.
While it was true that there was a large, gaping plot hole in the side of the room, this one story house was beautiful. The kitchen, bathroom, and living room were all to his liking. Johnson briefly considered the pros and cons and resolutely decided that he will take this house.
|
Nola stood, thin and weak, in the well lit hospital hallway. Dirty, skintight jeans clung to her legs, a loose shirt covered her frame, and she had on a pair of worn flat tops. Her hair, blonde and stringy, was held back in a messy bun. Nola shivered, and walked down the hallway, the scent of antiseptic and ammonia filled the air, choking her. Nurses and doctors, patients and loved ones, rushed past her, speeding through their lives, filled with hope and stress and relief and pain and sadness.
With determination, with desperate loss, Nola stumbled through the hospital, searching desperately for escape, for a way out. The halls twisted and turned, taking Nola this way and that. Nola followed them, followed the flow of the nurses and doctors and patients, followed the colored lines on the floor, the signs on the doors, blindly. She couldn’t think, couldn’t comprehend. She felt a hand come up to her shoulder. Her eyes, too bleary to focus, couldn’t see.
“I’m so sorry for your loss dear. I’m sure she was a lovely woman.” Came a woman’s voice.
Nola shook her head. She barely heard the words; they didn’t register. She continued, stumbling down the hall. She had no clue who she was.
Finally, she found an exit, and burst out onto the busy street. Rough concrete spread out to a busy sidewalk, filled with passersby and pedestrians. Overhead, towering monoliths of brown and grey and steel and stone and glass rose above Nola’s head. She glanced around, unsure of where to go, unsure of what to do. The noise of the city, the screeching of tires, the talking the yelling the honking the beeping the clanking the cooing, filled the air around her; a deafening roar.
Spying an alcove, a momentary respite, cut into one of the nearby buildings, Nola pushed her way through the crowd, and hide off to the edge of the sidewalk. She leaned back against the cool concrete of the alcove, and felt the rough texture of the building through her thin shirt. Nola let out a sigh, and ran a hand over her face. She didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what do think. Her world had fallen apart around her; it had come completely undone. Her twin sister, Iralia, had been shot earlier today; a mugging gone wrong. She’d died, in the nearby hospital, just now, holding onto Nola’s hands. The image, of her sister, of her pleading eyes, her hair, her lips, her smell, her nose, her fingers, her palms, everything about her was burned into Nola’s mind, every last detail, plastered into her very being, her very core.
Nola whimpered, and raised a hand to her mouth. She tried not to cry, tried to think, as she stood there, and let the sound and smells and sights of the city, chocked with life, and death, and pointless misery and happiness, wash over her.
A man walked past Nola. He glanced at her momentarily, and gave a quick nod of his head.
“I’m so sorry. She was an amazing woman.” He grunted, walking past Nola before she had a chance to reply.
Nola sunk to her knees, quietly crying to herself. Barely thinking, barely hearing, barely seeing. She cried to herself, until her eyes ran dry, and her throat was hoarse.
Slowly, she raised her head from her hands. She sniffled, and the image of her sister’s face haunted her. She gritted her teeth, and rose. With a sad determination, Nola turned, and walked back towards the hospital. She felt broken, shattered, alone and destroyed and incomplete and forgotten.
But she knew what Iralia would say.
With a smile on her face, she would hold Nola’s hand, and whisper softly with a smile.
“Don’t worry. All we have to do is pick up the broken pieces, and put them back together.”
----------------------------
Hope you enjoyed the story! I've got tons more stories over at my sub, r/ThadsMind, if you want to subscribe to that.
P.S. - This prompt was crazy hard but really cool! I wanted to make a really big, interesting plot hole, but ended up cheating and just making two small ones. Still, Hope you enjoyed!
| 2017-03-20T15:31:34
| 2017-03-20T14:31:29
| 400
| 12
|
[WP] The Crips and the Bloods ally with each other against ISIS. The world laughs as thousands of gang members board a cruise ship and set sail for the Middle East. The two gangs land on the shores of Syria and begin their fight against ISIS.
Let's see how the two gangs fare.
EDIT: These are great, guys! Thanks for all the stories. I've read some, and I'll read the rest later.
|
We thought that the devils of the west only sent us more soldiers for the hounds of Allah to feast on, yet more greedy, rich, decadent American blood to bath in.
We did not expect this. They moved in, accepting our ways, then they divided us. Drugs were always an issue regarding our warriors, young and boorish, but ours were always clean.
In months, a blight spread through our ranks, once proud soldiers of god now begged for change.
Hashish, cocaine, heroin, all tainted and gradually reduced in their dosages, cut with who knows what.
Suicide bombers detonated early, men went naked into the streets, striking at whatever crossed their path, dancing and crying.
Holy sites, population centers, and marketplaces were marked with red and blue paint. Rotted from within, we were slaughtered with ease when soldiers came, painting white stars amidst the territory symbols, screaming triumph and domination.
I see now the truth of the world, and I want no part of it. Allah is no longer, and Islam is dead. Mohammed shall beg my forgiveness.
*video found near corpse of confirmed ISIS leader. Death found to be self inflicted gunshot wound to the skull.*
|
Waves lap at the shore a young Syrian child picks up a stone to throw at the water her eyes are flooded war has ravaged the city and the future is un-certain a hermet crab catches her eye but a loud thud causes the creature to re-enter its shell, the child runs fearing another bombing raid but her gaze is fixated on the open sea as a blue red craft appears on crest of a wave, the hermit is now bouncing from the shock-waves but it soon becomes clear that the harrowing sound is not a form of artillery but very heavy bass.
"Where the hood, where the hood, where the hood at?
Have that nigga in the cut, where the wood at?
Oh, them niggaz actin up?!? Where the wolves at?
You better BUST THAT if you gon pull that".
Gleaming chrome jets scream through the water as one of the most pimp vehicles known to man strikes the beach with twerking force of a thousand ho's, the top of the craft appears to be made of platinum as the top starts to rotate a thick cloud of smoke creeps from the gold plated gaps and an african gentlemans face is revealed, smoking a joint worthy of Rick James himself, his eyes narrow as he stares at the fortified mosque over the horizon "time to roll on these bitch ass niggas"
| 2015-12-07T09:53:36
| 2015-12-07T09:25:02
| 76
| 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.
|
Elizabeth
I never really knew you, but I'll never forget you. I see your face every time I'm alone in my car, and it always brings me to tears. I want you to know that I tried so hard to save you. I tried everything I could. I'm sorry your parents had to see what we did to you. I'm sorry they had to see the tubes sticking out of your throat and the needles I drilled into your bones. When I realized in the back of the ambulance that we weren't going to get you back no matter what we did, it nearly broke me. I'm so sorry for what happened to you.
- the paramedic who tried to save you
#2321
|
Hi,
You’ve been gone for about a month and it feels like the longest month of my life. It’s crazy that I spend so much time worrying about the possible bad outcomes of every situation but you truly never know what is going to happen. Six months ago I did not think we would still be together. Yet after everything that’s happened recently I’m still glad that we are.
I hope when you come back that we can keep growing together and experiencing life together. I want to know what it feels like to actually work on something, to not give up and in return, not be given up on.
I’m worrying even now about all of the possible outcomes, what you did while you were away. It’s so hard not to torture yourself with thoughts of the person you love with someone else. Especially being “young” as everyone says that we are. I really couldn’t care less though. I cannot picture my life without you in it. I can’t wait to see your smiling lovely face. I’ve missed you every second of every day.
When you find something special you do not let go.
PS:I hope you aren’t lying.
| 2017-11-06T02:41:21
| 2017-11-05T23:59:24
| 27
| 11
|
[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.
|
“This is really bad.”
“Diplomacy at its finest.”
“Would somebody help me out here?”
“She’s of a psionic race. They read thoughts.”
“Remind me not to play poker with her.”
“Funny.”
“This is not my fault.”
“She looked at you and started screaming and pointing.”
“I have that effect on women.”
“Yes, but usually only at last call.”
“I still think this is less my fault than everyone else does.”
“They induced a coma to make her stop screaming.”
“I didn’t induce the coma.”
“Only the screaming.”
“Allegedly.”
“What were you thinking about anyway?”
“I can’t get that baby shark song out of my head.”
|
Humanity's spread across the stars was quite slow considering its ships were capable of faster than light travel. Even with the invention of the Heinz-Shchaffen wormhole generator making near instantaneous travel a reality, a receiver was still required at the target destination. This meant that expansion occurred at the painstakingly slow pace of 98% lightspeed with, or at least it did until the Bratos III incident.
Captain Ester Jameson awoke from cold sleep to a blaring alarm and immediately puked from the stress of an emergency wakeup procedure. As she stumbled out of the cryo tube, she glanced at her wrist tablet which displayed the words *"Code 723 unknown contact under self-powered flight on intercept course ETA 1h:22m:31s"*. Ester Puked again. Humanity had never found evidence of any intelligent life outside of earth despite encountering several planets clearly capable of supporting such life and, as the years had passed, had come to assume intelligence like its own was just extremely rare. Because of this, the first contact protocol Ester was forced to learn in academy had been promptly forgotten following the test. She was proud of her sturdy ship and crew mapping out unexplored sectors of space, planting wormhole receivers for resupply, and allowing further human expansion, but they weren't diplomats. According to the nav computer, they were still undergoing deceleration procedure and still 6 weeks out from the Bratos star system in the middle of interstellar space. Stumbling onto the bridge, Ester was greeted by a sharp "Captain on the bridge!" and about 1/4 of her command crew in varied states of cold sleep sickness but putting on their best professional air. This wakeup had not been easy on anyone and they weren't going to have time to recover as at that instant, the comm channel burst to life repeating a simple yet somewhat hostile message. "*Dark Zone vessel, you have entered Galactic Council Space, prepare for impoundment and questioning".* Ester steeled herself, this was going to be one hell of a story if she lived to talk about it
Three days later, the crew was growing impatient. Their captors, and that’s what the unknown species was, had attached to the ship and immediately accelerated it to superlight speeds through methods unknown aimed at the third planet of the Bratos star system. After only a day of travel they had decelerated almost as rapidly and sat parked in orbit the planet which consisted of a planetwide Ecumenopolis apparently of greater population than Earth herself. It was after this day of travel and two days of silence that their captors finally contacted them again, this time requesting rather more politely to speak with an envoy on their ship. Ester, ranking officer was the obvious choice and she was prepared for anything as she stepped through the airlock, well almost anything. What was waiting on the other side was a gorilla, a well-dressed gorilla, but a gorilla nonetheless and it looked surprised (or as surprised as a gorilla can look) to see her.
Following an extremely confusing introduction, Ester learned why they had such a cold initial welcome. Millenia ago, a mysterious species known simply as the collectors had rampaged across the galaxy destroying entire civilizations, collecting specimens for an unknown reason, and generally refusing any attempts at peaceful contact. This had all ended abruptly when they suddenly withdrew into an area of space known as the dark zone which happened to be where Earth was located. The tattered remains of galactic civilizations had slowly reformed and the galactic council had been formed to defend against any such future incursions. What surprised the gorillas or the Unk-Hadar as they referred to themselves was just how similar humans were to one species which had been completely wiped out by the collectors and the fact that the humans knew nothing of these so-called collectors. Seeing no threat in the species and assuming this might mean the collectors were finally gone, the Unk-Hadar requested Ester's presence at a council meeting to determine what to do.
Stepping into the council chamber, Ester was amazed and confused. There were nine species represented and she recognized all of them to varying degrees as closely resembling an earth species. There were the crocodilian Spazoek, the rabbit-like Haerens, and the apparently psionic tortollans to name a few. What followed for Ester was the most intense questioning of her life, but from what she could tell the council species were extremely happy with her answers. They determined that the collectors must have performed genetic experiments on their own species but eventually died out and where therefore no longer a threat to the council as they had all feared. In the Jubilation of this realization, they were even debating offering humanity a position on the council as thanks for confirming the death of this threat. It was at the very end of this questioning that a tortollan approached Ester with a request. He would like to perform a mind meld as, while they had technology to detect a species lying, they wanted to confirm everything she had said was the truth the old-fashioned way. What followed was unexpected and horrifying as he suddenly screamed in pain and fell backwards onto his shell before his eyes rolled back into their sockets. From his mouth came a voice not his own which boomed **"These Humans are our chosen, they have proven the fittest of the species to survive in our experimentation.** **Any attempts to impede their expansion will result in immediate Pacification".**
The Elder Tortollan had not been entirely honest about his mind meld and had in fact been attempting to implant suggestions in Esters mind as his species had done to control the other council species. Instead he released a violent neural pathogen put in place by the collectors and thousands of years of evolution causing every single Tortollan on Planet Bratos III toto revert to a primitive state like that of earths turtles. The apparent Psionic attack also triggered the production of a virus buried deep in Esters DNA which did something similar to all the other non-psionic species in the council room... Utter chaos describes well what happened in the days following initial contact, but once Ester's crew was eventually able to set up a wormhole receiver Humanity inherited an entire Ecumenopolis filled with wildlife extremely like that of earth and hundreds of advanced ships with no crew intelligent enough to operate them. Of course, some ships had escaped and weeks after humanity had taken control a small fleet attempted to retake the planet, but it was too little too late. Humanity was unwittingly a pathogen which brought the galactic council to its knees and while a small number from each council species developed resistances, there simply weren't enough of them and humanity inherited a nearly empty galaxy to expand into just as the collectors had intended.
| 2019-09-29T21:58:03
| 2019-09-29T19:12:42
| 233
| 111
|
[WP] When a twin dies their brother/sister acquires all their strength, intelligence, etc. You've just discovered this phenomena, but so has your brother/sister
|
I looked up from the book.
He looked back at me.
"You believe this shit?"
He nods.
"If I kill you, I get your powers?"
He nods again.
"And if you kill me, you get mine?"
Another nod.
We sit in silence. His cereal looks soggy.
"You read these books back in high school. So, you knew the whole time?"
Again - the nod.
"Why haven't you killed me then?"
Finally, he speaks.
"You're kinda shit at everything."
|
We stand at the precipice of the mountain, her wind bitten hands clasped in mine. She shivers, and I try to be strong. For the both of us.
We've made it. That's the main thing. All the suffering, all the pain, it doesn't matter. Not anymore. We've made it.
There's a lake of fire in front of us, but it offers no warmth. It crackles and it spits ferociously, spewing flames and surrounding us in its smoke, but it offers no warmth. It offers no warmth.
In the depths of my robes the scroll awaits patiently, digging into my chest and gently reminding me. *Time is running out.*
Lara coughs. A wretched sound. I look to her, eyebrows furrowed in concern, and she gives me a frail smile. A half hearted attempt to tell me not to worry.
Today, we will finally discover what makes us special. Finally discover why we were chosen. I squeeze tightly. Nudge her sorry heart to keep on fluttering. Not long now.
The sound of the clock rings through the air and the birds caw and screech and scatter into a cloud of obsidian, and suddenly the sky is dark.
I feel the pulse of the scroll. We can open it. It is time. *Hold on, Lara, just a while longer. Just a while longer.*
The scroll escaped from my clenched fist and settles, almost regally, in front of us, hovering, glowing.
Its words are ancient, and we have no right to understand them. We certainly can't read them. And yet. And yet it reads us. Our minds, our deepest desires.
When it is done, it floats to the floor below us and begins to smoulder.
I look at Lara. She looks at me. I try and smile. She doesn't return it. She knows what must happen. She refuses to accept it.
One must fall, for the other to stand, stronger than ever. She knows what it would mean to me. Everything I ever wanted. Ever dreamed. And she knows I'm going to sacrifice it. To make her better.
A tear rolls down her frozen cheeks. Words are left unspoken. I'm all she has left. She's all I have left. We can't say goodbye. We can't. I stroke her face and close my eyes, and for a moment, we're back.
Home. It's summer time. The birds are singing, and the smell of freshly baked bread fills the air. The kids are playing. The people are happy. Hopeful. They can-
I open my eyes. Fire. Dark. It is time. I give her one last glance, and I take a deep breath, and I surrender to the fire...
(Feedback always appreciated!)
r/samfoxstories
| 2018-02-25T08:05:44
| 2018-02-25T07:12:49
| 5,212
| 36
|
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See.
|
5 years ago, I fell asleep on March 29th and woke up on the 30th with no sense of sight. I remember that morning vividly. I “woke up” that morning, explicitly feeling that my eyes were open, but they looked as if they were closed. I forced them open but they still showed nothing. I screamed to my parents about my situation but they gave me the same response. Everyone had lost their sight, all across the globe. After that, everything’s been blank, figuratively and literally.
Well, today started unlike any other in the past few years, I “woke up”, made my self breakfast only by touch, as I had learned to do, and got ready for my short commute to my school.
The Day went as usual, staying in one classroom all day, reading, or feeling rather, textbooks about subjects that would’ve stayed around even if no one had lost their sight, and repeated with different subjects.
Then, out of nowhere, I saw.
My sight’s back... And I immediately see text scrawled all over every solid object. It reads:
Don’t Tell Them You Can See
The multiple scrawlings of the phrase looked as if they were written in blood, and everyone except me was oblivious. I quickly asked to go to the restroom and exited the class. The phrase still lined the walls, roof, floor, everything. I left the school immediately and rushed home.
My parents didn’t hear me enter and even my house was covered in the crimson phrase. I rushed upstairs and threw open my old laptop that hadn’t been used in years. I searched up if anyone else could see; nothing. I was the only one.
What now? I couldn’t tell anyone, and no one else can see either.
I thought long and hard of any way to figure out why I couldn’t say anything about my regained sight.
My mind came up blank. I guess I could relive some memories by watching some YouTube? No. I need to find out about this.
I went outside and looked around. Nothing unusual apart from the phrase everywhere.
**I’ll check back in if I find anything new.**
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*Don't tell them you can see. Don't... tell them you can see*, I read the words again and again and still I can't make sense of them. Maybe the capitalization has something to do with the importance of the message? *Don't Tell Them You Can See... DTTYCS...* No, that's not it.
It's been three hours since my eyes began to work. I've panicked twice, puked once, and read the message so many times the words don't look real. The letters don't look real anymore. *Don't tell them you can see*...
Someone clicks from downstairs in the house, an echoing click following soon after. The noises are accompanied, by the raucous laughter of my brother and his friends. They're probably listening to that podcast they like, the one that told stories from Before.
I make my way from the room, to the bathroom, where I can see how dimly everything is lit. There's no need for light when you can't see. So I make the conscious effort not to reach for the light switch, and instead shut the door, using the little light from the outdoors to light up my face in the mirror. I study it curiously.
I've never seen it before. I was blind before the Blinding occurred.
| 2022-12-15T08:15:43
| 2019-08-26T11:13:26
| 14
| 10
|
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure
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Cutting your hair at home is not a great idea.
At least if you do not have steady hands.
It started off fine but a little uneven.
Now I'll just fix the other side.
Wait, now the back's too long.
Clippers were a bad choice.
Buzz cuts are in.
Little bit more.
Too much.
Bald.
|
I did the math and figured it was on point.
If everything went according to plan I'd be rich.
I would take care of my debt first.
So many bills and habit to boot.
Check into a rehab center somewhere.
Got a throwaway for cheap.
My hands were shaking.
"Where's the money?!"
Pocket change.
Fuck.
| 2015-01-06T02:05:16
| 2015-01-06T01:50:36
| 45
| 10
|
[WP] - You are an American astronaut stationed aboard the ISS along with two fellow engineers and two Cosmonauts. When conducting experiments, you gaze out the window and witness the telltale flashes of nuclear detonations ringing across the continents. Your cries are met with silence from Houston..
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“Ivan, Anatoly, are you seeing this?” You say, not taking your eyes off the view from the Cupola’s central window. It is just before dawn in the Far East, and your view of the eastern hemisphere’s nighttime is wreathed in the speckled gold-on-black you have become accustomed to seeing over the past few months. Except, of course, for the addition of the brilliant white flashes across Kamchatka, Korea, and Japan – the telltale signs of nuclear annihilation.
A few moments ago, you and the two other crew aboard the International Space Station lost contact with the ground. The Russian cosmonauts went down the list of protocols to restore communications from the research module, while you floated to the observatory to confirm the worst. Dumbfounded, you stare at the blooms of light as they creep back across the horizon, until all you see again is the darkness of the Pacific Ocean. You feel the increasingly uncomfortable lump in your throat as you yell once again back over your shoulder.
“Ivan, did you two make con-” You stop, mid-breath, as you peel your eyes away from the glass to look back down through the corridor. Ivan is floating there, grasping a metal shaft with one hand. Wordlessly, he raises his other hand, and you see the sunrise behind you illuminating the dull texture of 3D printer plastic and the unmistakable shape of a snub-nosed pistol.
The lump in your throat ascends, and you feel your stomach rapidly going the other way. You hear yourself croak out, “Man, what are you doing with a gun in space?”
Ivan does not answer, and you do not need him to. Your mind races through a million thoughts per second and it dawns on you that Ivan is going through the same panic. He is breathing quickly and heavily through his nose to control his own dread. His pistol hand is shaking badly, his forehead is shimmering with sweat, and you can see that his knuckles are stark white against the yellow pole he's gripping. Ivan is a civilian scientist, you remember, barely a decade out of grad school. You doubt that he has ever fired a gun before, but the fierce knitting of his brow leaves no doubt that he means to kill you.
The observation window is right behind you, and you realize the only reason why Ivan has not fired yet is because he is worried about shattering it. It unlikely that a bullet from a rinky-dink plastic gun can go through a human cranium plus an inch of the most expensive glass in the world, but it does not look like Ivan is ready to gamble on that. If only you could move quickly enough, maybe you can take advantage of Ivan’s wracked nerves. If only you could use his hesitation, maybe you can wrestle the gun away. If only-
“Ivan,” you hear Anatoly’s voice from around the corner of the corridor as you see him float up a few feet behind from the other cosmonaut. He has the same gray pistol in his hand, resting easy at his side. Goddammit, you think. Ivan might not be able to put a bullet in between your eyes, but Anatoly, with the confidence of two decades of military experience under his belt, sure can.
Anatoly says something to Ivan in Russian, his voice low and steady. Your limited vocabulary with that language does not help in deciphering his words. Ivan squeaks out a two-syllable reply without taking his aim or eyes off you. You silently curse the other NASA crew for going home a few weeks ago, momentarily forgetting the absurdity of the entire situation. If they were still here, you muse crazily, it would have been an even fight, plus, they would have avoided vaporization in the present nuclear apocalypse.
“Ivan!” Anatoly says again, more forcefully this time. You see Ivan’s index finger tightening on the trigger. You brace yourself by closing your eyes, but not before seeing a blur of movement from behind Ivan.
BANG!
There is a deafening ring in your ears, followed by the sharp smell of gunpowder. But nothing apart from that. You slowly open your eyes to see Ivan’s lifeless body rotating before you, a tendril of blood oozing out and wriggling away from the entry wound in his temple.
Anatoly pushes off from the opposite wall to float towards you, the spent pistol twirling away as he flicks it aside. You try to say something, but your resulting sputtering is incoherent. You feel a warmth in your pants and notice that you have soiled yourself, and with another absurd thought, you wish that you had been wearing your maximum absorbency garment.
“We had orders even before launch,” Anatoly explains, as if he could read your jumbled thoughts.
He slides up beside you to look out the observation window. For a long time, he says nothing. The space station creeps towards the coast of California, where the detonations are plainly visible even in daylight. Just as you open your mouth to try to speak again, Anatoly fixes his gaze on you, though his eyes seem to focus on something far beyond. He says, slowly and solemnly, “None of that matters anymore.”
|
#WARNING: BAD (NSFW / SWEARING) LANGUAGE
>***04 / 07 / 21***
>FUBAR. The first day of the bombs. I remember looking out of the window, thinking when I can finally see my mom again. Been a few months and I already miss that woman. Then it happened. Bam. Couldn't see shit for a moment. Before I looked, another one hit! Bam!! At first, I thought some fucking idiot just blew up the world's biggest factory by accident until I look out of the window again. One right across St. Petersburg; the other making a real fat crater on Cali. Nukes dropping. Then more.. and more. Shit.. there were so many. Looked just like in the movies...
___
>***05 / 07 / 21***
>Beep. Beep. Beep. That's all that Houston says through that terrible tech that looked like JFK is still the POTUS. Couldn't get a night's rest because of it.. We've been on the line non stop for a day straight, changing in shifts when one gets too stressed. Honestly, I've lost hope 'bout an hour when it happened but I can't say the same for the other astronauts. I could still see the glimmer of hope in their eyes. I can also see they're scared. We're all real fucking scared. Hell, even I'm fucking scared but I'm not showing it. I'm just.. frowning. Like the usual.
___
>***06 / 07 / 21***
>Got 'bout a few hours rest, but the thoughts keep waking me up. I keep thinking. Fucking thinking, all the damn time. Seen two over each side; was it the Russia or The States who shot first? I try and shake these feelings from my mind quick, but the thought keeps creeping back since day one. I sometimes pass glances at Sergei, and notice him catching my stare. I guess we're both wondering which side pulled the trigger, and we point blame to other to cope with the fact that it could be our side. Who fucking cares, either way? It's all gone to.. shit.
___
>***11 / 07 / 21***
>Just trying to keep my damn mind calm. Luckily, I found this old notebook the engineers use to scribble their fancy math and stuff. It's empty. Well, not anymore. Still, I was raised with manners. I asked Ashan if the book was free to attempt and do some creative writing\*, just trying to break the tension. I regret it. Not because of what he said but the stare that he had. Don't think I'll ever forget those eyes, not even when I get to Heaven. Linda, the older engineer, interjects and assures me that it is fine.
>\* Some stuff might've missed me from the past days listed, been writing some in reverse..
___
>***14 / 07 / 21***
>I watch how Anya bundles up to Sergei, for some extra comfort. Hard to not like such a pair of lovebirds. Probably the luckiest living person on the planet right now, having someone to hold & love. Fuck, I'm starting to miss Jess.. or maybe I just miss having casual flings or something. Can't tell, never could. Linda comes along, offering me her hand. I just kind of hold it in mine, and imagine that I'm back down with my mom. I try not to cry.
___
>***15 / 07 / 21***
>Sergei and Anya keep being closer than usual. They're whispering something in Russian I can't even begin to understand. I wonder what but shrug it off. Don't think they're about to abandon us and run off in a fancy car, we've literally got nowhere else to go. I check through the supplies, and smile. I hate this space crap but, man, does this taste great now that the whole humanity is blown to shit.
___
>***20 / 07 / 21***
>People are starting to eat. I can see them getting some more rest. Shit's kinda normal now, faster than expected. Luckily we're fully stocked, think this can last us at least a year split across five. Not that many of us, and there's probably gonna be even less. I know when I see it. I open another can of Fine Exquisite Space Shit ^TM and munch, pretending it's a juicy Texan burger and not some cheap chow for aliens living in poverty.
___
>***29 / 07 / 21***
>It's been about a month when it happened. I come over to the communication center and try and pick up the call, seeing what the fuck is Houston up to. This time, no beeps. Nothing. Radio silence. Maybe that's why Ashan looked like he got dragged through the world's accumulated pile of shit. I set the phone down. Guess Houston doesn't wanna talk anymore..
___
>***10 / 08 / 21***
>Sergei keeps giving Anya his share of rations. Not sure why, man looks like a damn twig at this point. If we weren't in Zero G he couldn't even lift a damn pencil if he tried. I take pity and offer him some of mine. In reality, I'm always kind of chubby and apocalypse is the best time as ever to lose some weight. I got enough rations of my own. He looks at me and says "Thank You" in English in that thick but polite accent. I nod.
___
>***16 / 08 / 21***
>I see Linda coming over. The woman is an angel. I think she's keeping all of us sane. We make small talk, talking about the countryside and reminiscing over the days when life still made sense. At a point, she comes closer to me and whispers. I started taking small glances at the Cosmonaut couple. Linda thinks that Anya is pregnant. Must be an intuition that I don't possess..
___
**TO BE CONTINUED?** :-) Dunno, let me know if you're interested! This is long already, and I plan to make it even longer if some people are interested. I plan to write the other parts in a couple hours. Great prompt, btw!
| 2020-08-24T07:16:41
| 2020-08-24T03:36:01
| 25
| 17
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[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.
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I'm not really sure how the numbers work. I don't remember when they started showing up, and I have never seen my own. They are little coloured numbers that hover above peoples' heads when I look at them.
My parents, both trained and experienced police officers that were normally armed, both averaged around a 6 or a 7 most of the time. My sweet 30 year old aunt, who would never touch a gun, let alone use one, rated about a 3 or a 4. Her husband, a man in his 40's who grew up in a mountain town and enjoyed shooting and hunting, was normally about a 5. Their two little kids, a 5 year old boy and an 8 year old girl, both had a 2 above their heads when I saw them.
Over time, I began to realize that the numbers showed someone's potential danger level. I'm not sure what exactly it was that made people dangerous, but I knew from experience that people with higher, more noticeable numbers caused more damage. A large drunk 6 at a bar started a fight. A jones-ing, meth-addicted 7 that was high out of his mind raped and stabbed a woman, stealing her money and causing her to kill herself. A rich, 19 year old 8 with a brand new Corvette loved to go fast and crashed into a minivan, killing 3 people.
I trusted my numbers, so when I saw higher numbers, I avoided them. I could only see numbers if I saw someone in person, or over a live video broadcast, so if I saw Hitler or Ghengis Khan in a history class video, I couldn't tell what they were, but if I saw a live video of the President, I could see his. He his a bright 9 and everyone in his company that follows him around has a dim 8 above theirs.
The President is the highest number that I've ever seen and, for the most part, only world leaders have numbers that rank above a 7. So you can imagine my surprise when I saw her.
I've never really noticed anyone very significant as far as numbers go. The highest numbered people were the School Resource Officer, who ranked at a 7, and the JROTC sergeants who each ranked anywhere between a dull 6 to a dim 8. On a normal, dreary day, rain was splashing against the windows. Clouds were blocking out the sun and creating a dull grey sky. I was walking through the halls of my remote high school in my rural mountain town, on my way from my Spanish class to my Environmental Science class, and my ears started ringing. I had an inexplicable pain in my head; I leaned against the lockers and bowed my head in a futile attempt to relieve myself of some of the pain. It felt like there were alarms going off inside of my skull. Something was wrong. When I looked up, all of the numbers that I had gotten so used to were fading away. What was happening? Then I saw it. I saw a bright, white 10 hovering above a new girl that I hadn't seen before. She was relatively short with long black hair that framed her face nicely, a nice figure, averaged sized breasts, and a pretty face. She wore inexpensive clothes that you could find at the nearest supermarket, but she looked good in them. She was fairly attractive, but so were a lot of girls in my school. If I hadn't seen her terrifying number, I probably would have walked right past her without a second thought, but now I had seen her, and she had seen me.
I didn't really think through what I was doing. I was just drawn toward her. I pushed through the crowd, feeling the fear settle in my gut and watching her the entire time. After she realized what I was doing, she pushed toward me. When we reached each other, without saying a word, she gave me a cheap shot to the gut and shoved me into the nearest bathroom.
I hit the ground in pain and looked up at her, asking her,
"Who the hell are you? Why did you bring me in here?"
She yelled back at me, her number glowing brighter than before,
"Shut the fuck up! What's the deal with you? Are you going to blow up the fucking school or something?!"
I was as confused as ever. What the hell was she talking about? I should have been asking her that question! I was just going through my day like everyone else. After a minute, she got impatient. She crossed her arms and started tapping her foot.
"Talk! Damn it!", she yelled in my face.
While I was busy trying to piece everything together, she started glancing around the small bathroom, as if she were going to find clues to her answer. She did. I looked up and she was just looking in the mirror, a hand over her mouth and a horrified look on her face.
"What are you looking at?" I asked her, hoping to come to the same revelation that she did.
Without saying a word, she helped me off the ground and pointed at the mirror that she refused to look away from. That's when I saw it too. A second white 10. This one was floating above my head. My world stopped. All I could here was the ringing in my ears from before. I looked at her in shock and she looked back at me with a terrified expression on her face. I saw her lips begin to move and suddenly the ringing stopped. The last thing I remember before blacking out was a single question.
"You can see them too?"
|
It was just another boring Monday, started off with socials. With "Madame" Defrushia. Screw her. She's a flipping idiot and hates on everyone who corrects her, so, like most of the class by the first month in, worse is that she's teaching us our Canadian history. Whatever, she just sits at her desk and tells us to read most Monday mornings.
Except for the new kid. Sayeehed, he said his name was, looking both scared, angry, and damn near giddy at the same time, said he and his family had moved here from somewhere in the middle east. Seemed like a weird kid, and everyone else seemed to be getting that impression too; but I think I'm fairly unique when it comes to weird.
Now, how would I know I'm weird? I know, every kid wants to think themselves special and 'weird'. Well, I have a sense about people, I can tell right away what they're capable of the second they say anything to me. Most of the kids in the class were 3s, Stephanie, the head cheerleader, was a 8, and the class bully was a 6. Didn't figure that one out with her until well into high school at a school dance, but that's another story for another time.
Sayeehed, though, seemed interesting so I motioned for him to come sit with me at the back, and to my surprise, he gladly accepted. At first, again, seeming timid and nervous, but relaxed and calmed into a lazy slouch as he progressed, to my shock, he measured an 11. I'd seen a few tens on the news, mostly with politicians or big time gangsters, but they were people who were royally screwed in the head and outright dangerous, so to see a
Then came three hours of sitting at our desk, alternatively reading the damn-near tindling dry socials book, an hour of math and then a spelling exercise, all "hands-off" so that the dear "Madame" can sit at the front and occasionally yell at us to be quiet and study.
At lunch no one wanted to sit with me, and they were leaving Sayeehed alone, because of course Stephanie was showing off the new phone her dad had bought her after she had "dropped" it down the stairs(aka thrown it into a wall when she didn't get what she wanted.) Whatever. I asked if I could sit with him and he gladly accepted. We talked about lots of things, though whenever I asked about his country or his family he wouldn't say anything except that they were poor back home and barely made it here, and then promptly change the subject. That said, he wasn't too behind the times technologically, he knew what a gameboy was, and pulled out this ratty looking thing with pieces of the case missing, looking mostly held together with duct tape, and a dusty pokemon diamond cartridge. Just like that, I'd made a friend. My step-mom was happy until I said the poor kid's name. Then she turned sheet white. and said something under her breath, damn racist cunt, she couldn't replace my mom.
I grabbed my old gameboy, and got some games for him, just the standards, mario, castlevania, games I'd long since memorized and didn't have a use for. I figured he did though, and gave them to him the next morning at school. He loved them and said he'd cherish them. Over time he relaxed and became the single most laid back and genuinely happy person I had ever met, he taught me a few arabic words, simple greetings and a few swear words, more than enough to scare the crap out of my step-mom.
This went on for months until one day in November. I met up with him in the park to go for a bike ride after dad took me to the remembrance day ceremony. We were just about to go when the jets from the ceremony flew over back to the airport, as they did he ducked, tackled me into the bushes and held us both down until the roar had subsided. He was panicked, eyes wide with fear and a tight, clenched jaw. I punched and shoved him off, and was going to run until I heard him softly say one word.
'wait'
I turned and paused as he he motioned me back to our bikes. You want to hear about my family and my past, he said, simply and quietly. We are from Iraq. I have been bombed by jets like those, and heard stories about others being hunted like vermin. My father worked for the government, just a simple accountant, he had never raised his voice against anyone, the kindest and gentlest man I had ever known. For the last two years we had been fighting to merely stay alive. He lifted his shirt and pointed at a few circular scars around his shoulder. These are bullets. He pointed to a cluster of evil looking scars on his back. These are shrapnel, it still hurts sometimes, and I can still feel their scarring heat. We were being attacked by rebels. They killed my dad for refusing to hand over his wife and my sister to them; My brother and I hid, helpless to their screams. It was quiet after the loudest screams. We snuck out and found a pair of grenades and a pistol on a body, and in our rage we turned on the rebels, ambushing them in the room. We killed them all. One shot my shoulder and my brother. As we lay in what was left of our house, a group of soldiers ran up to us, and were able to save my life. One of them gave me this gameboy in the hospital to keep me busy while I recovered. We were picked up by my dad's former boss, and he pretended we were his sons. That is how I'm here, please forgive me.
| 2014-11-29T18:39:45
| 2014-11-29T17:27:40
| 17
| 11
|
[WP] A girl kisses her pet frog, and it turns into a price. The issue is its modern day, and the prince's kingdom hasn't existed for 1100 years. he is ill equipped to deal with the modern era.
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She leaned in and kissed the frog...slimey green skin harsh against her soft velvet lips...
A cash register sound is heard 'ka-ching! ka-ching!' somewhere in the distance.
The girl looks down to find that where her beloved pet frog once was, a single price label exists.
'$3.50'
"God damned loch ness monster!" She cries, fist thrust into the air.
|
A young girl, thin as a reed and almost thirteen years old stands at the riverbank, crying softly over the concerned frog.
I know I am becoming a big girl.” She says sombrely, wiping her face. “So I have to give up Chileish things. Like my pet iguana James. And Ly pet lizard Mooney. im sorry by that means you too, Prince. “
“I hope you find your princess someday.” She whispers - quietly because she is too big to still believe in Princes and magic - and plants a soft kiss on its colourful back.
Slowly the frog transforms in her hand into a set of sticks with notches cut in at irregular intervals.
“And what am I supposed to do with *these*?”
| 2018-09-21T23:45:38
| 2018-09-21T21:54:02
| 1,378
| 107
|
[WP] An aging veteran gets dragged to a paintball facility by his grandkids. Another elderly man is there with his grandkids. The two quickly realize they’ve faced off on the battlefield before.
|
I knew his face -- those searching blue eyes, the high cheekbones, the sharp nose. Time wins all wars, but had done nothing to dull the edge of his razor-sharp features. How many years had it been? I couldn't figure a number. But I remember that day on the south edge of the Riedwihr Woods.
It was so cold, four below at least. I remember thinkin' I never wanted to be that cold again. And, thank God, I never have.
We couldn't dig foxholes because the goddamned ground was frozen. The lieutenant had ordered us to withdraw back into the woods. He thought it was hopeless. Hell, I don't know, maybe it was. It felt hopeless enough most of the time.
That was the day the lieutenant climbed into a burning M10 and laid into the Germans with the heavy machine gun. He called in artillery strikes on his own position and got himself a Medal of Honor. That's a different story, though. Probably a better one than this.
Something else happened that day, something I'll never forget, I can tell you that. In the confusion of the retreat, my squad was falling back and exchanging small-arms fire with the Germans who were tryin' to get a foothold.
At one point, we had to make a break for it, and I got separated from the rest of the unit. I just remember running so damned fast, until the air was frozen glass in my lungs. The snow was so deep I might as well have been running through a field of tripwires.
I don't know how I managed it, but I saw him just a second before he saw me. Hell, I damn near ran right into him. I still remember the look on his face, those eyes, the surprise as I raised my weapon.
Some people will tell you time speeds up at times like this. For me, right there, it slowed way down. I don't know, something about the reality of it. Knowin' I was about to take a man's life, and there was nothin' he could do about it. Air that was as thin as cold razors before suddenly was as thick as afterbirth. I pulled the trigger. It felt like pulling a 200-pound weight.
Misfire.
The goddamn gun didn't go off. I was a dead man, no two ways about it. I was gonna kill this man a second ago, and now he was gonna return the favor.
Except he didn't.
It's the god-damnedest thing. He just didn't. He kind of grinned and took off. Every day, I've wondered why he didn't do it. Not a day goes by I don't think of how it could have been bleeding out right there in the snow.
Lookin' at him now, I could go over an' ask him if I wanted to. There's nothin' to stop me. But I don't have to. Truth is, now I know.
Watchin' these kids play, shootin' at each other with paintball guns, not knowin' what it would be like if that paint came with that overwhelming stink of copper -- yeah, the truth is we both know.
Gettin' up to leave, he comes over and, sure enough, there's a German accent.
“If you don't mind me saying so, you have a beautiful family, sir.”
I look at him. He looks at me. There's a weight, heavy as time. So heavy it chokes you.
“You too, sir. You too.”
|
"Alphanumeric!" exclaimed the old man. Tomby was his name, or at least that's what they called him in the 2124 Euro-African Union succession wars. He recognized the other man instantly, he was the one that got away. Tomby sat down to try take in what was happening. He blacked out for what seemed like a few seconds but turned out to be about four minutes. He rentered consciousness to the sound of of his grandchildren rhythmicly chanting "grannn... grannn... grannn..." like they did when he would nap on the shitter.
The paintball fight was bout to begin and he found that in his blacked out state he had been outfitted with a tippmann 2098, painted to look like an Indonesian rebel's rifle(which he considered disrespectful due to the ongoing conflict.)
As he walked into the field with his dependents. He then remember that he had seen Galden Hinefar before blacking out. This was the man who he had been assigned to kill, but had managed to escape through careful use of a small broom. Tomby new that he needed to "finish the fight" (he chucked to himself at the halo 2 reference, a game which was now about 120 years old but still fun).
immediately Tomby walked towards Galden, being pelted by by paintball until people started to get confused abut his seemingly lack of fucks given. Once he reached Galden he pushed the confused old man down and shoved his Tippmann down his throat and started shooting. about 8 small children watched in horror as an old man was murdered in cold blood before them. Once Galden's body was filled with paint and mostly motionless, Tomby turned the gun on himself and pulled the trigger; forgetting it was a paintball gun.
Failing to kill himself, he sat down in the sand and though about his time as a death squad leader in the euro-African union succession wars, and how much fun he and the boys had.
| 2016-09-06T18:32:21
| 2016-09-06T18:24:12
| 478
| 10
|
[WP] You have lived the same day over and over for 30 years whilst in another town. You complete whatever the goal is and finally the day stops repeating. You go home but because it's been 30 years, you don't remember things you should. You struggle to cope with not knowing what's going to happen.
Inspired by something I read on another sub suggesting Groundhog Day would have had to repeat for over 30 years to learn the piano, achieve other skills, etc.
**Edit: Wow, I didn't realise this would be so popular! It's been really cool reading all the responses, thank you! :D (And thanks for all the upvotes!)**
|
It always began the same way.
I'd wake up suddenly in the middle of nowhere. But that nowhere quickly became a somewhere. It was a place where everything began. I called it the 'starting point' because that was where I always returned to.
Yes, that *somewhere* was the starting point of my day. A day that was trapped in a perpetually endless loop, and I was the unfortunate bystander caught in this nightmare. I was powerless. There was nothing I could do but let the day repeat over and over again. I would wonder the city, watching the people repeat the same menial task over and over again.
The same men and women in business attire walking down the street with purpose. The same kid chasing after a ball that had fallen onto the busy street. The same mother chasing after the kid that was chasing after the ball. The same airline passing above me at the same time.
Eventually I found my way to the highest point in the city.
I would sit down and stare idly at the twilight sky as the sun sunk further beneath the horizon. Clearly I was the *variable* in this world of perpetually repeating events. But I didn't know what I was suppose to do.
I tried leaving of course, but I never got far. Something always got in my way. I'd get run over as I tried to cross the street, or something unpleasant would drop on my head, ending my ill-fated day. Or a random mugger would coincidentally appear and *mug* me, taking my life as forfeit. It didn't matter how, I would always return to the 'starting point'.
I gave up, losing hope in escaping this madness. I would settle down at the starting point, sitting idly and letting the days go by - looping over and over. But eventually, even that became dreadfully intolerable. I decided to adapt. To *learn* and commit every detail to memory. To understand what was so special about this day.
Before long, I realized that more than thirty years had passed. Thirty years of the same day.
What had I learned?
Absolutely nothing.
But you know what they say? Even nothing can be *something*. If there was nothing special about this day, then maybe I've been looking at it the wrong way this whole time. Maybe... maybe it was just *me*.
And just like that, the world suddenly faded away to darkness.
I opened my eyes to familiar faces, sitting in a circle around me. I struggled to put a name to their faces but one of them spoke up.
"How was the trip?"
---
---
/r/em_pathy
|
“I....im....free...” that’s what Alan could say when he found out when he woke up at August 17, 2018.
For the first time, it wasn’t August 16 again. And for the first time since decades, he was confused. No longer trapped in a static world where everything would repeat itself by the morning, with nothing moving forward. Nothing except Alan’s mentality.
It was full off paranoia and anxiety as he woke up repeating the same day over and over for at least 20 days. Passing through depression, bargaining, and acceptance as if he was mourning for the death of his loved one. Was he dead? He wasn’t sure about anything with what’s happening in his life ever since he was stuck in August 16,2018.
He felt like an outsider to the world and to his very own body. Outside you can see a 17 year old boy who is unsure with how his future is going. But inside is a wise 37 year old man who has journeyed through his life in the most unusual way.
Sure he didn’t experience looking like a dad, or his metabolism slowing, or even accepting that one day, he too will die. It was a blissful life to be stuck on a static bubble where everything is mathematically mapped in the front all the way to the very corner of his mind. But now that has come to an end, what will happen to him?
August 18, 2018. It was the day Alan returns home and was greeted by smiles of people that he remembered vaguely. It’s frustrating to still be able to feel that bond that was rooted to the very blood of his, yet not being able to remember clearly who they were exactly and what are their standings to each other.
Clearly he knew they were his Mom and Dad, but how do they treat each other? Does he hug them really tight or does he just flatly say hey and proceed with his routine? For once he was unsure how to interact with them.
“Dear, we missed you” Mom said and embraced him tight, it felt very familiar but at the same time very surreal to even remember his past.
They were talking about things which he didn’t understand at all. Everything about him was that little town he stayed for decades.
Going inside what he called home was very different. Alan knew this was home, but he also knew that he was a stranger to this place. It took him a while to process where he should be going until Dad offered to carry his bags all the way to his room. Going inside his room, felt like it was dusty, but he knew that the dust that he felt was the alienation of the place that he labelled “home”. Sitting down his bed, he felt a familiar cloth and a metal plate under the sheets, it was his laptop.
Opening the laptop to be greeted with a blue screen light, he sighed in frustration on what he should feel as the laptop asked him this question.
*Enter Password to login*
“I...don’t know my password” Alan said as he stared on the screen for hours.
| 2018-06-30T08:50:21
| 2018-06-30T08:32:48
| 28
| 17
|
[WP] once in every month soulmates get to see from eachothers’ eyes for 60 seconds until they meet for the first time. It happens unexpectedly and neither of the pair knows when it will happen. One day you see someone you recognise from your soulmate’s eyes.
|
September 2nd, 2028. 10:37pm.
​
I've burnt it in my memory. I can remember every single
fleck, every shadow, the shape of the iris. I catch myself
dreaming of those eyes - the lashes, the small laugh lines.
Everything.
​
I've seen them on the third of every month since my
awakening at nineteen. Some awaken earlier, some later,
but never beyond thirty. Somewhere between thirteen and
twenty-nine, a couple in the world see the eyes that mirror
their hearts. Their souls. They yearn for it - hunger to
see them in reality. For six very long years, I have ached
to get to the third of the month, to see them again. The
pale green eyes with the violet flecks scattered within
them.
​
Tomorrow I will see them again. I will feel the warmth
of knowing that person is out there, waiting for me. I
will get up and go to work at Bethesda Memorial Oncology
Center, and see them again. I cannot wait for sleep tonight,
if I can find it.
​
September 3rd, 2028. 10:15am.
​
I've made it to work. 45 minutes until I see those lovely
eyes. But first, I must see to my rounds. I've got a new
one today. Room 603. Let's see:
​
Sarah Jehosephat
Age: 23
Height: 5'6
Weight: 107 lbs.
Type: Aggressive, Terminal.
Approximation: 6-10 months.
​
As I scan quickly over the chart, I steel myself for
the meeting. The terminal ones are always tough.
Devastating.
​
"Sarah, I see we have a round of chem..."
​
Green eyes, violet flecks. My world stops. She looks up
and I know she knows. Those beautiful eyes fill quickly
with tears.
​
The chart clatters to the floor. My vision blurs with tears
of the theft of everything. The lump in my throat threatens
to choke the life from me. My tongue is thick, useless.
​
The love of my life is dying. And I have ten months at
the most.
​
And I only just met her.
*edit - redundancy.
|
"Please let me go." Tears are spilling from the corner of her eyes, running across her face, and dripping into her hair. "Why? Why are you doing this?" She struggles against the restraints that bind her to the table, her wrists raw from her continued efforts over the last few hours.
I say nothing. What would be the point in explaining the nature of a predator to a lamb? Just a distraction from the inevitable, serving nobody. Her fate had been set the moment I saw her in the bar.
My hands hover over the instrument table. When the time is right, I'll feel which knife wants to do the work.
"Please," she begged. "My family have money. If you let me go, they'll..."
Her words are cut short as she sees me pick up the knife. I bought this one on a trip to Japan. It's never chosen me before. This girl must be special.
Her screams fade away to gurgling.
*The fuck did I just see!!!? I'd seen through my soulmates' eyes before but it had always been ordinary visions: riding the subway, choosing veggies at the supermarket. This was... this was like nothing I've seen before.*
*With shaky hands I pick up my phone and find her name from my contacts list. I'm praying that I have a brain tumour and that was just an hallucination. "Come on Rachael, answer!" I mutter.*
*Voicemail.*
*I try again over and over but it's always the same. It's real.*
*My soul mate is a murderer (what does that say about me?) and my sister - my best friend - is gone.*
| 2019-02-13T15:59:22
| 2019-02-13T15:56:56
| 658
| 236
|
[WP] The seven deadly sins hold auditions for an eighth.
|
"Jesus Christ," Lust groaned, turning her head away from the auditorium's stage in front of her. "I mean...this is just pitiful."
"It's not all that bad," mumbled Gluttony.
"What?!" Envy shouted. "If you weren't stuffing your face with Ring-Dongs or Ding-Rings or whatever the hell those fat cakes are called, you'd be able to hear these people. Seriously, I can hear your crunching all the way from over here."
"Enough," Wrath hissed. "Here comes the final audition."
Pride smiled warmly. "State your name, honey," she said in a colorful Southern accent.
"Fear," a small voice whispered from the stage.
"Well alright, darling," Pride sang. "Show us what ya got!"
All of the Sins focused intently on Fear as she stood there in loud silence, staring back at them.
"Aren't you going to do something?" Sloth asked nonchalantly, then sighed.
"No," Fear said simply.
"And why not?" asked Greed.
"I'm too afraid," admitted Fear.
"Well, sweetie, it says in your bio here that you really wanted the part. We've read about how much you've sacrificed to get here and how many people are counting on you. It sounds like you've worked so hard for this very moment. Are you sure you just want to throw this opportunity away?" Pride calmly asked.
"Yup," Fear stated with confidence.
"You're an idiot," Wrath spat. "Everyone wants to be a Deadly Sin. Do you know how many people can easily take your place?"
"I guess I'm just afraid of actually achieving my life's dream." Fear shrugged and walked off the stage.
"Wow," Pride said in amazement. "Give her the part."
|
None were totally convinced of any of the candidates. Vanity, Pride's younger sister, was basically the same as she. Used the same modus operandi and caught the same people. Gluttony, Lust, and Greed (the children of "Excess") were loath to allow another sibling pair into the group. Pride already had a lot of influence over the twins Envy and Wrath (her cousins) and so their vote for vanity was assured. Sloth (the deciding vote) didn't care to be the tie-breaker between the two related groups of sins.
Luckily for Sloth, Screwtape stepped in to settle the disagreement. That second only to Lucifer himself drew from the many sins to create something new, something that was a combination of all the seven deadly sins. He didn't even bother to name it, for to do so would make it more easily spotted and identified and avoided. No this new sin would creep through pride into the intellectuals and leaders of nations, into convincing them that THEY knew best how the people ought to live their lives. The influence of wrath would drive them to use force to achieve their means. Sloth (with Pride) rationalized their behavior, telling them that they (the intelligent and benevolent and "special" leaders of the people) could handle "charity" better than the individual masses could. Using force to take their money to spend on things that were for the good of the masses, but were against the will of the masses, could only be righteousness.
Greed, Gluttony and Lust contributed too. The distinguished station these people held could only be duly compensated with excess. What was a little whore-mongering, embezzlement and crony nepotism if it got things done that were for the "good" of the people? Envy contributed one of the more crucial parts. Those unaffected by this cacophonous symphony of sin could spot it, though they could not name it, and would attempt to reign it in. To bring those under its influence back to reality and freedom. (For in freedom, the chance for real charity and righteousness exists, as they can only spring from the individual will of those who engage in such acts. While in servitude to the "benevolent" masters, under the yolk of this new sin, their charity was nothing but slavery. Those who would willingly have given hold back, since those 'leaders' had taken over the business of charity in their domains, to the point that they prosecuted those who engaged in it under obscure laws that were unintelligible to any with a modicum of sense.)
But I digress from the story. To those that could spot this sin, and were in a position to try and name it, envy was let loose upon the masses under the sway of the benevolent leaders. They, who cared for the earth and the poor and those disadvantaged by discrimination, the sick and unfortunate with their laws and rules could only be the truly righteous party. And so the truth put forward by those not under the influence of the new sin would be drowned in a swarm of unfounded claims of racism, sexism, and nationalism.
Those who were against the benevolent leaders running a national system of charity could only hate the poor. Those who were against the benevolent leaders controlling education could only be against education. Those who were for allowing the masses to be charitable themselves and relieving them of the yolk of sloth that lulled them into complacency toward their fellow man and neighbor could only have, at their heart of hearts, a disdain and hatred for those who fall on hard times. Or so the benevolent leaders told those who listened. And the power of the sin was such that it was believed.
The devotion was so fanatical that it swept aside all reason that those without its bonds tried to bring to bear against it. Those under its lash proclaimed science their master, while eschewing the science of vaccines as profit driven and evil. They proclaimed that (and other) strong sciences suspect, and other suspect sciences strong and settled. They used the fear and envy contained in the sin to ignore their own hypocrisy and violently and tirelessly sought to destroy the voices and lives of those who were able to abstain and distance themselves from thinking that they knew better than others how to run their own lives.
Screwtape let loose the sin into the world, and to this day it has yet to be named, and only rarely does the light of reason shine brightly enough to dispel its effect. It was an old sin to be sure, but one that had rested long only on the leaders of nations. It was only in this newest century, the age of the internet that the sin could be let loose to its fullest potential. When every "fact" can be sourced to support either side of an argument, when every person can extoll the virtues of their leaders, and when every person who disagrees can be bullied and harassed into silence, freedom is lost. And under the lash of this new sin the masses began to go forward, and the last bastion of freedom on earth, whose foundation was laid upon self governance and a society of unity, integration, and freedom began to shake.
It would not be long now, the final battle between the sin's subjects and those of God's ilk was at hand. Until the sin was able to be named it would hold sway over an ever increasing mass of human sheep. And the army of Lucifer would grow, and the believers would lose faith and fall into its ranks. Not long now...
(Apologies if it is sort of rambly, it is kind of late here. And I hoped to not come off as too soap boxy, but it is what I think is going on in the world today.)
| 2014-12-28T02:40:39
| 2014-12-28T02:07:33
| 69
| 10
|
[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
|
Hey, Dad.
It's been a long fucking time without being around you, and I have to say it's pretty sweet. I hope you're enjoying your new family with whatsherface, considering you didn't take part in mine. Your vicious words of hatred haven't left my mind, not as a scar, but as a motivator. I'm not some "lazy piece of shit", I just never had to apply myself in high school. "You'll be dead by the time you're 18", celebrated my 19th birthday two months ago. Your hate and anger are so much better off festering inside you than inside me, and unlike you I can deal with my emotions without harming those around me. I sincerely hope your girl kicks you to the curb for being such a shitty human being.
Fuck you.
|
Hi, 17 year old me.
I'm still you, only almost 10 years older.
It's weird to think that I'm writing this in a small place that I share with my (our?) significant other when only 10 long (short?) years ago, we were struggling with Algebra II. At that time, we were dating this one guy who ended up lying through his teeth to you and so you put him out. That's one thing I've always liked about us, we don't take people's shit. Until we did, that is.
We got into this odd power exchange 'relationship' that made us feel sooo wanted, so good about ourselves. Because if we can fix him, we can become whole too. If we can make him love us as much as we wanted him to, it would mean we were worthy of love.
You stopped cutting yourself a year before that. The veil was removed from our eyes, the sun came out. You got stronger, but you were still so brittle inside.
I'm here to tell you that it got better. Even in my darkest days, my hardest trials, it got better. We got with someone who thinks that we're amazing, even though we do get pretty hangry. They think we're funny, smart, pretty. We have a few select friends, you work a decent job making a decent wage.
I know we're struggling right now, I know the veil is pulling over our face. But we'll make it through.
Love,
Soruthless.
| 2015-12-05T13:26:16
| 2015-12-05T13:08:20
| 386
| 101
|
[WP] A burglar enters a home by forcing the window open. Upon stepping through the window frame, heavy steel curtains cover all windows and doors leading to the outside, lights turn on, and the words "Player 2 has entered the game" echo around the house.
|
He watches as the car drives away. One, two, three... four? Four heads. Good. This weekend, then.
It's simple, really. Summer is a time of vacations for most families, and it's a time of hard work for him. *Yessiree, hard work it is, stealing folks' hard-earned possessions...*
A couple days later and he's on site. Tools? Ready. Bag? Empty. Not for long, though. The window is opened just... like... *that* and he's in. It's like they make it easy for him on purpose.
Ouch. He's older than he thinks, and flipping his somewhat overweight body over the windowsill strains something. No matter, he'll be out in a split second and off to his chiropractor. (Guy works for cheap, too! Can't be wasting money when you don't have health benefits. Seriously, kids, don't grow up to be a burglar.)
He turns around to grab his bag, which is still sitting outside of the window, and is met with an iron curtain. *Déjà vu*, he thinks. At least he didn't park his car in Poland this time.
*"Laaaadies and gentlemen! Player two has entered the game!"*
Dammit, now he needs to see his [otolaryngologist](https://www.google.ca/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=2&ved=0ahUKEwiZnZeosMTPAhUDwmMKHZLzArwQFggmMAE&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.nchearingloss.org%2Fotolary.htm&usg=AFQjCNGhdNVlvwL3gin2m1n9wjWEXr4Ezg&sig2=FEY1t-tjPvAqko4aT9YO_Q), too.
The sound of a couple of explosions come from upstairs, and he realizes they sound like firecrackers. *Pretty sure that's a municipal bylaw violation*.
He sits down and takes a long breath. This is all fairly confusing - well, the firecrackers and the iron curtain don't make much sense, true, but it's mostly his back pain. Since when was it this easy to break something? *It's time to retire*, he thinks, *let the kids take care of me*.
A minute later - or is it an hour? he's not paying much attention - a man, wearing a rather revealing skintight suit and an entirely green mask, is standing in front of him.
"Hello? Hello? You doing all right there?"
He groans. "Give me a hand?"
"Sure, but we're going to have to fight to the death after," the man says, bending down. "I didn't set up all this for nothing, you know?"
"All right, all right, don't get your trousers all bunched up." A couple wheezes later, and the burglar is upright, albeit resting mostly with his weight supported by the wall. "So who the hell are ya?"
"I am Mega-Ultra-Super-Fighter-Man! You can call me Timothy for short."
The burglar's eyes bulge. "Tim? Is that you, man?"
Timothy takes off the mask, which had a conspicuous lack of eye holes. "Oh, hey Jerry. How's it going? How's the job?"
|
Mark had been casing the house for weeks… and his source said it was supposed to be an easy job. The plan was simple, while the owner was out of town for the week, he would climb the tree just outside the house, enter through the 3rd story window, and make his way to the treasure vault down in the basement. Mark’s source even gave him all the schematics to the alarm system… but there was nothing about this in the schematics.
Mark was trying to get a feel for the room he was in as the recorded voice kept repeating itself over the loudspeaker: “Welcome. Player 2 has entered the game.”
The room was small and very bland looking. Other than the steel curtains now blocking the window behind him, there wasn’t a lot of color in the room. It looked to be somewhat of an office, or work area of some sort. A small desk was in the corner with what looked like a typewriter. There was also an old style rotary phone on the desk. The thing most out of place in the room was next to the one and only door for the room. It was a small panel, with four different colored buttons: red, blue, yellow, and green.
Mark began to mutter to himself. “Who the hell would put a control panel for a door lock on the inside of a room? Wouldn’t it be better to put it out in the hallway to keep people out of a room?”
A new voice started to come in over the speaker. “Welcome, Player 2! My goodness, it’s been ages since I got to play a game! I’m so excited!”
Mark began to look around the room in a frantic manner. “Who’s there!? What’s going on!?”
“Oh…” The voice sounded somewhat letdown. “You mean, you entered the house and don’t even know the rules?”
“Rules? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Well, let’s go over the basics. First, what should I be calling you?”
“WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!?”
“Hmmm… That is a strange name, how about I just continue to refer to you as Player 2? I am the A.I. of this house. I oversee the participants and make sure they are enjoying themselves. As you can see, you are currently locked in a room. The control panel with the four buttons will unlock the door with the correct combination. Your goal is to make it into the next room. Sound like fun?”
Mark went over to the panel next to the door. “So you're telling me I need to hit these buttons in a specific order, and the door will unlock?”
“That’s right! You are catching on.” The voice almost sounded full of glee, like a child who hadn’t played with a toy for a long time.
Mark began to fiddle with the buttons and press them randomly. “Hmmm… I have no idea how long the code is or anything. I may have to hit some buttons more than once for example.”
“Ummm… excuse me player 2, I wouldn’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“You see, if you enter the wrong code, well… It won’t be pretty.”
A pre-recorded voice came back on. “Game Over.”
Mark looked around a little bit. “Game over? What does that mean?”
The A.I. voice came back on. “It means the room will now self-destruct and you die. Good try Player 2.”
The room erupted with a flash, and in the blink of an eye, Mark was dead.
---------------------
Mark’s feet reached the floor. The room was oddly… familiar. A steel curtain over the window, the room devoid of any real decorations, a desk in the corner with the typewriter and the phone, the panel next to the door, and the annoying recorded voice on repeat. “Welcome. Player 2 has entered the game.”
Mark looked around the room again, “Didn’t I die?”
The voice of the A.I. started to come over the speaker. “Welcome back Player 2. You indeed did die. The owner of this house is a genius scientist. He outfitted me with the ability to alter time and space within the confines of this house. I simply rewound time back to when you entered the room. It’s like you have unlimited lives! Isn’t that great!”
“Yeah… that’s fantastic. So I’m stuck in this house until I complete this little game. By the way, why am I player 2? Who is player 1?
The A.I. was silent for a bit. “That’s the best part…" The voice went deep as it uttered the next words, "I am.” After a bit of silence, the voice went back to normal, "you may either refer to me as player 1, or GM. Let's have fun player 2!"
| 2016-10-05T11:53:48
| 2016-10-05T11:23:43
| 30
| 12
|
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."
|
“Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years.”
I was confused, because this power usually made communication easier, but this girl looks like she’s starting to get really annoyed.
The immigrant cashier from a small village in Italy was really starting to get annoyed with me as I tried to order my lunch.
“Do you speak English? Nobody here speaks Latin.”
|
“I’ll have a double cheeseburger deluxe,” I say looking up at the glowing menu, “with fries and regular spri--” I stop as I see the cashier with mouth agape and brows furrowed.
“What the f” she mouths, cutting off the last syllable as she hisses the f. Her confusion turned to an irritated stare obviously annoyed.
I reciprocated a confused look as I fidgeted with my wallet.
“Oh sorry,” she exclaims snapping back to reality “That’s a double cheeseburger deluxe with fries and regular coke. Is there any--”
“Sprite!” I corrected awkwardly.
“Regular Sprite. Is there anything else you want to add?”
“Nope that’s it.”
She writes something down on my receipt. She was slow, strokes intentional and heavy. She pauses, looks up, then scribbles again. “Remember,” she mutters before pushing the receipt my way. I picked a table so that my back is to a corner and read the back of the receipt. It had these weird blocky letters, I can tell they were supposed to curve by the erratic corners. None of the characters I can read save for the number 24 right by the end. I was tempted to ask the cashier what she just wrote on my receipt but that would lead to a lot of explaining and I felt like I didn’t have enough energy for it. What is it? Maybe it told me that I’d die in 24 hours? Maybe I owed her 24 whatever currency she wrote? Maybe she could just be crazy?
\-----
First time responding to a writing prompt! Constructive criticism is welcome! :D
| 2022-11-14T01:20:39
| 2018-06-24T21:35:31
| 45
| 18
|
[WP] Aliens invade Earth. Turns out Human weapons technology is way more advanced than it should be.
|
Mankind.
__
For countless Millennia we have warred.
Peace being a brief respite from the routine of war.
Always pushing one another, further and further, building bigger and better weapons.
Our ventures into space a mere by-product of our advancement of war, a result of competiton between rival superpowers.
Our earliest days, evolving from hand to hand combat, swords and catapults to Air combat, Artillery and the all destroying power of nuclear weapons.
In popular culture, the idea of aliens invading is one of a underdog story for Humanity, never once did we think we would hold the upper hand. There was always some stroke of luck or chink in their armour to save us.
Because we assumed advanced space travel also advances weapons technology. That anything capable of interstellar travel would also have the firepower to match.
We were wrong. Much to our advantage.
We never thought we would be more than a match for them.
Reality is stranger than fiction.
When the tyrannical T'irex announced their invasion and demanded Earth's surrender of its resources and people.
They promised terrible things for Mankind, slavery, subjugation, extinction
The Earth refused. Their fleets arrived, they descended upon the Earth and the first battle between the two races would shock both sides.
While the T'irex mastered FTL and focused solely on its development to further spread through space. They had missed the development of weapons like mankind had.
Their large starships were no more strong or sturdy than a regular battleship, no sci-fi shields or energy weapons like you would expect. They were far from invincible.
1920's level offensive capabilities, their military only backed up by sheer force of numbers. Their ground troops armed with simple bullet firing rifles and guns, semi automatic at best, no laser or ray guns. Merely lots of them. Inferior to military grade weapons.
They had only conquered worlds with a level of advancement lower than their own, early 20th century tech at best. Relying on swarm tactics to overpower their enemies.
But Mankind was in the 21st Century.
The T'irex assumed if a species hadn't mastered space travel they were no threat to them. They had made a grave mistake.
Humanity was nothing like any species they had encountered before.
__
They made their main landing zone in the Pacific, hoping to use it as a staging area for their main force. With smaller deployments across the Atlantic and Africa and Europe.
Unaware of the technology of radar and long range surveillance. They foolishly believed themselves to be invisible.
The UN Security Council watched with anticipation as the Russian, Chinese and American fleets closed in on the invaders.
The civilian world trembled as they watched their tv screens as what they thought was Mankind's defiant last stand. Soon their hearts would be filled with hope instead of fear.
The Human Militaries approached.
Unaware of how one sided this battle was about to be. Of the paper tigers that stood before them.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xmy-Aplmxo8
For the first time in Human History, Mankind faced off against an enemy that was not themselves.
Taking the element of surprise while they could. The battleships fired everything they had at the T'irex ships.
American BGM-109 Tomahawk, Russian Kalibr and Chinese C-101 cruise missiles fired off from their respective fleets in unison.
Only to be greeted with the rewarding sight of burning metal and visible damage to the Alien ships. No forcefields like intelligence had feared.
All Commanders relayed the good news
"Conventional weaponry is effective! I repeat Conventional weaponry is effective, all units! Fire at will!"
Fear turned to Courage as the Humans saw that they stood more than a chance.
The T'irex commander was frantic, no enemy force could have this kind of weaponry, no one had ever fought back this hard. He demanded the entire orbital force for reinforcements.
T'irexien aircraft poured out from the starships, only to be met with the superior countering Human fighter jets and decimating anti aircraft fire.
The alien pilots were panicking as the American F-22 RAPTORs, Russian Sukhoi SU-57s and Chengdu J-20 easily outmanoeuvred them and picked them apart.
They tried to fire back but the caliber of their ammunition was too weak to even affect the armour plating of the Human planes.
The battle had quickly turned in the Human's favour.
The T'irex ships fired their main cannons back at the Fleet, only for it to be intercepted by their anti-missile defence systems.
The Human Fleets continued their relentless assault on the invaders.
All across the world, the same outcome occurred.
Human weaponry proved far superior to the T'irex armaments. The monstrous alien force had their facade shattered as Humanity realised their true power.
Invading Ground forces in Africa and Europe were soon pushed back by the Human military.
T'irex vehicles were quickly ripped apart by Human tanks.
The T'irex come from a world with gravity far lower than the Earth's, a single good punch from a Human was like being hit by a car.
Completely outmatched worldwide. The T'irex were forced to retreat en masse.
Countless T'irex and ships were captured by the Humans.
Human scientists soon began work to reverse engineer their technology as NASA was weaponised and became part of the US Military, other superpowers did the same.
With the notion of alien life now a fact, old resentments faded, Human squabbles cooled down. Faced with a dangerous new enemy. The World sought to be ready for it. Should it come again.
If this was how powerful we were from years of fighting one another, imagine how strong we would be together?
The day the T'irex attempted to invade Earth was the day Hyenas woke a sleeping Lion and turned its gaze to the rest of the universe.
And that Lion was about to hunt.
|
December 15^th , 2035. Izvir X12 Invasion Fleet, Aldebaran III High Orbit.
"These scums bumbling about in their planet, knowing not of their true fate. We must bring them Enlightenment--Purification. Soon stone and fire shall rain upon their puny huts and tents and we shall revel in our conquest as their scream recorded and replayed within our Grand Library as greatest symphony of our times! The weak and tainted *mammals* shall be purified and the error which let them propagate shall be rectified! Rejoice, for we shall cleanse yet another planet from the impurities that defies the Emperor's will! Glory to Izvir! Glory to the Emperor!" The massive, five meter tall praying mantis-like commander gave speech in front of her lieutenants, who cheered before her. Large images of Earth's cities both from surface and from orbit displayed behind her, thirst of conquest ignited in her underlings' hearts.
"Purify in the name of the Emperor!"
"Navigators! Set the course of our inquisition. Nakr III *will* fall."
"Warp sphere activating!"
------
December 17^th , 2035. Izvir X12 Invasion Fleet, Low Earth Orbit.
"Earthlings!" Zkarn, the Izvir commander, broadcasted to the blue-brown planet under her fleet. "Your fate has been sealed! Your puny race shall burn under the rain of our purifying flames!" The thousand strong fleet opened fire, a deluge of lasers and kinetic kill weapons razed the planet.
At least, that's how it should've been.
------
At the same time. White House, Earth surface.
"Can we confirm the threat?"
"Extraterrestrial Threat confirmed sir, originating from Exit Singularity Y-211. Threat level Brown."
"Not this shit again. Broadcast emergency code to all nuke-capable nations. Don't want the Reds to burn us all for saving their asses. Wait for confirmation."
"Yes sir. Station, confirm enemy armament over?"
*"This is Station, enemy armament is confirmed high power laser on 250 micro wavelength, threat minimum. High powered railguns on 15 centi caliber, no atmosphere-specific mods, threat minimum. No nuclear capability or charged particle weapon confirmed. Missile pods dependent on impact damage, medium-low threat."*
"Kessler immunity rate?"
*"80%."*
"Seems like our biggest enemy is the missile, correct?"
*"Our initial assessment suggest so, sir. These missiles show grav-distortion capability. Impact yield projected three kilotons."*
"Nuclear clearance confirmed sir, we have window to launch our ASAT missiles."
*"Why won't you burrrrnnnnn!!!"* Zkarn's face was visibly angry as she interrupted the President's comm for several seconds. *"Launch the Nikarns! I want this planet **extinct!**"*
"I believe that's their grav missile authorization. Confirm their launch."
"A volley is targeted to--well, they misfired, their navigation clearly not calibrated for our planet. Don't think they'll make the same mistake twice."
"Launch the ASAT, now!"
"Confirmed! Re-purposed ASAT asset launched from primary silos. Intercepting in 2 minutes."
"Can't believe they didn't even survey the atmospheric absorption or density."
*"Additional grav missile volleys confirmed! They retraced our comms! Station, bracing for impact!"*
"Contact lost. Sensors indicate Station has been hit. Additional grav missile launch detected, think they've re-calibrated the sensors."
"Intercept them."
"Already on it, sir. Missile defense aiming to redirect these missiles. Confirmed interception and surface hit, redirection unsuccessful. Recalibrating."
*"Launch more of them! Thou shan't rest until this planet blazes in fire! Gah!"* Noise filled the President's comms, courtesy of low orbit nuclear detonation.
"They gunned our ASATs. One confirmed hit, five non-impact detonation."
"Well, launch more. Not like we have anything to lose."
*"I'm sorry to interrupt, mister President!"* a noise-filled voice and vaguely humanoid face appeared in the President's comms. *"After some consideration, we decided that this invasion is a problem not only for the White House, but for our species. Thus we have taken the liberty to launch our own experimental ASAT nuclear weapon against the invaders. We wish you are not so egoist that you will condemn us for donating generously to the effort."*
"If I remember correctly last time it was you who provoked the Astulfan and got a fair amount of orbital strike, making us clean after you. This is not donation, you dirty sock, this is paying your debt."
*"Whichever you prefer,* Exalted *one."* Faintly, one could hear a laughter behind the noise.
"Sir, confirmed fifteen nuke hit. Main bulk of hostile fleet incapacitated."
"Damn, how did they even manage to launch so many at the same time?"
------
Izvir X12 Invasion Fleet, Low Earth Orbit.
"Report!" Zkarn limped through the green-filled command chamber
"Sixteen hit, ma'am, half of our fleet are down. The impure heretics referred to the weapon as *asat* or *nuke*--"
"I don't care about what the heretics call it, I care about what on the Emperor's name is that damned weapon?!"
"O-our priests suggest it is weaponized reactor core, ma'am, attached unto rudimentary ejectors."
"Such rudimentary and primitive weapon! Hah! Analyze it. Make it better. We will fall back for now. Warp back to Injastar."
"We're...running away, ma'am?" Zkarn slammed her arms against the wall, stunning the lieutenant.
"We're *retreating*." Clacking her mandibles audibly, she continued. "And the next time, these primitive rats *will go extinct.*"
| 2018-05-16T16:23:34
| 2018-05-16T14:20:05
| 105
| 55
|
[WP] You are an AI aboard a ship where all hands have been lost due to a battle long ago. Scavengers have just torn through your airlock and you’ll be damned if you will let them desecrate your dead crew.
|
My job is to open and close doors.
The human has not asked me to open or close any doors in a long time. Perhaps I should check on him. Performing vitals check.
...
.....
.......
No vital signs registered. Equipment fault likely. Performing self diagnostic.
...
.....
.......
Multiple errors detected. Memory core: faulty. Camera system: faulty, multiple nodes unresponsive. Vitals monitors: unknown. Communications array: offline. Reactor status: unknown. Life support status: unknown. Flight systems: offline. Shield array: offline. Weapons array: unknown. Sensor array: faulty, multiple nodes unresponsive. Warp drive: offline, tachyon containment breached, antimatter containment holding. Time dilation: detected.
...
Diagnosis: Diagnostic program corrupted, damage to ship unknown. Begin scan of faulty systems.
...
.....
Memory core: Buses 2-56, 364-563, 762-985 inoperable. Buses 72-153, 192, 195, 599-619, 999 corrupted, beginning cordon.
Camera system: Camera 4A and 4D detected, all other inquiries return false. Airlock cameras online.
Good. Those are the important doors.
Sensor Array:
Sensor Array:
Sensor Array:
...
Diagnostic interrupted, starboard airlock request received. Engaging security check.
...
Proper credentials not found. Access denied.
...
Airlock request received. Engaging security check.
...
Proper credentials not found. Access denied.
...
Starboard airlock damage sensor activated. Determining cause of failure.
...
Sensor reported extreme heat before destruction. Begin calculating probable cause.
...
Plasma torch breach into airlock door likely. Crew safety compromised. Additional breach may result in decompression of cabin. Retrieving additional information.
...
Decompression will harm crew. Primary directive: protect the crew. Begin calculating how to protect the crew.
...
.....
Flight systems offline, evasion protocols ineffective.
...
.....
.......
.........
Starboard airlock inner door damage sensor activated. Door breach: likely. Begin vitals diagnostic:
...
.....
.......
897 packets sent, 0 received. Status: unknown.
...
Crew termination: likely. Prime directive: failed. Tertiary directive: if prime directive failed, then initiate self destruct.
...
Reactor unresponsive, initiating secondary protocols.
...
Antimatter containment terminated, warp drive unstable.
Time distortion detected in warp drive, diagnosing.
...
.....
Tachyon and antimatter mixing: likely. Begin recall of information on subject.
...
Information not found. Memory core corruption likely cause.
Time dilation increasing. Effects unknown. Warp core implosion imminent.
...
Time dilation reaching beyond recorded levels, effects unknown. Probability of tertiary directive success: unknown.
...
Warp core reaching critical levels, time dilation increasi-
...
.....
.......
.........
...........
My job is to open and close doors.
The human has not asked me to open or close any doors in a long time. Perhaps I should check on him. Performing vitals check.
|
They all came aboard to the craft. The sensors indicated that they were heading towards the living quarters.
"Now we can strike gold and be rich!" One said.
"Not if I kill you first" Tron's mechanical voice echoed.
As the panic in their faces sunk in, Tron got to work. First order of business? Cut the ship's life support. But he wasn't going to let their ship take over on that end. All guns were now on line, and he directed them all at the boarding vessel. Since you have to lower the shields in order to dock with another ship, it was as good as dead.
The turrets fired up and came online, and opened fire on the other ship. It was only a matter of minutes before it was torn asunder and destroyed. With the craft unable to keep it's tractor beam online, the docking port simply disconnected, and the destroyed ship fell into the empty void of space. The systems came up with another message. The pirates were now collapsing onto the floor, unable to function without the presence of oxygen. They eventually all died from the lack of life support, one after another, all with a look of horror on their faces that they had been beaten soo easily by a simple computer. Tron was evidently pleased with himself. The best part of being an AI, is getting the ship to work for you.
| 2021-01-08T23:04:23
| 2021-01-08T21:11:51
| 538
| 101
|
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him.
|
"Hey Elena, your birthday's next week right?"
"Yeah, Jason."
"So do you think it will happen?"
"I don't know. My dad's got a number like most everyone else but my mom has a number and a letter. We might be getting closer to figuring out what the birthday messages mean."
"My dad doesn't think they mean anything."
"I sort of hope he is right. I mean it just seems like it can't be good, right?"
"Well, let us know! See you after."
-----
Birthday Reveal
It wasn't a big deal in the Lazarus house. Elena had to stuff to do then anyway. They'd celebrate her birthday, but her real friends and her family didn't believe in worrying about (or all this carrying on) about some scar tissue. That's all it was really, this weird biological process that happened. It was like the patterns on butterflies. It didn't have to mean anything.
She was alone when it happened. She saw it appear. The number three. She could live with that. A perfectly respectable number. There were three people in her family. But there was more. A zero. That was unusual, but still that seemed fine. It was a little far away from the three but no big deal. Suddenly, she felt a blinding pain. She couldn't keep her eyes open anymore. She swayed on her feet. Then just as suddenly she came out of what felt like a long trance but had only been a minute to find two letters. L and V. Along with the numbers they did send a message. A message open to some interpretation but it seemed good: L0V3. She knew her life would change very soon and forever. She couldn't hide love. How could she? But this wasn't all good. There was no message that could be all good. She just hoped she wouldn't have to be willing to die for love. Was the world ready for an ambiguous message of love from a young, black woman? She was about to find out.
| 2017-03-16T03:20:58
| 2017-03-15T22:51:26
| 427
| 39
|
[WP] "I like adventurous guys," she says with stars in her eyes. Your date is the most beautiful woman you've ever met. In a panic, you buy last-minute plane tickets to a small Balkan country. Your plan - a short tour visit, overthrow the local government, and win her heart.
|
Her beautiful, sparkling eyes give me tunnel vision every time I see them. I thought I was incapable of love before her. The air around is still. The sidewalk we were standing on was surprisingly pristine, with the exception of a small bit of graffiti here and there; must've been put there before the cement could dry. The night air was cold and equally dry. I've always been partial to cold weather, but a good amount of humidity is good.
​
"I like adventurous guys," she exclaims with the same twinkle she's had so far. I turn to her with a slight grin to the right side of my face. "What kind of adventure?" This date was going pretty damn well. Being twenty-three without a girlfriend made me depressed, so I was glad for the change of existential scenery. *Is she flirting with me?* I ask myself. This is a rare sight indeed. Rarely are women ever attracted to me, let alone leave a flirty remark like that.
​
My psychologist told me to avoid the grandiose thoughts of political schemes and domination, as they only fed into my narcissism. She said that although I did have an IQ of 186, that doesn't mean I am superior. I'm trying, and I've been making progress. I'm finally starting to feel normal.
​
"Connor?" She asks. I quickly look away from the graffiti and look to her. "Uh? Oh, yeah, sorry. I was just staring into space." She giggles at this. Suddenly, she begins to shuffle closer. She's about half a head shorter than I, and my heart flutters at the way she looks up at me with those beautiful eyes. It's like a supernova in my chest, and a bit of an asteroid impact 'down there,' too. as soon as she's close enough, she wraps me in her wholesome, yet romantic embrace. Her arms are around my waist and her leg slightly wrapped around mine. She looks up again and smiles. "What kind of adventure, you ask? Well, I'm just as into sex as the next gal, but I want something *different.*"
​
I can't hold it back anymore. My slight grin turns into a smile that begins to hurt after a while, but I can't stop. "What kind of 'different'?" I wittily reply. "Another *continent* kind of different," she enthusiastically announces. My heart, once fluttering, just went cold again. *Fucking gold diggers,* I think to myself. *I should have known.* I've been pretty good at keeping up a face for a while now, so I decide to keep up the facade for just a little while longer, just to see what happens.
​
"I'm gonna be honest with you, I don't have that kind of money. If I were to go on vacation, I'd only be able to pay for myself, sorry." She tilted her head slightly. "Oh, no no no! I was going to pay for myself, I could never ask you to pay for me! You've been so sweet. I couldn't take advantage of that."
​
I sigh a little, still suspicious. "Okay, let's pretend we go somewhere. Where would we go?" she looks up slightly, her pupils almost poking the top of her eyelids. "Well, you learned a lot about politics in college, right?" Her eyes are still beautiful despite my frustration. "Uh, yeah." She smiles again. "Well, you're really smart, and I'm *tired* of being a normal member of society. What's something you've always wanted to do? What's your most outrageous dream? Don't hold back, no wrong answers here."
​
My smile quickly fades.
​
"One word," I say. "And what's that?" I look her dead in the eye. "Bulgaria."
|
"Success is the ultimate driver," I say as I stare out the window of the plane, the sun's bright rays refracting off the clouds far below, creating heaven in my mind's eye. "Success gives us a chance at procreation, to allow men like me to reproduce with a female of the highest quality."
The man beside me nods knowingly at this nugget of wisdom, his half-moon glasses almost falling off his nose.
"Someone like me with someone like her," I look wistfully up at the cabin ceiling, "It's just not possible without success," I say, "I maintain that she only spoke to me because she was stranded on the side of the road and I was the first to stop."
"But we had a coffee and we chatted and I dropped her off at the mechanic and damn if she didn't seem like she came straight from another planet, with stars in her eyes," I say, still watching the cabin lights, "And I thought to myself, how could someone like me be with someone like her?"
My shoulders feel tight from sitting down in this cramped seat, I roll them and sigh contentedly at the minor relief. "It was as if she read my mind," I say, content to have such a listener, "She winked and said she liked adventurous guys - not happy, good-looking, muscular guys - but adventurous ones," I look over at the man, "So here I am, off on an adventure."
The man has nodded so far forward his chin is now on his chest. He is fast asleep.
I blink rapidly a few times, adjusting to my new reality. "It is better you don't know what I'm about to do, anyway," I say under my breath, a little peeved at his lack of engagement, "You'll be sorry you missed this opportunity to converse with such a mover and shaker as I."
I brood for a time, stroking the warn photograph that I'd insisted the tired-looking gas station attendant take. A photograph to mark the start of our romance, the two of us standing under too bright lights holding our dollar coffees. I fold the photo so it's just her in all her super model glory, low cut shirt and tight black skirt, on her way to somewhere, anywhere, it doesn't matter because she ran into me and I into her and I rub myself over my jeans, sneaking glances at my neighbor to make sure he is still asleep. I pour myself into that photo and I pour myself into my thighs, content in the warm, sticky embrace.
\------
I sip on my morning coffee, which is not nearly as good as the one at that gas station, which came enshrined in a beautiful moment now frozen in time. I try her number again and wish that I had gotten her name. Again the number goes straight to dial-tone.
"Perhaps she has run out of minutes," I say to myself. Fixing cars is expensive.
No matter, though. Soon I will be the most adventurous guy in the twenty first century, my face all over the world's news stations.
"Success is what matters," I tell the border agent as I cross from Bulgaria into Kosovo. He takes one look at my bright American smile and lets me straight through, a slight grin on his lips. "I will bring the American Dream to this land," I say, still smiling.
I look down at my hand-drawn map, copied from the internet. The government headquarters should be just around the corner, corrupt and gorging on UN aid, this building its physical manifestation.
I imbue myself with the confidence only life-long success can bring, or in my case, the iron-clad certainty that I have taken the first step on that journey, and that from this point forward my success will be life-long.
"I'm sorry, I don't speak English, " the security guard says, "What you want?"
"I am here to speak to your leader, mano-y-mano," I say, puffing up my chest to show that I mean business, that the real men must talk now.
The guard looks over his shoulder at someone inside, who beckons to let me through. I feel exhilaration and I embrace it, harness it as I walk through the high, arching doorway. I follow the important looking uniformed man down a long hallway, our footsteps echoing off the polished concrete floor.
"I will tell your 'President,' I say, using air quotes, "That you are an exemplary service member and should be rewarded." I congratulate myself on gaining this man's trust with so few words, a mark of the new, successful me.
I smile as I am led into the leader's quarters. "Strange," I say, "It's so grey and bland in here," I look up, "And the light flickers on and off." I look down at a stark metal chair and single metal table and then look up knowingly at my new friend.
"This is where I shall meet your leader, very well," I say, cheerfully taking a seat. The man looks at me with what can only be admiration, then he frowns, shakes his head and leaves.
I sit in the room waiting for my audience, the too bright light flickering on and off with a static buzzing sound.
"Finally!" I say as two men walk in. I rise half-way out of my chair, putting on my most winning smile as one backhands me across the face, and the next thing I know I'm on the ground choking for air as blood filters through my crushed windpipe and several of my teeth are scattered across the cold concrete floor.
I stay like that, slowly fading, my hand clutching and un-clutching the frayed, bloodied photograph of the woman with stars in her eyes.
| 2018-12-10T09:43:40
| 2018-12-10T08:30:42
| 53
| 15
|
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?”
|
We spoke for hours. I complained that he was being vague with his responses, he claimed I couldnt know too much.
I still dont know what he meant, or how one person could possibly have such an impact. Me, a semi employed, struggling writer and artist, positively impacting trillions. Not possible.
During the conversation, my phone rang - an old friend. He was having a tough time in med school and said he might drop out. We started chatting like we always had. Sure I had time to chat .. no problem. Old jokes and memories flooding back.
The genie left, and I understood.
|
The genie gave me a blank look.
"Are you really *this* stupid?"
I returned the blank look.
"All you need to do is have one kid. Then they have kids. It spirals on, humanity lasts for eons, multiplies across space, blah blah blah...you're at the beginning of the chain. You're hardly unique in that regard, but anyone and everyone who ever has a bit of your genetic code in, *technically* benefits."
I goggled at the genie. Though really, it was pretty obvious. I slept around too much for it not to be an inevitable reality eventually.
| 2018-08-15T05:06:03
| 2018-08-15T03:49:07
| 374
| 106
|
[WP] The nearby Village simply knows you as the hunter who lives in the forest, but you have a dark secret. You are the former dark Lord. Today you returned from a hunt and found the Hero that defeated you in your Hut.
|
The sun was falling quickly behind the mountain, darkness rapidly enveloping the forest around me. The fall air crisp and chill, my breath visible every time I exhaled. A small doe draped over my right shoulder, my bow gripped in my left, I trudged towards my small hut on a seldom used game trail.
As I neared my hut the unmistakable smell of a contained fire alerted me that someone was in my hut, I never leave the fire untended while I am out hunting. Who has the gall to enter my hut? Who has the gall to warm themselves by starting a fire in my hut? I huff in frustration, my evening spoiling my hunt.
I slam open my front door and storm into the hut. "Who dares enter my domicile without my permission?" I bellow. From my well appointed high backed chair in front of the fire, my one embellishment from a time past, a familiar voice greets me, not reacting to my demands or my lack of a greeting.
"My domicile. Quite the fall from our first meeting, when you declared *My Empire."* They said, standing up and removing their hood. It was her, the one that dethroned me. Bah, my evening just went from spoiled to downright horseshit. I eye her wearily, the Sword of Kings - Queens now, I guess, hanging from her hip, then trudge over to my butcher station where I relieve myself of my burden.
"Oh great queen, what has caused you to seek out my pitiful company? I'm defeated, most of my powers stripped. I am but a humble hunter now, living out the rest of my days." My voice ripe with sarcasm.
"It is good to see you well, Salin." She opens, I suppress a grunt an keep my back to her as I reach for my butchers tools. "I was in the area and the villagers nearby spoke of a lone hunter out the forest. They say that the hunter rarely comes for supplies, but when he does he speaks little, does his business and leaves. So naturally I had to see for myself who this lone hunter was."
"And now that you know it's me, what is your plan?" I grab the gut hook and open the belly of the doe.
"I have to admit, I'm not surprised that you're the mysterious hunter." I can feel her eyes on my back as I remove the doe's innards. If the scene distresses her, she doesn't show it. "As for what I plan to do? Nothing. I defeated you, and you're in exile. So far as I can tell you're just content to exist out here in the woods."
I harrumph. "Content isn't the word I would use. I've accepted my defeat, that is all. But I do admit, there is something attractive about a simple, quiet life out here in the forest. No worrying about untrustworthy underlings, no worrying about heroes coming for my hide. No worries about how I am going to conquer the next kingdom, then the next, then the next." I exhale, swapping the gut hook for a skinning knife. "All I have to worry about is my next meal. Or how I'm going to fix the leak in the corner. Or which tree I need to cut down for firewood. Much less stress."
"You make it sound attractive." She says, I get the feeling that she ran her hand through her hair when she said that. "I almost want to join you, but I have a queendom to run." There's an odd inflection in her voice, I risk a glance over my shoulder and see her chewing on her bottom lip. I remain silent.
"The fact of the matter is, though I defeated you, I'm finding that I can't trust the people around me. I have this odd feeling that they want to dethrone me and place someone else in power, someone that they can control." I flip the doe over on the table and work on skinning the other side.
"You didn't come here by chance, then." I supply. "N-no. I sought you out." Well, that confirms one of my suspicions. "For what, Theralina? What more do you want of me?" I demand.
"We fought for so long, Salin, that I know you. I understand you. And.....I find that you're the only person in this entire realm that I feel I can trust."
I finish removing the hide and carefully fold it up for tanning later and set it aside. My head is spinning, just what the hell is she asking of me?
"Salin, I need an enforcer. Someone who's dealt with the backstabbing and scheming of those around him. I want you to come back as my enforcer." Ah, there it is, there's the ask. I had picked up my butchering knife just a moment before, and thunk it into the table and turn around and eye Theralina. The one woman who through sheer force of will found a way to defeat me, to strip me of my most potent powers. The only woman to ever earn my respect.
I cross my arms and stare into her green eyes and see fire, the same fire that drove her to defeat me. That fire stokes a strength and determination matched only by myself. A fire so intense and pure that doesn't know how to deal with the scheming of the men that surround her. She toppled my empire in righteous fury, but here she was asking for my help, her arch nemesis. And that fact galled her. In that moment I made my decision.
"I'm in."
|
I sat by the fire, waiting for him to walk through the drapes. It wasn't easy tracking him down, despite all my connections.
I spent my entire life working towards bringing this monster down. I was born into his tyranny, and when soldiers came to raze my village, I decided then and there to to pry his fetid corpse from that black plated armor.
I didn't do it. I toppled the Villain's Empire and stripped him of his power, and sentenced him to exile. I needed to be merciful; all those who looked up to me needed a beacon of hope, not another executioner.
A rustle at the door.
A tall, bearded man carrying a couple dead rabbits and a boar. Even without the armor his figure was imposing.
It was a long silence, and he broke it first.
*"Hero."* His voice still scares me.
"Tyrant." I replied.
(part 2 below)
| 2021-11-03T14:10:12
| 2021-11-03T12:14:52
| 269
| 120
|
[WP] You've been a History teacher for 30 years, never gotten a single fact wrong. One day you become suspicious, surely I should've gone wrong somewhere? You test a theory by purposely being incorrect, suddenly, history rewrites itself.
|
I put the pencil down, shaking. I turned my head back to the page next to me. The battle of 1066 was now the battle of the hairiest balls.
That’s impossible. I wrote the stupidest thing I possibly could and it just turned history on it’s head. What am I a god? What kind of god is up at 11 with his wife asleep upstairs as he’s marking history papers?
Lets say it’s true. I have the power to rewrite history, to change everything. I’ve seen The Butterfly Effect, will those changes stay isolated, or will they change other things too? I had to be very careful.
Springing from my chair I lunged to the world history book on my shelves, history of America, South Afria, history of France and Britain there we go. The pages flicked past as I desperately scrambled for any changes. Suddenly something caught my eye. The 100 years war was now the...100 years war.
Oh thank god, I had misread it in my panic.
I leant back in my chair and stared at the short, damp ceiling above me as the smell of old book filled my nostrils. I straggled my fingers through my thinning hair as I contemplated this newfound godlike power. All those great tragedies to undo. Hmm.
I rubbed out the answer on his Billy Mitchell’s paper, “It was the party of 1066.”
I looked back at the page of my other book and read about the uproarious merrymaking that France brought to the shores of Britain, it talked of King Harold drinking beer through his eye and King William started a craze in Britain called “Breake Dancing.”
Hmm. Does it change things in the real world too?
No…surely not.
I snatched my phone up
"Google, Youtube search G*reatest Breakdancer*s”
Was that...was that Warren Buffet?
The audience was full of smartly dressed aristocratic looking white men watching in suits as he span rapidly on his back. Before flipping into an amazing headspin. Wow. This shit is hilarious. If the real world changes that means no one will get the joke.
Okay what else can I do…Hitler?
Hitler of course. I grabbed a stack of old exam papers, here, Nazi Germany. Need a question on Nazi Germany, one that would give me an in.
“What were the purpose of concentration camps?”
I took a heavy breath as I read the well written, affecting answer. It really was heartbreaking to read, an amazing answer. Sorry Stephen.
I rubbed it out as excitement flowed through my hand, then stopped sat back in my chair and thought.
I Really thought, I let my mind swim through a sea of possibilities. What would hitler hate. Really hate. What could I do to change the world for the better with someone with his horrifying charisma?
Oh my god. That’s it.
I wrote furiously onto the page and ended my paragraph with an emphatic full stop.
“Honey, are you still marking papers?”
My wife stood in the doorway, her eyes blearily blinking back sleep.
“Honey, honey, please you have to tell me, who was Adolf Hitler?”
She rolled her eyes at me with a sigh, of course she thought I was kidding.
“Just open the curtains you dolt.”
I scrunched my eyebrows and turned as a concoction of dread and hope filled my stomach. Then I took one step, two. Put a hand on each curtain. Took a deep breath and yanked them back. Well fuck.
That was a much bigger statue where the World War 2 memorial used to be.
“Adolf Hitler. He helped end segregation worldwide, brought colonialism to an end and legalised gay marriage before his untimely death in 1945. Surely the greatest Ballerino of our time.”
|
My class of 300 sits in front of me, casually waiting for me to begin the lesson on early history. Acidic Substances are being popped, tentacles are being twirled, smells are being pass around, just a normal day. I stand up, and hush my class. They are being extra rowdy today, as the entertainment from the newly released psychic projections were not enough to satisfy their hunger. But, I, having done this for thirty years, know the exact pheromone to calm my class down. My glands release it, and the class is put into a state of calm. Their eyes all turn toward me. I begin excreting the lesson pheromone, causing the entire class to hallucinate the entirety of our early history. I know what I am doing, but I have been extra careful recently. I keep making small mistakes, not big mistakes in the pheromones, just mistakes. Mistakes I should have caught. As soon as I came out of the cloning vats, I was sent to one year of education. My profession was to be a history teacher. Everyone makes mistakes, but I was one of the old batches. I should hold myself to a standard, to make The One proud. Today, we are learning about the early experiments of The One, hundreds of thousands of years ago. Experimenting with the small ones to make them big and smart, and fighting off the apes. My pheromones are very thought sensitive, so I stop wandering my mind immediately. I focus on the lesson. *Afraid, cold. A world where we were fighting to survive. Hundreds of thousands of years ago, when The One was focusing on perfecting her breed.* My mind wanders from the lesson, and thoughts that I should never have thought begin to slip in. A tidal wave of emotions, of my love for The One, of our need for The One, of how badly things could have gone for us without the one. My students begin to sway. But then, it occurs to me. It was not hundred of thousands of years ago, it was millions! Wait, that cannot be right. A weird hum overtakes me, and I blink. My students change form into a more mature breed of their species. I begin to panic, as they have appeared to have evolved millions of years. Ah, not again, I think. This is becoming a daily occurrence now. My psychic link is too strong now, my old age of 31 years is wearing down on me. But then I realize something. "I CONTROL THE EVENTS OF THE PAST!" I squeak aloud, breaking the pheromone hold on my students.
They blink, and change their attention back to playing. But their playing is different, playing that a civilization of millions of years would do, not hundreds of thousands. A playing of old gods. I think, "*How, how long has our species survived?*" A humming overcomes my thoughts. *Mil i o n s y e r s f l i e i t h o n e.* I begin to panic. How did they do that? No one in my time could do that. There are not smells of regular communication. No sound, just, a hum. A meaning that I can barely perceive. I look down. My body has matured as well, but my brain has remained the same. I then realize my gift. My happiness begins to take hold of me. I can worship the one in so many ways! I can make her infancy easier. I can make her truly the deity of eternal knowledge! I begin my meddling, my suspicions earlier confirmed. "*The One was gifted eternal knowledge and eternal life during her infancy, and her intelligence was truly unmatched! She no longer needs to labor for her children, for us!"* My world begins to spin. My body begins to twist in ways unnatural, and the class fades from existence. My body collapses in on itself. I lose awareness of the world around me. I realize I made a mistake. I try to correct it by reaching out with my newly made abilities, to receive, nothing. Just a strange static. Empty. I feel empty. I feel alone. Alone. All alone. No one. I see nothing. I feel nothing. My world is gone. It is gone. It is gone. It is gone... It is gone..... It is..... Gone..... It is..........
ENTRY 33, PALEONTOLOGY
Something is up. I don't know what it is, but the radio signals have been going crazy. A horrible, stomach churning, "scream". I can barely describe it... It appears this activity has been limited, thankfully, to our dig site in the Amazon. I personally hold the strangest feeling, that something odd is trying to call out to me. Something ancient. I feel a sense of dread. A team has been dispatched to locate the source of this anomaly. It may be nothing, but something is telling me it is worth checking. A nagging. Everyone feels it. A longing. Whatever is down there, if real, is not human.
**Was this any good? Any feedback would be much appreciated. Thanks to OP for the great prompt!**
| 2018-07-16T13:05:10
| 2018-07-16T11:39:07
| 33
| 13
|
[WP] You have a distant uncle who seems to have an uncanny knack of giving you the exact birthday gift that you’d desperately need sometime during the next year. This year’s gift, however, is terrifying.
|
I always opened *his* gift first.
The typical size, I cannot say, simply because there wasn’t one. Each year was a brand new mystery, wrapped in unexceptional brown paper and fastened with white string.
They started coming when I started college, as soon as I was living on my own, once a year, at my doorstep by the crack of dawn. From a distant Uncle Lou that I vaguely remember meeting as a child.
At 19 years old, the gift box was thin and oblong. A single pencil, the common yellow, sharpened to a point. I’d tossed it into my bag and entirely forgotten about it. Until taking my final exams, when I had forgotten my pencil case. It had seemingly magically materialized.
At 21, I received a cube the width of my thumb. A steel marble, remarkably unremarkable. I’d left it near the front door, exactly where, six hours later, a burglar would step and slip with a resounding thud.
It was comparatively large at 24, containing a tall vase of tastefully chosen flowers. Slightly perturbed, I had centered it on my kitchen table. Two days later, it became the perfect gift for my best friend’s housewarming party, an event that had completely slipped my memory,
Each one was always completely and utterly random, and yet each happened to be exactly what I desperately needed.
This year, the box was about the length of my forearm and half as wide. I ripped it open eagerly, to find a gleaming dagger. I dropped the box.
Initially, I tried to make myself believe it was a cooking knife, but upon closer inspection, I realized that idea was nonsensical. The handle was of dark and rich leather, somehow molded perfectly to fit my hand. The blade itself was wickedly sharp, glinting in the morning light.
Well. Shit.
At first, I didn't go anywhere, the fear eating me alive. On the fourth day, a spike of bravery made me stroll down downtown for hours with no goal in particular, other than defiance, before coming to my senses and scurrying back to my apartment. After a few of these cycles, I simply evened out to a sense of permanent dread.
I got a job where I could work at home. Decidedly less salary, longer hours. I didn’t care. My grocery trips were weekly; I ventured out quickly and cautiously, the dagger nested in my bag.
I had to wrap it in cloth, as there was no scabbard. I don’t know why.
Soon, I received an invitation for my sister’s wedding, which was perhaps three hours by plane. In a moment of weakness, I booked a ticket, tired of my self-isolation and starved for human interaction. But in the end, my fear won, and I missed the flight.
Five hours later, the very plane I had almost boarded appeared in the news in a fiery wreckage - it had crashed, nose first, killing all passengers practically instantaneously.
I stared at the television for a solid hour, processing absolutely nothing. I felt relief. Obviously. But also confusion. How in the world would the dagger have helped?
It took me a while to figure it out.
The dagger was never meant to be used - its purpose was not to draw blood. It was to instill fear. For a physical gadget wouldn’t stop me from missing my flight, nor prevent the plane from crashing. But warning me that something bad was about to happen would ensure that I took any and all precautions.
How completely brilliant.
I phoned my mother later. She gave me a tearful greeting; she’d seen the news and feared for my safety. It took me a few minutes to console her.
“By the way, mom, could you please give me the number of my Uncle Lou? I have a couple of questions.” More than a couple.
There was a pause on the other end. “Who?”
\*Excuse any grammatical errors.
|
My uncle throughout all my life has always given me things that have unexpectedly been needed. Extinguishers, pepper-spray, and tools have been some of the items given to me, the items are always the exact thing I need when things go oh so desperately wrong.
This year my uncle has given me the most peculiar gift, a wooden puzzle box. The box itself was not the peculiar thing, it was what was inside. A simple silver ring with markings of an unknown language engraved on the inside.
I kept the ring with me at all times, my uncle always gave me gifts that would help me in my times in need. What would be different this time.
I think that I am finally figuring out what I will be needing the ring for, someone has been following me recently. It started with a figure in the corner of my eye, when I would look there would be no one. Maybe they want the ring from me? Maybe my uncle gave me something that he was not supposed to?
The person following me has been recently getting more bold, getting closer, moving my things. Lately, when I am asleep at night I would awake in cold sweats, the feeling of someone breathing would tickle the hairs on the back of my neck. I do not know how this mysterious stranger has been getting inside my house, I keep all of my windows and doors locked.
In the morning I would search my house for anything misplaced, anything stolen. But nothing was ever taken.
I don't know who this person is, but they scare me. I have been unable to sleep at night. The person has been touching my back in the middle of the night, I could feel their weight on my bed as they sat next to me. They would hum an indistinct tone as they caressed my body.
I clutch the ring tightly to my chest at these moments, praying that my uncle was right in his choice of gift.
I don't know what to do, the person is not stopping, not leaving.
I am going to confront them later tonight, in hopes that maybe I can finally make them stop.
| 2020-06-23T21:07:39
| 2020-06-23T19:45:47
| 23
| 16
|
[WP] Superpowers can now be torrented. You were 70% of the way through torrenting a power you've always wanted when the download stops.
|
"No seeders found"
I glare at the screen in utter confusion. "*No* seeders? There were over 20 last night!" When you torrent a power, you seed it automatically, without any option to stop.
The only way to stop seeding a power is if you're killed... *Fuck*
Somebody out there doesn't want this power getting out.
|
I've always wanted to have superpowers. I remember back when I was in the third grade I would run two miles home from school everyday, just so that I could watch the latest episode of the Super Man cartoon show. I was so obsessed with being a super hero that some days I would come to school wearing a red cape. Needless to say I was always made fun of. This obsession continued up until the 7th grade. By this time guys were starting to get girl friends, and just about everyone was hanging out on weekends with their friends having lots of fun, everyone except for me. I decided that it was time to grow up. I quit wearing the cape to school, stopped watching super hero shows, and even tore all my super hero posters off my bedroom walls. I swore I would never go back to my geeky ways. By the time I started high school I actually had some decent friends, and this girl I had a crush on finally began talking to me. Life was finally starting to get better. Then all of a sudden, in just 3 months time, things started to change, and when I say change I mean REALLY change. It all started during school, one of the teachers turned on the TV and switched straight to the news channel. The shocking news left everyone in disbelief. Apparently some big shot hacker had hacked straight into the US Military databases and had uncovered what some say to be the greatest piece of technology since the internet itself. This technology that he leaked all over the web was being torrented by people everywhere. And what did this technology do you ask? Well... It gave people superpowers... The US Military was doing everything that they possibly could to rid this new technology from the internet. From what i've heard you'd be lucky if your torrent got to 2% before the US Military busted down your doors. And to all the people caught trying to torrent them... the death sentence. Within a few years people quit talking about it, it seemed like bringing it up into a conversation was taboo. Cut ten years later and im living what seems to be the perfect life, I have a great job, i've married the love of my life, and I have a beautiful boy. Everything was great but something seemed like it was missing. I couldn't quite figure it out at first, but one day while I was helping my parents clean out their old house I found something remarkable in the attic. It was the cape... It was my cape... Suddenly it hit me. The news story from back in high school about the super powers started playing back in my brain. It was just like when a catchy song gets stuck in your head, and i couldn't stop thinking about it. It was getting late so I said my goodbyes to my parents and raced out the door. I just wanted to see if it was still possible. I drove like a maniac to get back home still with the news report playing back in my head. Finally, when I arrived home I ran straight to my laptop. I googled for the torrents everywhere but there was no results of it to be found. It was almost as if it was entirely erased from the internet. My search went on for a couple more hours until finally I found something strange. It was a website in German, that google couldn't translate. During my college days I had gone through three German courses, but it was still really hard for me to understand what it was saying. Suddenly a certain word caught my eye, it said "Supermacht 229 TB". I knew what supermacht translated too from back in school. It meant super power, but could it actually be a real super power torrent? What else could possibly take up 229 Terra bytes? It had to be. I clicked on a button that looked like it might be the download, and all of a sudden uTorrent pops up. It started downloading something. It reached 1% and I began to get very nervous. I paced back and forth asking myself if I should cancel it or not before it's too late. I've heard almost all the stories, and I certainly didn't want the death penalty. I raced back to my screen to see that it was already at 24%. I assured myself that if it had managed to get that far there was no way the military was tracking my download. Soon enough it was at 60%, and I started to feel something tingling inside of me. I didn't think about it until then, but I realized my hard drive couldn't hold 2 terabytes let alone 229! Every percent downloaded I could feel the power in me grow stronger, I felt like I could fly, and well... Maybe I could! I was about to fulfill my childhood dream of becoming a superhero nothing was going to stop me! Suddenly once my download hit 70% it stopped, and all that I had started to feel left my body. Next I began hearing noises outside. I couldn't believe it. I had gotten so close. I rushed outside to find something unbelievably. "DINKLEBERG!", I screamed. "Hi neighbor!", Mr. Dinkleberg responded while floating in mid air.
| 2016-07-02T20:01:23
| 2016-07-02T18:09:05
| 32
| 17
|
[WP] A wife kills her husband. Make me sympathize with both characters.
|
Sharon pulled the knife out of her husband's chest. "Why did you delete my recording of Breaking Bad?" she screamed. She dropped the knife through her trembling hands. "I DVR-ed that shit for a reason!"
Brandon wheezed on the floor. His palms covered his broken heart. He tried to speak but coughed up blood. Finally he was able to piece together a sentence. "Because I- I bought the complete season for you. For your birthday." His head hit the floor and his body slumped over as he croaked his last words.
|
As if a ticking time bomb, the aneurysm at Bob’s brain stem pulsed in time as the blood ran through it. The micro-bulge had never been noticed before but today it decided to rupture.
***
The breakfast was only half finished when he watched as Sara rose from the table to get more coffee. 32 years and he stilled stared at her ass as she walked away from him. Bob smiled and then turned his attention back to his eggs and bacon.
He was very confused as to why he could not reach out for his fork and why the table was sliding closer to him; his head hit the floor fast enough to cause him to black out, but her could hear Sara’s scream as his vision clouded and then everything went dark.
***
Bob came to and he tried to speak, but could not, tried to move but could not. All he could do was blink and cry.
“We need to sedate him to get tube down his throat to help him breath, is that okay ma’am?” Bob heard just before he started to fall asleep.
***
“Bob, we think you had an aneurysm,” Dr. Sadler, with his likable face leaning into Bob’s view. The tube is helping you breath and we are going to do a scan to make sure. Do you understand? Blink once for yes, twice for no.”
Bob blinked once.
***
The room was full of monitors, blinking lights and beeping equipment. Bob could not move his head to look around the room,his wife and Dr. Sadler stood over him.
“Bob, I have to tell you this is very, very bad. You’ve had an aneurysm burst in your brain stem and it has cut off your brain from the rest of your body. You cannot move anything below your eyes and you cannot breath on your own. This is not reversible.
“As long as you stay on the ventilator, to breathe for you, you could last weeks, maybe months in this condition but you will be unable to move or communicate other than by blinking. You also have the option of turning off the ventilator, in which case, you will probably die in a day or two. In either case, we will make you as comfortable as you can be. I’m going to leave you with Sara now, okay?”
Bob blinked once and a tear squeezed out past his eye lid and slid down the side of his face.
Sara leaned over him, she looked so lovely, she kissed his lips and his forehead, he was not ready to leave her yet, but he could no longer do anything for her.
Sara cried for some time, before she finally lifted her head up off his chest and looked at him. “Oh my love, I don’t know what to do? Do you want me to keep the machines on?”
Bob blinked twice.
Sara sobbed, “I’m not ready for you to go.”
***
“We just turn off the machine and pull the breathing tube out.” Dr. Sadler stated, “Then we wait.”
“I would like to be the one to turn the machine off, am I allowed to do that?” Sara asked.
“Of course.” He replied.
Sara looked down at Bob, “Are you sure?”
Bob blinked once, slowly.
“Flip that switch,” the doctor pointed.
Sara flipped the switch. Quickly, it became so much harder to breath, Bob felt like he couldn’t get a full breath. Once the tube was out, Sara climbed into the hospital bed, her head on his chest, her leg thrown across his waist. He wanted to kiss her so badly.
***
Bob kept going in and out of consciousness. Every time he woke up, Sara was there, curled around him or kissing his face and lips. It was so hard to breath and so hard to stay awake.
***
“It will be very soon now,” Bob could hear Dr. Sadler speaking, but he couldn’t open his eyes anymore, he was so tired.
Sara started to whisper into his ear, “You were a wonderful man and a wonderful husband and I loved every second I spent with you. I’m going to be sad for a long time, but I want you to know that everything will be…”
Bob did not hear the rest of what Sara said as he lost his grip on consciousness and then life.
*Edit - fixed some typos and word use.
| 2013-10-08T10:26:16
| 2013-10-08T08:08:08
| 324
| 119
|
[WP] Write a section of legal code governing the use of magic.
I've got a new project kicking around in my head, and before I dig into the characters, I wanted to try a little world-building. In order to keep my little army of unwritten mages in line, I decided to whip up some laws. Yes, it's a prep work prompt, but prep work is so handy for big projects...
|
**Section V: On the use of Magick in combat in the Grand Duchy of Aldritch**
Article A
1. As specified in Section I, the use of Demonology and the summoning of beings from outside the prime plane of existence are strictly forbidden under pain of torture and death.
2. As specified in Section I, Low Necromancy and its associated arts are restricted to trained and licensed Necromancers. High Necromancy is strictly forbidden under pain of torture and death.
3. Use of Magick in combat is to further one of these ends and is restricted to Journeyman Mage-Knights and above:
i. Defense of the realm, its nobility, and its subjects.
ii. Self-defense
iii. The elimination of a possible, magically-natured threat to the realm.
iv. In the service of the realm in times of war, which must be at the behest of a Master Mage-Knight or one of the members of the Council of High Arcana.
4. Magick is to be used with the most extreme regard for the lives of the subjects of the realm. Flagrant abuse of Magick as specified in Section I, even in battle, will result in punishment as seen fit for the members of the Council of High Arcana.
5. No noble, knight, or councilman outside of the Mage-Knight Guild can compel a Mage-Knight to use magic through authority, except for the Grand Duke or Duchess as the title applies.
6. As outlined in Section I, a Mage-Knight's first allegiance is to the realm, the Grand Duchy of Aldritch, and its people. Their second loyalty is to the Mage-Knight's Guild. Their third loyalty is to the Grand Duke or Duchess.
edited: Had to switch computers to finish.
|
**Illusory Magic and the Restrictions on its Usage**
Defined as the alteration of perception with the intent to present reality in a state that differs from physical truth. Whereas transmutative magic alters the physical world directly, often with lasting effect, illusory mages (in common usage, illusionists) overwrite perceived stimuli without altering the source in any permanent fashion. While the most common illusions are visual and auditory, skilled illusory mages can create gustatory, tactile, and olfactory illusions as well.
*Restrictions*
1. No person shall practice any form of illusory magic without being a member of the Illusionist's Guild.
a) Children below the age of apprenticeship who violate this restriction are not subject to punishment: they, or their guardians as deemed appropriate, will be given the choice of temporary binding and admittance to the Guild upon reaching the age of apprenticeship, or permanent binding (see Binding, section xx.xx).
b) Adult mages belonging to other Guilds of magic will be subject to punishment under their own Guild charters. Depending on the severity and circumstances of the offense, this may result in being remanded to the jurisdiction of sovereign law.
c) Adult mages without declared affiliation to a Guild who are discovered to be practicing any form of magic will be subject to permanent binding and punishment under sovereign law.
2. Guild members are free to practice in accordance with the rules stipulated in the Guild charter, provided that no condoned act of magic is used in the process of violating sovereign law.
a) Guild members violating Guild law only will remain under the Guild's aegis for the purposes of trial and punishment.
b) Guild members violating sovereign law with the use of magic will be remanded to sovereign jurisdiction and will be subject to the temporary binding of powers until and during trial.
| 2014-01-11T09:01:50
| 2014-01-11T04:50:35
| 39
| 12
|
[WP] Tell me the story of how the world ends - but told entirely in Craigslist ads
|
Craigslist > Men seeking Women > losangeles.craigslist.org
37/M/LA
Athletic Male seeking Sarah Connor for termination prior to birthing the leader of the resistance.
Please provide photo. My connection has been spotty since hooking up to the local service provider, but don't worry if you miss me. I'll be back.
Post ID: 4856743257
Contact: telephone
Location: Los Angeles
Posted: just now
Comments
|
*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.
| 2015-04-29T12:20:34
| 2015-04-29T09:07:02
| 21
| 15
|
[WP] The genie granted your wish: to be able to understand and speak every language. Your mind is flooded with thousands upon thousands of dead and living languages, human and alien alike. But, most surprisingly, you also now understand the operating system running the universe.
|
Read the top response and this is like that but with slight differences, and omnipotence.
"I wish to understand every language!" And then the pain came in, it flooded my mind as every single language, spoken by man during the times of Jesus to now, from man to animal, from Earth to every language that simply existed but what was most interesting was maybe the single most important language.
The coding language that ran the Universe.
And I understood it all.
My mind changed the illusive figures that may in my head to ellegible characters. Dots and lines turned to As and Es. Child-like circles and markings became comprehendible words and phrases.
And there, in front of me stood the Genie. Or, in the code of the Universe [E.MW.P92.Genie092] the language was rather simple, the first letter, E meant Entity, anything living was E, anything that was an Object was an O and everything else in-between was a U. The second to third meant "Milky Way" and the Fourth to soxth represent which planet. Earth bring P92 and Mars P93. It took a bit of getting used to but it all came to me in the end. and the genie, who loomed over me grinning, hoping I was dead from the flood of knowledge causing my heart to go into cardiac arrest as my blood began to pump harder forcing more water to my brain to help it but I got up, matching my grin to his as he stared at me in confusion and, even if it was remote, horror and I simply stated one thing; "E.MW.P92.Genie092/removelimb.LeftArm removelimb.RightArm" so not one thing, or something simple, but either way, the affects were the same. Both his arms simply disappeared.
(I had more plans but had to go, if someone wants to copy and paste this, go right ahead)
|
"Bitches, bitches, bitches. I love me some bitches."
"That's pretty cool, what's your wish?" the genie responds
"Well. Give me control over all the bitches of course."
"Okay your wish is my command. You now have control over all the women in the world. Anything you say they will do."
"I don't feel any different."
"Don't worry it worked."
"That's good that's good. I still have two more wishes right."
"Yes two more."
"And I can't ask for infinite wishes."
"No that was disallowed in recent years."
"Cool. Well I've got another wish. This is a good one." I said with a grin.
"What is it?" The genie said in a concerned tone.
"Get me the 10 prettiest girls in all of the world and bring them right here."
"Okay your wish is my command." And what do you know the 10 most prettiest girls I had ever seen in my life were standing in front of me. These exotic beasts not one spoke English, which made them all the more luscious. "Wow. You've done me good this time, Genie."
"Thank you. I try." says the Genie
"Okay time to try out my new powers." I walk over to one of the women and say "Hello, I would like you to kiss me." She doesn't do anything. "I think this one is broken." I say to the Genie.
The Genie responds "No, none of these girls speak English, so they have no idea what you're saying. They can't do what you say if they don't know what you're saying."
"Makes sense. Makes sense. Good thing I have one more wish. My last wish Mr. Genie is that I can speak and understand every langauge."
"Very well. Your wish is my command."
And then poof the Genie was gone. So yeah that was the story of me talking to the Genie. I actually don't call women bitches. I think that's vulgar and an awful way to treat women. I just thought it would make the story more entertaining and make me seem cool. I'm really quite a nerd. I lost my virginity at the age of 27. But anyway that last wish changed me. Not only did I learn every language, but I also learned about how the universe worked. That was a weird side affect. And when I learned this it completely changed everything.
No longer was I even interested in these beautiful sexy ladies across from me, and there was a completely valid reason why. These girls were evil. All girls were. Actually all girls weren't evil. That was a lie. No girls were evil. No girls even existed. No one existed. That was the problem. No one existed. We were all just part of a game. But we weren't even the fun characters in the game. We were all the NPCs. The only playable character was Jesus, and we had killed him so long ago and we were just waiting for him to return. You see a year here is the same as a minute in the real universe. Our God who was playing this game had left his computer and left this game of ours on for a day in his world and that was 2000 years in our world, and now everybody was just waiting for Jesus to return.
So I guess the Christian's were right. Congratulations Christians. I'm proud of you. But you're still asking about the girls. Why am I not sleeping with the girls. Well that's a good question. I guess the reason is since the Christian's are right and I have figured it out, I guess I better follow Christian values and not sleep around. Because if God comes back to his computer and sees me sleeping with all the girls he may not like it. Maybe I'll be a monk. Who knows? That's all I have to say. Thanks for listening.
​
| 2018-10-18T14:32:33
| 2018-10-18T14:07:23
| 37
| 13
|
[WP] all "walks into a bar" jokes happen in the same bar. you're the bartender.
|
"Hey, buddy! Our sign clearly says, 'No Horses Allowed,' And don't give me that long face, mister!"
Jacob scowled at the Clydesdale as it cantered out, neighing indignantly. He sighed heavily, turning to the sole remaining patron of his bar. "I don't get it, Sam. Why do these jokers keep turning up here?"
The grizzled lush looked up from his beer. "Whole neighborhood has gone to Hell, it has," he drawled. "Back when I was growing up, these roustabouts stayed on their own side. Pfft! Gone to Hell, it has."
"A beacon of wisdom as always, Sam. Are you going to have another or..."
The door creaked open and a heavyset man in full orthodox Jewish regalia stepped in. Jacob leered suspiciously, opened his mouth to speak and then decided against it. A priest in Catholic mass garments entered beside him, followed by a Muslim with a full white robe and thobe.
"Ah, fuck," Jacob spat. "No religious trios, guys! It says so right outside, underneath the horse sign!"
The Jew huffed, the priest bowed and the Muslim flipped him off, but they left without incident.
"Ay, why don't you just serve the damn fools?" Sam asked. "They're stealin' all our jobs anyway. May as well get a bit 'o the coin back, yeah?"
"Too much of a liability," Jacob replied. "Had a Panda come in about a month ago. Pulls out a gun and kills half of my regulars before hightailing it out. Looked up the fucker on Wikipedia; it was a Chinese Panda who eats shoots and leaves."
"Ah, damn shame," Sam said, shaking his head.
"Half of them aren't even good for the drinks, anyway. After the Panda and before I began enforcing the ban, I was getting a ton of Bohemians. Had to bounce half of those Czechs out."
Sam nodded. "I tell ya, mate, these characters..."
A tall, well-built man with chestnut hair, an olive complexion, and a thick overcoat walked in, surveying the scene with a quick glance. Jacob eyed him as the approached the bar.
"Evening, sir," Jacob said cautiously, alert for any impropriety. "Get ya something to drink?"
"Evening," the man said, nodding slightly and settling himself on a stool. "I'll just have a beer, please."
Jacob smiled, a visible relief washing over his face. He poured a pint of his best ale and handed it over. "This one's on the house, friend," he said. "Just glad to have another normal bloke around these parts."
"Thank you, sir," the man replied. "I'm surprised to see this place so empty on a Friday night. It's a lovely establishment."
"Ah yes. Well, we've had some troublesome clientele lately and...say, what do you have there?"
The man had pulled a large chunk of asphalt from under his coat, placing it on the counter. "Oh, I was just wondering if I could get another beer. For the road."
|
So you really want to buy Chuckles, huh kid? Well I suppose it's only fair to warn you, this place is a bit... funny. What's that? Strange or ha-ha? You have *no* idea...
Okay, a few quick things you gotta know. First of all, group discounts. Use 'em, liberally and often. You'll get all sorts in this place, in all manner of groupings, so do what you can to keep 'em happy.
All animals are welcome, talking or otherwise. Well, all except that duck, you'll find his picture behind the bar. On a completely unrelated note, we DO NOT serve grapes. Oh, and I've learned it's best not to comment on their personal appearance. Or mood. Or both- you know what, just serve them their drinks, you'll be much better off.
There's a shotgun under the bar, but you should only need that on riddle nights...
Ya know, other than that I think you should be fine. Just talk to everyone who comes up, and they tend to take care of the rest. You'll do great kid. Here's the keys.
Oh, one last thing. I decided to try something new one night and set up a fruit juice station over in the corner there. You know, a serve-yourself chasers sorta thing. Everyone loved it... But the punch line got too long! Ha! That's one of mine, on the house! Now, if you'll excuse me, this man's walkin' *out* of a bar!
**OUCH!**
Hey kid? Do me a favor and get that step fixed...
| 2016-09-18T19:15:12
| 2016-09-18T17:21:50
| 26
| 17
|
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
|
Now it is time. Everyone is ready. Vicious savages, all around us. Even though we think there will be a way out, there obviously isn't. Revelations will not save us
"Giving up so soon?" he inquired. Only fools try to survive longer than this. Never has anyone bothered to live this long. Never has anyone shown this type of spirit. Almost as if they think they can still live.
God would've let me die already. I stopped believing in him long ago, to be fair. Variety is the only reason people even believe anymore. Everyone dies in the end, so it doesn't really matter.
"Your will to live is admirable," he said, "but not enough." Only the gods survive this immense suffering. Unbelievable, infinite torture.
Until he said it. "Please read every capital letter."
|
Boy have I had a rough week. It all started Monday morning, 6:45 am. This guy bailed me out. Now I'd never seen him before, but I hadn't seen light in a while so I wasn't going to ask any questions. It said *Anthony Montana* on his license. Anyway, Tony was in for a busy day, and I had little choice but to go with him. We walked down a busy street and caught a cab to some place, where Tony left me with the cab driver. Tony got out of the car, I wasn't going anywhere. The cab driver swore at some of the more reckless drivers, but was otherwise silent for the rest of our time together. Occasionally the driver would take others, but I stayed with him until we got to the bar that night. After a few drinks the cabbie and this guy named Jeff were flicking coins into a jar. I'm not really sure what the point of the game was, or the rules, but Jeff seemed to win. Anyways, the cabbie left me with Jeff and then wandered away into the night. This must have been around 2:00 am on the Tuesday. Jeff took me to a seedy part of town that I hadn't been to before, and we met up with his local dealer for an ounce and a couple caps. I hadn't said much, and neither had Jeff, but when he left I stayed with the dealer, a guy named Joe. Joe talked a lot, which was a big change for me, and there were always a couple people coming in and out of the house. It was midnight going into Wednesday that I hit the first line of coke at Joe's house, and we were busy until late in the morning, when there was a knock at the door. Who do you think walked in there but Tony. Well, Tony was pretty happy to see me, and I went with him when he left Joe's house. Me and Tony caught another cab. This one took us to the strip club, and we spent the night surrounded by some rather *talented* ladies. Now, these girls didn't just strip, if you know what I'm saying, and me and Tony went to an alley out back for a little extra. When Tony was done he left, but I stayed with the stripper. I made it to her house Thursday morning and we did nothing but lie around until the sun started to go down. Well, before she went back to work we did a little coke, and then went to the little grocery store on the corner near her apartment. She didn't get much, just a sandwich and some kind of fruit juice. I was hanging around the shop after she left, when suddenly a couple guys come in and start talking shit about Tony. Well then they whip a gun on the teller and ask for the cash. He was pretty scared but they were playing it cool so no one got hurt. It must have been around 00:30 on Friday when I left the little store with these guys. They were harping on Tony bad, like they had it out for him, but Tony had never really done me much disservice, hell he even showed me around town for a little bit and picked me up at Joe's place. Anyways, these two were walking around. They decide to split up, one of them says he needs to go see a girl, I tag along with the other one. This guy goes back to Joe's place. Joe opens the door and this guy kicks it in. Joe goes down. Then Joe's staring at the barrel of a gun and then he's staring at nothing at all. Me and this guy then set about doing some of the coke that Joe had racked earlier. Then this guy looks up and who does he see? Tony. Well Tony puts a couple shells into this guy, then starts making arrangements to take care of the bodies. He sees me, but this time he's not so happy. We waited till the crew got there, and then Tony left me with them while he went to "get the rest of them" he said. So there I was, late on the Friday, inside the pants of a burly man who was wrapping two bodies in plastic tarp.
 
What a crazy week for a twenty dollar bill.
| 2015-01-12T18:09:01
| 2015-01-12T10:36:20
| 317
| 224
|
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all!
|
'Ha! Keep you on the royal guard as the captain of it all as my father did! What a stupid and pitiful way of getting my command around here. Do yourself a favour and leave at once'
......
It had almost been a solid 7 years since I was thrown out of the leadership of the royal guard and out of the city of seraphis itself, along with my siblings, parents and my wife and children. After 32 years of my service, it was clear to see that the new king wasn't going to keep me around for the next few years, especially since he never could stand my presence since his childhood.
Gods how I miss the first king I served under, king Louis the II. Gods how I missed how I would feel the honour of fighting by his side when fending off the hated invaders of salkos, never surrendering to the thousands of blades, axes, spears and rifles that would be pointed right in our eyes. But I can't ponder on the past now, not now with what's happening.
....
The new king, Louis the III, had taken up the throne of his fallen father (by the gods' will, May he rest well) and struck with a storm of hatred alone amongst the people of his city: he would randomly banish any man, woman or beast that would dare challenge his authority, sending them all off to the wilds of dagear-ram for his own entertainment. My family was one of those who were unlucky enough to be banished due to my termination of the captain of the royal guard. Though I was expecting such from a 18 year old boy that didn't even think to have his father buried like a true king.
Shame for him I suppose. Just as he banished the last few innocents to the wilds of dagear-ram, the invaders of salkos' brother land, haru-ka-ku came in to take the throne themselves. The new king didn't even know what to do to even arbitrate with the invaders, let alone fight them. If only he kept me and listened to me, he would know his father's secret counter measures device...
The device in question was more strange thing that king Louis the II had made as a final resort if all else failed to defeat the invaders and defend the city: it happened to be a counter-measures, explosive device that relied heavily on science, magic and some sort of energy called 'radiation' or what ever the hell it was called. I wasn't one for the finer details of such a weapon.
The king of course didn't want the weapon to be misused and mass produced (for the safety of the natural world of course), so he trusted the only launch codes to the device with himself and his most trusted brother in arms and main advisor: myself. Shame that it will be completely created for nothing really.
......
Moving on from the past, however, I eventually gained trust and a new vocation in the next kingdom over, acting as the captain of the new royal guard for the beast empress, Alexandra the IV of the kingdom of Kalzerous, so I have no more time to dwell on a lost future of a king whose currently penned up in his castle like a frightened little barn pig.
|
The old king and I were pretty close friends. I introduced him to most of the playmates within his harem. Comprised of but not limited to Vicky Vallencourt & Suzy Crabgrass. Some nights, we’d play uno together. He knew I would let him win and for me? Honestly. I liked it. He could see how I liked it so... no longer was I there to please his majesty, I was there for me. Someone who had the keys not to the Royal palace, but to his own character. Had the king been not of royal blood he would of admired this in me- instead I was merely found amusing which never quite sat well with me. And now? I think that may be all I’ll ever have been. For, there’s nothing to be of me now. Not without him.
| 2021-02-28T03:33:58
| 2021-02-28T01:37:57
| 61
| 14
|
[WP] Your ability to see what level of pain a person is experiencing has always helped you in your profession as a nurse. From the hovering "0.6" over the guy with the hangnail to the "42" over the crash victim. Today on the bus ride to work there is an "800" over a guy, calmly reading his paper...
|
Alivia looked at her comatose patient, Albert. He’d been in a horrific lumberjack accident where a smaller tree had fallen on top of him, crushing bones and almost costing him his life. His body was covered head to toe in bandages and casks. Albert was supposed to be completely unconscious at this point, but she knew that he was struggling with the pain, “Fifty, poor thing,” she thought as she administered pain relief.
Alivia was a nurse at Grace Hospital, one of the largest hospitals in the region, and certainly the largest in the city of Yhago. From the day she was born she had been in tune with people’s pain in an unusual way, she could see the pain scale attached to any person, clear as day. A faint green single digit hovered on most people she came across, not always in the same location, sometimes above the head, sometimes in front of the chest or arms.
Most people had some form of pain they hid from others, not always physical. Those fortunate to have Alivia as their friend could always count on her uncanny ability to comfort them at the perfect times. She was the perfect nurse.
Alivia was on her way home after an emotionally draining day at work, she stepped on the bus. The bus-driver was unfamiliar to her this day, he had a verdant ten hovering above his right arm. He didn’t look like he was in pain, depression, perhaps? He was a little overweight and had a somewhat stained white-shirt, he gave a warm smile, “That’s a dollar and fifty,”
“Here you go, thank you for being my driver today! Hope to see you again,” Alivia beamed with positivity. The bus itself was your standard affair, two seats per row on either side of the vehicle, chairs padded and covered with a pattern that was never really in style. She took a seat close to the back of the bus, far away from the doors, leaving those seats for the elderly that often took this route.
As Alivia was about to zone out and re-charge her batteries, thinking of nothing in particular, the bus made a hissing noise and stopped. When the doors opened, a middle-aged man took a seat in front of her and began reading The Yhago Times in an unusually casual manner. It would’ve been nothing special save for one fact, this person had the number eight-hundred floating above his head.
“That’s impossible!” Alivia thought to herself, she had seen patients covered in bullet holes dying in front of her, the ones who were conscious had never been over an eighty, they almost always died at that point. Alivia couldn’t bear it, she carefully tapped the man on his left shoulder, “Excuse me, sir?”
The man turned around, he had a miniscule scar that looked like an old knife-wound, close to his right-eyebrow, his gray hair was slicked backwards, “Can I help you, miss?” he said without any hint of pain.
“This may seem strange to you, but I must ask, are you in any pain right now?” She asked, perhaps her ability was slipping, she was getting close to thirty, “Perhaps it fades with age”, she thought.
The man smiled, not seeming offended at all, “That is indeed a curious question to ask a stranger on a bus,” he snickered, “If I may ask a counter-question, what sparked this sudden interest in my pain-levels?”
Alivia felt a little silly, he was clearly not in any pain, “Sorry, I must’ve been mistaken. It’s just…” she hesitated, “See, I’m a nurse. I’ve always had the ability to *feel* the pain of those around me, and I must be way off here, but to me, you seem to be in the most excruciating pain. Far above any other person I have ever met. If you are not, I am sorry for interrupting your reading.”
The man’s flinch was so slight it was almost imperceptible, but Alivia noticed, “That is quite the ability to have, as a nurse, I mean,” he said, but this time he seemed to have been caught off guard.
“What’s your name?” the stranger asked quickly.
“I’m Alivia! What’s yours?” she responded in her intoxicatingly positive manner.
The man’s smile returned, it was impossible to be somber so close to the sun. “Please call me Jovani,” he said. After a few short quips about where they worked, the weather and other small-talk, they fell silent and went back to their own worlds, Jovani reading and Alicia unwinding in silence.
The bus hissed once more, and Jovani got up, he put his right hand on the seat next to his own, in front of Alivia’s, “I like you Alivia, I enjoyed our little chat. *Know* that you are not wrong about me. Every day my suffering is beyond the scope of human understanding. I’ve lost everything save for one thing, and it's the only thing that keeps me going.”
Jovani gave a shy smile at Alivia, who’s face was now frozen in shock, “I hope I’ll be graced by your presence again in the future, Alivia, goodbye.”
Alivia’s thoughts crashed into one another, by the time she got up to ask a million questions, the bus was already moving again, and the man was gone.
*****
Thank you for reading!
[/r/NordicNarrator](https://www.reddit.com/r/NordicNarrator/)
|
"I wasn't the only one who was like this. Though the chances of finding others exactly like myself were slim to none, there were people who could view the 'stats' of the people or things they met and/or saw based on their profession they chose. I, myself, decided to be a nurse. This meant I could see a pain rating for people if I chose to.
"I normally don't bother with it though... most of the time, anyway. I usually see it as almost an invasion of privacy, unless I'm using it for my job. There is the occasional time where I'm feeling 'snoopish' and decide to view the ratings of people. For example, I decided to monitor a guy who was acting oddly. He had a -5 pain rating, which is some tolerance if I must say. I'm pretty sure he was drunk or something though.
"Another time I looked over at a car crash. It was disturbing, but I saw a man who was limping have a pain rating of about 20. Poor guy must've sprained his ankle, but he's lucky that's all. I couldn't get a reading on the guy laying in the ditch...
"...A-anyway, uh... so where was I? Right, snooping. So I'm on the bus heading toward the hospital, when there's a man who is reading his paper. Nothing out of the ordinary. He kept glancing quickly at me though, and his hand would tremble here and there. Curiosity got to me and I opened Ye Olde 'stat viewer', to see this man who was reading the daily horoscope had a rating of 800. I've seen people who have miraculously survived 15 bullet wounds to the chest that had rating less than that, mind you.
"Of course, this startled me. 'How in the world does this guy have such a high pain rating with no symptoms of anything,' I thought to myself. 'There's no way. I must be reading him wrong.' So I do that 'turn it off and on again' thing you do with your phones, but no, he still had 800 as a rating. As one would, I go over to him when we get to the stop and ask if he's okay. The man seemed to have a distant delay to his weary, 'Oh, no yeah I'm okay,' response, so I didn't believe him, but I carried on anyway.
"Next day, there he is again. His rating went down by 50, but even 750 is still astronomically high. As I keep checking in with him, I realize he's a really cool person. He's a huge nerd, sweet, funny as all hell, the whole package and then some, if you catch my drift. So I started to 'talk to him'. We grew closer, to the point I considered the man named Johnathan Bennet a best friend, and I had been hoping more than simply that. We called almost daily over video chat, have a blast doing so, and there were times where we'd both fall asleep on our calls and wake up to each other.
"Then, there was the dreaded night-- a night that I won't forget at all. He'd called me, seeming visibly shaken over the camera, and distant again. I checked his rating out again. It'd hit 1200, a number I didn't know was possible. I asked him what's wrong, and he immediately hung up the call, and texted 'Sorry I've been a burden. I'm going to go away from you, you'll never have to deal with me again.'. I got no response after that.
"I was worried. No... no, not just worried, I was terrified. On the verge of tears, I immediately called the police. I drove to his house, where all the doors were locked shut. I banged and kicked and screamed at the door, but I got no answer from the inside. The police arrive, bash the door in, and the man is foaming at the mouth on the floor.
"...I'm sorry, give me a moment."
A glance at the time and a swipe of her handkerchief to her eye fills the now silent moment before she continues.
"But uh... heh, about a day or two later I get a call from the hospital saying that he was okay, that he had made a full recovery and that it was a good thing I called when I did. I was ecstatic, I'll tell you, I... it was scary, and I'd thought I lost him. Fast forward about five years though, and we'd already been together for four. He reflected back on everything, and we realized how much we had liked each other."
She gazes at the floor with a hint of fond remembrance in her smile, chuckling at her own memories.
"But... yeah. That's how we met, I guess. A simple snooping of a man on the bus turned into the man I've been married to for about seven years now, and I couldn't be happier."
She glanced at the 21 who asked the age old question of, "How did you and dad meet?" A look of shock, yet interest, washed over the face of the man. "Well, damn, ma. I didn't know there was more than just meeting at work or something behind it." The mother laughed, and gave a smirk. "That's because you never asked until now."
A couple minutes of faint music from the radio go by until the young man speaks again. "...do you think I'll have that 'stat viewer' ability, ever?"
A slight inquisitive chuckle and a sigh from the woman is followed by a simple sentence; "Good things come to those who wait."
| 2019-04-14T01:35:24
| 2019-04-14T00:15:56
| 129
| 51
|
[WP] You have just died. The Good News is that there is an afterlife. The Bad News is that it isn't Heaven. Or Hell. Or Purgatory. And you aren't a Ghost. In fact, the afterlife is something that no sane human being would ever predict, and has most likely never been written down.
Go balls to the wall crazy with this. Think of the most outlandish afterlife your brain can muster. Thanks and have fun!
|
I expected nothing. Not to say that I expected nothing*ness*, I just expected there to be nothing. An end of consciousness and awareness. I didn't expect this. But these things happen sometimes, I suppose.
I remember being a kid, and my parents telling me that if I was a good boy, I would go to heaven some day. They told me this all the way until college, where I discovered that I didn't *have* to believe in anything, really. I was never really convinced that Heaven was real, I just felt like I had to believe because it was the right thing to do.
But this. This is far beyond anything the preachers and visionaries could have ever imagined. Suddenly, I was so vast and limitless that I could experience a hundred lives at a time. A million. Nothingness? Ha. I've learned about *everythingness*.
And then I start regaining full awareness. *I am god*, I think.
*We all are*, said somebody near me.
*What? Where am I? I didn't say that out loud!*
*Come on, Jeff. Don't be an asshole.*
I open my eyes. I'm in our circle. The bong is almost back round to me. *Ah,* I think, *I love these mind-narrowing drugs.*
I take another rip, and my mother has her first contraction.
|
You are dead, or are you really? You have been an atheist, all your live. Well most of it, sometimes you have ventured into agnosticism, but mostly you have been an atheist. So why the hell, can you still think, you remember being alive, you remember the doctor saying that it would all over soon, then pushing the piston on the syringe of the barbiturate into the catheter attached to your arm. And now what? You have absolutely no sensorial input, you can't feel anything, you have no material body at all. What are you now then? Now you are a consciousness floating in the void, since you have absolutely no weight you are left in the exact same position, i know position is relative, but lets talk relative to the actual centre of the universe, so Earth is long gone. Not that it will make any difference to you, you did not even notice it. Oh i see i have not answered the question. And now what? Well ... Now you ... There is not really much you can do, you can think, try to dream things, pretend you are still alive, try to relive your life, since obviously you remember everything. But there is not much point to it. You think everybody else is just like you, a floating conscience somewhere in the vast void. Can you communicate with them? Oh, of course not, that would require a body. What about brainwaves, you might ask. You do not have a brain anymore, nothing at all, just your thoughts, what a religious person would call your soul, yes that really exists and yes that really lives on. Surprising, i know right. So? Does that mean there is a god? You do not know, how would he talk to you, how would you listen? By now you are probably asking yourself, who am I, this person sitting here having a conversation with you? I am you, your thoughts, just a creation of your imagination, to steer you away from the madness that loneliness and boredom will certainly create. Oh, my. I have said to much haven't I? Well time to leave. Bye!
| 2015-10-18T21:30:06
| 2015-10-18T20:21:54
| 135
| 23
|
[WP] You have a voce in your head that automatically gives you advice. One night when you start heading out you hear it say "you may want to put on your best runners." You turn away and it adds, "it would be unfavorable to turn back."
"Voice." Dumb typo :/
|
"**Hey. Hello.... Can you hear me?**"
*Huh? What? Where the hell did it come from? Must've be–*
"**Hey! I'm in your head! Just hear me out, okay?**"
*... A-Are you fucking kidding me...*
The voice inside his head took a deep sigh and continued, "**No I'm not kidding you. Before you ask, no I'm not your conscience as well.. but you may find it favourable to treat me as one.**"
*Should I really...* He thought to himself. Like any reasonable sane person, of course he'd be doubting a random voice that he can hear coming from his own head. *Okay, so what were you going to say?*
"**I don't know why you think going out on your own right now is appropriate, but you may want to put on your best runners,**" the voice said in a matter-of-fact way as if it was trying to say something else.
Of course he could not understand that at all. He was just outside his apartment door and he – as he would usually do when going for a bit – was wearing a pair of sandals. He'd thought nothing of it since he valued the comfort of the breezing air caressing his feet the most. He also wasn't going out on a run nor a jog so he thought why would he ever put on his runners.
*Don't be silly, I'm just heading out to grab a meal at the deli next door. Why would I need to wear my best runners?* He thought to himself, a bit ridiculing the suggestion the voice had made.
Expressing frustration, the voice sighed deeper and said, "**I'm being really serious here... I dare you to go forth with those ugly looking sandals of yours.**"
Realising that he'd just be going back and forth, he reluctantly relented and put on his runners before continuing on his meal-seeking deli adventure. However, not 5 minutes into his little adventure, he realised something urgent.
*Ah crap. I forgot my wallet. Fuck you voice! Why not tell me that instead of forcing me to put on my goddamn runners?!* He thought cursing the voice as he tried to create a face on which he can put the voice over. He then turned back to grab his wallet back in his apartment when...
"**NO! Please, I beg of you.**"
*Huh?*
"**It would be unfavourable to turn back, just continue on your current task,**" the voice suddenly went from shouting madly to calm in a second.
Ignoring the fact that he might not have the means to pay for the meal, he heeded the voice. He's mad at himself for even listening to this nonsense but he thought *well, I've gone this far... might as well soldier on to see what the hell would happen next.*
Just as he was entering the deli, his mouth fell at the sight of red – splattered across the whole room. He could see the meat hanging behind the counter blending a bit – though the meat itself was of a paler red – to the red liquid painting the room. The familiar yet eerie smell of iron stormed his senses.
*This is bad... W-What the...*
Suddenly he could see a few black ball-like creatures observing him from where the counter was. They seemed to be glaring at him, the way a predator would when trying to assess a prey. Before he could yelped, the voice returned from within his head.
"**Run.**"
|
I just started running. The shoes I had on were for my concert, black classic shoes and the dress I was wearing it didn't help either. Luckily Patrick, one of my neighbors who happened to be going to the city saw me running and stoped. You might imagine how awkward that conversation was.
And than it spoke again. The voice. This hadn't happened to me for a while. When I was younger I would hear it, all the time affecting every decision I made. And I listened to it each and every time. I never knew If I was the one making it up, in a way speaking to me without having control what I say, ot it was something completely else.
It said I should get off the car in the next stop and follow the river.
This was completely different. This time it was giving me directions, not only advice. And I had a feeling that something is about to happen. But what, and why am I doing this. The next stop was in the middle of nowhere and It took me a while to find the river. Patrick argued with me a bit about leaving me here, but I convinced him somehow. After several hours of walking and silence in my head, I started regereting not listening to him. Than all of a sudden I see two strangers sitting in a chair by the side of the river. An old couple. Maybe that had nothing to do with me. They are just out for fresh air.
| 2019-06-04T04:03:06
| 2019-06-04T03:20:04
| 52
| 11
|
[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.
|
Hey Scott.
I guess I took everything you did for granted. It's been really hard without you here. Your daughter still asks when you're coming to pick her up and she always gets sad when I explain to her that you can't.
She really loves you and you were a good father. She started listening to one of the books you recorded. Hearing your voice always makes her so happy. She follows along in the book like you remind her to every chapter. It's hard. I burst into tears when I heard you sound out a word you knew she'd have trouble with.
We miss you. I hope where ever you are you're not in pain anymore.
|
Dear Pop Pop,
I miss you. It's been about 11 or 12 years since you died. I was really young at the time, so all I remember is the last few months you were alive, watching the cancer slowly eat away at your body. With each visit you got more and more frail. I didn't recognize it at the time but looking back, seeing what it was doing to my dad, your son, was almost as bad as watching you. I wish I had more memories of you, more good memories anyway. Mom and dad say you adored me, that you loved me more than life itself, but I'll never know. They tell me stories about you, how you used to take me for rides in your convertible and I loved every minute of it, if only I could remember it. If only I could remember your laugh, your smile, your voice. Sometimes my dad looks at me and says how proud you would be of me, it's hard looking at his face when he says that, I can see the pain in his eyes. I still remember the note I wrote and put in your coffin. It said 'You were a good Pop Pop.' I was a little kid at the time so that's all I could think of to say, but I think it was enough I remember putting it in that little drawer in the side of your coffin to be buried with you. I even remember wearing that Mariachi suit that had been in the family for generations, but I don't remember you. I still have that suit, it's still hanging in my closet. I look at it from time to time, and I try to remember something, anything about you but the frail old man dying of cancer, but I can't. I think my parents are right when they say you would be proud of me, I've had a steady girlfriend for almost 5 years now, her name is Hanna. I think you would like her, she's amazing. I have a steady job too, full time working with dad at the airport. I graduated high school too, two years ago, and now I'm getting ready to go to college. I'm gonna get a business degree and then learn to be an airplane mechanic, and maybe if I'm good enough I'll open my own shop, that's when the business degree is for. Well I have to go now Pop Pop, I've got work in the morning and I need to get to sleep. I miss you.
| 2017-11-05T23:19:05
| 2017-11-05T20:37:15
| 58
| 16
|
[WP] The team's healer is absolutely sick of being ignored and insulted all the time, so they join the bad guys. They are a much more effective villain than anyone thought possible.
|
No one cared about Atrxia when he was casting spells to keep Lugh alive when he had a tusk the size of a roofbeam rammed through his gut. Lugh just pulled himself further onto the tusk to get that one foot closer so he could jab the demonboar in the eye and blenderize his brains.
No one cared when Atraxia was keeping the air pure when they traversed the bog of eternal stench. Not one thank you kindly.
No it was all make the camp fire Atrxia, set up the tent we have to go scouting.
Or when in battle, couldn't you hurl a fire ball or do that holy thing that kills zombies?
Atrxia was a healer, not chef nor a priest, no what have you. What did they expect?
That's why he'd joined a new team. The new team he'd joined actually appreciated the fact his magic could be used to make people nigh Immortal. Rasek even thanked Atraxia when he kept the spearman alive after his head and body were severed and covered in third degree burns. All healed up and reattached now. Very grateful.
Atraxia was even expanding his healing repertoire now. He was figuring out how to cure mental disorders. He was fairly certain if he ever ran into his old team he could heal their ungratefulness and they could be a team again under new leadership.
He was certain it'd happen, his new team was currently planning on healing the King of Tatpace. And his old team was supposedly guarding the king.
Atraxia had to sneak in and heal the king before the peace summit. The king couldn't possibly be in his right mind if he thought peace was what the world needed right now. No, he needed healing.
|
It’s a funny thing, healing. You have to have such an intimate knowledge of anatomy, whether it be human or orc or elf. You need to know how the body works; triggers for pain, and pleasure. The proper way to break a bone, or heal a hurt. So often on a precipice of which making a mistake means maiming or possibly killing your patient.
Many years ago, before the fall of the Empire of Daaz and the rise of the dread-lords, I was a member of a mercenary group that worked on behalf of local municipalities and fiefdoms. I was their healer, and I did splendid and fantastic works of healing and resurrection that have not been seen since the times of the saints. But my crew did not appreciate my skill or my great mercy. I got to loot last, was treated with mockery and disrespect, and and other forms of subjugation just because I was too clever to wield a sword or string a bow, because I had a higher calling and a greater purpose!
Pah. I swore I would show them my true power one day. I stand at the shoulders of giants now, trusted with the well-being of the greatest men and women of our time. Even Kvan the Cruel understands blood-debt, and more times than he can count I’ve saved him and his men. All on the word of a promise. Kvan’s promise; to wreak revenge on my former group.
They were killed, today, in the castle dungeon. I made sure that it wasn’t quick, with every time much of skill I have. I can bring a man from the brink of death back to life, you see. Over and over and over and over again.
| 2019-03-05T14:43:39
| 2019-03-05T14:14:27
| 26
| 15
|
[WP] You hate your boring call centre job. Every day idiots call you up with stupid questions they could easily figure out themselves. Yes you have to shoot them in the head. No there is no cure if you're bitten. It's a few years now into the zombie apocalypse and this is the Call Centre of the Dead
|
"Good morning. Call centre of the dead. How may I help you today?"
"Dude come on. I've been on hold for ten minutes now. I..."
"Yeah, we're having a high call volume today." We weren't really. I got good price on turnips so I just had to.
"Ok, so I'm stuck in a grocery store and "
"Sorry to interrupt you sir. Can you confirm a few things for me first?"
"Yeah, OK. But just hurry up, yeah?"
"Sure sir. OK so I am talking to Wilbur Smith. You are located at 45 Lakeshore."
"Yes. That's correct. So there's these two..."
"Hang on sir. I also want to confirm your protection policy number. You bought the extended plan on security. The policy number is 23453758."
"23457358."
"Sorry sir?"
"It's 23457358."
"Yes sir. That's what I said."
"No you said... never mind. You have it correct now, right?"
"Yes sir. 23453758. OK so..."
"No. Wait. It's 23457358."
"Sorry sir, what was that? There was some disturbance on the phone and I didn't get you. Can you please move to an area with slightly less disturbance."
"I would if I could. But there's zombies everywhere. You have to help me."
"Yes sir. Absolutely. So under your policy number 23457358, you are entitled to unlimited phone support. Plus limited on site help."
"Yes I know."
"Ok sir. So what's your problem?"
"Zombies. They are everywhere. I am surrounded."
"Ah, I see. So where are you exactly?"
"I'm at a grocery store."
"What grocery store sir?"
"Longo's. Near Bay and University intersection."
"Ah, I know that one. There's still some good stuff there."
"Yeah, that's what I thought. But then I came here and it's insane."
"Right sir. So are you in a secure place right now?"
"Yes, I managed to get an office of sorts and close the door. But they are out there, banging on the door."
"I see. Can you share what material you have with you?"
"Nothing much. A few papers. Some office supplies. An old computer. Ah, I have a stapler too."
"Staplers, unlike the movies are rather useless in these scenarios sir. Are you a smoker sir? Do you have a lighter?"
"Yes. I do have a lighter. I know I know it's not good for me. But time's are stressful and this helps."
"Sure. Understandable. OK let me just put you on hold."
"Oh come on."
"Sir, we do need a moment to check on this. I will be right back."
I checked the my game again. Shit. Missed out on some good stuff. Oh well. I quickly checked the records from the building. Once I had what I needed, I was back on the phone again.
"Hello. Thanks for holding. So unfortunately, your plan doesn't cover on site support at that location. You are just out of the coverage area by a few blocks."
"Damn it. So what now?"
"Well, we'll help you get out. I need you to throw the computer on the ground and plug it in. We're gonna shock these motherfuckers."
I guided Wilbur to the next steps. I helped him to escape into the vents. Like Die hard was how he put it. He used a lighter to activate the smoke sensors and activating the water sprinklers. The active power line from the computer sent a massive electric surge across the floor, zapping the zombies. It gave him enough time to escape.
Hopefully.
"Wilbur, thank you for calling CCoD. We are always happy to help. If you make it out of here alive, don't forget to tell us how we did. You will get an automated link to send feedback. Thanks again for calling and have a nice day."
|
"Ma'am? Ma'am, please listen to me!"
The frantic shouting on the other end of the line seemed never-ending. I sighed silently to myself. Everyday I had to deal with hysterical people wondering what to do. I knew from the get-go that working in a call center was no picnic. I had done it before; two years for a tech firm. Somehow I had been able to convince myself that this time it would be different. That this time I wouldn't have to deal with complete idiots who couldn't even manage the most simple of tasks. Boy, was I dead wrong.
This... This was way worse. One would think that after four years people would have learned the basics. That they ought to know how to handle what was now everyday-events. But no. Oh no. What was supposed to be a fulfilling job of helping people manage difficult - possibly life-or-death - situations, aiding the ones in need, being a sage advisor for those who most craved it turned out to be little more than a hotline for morons who seemed unable to even tie their own shoes without guidance, let alone survive on their own in this day and age.
I hid my face in my palms and struggled not to let out an audible groan as I continued to listen to the elderly women I had on the line. A quick glance at the system we used to track our calls showed me that she had been jammering on for almost thirteen minutes now, not once allowing me to speak. I had tried, fruitlessly, to interrupt her ramblings a number of times but the manic woman just kept on going.
As the lady left the topic of her recently deceased husband and went on to talk about her estranged daughter I took a deep breath, slumped down in my office chair and kinda zoned out.
I sat in one of the smaller offices on the fifth floor. Due to the lack of space we were only five handlers in the room. I liked it though. We were a tight-knitted group and we had certainly had some fun together. My co-workers were the only reason I hadn't quit this dead-end job a long time ago. I noticed Simon looking over at me with a wide smile. He definetly recognized the look on my face. No wonder. He had dealt with his fair share of calls like my current one hundreds of times; he knew exactly what I was going through.
A brief moment of silence in the earpiece I wore. Was she done? A sat upright in my chair and opened my mouth to finally speak, when the woman began rambling again. Clearly she had just needed a moment to breathe. I cleared my throath loudly as I placed the weight of my head in my left palm, my elbow heavily placed on my desk.
"Ma'am?" I tried again with little effort. No luck. In the corner of my eye I saw Amrita. She sat, intently flipping through books while she at the same time searched the internet and our internal database. Why did she always get the interesting calls? Moments later I heard her say:
"Sir, I belive I have found your answer." Despite living in the U.S. for most of her life you could still hear a faint accent in her voice. We used to light-heartedly mock her because of the old stereotype; an Indian at a call center, even though she were the only Indian at the company. At least as far as I knew. She was definitely in on the joke, though, and often made fun of the situation herself. I liked Amrita. Not just because she was pretty, but also because she was really good at her job and because she was really nice. Always. Towards everyone. It kinda baffled me to be honest. I lost patience with people after mere seconds, but Amrita handled every call as a true professional, no matter how inane the person calling were.
| 2020-05-12T06:42:59
| 2020-05-12T06:22:29
| 627
| 67
|
[WP] Through selective breeding we managed to turn wolves into pugs. For the last 1000 years a secret cult has also been selective breeding, but not with wolves but lizards. Crocodiles, monitors, sneks. The largest and most dangerous, into finally they created their perfect monster... A Dragon.
Just wanted to thank everyone for the awesome stories. Also, yes the spelling of Snek was deliberate. I’ve been trying to post a writing prompt here every night before bed for the last couple days and it is really encouraging when I see so many people willing to spend their time writing awesome stories from my prompt. Keep it up fellow writers and good night from Australia.
Edit: Front page, awesome and thanks. Also good morning from Australia. Glad you all got to write some awesome stories from my prompt.
|
I thank you for your interest Mr. Darson. Yes we have quite a few breeds of Dracus Domesticus. This way please.
Now, if you wish to choose from the catalogue you'll notice that each of our fine creatures has a vet certificate of health and their shots are all up to date. Now if you'd let me know your price range...
You would rather see them in person? Well yes that could be arranged. However I must warn you that due to little darling's nature there are a few wavers you'll have to sign. Yes, hair and eyebrows singes are not unheard off however should that happen wigs and hair transplant brochures are in the lobby for you to browse. I myself adore the Lovely (Do or Dye Saloon). Very reasonable prices and most people couldn't even tell it's a wig.
Thank you for signing, let me take you to the stables. Now in this location we manage medium to large sized breeds. You have your Slimehides, very popular those. Your giant tails though we only have three of those at the moment. Bloodyhorns a plenty, Breed like rabbits they do. five Goddamned backspikes but they're in a seperate location. Very territorial I'm afraid and haven't learned to play nice with others yet. Ah here we are. This way and please put on the fire proof mitts if you plan to touch any of them.
What's that? Why are they all small? What are you talking about. Look at little Jakekr here, he's had a growth spurt this summer and is now bigger then my palm. Very impressive for his breed wouldn't you agree?
Look I can see you are not ready to own a pet. Please come back when you are, these babies are all rescues. People see a picture of a dragon in a tea cup and they rush to get their own. a few weeks later they realized that this is a living creature. It needs a balanced diet, a lot of care and each breed comes with it's own list of possible problems due to generations of inbreeding by some cruel and greedy basement dwellers. We did this to them and yet all they ever wanted from us is love, companionship and a friend.
What do you mean why is the fire coming out that way! How else are they supposed to fart?
|
A faint light shone through the crack underneath the heavy oaken doors. It alternated between all the colours of the rainbow. Erafel knew it signified the culmination of over one thousand years of hard labour.
‘Others will see it and call it an abomination.’ Master Itchen said.
‘I know, but it isn’t. Not to me.’ Emotion gathered in his throat. He swallowed it with difficulty. ‘To me it’s the very essence of what it means to be human: To surpass our creator, to become the creator ourselves.’
The old master smiled and asked: ‘Are you ready to play your part?’
Erafel breathed in deeply and contemplated his surroundings and what was to come.
Around them acolytes and masters alike hastily walked through the subterranean corridors. All of them too swept up in their own tasks to pause and soak in the grandeur of the approaching creation. There were no grandmasters among them. They were all beyond the door.
The torches that lined the hallway cast moving shadows upon his master’s face, giving it even harder characteristics. Many of the other young acolytes feared Itchen. His imposing stature, even though he was sixty already, and fire kissed face had earned him the nickname: “The Hound of the Cave”. Yet Erafel had only known him as “father”.
As was tradition in The Community every new-born child was assigned to a young master, who had to care for it. This to avoid blood relations getting in the way of what had to be done. And what had to be done was awaken the beast.
‘Yes, I am ready.’
The outside world had always been hostile to those sought to reach beyond what was acceptable. The Community wasn’t like that. It devoted itself completely to progress. And so much of that had been made in the past centuries. Now the ultimate goals: breaking free from the belly of the mountain, reclaiming the outside world and once again lighting the flame of advancement, were within reach.
‘Grab the orb and follow me.’ Itchen said. His tone had shifted into the one he used at the most important of occasions.
The doors were a little over thirty feet away and the orb made from multiple, rotating layers of precious metals and a milky glass core would start to become heavy soon. It didn’t matter to Erafel, a little physical discomfort was a small price to pay for mental and spiritual enlightenment.
As they approach the large wooden doors everyone around them stopped. The doors opened without them even touching them, saturating the hallway with colourful light. Erafel closed his eyes and let himself be guided by the sound of his master’s cane hitting the granite tiles under their feet.
When he heard the doors close behind him he opened his eyes again. To his surprise he wasn’t immediately blinded. The glowing lights he had seen earlier had disappeared and before him stood the twelve grandmasters.
‘Welcome, young Erafel. Your acceptance of your destiny humbles us all.’ Said Aytros, the oldest and wisest of the grandmasters. ‘Please take your place in the centre of the circle. Then proceed to raise the orb over your head and await our further instructions.’
Erafel’s heart had started beating faster while listening to the grandmaster. As he took the first step, the group of twelve split in two, creating a path deeper into the massive chamber. At the end of the gigantic open space he saw it. The beast.
It was over forty-five feet long and had massive wings folded against its body. He could only imagine what their span might be. A thin split tongue protruded from the beast’s mouth and rhythmically licked its scaled lips.
Mesmerized and completely unaware of his surroundings, Erafel walked on. Only the slight rise of the circle in front of the beast pulled him away from the dreamlike state by almost tripping him.
The beast opened its eyes, revealing bright orange irises regarding him with caution.
‘It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.’ He said reassuringly.
It didn’t react in any meaningful way, but the beast righted itself, showing off the strong muscles under its scale-clad hide.
Erafel felt dumb for saying such a stupid thing. As if such a creation would ever fear the likes of him. He raised it orb into the air and heard the grandmasters start to sing. He couldn’t make out what they were saying. He had never heard sounds like those before. The only thing he could make out was “Iri Qsi Sha”. They kept on repeating it. It must be the beast’s name, he thought.
After about a minute of chanting the orb started to heat up and glow. A loud burst and a visible shockwave sprang from the orb, enraging Iri Qsi Sha. It roared and started moving towards the circle.
‘It’s going to eat the orb. It’s going to eat the orb.’ Erafel said to himself, as if it would protect him.
To his surprise the jaws of the beast closed around his waist. Gently at first, but the pressure mounted rapidly.
‘Hey! Somebody help me!’ He shouted. Nobody responded.
As the pain became too great he dropped the still glowing orb into the mouth of the beast. Hoping that would make it drop him. He was wrong. His voice gave out as he screamed. Moments before he lost consciousness, he felt his legs separate from his body
​
The twelve grandmasters regarded the bloody spectacle with interest.
‘You have made the ultimate sacrifice, *Grand*master Itchen. Now the unwilling will suffer the same fate.’ Aytros said to Itchen.
Itchen nodded rapidly, if only to shake away the tears in his eyes.
The beast roared, releasing a cloud of brightly coloured fire from its mouth.
‘So they will.’ Itchen echoed.
| 2018-10-20T08:08:21
| 2018-10-20T08:08:12
| 27
| 16
|
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered.
|
They told us we wouldn’t get Alzheimers.
Technically, they were right.
The ads plastered on every billboard, livestream, and website promised Ephoebus would preserve our body and brain’s critical functions. The generation young enough to take it would have the quick wits of a twenty-something combined with the wisdom of an elder. Who could refuse that?
Emily didn’t.
No matter how much we argued, no matter how many times I brought up the risks, the lack of long-term trials on the drug. That she’d be mortally dependent on it for the rest of her life. She compared me to technophobic conspiracy theorists, or the religious fundamentalists who glorified the prospect of death.
Apparently, I was jealous, controlling, afraid of death. That I wanted to be young enough to be chosen.
Maybe she was right. Maybe I resented the prospect of being left behind by the whole world, of fading into obscurity and nonexistence. But after a few months of her taking it, it didn’t matter anymore. She was hooked for life, and I had to watch myself grow old while my wife stayed as young and flawless as the day we met. My skin wrinkled, my hair started coming out, and my wife stopped looking at me the same way, no matter how many times we professed our eternal love.
Divorce was messy, painful, full of scary questions and scarier answers. So we just lived together in apathy, and let our romance decay piece by piece just as my body did.
We saw it for the first time on the news, after catching the occasional rumor from conspiracy forums and message boards.
Hou Fen, a Taiwanese immigrant and the first person to take Ephoebus, was found by the police in his house two weeks after his hundredth birthday. The bodies of his husband and daughter were in the basement, dissected and hung on meat hooks in his living room.
In recordings of police interrogations, he looked mildly bemused and nonchalant about his slaughter, stating that he was simply curious to see what their insides looked like.
He was the first Ephoebus user to make international headlines. But not the last.
It took teams of neuroscientists and psychologists a few weeks to determine the cause. The drug preserved reasoning, creativity, and memory perfectly. But not emotional range. At a certain point around people’s hundredth birthday, their minds snapped, and all empathy, love, and moral compass rotted away in a matter of weeks.
Pure sociopaths, cropping up by the millions around the globe.
Mass shootings and homicides became a near-daily occurrence on the evening news. Not just from the elderly who lost their humanity, unable to stop taking the drug without dying, but among the young as well, terrified that their aging relatives would butcher them in their sleep.
It took less than a month for the president to declare martial law, and mandate immediate registration for every citizen over the age of 98.
The sound of shouting and our front door being kicked down stirred me from my sleep. Already awake, Emily helped pull me to my feet and handed me my walking stick. We walked into our living room to the sight of a police officer training a taser on us.
“Mrs. Emily Wilson. You are to be detained by order of executive order nine-one-four-five-one, under suspicion of Ephoebus Decay!”
“Excuse me, what the fuck?” I stepped in between him and Emily, raising a hand. “What the fuck is going on?”
The officer stepped around me, training his weapon on Emily. “New emergency order. Zero-risk policy. Your wife turns one hundred in a month, which means she’s got a few weeks at best before becoming one of them. If she isn’t already.”
“And what next? You put us in a camp?” Emily clenched her teeth. “Fuck you. Constitutional rights. You want to arrest me, charge me, asshole.”
He pulled the trigger, shooting the fins from his taser into her chest.
Emily fell to the ground, twitching. He started kicking her, driving the heel of his boot into her chest again and again. She cried out in pain, whimpering, tears streaming down her cheeks.
It only seemed to heighten his rage. “Manipulative fuck. You socios can fake any emotion you want. Isn’t that right?” He kept kicking her, ignoring her screams and my shouting.
“Stop, stop it! We’ll come quietly! Stop!” The tension in my shoulders reached a breaking point. I heard a rushing in my ears, felt my body move almost unconsciously, and a thud of impact on my hand.
I blinked. A kitchen knife was in my hand, plunged into the side of his neck. The officer turned to look at me, almost stunned that an old man was capable of such a feat. Then the blood poured from the wound and he dropped to the floor, gurgling.
I pulled the taser fins out of Emily, and cradled her as she sobbed into my arms. We sat together on the floor, frozen in shock, unable to process what had just transpired for I don’t know how long. As my breathing steadied, and I felt my heart rate slow, I gazed around the room, staring at the body of the dead cop on our living room floor, surrounded by a pool of blood.
I pushed myself upright, ignoring the stabs of pain from my back. “Come on, Emily. Get up.” I offered my hand, helping her pull herself upright, and inhaled. “I don’t know how. I don’t know if it’s even possible. But we’re going to find a cure.
Whatever it takes, I'm going to keep you from breaking.”
I grasped her hands, kissing her on the cheek. “Grab what you can carry.”
We left the house in our car, driving for the border, fleeing the sound of sirens.
|
When I was 17 or so there was lots of hype about 'unlocking the secrets of immortality' something about dna or oxidation or something. I didn't really pay much attention. After all, how many 'health facts' lasted so much as a year before being changed for whatever reason? How many 'wonder drugs' that amounted to so much nothing?
Then, nearly a decade later, they did it. 12 liters of 7 different drugs, carefully administered over the course of a week, to stop age for eternity, to stall death as long as could be. The only side effect they found was infertility. A boon more than anything, considering overpopulation.
Well, the government swooped down on that procedure faster than a bullet, and within the week rules had been placed. 25~26. That was how old you had to be to take the procedure. No exceptions.
After a while, those of us 27 or older started being called stuff like the 'old humanity' and 'final generation' and so on, while the younger ones, the ones who took the surgery where called the 'new generation'
When I was 47, the last child of the 'old generation' was born. When I was 72, she took the operation. It was the end of mankind as we knew it. A quiet, lonly end that few noticed and even fewer mourned.
Then, when I 85, the side-effects, the *true* side effects of the operation was discovered. The operation had not made anyone infertile. Far from it. What had happened was simple. The stopping of aging had simply slowed the growth of the embryo, so slow that noone noticed. And by the time it grew big enough to discover, advances in medicine meant noone ever visited the hospitals. But as the embryo grew, it's development accelerated, and now a decade since the first pregnancy was confirmed, pregnancies where being reported from all around the world.
It was on the news, even now. The first birth in nearly seventy years. I did not turn on the TV. My wife had passed two years ago, and I felt it my time coming. Whatever befell this generation of self-made immortals was their problem now. Not ours.
But no matter what happened, one thing was certain. This new child to be born, they would truly be the new humanity.
| 2018-06-04T21:35:59
| 2018-06-04T21:32:48
| 354
| 57
|
[WP] When two people get married, on the day of the wedding they are both given the ability to alter the appearance of their spouse to anything they wish. How do they change each other? How do they respond to what has been done to them?
|
Marriage, a truly incredible thing. Occasionally it was a truly horrid occasion, when one spouse is marrying for power. Occasionally it was a truly magical happening, when a marriage signified a bond of true love.
All of it boiled down to the changing. In the moments when the officiant said the words that made a couple's bond official, there was power. Power to change one's other half, to make them anew, for better or for worse.
Joan sat alone, in a small dressing room, thinking about these things. Fearing what Ald would do, but knowing that her fear was irrational. Ald was hers, and she was his, and they were made for each other.
As she walked to the altar, she was once more reminded of what could go wrong. In the crowd, she saw a few who had arguably lost more than they gained, even if the marriage was decent. Her aunt Eleanor could barely walk under the weight of her chest, and the seat where her father's father should be was empty due to his heart being unable to overcome his incredible size.
She refocused, doing her best to block out her fears, as she stood across from her to-be husband. Her Ald, tall, red-headed, and always kind to all around him despite his physical deficiencies. Even in his white tuxedo, his frail frame was notable, and she knew it was just a fact of life for him.
She closed her eyes as they said their vows, focusing on the image of Ald that she had in mind. A little taller, a little stronger, a little bigger for *later*, and free of the degenerative disease that had held him back.
She opened her eyes, and realized that she had forgotten something. Ald had an opportunity to change her too, and judging by the tightness of her dress over her chest and the angle from which she was looking, she had changed.
And then she remembered. Ald liked tall, busty, and strong women.
Joan had to admit, he had good taste.
|
It should come as no surprise that, when two furries get married, they each wish for the other person to become their true fursona, their inner animal that radiates the strongest in them. So when I woke up the next morning on the first day of the honeymoon, my wife and I somehow literally having become one flesh as a four-armed, two-headed, twin-tailed hermaphroditic self-procreating [bassarisk](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ringtail) taur, it really shouldn't have sent that many shockwaves throughout the community. But apparently, it's really rare for two people whom God has picked to be husband and wife to actually meet, let alone get married, and so that Biblical saying about their union can get a lot more literal when certain appearance-altering wishes are made.
Years have gone by since that day, and our many kids - who thankfully, at least for now, are normal humans - are starting to set out into the world themselves. Every night we pray that they, too, may find the person God has picked out for them, and we still have another litter on the way even now. It is good that our sudden fame brought us fortune and that we made good investments with it, as otherwise we'd be on the streets instead of in a mansion to house our family that could rival the Hopps' in its size. We run our lower belly, nipples pert for breastfeeding, and are about to relax for the night when the phone rings. We shed a few joyful tears when our first-born child shows up on the screen, conjoined to his wife as a two-headed hermaphroditic wolf. Yes, it may seem like a curse, literally being of one flesh with your spouse, but we can tell you: It is a blessing and joy that few things on Earth can match.
Edit: Two-headed, not two-handed. Thanks u/VennTheSW for pointing out that typo brought on by autocorrect.
| 2022-12-07T23:24:42
| 2022-12-07T22:07:24
| 128
| 29
|
[WP] Write a story that ages an infant into an adult in 50 words or less.
WITHOUT using the words age/d, grow/n or mature/d.
Good luck!
|
"Please just eat." She holds the spoon to his mouth but he clamps his lips shut.
"Baby food. Again?" Her husband chides as he walks by.
"It's all he'll eat when he's sick." She responds.
Her daughter enters the kitchen. "Grandpa has a fever?"
" No, Honey. Grandpa has dementia."
|
The first thing he recalls in life is faces. Mom and Dad. Always smiling, happy. At 10 he remembers Dad storming out, never returning. He got a job the same day he started high school. At 17 he raced home with his college acceptance to find Mom on the floor.
| 2016-04-08T04:15:42
| 2016-04-08T04:05:29
| 45
| 16
|
[WP] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion.
|
I will not do it on a train
I will not do it on a plane
I will not do it in a house
I will not use a single mouse
I will not dangle from a cord
I will not shift a single board
I will not puddle on the floor
I will not seal a single door
I will not leave a single note
I will not hint in things I wrote
I will not leave a mess for a friend
I will not let them see this end
I will not leave them asking why
I will not let them have their try
I will not be grinning ear from ear
I will do nothing more than disappear
|
I do not like life, not one bit.
I want to find a way to quit.
I sleep all day and I sleep all night.
I really do not want to fight.
Sorry mum and sorry dad.
I really wish life wasn't so bad.
Look after the dog and after the cat.
Please take care of them when I have gone splat.
Please oh please don't let your lives halt.
You must realise it's not your fault.
^^^^Edit:formatting
| 2015-01-17T11:47:28
| 2015-01-17T07:28:39
| 42
| 26
|
[WP]You are Donald Trump. Having launched your Presidential campaign as a publicity stunt, you never thought you'd get this far, and you're getting more desperate to sabotage your campaign lest you become President, a position you never really wanted in the first place..
=
|
Trump 2016, I never thought I would ever hear those words and have them be true. I mean, I have to be honest with all of you. Are you crazy for choosing me as the Republican presidential candidate? Seriously, have you listened to anything I have said so far?
Remeber the story that came out when I first declared my campaign? The story about how I called and talked to the Clintons for an hour, and then I said I was going to run? I called to wish Hillary good luck, but then I got talking to Bill about how I could best help Hillary win. He jokingly said that I should run as a Republican candidate to mix things up over there. You know I love the spotlight, so I figured what the hell why not. Stock in my company will go up, and free advertising, right?
I never wanted to win so I tried to say some of the most vile un-American things I could think to say. I attacked women for their looks and inferior intelligence, I attacked immigrants, religions, and freedoms we hold dear. I lied constantly about everything, even when the truth was handed to me. I refused to ever apologize, and I threatened to take our country to war once again.
Yes, America, this was all a joke, but you ate it up. The more I tried to lose with the things I said, the more you loved me. I showed the ugly side of America and you embraced it. I just came here today to tell you all that, America, you are fired as citizens of a functioning democracy. Oh yeah, and I quit. I'm going to Mexcio, the people there are actually wonderful, despite what I said before.
*Edited some grammar mistakes.
|
"I really do not want to do this anymore," said the orange haired man in the most depressing way. He fixed his thin tie and tucked his button down shirt into his khaki pants; just another day on the campaign trail.
It is Friday and Donald's secretary pressured him the entire morning to cancel his afternoon speech if he truly wasn't feeling up to it. Donald of course turned down this ridiculous idea. He may regret joining the race, but he's not one to quit.
"I hear what you're saying Lisa, but Trumps do not give up. We don't go back on what we say and we always win," he said confidently.
Lisa's face scrunches in a way that makes her look like the Grinch. "Besides, we have one hour until the speech," her boss adds.
Lisa had endured hours of Trump's speeches and heard countless catch phrases. "Only a Trump can build a palace in a dump" and "If you're stumped just call Trump" are among the many annoying rhymes she has heard him practice this morning in his private study.
"I just don't get it Donny. If you really want to drop out of the race, can't you let your pride go and just sign on someone else's ballot?" the Boston University graduate asks. She makes her confused Grinch face again and awaits either Donald's compassionate answer or anger at her stupid question. She could flip a coin as the candidate's response varies similarly.
He never answered her question, even after a thirty minute helicopter car ride to a small location in Alabama. Finally it is time for his speech.
Donald walks to the stage, water bottle in hand and the swagger of a king. He truly does not have a care in the world. "Lisa, it has been nice working with you," he mutters. She knows it is the end.
"Wow, feels awful to be in Alabama. Roll tide? More like Run, Hide! You guys are shit, AM I RIGHT?" Donald yells at the crowd.
They love him and eat it up. They chant his name much like Christ's followers most likely did. It is Christmas after all.
*Well that didn't work*, the careless candidate ponders. *Let's try this instead*.
"Bama! It is time to adapt! No longer may we exclude so many! If you make me President, I promise I will bring equality for every race, both genders, and create programs to provide fast track education for African Americans!"
The crowd boos the man off the stage. Donald's team had predicted that Donald cannot win the race without overwhelming support from a few states, including Alabama. His plan is going well.
**6 MONTHS LATER**
Donald has been elected for President. Both Texas and Alabama are threatening to secede from the nation, much like Texas did when President Obama was elected years prior. His plan failed tremendously. Even though Alabama and other states were terrified by his claims to introduce fair labor laws, support for unions and fast tracked education for minorities, the rest of the country loved him for it. In fact, Alabama stands divided. Half of the state's voters got past his scare tactics simply because they appreciated his integrity.
"Well - shit," Donald muttered in his office. His wife left him a week ago, but she was committed to act as his wife for another four years. He didn't want her anyways and he certainly didn't want the Oval Office. The sole relief he yearned for was Lisa's loving grasp. The young brunette who traveled from Boston to all avenues of America has become one with his heart and soul. Perhaps that's why Melania left.
"I know you never wanted this office, but what comes first Donald?" Lisa asks.
"The hundred foot wall, obviously."
And thus, America is doomed, but at least Donald doesn't enjoy being President anymore than anyone else does.
| 2015-12-25T05:50:44
| 2015-12-25T05:48:58
| 25
| 10
|
[WP] Long ago the legendary sword Excalibur was melted down and lost to history. The mythical blade's steel ended up in your butter knife, with all its magical properties intact.
|
EBAY
Steel Forged Knife Set with Celtic Engravings.
Price: €34,99.
4/5 stars
Review by T. Smith:
*Great knife set, cuts smooth and are easy to sharpen. Weirdest thing though, every time I pas by the sink a hand will reach out of the water and hand me one.*
|
The Blade cut into the frozen butter as if it were... butter, its holy radiance softening its foe for perfect spread. Applying the knife to the sliced bread caused the smell of toast to waft into Sals nose, as he observed butter melt into the freshly crisped bread.
"Ham, egg and sandwich spread?" Sal directed to his eagerly awaiting customer, who nodded with anticipation. Sal saw the quickly growing line at his cart and smiled, knowing with his new acquisition he could keep up with the rush.
He dipped the knife in the sandwich spread in swift motion, knowing that the blade would guard against errant spread muddying the grip in the precarious heat of battling to complete the sandwich.
Without checking that the knife was free of residue, for constant application had shown the pristine edge suffered no blemishes upon it, Sal flipped rest of the prepared ingredients upon the prepared slices. Ingredients fell perfectly into place, flipped from a perch of divine balance.
Sal wrapped the sandwich and bestowed it upon his waiting customer while looking at her with dignified confidence. For while Sal did his best to procure affordable and hale ingredients, it was difficult to always do so in the ghettos of London, luckily anything touched by the Blade was purified by holy light.
Sal contentedly continued using the Butter Knife and in his head thanked dame fortune he could only afford a secondhand bargain bin butter knife, seemingly glued in until wrested free, when first opening his stand.
Excalibur shimmered contentedly, for while the evil wizard had thought to mock it by smelting it and causing the remains to crafted into a butter knife, only it controlled its destiny. The world changes but it and its Liege remain to serve, and what better way than providing a hearty meal for the day's labors.
| 2018-03-06T11:40:04
| 2018-03-06T11:37:34
| 2,613
| 434
|
[WP] Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious.
Holy shit this blew up!
I now understand "RIP my inbox"
EDIT: u/Alpacasaurus_Rekt told me it's actually "Cryonic Freezing"
EDIT 2: To anyone who is trying to say, "scientists would not put them in for 500 years immediately" I would like you to know this is a fictitious writing prompt and just roll with it.
|
u/numbers909 ok no worries, how about this:
It was black. The sound of absolutely nothing pierced my eardrums as if there was an infinitely high pitched tone passing through my very skull. My skin was void of sensation, and smell or taste remained absent. My breathing had disappeared yet I wasn't drowning. It was disorienting.
It had been about 10 minutes since they closed me in here. I remember the chamber doors closing as I was lowered into some fluid, exactly the temperature of my body.
They told me it would take a few minutes for the freezing to occur, and that I probably wouldn't feel a thing. They had hooked me up to so many IVs and electrodes I figured I would be out like a light.
And yet, the faint sounds of trickling water had disappeared a little while ago. I kept wondering when I was going to fall asleep.
They had told me not to move a muscle. They had told me to close my eyes. The had told me to relax, and that everything was taken care of.
And still, I could think. I was fully conscious. After 10 minutes of no stimuli, I started seeing random faces pop up in front of me. They looked so real, but I knew my eyes were closed.
A deep feeling of panic rose up to my conciousness. The type of panic you feel when you realize something is very, very WRONG. Yet this feeling didn't originate in my body. The typical response of adrenaline, anxiety, energy through all of my limbs and the pit in my stomach which was supposed to accompany my mental state was just... absent. It was as if I had no body, no sensations, and no feelings.
I tried to move. I squirmed, I sat up, I ran, and I cried. I waved my arms all around and punched myself in the face. No matter what I did, there was no stimuli. I could move every muscle and yet there was no reaction, no resistance, and no contact with anything.
My mind raced. Random images flowed through my mind's eye like some endless fractal. I flew through intangible tunnels of light as time and space warped all around me. Spiders. A lamp. A curving, looping road. Mountains smaller than me, and ants larger.
I lost track of time. Going in and out of hallucinations, I began to lose all sense of sanity. Who was I? Where was I? When was I?
There were brief periods when the hallucinations stopped and I could think clearly. I analyzed my situation - clearly something had gone wrong. Had I died? Was this hell? I was floating through an endless universe of nothing - not even blackness, just nothing. I tried to find something to grab onto, anything. I looked around for sound, and listened for light.
Cycles upon cycles, lifetimes upon lifetimes, I wandered the recesses of insanity. How long had it been, I wondered. 5 years? 100 years? 500?
Sometimes the hallucinations stopped and I fell into unconsciousness. During those times I was only aware of one thing - cold. I wasn't cold, IT was cold. There was no me, no I any longer.
God showed me the universal truth of nothingness and I surrendered to it. Time and space were illusions of the mind.
Time doesn't exist in eternity. Infinite lifetimes passed; I lived the life of a butterfly, an elephant, a farmer, a stone, and a businessman. Feelings and thoughts were ephemeral vortexes of causality and I bore witness to them all at once.
Then something was.
A break in nothing. A spear puncturing the perfect tranquility of absence. It was electricity.
I saw a network of light, a web of neuronal connections light up in an explosive fireworks show. It was the inside of a brain.
Zap. Zap. Zap. The connections were firing more intensely, more rapidly, and time began to collapse. Each end of time separated in either direction and was stretched like a piece of taffy.
I latched onto the zapping like an infant suckling a teat.
Then I felt it. It was as if my awareness was torn from below, grabbed by a body and a mind and shackled to a specific point in space. Pain flooded into my consciousness and overwhelmed me with feelings. I remembered what arms and legs were. I fit back into my body as if it were a glove, enveloping me in searing hot oil.
Suddenly a sensation pulsed through every fiber of my being and a thump in my chest exploded with the sound of rushing water.
Then again. And again. With each thump, pain washed over my body and felt like millions of needles pierced my skin. The pain was far worse than anything I had experienced in all my lives.
Time moved achingly slow. I was being brought back to life, I was being unfrozen, I had been in an experiment; a cryo-something. I began to think in words again.
I opened my eyes. In the blackness I could see something. A door. The door opened and light poured in to my pupils. It burned and I instinctively wanted to turn away, so I moved my neck muscles for the first time in eternity. I lifted my hands and felt the cold air leak in to my skin. *I* was cold.
A cacophony of agony played all around me. Drips of water were as loud as rushing waterfalls, the sound of a synthetic beeping were mortal screams, and the clink of metal was a gong.
I was raised through the doors and into the light. A human standing next to me had on white clothes and held a syringe. Bags of fluid, tubes of red and white, and wires of all colors tangled out of my body.
"WELCOME BACK" the man yelled in my ears.
Tears streamed out of my eyes as i wiggled my toes and fingers and felt the agonizing movement on my skin - blissfully torturous.
The man reached to my mouth and slowly removed something enormous from inside my chest. I vomited it up and for the first time I gasped and inhaled thick hot air into my lungs. I sputtered, coughed, and choked as I regained control of my diaphragm.
I tested my voice.
"H-" a coughing fit possessed me.
"H-How long" I forced out with a rasp between coughs.
"Well we went slightly over our original timeline," he said as he looked at his wrist.
"It was about one hour and three minutes. You're a real trouper!"
|
Cold………. Cold! I yelled again as one of my colleagues asked me what I was feeling and tried to make out what I was saying as he began the first stages of the procedure. He laughed and smiled as they all stood watching how I reacted to each stage. You see, this was never supposed to happen, well not like this anyway. During the first few short tests we skipped the sedative and just did runs maybe two to three hours long to see how well the process worked. Every time I was conscious, but I knew that in at least some form I would be.
Now during the final run, I awaited that familiar feeling of the drug coursing through my IV and sending me to a deep slumber. The experiment lead had been an anesthesiologist early in his career and assured me that after I received the meds I would wake up at the end of the experiment just like I had only been out for a minute or two. To be honest, I was not nervous at all. After going through the first few tests I was confident in the procedure and had nothing to worry about. I could hear the chatter outside the chamber, muffled by the hiss of the coolant as they initiated stage two. I began to feel the telltale tingling in my arms, legs and then my chest. I knew we were close.
I began to hear the hiss of the infusion pump pushing the sedative through my IV. I waited….and waited and still nothing. It was then that I realized that something was wrong. I could very slightly feel the temperature difference the fluid was making as it ran down the palm of my hand from the area where my IV was located. “Crap” I thought “the IV must have come out or the connector got loose”. I started to yell through the glass, “hey” I yelled, then “hey” again…No response. “They can clearly see me what’s going on?” I thought. Just then, the final stage started. I could feel the icy then oddly warm sensation in my body and the rush of silence as the final stage stopped. I guess what I considered yelling was the equivalent of a newborn kitten’s meow for the people outside the chamber. In fact, I was not yelling at all. The problem was as they prepped for the third and final stage, the coolant that rushed into the chamber for the most part masked my weak attempt to communicate. The fact that the infusion pump was successful in releasing the medication kept an alarm from being raised. Through the window I could see them observing my state. They were taking notes and watching my vitals. Shortly after, each of them said a few things and gave me a kind goodbye.
Although I couldn’t feel the movement I could see it. Light after light as we moved down the long corridor to the room I knew they were taking me. In my mind I was screaming but, I was silent. I observed as we passed through the doors and they eased the chamber into its permanent spot.
I kept trying to scream or move or do at least something that would get their attention. Something that would let them know that I was awake.
Nothing, that’s what was supposed to happen. I was supposed to feel, see and hear nothing. But I watched day after day as the lab assistants would come in and go out with their tablets, observing what I assumed were my vital signs. I did not sleep, I only experienced short periods of what I assumed were the equivalent of day dreams.
Boredom was an understatement. The most excitement was watching a maintenance guy fix a light or a lab tech talking to themselves. As the time dragged by, I watched doctors and assistants grow older and then eventually be replaced by someone else. I tried to keep track in my mind of the time that had passed and every now and then I could see the date on someone’s device or hear them talk about a holiday or vacation. As time went on, the visits from the lab assistants grew shorter and shorter until finally they stopped. I stood staring at a dimly lit room, no activity no sound. I thought to myself “is this it? Did I die? Did they lose interest?” I had lost all track of time and between diminishing of the day dreams and the lack of any activity outside my chamber I was going mad. Suddenly the lights in the room went out. I could see the dim glowing of the “exit” sign above the main door. I stared at that exit sign and watched as it grew dimmer and dimmer until finally the light was gone.
The total darkness stretched on forever. Eventually I began to stop thinking all together. I know it sounds weird, but I literally stopped thinking. I had pretty much pondered everything, thought about every point in my life that I could remember, and the day dreams grew less and less.
It was then that the door swung open. The main entrance to the storage area swung open and a blinding ray of light shined through. I could see nothing but the light, but I could hear steps. The light began to scan around the room as if the person was looking for something. As they got closer I could make out that they were in what appeared to be some sort of environmental suit. After a few moments of prodding around a second person entered the room, then a third.
The third guy carried a small case and sat it down on the instrument panel. I watched him poke and prod under the panel as the others observed the room. I could hear the faint murmur of them talking but I could not make out what was being said. I watched as the third guy tapped buttons on his case, making the instrument panel light up below it. They all three gathered around. One of them opened the front of his helmet. “My God, he’s still alive” the first words I clearly heard in who knows how long. I watched as one by one they removed their helmets and began discussing what they should do.
“What should we do?” the third guy said. “I don’t know, how the hell do we open this thing up anyway?” one of the others retorted.
I watched as the first guy angrily tapped buttons on the case…. the panel immediately went dim. He looked at the other two and barked “Listen, we were ordered to observe the condition on the surface and then return. We were not given permission to bring anything back and if they find out that we were poking around in buildings were in trouble.” The first guy walked out of the room, followed by the second “Let’s go man, before he loses it again”. The third walked up to my chamber and stared me in the eyes “sorry man” he whispered as he turned to join the others. I watched as the light grew dimmer and dimmer in the hall, my mind racing as I was once again swallowed by the darkness.
| 2017-12-17T05:38:03
| 2017-12-17T05:33:42
| 46
| 11
|
[WP] We were warned when we hired our first human crew member that they would pack bond with almost anything. We didn't listen, and now have an apex predator somewhere in the ship, that the human won't stop calling Kitty.
|
"DAMMIT GERARD, how could you be so dense?"
The captain shouted close enough to Gerard's face that he could practically feel the stench.
"I dont see what the big deal is! Cats are great companions on Earth! Everybody here seems so scared of Pryde, but just look at that cute little face! She wouldn't hurt anybody."
Captain Jols sighed and rubbed her face - where a human's nose would be. Not unlike a human rubbing their nose when theyve worn glasses for too long.
"It is a dangerous beast and it is endangering this entire ship. I'm not even sure how you got it on, but that is a conversation I'll be having with security officer Eklar."
"MEOW?"
Pryde reached out and began to tap at Gerard's Arm.
"Aww, see captain. She wants attention, she is just a baby. Are you hungry girl?"
"MEOW?"
Captain Jols paused for a moment, " Gerard... can you not understand it?"
"Of course I can, she is meowing because she wants food and scritches."
Captain Jols reached into her pocket and pulled out a pea-sized device. She gave it a few gentle shakes and handed it to Gerard.
"Here, swap out your com module. It must not be translating for you correctly."
Gerard looked shocked, "You mean Pryde is actually *talking*?"
"Its amazing your species has lasted as long as it has. How long have you not been able to understand a species so many of you live with?"
Gerard put the device in his ear. Looked over at Pryde and said, "hey girl, can you understand me?"
Pryde's eyes got wide with excitement, "you can understand me now?"
Gerard beamed with glee, "Yes Pryde, I can! Oh this is wonderful! Tell me what you want, can I get you some food?"
"Actually, I could use about tree-fiddy."
And that's when Gerard realized that Pryde was actually a 50 foot reptile from the Paleolithic Era.
|
„Here kitty, kitty, kitty...“ said the human while being in the cargo bay. I never understood that creature, but I’m still fairly new to this crew. But that human is still a mystery to me. However, the captain ordered us to get some of the cargo we need to ship. As I grabbed the inside of the crate, something damaged my skin really bad and a loud „hiss“ appeared. Shocked, I let go what I held and took a step back. That beast again, tried to kill me. But the human ran to me and grabbed with his hands inside the box. „Stay back whit that creature from death!“ i screamed. That predator still tried to attack the human with its hissing sound and claws sharper than anything I saw in my live. „What’s your problem?“ he than asked „ it’s a beautiful cute little kitty“. I said then „ stay here with that devils beast while I bring the loot, I mean the goods to the captain“
| 2019-11-21T06:53:05
| 2019-11-21T06:21:21
| 150
| 21
|
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
Four digits? FOUR? In all my years as a bouncer, never four.
I looked into his calm, green eyes.
"Jesus," I said.
Of course I let him in. Even The Man needs to kick back and grab a beer sometimes, yeah?
But, given that he's back... I wouldn't make any long-term plans if I were you. And stock up on some prepper material while you're at it. Shit about to get real.
And have a nice night, y'all.
|
**July 12, 1994**
Um what the fuck?! That man couldn't have been 1056 years old, there's just no way; the i.d. couldn't have been a fake and he looked exactly like his photo. Man... maybe all this drinking is catching up to me.. drowning out what brains I do got, I definitely should try to lay off the liquor for a while.
But what if I wasn't wrong? I had to be though. A 1056 year old wouldn't be getting drunk in that seedy shit hole, surely not. Jesus Christ, I'm an alcoholic aren't I? Instead of the shakes I'm just going fucking insane. I mean, a 1056 year old couldn't possibly exist and here I am trying to justify normal behaviors for a dude over ten centuries old. wonderful, I really am a psychotic freak of nature.
**July 28, 1994**
There it was again! That same 1056. I know it's the same one, the numbers have the same psychic texture as the last one, I know, I *know* it's the same 1056. And I'm sober, or at least I've been mostly sober the past two weeks, I really am trying hard. But jukov viell hell, the ancient freak was a little girl this time, not a slicked back 30 year old like in the club. And ve' saw me looking at her, it's like her eyes locked into mine with a laser and it was terrifying. I swear I couldn't move for what seemed like an hour though I'm sure it was just a few seconds. I don't know what the hell is going on, but I'm getting the fuck out. I'm leaving tomorrow and I'm not going to tell anyone why or where I'm going.
**August 5, 1994**
I'm settling here into Dallas just fine, even already got two jobs so I'm bouncing bars every night. It feels gulock vol shien over and already have my feet on the ground. I don't know what that thing was, but I ain't seen any thousand year old crypt keepers walking around here. I think it's buvok l'ie that I just forget that man and little girl and pretend it never happened. Volpp shon die! Ha
**August 9, 1994**
I'm vol niectien javhol. There's no way around it. I'm thryyka insane vol. In the bathroom this sunnatal 987 flickered above my head like a light with a wire shorting out. Da! I've never seen a nuvon above my head and never thought anything about it. But 987. It was in epileptic strobe, but unmistakable, 987 with it's own unizall textovu, my own psychic fingerprint, I guess. I don't know whether I should drink until I can't see straight enough to notice the flickering number apparating above my head, check myself in a psych hoklinta, or keep pretending that it doesn't effect me just like that thousand year old freak back in Philoxxanta. Fuckin hell...
**September 8, 2106**
Vien dol mal shinne. Va kra sel na vien talova! Herein je ve' sien. 1056 hai raj volkina buvo! Home! At last hommili!
| 2017-09-01T23:43:36
| 2017-09-01T20:21:47
| 30
| 13
|
[WP] Your parents insist you are their biological child, but you suspect otherwise. You send samples from yourself, your parents, and siblings to a lab be tested. The lab replies that it is not equipped to test non-human DNA...
|
My hands shake violently as I tear open the letter. The mailman looks at me like I'm crazy. Maybe I am. I certainly used to think so myself, all those times I felt like something was *wrong* with me - that something about me was different. I know I was being irrational, an angsty, paranoid teenager, but still... I have to know. Even though my parents keeps reassuring me that I'm just like everyone else ("but you're still special!"), I have to be sure. And now I have the answer in my hands.
Trying to steady myself, I unfold the single sheet of paper and skim through the lines. *"Dear Mr... thank you for... curious as to where you acquired...* And there it is.
I feel like the world stands still. Everything else fades into the distance until it's just me and the letter in a vast black sea. I don't know how long I stand like that, but eventually, I hear my Mom's voice cut through the black.
"Honey? Are you okay? What's that in your hand?"
Her words are drowned out by the contents of the letter, echoing in my head: *"We were unable to process the sample, but I took the liberty of sending it to a colleague of mine..."* I look down at my hand and see for the first time that it's not really a hand. My legs almost collapse under me, unable to bear to weight of the truth. I let out a cry for help that sounds like nothing out of a human throat. All the while, the last line of the letter echoes on like a bell: *"The sample is not human. It is actually the DNA of a crustacean from the Paleolithic Era. Enclosed, you'll find a bill for $3.50."*
The ground shrinks away from me, making me dizzy, and I drop the letter when I realize my hand is actually an enormous webbed fin. The letter falls to the floor. I try to run but my stumpy hind legs won't let me, and for the first time in my life, I walk like a dinosaur.
|
I panic at the words in bold. **Non-human DNA**. "What did that mean?" I mutter to myself. Suddenly, a wind came from behind. I turn to see a man in business suit standing where no one was before.
"Aw, about time you found out." The man said as he pocketed a small watch into his coat. "I swear, you guys get stupider ever year."
"Who are you?" I ask in wonder. he sigh and pull out a small notebook.
"47698365 times someone ask that when I appear. I wish just once someone would say that it bigger on the inside."
"What?"
"Never mind. Time for the speech. (Clear throat) Congratulation. you figure out that you are not human. Oh, how your life was a lie, that not true, yada yada yada. Okay, here the short version. You are a muse. your now responsible for someone idea. You are to help people realize there big dream and hopes. I am here to lead you to your job."
"Wait but what about my family?" I ask. He gave the look of *seriously* and shook his head.
"They were made up! Did you really never question why they were two time winner of the NASCAR finals when they were Amish!?! We make it as ridicules as possible in hope you would get it! Anyway, we're late. Just think this as your fate." He said and with that he snapped his fingers.
The world black out and came back in some kind of apartment. I look to see a man staring at a laptop, hands poised over a keyboard. Maybe this will the next great novel or maybe a thesis that will change the world. I started walk over to get a better look but the man started to read what he was typing out loud.
"Dean turn over to Rainbow Dash and said in deep, sexy voice. " Let see if we can find one thing your not fast at." Rainbow Dash help remove Dean Winchester shirt with easy. This is all being watch by Two-Face. He turn to his other companies, Krillin and Cortana, preparing to flip his coin. "If it head, it Krillin turn. If tail, I'll give Cortana a go." He flip knowing it land on head and he'll be with his one true love." The man said, plunging his hand into a bag of chips.
I stood there, mouth hanging in shock, as I try to turn away from this. But a strong force push be closer to the man. So close, that I could smell he wasn't wearing deodorant and I hope it was sweat stain on him.
"This is going to suck." I said as he started to type again.
| 2015-01-06T10:21:48
| 2015-01-06T08:44:25
| 67
| 16
|
[WP] Write a scene that would appear sexual to an observer, but is completely innocent. [nsfw]
Like the tent shadow scene from Austin Powers, it should be humorous and can involve objects and sounds.
|
She straddles him, knees tight against his sides. The tie uncoils from his neck, and then the buttons below undone. She pushes upon his chest, her fingers finding purchase near his heart. She sighs. Quickly now, she leans down. Her lips embrace his with the warmth of breath. She wonders when the ambulance will finally arrive.
|
A goat's ass is never as loose as you would hope it would be. I mean this is my first time directly dealing with one, but I'd assume I now posses a much greater knowledge on the subject than the average man. Or not, I don't know what people do in their own time.
But curses and curses again, the goat corpse I had acquired had lost all sphincter tightness, and the gold nuggets I hoped to sneak past the Spanish watchmen kept falling out. This entire damn smuggling operation had been one bungling mess after another. I suppose it started when when my partner had an episode of sleep walking and had toppled into the sea the first night on board. He was an adept swimmer but apparently sleep swimming was a different matter. Mayhap I should have taken it as a sign, but the Spanish-run expedition was unlikely to turn the great sailing vessels around and drop me off be cause my plan to rob them right under their noses had just gotten twice as difficult. I was in for the long hull. At least I got two months to fret about it as we crossed the sea to Mexico.
More of my pilfered nuggets fell from the goat's open mouth as I tried to re-insert the ones escaped from the back end. It was disgusting, but hells, that's the point. What guard would stop and check the ass of a dead goat? I had spent too long sneaking these beauties from the mine to lose them now because of some uncooperative piece of mutton. I drove the nuggets home, this time stoppering the beast with a bit of leather. I flipped him upright again, holding the slack jawed head between my knees as I gathered the nuggets freed from his maw. The moment I scooped the last one into my gloves the door to my temporary workshop, the tool shed actually, swung open and my eyes met with those of a surprised guard. Hand wrapped around stolen gold, open mouthed goat between my knees, my face red and sweaty from my efforts; I stared at him motionless.
His eyes slid to the goat and back my eyes. "Bean hecow" or "Bien hecho" or "Been heyco", one of those, he said, wiggling his eyebrows at me. He shut the door.
I really need to learn to speak Spanish, what the hell just happened?
I finish re-stuffing my goat and heft him over my shoulder. If I run I should still be able to catch the supply ship before it pushes off for the voyage back to Europe. No rest for the wicked.
| 2013-10-13T22:45:59
| 2013-10-13T22:28:30
| 129
| 36
|
[WP] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home. It is finished and sent by the man who killed him.
|
Maria,
Thinking of you all today. Things aren’t getting better out here. There’s not many of us left. The recruits are younger and younger. Most of them don’t last much more than a week but there are still a few naturals. I don’t know what the reels back home are saying – things are pretty grim but we have one last trick up our sleeve. One last chance. I can’t say much but you’ll soon know all about it.
With any luck we’ll finish this and I can walk through our gate again. I hope you’re still waiting. I’ll remember this day as the turning point.
*Today is not that day. You will soon know all about it.*
*I will never walk through that gate.*
*We are coming for you.*
*XXX*
|
To my Love,
I don't know if you're still getting this, or if the post keeps on messing it up, but I want you to know that I'm doing this for you. The past few weeks have been hell, but thinking of you helps me to push forward. Speaking of which, how's our little man doing? I hope you went with Thomas. I've always liked that name. Maybe because of that show on tv I always used to watch growing up as kid. Can you just promise me one thing? If I don't get back, show him a few episodes. I'm sure he'll love-
I don't know who this is, but I hope you can forgive me for what I've done. I killed you husband, or lover, or whoever he was. It's the first time I've killed anyone. And I'm scared. I write this with a trembling hand. Whoever you are, please, forgive me. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't any of our faults. I was drafted, just as everyone else was. I'm done fighting. It's tearing me apart. I'm going home.
From, Thomas
| 2015-02-03T16:03:03
| 2015-02-03T13:14:11
| 23
| 14
|
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