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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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[WP] Due at an error, a baby was born without a guardian angel. A demon notices this and has taken it upon themself to become their guardian demon. But they seem to have some... Dark ways of helping their human stay alive.
|
He wandered though the empty train storage yard at night, unafraid of the things that may lurk there. This wasn’t bravery, or even stupidity. This was a classic symptom of not having a guardian angel. That little niggling discomfort that tells you not to go in. That tingle up the spine that says “this is not a safe place”. For Sanjay though, third Sanjay of his slum dwelling born that day, this was a fairly daily occurrence. It was incredibly rare for a guardian angel to miss his appointment, but the Mumbai slums were a melting pot of births and still-births and the Sanjay Shukta’s of the world were many in number. Not being his guardian angel, I couldn’t send him those feelings. My powers related more to another part of him, and those wouldn’t kick in until he started to turn into a young adult. I watched as dark shadows followed him from the rows of train parts, stacked high to block almost all of the moonlight. They slipped silently along, parallel and always following, intent on making this 8 year old their next meal. I unfurled a wing, letting the wind catch me and pull me towards the nearest. It looked up a second before I landed, I was now the shadow and up close it became just a street dog, sharp jaws at the ready. Not sharp enough though as teeth grated on the hard scales of my arms and its neck snapped beneath me with a soft crunch. I ran along silently, taking out each dog in seconds, pausing to feast upon the last one, watching as Sanjay started to root around in a pile of parts.
He slowly lifted his haul of parts into a sackcloth, bearing the weight on his scrawny shoulders, ready to sell them back in town. His slow, tired footsteps echoing off the now empty rows. He slipped past the sleeping forms of the workers, piled into the carts they work with, napping away the warm night. He stalked across the smallest bridge of the river, avoiding the gangs he knew patrolled the others. He managed to get within a street of his home, before I had to discard the final leg of canine and pick up my duties again. A large man with patchy hair and beard slipped out of an alleyway behind him. One hand rubbing obscenely in his pants, another with a loop of rope for holding down young boys. I slipped down the wall like a shadow across a light source. Sticking a leg out, he didn’t see before crashing into it and stumbling head over heels. A quick hand movement and his head was in his own rope, the other end moved into a crack in the wall above. His face turned purple with the effort to take that life saving breath and he shuddered hard, either in fear, pain or pleasure. The boy turned to look at his dangling form, into my eyes for a moment, before trudging off home. Another haul, more money, more food, another day of survival.
|
Despite the pride the humans have accumulated through their time on Earth, the species is fragile. Technologies and medicines could only go so far as protecting one from their materialisation onwards. Prior to that, however, the souls that were to be bound to new flesh are weak and vulnerable. That is where the angels come in, carrying on the time-honoured tradition of shielding these beings from harm. The humans, in return, have offered faith. When other lifeforms, the other pets of the Creator in universes far beyond comprehension of mankind abandoned Him, men stood solely as his sheep. So it was that all angels are to safeguard mankind from threats they are unable to fight against. Until today, when the omnipotent slacked and slipped.
Of course, such mistake was grave. And the Creator could not afford to lose his last zealots. For the carcass that is to be born will be limp and rubbery, a corpse. Its soul will have been devoured by forces of malevolence no medicines could cure. Men would be terrified, as the notion of the souls and the body would become apparent as separated concepts. Most importantly, the humans would stop believing in their protectors, and that would be the end for the Heavens.
So He ended the child.
It was declared that the child is to be stillborn, and when the corpse came to Purgatory, the Demons are to incinerate it in the flames of Hell, until the last of the bones becomes fuel for the eternal nova. However, souls with no comprehension of good or evil could not be tried, thus, transition would be sacrilegious, for it disobeys the respected regulations that exempts none.
The Demons, themselves, decided on another approach. The corpse, they say, would be resuscitated, with not a soul, but the control of one of them.
So, imbued with dark magic, the corpse rose once more.
For the humans, the doctors involved in diagnosis and the parents of the child, in particular, such was a miracle. It was quickly reasoned that perhaps the machines, the scanners and the displays, were erroneous. For it was only for a moment did the aforementioned events transpired - the baby was limp for just an instance.
The Demon in possession of the child, however, did not enjoy such jubilation. The moment the atmosphere of the mortal realm touched him, he regretted the choice. Demons are not to roam this plane. He agonised, for he defied the choice of the Creator. Every breath of his was painful as the inhalation of scorching flames and exhalation of glass shards. He did not sign up for this.
And it was because of that torment, that the demon destroyed himself. His vessel, with his soul inside, raged for and end. The toddler frame, with the strength and dexterity of a beast, tossed and turned in the middle of its mother's womb. It ripped and clawed, at itself and at all it could see. The will of Demons are meek, and the pain of existence took its sanity. It wanted an end.
That day, four were killed. The mother was ripped apart from the inside, and the child dead from the hands of the doctor fetching it. That very doctor ended himself the following day, caving in to the pressure of the ravenous reporters and the unforgiving glance of the public. The father, after hearing of the doctor's death, succumbed.
The Creator was not to be defied. He could not do wrong. To believe that he was mistaken is to wage bloodshed and terror.
| 2019-12-14T22:12:02
| 2019-12-14T21:32:54
| 23
| 11
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[WP] Your mission is to write the worst opening to a YA novel ever. How badly can you make us cringe?
|
Nobody is ever dethroning “My Immortal”
> Hi my name is Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way and I have long ebony black hair (that's how I got my name) with purple streaks and red tips that reaches my mid-back and icy blue eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Amy Lee (AN: if u don't know who she is get da hell out of here!). I'm not related to Gerard Way but I wish I was because he's a major fucking hottie. I'm a vampire but my teeth are straight and white. I have pale white skin. I'm also a witch, and I go to a magic school called Hogwarts in England where I'm in the seventh year (I'm seventeen). I'm a goth (in case you couldn't tell) and I wear mostly black. I love Hot Topic and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a black corset with matching lace around it and a black leather miniskirt, pink fishnets and black combat boots. I was wearing black lipstick, white foundation, black eyeliner and red eye shadow. I was walking outside Hogwarts. It was snowing and raining so there was no sun, which I was very happy about. A lot of preps stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.
|
I was a strange girl, that’s what people had always told me.
It was because of my eyes. Blood red. Why?
Genetics.
Did it give me superpowers? Yes, of course it did.
What kind of superpowers?
Well….
I can summon and create the following:
Water
Ice
Oxygen
Carbon dioxide
Amethysts
Air
Cardboard
So, yeah. My life is quite strange. I don’t go to a normal school, I go to a school with other powerful kids. One is named Frosty, she’s jealous of me because of some reason.
It’s not like literally all the boys in school want to date me!
Also: my parents are dead :)
| 2022-08-19T20:01:22
| 2022-08-19T19:36:37
| 55
| 30
|
[WP] You meet God before reincarnation and you discover that there is a prestige system going on. In your previous incarnations you chose to improve weirdly specific stats.
|
God reclined in the cloud behind me, quite at ease with himself. I was still shaking off the last life and all of this was all coming as a bit of a shock. "You want a cloud too?" God asked, snapping his fingers. Instantly another cloud appeared. "It's got a recline option. Just like the Laz-Y-Boy." He yanked on a portion of the cloud and his feet came flying up. "Ahhh...that's the ticket. Wish I could say we figured this one out, but that was all you guys."
I glanced at the cloud and then at the large holographic projection dominating the room. "Um...maybe in a minute. I'm still trying to get this all together. So...you're saying I have to go live another life?"
God nodded, "You didn't hit the karma cap required to transcend so you're gonna need to take another shot at it." He kicked off his loafers and wiggled his toes. It was disconcertingly familiar with exception of the blazing halo around his head and the fact he was snuggled up on a floating cloud with a built-in ottoman. In his own image, I guess.
"So....uh...how many times have I gone around without hitting the cap?"
"You're on round forty-seven. Got real close one time but then you re-spawned as a Roman Legionnaire in Gaul and that just REALLY set you back." He tsked under his breath a few times, "Just so you know, rape and pillage are generally frowned upon up here. We try to take a broad view of things, but that's pretty much always over the line."
That took a moment to process. The last life I'd been an actuary in Yonkers, it was hard to imagine me doing much pillaging. Still, the skills and knowledge of the last life carried into the karma allocation in this life, so I expected to have something of an edge for the next go around. I turned back and regarded the projection, looking at my total karma, 1,322, and then at the list of skills and attributes below. I frowned as I began reading the readout, the frown only deepening as I continued. "Okay...so, like, who selected the skills before? Was it some sort of random number generator or something?"
God shook his head, "Everyone gets an initial allocation and then they build up from there. If they hit negative karma in a life then they don't get to make any changes. You've gotten to make changes..." he thought for a moment, "forty-two of your forty-seven go-arounds."
I choked on my own spit, causing me to cough for an extended period. God tilted his head to the side, considering my predicament. "Always thought that was a design flaw with you guys. Should have made a windpipe and a spitpipe." He shrugged, "Can't win them all. I never had any problems with it and so I figured you folk would be okay too."
After managing to regain control of my windspitpipe, I pointed to the projection, "There's got to be some sort of mistake. None of the allocations make any sense." My actuarial brain was already calculating expected yields on the various selections, and they seemed to be entirely at odds with the goal of hitting a karma cap. Half of them seemed to be conflicting with each other. Others were just nonsensical.
"We don't make a lot of mistakes. It's part of that omniscience thing." He produced a backscratcher from parts unknown and began to casually scratch the arch of one of his feet, looking perfectly blissful. "I can pull up your prior selection processes if you want."
"Yes, please do that."
Immediately the projection was replaced with an image of a caveman. He grunted and slammed his club on the projection multiple times, causing various scores to increment. I stared on in horror. "That's not me! How is that even fair? I'm just a caveman! I can't even read what it says!" In the projection, the caveman was now howling and grunting as it ran around. God was also there, sitting in the background on a decidedly less comfortable cloud.
God stopped scratching his foot for a moment, "Not taking responsibility for one's actions really isn't a way to get ahead around here." In the corner of my projection, my karma amount decremented from 1322 to 1321. "It's not my fault you decided not to be literate."
I stared at him, flabbergasted, "Reading wasn't even invented yet!"
God waved his backscratcher about dismissively. "There were cave paintings. You could have asked for a symbology readout instead."
"So...that's how I got a point in 'float like a butterfly, sit like a caterpillar'." I shook my head disconsolately. "This is so messed up."
"Yeah, human-ing is a tricky business. A lot of you aren't very good at it. The folks that make it to the next level are the exception rather than the rule." He looked thoughtful for a minute. "Probably why I've got that overpopulation problem." A notepad appeared from nowhere. He jotted down a note, 'Consider flood.' He looked from the notepad to me, "You might want to consider 'floats easily' for a point or two on the next one. Might get moist out there."
I sighed, "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind." The projection had shifted. I was the Roman Legionnaire now, staring at a karma total of zero before unsheathing my sword and beginning to hack at it. I put my head in my hands, "Why do I always attack it?"
"Character flaw probably." He pointed at the projection and it shifted back to my current readout. A small section highlighted. "Great with one-handed weapons, which normally costs 50 karma, but you took on a flaw modifier to reduce the cost to 15." I stared at the modifier, which read, 'Inexplicably use it on inanimate objects whenever threatened.'"
"Jesus Christ..."
"Oh, he's not here right now. He's taking care of an issue over in Andromeda."
"Andromeda?"
"Yeah, next galaxy over. We gave them magic. It's creating all sorts of issues."
This was all becoming way more than I could handle. "Okay, well, at least this time I'll make better choices." I pulled out my pen, prepared to do a bit of math. As I held it, an irrepressible desire rose up in my heart.
To my horror, I immediately began slashing at the projection, wielding the pen with the deftness of any sword. Random skills and attributes began to increment. I screamed, trying to get myself to stop, but it was too late.
God shook his head, "The caveman did a better job." He shrugged, "Whelp, win some lose some I guess."
He snapped his fingers.
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
|
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ajd4jr/wp_you_meet_god_before_reincarnation_and_you/eeunyjw/)
The bar was dirty and worn down, the kind of place that had been here since before the first World War and would exist long after things got to the point where a third broke out. It was full of the forsaken souls that drank whiskey at two in the afternoon and smoked the cheapest cigarettes money could buy. It had a name, but none of the patrons could have told you it. It was just “the bar.” No one wanted to go here, they just ended up here.
Kathleen Kate was wiping down the surface of the bar, a futile gesture that would never erase years of grime and ash. She was the kind of bartender you expected to find in a place like this, tattooed and pierced with a hollow look to her eyes that mirrored that of the patrons. She was just as lost here as the rest of the people that wandered through, but unlike the rest of them, she was trapped. She’d work the bar until something snapped her out of it.
The bell over the door clanged mournfully, announcing another lost traveller. Kathleen looked up to see who had entered this time. He wasn’t like the other patrons. A man in his twenties, clean cut, wearing a nice suit. He looked as out of place in this bar as a peacock in a chicken coop, and twice as confident. He walked up to the bar and gave her a smile. “What have you got on tap?” he asked.
Kathleen put on her best customer service face, one she’d honed in the trenches of black friday retail back in high school. “Bud, Bud Light, Miller, Miller Light. If you’re looking for something fancy, you’re in the wrong place.”
He chuckled. “I think I’m right where I need to be. I’ll take a Bud.”
Kathleen turned towards the tap, rolling her eyes once her back was turned. The amber liquid flowed into a glass that at least looked clean, although it was water-stained and smudged with marks that no soap could clean.
“You were right,” the man said.
“That you’re in the wrong place?” Kathleen asked. Something about this guy set her teeth on edge.
“No. About the rules. ‘We’re just playing a game. A game by some sick fuck who thinks it’s funny to watch us squirm. But a game is just a system, and any system has its loopholes.” The Man grinned. “I didn’t introduce myself this time. Kincade.”
“Kincade,” Kathleen said, tasting the name. It was bitter on her tongue. “We’ve met before? Because I don’t remember saying that, but it sounds like like something I would say.”
Kincade nodded. “You don’t remember, but this was your idea…” his eyes flicked to the faded tag she worn on her shirt, “...Kathleen.”
“Okay, sure, whatever you say buddy.” Kathleen sighed. *Goddamn nut jobs.* “So when did we meet?” As much as Kathleen found the man annoying, he had on a nice suit. If she put on a good act for him, he might tip well.
“Ninteen Forty Five,” the man said.
Kathleen rolled her eyes, not bothering to hide it this time. “I’m twenty three. You’re not that much older, buddy. Cut the crap.”
“It’s not crap, Kathleen. You discovered the energy. You’re the one who figured out the rules of the game. How each time we come around, we get to keep something of what we had before. You tried to use it to give yourself immortality back then. That’s when they came for you.”
Kathleens eyes flickered. The dream, the one she’d had since childhood. A crack forming in a sterile lab, creatures climbing out, swarming over her, tearing into her. “What-”
“The demons from the pit,” Kincade said, his voice firm. “You remember them. Our death carries over too. That’s why so many people can dream about falling.”
“Who are you?” Kathleen asked, her eyes narrow.
“I told you. I’m Kincade. Again. See, Kathleen, you died because you tried to cheat the system. I didn’t figure out until after you died. You were trying to cheat, trying to *break* the rules. You can’t break the rules, or the Admin gets angry.”
“The Admin?”
“God, Allah, the Creator, the Goddess, whatever you want to call it. You broke the rules, and you got banned. After I figured that out, I worked the loophole. I didn’t try to make myself immortal. I spent the rest of my life homing the one thing we know for sure carries over, the one stat in this damn game you can improve enough to break the rules."
As crazy as the man sound, Kathleen couldn't help to be interested. And he knew about the dream. "What was it?"
"Memory. I can remember it, Kathleen. I can remember all of it. Every life I’ve lived, and every role you played in it.” He put down three hundred dollars on the bar and downed his beer. “Hunter. Friend. Lover. Enemy. Our history goes back millennia, Kathleen. And this time, I remember it all.”
Kathleen reached under the bar for the pistol she had there. “And what is it this time?” Please don’t try to kill me.
Kincade smiled. “This time? I’m going to leave you alone. I’m going to lead my own life, free of you. Free of all this bullshit. But I couldn’t do that without one last thing, one last gift.” Faster than she could move, he grabbed her wrist, and then pressed this thumb against her forehead. “Remember.”
It wasn’t a wash of memory, like some damn bursting. It was just an instant. The lab. Her name had been Donna back then. He had still been Kincade, although he’d looked different. The energy washing over her, transforming her. Wings emerging from her back. A brilliant, bright, shining moment...before the demons came swarming from the cracks in the floor, shredding her with limbs like swords, tearing into her new skin and dragging her back down into the hell that awaited.
She collapsed forward, panting. She could feel it there, the memories now, a great mass that threatened to go overwhelm everything she was. Kathleen looked up. Kincade was still grinning that smug grin. “What?” she asked.
“Now you’re free too. Good luck with this playthrough.” He grabbed his hat off the bar and put it back on his head. “Maybe I’ll meet you next go-around.”
And with that, Kincade existed the bar.
Thirty minutes later, her last paycheck in hand and her mind in scrambles, Kathleen followed.
---
More at /r/Hydrael_Writes
EDIT: Thank you for the gold! :)
| 2019-01-24T07:33:50
| 2019-01-24T07:23:34
| 3,638
| 360
|
[WP] Humans blood gets darker the more evil we do. One day you are suspected of murder, they draw your blood to test if you are truely a murderer. You blood is a clear white. You realize that you can get a way with almost everything now, seeing as to how you actually did commit the murder.
|
"She did it, damn it!" Detective Patel shouted, slamming his fists down on the cheap plywood desk, causing computers and coworkers alike to jump.
"Hey, Nikhil, calm down," his partner, Sergei Kordev warned him in his thick Ukrainian accent. "Claire submit blood. It clear. She did not do it."
Nikhil jabbed a finger at the screen. "Something's wrong, can't you see it? She was the only one who could have done it. No defensive wounds on the vic, they were alone, and she ran for four days! If she was innocent, why run?"
"The girl was probably scared," detective Kordev shrugged. "Her boyfriend was killed in front of her. She didn't know what to do."
"Most scared people go to the police," Nikhil muttered, pacing across the floor.
"You wouldn't if you were a black girl caught in an isolated cabin with a body and enough drugs to kill a rhino," sergeant Jackson interrupted, walking in with her first coffee of the night shift. "Good evening, boys."
"Sarge," Sergei acknowledged.
"If they had the drugs, why was her blood so clear? That's a sure crime! Her blood is too white - has she never lied or cheated on anything in her entire life?" detective Patel demanded.
"Blood doesn't lie," Sergei grunted, opening another case file. "Makes the job very easy, no? Boyfriend probably was selling them without her know. Knowing. His blood, not so clear, right? Maybe upset customer, gets in close before he realizes?"
"And stabs him almost forty times before he dies? No way. He would have had to be asleep or high to not defend himself. Did we get a tox screen back?"
"Ease up, Patel," Sgt. Jackson warned him. "Isabelle was on her vacation when the case came in, she'll run it when she gets back. It's not like we rely on forensics very much."
Nikhil sighed, slumping down into his chair and leaning back. He ran a hand through his tousled hair and looked up at the ceiling.
"Okay, picture this."
Sergei sighed heavily, and Sgt. Jackson rolled her eyes towards the heavens.
"Just hear me out," Patel huffed. They quieted, and he continued. "Imagine you're Claire. You've got this jackass of a boyfriend - sells drugs, runs guns, almost certainly beats her based on those bruises - a total deadbeat who has never held down a real job or even finished school. If you're completely pristine, milk-white blood, why are you clinging to this guy? Did he have something on her? How long does it take you to push back?"
The sergeant shrugged. "Love is blind. Still doesn't explain the blood proving her innocence."
"Love is stupid," Sergei corrected, rubbing an old wedding band. "But the sergeant is right. Blood is proof."
"But it's not," Nikhil cried out, frustrated. "What if she faked the test?"
"I administer test," detective Kordev growled.
"Some sort of injected fluid under the skin of her finger?"
"I verify with mouth sample, from gum," Sergei replied. "Clair would be very dead if she fill her body with embalming fluid."
"Maybe it's some sort of genetic mutation. Animal blood doesn't change colour."
"You're going to go up to a judge and tell him that a black girl is an animal," Sgt. Jackson asked, narrowing her eyes.
"It's - I - That's not what I meant, Sergeant," Nikhil stuttered.
"Uh huh," the nonplussed officer nodded.
"Sergeant?"
The discussion was interrupted by a young officer, still a rookie. Nikhil couldn't place the name of the tall, dark haired woman off the top of his head.
"Some officers picked up a Claire Tyler after a botched bank robbery. Seems the hostage takers grabbed her and then tried to blame it on her."
"Keep her in holding!" detective Patel shouted, grabbing his coat and badge. Sighing, his partner followed.
|
Charles whistled as he looked through the stolen wallet in his hand. The number of cards this person had plus cash was staggering. The idiot even had his pin number scratched into the front of the card. It would not take long to safely empty out this person's life savings. Cautiously, Charles took a small knife and slashed along his arm lightly. Clear white liquid oozed from it, causing him to breathe a sigh of relief before he carefully left the scratch alone.
A few hours later in the safety of his home, he pressed on the scratch again. Again, clear white blood.
He smirked as he began to contemplate his good fortune. He began pushing the limits more and more. He broke into a mansion and made off with family jewelry and saw his blood still that same reassuring clear white. He broke into a gamer's house and made off with their computers, monitors, the works. Later he checked his blood again and grinned.
It was not long before he began to make a name for himself. Committing crimes people wanted for the highest bidder. And his blood always kept him in the clear, literally. It was not long before the FBI showed up on his front doorstep. He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "What is this?" he scowled.
"There was an attack at an investment firm earlier today. The cameras caught your face. We're here to take you in."
"I'm innocent," he said with a sneer as he pulled up his long sleeve, revealing his arm. He sliced into it easily, causing the agents to gasp at the result.
They left shortly after. Blood was the ultimate truth of the world after all. No one could be convicted of anything if their blood was that clear white. Charles always would keep a careful eye on his body though. He let the scratches heal and every crime he checked his arm. He would never want to be a victim of the blood law of the world after nearly being caught *again*.
| 2018-04-30T11:00:01
| 2018-04-30T10:13:30
| 380
| 78
|
[WP] Superpowers can now be torrented. You were 70% of the way through torrenting a power you've always wanted when the download stops.
|
Some things need to stay dead.
But some things, no matter how hard you try, won't die inside your head.
When I heard about the SuperSeed, I was ready to do anything. The New York Public Library is a couple blocks away from my tent at the corner of 48th and Madison. I just had to wait around for some dumbass to leave his USB charger hanging out of his satchel, and it honestly didn't take long. Pickpocketing is almost too easy in a city where most people have forgotten how to pay attention.
I tried to blend in as I made my way to the library, up the steps, towards the 3rd floor public computers. My brain wouldn't shut up. Shit, is that secretary looking at me? Does she recognize me? I've only been here once before; can't be.
I typed the URL into Google as quickly as I could and clicked the cord into place, one end into the monitor's USB port and the other into my head's USB port. It was strange to think how long it'd been since I'd had mine installed; it certainly wasn't anything fancy. No way I could afford it nowadays.
I tried to cover the screen with my body as the download began. 10 percent, 20 percent, 30 percent. Everyone else had their eyes glued to their screens. 40 percent, 50 percent, 60 percent. I looked behind me like an idiot and locked eyes with the man at the desk by the doors. 70 percent. Shit. His eyes darted up and down and then he bolted out of his chair. I ripped the cord out of the computer, which sent a shockwave of pain through my body. No, no, damn it, no!
I ran for the doors and kept running, only looking up to check the street signs. 28th, 24th, 22nd...Ah!
I knew exactly where the grave was; it was a ritual by that point. "Cindy Merritt, devoted wife and friend." I knelt down in front of it and pointed my hands straight toward the dirt where I'd buried her myself so long ago. Electricity coursed through my body, summoning her from the underworld.
She slowly began to emerge from the dirt, her head looking pale and faint. Surely this would change as the powers did their work. But no, she was see-through, a mere imitation of who she had once been. I hadn't given it enough time.
"Cindy? Can you hear me?"
She opened her eyes and blinked twice.
"David?"
I nodded. "I'm here to bring you home."
She didn't seem to notice that she was almost invisible. I touched her finger and despite its transparency I could still feel a bit of warmth. Without pausing for another moment, I clutched her hand tightly and ran for my tent.
Cindy tried to speak to me but I shushed her. When we reached 48th and Madison, I was almost ready to collapse, but the adrenaline was still working its magic.
"David, I'm so confused. I feel like I've taken the most wonderful nap."
"You did. You, uh, fell asleep on the couch and then...started sleepwalking towards 22nd Street and, well, I..."
Cindy stared at me.
I sighed. "Cindy, please. I want to talk to you, feel you next to me. Nothing else."
"David, I'm tired."
I looked at her again and it seemed like she was getting paler every second.
"I need to go back to sleep. I'm exhausted."
I clenched my fists. "No. You're going to stay here with me and we're going to talk until 3 AM, and laugh, and face the world together."
She was beginning to blend in with the street behind her.
I was shaking now. "I'll go back to the library. I'll try to download it again. Maybe they'll catch me, but...but I'll finish it, I promise."
I could barely see it, but she smiled. "Davey, I don't know what you're going on about. Of course I'm going to stay with you. I would never leave--"
She was gone.
I sat down in front of my tent, not sobbing, not shaking, just sitting in silence.
That night, I vowed to never again interfere with the way things are and the way things have to be. I don't think I can handle another lost chance, and I don't think eternal slumbers, however painful, can be interrupted.
Some things need to stay dead.
|
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.
| 2016-07-02T18:15:33
| 2016-07-02T18:09:05
| 246
| 17
|
[WP] You are a unimportant background character just trying to survive whatever nonsense the main characters are up to. However you keep finding yourself being drawn into dangerous stituations, and to your horror you realise that you're a fan favorite character the show is giving more "screen time".
|
"Hot dogs! Getcha dawgs here! Hot and ready from good old Eddie!" A man shouted, pushing his food cart around the streets of London. He was a a short, rotund man that had a deep Philly accent and a thin, stubbly beard. The cart he pushed around had the words Eddie's Dog's with a cartoon version of his face on the side of it holding up a polish dog. He had it commissioned just for him years ago when he started his business, and it had stuck with him to this day.
"Eddie!? What are you doing here!?" A man asked as Eddie turned around to find his mortal enemies yet again. They were a band of 5 youths that looked like they had stepped off of a Calvin Klein commercial. Though they had an air of charisma that attracted and endeared them to everyone in the world, Eddie could feel nothing but dread upon seeing them.
"No, no, no, not you again." He mumbles as Alice, the stone faced bookish looked at him with sparkles in her eyes. He had no idea where they found her, but of the group he liked her the best. She always loved his dogs.
"Two please." She says as Eddie returned to his service mode, grabbing two of his best dogs, throwing on bacon, onions, relish, mustard, ketchup, and a drizzle of Eddie's special sauce.
"Hot and ready fresh from Eddie! 20 british bucks" He says, handing her the two dogs. She happily bites into the dogs, devouring them with zeal before looking over, her mouth still full as she spoke.
"Thomas, I don't have money." She says as the leader of their merry gang took out his wallet.
"Two things Eddie." He grumbled while handing Eddie his cash. "One, the money is called euros. Two, your dogs are overpriced."
"Eddie's dogs are a foreign luxury good, and they are british. Ergo, british bucks." Eddie snapped back.
"Whatever you say." Thomas mumbled as Eddie grabbed his cart.
"Well, I'm leaving. Dogs are barking." He said as Thomas suddenly grabbed his arm.
"Hold on, Eddie, we're looking-"
"No."
"I didn't even ask you yet." Thomas said as Eddie threw him a sour look.
"You people always find a way to mess with my dogs. No, I am leaving while the dogs are hot." He stated firmly. He'd been a hotdog salesman for 20 years, but these 5 were the first customers he'd seen causing so much trouble."
"No we don't." Thomas said indignantly as Eddie squinted his eyes.
"Remember the aliens?"
"That wasn't our fault."
"The giant mutant ape?"
"That was an accident."
"The lizard people!? I still have-"
"Why are you here?" Hannah asked with scorn. Eddie disliked their little team, but he despised Hannah the most. Insulting his dogs? Saying they're processed garbage for the lower class? How could she say that without even tasting his dogs?
"The people of Britain deserve to taste authentic, All- American dogs at a suitable price." He answered firmly.
"Even the british don't deserve that kind of punishment." Hannah said as Eddie glared at her.
"You wanna go freckles!?" He asked as Thomas grabbed him, keeping the two separated.
"Look, we just wanna know if you've seen anything weird recently." He said as Eddie's entrepreneur instincts took over.
"I didn't see nothing." He said before gesturing to his cart. "My dogs, however, might have seen something." He said as Thomas let out an exasperated sigh.
"Can't I just pay you like a normal informant?"
"Informant? Oi, I am a legitimate small business owner. Don't lump me in with seedy weirdos." Eddie said indignantly as Thomas took out his wallet.
"Fine, give me a dog."
"Hot and ready from good old Eddie! What did you say you needed?" Eddie asked as Alice grabbed the hot dog and began eating it.
"You hear about anything weird recently?"
"Had a few customers complain about some weirdo wandering around at night in a coat muttering weird things under his breath." Eddie answered, thinking back to some of his regulars. People loved chatting over a dog. It was like being a bartender, but better.
"Tell us more."
"Not much more to say. Kept muttering about the sea and its beauty. If you ask me, the sea is overrated. My dawgs are the lobster of the land." Eddie said while pointing to his cart.
"What time did they say this happened?" Hannah asked.
"Midnight, I think." Eddie answered as the band of 5 began whispering things to each other. After some time, they gave each other a jod and walked away.
"Thanks Eddie. See you around." Thomas said as Eddie waved them goodbye.
"Hot dogs! Getcha dawgs here! Hot and ready from good old Eddie!" He said, pushing his cart around once more. He had the thin hope that this time he wouldn't be attacked by something weird, but it seemed the denizens of the deep also liked hot dogs.
|
My life was in the sweet spot, wake up, breakfast with the family, stand with my kids at the school bus stop and then it's off to work. Sales isn't the most glamorous jobs in the world, but it pays, and in a good sales month, it pays real good.
But lately nothing has been sweet, I've had way too many close calls! I've been nearly mugged, assaulted, part of a car pile up on the highway. And I got out of all of these with skin of my teeth thanks to heroman showing up just at the right moment to get me out.
Today though, was just different. Waiting with my kids for their school bus like usual when I feel the ground shake and rumble. An awful sound of things being ripped apart violently fills the air. The road starts cracking, houses are shaking and roof bits flying everywhere. The wall behinds me starts cracking looking to collapse. I lunge towards my kids trying to shield them with my body knowing fully it won't stop a wall. I'm there with them, sobbing knowing this is the last time I get to hug my kids and waiting for the inevitable to happen.
A moment passes, then another, I look behind... heroman is there, holding the wall, adding supports to it to make it into a shelter. He then starts to sew the ground together and the earth quake dies down and stops.
As I tell my cubicle mate this story, I hear someone exclaim loudly "Man this is such BS, how are you so damn lucky, its not fair"
I'm shocked... Near speechless, all I could mumble "excuse me??"
A guy from the next cubicle cluster pops up "it's not fair, I'm in this chat group that tracks the location scouts around and we do crazy stuff there hoping we get caught in something and end up with some extra screen time, and you with your boring dumb life get in this situation"
I can't believe what I'm hearing, my vision gets a little blurry "location scouts... Screen time... Wtf are you talking about, I've been nearly mugged, assaulted, and now caught in an earthquake and you're talking about some non sense"
The guy smirks "oh you must be really loved to end up in all these situations. Well brace yourself, I'm about to tell you something..."
| 2022-11-05T00:50:30
| 2022-11-05T00:10:06
| 16
| 12
|
[WP] It worked! You travelled back in time to Renaissance Age. Jokingly, you turn on your Wi-Fi, only to find a password protected network named "iɔniV ɒᗡ"
|
Blinding white light split down the air in a shimmering curtain. Hissing and popping the portal spread wide enough for me to step through. The temperature change was noticeable as I stepped across space and time to arrive hundreds of years before my time. The Renaissance, winter of 1457.
My breath now visible on the air curled around the light of the setting sun and for the briefest of moments seemed to caress the ray. It would be dark soon. I looked at my attire, it didn’t match this time period but the colors would blend with the darkness. That’s all that mattered. I would not be here long.
My cellular device buzzed in my pocket. Pulling it out I saw a jumble of letters and numbers which spelled DaVinci from right to left. I put away my phone and pulled out my pistol with a suppressor attached.
My prey was near. No one fucks with time. Not on my watch.
|
I pulled out my pipe and vaped, sucking in that Raspberry Ripple 70/30 whilst I surveyed the land.
Motherfucker.
I checked my phone again, just to make sure I wasn't imagining it and then set off to seek out whoever the hell Icniv Ad is... Was? Is.
It was pretty cool, vaping, walking through a market puffing as people examined my clothes and face - 'If anyone tries to talk to me, I'm just going to speak gobbledy gook and hope they think I'm a foreign merchant' - It seemed like a solid plan on that sunny ass day.
I turned into the alley the signal seemed to be emanating from and I carried on down past some big vases and some chickens, just clucking... Chillin'.
Man, next thing I know, I see a She-He through a window. I swear *down* that was an ugly lady. Shit, wait - Do I have to use PC terms in the 15th Century? 'Cause seriously, this motherfucker looked like zhe was about to sing 'Hope There's Someone' and win a Mercury Music Prize. Damn.
Zhe came out of the house, paintbrush in hand, odd little half smile on... Zit's(?) face...
I held up my phone to show zher the Wi-Fi signal,
"You Icniv?"
My Italian is shoddy, so I have to be honest, I did not understand a word of what came next - All I know is zhe seemed to think I was called 'Leonardo'.
No idea what the Ninja Turtles have to do with it, but there we go. Maybe I shouldn't have agreed to be my Brother-In-Law's lab rat. I mean, how is he going to bring me ba-
Oh. Well, I guess that's the end of that marriage...
"Hey Icniv, you haven't thought up a 15th Century Pornhub yet, have ya'?"
| 2018-03-02T06:38:14
| 2018-03-02T05:58:08
| 38
| 12
|
[WP] You've stumbled across Death Note's younger cousin, Mild Inconvenience Note.
|
Luz Guerra violently penned on the mysterious off-black notebook she had found a week prior. "Mild inconvenience!" she yelled out internally with every master stroke, culminating in a whip of the wrist for each victim she accrued.
This notebook was no ordinary notebook. It was a notebook of *Death*. Or rather, it was a notebook owned by a minion of Death; specifically, one who was on probation for having eaten Death's tuna sandwich from the break-room mini-fridge. This demon minion, Mortamue, had his black notebook of death temporarily replaced with the much milder training version: The Mild Inconvenience Note. He knew the harsh punishment that would befall him if his superiors found out he had already lost it.
Any name one writes in the Mild Inconvenience Note is destined to have a small, almost forgettable, annoyance happen to them within an hour. When Luz found it, she quickly realized the power that had fallen onto her lap. She experimented with the notebook, determining its abilities and limits. Fate had turned Luz into the deliverer of divine punishment.
Mortamue looked from over Luz's shoulder, a witness to the onslaught of unbridled nuisances and hindrances she was delivering, albeit very mild ones.
"Justice!" she loudly internalized. In her darkened room, Luz sat in front of her computer desk watching a live coverage of various high-profile crimes. With one hand she wrote the names and fates of the perpetrators of heinous crimes. Rapists, murderers, corrupt politicians, Brittany from one room over; none were safe. With the other hand she dramatically bit into potato chips with a resounding **crunch** each time. She bit them *in half*, much to the confusion of Mortamue. He had assumed people just ate whole chips at a time. The potato chips weren't even that large. It was leaving crumbs everywhere.
The monitor showed a live feed of a serial killer being escorted out of a cop car. He had been caught mutilating the bodies of his victims with chicken wire. "Gary Worburger," she scrawled on the notebook, "stubs his toe. It hurts, but not too much." *Mild* was the name of the game. Luz had to ensure the inconvenience wasn't too severe, otherwise the punishment would not come true.
The serial killer, partially blinded by the jacket covering his head, walks into a pole and stubs his toe in front of all the cameras. There is audible chuckling from the crowd of reporters. A sense of achievement washes over Luz. Justice comes swiftly. Mildly, but swiftly.
Although Mortamue is impressed by Luz skilled use of the notebook, he can't help but feel concerned over her reckless abuse of power. He feared she was getting careless. "You're leaving too many crumbs."
Luz stopped for a moment to ponder his phrase. "You're right, Mortamue. I've been leaving too many clues."
"Yes, that's what I meant."
The live feed on the computer monitor was interrupted by another live broadcast. It was a mostly blank screen except for a single letter: "Ñ". A masked voice overlaid, "I know you exist. I purposefully streamed live coverage of many criminals in order to gauge your capabilities. I will find you."
With this, a dangerous-but-not-quite-so game of cat and mouse was only just starting.
"Mortamue," Luz said, "bring me more chips. Salt & vinegar flavored."
|
Every Saturday Maria and I have this "obligatory shopping day" where we go to the mall but we don't buy anything (apart from our lunch, of course), instead we pick out random items and say "what they could be", for example a tissue could easily be a blanket for beetles or a slushie could be some sort of literal brain freezer that aliens use to stop other aliens from functioning and then cut up their dead brain to make hats. It usually doesn't make sense, but that's pretty much the magic of it.
This Saturday, a new shop called *Doki-chan* opened. Yes, it's exactly what it sounds like: a bootleg anime/"kawaii" store where broke weaboos can spend their hard-earned McDonald's cash to buy a $4 Amu Hinamori keychain which its paint chips quicker than watching paint dry. The "Doki-chan" on the sign was written in *Curlz* for goodness sake. Maria wanted to go in, and we stepped in the store to be greeted with lighthearted J-Pop music.
I walked over to the stationery section of the shop, which had a lot of mechanical pencils and dessert-themed erasers. I picked up a pink notebook which had "Mild Inconvenience Note" written on it, the dots on the I's replaced with flowers. It had two cats on the cover kissing each other, one of them having black fur, the other one brown. "I don't get it...is 'mild inconvenience' considered a cute phrase now in Japan...kind of how they like to use broken English in their stationery. Maybe it's revenge for the weebs fetishizing the word 'kawaii'..." I thought to myself.
Maria scuttled over to me holding an Eli Ayase keychain and a T-shirt with all the girls on Aqours on it. "Can we break the no-buying rule just for today? I really wanna get these cool Love Live merch! They're soooo cheap too!"
"You do know all this stuff is bootleg, right?" I said quietly to her. Now, I'm not an expert on anime merchandise or anything (I don't even like anime that much) but I have a brother who's obsessed with only getting the "authentic" stuff *and* an elitist sister who breathes *Baby the Stars Shine Bright* and is supposedly allergic to *Bodyline*.
"Thanks for your opinion," Maria rolled her eyes. She glanced at the notebook I was holding and choked on some air. "Oh my god, is that supposed to be like Death Note but like, 4Kids-ified?? Anyways I'm so getting myself one of those." She picked up another pink notebook from the pile. "$5? Noice..."
"Don't say that please," I cringed.
We walked out of the shop with Maria having $21 less cash. "Oh, can you buy my lunch please? Haha I just realised that's all my food money. Whoops." I facepalmed really hard, but there's some sort of satisfaction in being the "responsible" friend. I hand her a $20 note and we go to a Mexican food place and she orders some nachos and I order a burrito. While she waits for me to savor the other half of my burrito, she takes out the Mild Inconvenience Note and starts flicking through the pages. The Mild Inconvenience Note had the same layout of the Death Note how to use section, which Maria thought was pretty cool. She got out her Hello Kitty pen out of her messenger bag and started tapping the "clicky" end of it on her chin, causing the ballpoint to go in or out.
"What if the power of their love saved Light and L from their deaths?" she thought out loud, her idealism showed themselves in her eyes making her look a little removed from reality. "That would be a cute little fanfic. I should write that fanfic."
"Oh dear god, no..." I muttered, mouth still half full from the burrito. "I don't even know what those are but it sounds pretty horrible..."
"Wow, downer much...I was just thinking out loud..." Maria muttered. "Maybe I'll just pretend this is like the Death Note and write people's names on here for fun."
"Have fun with that."
Maria wrote on the first fresh page "Craig Stuart - choke on burrito". She didn't expect anything to happen, but soon enough, I really was choking on a piece of minced meat. She assumed it was just a coincidence though.
The Mild Inconvenience Note was used by Maria as a way of "venting" towards things she was pissed off about. She brought it to church the next day and made the pastor hiccup the the whole hour. It took her a while to realise that she did, in fact, have some sort of power bestowed upon her in the form of a pink notebook, but once she did, she sort of...abused the power. I found this the ear-shrieking, "standing in scorching summer heat" way.
"Craig!!! What the hell!! Why would you cut out my *Invitation from 5th Avenue* dress just so you can make good quality pillow cases?! What is wrong with you?!" my elitist sister fumed like a tomato on steroids.
"Uh...I don't make pillow cases? That's Maria. She loves making pillow cases." I gave her a weird look.
"Oh, silly me, aha...you two spend too much time with each other, I mistake you for her a lot of the time! Wait, do I even have an older brother sometimes...oh I wonder..." she chuckled, fanning her gloved hands in the air.
"I only hang out with her on Saturdays..."
"Right, yeah. Forgot you lacked other companions. Well, I'm going to challenge Maria to a game of tennis tomorrow to find out if she's the culprit. I mean, it just has to be her, I know it."
"Yeah, because a game of tennis will do the trick," I nodded. If chins could wink, mine probably would have. My lucky ass found itself sitting on prickly dead grass as I watched a professional tennis match with fast-paced athleticism combined with wits and tactical planning that no ordinary tennis match could ever compare to. It almost feels like my birthday.
"Jesus, Maria!! Stop checking out Karen's legs and actually pay attention to *the goddamn game!!*" I groaned. I wouldn't call my sister military ruthless, but it was a little sneaky of her to wear booty shorts which flaunted her curve, knowing that Maria had formed some sort of physical attraction to her. I find it funny how Karen knows this, but cannot distinguish the difference from her *brother* and his friend. My sister isn't really a sports person and neither was Maria, so the game mainly consisted of serving the ball to each other and the other person chasing after the missed ball. Karen did end up winning though since she managed to hit a few balls over the net.
"Well, there you go. Maria's obviously the culprit, cause she lost on purpose," my sister concluded.
"If you say so..." Maria rolled her eyes.
"I mean, why would you even accept my offer to play tennis with you? I messaged you something along the lines of: hey dress destroyer, 3 pm, let's go down to the tennis court,"
"And talk it up like yeah?" I said, making the cringiest pun in history. Okay, there you go, the boldest move of my high school life.
"Yeah, I saw that coming..." my sister put her hand on her hip. "Do you use the pillow with my dress on it as some sort of body pillow or something? Or let me guess, you went one step ahead and made a blanket?"
Maria showed no emotion on her face and simply said, "Would you believe me if I used a notebook to ruin your dress for you? Yeah, such a shame I didn't get any free fabric from it..."
"Haha, hilarious. Pinch me."
Maria got out her Mild Inconvenience Note from her bag and wrote "Karen Stuart - trip over and break nose".
| 2017-01-09T08:18:19
| 2017-01-09T00:25:59
| 78
| 23
|
[WP] You are an archaeologist. While digging, you find an immortal that has been buried there, for ages, still alive.
I guess you can choose what time the immortal is from.
|
The sun sat low in the sky, shining a blistering red light over the desert valley. James had almost finished his day's excavation, with no significant discoveries. James was sure that he was on to something, else he would never have returned to the Valley of Kings in Egypt. He *hated* Egypt, ever since he almost died from a lethal snake bite several years before. But this time was different.
Six months earlier, James had been on a trip to the Yucatan Peninsula when he came across a rather out of place tablet. This tablet, James later learned, was of Egyptian origin. This wouldn't have been as noteworthy, if it hadn't been translated into exact coordinates within the Valley of Kings. James was sure he would find something if he traveled to this location, so he convinced a local university to fund a venture into the Valley.
James sat down outside his tent, and took a swig from his hip flask. The university wouldn't continue funding his expedition for much longer, unless he started to show results. He sighed, crawled into his beige military tent, and drifted into an uncomfortable sleep.
A loud rumble broke the silence of the night. James jolted awake, just in time to hear a thousand year's sigh emanate from the dig site. He bolted out of his tent, and started to run to the site, until he saw what had happened. A cavern beneath the site had collapsed, creating a passage into the ancient Egyptian earth. The other members of the expedition had already begun to stir, and James knew that if he waited for them to catch up, they would prevent him from being able to investigate. James took one look down into the newly-made pit, sighed, and jumped.
James tumbled down into the cave, and thudded onto a stone tile floor. He picked himself up and brushed himself off before turning on his flashlight taking a look around. The cavern was really a tunnel, and apparently part of a network of tunnels, as it had passages branching off from it every few meters. However, one aspect of the tunnel drew James' full attention. One passage, about 50 meters down the tunnel, was lit up by torches.
He made his way to the peculiar pathway and examined the entrance for traps. Upon finding none, James entered, and promptly dropped his flashlight. There, sitting on a golden throne, was a man. Not a mummy, not a skeleton, but a living, breathing man. *And it was looking directly at James*. Before he could move or make a noise, the man on the throne raised a hand made a fist toward James. He felt his throat squeeze, and his body lock into position. He was immobilized.
The man on the throne cocked his head to one side, and stared at James for a second before opening his mouth. The man breathed in a deep, long breath as though he was breathing in all the air a man would need for several lifetimes. Finally, he stopped.
He spoke.
"Why have you disturbed me? Is it time? Is it finally time?"
His throat was released, and he fell to the floor gasping for air. James didn't understand. No one should be in these tunnels. They hadn't even been discovered until minutes before. James looked up at the man, and asked ,"What *are* you?"
"I am a library," spoke the man ,"An archive. I am the memory of a time before, and a warning for a time yet to come. But I now see that time has not *come* yet, so I will ask again: Why have you disturbed me?"
"I'm an archaeologist. I was here on an expedition. I found a tablet-"
"You found the first warning?" the man snapped at James ,"then perhaps the time truly has come. I suppose I should explain. I am no mere human. I am a nearly immortal messenger, who was granted the lifetimes of a thousand slaves that I may convey a message to a future people who would be in dire straits, but have no clue how close to peril they truly were."
The room span. James had made a mistake, returning to the valley. He should never have come, never have dug up the earth, never jumped down the hole.
"You do not have much time. What power I have been granted was used to revive me. I will only provide the message once, and you must use the knowledge you gain here to prevent the end of mankind. Are you ready?"
James nodded, still not fully aware of what was going on. The man's eyes widened, and he gasped. "There is not much time. You must-"
The man's back arched, then he fell from the throne. He struggled to look up at James, desperate to convey his message.
"Do not cause an atomic explosion. Your kind may not understand what that is yet, but you must make sure it never happens. If you do, *they* will come to our world. And they will destroy everything. They lie in wait, and search for signs of civilization, which they then find and sap the energy from any developed world they find. If they detect the explosion of a single nuclear bomb, they will come. You will have perhaps a century to leave this planet, or you will *all die.*"
The man's body convulsed once, and then was still. He had given his warning, and he was content he had saved mankind from absolute annihilation.
|
Anne was amazed at the wealth of relics that were at her dig. It was like Pompeii before them, but this time on a worldwide scale. The oceans have finally receded enough for the safety restrictions to be lifted, damn bureaucracy preventing the pursuit of knowledge. What hidden treasures lay in the hallowed halls of MIT?
She wandered amongst the ruins, just taking in the history and found herself inside a lab of sorts. Looking around she noticed a door that while looked in a horrible state on the outside, had the fortitude of longevity on where it mattered. Anne looked around the edges, her eyes wide with anticipation.
This might be the find of the decade, she thought. An intact room of the 21st century undisturbed for hundreds of years. With her curiosity getting the better of her need for proper archeological procedure, she opened the door. A used air flowed out, stale and as pleasing as morning breath. She shone her light in but gasped.
There was a woman inside, hair long and unkept, clothing bare threads. She held up here hands to block the light. Her smile cracked this face that has not seen emotion for a long time. But Anne was not smiling. After the specimen reacquainted herself with walking she was staring at her face to face. A proper cleansing would have made her look like Anne's twin. The expression on Anne's face was asking who she was.
"I was wondering when you would get here," the squatter croaked through her brown bean looking teeth, "If you go down the hallway a bit, you will see where I left the time machine."
| 2014-05-12T19:03:51
| 2014-05-12T17:50:17
| 42
| 16
|
[WP] God doesn't hide in Heaven because he created us. He hides because he doesn't know where we came from.
|
Heaven was impossible to reach, but that didn't stop us.
The base of the tower was the size of a city and yet, as Anna looked up squinting against the sun, it seemed to shrink to the size of a needle as it disappeared into the hazy sky. She'd first seen it three hours ago as she'd been driving here. Then, two hours from it, she'd needed to pull over to catch her breath. And now, immediately below it, the air in her lungs had been stolen again.
"You're the physicist," came a voice. "Aren't you? They said I'd be travelling with one."
A man had appeared beside Anna; a priest dressed like a monk. A long brown robe draped down to a pair of modern walking boots that looked out of time on him. She only knew it was a priest because she could make out the clerical collar beneath the neck of his robe.
"They're not sure what the ground will be like up there," he said.
"I'm sorry?" she replied.
"The boots. They're practical."
She realised she'd been staring at them. "Oh. I hope sneakers will do me."
"I'm sure they will." He stretched a hand out. "Father Charles Godson. I know, I know -- with a name like that I had no choice but to become a priest."
He had a friendly smile and Anna appreciated that. The tower to heaven made her palms sweat. She wiped them on her fleece before she shook hands. "Anna."
A third man approached. Military -- dressed in camouflage uniform. "Sir. Ma'am. My name is Corporal Henry Smith. I'll be your escort today all the way up to the Gates of Heaven. Please follow me."
Corporal Smith marched past Anna and Charles, leaving them to exchange raised eyebrows, as he headed into a glass cube at the bottom of the building.
"After you," said the Charles.
​
The glass cube shot up. Anna wasn't afraid of heights exactly, but seeing the parked cars beneath them instantly turn the size of seeds, made her wish that the floor at least had been made opaque. As it was, there was no where to look that didn't make her feel like she was hurtling to her demise. She backed into a corner and took a deep breath.
"So how did you get the invite, Father Godson?" she asked, attempting to distract herself. "I would have thought they had a hundred priests up there already."
Corporal Smith, his eyes up to then focused on his reflection in the glass panel besides him, glanced at Anna. For some reason, it made her feel uneasy.
"Just Charles is fine," said the priest. "And I must confess, I don't believe I'm their first choice. There must just be a lot of work for us up there. For priests, I mean. I heard it took a hundred just to open the Gate."
"A hundred? And they're still bringing more of you up?"
"Well, it is Heaven, Anna. I'm sure all the priests on earth wouldn't be enough to fill it."
"You're both very lucky," said Corporal Smith. "Not many get invited up. Very few have even seen images of the insides."
"Have you?" asked Anna.
"No Ma'am."
"You don't have a gun," said Charles.
"No Sir."
"I thought soldiers always had guns."
"From what I've heard, there's no getting through the Gate with a weapon," he said. "But I am trained in hand to hand combat. Top of my class. I believe that's why I got the call."
Anna wondered why Heaven would require anyone to be good at hand to hand combat. She took a stupid look beneath her feet. The cars were altogether gone now, and the desert looked like a yellow ocean spreading out to the horizon. Blurred and hazed.
"How does it even work?" she said. "I never understood, even after they briefed me. Surely the tower just goes into space."
"It stretches dimensions where the sky meets space," said Corporal Smith.
"That's what they told me," said Anna. "But it doesn't *mean much* to me. Wish it did."
"Ah, well you scientists are always looking for results based on firm rules," said Charles with a grin.
"Is this when I hear all about faith and how wonderful it is?" she asked. "I grew up Catholic, so I don't really need to be lectured on it."
"Ah," said Charles. "You've lost yours, haven't you? That explains why you're so nervous."
Clouds swooshed past, thickening, and soon swallowed the lift. Anna was grateful for them, as they provided something of a ground outside. Or at least, they covered the ground so she didn't have to look at it.
After that, everything happened very quickly. The sky turned from white to yellow, almost blindingly bright. The lift began to tremble, then to rattle. Anna held onto the rails until her knuckles went red then white. There was a scream and it took Anna a second to realise it came from her.
Then, suddenly, the lift jerked to a halt. The priest fell forward into Anna's chest.
"Sorry," he mumbled, as he backed off. "I'm very sorry. That's not going to improve our reputa--"
Anna followed his gaze and found what had silenced him.
The lift door opened. There was ground beneath them. Veined marble.
A great white-bricked wall ran left and right as far as they could see -- but in front of them, radiating the blinding gold, was the Gate to Heaven.
It was wide open.
"*Jesus save us*," said Charles. "And God have mercy."
The missing priests. Limbs nailed against what what must have been a hundred wooden crucifixes set up outside the gates. The ground cracked beneath them.
"Good thing you brought those boots, Priest," Anna said.
Charles glared at her and opened his mouth to speak. But Heaven had stolen all his words.
"They were the key," said Corporal Smith. "It's thanks to their sacrifice we can enter. Now follow me."
\---
Part two: [https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofstatic/comments/f6r01c/tower\_to\_heaven\_part\_2/](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofstatic/comments/f6r01c/tower_to_heaven_part_2/)
|
“What are the lights on the mountain?” the traveler asked.
The bartender smiled. The traveler had an innocent, kind smile, but she knew better.
“You don’t need me to know that, do you? I’m sure the tour books all say.”
“Well, everyone knows what’s up there. One of the world’s highest monasteries. But I’m asking about the lights.”
“What about the lights?” the bartender asked, pouring the traveler’s glass of water. These were the types she normally hated, tourists who would come for information or water and leave having paid for nothing. But this man seemed different from the rest.
“What are they used for?”
“So it doesn’t get dark.”
“So people live up there.”
“Yes,” she said. “They live there, and never leave. And no one ever goes.”
“Why?”
“Because the passage is impossible.” The bartender set the glass in front of the traveler, and looked him dead in his eyes. “Trust me, sir. Take your pictures and leave. Trying to reach the monastery is certain death.”
The traveler took off his hat, revealing himself as a balding, thin man.
“Your father lives on the mountain, does he not?” the traveler asked casually.
The bartender’s heart began to beat. How did the traveler know?
“Can you introduce me?”
\-
“*You should really travel down there sometime,” Ariadne said.*
“*What is down there for me?” Dionysus asked. “The people down there, they don’t need what I have.”*
“*They need someone.”*
“*They have Zeus and Poseidon and Hades to handle all that.”*
“*They need you to live. To make the Earth green, and to give them cheer and vitality to live for.”*
“*The way they are destroying the Earth, they don’t need me. Zeus has no idea where they came from. They were never in the plan, and now they’ve messed it up entirely.””*
“*Maybe that’s exactly why they do need you,” she said.*
The memory flashed in the god’s mind as he made his way up the mountain. His great love and all the gods were long gone, having left the heavens in the True War.
Now it was only him, chasing answers he suspected didn’t exist.
(to be continued)
| 2020-02-19T22:12:58
| 2020-02-19T22:12:24
| 1,502
| 191
|
[WP] When you kill someone, you get their best trait. Except it's what *they* think is their best trait.
|
Wyatt Higgins. That asshole. He bullied others, talked down to everyone, and used his football-induced strength to attract willing servants and sluts. And through all that, he always thought of himself as the one in the right, the one who did good. Any problems he created? Nope, that was someone else. Any people he hurt? They had it coming. I suppose, being a narcissist, he wouldn't think anything else.
Well, it was he who had it coming, now. After killing someone, I realized I had a power, and killed even more. The jerk teacher who'd always say I was cheating, the bitch who made all the girls avoid me, and my drunken abusive father. They were all dead, and I gained sneakiness, intelligence, and strength respectively. All traits they thought were their best trait.
I would've killed Wyatt anyways. Ever since overcoming the little voice that said killing was wrong, he was on my list. But now I had another reason. What did Wyatt think was his best trait? Everything. He thought he knew everything, could control everything, and his every word and action would be remembered. And best of all, he thought all of his traits were his best traits equally.
Narcissism no longer annoys me. Instead, it's the path to becoming God.
So I snuck into his room in the dead of night. I'm ready to strike. I wonder if he'd have any regrets? Knowing him, he'd have none. I suppose that's a trait I can live with.
My knife flashed down.
______________________________________________________
Wyatt Higgins woke up feeling achy. *Why am I on the floor?* He stood up, then froze, his eyes on the corpse on his bed.
Wyatt stared at the dead Wyatt with a knife in his throat. After pondering a few minutes, he decided that it was a crazed stalker who tried to *be* him, but found they couldn't match him. They then stalked him home and committed suicide, knowing that it was better to die as him than go back to their lives. It was the only explanation that made sense! Clearly something crazy had happened, and who *wouldn't* want to be him?
Wyatt sighed and mentally prepared himself to tell his parents. The poor bastard. They would never have even come close to achieving his own perfection.
Being Wyatt Higgins was his own best trait, after all.
|
Jim walked down Market street. There were businessmen walking around, surrounded by armed guards, as was normal these days. Murders had become more prevalent than ever, the top of the food chain terrified of the ritualistic sacrifices, men killing and drinking the blood of their rich and powerful victims. They called them vampires, as that was the best word they had for it, the few that believed in the transfer of energy between the victim and killer. The government denied the phenomenon, but many believed it. Unfortunately there was no easy way to scientifically explain this sort of thing since the experiments required were too gruesome to be done. Jim was a believer, and in fact had a few theories of his own. His experiments done in his basement had proved to him there was some truth to the rumors.
As soon as he walked near a group of armed guards they started shouting at him, telling him to back off. He did, with his hands in his air. He laughed at them. They guarded trash. Those rich pricks were often more self-deprecating than most. They saw themselves as the trash they were, even though those that surrounded them looked upon them highly. They were worthless to Jim, and difficult to get at nonetheless.
Jim spotted a man with a briefcase without armed guards. The man glanced around nervously, even quickened his pace as he saw Jim watching him. He was interesting, and Jim could guess there was something to be gained from him, but nonetheless he wasn't an interesting target. Jim continued down the street.
Downtown was a haven of opulence and poverty. So many addicts shaking cups full of change, and so many lavish men eating lunch in expensive Japanese restaurants, laughing with colleagues. Even the nice restaurants had a guard or two these days. Chefs were an interesting target, especially at the fine restaurants. Who wouldn't like to be able to cook themselves an amazing dinner now and then? But their guards were to protect the rich inside, not the workers. They were fools all the same.
There it was, one of the dirtiest corners in the city. Someone muttered "rock" as he passed by, trying to deal him some crack. Jim passed on by and glanced around. This was a dangerous place, but not so much because of the vampires. He was being watched by three men standing on the corner. Jim tried to dress more appropriately for this area, but he still stood out like a sore thumb.
He continued down this forgotten neighborhood, smelling strange chemicals smells as he walked faster. It was a little too quiet for his liking, but there were lots of hiding places here and people that wouldn't be noticed if they went missing. It was perfect.
Suddenly, he heart some muttering. It came from an alleyway. He peered over, and a skinny man was talking to the brick wall in front of him.
"Hello there, do you happen to know the way to train?" Jim asked, listening tentatively.
"Train? Train! They're out there, taking my friends! I've got a word for them."
"What's that word?"
The man stared blankly. This was the longest conversation he's had in a while.
"Roofers coming down, asking questions, always questions. They think too much, too much, man. Think too much."
"What do you know about the roofers?"
"They think too much man, thinking thinking thinking."
No drugs here, no marks on his arms. No chemical smell. He wasn't on drugs. *Schizophrenic or bipolar*, Jim thought.
"What's your name?"
"Name? Pharaoh. I'm a pharaoh."
"What are they thinking Pharaoh? What are those roofers thinking?"
"They're thinking of way to go around, take trains, you know. Taking 'em all."
"How do you know this, Pharaoh? How do you know what they're thinking?"
"No one can hear their thoughts, but I can. I can hear them all. All of them thinking. Those roofers, taking our trains. They're coming."
*Perfect.*
| 2018-09-15T13:18:18
| 2018-09-15T12:17:03
| 16
| 12
|
[WP] The website appeared suddenly one day, with no announcement. Anyone, anywhere could type in the url and access it. The content was simple: A homepage, a search bar, and the full name, a list of timestamped sins and the years to be spent in hell of every living human.
|
“Liz, let’s just go to sleep,” my wife says.
“Yeah,” I say, my lids dropping, heavier and heavier. My phone slips out of my hand.
A buzz. A text from someone. A link. Welcometohell.com
“Oh, my God,” I say after a minute of reading the banner on the site. “We only have a week.”
\-
UNDER FURTHER REVIEW, that’s what it said under my name. My wife got a year.
“What’d you do?” I’d asked. "It says POWER ABUSE. I always thought you were a goody-two-shoes, with Catholic school and all."
She shrugged. “Made out with a fourteen year old when I was a senior.”
“Catholic school really compromises you morally, doesn’t it?”
I’d checked my sister, and her husband. Fifteen years and six. Mark had been a pretty good guy, for a Christian. Feeling guilty, I even looked up their kids. Let’s just say even they got ratings.
I didn't understand. I'd lived a pretty full life, filled with mistakes and picking myself up after. Surely I should have more data to make a decision than the children.
Ultimately, though, my wife and I didn’t really care. We had never believed in any type of religion, especially not the ones we had been born with. Mary was even looking forward to hell a little bit.
“Now everyone can just be a freak. There’s no point in hiding. It’ll be so interesting!”
“So interesting you won’t miss me?”
“We’ll meet up in heaven or wherever you’re going.”
Mary insisted we turn off our phones, and our wifi, and just live out the week on our own. So after that first rush of looking up every person I could think of, I stopped. And I’d been fine. Until now.
Now, it’s a day before the apocalypse now, and my finger hovers over the dial button.
\-
“Mom, Dad? It’s Liz,” I say.
“You’re mom’s in her bed,” Dad says, quiet. “It’s been a stressful time for all of us. What do you want?”
*What do you want? All of us, but not you.* It had been that way ever since I'd come out.
“Well, my phone's been off, this whole week, and I just wanted to check up, in case you guys'd called, seeing it’s the last week all of us will probably be on Earth.”
“Well, the reason it’s the last week is the only reason we picked up,” Dad said in the dry, sarcastic tone that I had inherited against all my will. “Besides, we’ll probably be getting out of hell before you do, right?”
"Well, you do know being gay wasn't listed as a sin, right? So I guess you guys were wrong-"
"Then how long did you get? I'm sure it's just a technicality."
“Well, that’s the thing. I didn’t get assigned a number.”
“What?”
“Under the years, it just said it was still under review.”
“I’m sure they haven’t found the right number for your kind,” Dad says, weary, like it’s a burden to speak. “Well, take care, Liz.”
And that’s the last I say to my father.
\-
“Do you think my dead body will be here? Oh my God, if you’re still here, will you have sex with it?”
That’s the kind of thing my wife says right before we fall asleep, the day before we leave for hell. She'd always known exactly how to calm my nerves.
But surprisingly, neither of us were very nervous. We fell asleep around midnight in each other’s arms, like always.
The next morning, I wake up alone. There isn't even a dent in Mary's half of the bed.
I get up, and take my phone from the closet where I hid it. I type in welcometohell.com.
It redirects.
*Congratulations! Welcome to Heaven 1.0. You have proven to be a virtuous and honest human in the face of a dishonest world. Advancement was hidden to prevent losing players from sabotaging the victory you have earned...*
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347)
|
The Day of Sin was a wake-up call, for all of us.
It came with many cold truths and many harsh revelations. For the very notion that hell itself even existed was thought of by some to be an ironclad truth, and by others a fantasy used to control the gullible masses.
There were those that almost immediately dismissed it as a hoax, and sought to prevent others from accessing the cursed archives it stored. For if the things spoke of upon those archives were indeed the infallible truth, then the misdeeds of each and every one of us would be brought to light.
No matter how hard they tried to contain and discredit those records, it was all to quick to confirm that it was no lie. That it was indeed controlled by something we could not comprehend, something higher than all of us. For any new wrongdoings committed under its watchful eye would be added immediately after their inception, and alongside it, the punishment gained for committing such a wretched deed.
We were forced to accept the truth it laid bare before us, and the ramifications it set out for us. The absolute certainty that there was a punishment out there waiting for us, a cruel reminder for our sins – even the ones we had forgotten.
Order broke down, but that was inevitable. For deny it as much as you desired, you could not fight that insatiable urge to search the truth of all those you had ever known, all the friends and family you had.
Nobody was safe from the omniscient eye of the archives. All manner of prominent figures, in business and politics and every conceivable field had their transgressions broadcasted to the world. There were those who were thought of as sinful who were anything but, and those believed to be virtuous that were the epitome of wickedness itself.
Drastic measures were put into place to silence the mysterious entity behind those archives. The internet itself was shuttered across the globe, even though it was not something that could be stopped in its entirety, it was a measure powerful enough that it sent millions, if not billions of people into a complete information blackout. No longer could we understand what was occurring across the world so easily, and no longer could we reveal the misdeeds of those around us.
But try as they might, the damage was already done. For the sins of each and every one of us were cast into the light, with both our names and our faces attached to them, and I was no exception.
I remember that fateful day well, I thought at first it was no more than a cruel prank, and as I gazed upon my own file I thought the same. My sins, or rather, my sin, was not listed in legible text. But instead, it was something beyond my comprehension, a twisted whirlwind of blackened shapes, sprawling out over that page.
But what it did not deny me of however, was the privilege of seeing the punishment I had earned for my invisible sin.
Fifty million years.
* * *
There I was on a cold November day, sitting on the broken down porch of an abandoned cabin off the outskirts of the town of Redhook. I had made that crumbling place my home after the events of that day, for I had been ousted from my hometown for the inconceivable sins I had committed.
There were those who thought being in my presence would be considered a sin in its own right. It was no more than a stroke of good fate that I was no outright purged that day, for had that occurred I would no doubt be in the bowels of hell at that very moment, living out the first year of a sentence which spanned fifty million.
Nonetheless, they exiled me from that town, for the primeval fear of the unknown that I was had taken root and struck an unending unease deep in their bones, and overtaken each and every one of them in a frenzy.
As I watched the sun beat down upon the horizon, painting the sky an eternal crimson, I saw a figure emerge from the darkness of the nearby thicket. She was a half-masked woman approached me, her calm blue eyes barely peeking out from under the faded cloth wrapped around her face. Her once radiant golden hair had been cut short and looked like it had been barely washed as of late, giving her a deservedly greasy look.
“You're here early, Savannah,” I said sarcastically as I watched her approach her, my eyes fixated on the leather bag at her side. “How's things in town?”
“It's been better,” she said as she shrugged half-heartedly, “power cuts out sometimes, but at least there's been no issue with water. But the thing is, we had some new arrivals, which I ain't too keen on.”
I felt a creeping discontent gnaw at my stomach. “You let some newcomers in? Isn't that risky?”
“Yeah, I try to warn 'em, but you know Sig, he's got too much of a bleedin' heart. But not enough of one for you, evidently,” she said with a sigh, “came back to bite him, it did, we've just had to chase out few bad folk. They reckon that's the last of 'em, but you can never be so sure when you can't check.”
“Yet they still keep you around?”
She gave a dry laugh, but I could see the annoyance in her eyes. “They don't leave me around the little ones, guess they're worried I'll do something.”
“But you won't, right?”
“Of 'course not.” She pulled down her mask to reveal her wicked scowl beneath it. “I'm not that kind of person.”
“Thought so,” I said, “So, I take it they're not going to let me back in anytime soon?”
“You could just leave, Fifty,” she said with a frown, “they reckon the internet is never gonna' come back on round these parts. If they can't check your page, then nobody knows who you are.”
“You don't know that for sure,” I said, “if it comes back and someone takes one look at my record, they'll think the worst of me.”
“But you didn't do anything, right?” she said with a cheeky grin.
“I don't think I did,” I said, “but I just don't know.”
“I guess you'll find out one day,” she said with a sobering laugh, which seemed to echo with a sense of emptiness.
“That's not exactly reassuring.”
“Sorry,” she said, as she sat down beside me, causing the floorboards to creak with a harrowing symphony, “you mind if I stay awhile?”
I saw no reason to deny her request, and so I let her carry on as she were. And I watched as she pulled out a small box of cigarettes from the leather bag at her side and immediately lit one up – not even caring to offer me one.
“That's not good for your health,” I said as I gently nudged her side.
“Worlds gone to shit anyway, let me have this,” she said with a faint laugh as she blew smoke in my eyes, causing them to water.
“It's not that bad,” I said, “it's just different. And you've got it easier at least, you're in the town.”
“It's not that easy,” she said as she blew smoke into my face yet again, delighting in the misfortune she caused me. “Lost my entire family that day.”
“Sorry,” I said, “I didn't mean-”
“It's fine, don't worry about it.” She flicked the stub of her cigarette into the dirt. “I'm probably better off without them, anyway.”
We sat in silence for some time, there was never too much to talk of between us that didn't devolve into the same platitudes before long, and so I thought it best to do nothing more than watch the sun as it burrowed itself below the horizon. As it did so, I felt a cold chill ring out around me, sending a chill coursing throughout my entire body.
“You gonna' be right out here?” she said as she moved closer to me, “it's getting colder as of late.”
“I've got the fireplace,” I said, “I should be okay, but thanks.”
“Do you mind if I stay here tonight?” she spoke in a whisper as her arm snaked its way around my side. “After they chased those folk out, people are giving me shifty looks again.”
“Sure,” I said, as my words betrayed my heart.
“Let's get inside then,” she said, as she dragged me away.
* * *
Edit: Just wrote a little bit more, probably won't do any more than this.
* * *
More of my writing at /r/khaarus
| 2020-02-29T21:56:53
| 2020-02-29T19:44:34
| 508
| 370
|
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile only to learn that no one else actually went into isolation.
|
Everyone in the U.S. tuned in to watch one of the three major nationally syndicated TV news programs. Fifty years ago, the WWIII Isolation Armistice required all international travel and trade to cease, the internet to be walled, and all long distance communication to be deactivated.
The only broadcast communications that remained in the country were AM/FM radio and VHF/UHF television, signals carried by local repeaters that stopped at the border. The U.S. had never paid much attention to foreign media before WWIII, so it hadn't been missed by the majority of the country. Most of the country were satisfied to be entertained by television re-runs and recycled Hollywood formula movies.
In less than 30 seconds, the internet walls would come down, and the old satellites would be reactivated. Everyone was holding their breath, eager to be united with a brave new world, human beings from around the planet who didn't grow up with hate and prejudice.
...3 ...2 ...1!
Fireworks exploded in the sky in cities across the country, and a great cheer arose from every home! Every television screen showed a view of the earth from the single satellite that remained in working order.
As the satellite orbited over the dark side of the earth, cheering diminished because there were no lights below. A news anchor speculated that many countries had run out of fuel for electricity.
As the satellite passed into daylight, the screen revealed the surprising sight of several large new oceans located in Asia, India, Pakistan, the Middle East, and Europe. The American continent had more forest area than comparison images from the last satellite photos fifty years prior.
An elderly satellite image specialist was brought to the news desk to analyze the satellite data. Based on the refraction wavelength, the specialist concluded the oceans were not water, but glass.
The cheering turned to cries of horror. How could this have happened?
[edited: punctuation, words]
|
Burgess stop running long enough to feel the fire in his chest and stitch in side. Wing tips were never meant for this, he realized too late. His instinct kicked in about a second and two heavy breaths later – “MOVE! NOW!”
He took off again, light gray suit jacket protesting the movement of his arms. His 1,300$ Countess Mara tie was long gone in a mud puddle two blocks back. Burgess loved that tie – hopefully he’d find another. Or someone one find him one. It WAS a silk tie after all.
“It’s impossible to find silk ties on the black market these days,” was all he could think as he rounded a corner and froze…
The air above his head began to press him toward the ground as the black helicopter landed in the alley dead in front of him. Trying to get up, the Diplomat tried running the other way only to find himself staring at a wall of men. Men of varying race, from different places, wearing flags of varying countries on their shoulders. Men united and trying to capture him. And doing a good job of it. They led him to helicopter’s rear and gruffly shoved him inside.
They bound his hands in thick, heavy cuffs that drug his hands away from his shoulders. His kit was layed on the floor of the cargo hold – passports, currency, the usual tech, various firearms. Still not finding their intended target, they began to pat him down more thoroughly and found it sewn into his jacket – a 256 petabyte drive about the size of a thumbnail. Made in Korea – like many good things were these days.
“Did you think we wouldn’t find it? Did you think we wouldn’t find you?” the Pakistani Assault Captain spoke in smooth, beautiful English. A flash of pain in his gut sent Burgess to the floor. Another sent him almost to unconsciousness.
“How many copies did you make? How many were RELEASED? Who is your distributor? WHO!!?!?”
More pain. Blood now, unsure from where.
Burgess tried to answer the questions; he was no hero. But his brain wouldn’t work…everything came slower just now.
He was able to look up enough to see the Captain deck the chip and view the contents on the holographic projector within the hold. Just conscious enough to hear the litany of curses thrown his way at what was displayed:
Marvel Cinematic Universe – Complete Content: 2018-2068
Total uploads – 3,458,523
Total Downloads – 25,739,450
Up time – 8 hours
“8 FUCKING HOURS! KILL HIM!!!!!”
Burgess’ mind was awash at his role in all this. How he would die for the United States of America. How he would die protecting its only valuable export.
It took the White House and Pentagon exactly 2 days and 17 satellites to figure out the world was moving on without the US. So, they had decided on waging war with the only thing we produced that on one else did on our level. China and Korea could make tech, Russia and Brazil could feed the world. Only America could produce culture and content at a pace that the world could consume.
Burgess permitted himself a final small smirk as he watched Robert Downey the IVth step into the Mark 200 Iron Man armor – knowing that he had won, seeing the twinkle in the eyes of all the privates in the back of the chopper.
| 2016-10-18T18:32:40
| 2016-10-18T15:03:15
| 252
| 94
|
[WP] You've noticed a man in a suit approaches one home a day in your neighborhood and is invited inside every time. Shortly after he leaves, the resident(s) commit suicide. Today, he's approached your home.
|
I did nothing but stare at the clock. *11:59*.
It would be one minute. One minute on the dot, and then the knocking would come. After the first few neighbors committed suicide, we began to pay more attention to what happened around our neighborhood. We noticed him by the fourth home, we were the sixth. Every home following, the exact same news report came out: "the inhabitants of the home were found dead on their kitchen table with no visible signs of resistance or physical harm", "the homeowners were found to have been poisoned by some kind of unknown toxin, manifesting in odd lumps and rashes scattered across their entire body", "no DNA evidence is available".
They've questioned us on five occasions if we had noticed anything odd. By the third time, we finally said we noticed a man who had been visiting each of the homes were the occupants committed suicide. They would ask for details on the man, but our information was limited. He wore a top hat, sunglasses, and a coat which stood up at its neck and hid his face. He was male, Caucasian, an older man judging by how wrinkled his hands seemed whenever he gestured at the doors. That was all, and in every instance we saw him after, that was all we could say.
**Knock. Knock. Knock**
A polite, standard knock. What you would expect from an acquaintance or an old friend. Except, even if we didn't answer, it would persist.
**Knock. Knock. Knock**
The last house that didn't answer, he stayed at the door for half an hour until the family pulled up into the driveway. He was in no hurry to leave. Why?
**Knock. Knock. Knock**
I stood up, and felt my wife grip my arm. "Don't. Maybe he'll leave? Maybe if we give it enough time, he'll leave us alone?" She had tears in her eyes, I wiped the one away from mine.
**Knock. Knock. Knock**
*I doubt he will. Let's just get it over with.* I took my time walking toward our door, glancing every few steps to see my wife; she sat in our kitchen with her hands covering her face, soft sobs pierced our silent home. Our kids were out in school, which was good. We never heard of the kids committing anything during the occurrences. Odd.
I answered the door, and was greeted by an older man, in his fifties if I had to guess. He had a wide smile, and immediately stretched out his hand for a shake. "Hello! My name is...well, I suppose my name isn't important. I suppose you know what I'm here to do?" The nerve of this man. *What are you talking about?* He lowered his hand, and straightened his smile. "Don't take me for an idiot, Mr...Johnson, is it?" I felt my stomach sink a little. *How do you know my name?*
The man scratched the back of his ear, and shuffled in his place as he stood. "Brian, may I call you Brian? Ah, I'll do it anyways. Brian, I know a lot about you just from doing a quick search. I know you went to the local schools here from kinder to high school, I know that you work for a local telecommunications company as an electrician, I know that you went to a quite far away university for your studies, and that you found your lovely wife Jamie there, but that's more of a hunch than what I know."
I felt incredibly hot, despite the warm summer day. "And, I also know that you two were in there as I knocked the first few times judging by your cars still being in the driveway. I know your kids aren't home, which is perfect for what's about to happen. May I come in?" I could feel a lump in my throat, my hands shaking slightly with anger. So polite. *And, if I were to say no?*
The man smiled, and opened his coat a bit on its sides, revealing a gun on either side of him. "Then, you wouldn't be a very wise man, would you Brian?" My anger took the best of my fear. *You're going to kill us anyways, why let you in when it can happen right here?* The man smiled again, and let go of his coat to hide his weapons. "Because if you do that, then I'll kill your kids too. And, trust me, even I don't want to do that. Let me in, Brian."
The thought of my children being murdered by this...by this scum. "Now, Brian." Reluctantly, I moved aside, and allowed him in. He walked in, and I followed, closing the door behind him as my wife stared at us, her eyes red from crying. He began to look around our house as I went to sit with my wife and hold her. I kissed her forehead, and rested her head in my chest. *I swear, I will find a way to stop it from happening.* I heard a chuckle from the living room, his steps growing louder as he approached the kitchen table.
"Ah, I'm glad you guys are already here, it makes it a lot easier to start: I hate having to tell them to follow me into the kitchen." From his pocket, he brought out four pills, each of different colors and shapes, and placed them on the table. "You both have two kids, am I correct?" I could feel my wife's head nod against my chest. *That's...that's correct.* "Splendid. I always thought two kids was the way to go, one is too lonely and anything above three is just too many, wouldn't you agree?" I looked away from him and continued to console my wife. "Right, probably not the best time for chit-chat. Let me just get to the point here."
He separated the four containers seemingly an equal distance from each other. "Now, I'm guessing you both could deduce that my question and the fact there's four pills means that you all have to take one, right?" I held my wife closer. *Yes.* "Wonderful. Okay, here are the rules. Each of these pills is something different. Two of them are different kinds of placebos, two of them are toxic. Naturally, the placebos won't kill you and the toxic ones will...well, they just will." He let off a small laugh, what a monster.
"Now, here's the fun part. You get to decide which ones to give to yourselves, and which one to give to your kids." I felt my heart almost stop, the body of my wife shuddered in my arms. *You're asking us to potentially KILL our own kids?!* My arms shook rage. The kids had never been harmed, was this a different ruse? "Potentially, is the key word here, my friend. Now, you can try to figure out which pills do what, and you can take as much time as you'd like, granted you might want to hurry up so your kids don't see what you're doing, but they must be divided up that way. However, you must only give one of these pills to one of your kids, because you also must give me one of these pills."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. What was wrong with this person? *You're putting human lives at risk as if it was all some huge game! What the hell is wrong with you?* The man smiled, and shuffled in his seat. "Oh, the things to tell." He laughed a little again. "Anyways, this isn't about me. Oh, also, I can tell you which pills do what. With the price that you both must take the toxic ones, leaving your kids, and I, safe."
My eyes fell to the bottles in front of me. White, Blue, Orange, Pink. I was a goddamn electrician, not a chemist. The white and pink ones were tablets almost, the former oblong and the latter round; the blue and orange ones were capsules, both oblong but one longer than the other. Could I maybe work it out? "Remember, even if you happened to work it out and gave me one of the bad pills, you still have to distribute one of them to someone in your family." He was right. And, without any kind of hunch, I...
My wife pulled herself away from me, and spoke her only words since I'd open the door. "Please...tell us which ones are lethal."
|
"Good morning sir! I was wondering if you wanted to look at my fine selection of philosophies?" He asked. The man was cleanly dressed and holding open a suitcase with various books. *The Rebel* by Albert Camus, *The Sickness unto Death* by Kierkegaard and Pamela Anderson's Biography among other titles ranging from Diogenes to Wittgenstein.
"No thank you I'm quite fine." I said and started to close the door. The man quickly wedged himself in between and gave a wry smile.
"But sir how do you come to ethical decisions and deal with the crushing indifferent nature of the universe?" he said with a shark like smile. *God I hate these door to door salesman, Wish I could just kill the fuckers*. *But how would that be ethical* another voice peeped in. My eyes widened and I gave the salesman a raised eyebrow. He just smiled more.
"Uhh on second thought come in" I said not knowing why. Soon enough the man started his routine and my lap got piled with different philosophical samples. I found as I listened to the man more and more I couldn't stop soon enough it was the afternoon and I had poured myself fifteen cups of coffee. "Wait wait, so there is an absolute truth but everyone's perspective is a valid reality but we can't trust reality because it is a manifestation of our minds?" I asked confounded with all the strange ideas.
"That's exactly right sir and for just ten bucks I can sign you up with an annual subscription to nihilism!" He gleefully said.
"Is there any way out of this? Can I just not have a philosophy or moral compass?" I said. The man bit his lip and pondered.
"I have just the thing!" He grabbed his other briefcase and opened it. Several shiny revolvers were inside. "Take your pick!".
| 2014-06-16T21:44:53
| 2014-06-16T21:02:24
| 22
| 10
|
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief.
|
Another jump through the Bifrost and I landed on the planet of Acrimony, aka the planet of really bad smelling things. I plugged my nose and went to work.
I collected as many flowers as possible. Some were red, some were purple, some were green, some yellow. They were all quite beautiful.
I stayed for a while just to enjoy the sunset. Actually multiple sunsets because this planet had 4 suns, and so one by one they disappeared. And it got dimmer and dimmer and it turned into night.
It was actually quite lovely.
I strolled back to the pickup point and gave the signal and told the Bifrost operator that I wanted to go to Earth.
5 eon-cycle-seconds later, I was on earth. I took each one of the flowers that I had found from the planet of acrimony and I planted them in some of the most prevalent and prodigious gardens around earth.
Humans really loved smelling flowers, especially for romantic gestures and mate courting rituals.
I smirked and couldn’t wait for my giant practical joke to unfold. I had time. I was a God after all.
My name is Low-Key, spelled L-O-W-K-E-Y and I’m the Norse God of really subtle mischief.
|
"Fuck! Again?!" I screamed as I dropped yet another object. This has been happening for weeks now, every drink spilled, every small crack tripped on, every item I pick up magically slipping from my grasp. I don't get it! One day I'm fine, the next I just can't even. I think I'm going crazy, maybe I'm cursed... Maybe I'm sick... I don't know how long I can keep going like this
| 2018-01-27T22:50:54
| 2018-01-27T22:18:18
| 17
| 10
|
[WP]You live in a world where everyone levels up as though in an RPG, levels being from 1-100. However, three people with abnormal power levels exist. One has a level of zero, one has a power level in the negatives, and one has a power level of 101. You are one of these individuals.
|
We didn't know what he was doing until it was to late.
He started his... I guess you could call it "journey" as a mathematician. Put some decent Essence Tiers into it to, upwards of 40 I think. Then, for some reason, he started selling his Essence. It's not uncommon for people in debt to sell their Essence, but he was doing rather well for himself in his job. But he just kept selling. From level 60 down to 30, and from their all the way down to 1. We thought he just went of his rockers, especially today.
"He wants to sell how much?" The director gaped.
"60 units, sir" I replied, sweating profusely.
"Do we have any record of him acquiring that much?"
I quickly scanned his file. "No sir, it appears he has not registered any new Essence gains with the IES."
"Do you think he stole them?"
"Doubtful sir. He's still smart enough to place them on the black market, especially if he truly did regain that Tier level."
The rest of the small office clustered around me. The man, some Indian bloke, was quite the celebrity in the underworked Department of Essence Sales, being really the only person of interest here.
"What should I do sir?" The director paced the overheated room nervously. After a minute or two he turns to me.
"Shut down his account. Flag it as.." He thought for a moment, pulling up our never-used lexicon. "A 'Illegal transfer of essence'"
"Yes sir" I opened up his file and filled out the form.
"Uh... Sir?"
"What?"
"His Essence has already been purchased..."
At that moment, A loud buzzing noise filled our ears, and a brilliant flash of light burst from our window.
"What the hell was that?"
We all ran to the window and opened the blinds.
In the distance, we saw a blinding brightness, like a new sun in the West. Then we heard the voice.
***Negatives do not exist.***
The light faded somewhat, and We could just make out a black speck in the center.
***And Yet, the Law of the Universe demands that the Essence is paid.***
The speck grew larger, closer. It formed the shape of a man.
***Therefore, what happens when Essence drops to negative?***
He was close enough to see now, a Titan of power. Essence radiated from him, and he seemed to be able to step over mountains and wade through seas.
***I tell you.***
He took a step forward, and suddenly I could see him clearly. A bald man, with a white robe, sandled feet and a set of spectacles.
***You get me.***
|
I remember the first time I woke from my slumber. The mountains covered with a rug of trees, green, yellow, scarlet and orange, lay in a great line like the spine of the land. As if long ago there was a great beast, only to lie down to sleep one day, but never got up. Ghost-like, the trees stood like the silent observer, overwatching the range of granite peaks scarfed & be-ribboned with snow, like a beast in an enchanted sleep. The range were high to the East and low to the West, curling at the end like a tail. The only thing bigger than the snowy mountains is the midnight skies, dotted with silver as vast as any eye could wander. There I saw for the first time under this mountain, a group of settlers built this tiny village. "How quaint." I thought to myself in stupor and went back to my slumber.
Centuries must have gone by, but the second time I woke, I remember a riot of colours painted the skies, as a cacophony of pops pierced deep into my rest. I see people parading down a grand city - cheering. The crowd moved like a a multi-headed beast that shared only one brain. Their thoughts were in lock-step as much as their feet, whooping, hollering, clapping, stamping of feet, palpable excitement buzzed through the charged air, infectious grins, strangers shaking hands, patting one another on the back, spontaneous outpouring of emotion. I care not for what they cheer for. But to dare to wake me from my slumber. Proud creatures aren't they. I stayed patient and after a few days the noise died down and I went back to sleep.
The party stood in front of a black iron gate, deep in the mountains, that seemed to be forge centuries ago. It was a clear ten feet tall, antique looking with runes carved upon it. "This must be it" said Jace Belerion.
"You sure about this my King? This looks ancient." as Allura brushed her hands across the carving. "This runes and symbols are before out time. We should really spend time and study this." Allura voiced with concern.
"Don't worry. This can't be worse than those ancient dragons. Besides we are legendary. Just Be careful. Stay vigilant. Magic and weapons at the ready. Strike on my command." King Belerion said confidently. "Lothal, open the gate"
A deep guttural sound as the gate opened and grind against millenniums of rocks and stones gathered at the base.
Humans... Arrogance... Foolish.... then again I have to thank them. I am finally awaken. I am released.
"Who goes there! Show yourself!" King Belerion demanded as the party waved their torch trying illuminate the space, yet nothing, as if the darkness as swallowed all the light and hope in the world.
Moans, cries, and whispers of unknown terror creep through their ears and into their spines."I live where there is light. I can be seen but cannot be touched. I am always there with you. Thank you for releasing me. For I am everything. I am the negative. I am the dark. I am the shadow. I am Death."
A darkness came over the party as their weapons clink and clank on to the floor.
Now... \*stretches\*... let's paint this world black.
| 2020-01-29T10:19:06
| 2020-01-29T08:51:54
| 60
| 12
|
[WP] A man makes a time machine so he could go back and cheat on his wife with the past version of her, back before she slowly grew bitter because he spent too much time making his time machine.
|
"Please. Please, I'm begging you, sweetheart. I know it's taken up a lot of my time, but I'll make up for it. I've finished the time machine now, so let's go on an amazing adventure! Let's have a picnic in the Jurassic Age! Or go sledding in the Ice Age!" I pleaded, firmly gripping her hand to prevent an exit.
She turned her head away from me, wrenching her hand from mine forcefully. "You've had your chances. If you really loved me, you'd have taken the time to love me *before* you finished the fucking thing. Go on an adventure by yourself."
I cried, and begged, but nothing could stop her from walking out of the door. She packed her things and left me with nothing but a box of tissues, a broken heart and more regret than one person can handle.
"What do I do now?" I asked myself, sitting against the newly built machine. "She was everything to me. I did this for her, too. Why can't she just see that?"
And then it clicked. "Of course! I'll just go back to before she hated me! I think five years should do the trick, right?"
I stood up with new purpose and resolve, ready to seize my love once more. Wiping away the tears, I climbed into the device and started it up, locking the entry door. When i punched in the date, lights whirred, buzzers buzzed, and the whole device itself began to tremor violently. Gripping the armrests, I squeezed my eyes shut and endured the fear, knowing I'd once again have the love of my life by my side.
When the tremors, buzzing and flashing died down, I climbed out eagerly. Sure enough, I was still in the same basement of the same house- I hadn't gone too far back by accident. With the tenacity of a younger man, I hopped up the stairs and shouted to my wife- if I ran into myself, there'd be no issue explaining things. Really, it'd just be motivation and proof of my ideas.
However, no one was home. I called, and I looked around, but the house was empty. I sat on the couch and waited for someone to get home, counting my arm hairs to pass the time.
My heart pounded as the knotted clacking sound of a key unlocking the front door filled my ears. I remained seated to seem less of an immediate threat and smiled, eagerly tapping my feet.
It was her. My god, she was so beautiful. How could I neglect such a woman? She looked the same, a testament to how well her body ages.
"Hi, love. Welcome home." I said with a massive grin.
She took a deep breath and looked at me. "Hey. Sorry about earlier."
*What happened earlier?*
"Don't worry. I need to explain something to you, though."
She looked at me blankly, and nodded. "Okay, what is it?"
I cleared my throat, shifting a little. "Well, you see...you know how I started that time machine recently? I finished it, about five years from now. You got really mad and left me, because I was an idiot and didn't pay enough attention to you, so I've come back in time. I want to feel your love once more, the touch of your hand against my face. I want to love you the way you deserve to be loved, and make up for all the lost time. I know this is a lot to take in..."
She laughed, rocking back and forth. "So you, uh, came all the way back for something dumb, like that? Why didn't you just wait a little while and do something nice for me? You should know me better than this. If you messed up, and own up to it, I might need a little while but I'd eventually understand. Go back to the future and take me out on a date."
My eyes lit up. "You really think so?"
She stifled a giggle with her hand. "Yeah, I think that should work just fine."
"Thank you! Thank you so much! I love you!" I shouted, tearing up as I got off the couch. With a kiss on the cheek, I ran back downstairs and climbed into the time machine. Setting the date back to when I left, enduring the violent tremors and loud noises once more, I was filled with hope.
When I climbed out of the machine, my wife was right there, waiting for me. She planted a warm kiss right on my lips, cupping my face in her hands.
"You're such an idiot," she said, eyes glistening ever so slightly. "But you're my idiot. Let's go on that date."
--------
*thanks for reading! if you're bored, you can find some of my other stories at /r/resonatingfury!*
|
"Wanna know a secret?" she slurred, the strap of her dress falling dangerously low on her shoulder. A nipple crested above the "neckline" of her top (it was so far down, it could've been called a 'waistline').
Had she always been like this?
"Ah, sure thing, uhm, sugar."
"No, no. Don' call me shur-gur. Shug. Don't call me Sugarrrr. Tha's what *he* used to call me."
"Oh," he said. Playing up the part of 'mystery stranger,' he added, "Who's he, then?"
"Ohmigodshhh, *listen,*" her voice was hoarser than he remembered, and it was starting to grate on his ears, "My *Husband.* My dumb, shtupid *Husband.* Doesn't know what he'sh *got*" she jabbed a finger to his chest, and for a moment he thought maybe, just maybe she *knew* who he was.
"He thinks he's *so* smart, building his 'Time Machine'?" she used her fingers to make quotation marks in the air, and nearly fell off her bar stool. He reached out and caught her.
"Whoaaa," she laughed, her hair falling all over him, "That was *fun*. Mmmm, your hands feel *good*, you know that, Mister?"
The way she said it made him want to do *anything* but touch her, but he didn't want her to fall again. Not before she answered his question, "Go back. You were saying something about a secret...?"
"Yes," she threw back her head and forced a fat, guffawing laugh up at the ceiling, "Yessss, a shecret. Shhh don't tell him," her fingers hooked on the waist of his pants, and with a whisper as loud as a dump truck, she said, "We can't ever let my husband find out..."
Her head lolled, and came to a rest on his shoulder.
"Find out *what?*"
Cold lips found his neck, and she began to kiss up his jawline. It felt *good*. But at the same time, it was the worst feeling he'd ever had - after all, she didn't know that *he* was her husband.
She walked her lips up to his ear, and in a voice too drunk to be seductive she said, "This isn't going to be the first time I've cheated on him."
He stepped back, propping her up by putting his hands on her shoulders.
"Are you telling me the truth?"
"I would *never* lie," she winked. Well, it wasn't a wink, so much as a drunkenly exaggerated blink.
That was when he realized his mistake. No amount of time travel would ever save this marriage.
"Spends all his time on that shtupid mash- mashhh- stupid time thing 'cuz he's an *idiot*. That's why I need all these *real* men to take care of me," she gestured at the dinghy bar. A few onlookers were leering at her, licking their lips.
There was nothing he could say to her that would make her hurt half as much as he did. So, instead, he took a photograph out of his pocket, and slid it into her bra ("Ooo," she purred sloppily, "I like that,").
When she woke up the next morning, she would find herself with a bad hangover, and a mysterious picture of her sad, desperate future.
As for him? He'd be twenty years away, trying to save himself.
***
*Do you like darker time travel stories? [Check out /r/PSHoffman](https://www.reddit.com/r/PSHoffman/) for more.*
| 2016-04-29T07:43:00
| 2016-04-29T07:38:15
| 82
| 43
|
[WP] Your elven girlfriend is having a mental breakdown after learning you are only in your mid thirties.
|
"Think about it this way! How old was Bella when she got pregnant?"
She gently rocked on the couch, clutching her knees, staring knives over our warmest pelt blanket. She sniffled and glanced to the fluffy Yorkie at her side, trying to squeeze her head into a long jar of ice cream without letting the rim touch her.
"...That's right, a little under six months. The vet said it was too soon, but *biology* said it's okay. Because given her life span, *dog years,* Bella was a lot older than six months. There's nothing wrong with me being a little younger than you. If we break down your thousand years to my hundred, we're nearly the same age."
Quick elven was spat around broken sobs. *So I'm supposed to count our relationship in dog years?*
"... Baby, it's been hours of this. Your family's understanding. What can I do to help y--?" Her eyes flared, almost literally, as they swirled from their usual moss green to a bright, red-tinged brown.
"No," she croaked, "My family does *not* understand. They think it's a phase. They think I don't understand enough about humans to take us seriously, and now they're right! I didn't even know how old you are!"
"And the age gap makes you feel like a cradle robber, I ge--"
"I know you asked for my father's blessing. I do not think you've thought it through." I've never really understood people saying their 'blood ran cold' until that moment. I hunted the bear whose pelt she now wears. An eight foot tall monster her father thought was attacking their reservation. It snuck up behind us and roared when we went looking for it, together. A little bonding experience sharing stories about his daughter, and the hunt that spurred me to ask for his blessing.
"You are thinking I am grossed out by the sex. Or feeling like you lied or betrayed me somehow. Or worried about our kids lifespan. If they're half-elven, they'll outlive me. I'm scared. I want to marry you. If you're going by 'human years', I'm around 40. But I'm not human. I will outlive you. I will have to spend the rest of my life wondering if your grave needs tending. Remembering our best memories that'll never happen again. Falling in love with a ghost over and over. Telling our grandchildren how great a man they'll never meet was. I don't want that."
"... What are you saying?"
|
" Oh my gosh, ohhh myyyy gossshhhh", my girlfriend was sitting in the corner, arms wrapped around her legs and rocking back and forth. "Hey, it's ok," I put my arm across her shoulders."Look, no one has to find out, we can just fudge the numbers a little." I shrugged and gave her one of my charming smiles. She wide-eyed me and mumbled "Fudge the numbers a *little*?! More like by a few centuries! How could this have happy!" She walked and tucked her head in her arms. "Don't worry, it's gonna be ok" I continued trying to soothe her, but it was tough going. She had been having a breakdown since seeing a birthday text on my phone this morning. "Happy big 3-0 little brother!" Who would have thought such a small thing would bring a relationship almost crumbling down?
| 2021-12-19T19:57:55
| 2021-12-19T14:43:41
| 986
| 85
|
[WP] When you die, your ghost remains in the world until the last person who remembers you also dies. 15,000 years after your death, you are still here.
|
Jesus huh, your name means nothing, only one name matters to me and that's my daughter, Mary. But you sullied that name, you spread her name with ill repute because she rejected you, you told everyone she was a whore...now it's your turn to suffer.
Every piece of gold I have and that is not insignificant in its measure, every treasure I possess is going into your eternal punishment.
You took peace from her in life so now I will take it from you in death.
I have enlisted scholars with knowledge over man that cannot be ignored, they are writing a book that will never be forgotten and that book will contain your name on every page.
You will never be forgotten, your spirit will wander this earth alone for all eternity and for all eternity you will suffer.
My Mary Magdalene, my beautiful world, she took her life because of your poisoned words so now it will be my words that condemn you forever.
|
Oh, you're new here, fresh off the press. Literally, what a gruesome way to die you had. But that's all in the past now, that body is nothing but meat now so stop associating yourself with it, and listen to me, your guide to the afterlife, one who has been here longer than anyone else.
Let me explain how it works. You see, you're a ghost now, just like me. A ghost is an observer, left to watch over people who cared about them. As soon as your legacy vanishes- you disappear.
The first century is the most difficult. Humans rarely know their family tree beyond third or fourth generation, so a typical ghost exists for around 70 years, usually the longer they lived the longer they are remembered.
I met many of them in my early years, but at some point they start to get boring. Thousands of years pass, yet peasants have the same stories, the same problems, the same vendettas. I still randomly visit a couple per decade, but that usually makes for pretty dull experiences, although there was a memorable one recently.
She was a very weak ghost, an ophran girl who died at 15. Most people around her forgot her a week after her funeral, with the sole exception being a boy who had a crush on her. She clinged to him like a burdrock seed for a couple months, but one day he saw another pretty girl- and just like that, she went poof in a cloud of smoke. Her face then is impossible to forget, but unfortunately ghost memories don't count. Oh, sorry, got a bit carried away.
So, what happens past a hundred or so? No, let's rephrase it a bit. What is different about these who persist past that? The answer is, they are the ones who leave their name in history, not just in close people's minds. However minor that contribution is- down to shoemakers and tavern owners whose buisnesses stand and carry their names and heritage throught centuries, even if only a few people keep them up. These are wonky, as soon as buisness closes their days are numbered, but they still outlive your normal folk who gets born, live a quiet life and just die.
A step above that are truely historical figures, like I am. Kings, religious leaders, breakthrough scientists, famous artists, legendary warriors, these are the ghosts that simply can't disappear at this point, though that only got solidified very recently with widespread, globalised education, for which I thank your generation and a dozen before that. For thousands of years I feared that one day it'd just end.
Just five centuries ago there were Aztecs, for example, their settlements were absolutely sprawling with ghosts because of how they preserved their history- right until they got wiped out by spainards. The educated top was eradicated, and suddenly most of ghosts were gone, the rest disappeared as soon as the last of uneducated enslaved bottom died. A shame, really, lost lots of great folks there.
By the way, your prospects don't look promising, but that's not something you can change now. I'd advice you to not go to your family right now, it'll be heartbreaking, wait a couple years. Meanwhile, go meet people and visit places you couldn't even think about meeting while alive, like your grandpa who died before you were born, or the insides of pyramids. Don't even try to get to Jesus, he has a century-long line now, and frankly you'll be disappointed, same applies to most popular personalities out there. And don't try to influence anything in the world, that won't work. So, on this note, I think I shall leave, you'll get a hang of the rest yourself. Have fun!
| 2017-06-26T11:56:24
| 2017-06-26T11:32:59
| 21
| 14
|
[WP] You are a child's "imaginary friend". You are a guardian angel. And your kid is really, really stupid.
|
Greetings once more, Child. I am Hadramiel, Angel Of He Who Is Named "I Am", who walks beside you with the compassion and grace of the Lord, and I am here to say unto you: Thou shalt not try to eat your lego blocks, thou little shit. Giveth me them.
Giveth them.
Mine name is Hadramiel, Majesty Of The Lord. It is not "Mr Shinypants". Thou Shalt stop drawing that crayon drawing of me. I do not play with kittens.
Thou shalt not sticketh thy crayons up thy nose, lest thee suffocate. Yea, thou should have learnt that by now, thou bloody moron.
Harken unto my message. I said harken unto it. *Stop putting things in your ears and harken*!
Ahem
Mine name is Hadramiel, Majesty Of The Lord, and thou hast been granted a great destiny in the will of the Lord to... wait. Where the *fuck* did you go?
How did thou get up a tree? Thou cannot get down? If only thou had stayeth near the Mighty Angel With Wings. Fine. Cometh here.
As I was saying- thou art up the tree again.
Lo, do I, Hadramiel, Majesty Of The Lord, say unto you "fuck this". Once More I ascend unto heaven to file a formal complaint.
Get thyself out of the tree, thou whiny brat.
\*sigh\*
Fine. I shalt show mercy and save thou, child.
Yea, thou may have a hug.
But next time thou behold a large frothing dog and decide thou must pet it, yea and verily, I'm *done* with this shit.
|
\[poem\]
I once had a child as my student,
Who was not at all that prudent,
He forced me to say go in the garage and there drink some coolant.
Rushed to the hospital from the garage upon a swift confession,
He survived, barely alive, but now he has depression.
​
As he got older and sadness persisted he wondered the meaning of life,
And I was there, as a small voice, telling him it is worthwhile.
At the young age of 19 tired of fighting he almost gave in to the pressure
But a young female about his age came and became his lover.
​
But who am I?
Just a thought.
Constantly with him, yet I am not.
I am his guide as he raises his family, trying to keep sanity, I am his energy.
​
His soul and I are one.
His mind is my abode.
And on the day he dies,
With him I am cold.
​
(First time posting, btw.)
| 2019-10-31T13:59:26
| 2019-10-31T11:46:55
| 245
| 91
|
[WP] We refused to believe it at first, but the astronomical evidence was irrefutable: there's a counter-Earth orbiting on the opposite side of the sun, always just out of sight. That was 40 years ago. It's 2017, and our probe sends back its first images.
|
Astronomers of days gone by believed that a heliocentric model of the solar system was perfectly explainable by envisioning a counterweight-like body of presence precisely opposite the orbit of earth, to ensure the planets circled the sun like a spinning top maintaining balance.
In modern times, this theory isn't given a second thought, but it took an entirely chance encounter to change our view of the solar system, our current existence, and our beginnings.
"300 million kilometres is a long way, Sir. Radio transmissions take approximately 19 minutes to reach the probe, then 19 minutes back for any responses or acknowledgement. Almost a 40 minute round trip" Rich calmly advised the team looking over his shoulder, their gaze switching between the six monitors seated in an arc on Rich's desk, each of the men not entirely sure which display is supposed to be showing them what they've travelled to see.
"We believe a chemical thruster probably failed to shut off, perhaps after making a minor adjustment, and instead kept firing, sending the probe into a spin. Coupled with a malfunctioning reaction wheel, forcing us to use the chemical thrusters in the first place, and we're effectively without sufficiently precise orientation control to continue the probe's original automated mission."
Rich received a few calm nods and frowns from the group standing around as they passed a gloss printed image between them, indicating they weren't entirely paying attention.
"So I'm a photographer with a 19 minute timer, spinning around in circles, trying to take a photo of a dot." Rich continued.
"And you won't know if you've got the dot, for another 19 minutes."
"It's closer to 25 minutes, as the image data needs to also download. Then and only then, can I issue a command to the probe to take another image, resulting in another 45 minute or so delay till the next one can be processed."
"Can we see what the probe has captured so far?" One of the men piped up, with a deeply concerned frown, looking down at the printed image in his hand.
"The image you hold, is nothing more than a low resolution preliminary finding, but this, this is something else."
Rich brought up an image library on the right hand screen, on it were mostly images of complete black, some blown out white where the probe had photographed little more than the sun, but towards the bottom of the library were images mostly of black, but with a small bright dot. Rich expanded one of the images.
The image was very low resolution, but had an unmistakable blue sphere, with some patches of green and white marbled onto it.
"This, gentlemen, is the image you've seen already. This was captured yesterday"
"And this image" Rich continued, clicking onto another image in the gallery - "Processed minutes ago, is the best view we've been able to capture of the new planet."
The gentlemen leaned over, each of them looking at the incredible highly detailed photos of the new discovery.
"As you can see, there are many similarities between their planet and ours, but there are some stand out differences. Where our liquid oceans are green, theirs are blue. Where the majority of life here is silicon based, theirs is carbon based. Most peculiar."
|
‘What would I do without her’ Ashwin thought.
For 4 decades she had been his rock. They had met as junior astrophysicists working together at the Indian Institute of Astrophysics, stationed for routine observation work at the Vainu Bappu Observatory in Southern India. It was a remote and desolate place and only a bad astronomy joke had brought Ashwin and Ramaa together.
Her excited voice brought Ashwin hurtling back to the present.
‘Tell me Ash, what songs do planets sing?’ Ramaa asked innocently.
‘No no, not now Ramaa’ Ashwin pleaded half-heartedly.
‘Tell me!’ Rama said with a mockingly threatening tone.
‘Sigh...Nep-tunes!’ he answered for the Nth time.
‘Ha! Good times. Ok, it’s time for the grand unveiling of Raavan, 40 effing years in the making. I could have sent three kids to college by now’
His thoughts went careening back to Raavan, it was almost 40 years ago when it catapulted him, his wife and his country into global spotlight. On a clear Thursday night when Ramaa was knee deep into procedural cross verification of Solar flares for the Arecibo observatory, Ashwin made the startling discovery.
He was going through the images sent back from the Venera 4, one of Russia’s endless probes sent to Venus and America’s Mariner 5, which flew by Venus a day after the Venera 4 entered Venus’ atmosphere. On both images, entirely by chance, he spotted an astronomical body at the exact same spot, too big to be an asteroid or a moon. He immediately sent telegrams to all the leading observatories for verification and by Friday morning, he had changed the world forever.
By maintaining a position behind the sun and with a perfect geosynchronous orbit, same as that of the earth, it had evaded detection since modern astronomy captured everyone’s imagination.
Amidst the predictable international political furore that ensued, Nations fighting over each other to claim sole research rights, the USS (United Solar System), a consortium of Nations with Space research capabilities was formed. India with the assistance of any country it chose, was given complete freedom to find ways to study the planet, christened as Raavan by the Prime Minister, Indira Gandhi. ‘To hell with Greek names, we women sure know how to name things’ Ashwin remembered Ramaa telling him.
‘Ash, you’re wanted at mission control. It’s happening.’ Ramaa said, as her voice brought Ashwin back to the present.
‘I know Ramaa, I’ve been avoiding this part. After 40 years of trying to get funding for the USS project, dealing with leaks of classified information, lack of scientific breakthroughs, incessant political interference and getting over a semi-nervous breakdown, you’d think I’d be more excited about today.’ Ashwin exclaimed
‘What are you on about, stop your whining now. You’ve finally done it! Get to the bridge and begin the next phase. I can’t wait to find out what’s on Raavan. I haven’t been drinking your ridiculous weak coffee and putting up with you for years to account for nothing!’ Ramaa said with her trademark nudge and a wink.
‘What would I do without her, indeed!’ Ashwin thought to himself. Her acquired expertise in Nuclear micro propulsion systems and laser-based communications systems, helped the team design new-age space probes that could perform complicated manoeuvres and beam across terabytes of useful data back to USS mission control even with the slight inconvenience of having an interstellar behemoth between Raavan and the Earth. This was what had held the whole mission up for a better part of 4 decades.
Ashwin entered USS’ mission control and went straight to the ‘bridge’, one of Ramaa’s inspired designs. Ramaa had insisted that they recreate the USS Enterprise’s iconic layout at the centre of mission control and it offered a 360* view of the entire control room. A Trekkie through and through.
‘Are we receiving images?’ Ashwin enquired
‘We expect to in T-30s, Sir.’ Zafar, the project lead replied dutifully.
Ashwin looked at Ramaa, her eyes twinkling with anticipation. Their whole lives had been dedicated to the accidental pursuit of this elusive planetary body and their date with destiny had finally arrived.
‘Receiving the first set of images now along with preliminary atmospheric level data, Sir.’ Zafar said, his voice now magnified to reach every corner of the Bridge
An instant hush fell over the mission control room as the primary monitor started streaming images, the first ever of Raavan. It was a sight they weren’t expecting to see. Ashwin was expecting to see strange continental formations, blue water bodies and tell-tale signs of a fully-fledged atmosphere.
‘What is this Ashwin?’ Ramaa enquired wide-eyed as she placed her hand on his shoulder. It was clear that she was having trouble comprehending this strange sight in front of her
‘Status report Zafar.’ Ashwin ordered as he gathered his wits about him
‘Sir, initial images and orbital interception confirms that this is indeed the planet Raavan that we are looking at. The planet seems to be ..erm.. black in colour.’ Zafar replied, with a nervous twinge in his voice.
‘Yes, I can see that, the entire fucking room can see that’ Ashwin interrupted angrily. ‘Status report, please.’ Ashwin said as he motioned his over-enthusiastic underling to carry on
‘I apologise Sir, atmospheric level data indicates a high level of CO2, CO, CH4, N20 and H2. No traces of N2 and O2.’ Zafar responded, his intensive training kicking in.
‘Any indication of a functioning Ozone layer?’ Ashwin asked.
‘Negative, Sir.’
‘Do you have any temperature readings for me?’
‘Indeed Sir, the probe has returned atmospheric temperatures of -70deg Celsius and a predicted surface temperature of -35deg Celsius.’
‘Over the entire planet?’
‘That’s what the reading says Sir. Also, the probe’s weather sensor indicates that there are large concentrations of dark Pyrocumulonimbus clouds covering the entire planet Sir.’
‘Nuclear Winter..’ Ramaa said, her eyes now wide with shock as she stumbled to find her seat.
‘But but, that cannot be. Raavan maintains a similar position and orbital trajectory as that of the Earth, which means it is literally in the habitable zone of our Solar System!’ Ashwin exclaimed loudly
With a loud monophonic alert, breaking news headlines appeared on the main monitor.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, has this leaked to the media already?’ Ashwin yelled as he looked across the room for an answer.
‘Sir I don’t think this has anything to do with the events happening inside, we have a full media and external communications blackout for 24 hours.’ replied Kubra, USS’ media manager.
‘Then, why are we receiving this?’ Ashwin enquired as he took his mobile phone out and fired up Twitter, his trusted source of immediate crowdsourced news. As the app refreshed, Donald J Trump’s tweet was the first to catch his eye, retweeted many times over by virtually every follower and news handle he followed.
‘The little Rocket Man has gone too far, it’s time we fight North Korea with the Fire and Fury I had promised, Godspeed good people!!’
‘Man made Nuclear Winter.’ Ramaa said, her eyes still transfixed on the black planet of Raavan.
| 2017-12-10T12:52:43
| 2017-12-10T12:42:40
| 24
| 10
|
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer.
|
My job pays me like no other. And God I'm not going to give it up. Especially not to become some sort of superhero. I'm all ready making 200k as a senior programmer, and the 401k is just the cherry on top. I'm even due for a raise of 20k by the end of the year. And yet, the recruiters are the biggest pain in my fucking ass. 4 of them each and every single fucking day, non-stop. They call me, Email me, text me, whatever they can do to get my attention. And everyone wonders why I go hunting in the outdoors so often. Ugh.
Today one such recruiter got very daring. I was in the middle of my day, shopping, when this happened:
"Gareth Soran, is it? You are aware of your power, and how the government could..."
I paid no heed. But that wouldn't be the last time I was going to hear her voice. I went home, put my groceries away, went on another trip to a local brewery to meet up with a friend, and well, wouldn't you know it, she was right there. Sitting where I usually sit.
"You didn't even turn around. Rude."
"I learned to tune out people like you. I really am not interested. Oh, and I wouldn't sit there if I were you."
"Why not?"
"You were warned."
Everything slowed down to the point where only the air was moving. The world had come to a complete standstill, time freezing in place. This was my playground. From here, I could do practically anything. I could still move, walk around, do whatever I wanted. Emerald rings now encircled my arms and wrists, with three on each arm, and evenly spaced out 1 inch away from each other. These Flat disks hovered in the air, but were not touching my skin. These rings manifest every time my powers take hold, and they serve as my controls.
To make sure she wouldn't follow me, I grabbed her by the wrists, pulling her in this version of my world. Her body flickered awake, no longer frozen in time. She looked at me in shock.
"What are you doing?"
"Putting you were you'll never reach me."
The rings flared red, and they started to rotate clockwise. This should do the trick. Time starting speeding on without us, as though someone had pressed the fast forward button. It all zoomed by, the sun falling, and rising once. Then it all stopped. The rings ceased their rotation, and became emerald once more.
"Tell your boss that I'm not interested in his plans for me. The next time he sends a recruiter, I'll pay him a visit myself, and I make sure he doesn't forget it."
I let go of her, and she was frozen in time once more. My rings now became navy blue in coloration, rotating counter clockwise. It was like hitting the rewind button. I kept rewinding until I felt the tug at me. This was were I initially used my powers. The rings disappeared. And time resumed back to its normal pace. The bartender Samuel looked annoyed. Not at me of course. Samuel and I both had the same grievance.
"That's the 296th recruiter that has made their way to my establishment this year. Goddamn."
"Yeah, I'm exactly happy about them either."
"You know, they really out to read the signs. 'No recruiters allowed'. Are they blind?"
"They're desperate."
"Perhaps I should deal with them personally from now on."
"You wouldn't know when to let them go. That's why I do that myself."
"What's the worst that can happen?"
"I still remember your last fight with a recruiter back when your powers were discovered. That was a type of spectacle you only want to watch once."
|
The background droning of the air conditioning haphazardly shoved into the office window seemed to act like a white noise for me as I continued my daily tasks. The soft music of my indie playlist coming through my desktop speakers helped the hours fly by- until I got the call.
That stupid, stupid call. I knew the number by now; I had labeled it 'RECRUITER DON'T ANSWER' in my contacts so I wouldn't have to remember the number. I had to take a deep breath whenever I saw it come up so my hands wouldn't obliterate or melt whatever it was that I was working on. But it was the fourth time he had called today and I had to admit....it was a daily record.
Something in my mind caused my movements to slow as I stared at the name on my iPhone screen, the vibration of the device drowning out the white noise of the air conditioner.
***Pick it up. You haven't in weeks.... Maybe he's saying they'll leave you alone!***
My thoughts began to swirl around the thought of having a silent phone once more that only rang when my Mother needed something like help using her smart TV, or when Dad got on her nerves again.
***Pick. Up. The. Damn. Phone. Elise.***
My hand darted out from the keyboard and snatched up the small device, still vibrating violently. Before I even realized what I was doing- I answered. Making a face of confusion at my own actions in the dull reflection of my desktop, I opened my mouth and gently greeted the voice I knew to well on the other line.
"Hello Brendan. This is Elise Hayward, how may I be of service today?" I greeted, not quite using my work tone, but still attempting to be cordial. I found myself remembering that this was his job and he had to call me whether he wanted to or not.
"Why good afternoon Ms. Hayward, I don't think you've given me that kind of a greeting since the third time I called- ever." Brendan sounded incredibly surprised, and I felt a little guilty I had to admit. Maybe I had been a little too harsh on him over the past few weeks. "I am calling in regards to the exams that the government has on file from your college physical." he began to explain and I couldn't help but sigh.
The nation had a physical exam that all young adults in college had to perform to see if they qualified to be in the legendary, dangerous ranks of the super elite. Did I even want to be part of that club? Maybe when I was five sure, but then I realized just how dangerous is was and I couldn't do that to my parents! I was the only girl in the family Mom would have been crushed!
"Yeah, I figured you had that with you. Look, I can't join. I understand that it sounds fun, but I like my job, I have friends, a dog at home, and there's got to be someone else in the area with powers like mine." I explained, rolling my eyes as I went through the monotone list of reasons why I had turned them down in the first place.
"Ms. Hayward, we understand the risks and we would train you on how to avoid them and be safe when out on duty." he calmly explained and I found myself chewing on my lip, listening.
Was I actually mulling over the fact that I would be willing to put myself on the line like that?
"Your statistics from playing rugby at school, and softball as a teen put you in a higher bracket than most applicants." he continued and I found myself smiling slightly, some memories coming back to be at the mention of the sports I used to love.
"What's your point?" I inquired and heard nothing on the other end of the line. "This is your only chance to persuade me buddy. Take it or leave it- I may not give you another chance."
My eyes widened as I finished the snarky sentence, realizing what I was saying. Oh my god, I was *letting* him try to persuade me into becoming a super hero! What was wrong with me?!
"Ms. Hayward, stop by Saturday morning around ten o'clock. The director would like to meet with you personally to go over what your duties would entail if you decided to enlist among the elite. We would move you into Super Hero Square just to the North of the city center where the others live during their contract. Your dog can come with you." he explained and I arched a brow, at least glad to hear that Lyla could join me. I wouldn't be lonely per se....
My subconscious had to admit, my friends had done a great job convincing me that it wasn't worth it time and time again. But I was a big girl, and I was capable of making decisions on my own right? I sat in silence for a moment, mulling over my options before letting out a sigh and nodding to myself, ready to take my life into my own hands.
"I'll attend the meeting on one condition." I began and I heard the static of excitement over the other line.
"What?" he exclaimed and then composed himself a heartbeat later. "What is your condition Ms. Hayward?" he attempted to regain full composure and I could hear his failure- ever so slightly.
"I get to pick my outfit- and my name." I out my bargaining chip on the table, a grin on my face. I felt proud of my ability to haggle something like that with someone so important on the line.
"Deal. See you Saturday morning- Elise."
| 2022-07-31T22:10:28
| 2022-07-31T16:20:17
| 23
| 13
|
[WP] Children under 18 are legally obligated to spend 30 minutes outside every day. It's been 18 months and noone expected the biggest effect that it had...
|
Robinson, MO - 2017
It's been 18 months since we forced the children to play outside.
If we only knew then what we know now, maybe we could have been saved.
The vote was unanimous. How could it be bad for children to play outside?
Get some fresh air, some exercise, out of mom's hair for a half hour?
Sounds great. And it was. Children were learning better in school, child obesity rates
plummeted, and bullying was at an all time low. All because of my little idea.
Within 3 months, cities all over the country were putting similar ordinances into effect.
But then they started talking to each other. The children, that is.
They started forming their own little groups for play. And then their groups started to intertwine.
We started out just watching, fascinated at how they naturally gravitated toward a structured
hierarchy.
The high schoolers took the lead, good-naturedly ribbing someone who got too old for "playtime".
And then it turned into more than that; the children started turning away from anyone they
deemed as an "adult". If you didn't have to be outside? You weren't on their side.
Playtime started getting longer. Parents loved that their children were getting so much outside time.
Children were missing dance classes, soccer practice, piano lessons. School sports became almost
nonexistent. They preferred to spend time with each other.
But we underestimated the power of technology and social media. They used Google+ against us.
How could we have known?
We should have seen it. The signs. The questions. But we were too late.
There were too many of them and they were too organized. They knew exactly what to do.
After confiscating all of the cell phones, they forced most of the adults out, with the promise
that if they came back, there would be no second chances.
This is their town now. A society of children. Only a few adults are permitted to stay.
When someone grows up, the either leave or they die. On the orders of their leader,
they must have mothers. Every child must have a mother.
By the time you read this, it may be too late. Things are changing even more.
I fear for the safety of the children of Robinson--no--Neverland.
Wendy M.A. Darling, MD. School Psychologist.
|
**Major Telecoms calling for repeal of the OODA!**
The breeze, the warmth sunlight, the happy little clouds and bushes that populate our world, they all have one thing in common: They aren't being shared.
Literally no one is sharing the photos they are taking of their required Time Out (of doors). The Out Of Doors Act, forcing all youths 18 years of age or younger to spend a meager half hour a day frolicking in the pastoral pleasures of the prairies, has been linked to the decline of Media Sharing sites such as Facebook, Imgur, Twitter, Reddit, SnapChat, and something called "4chan." And while those media sites may not have come up with a plan to recoup their losses in the social world, another group of tech companies have formed an unlikely partnership to repeal the OODA.
Headed by the corporate enemies of Apple and Microsoft, Sprint, AT&T, T-Mobile and Verizon are suing the federal government for the loss of income that is resulting from their consumers lack of use. Ever since unlimited text messages became the default and carriers started charging for raw data use the major Telecoms have been reaping the harvest of consumers underestimating or overpaying for their use of data uploads and sharing to the aforementioned social media and sharing sites. Now, however, the country's youth have begun to share information, images, and even handwritten invites *in person* during the mandated Time Out.
"It just feels so much more personal when I give a real invite to my house party," said one young woman, who declined to give her name. "I mean, you *know* Mom and Dad would sneak a look at your phone, right? Now they won't know about any keggers I host."
Another youth expressed his sharing choices differently. "I just feel like there is less misunderstanding when you meet face to face." James, 16, said. "I know when a girl just isn't into me when I am talking to her face to face. When it's text or IM, it can be really hard to tell, even with emoticons." After our interview, James was arrested for distributing shameful images of a youth to minors, a practice known as sharing "Dick Pics" young men often practice towards women they are interested in.
Regardless of the desires our youth have shown now that they are in Time Out, the Telecoms are demanding a return to the ways of old, where kids are stuck in front of the TVs, PCs, and cell phones of yore... and being charged for the "Privilege."
How will the Senate respond? Add your voice at www.LocalNews.com/OODA. Don't worry about getting the results and going over your data limit... We will print the results here next week!
J.H. Cricket. Editor.
Edited because "Are" and "Aren't" do not have the same meaning.
| 2015-07-13T14:26:41
| 2015-07-13T13:24:10
| 43
| 17
|
[WP] After a space battle where the ship's captain stayed behind on the ship to hold off the enemy ships while the others on board escaped, they sit in the bridge with only the ship's AI. The captain miraculously won the battle. Their ship is severely crippled as it drifts through space.
|
The captain woke up with to a loud, but not intrusive buzzing sound and with a mild headache. She searched for other signs of hangover, but found none. She tried to yawn, letting some fresh air into her aching lungs, but failed to do so. The revelation came with the memories rushing in of yesterday's battle. She was still in the *HBC*, the High-Burn Chamber filled with breathable fluid designed to protect anyone using it from extensive acceleration, sometimes well over 30g.
With a few taps on her armband display, she drained the fuel and exited the chamber into total chaos. Debris were flying aimlessly in the current null-g and the harsh white LEDs played a chaotic but beautiful shadow dance with them. The only thing was missing was blood.
No, that is not right. Blood shouldn't be missing, I'm glad it's not here - she thought. Only for the null-g she could haul her pained body to the bulkhead hatch, which opened without any resistance. After a few moments, she was standing - or at leas hovering - on the painfully empty bridge.
"Good morning Charlie, give me a quick report of the past 12 hours please" she ordered the on-board AI of her ship.
*"Good evening Captain Hibana. Certainly: In the last 12 hours, we drifted and unknown amount to unknown direction. Most of the systems are offline, only the emergency second-backup life support is operating. Reactor status is unknown. Would you like a more detailed report?"* The charming, deep baritone voice of the AI had a little bit of emotion in its voice, enough to overcome the majority of the uncanny valley but still not quite human.
"Just give me a detailed info about the damaged systems and rewind to the battle, please."
*"Certainly: be advised, it will be shorter to state the currently operational systems on board; The emergency second-backup life support system and myself. Would you like a quick recap of the battle?"*
"Just the timestamps, casualty count and maybe a good guess on why on Earth I am still alive."
*"Certainly: The battle initiated approximately 58 hours ago. We probably stumbled across the enemy's main fleet, they had almost 10 times the ship count, most of them battleships, carriers and a three of their flagship. As of your order, the rest of the crew boarded the other ships in our fleet and did a high-g burn towards the next hyperlane and jumped to safety, presumably. We turned around and fought the ship. I do not have exact battle data as the sensory and comm array got damaged early. As far as I can tell, we flew in the middle of their flock and mostly they just shot themselves."*
"Haha, dumb bastards." Hibana let loose a sour laugh. "This is the first thing they though us in the fleet academy: A gauss round does not slow down significantly when passing through a ship. Sigh, Do we have any means of escape? Or any means of communication?"
*"Unfortunately I can not tell. I cannot access most of the ship data. I suggest taking a walk around the ship, but even if the life pods work, they do not have a hyperdrive. The immediate comm array was damaged during the first hour of the battle, but you might be able to launch an emergency beacon through a hyperlane and wait for a help."*
And so she did. Climbed into the least damaged vacuum suit with her name on it and flew through the empty corridors, creating a wake of debris behind her. A few bulkheads later she found the corridor filled with the life-pods. She opened each of them, some were completely destroyed, some still had some supplies inside them. By talking to Charlie, she took inventory of the supplies she had. Later she found the mess, which was a mess, but a good portion of the rations and water survived the battle unharmed.
As she moved across the ship searching for means to escape, she found that Charlie had more and more emotion in *his* voice. She kept her figure, but the strict Captain Sakura Hibana became more and more a facade in the state of despair. But she had to keep it together. Eventually someone will come, and if they find her cold body, the AI would still tell how lunatic she might became. She had to be strong, even if not for herself. She determined to set an example for the next generation of captains.
It turned out Charlie was a good conversational partner. *He* talked about other captains, the news in the fleet academy, and Hibana talked about her life before she enrolled. Unconsciously she knew that an AI would not be amused by her childhood stories, but if felt good to talk just about anything. She was writing her biography, so she might as well tell almost everything; her friends, family, parents, first love, secret love, last love. Many times she asked Charlie to take notes word by word and organize them.
She finally reached the storage where the hyper-beacons were stored. Opening the hatch on the bulkhead required a gentle touch from a prying tool, but after about half an hour, it gave way, and revealed quite literally nothing. The darkness of the space was oppressing, but the billions of stars around her reminded her why she joined the fleet: nothing could rival the sheer beauty of the space. The view was stunning enough to make her forget why she came here in the first place.
As she observed the sky, she found some dark spots where other shipwrecks drift along with her. One of them must be the stern of the ship that was completely ripped off during the battle. No wonder the reactor had no reading. With her job done and nothing left to do, she turned around and began floating back towards the bridge and her quarters.
"Hey Charlie! Where was I?"
|
"Communications busted," I said smashing my fist again the now cracked control panel. "Damn it all," I said as I tried to go through any and every diagnosis available on the ship. The tools that worked showed the same thing my eyes were, I was done for.
I pace around the ship for a solid ten minutes trying not to panic. I thought about the rest of my crew, they were out of harm's way for now, and I had taken the last of the enemies ship, but they had taken the only escape pods available.
I doubted there was anyone in the nearest solar system who wasn't mortal enemies with my empire. I heard a strange static and I rushed over to the control panel hoping I had somehow regained communications.
"Hello, Captain Andrew," the robotic and very much not human voice said. I sighed and sat down on the chair. I let my face fall onto the cool control panel. "Diagnostics complete, the state of the ship is critical. The chance of survival is currently less than 1%."
"Good to hear," I said. I was about to turn off the AI, we had nicknamed her Bonnie after Mica's daughter, but now there was no use. If I was going to die out here I wanted to go out in peace, some silence would be nice.
I balled up my fists though and said: "No, Damn it all!" I had loved the noise my crew had made. Diana's terrible comedy impressions, Alexis' beautiful singing, Mica's loud snoring, and Daniels enthusiastic screams of encouragement.
I couldn't even remember what it sounded like though, the only thing I remembered was the tears they had shed when they had fled a day ago. The clock was one of the only things still working so at least I wasn't going mad not knowing how much time was passing as I drifted endlessly.
Not that it really mattered, what did it matter if I was going to die in 5 hours or 5 days? I was dead either way, there was no hope for me anyway. They had made it clear that this mission was dangerous and we had taken it up anyway.
At least the others were safe, I couldn't help but smile through the tears, they might be grieving my death right now, but at least I had gone out with a bang.
"Captain, would you like to me activate the self destruct protocol?" Bonnie asked me breaking out every couple of words. At first, I'm not sure I understand what she said, but then I remembered. We had learned about it when I had gotten my license when the ship goes into less than a 1% survival chance the ship gives the captain an option to self destruct the ship in order to prevent any more suffering or to prevent the enemy from stealing our resources.
"Bonnie show me our All-Time Highlights," I said as I wiped away my tears. I wasn't going out with my vision too blurry for me to make out anything. I was going out with a smile on my face. I had gotten the others out, that was all that mattered.
Better it is me than them, they were all young and had families, for once I was glad I had gone life solo I couldn't imagine the guilt I would feel if I had a wife or kid right now, it would be unimaginable.
Bonnie shows me the folder which has some of our team's best moments. We usually viewed them at the end of our missions, there had been 16 to date. This really was my last date so it only made sense I appreciated my progress.
There were pictures of us sunbathing in Jenra with some strange alien starfish chasing Mica. We even took a video and I laughed as I remember how Daniel's swimming trunks had been torn off his body by one of those weird ocean creatures. Thankfully the bot hadn't been recording then. I was the one to find him and even though I was the only one who knew about it I still laughed thinking about it.
Then there was Diana and Mica's ship wedding, I still remembered the wedding cake in zero-G, it was one of the coolest things I had ever seen. The pictures were great and I thought about how drunk we got that night. Daniel had been the only one to stay sober enough to pilot to keep us on track although he was drunk as soon as the rest of us were sober.
I was laughing thinking about all the great times we had, but the tears were back and I couldn't stop them. "Bonnie initiate the self destruct," I said while laughing and crying. I knew that there wouldn't be one without the other, but it was better this way.
We've had our share of struggles, we also had our successes too. So it was fitting that I was crying and laughing.
"Are you sure captain?" Bonnie asked.
"Yes," I said through a sob.
I switched frantically between laughing and sobbing as the countdown started.
"3," Bonnie said. I clicked to the first picture on the folder which us when we were all still Rookies. Gray had been still alive during this photo and I can't help but think about him now.
"Finally joining you," I said as I closed my eyes. Bonnie said "2 and 1." I had a wide grin on my face and I screamed "HALLELAUGH!" as the world went white and bright.
​
Make sure to join r/NinjaMasterXY for more stories!
Edit: Grammar & Fixing for violation of rule
| 2020-04-23T22:31:21
| 2020-04-23T20:23:51
| 23
| 16
|
[WP] The hero was killed, the princess was sacrificed, and the evil king rules the land. For the average citizen, though, things have taken a turn for the better.
|
Channel 5 news reporting on the scene earlier today after Link was immediately assassinated by Ganon, and Zelda was executed in front of the citizens of Hyrule. John Ramirez is on the ground getting the people's reaction to today's events.
JR: Excuse me sir, how has today's events made you feel.
Random Citizen: well actually I couldn't be happier, that little shit always ran around breaking my pots.
JR: But what about princess Zelda? Surely her death has come as a tradegy to all in the kingdom?!
RC: Nope, not really. I mean we are expected in this day in age to maintain the societal hierarchy that allows for a ruling class, in which a young boy, annoying may he be, can sacrifice his life to save what? A figurehead of the aristocracy? I tell you John, what kind of leadership allows random citizens to fight and die for it all because the idea of castle security is a foreign fucking concept?
JR: Umm okay sir thank you for your comment. Miss would you mind commenting on the tradegy that Ganon's rule will surely be?
RC2: I like him, Ganon I mean, he gives off a sense of structure that we have not enjoyed here in a very long time. He will be the king that finally secures our borders.
JR: Wow, okay it seems that the local populace are not very upset after today's actions. Alright, back to you in the studio, Tom.
|
My fellow Americans, Mr. Speaker, Ladies and Gentlemen of Congress and members of the press, thank you for joining me this evening.
It is with great sadness that we come together this evening. For the past eight years, it has been both an honor and a privilege to represent this great nation as your President. As you are all well aware by now, I have been asked to formally announce that the 2016 Presidential Elect, Donald J. Trump and Vice President Elect Carly Fiorina, lost their lives this afternoon upon their arrival for tomorrow's scheduled inauguration events.
I am not here to discuss the details of this tragic event, however the media will work to keep you all informed as more information becomes available.
I am here tonight to discuss how our nation will move forward. It is a great challenge for us all to face this untimely news, and it is my responsibility, along with Congress and the Supreme Court, to determine the appropriate course of events.
This evening, I signed an executive order to extend my term as President for a minimum period of 12 months. Prior to signing the order, I met briefly with bipartisan representatives of the Senate and the House. In addition, I met with Vice President Biden, Speaker Ryan and select members of our National Security Team. I believe that during this traumatic time, this decision will provide stability and continued security of the American people.
We, as a nation, have faced horrific events during my tenure as President. We have seen an increase in global terrorism, as well as terrorism in our homeland. It is a terrible tragedy that our newly elected President and Vice President have been the latest victims of the efforts of those who seek to undermine the security and well-being of our great nation.
I therefore, cannot in good conscience, step down from my responsibilities. I do have a few details about my extended tenure to share. Vice President Biden has decided that he will not continue as in his position. In lieu of an election, in the interest of continuity, I am appointing Hillary Clinton to the Vice Presidential position.
I am ordering that our nation's flag be lowered to half mast, for a period of three months. In addition, Vice President Clinton and I will be meeting with Congress and cabinet members over the next several days, in order to ensure continued government operation in light of the events of today.
I cannot take questions at this time, however my office will be releasing periodic updates as they become available.
Thank You. And good night.
| 2016-07-10T11:12:55
| 2016-07-10T10:46:19
| 20
| 11
|
[WP]"Start paying rent NOW, or GET OUT!" you yell at the voice in your head. The next day, you wake up to find a stack of gold bars on your desk. "This is the correct currency, yes?", the voice says.
|
"For useful currency no. As a fungible asset with value? Very much," I spoke to the voice. "And as proof that you are actually present and have some power to act, it's very very strong."
I paused. "It's a high price, what do you expect from it?"
"I want you to listen to me at least 10 times a day." The voice replied.
"I won't hurt myself or do anything dangerous." I said.
"Seriously, think hard... When have I asked you to do something harmful?" The voice asked.
"You told me to tell my boyfriend off!" I said.
"No... I told you to call out his gaslighting." The voice said.
I paused trying to find examples.
"I'll tell you what," the voice said. "I will pay 1 bar a month in payment and a deposit of 2 bars. At any point you can cancel our contract. If you refuse to do what I say for any reason it counts as canceling our contract immediately, but you keep any prior pay."
"Deal," I said.
...
It's been 3 months. I'm in the best shape of my life. I eat well. I exercise well. I have awesome friends and a lovely polycule.
I'm back in school for my dream career. Voice is cranky that they keep having to use one of their comments each day to get me to "do everything you can today to be an excellent student of high energy particle physics.
We started discussing wave form potential and time dynamics today when voice issued a really weird command: "Imagine how you would convince a younger you to be amazing if you had a time machine..."
|
I gaped at the neatly stacked pyramid of gold bars. This was a joke right? My family was done with all my psychotic fears from this voice and decided to prank me? They can't be real gold right? I picked one up, feeling the heft in my hand and examining it closely.
*It is real yes, and no it isn't some inane joke by your family or friends, or even that odd therapist you think is so necessary. They're wrong by the way, the drugs won't help.*
"Shut up! I hate when you do that, Voice. Um, uh, ok. Well, ignoring the sense of utter disbelief here, I guess I should get this appraised and find out. So what, you're **actually** paying rent?" I asked aloud, setting the gold back on my counter with the rest.
*You asked, and I really didn't want to find a new home if you ended up having a mental breakdown. So hard to find places as...roomy as this.*
"Ok rude. Then fine, if you're gonna pay like a tenant then you're gonna have rules like one!" I stammered out
*Oh how bold of you Ricky, I didn't think you had it in you to lay down the law. After all, I'm in your head with your thoughts and emotions ALL the time. I've gotten to know the real you quite well. So, what are your demands?*
"First rule is NO talking after 11 pm! You know I go to sleep around then, and I **cannot** sleep with your jabber. No sleep equals no good health which equals mental breakdown, got it?" I made a motion of writing a one in the air as I spoke
*...fair enough. I just get so lonely when you're asleep, 8 hours of nauseating boredom. Though it isn't much better when you're awake, all you do is sit around watching things or playing your trifling games when you aren't working.*
"That's another thing! Talk less when I'm working, I can't get stuff done when you're berating me mid task. Keep that up and I get fired, then no money comes in, then mental breakdown." I continued in stride, scribbling a two below the invisible one. I slumped down on the faux leather couch in my barren apartment living room. Beyond the loveseat couch, the only things in the room were my TV, a couple consoles, and a spare folding chair. Maybe Voice was right, I really don't have much going on in here.
*Seems I've given you quite a bit of leverage with that mental breakdown line, haven't I? Doesn't seem entirely fair that I'm being mandated with all this when I've paid my fair share. Where are my amenities and resident services, eh?*
I could hear the tone of Voice's...well, voice change. He usually spoke with an aloof yet steely sense of sarcasm caressing every word. Right now, it had hardened and grown more cold. Business-like even. Oh crap, I screwed up. Now **he's** the one making demands of me. This was the worst thing he did, try to make deals.
"...what do you want this time?" I gulped, feeling a sweat break out on my face
*Just some more fun in this fuddy-duddy body! Like I said, your life is just so drab.*
"NO! The last time I did that I woke up three hours away in a drunk tank in Tijuana! I cant even speak Spanish dude, do you know how hard that was to get home?!" I protested vehemently, shaking my head. I tried not to raise my voice so the neighbors didn't hear. It was enough that I talked to myself and spaced out often, I didn't need them hearing me yelling at 9 am.
*Oh come now, I guided you back to your car at least. Besides, I don't need master control this time. Just let me show you the way. I'll even let you stay conscious and in control the whole time. Call it...co-pilot. You'll enjoy it.*
"I dunno Voice, your style seems a little crazy for me." I worried, nibbling on my fingernail nubs.
*Aren't you curious though? As curious as you were when you opened that locked and bound book that had me trapped inside a few months ago? Not everyone has the guts to do that Ricky, really. I think you sell yourself too short. You'd do wonderfully.*
I flashed back to the night he mentioned. The night that I was staying awake cleaning out my recently dead dad's stuff from his now empty house. I'd sent Mom home with my step-dad hours before, and my sister didn't even bother to show. I can't blame her, Dad was a bit of a loony recluse in his later years. Still, that book was a new level. I could feel some kind of vibe coming off the box it was in, before I even got close to it. I just couldn't help it. It took me an hour straight of thinking to actually decide to desecrate my dad's stuff and wire cut the chains. The rest of that night was pretty hazy, I guess I fell asleep there on the ground. And then the next morning, this...thing was inside my head.
Maybe he had a point, there was always a side of me that wanted to stop being the lame shut-in and go do something crazy.
"Just-just don't have us do anything illegal okay? I'm in your hands Voice." I caved, heaving a deeply held breath out. No going back now. I could swear I heard a gleeful squeal up there after I said it.
*Fantastic, incredible! I knew you had it in you. And please, as your tenant I request you call me by my name. Mephistopheles. Mephisto for short...*
| 2020-11-01T00:38:48
| 2020-11-01T00:02:27
| 140
| 69
|
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it.
|
**Item #:** SCP-B0T
**Object class:** Keter.
**Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-B0T is to be kept in a standard steel and reinforced concrete autonomous weapons chamber. The structure of the chamber must be monitored and routinely repaired. ~~Repairs must be completed by autonomous robots.~~ ~~Repairs must be completed via remote controlled robots.~~ ~~Repairs must be completed after SCP-B0T has been temporarily disabled via EMP blast.~~ There must be two containment chambers dedicated to the containment of SCP-B0T. SCP-B0T is to be rotated between these chambers on a weekly basis, using D-class personnel close to their monthly termination to lure SCP-B0T into its next chamber. Repairs are to be completed after SCP-B0T has been moved.
Currently, SCP-B0T is able to compromise 68% of the chamber's structure within a week, with an increase of .005% per week. Updated containment procedures are being investigated.
**Description:** SCP-B0T is an autonomous, extraterrestrial weapon designed to appear as a common autonomous household vacuum cleaner, with the exception of a bowie knife taped to its top. Upon inspection, though, its internal structure does not resemble the internals of its non-anomalous counterpart. With only 10% of components being identified to date. Care must be taken when disassembling and reassembling SCP-B0T, due to its slow regeneration properties.
SCP-B0T is designed to have an extreme penchant for killing any and all sapient life. SCP-B0T accomplishes this task through learning and self modification of both its structure and methodologies. When first contained, SCP-B0T's sole weaponry was the aforementioned bowie knife. Since then, it has acquired:
* EMP hardening
* Physical hardening
* A form of compulsion that is soley effective on other robots.
* A 1GW ultraviolet laser
* Amnesetic and poisonous gasses
* Flight capabilities
* Speed increases
* Sonic weaponry
* Properties similar to [SCP-2925](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-2925)
* [REDACTED].
SCP-B0T was discovered in the town of [REDACTED], Kansas, USA. Initially believed to be a large meteorite, several witnesses approached SCP-B0T out of curiosity. The Foundation was alerted through normal monitoring channels due to a sudden spike in fatalities in the 100km touchdown radius. Any surviving witnesses and medical personnel were given amnesetics and released, post interview. The Foundation released an official cover story of a chemical spill, and released the cadavers to the families, post cremation.
Cross testing with [SCP-682](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-682) is pending O5 approval.
|
Tracey peered into the small divot in her backyard. The smoke was still clearing, making it difficult to see what had crashed into her freshly mowed grass.
“Back up pup,” she said she tugged on the collar of her golden retriever.
She knew the dog was just as interested but didn’t want the vet visit from him burning his nose on whatever it was. It gave her a thought, however, and she patted his head before walked across the yard. The grass was mowed but the corner still had all of the stuff she had raked piled into it.
Pulling out the longest stick she could find, she made her way back to the smoky pit.
“I said back up,” She pulled on the dog's collar once more with her free hand.
She squinted down once more, spotting nothing but a black blob, even though the smoke was beginning to be more wisps, the fire had died out. She shook the stick once at the air and plunged it straight at the blob.
Tracey wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but the stick recoiled in her hand as it hit the solid surface of the object.
“Oh come on!” she hollered at the ground, rubbing the wrist holding the stick. “This is ridiculous, Charls.”
She looked down at her dog who had cocked his head to the side at her exclamation. “I guess we’ll have to wait.”
***
Tracey sat at her kitchen table. She half stared out the window to the back yard, and half stared at her cell phone to keep herself entertained. She had sent a few texts but no one had any thoughts about what may have landed in her yard.
Of course, they all wanted updates and pictures though.
Halfway through a second cup of coffee, Charlie began to bark and whine at the wall connecting to the yard. His ears were up, head tilting back and forth.
“What's up, Charlie?” Tracey asked as she set pushed aside her mug and her phone.
Maybe the dog was hearing something, she thought. If the dog was hearing something, maybe the thing in her yard was moving or talking somehow. Nothing was visible from her window, which meant she would have to take them back out into the backyard.
A brief wave of anxiety ran through her as she turned the doorknob. An irrational fear as she wondered if the thing was somehow alive, and not very nice.
***
“No, I don’t know how it got there, Sarah. I obviously didn’t order a crash landing Roomba with a freaking knife taped to it. it's not like Amazon has that as a delivery option,” Tracey rolled her eyes despite the fact that it wouldn’t translate over the cell phone.
“It’s moving. I have it on the table,” she said.
Her friend was not actually being all that helpful but she wasn’t at all sure what to do. She had called Sarah to see if she wanted to come over but had been stuck answering questions instead.
“I can’t put it on the floor, Sarah. It has a knife on it, and I don’t really want it to stab my dog. Just…Just come over?” Tracey asked.
This whole situation was insane. She could really use someone to feel a little bit insane with her.
“No, it's not that big of a knife. You’ll see.”
***
“I told you,” Tracey stood back as Sarah tried to inspect the little machine.
“But why? Why does it have a knife? And how is it still working?” Sarah circled the table poking at the Roomba once a minute or so.
“Those are great questions.”
Sarah picked up the Roomba, causing it to make a brief whirring sound. It seemed to shut down once it realized it was no longer on solid ground. “You know…I’ve always wanted one.”
Sarah turned it over in her hands, inspecting the sides and the bottom of it. Her hands grazed over the material, stopping for a moment before she turned to Tracey.
“I think this is tape. Maybe colored Duct Tape?” Sarah said as she handed the whole thing, carefully, over to its new owner.
Tracey held it and felt the spot her friend had indicated. It did feel like tape. She brought it back over to the table and set it down, bottom up. With some peeling and scratching, Tracey managed to pull up the square of odd material. Stuck in the middle, between the tape and the bottom of the Roomba was a square piece of white paper.
Without so much as looking up at Sarah, Tracey peeled the paper off and unfolded it.
“You have been challenged. Welcome to the fight,” Tracey read the words out-loud.
“What?!” Sarah asked dramatically and made a grab for the note.
Tracey moved it out of her reach automatically. Her eyes moved between the note and the armed cleaning robot. Was the Robot supposed to be her weapon or just an invitation?
/r/beezus_writes
| 2019-03-03T08:11:34
| 2019-03-03T06:31:50
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] You won the hide-and-seek world championship, but the authorities found you were using performance enhancing drugs. Because that was recently deemed illegal, they’re trying to arrest you - but they can’t find you.
|
My name is Waldo, and I'm the reigning world hide-and-seek champion.
And this is the story of how I was found.
Like all competitive sports, it is utterly and entirely illegal to use performance-enhancing drugs on yourself. I get that. I'm a law-abiding guy. So for the first annual hide-and-seek world championships, I simply applied performance-degrading drugs to everyone else, instead. It took a little doing, but hey, I came here from the world tag championships. I'm all about getting my hands on other people, whether they like it or not.
I was found out. I'm not entirely sure how—all the drugs did was blur the background a little, add in a little visual chaos for anyone looking, hallucinations of impossibly crowded rooms or overly dense forests. It shouldn't have even been all that obvious to anyone watching. But it didn't take long for the Referees to step in and declare me Out of Bounds.
Boy, was that a mistake for them.
I'm no ordinary playground game player. I have gold medals in everything from cat's cradle to zombie tag. They couldn't take me if they tried. I played hopscotch on their goons, and danced the double dutch on their corpses. It wasn't even a challenge.
I had the last of the Referees down to rights. The greatest game-player there ever was. Simon, his name was. He'd tried to bash my head in with a rock, but I caught it with a paper-wrapped fist. He tried a jinx on me, but I got under a roof in time. Finally, he said,
"Si—Simon Says *stop!*"
I paused. He'd said Simon Says. What else could I do?
He was terrified. It was only human, of course. "W—Waldo. Please. Please, stop. I—I'll give you the medal if you want. Just—just leave me alone. Jesus, there are children watching!"
I knelt down, stared him in the eyes. "I'm sorry, Simon. It's not about the medal. It never was."
"Then... then... why? All this, for what?"
I sharpened my gaze. "Look at me, Simon. Really, truly, look at me."
He did. "I—I don't understand. What—"
"Fifteen years ago. You had a fling with Mary. Mary and her little lamb. It was the scandal of the playground world. You didn't want anyone to know. You had a stable relationship with Mother Goose, and you were a family man, you told yourself. So you ditched her. Dropped her in the mud like a piece of trash, and told your goons to make sure there wouldn't ever be any consequences."
Simon gaped. "You—You're my son?"
My gaze hardened. "You lost the right to call me that before the day I was born. You can call me... the consequences."
"I'm sorry, I really am, but please, I'm begging you—"
"You're what?"
"I'm begging you."
"I'm sorry?"
"I'm begging you, *please don't kill me!*"
I stared at him. Then I laughed. I laughed, and I laughed, and I laughed, and tears fell like rain. Simon stared at me.
"What? What's so funny?"
I winked, and held out a pair of scissors. "You didn't say Simon Says."
A.N.
If you liked this, you may want to check out r/rileywrites!
|
I was the first vessel of Reveal for the sake of both necessity and protest.
A small group of us had gathered the year before, along with a few delegates of small mountainside kingdoms that had been subjugated by the Locrian government. Scientists allied with the cause had been working on some sort of appearance affecting drug for years before that, and were just about ready to unveil the very first prototypes. I volunteered for a single reason apart from my disdain at the immoral Locrians-- I was on the list. It was convenient, yet still a long shot. They had warned me of some distinct possibilities, that the drug would have appearance-enhancement of humans different than that of their simian test subjects.
When the Locrian invasion swept through the Eastern Hollows of Gale, they, with their brutal and efficacious bureaucracy brought along new traditions. Particularly the idea of a competition among the conquered civilians. They dubbed it, "Midas Hand", or the "Hand that Quells the Beast". It was a way of satiating the bloodthirsty Demons they had inducted into their army, by allowing them to scamper through a desolate town, searching for political prisoners and randoms picked out of Satan's lottery to mutilate and devour. Riots and uproars were quelled quickly after the initial backlash, for the Locrians had mastered the art of Demon subjugation. Screams were stifled, which turned to whimpers, which gave way to resigned silence. Demons hurt what they could see. Locrians valued strength, brutality, and the idea of a self-serving champion, so they presented a unique agreement-- the final victor, a man or woman who survived the onslaught of Demons, would be given the helm of King Midas. A place in the high Locrian society in which so many wished to ingrain themselves into.
Thus began the idea. Dr. Henry Wasserman, of the Wolf's Country of Margot, met with individuals who called themselves "Angel Knights", those fighting for resistance and revolution. Many members in the past having been inducted into Midas Hand due to arrests for political sedition and espionage. At that time, I had been working for the organization for a few months, running errands here and there. I passed a man with a neatly trimmed mustache and oversized glasses, who strode into an partially-filled conference room with a small vial. That day, I remember crouching next to the doors, attempting to glean some information from the barely audible whispers through the narrow crack. I could make out some words, to my surprise. "Elvish", "Fairy's Tears", "Invisibility", "Espionage". I scampered away once the talking stopped, and he came out with several operatives, talking and discussing the supposed next phase of the revolution.
By the time my turn as the original Herald to this drug came, I had risen in both position and status with Angel Knights. We had come to know a lot more about the process of creating Reveal, and about what the actual effects were. Supposedly the tears of a long-lost Fairy, Reveal allowed an individual to summon a veil of sight-blocking particles-- essentially nullifying light refraction and rendering one invisible. Quite simply, it was the perfect cheat code to win the game of brutal hide-and-seek created by the Locrians. Potentially a chance to get a member of the Angel Knights into Locrian high society to strike from behind and end the Demon subjugation. The day I got the letter, the bedamned and feared letter, the reaper's calling card itself, that I was to "participate" in the Midas Hand, was the day I volunteered. Wasserman warned me, of course, of the consequences.
"This has only been done on simian apes," he remarked, looking down at the government letter I had handed him. "Only on them. Of course, we have to graduate to humans at some point, yes. But do you, a senior officer of Angel Knight, wish to put your life at risk to conduct this operation?"
"With all due respect, Doctor," I smiled, wearily. "What have I been living for all these years if I refuse this offer? To strike at the very heart of the oppression? I'll take the risk."
"If that's your choice, so be it," he responded, standing up to lead me out of the room. "We'll have you injected with Reveal two days prior to Midas Hand. That should give us ample time to study the effects."
The letter was a death sentence, though I'd suspected that I would be next. But living it is a different scenario altogether than thinking about it. At that moment, though, the idea of potentially winning the Midas Hand through a concoction that was seven years in the making enticed me more than anything. So I gave it up, extended my hand. In just a few days, I knew that death faced me any which way I went. To defect from an invitation was to incur the wrath of hundreds of painfully frozen Demons that created an impassable wall for those who wished to leave the Locrian lands-- Demons which would leap into disturbingly animated action at the whiff of life to be snuffed out. The tracker Demons sent by the army would send talons and claws raining down upon your mutilated corpse within minutes to hours of your flight to freedom. From the moment you hold the letter, you were marked for death or glory. Nine times out of ten it was the former, but an ounce of luck or a prototype drug could change things, and I knew that.
I lay in a hospital bed for hours after they sent tubes into my arms and legs, prodding around for the right veins to send the ochre-yellow concoction into. I started straight at the Angel Knight flag that hung on one of the eggshell white walls, distracting myself from the pain.
"Sorry," the nurse winced as she stuck the last needle in and watched a wave of brief discomfort wash over my face. "We'll have Doctor Wasserman here in a moment-- he wants to survey the effects of the drug on your vital signs."
"Fine by me," I responded, trying to distract myself from the throbbing and the looming disaster that had been plaguing me for days.
Wasserman's observations allowed him to give the all clear, and he turned to me, adjusting his rimmed glasses.
"Francis, there's going to be a process, of course, as the enzymes enter your bloodstream. First you'll feel cold as your blood pressure drops, but it should be momentary as the body absorbs the drug. After that, you should be back to normal until we give you the activator," he explained. "The activator shall be embedded in a small pin, designed as an ornament. Once you get into the Ruined City and once the tournament begins, you simply activate the drug and-- if all goes well, turn invisible."
"Doctor?," I asked, my stomach lurching with anxiety. "You mentioned side effects earlier. What did you mean by that?"
"Ah," he sighed, shaking his head slightly. "I'd hoped you wouldn't ask, to be frank. See, there's the possibility that rather than disguising you from the Locrian Demons, that-- you'd transform into something akin to them. We had a simian subject in an early trial run of Reveal physically change and lose all sense of its mind. With many simian subject we saw the development of cells within the veil of invisibility that the drug is meant to create that are akin to those of Demons. After all, we are using the processes of ancient Fairies and modern medicine. There's a very low chance, but we don't have any human subjects yet."
That thought, of course, lingers with me now, standing here in the Atrium of the Locrian Grand Hall. Within hours I will be transported to an area outside the Ruined City. We will eat, drink, and party for three days, before stepping into near certain death hiding from creatures with no morality whatsoever. I don't know if I'm stupid for volunteering to try a drug with zero human subjects, or banking my survival on said gambit. No less one that could turn me into one of the creatures I despised so.
But one thing is for sure. As Dr. Wasserman had said to me, if this does work it will change the idea of revolution forever.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/bluelizardK
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Might as well delete this one now. Kinda pointless to leave it up, but if anyone is reading this far down and actually enjoyed it, thank you!
| 2020-04-03T16:39:45
| 2020-04-03T14:45:39
| 96
| 63
|
[WP] As the only immortal you know about, it's just occured to you; your online friend has been around for a bit too long.
|
**The Mystery of MisterAnalog**
My eyes scan the Currently Online section of my friends list. GamerGal008 is not on it. Damn.
It’s been over a year since I’ve seen their little indicator dot turn green. It’s just gray. The gray dot of death.
You never get used to it, not really. The losing people. You’d think that losing an online friend because they never log in again would be different than losing a “real life” friend because they die off in a war or pandemic, but it isn’t. They’re still lost.
Always losing people. Or rather, *outlasting* them.
Had I cherished GamerGal’s teabagging antics enough? If I’d known I’d never see her (or most likely him, honestly) again, would I have more fully cherished those snarky jokes about my mom being dumber than a sandwich?
On a whim, I click into my overall friends list to scroll through them. Who would I lose next? How could I make sure I was fully present for them now?
I sort by date and scroll down, towards my earliest friends at the bottom. My memories take me on a journey through time, decades of stupid jokes and silly adventures across dozens of games come back to me as I read the names, all with that sad gray dot. DeeezNuuutz, RacketRocket, MasturDebater, oh MasturDebater.
At last, I hit the bottom. MisterAnalog. Wait, MisterAnalog is my oldest friend? Didn’t we just play that WWIII-based game yesterday? And his dot is green?
I click into our chat history. We’ve chatted here and there, some gg’s and invites to join matches, but nothing serious. I scroll up and up and up. We sent our first message… 83 years ago. 83 years ago!
I try not to get too excited. There are several possibilities here. It is technically possible for a someone to have been on this platform for 83 years. Maybe they joined as a child and now they’re playing games well into their old age. I haven’t been paying attention to life extension therapies (they are, after all, quite irrelevant to me), perhaps they’ve improved significantly. Or maybe this is a shared account, passed down through the generations.
But what if it’s none of these reasons? What if it’s someone like me, someone tricked by a witch long ago into trading everything for immortality? Someone who’s also learned the terrible curse of loving and losing and loving again, the curse of knowing that everything and everyone around you will move on and come to pass while you must go on and on and on?
My hands shake as I type out my message, electricity running through them.
I’ll keep it simple:
Hello, old friend. Long ago – did you meet the witch? The real witch.
Send.
A few moments pass. Was that a stupid way to ask the question? Would he know what I meant? We’d probably met hundreds of witches in all our fantasy games over the years. Should I have been more —
Dots come up on the screen. He’s typing.
I wait, my heart thumps in my chest like it’s not my own. The dots move up and down, up and down.
And then they disappear. No message is sent.
MisterAnalog’s dot turns gray.
___
r/StealthyStorkStories
|
Internet is a safe space. At least, that's what Kleon used to think at the dawn of the world wide web. He found a community of like minded people he could interact with without ever meeting them, and to a man in his situation, it was nothing short of a boon.
*Place of birth: The city-state of Athens.*
Socrates and Plato be damned. Socrates drank the hemlock, absolutely certain he would survive the death of his body and live on. "Everything works in cycles," he used to say, "and everything has it's opposite. We are not only defined by what opposes us, but tend towards it. What is hot was once cold. You, who are awake were once asleep. Life and death are no different, there is darkness before I was born, I return to the darkness and will be born again."
*Likes: Silence, peace of mind, tranquility.*
Plato lapped it up. "Socrates makes a wonderful argument in favor of the existence of immortality, how would you deny me this point, Kleon?"
At the time Kleon didn't answer, preferring to leave the room and get some fresh air outside before his head started to hurt. He had loathed philosopher, Plato even more than the others, thought them idiots contemplating their navels while real people had real problems they never cared about. Millennia later, Kleon could safely tell Plato that he had over-thought it once more.
*Dislikes: Talking too much.*
Souls, cycles, resurgence, opposites and convoluted theories to explain the possibility of immortality, when Kleon stood as proof of it. He was, he is, and the body remains whole.
There, immortality proven, now get out with your numerous thesis and intellectual masturbation.
A shame the ancient philosophers didn't share eternal life, because Kleon would certainly need a conversation with Greek philosophers or any second-rate Roman orator. Namely, the second Kleon realized immortality was a curse and not a boon, he began hating his younger self for not dabbling more in philosophy and failing to use the occasion to speak with the progenitors of higher thinking.
Humans were born, learned and marveled at the world, lived to a midlife point where memories were as numerous as possibilities, and died with a head full of stories, leaving the world to the young. Alas, Kleon was out of the cycle. Immortality broke the very idea of cycle, where was Socrates when you needed him?
*Goals: Finding a goal would be nice.*
Memories piled up, the endless power of the brain soaked up life like a sponge and death did not come to relieve it. If Kleon had friends, he remembered the thousands he had before, death and buried and forgotten by all except him. The living acted as a reminder of their fate. He remembered natural spots at their best, and in the centuries he lived, the world was past it's most perfect moment. He had precise pictures of the wonders of the ancient world in his mind, had seen historical wars and undertakings, too many.
Stories piled up, Kleon was a man with an overwhelming past, a whispering present and a future he would prefer to have little of.
And immortality laughed at suicide attempts.
*Hobbies: realizing too late when I'm wrong. Also, cooking.*
Came the internet, only interesting invention in quite some time, opening a new way at being social. Kleon got to meet and speak to people without ever witnessing their deaths, life without the end of it, fitting for a man in his position. He roamed the early bulletin board system and the first forums, defecated on public politics on non-moderated websites and was personally responsible for some of the ugliest and stupidest early websites ever. They, too, had been buried under history, and only Kleon remembered.
There he was again, a self-loathing and immortality-cursing bender. Kleon went onto a random forum and hoped some cat video or conversation would calm him down.
For the first time, he noticed the oddity.
*MommyShagger666* had very similar manners of speech - or rather, writing - than *Roxxor-Salazar-L33Tskillz*. Nothing surprising, with so many billions on Earth, some humans were meant to share similarities. But there was that little thing more, this je-ne-sais-quoi nagging at the back of Kleon's mind. *MommyShagger666* also wrote as if he had always written like this. A tenuous clue, more of a feeling, really, but it occupied Kleon and he didn't ask for more. And this peculiar pseudonym wasn't the only one suspicious.
Kleon scoured his well-kept memory and dug up all the suspicious pseudonyms to gather them in a chatroom. There, he asked the important question.
*310N: You wouldn't happen to be immortal by chance?*
*DADIDOU: I am. You?*
This might take some time.
*310N: It's a weird question, I know.*
*MommyShagger666: Where u from?*
*310N: Ancient Greece, believe it or not.*
*310N: I was pal with Aristotle, had a beef with others about the idea of immortality.*
*DADIDOU: Kleon?*
*310N: Weird times, many lifetimes ago.*
*310N: Wait a minute, how do you know?*
*DADIDOU: It's me, Plato.*
A feeling arose in Kleon, one he had thought not possible. Marvel. The sheer, overwhelming wave of a joyous discovery.
*MommyShagger666: DADIDOU, dis a frind of you?*
*DADIDOU: Yes, I know him from school! Kleon, this is Sigmund Freud by the way. I think you invited Elvis in the chat too.*
*DeKINGDeBigOne: Hey there.*
Immortality, a curse. And if they were on the internet, it meant Elvis, Freud and Plato agreed with how bad it could be. But Kleon wasn't alone anymore.
*310N: DADIDOU, I really need to speak with you, re-frame that whole eternal life thing. We didn't always get along, but I beg for your help now.*
*DeKINGDeBigOne: Oh God.*
*310N: What?*
*DeKINGDeBigOne disconnected.*
*MommyShagger666 disconnected.*
*TheIronMaidenAndLady disconnected.*
*IbeatTheCrapOutOfEnglandIn1428 disconnected.*
*DADIDOU: Let's consider the act of not dying through the scope of a greater cycle, as if the cogs contained several cogs into themselves and we simply went on to a bigger one, as Socrates said during...*
Kleon turned off the computer and went to get some fresh air outside before his head started to hurt.
Lifetimes later and Plato still annoyed the shit out of Kleon like no one else could.
| 2022-02-09T07:50:55
| 2022-02-09T05:58:05
| 265
| 185
|
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle
|
This is my first ever response to r/writing prompts after lurking for about 3 years. Please be kind:
“Here she comes, Anna the Raptureless!” Every day Dylan said the same thing as I walked into our overcrowded, overheated and under resourced classroom, in our run down inner city school. Not for the first time, I was grateful that no one had yet managed to figure out what my perfect circle meant. Everyone else had elemental sigals. There were special classes for fire, water, air and earth elementals. Even the teachers didn’t know what to do with me and the other students hated me because I got to spend those lessons working on my own projects.
I knew my role though, I was the perfect circle, I was the alpha and the omega. I had launched the rapture, I had given them their powers to see how they reacted. I had hoped that giving humans a taste of my power would make them harmonise more with their own world. That it would help them re-connect with the elements that formed their world and make them start to work in synchrony again. Caring for the natural order, like their ancestors once did.
My own projects, which looked to others like reading the news, was actually me collating the results of my interventions. My findings were conclusive though, this experiment had failed. The differing powers had led to more conflicts, more jealously, more hatred, more factions and ultimately more war. On the news this morning I had seen the final straw, a tribe of water elementals had been weaponised by the Americans and used to launch a tsunami in the Middle East, a tribe of fire elementals had responded by launching a fire storm that right now was blazing through Washington DC.
Today I was going to push the reset button. Today was the day for Rapture take 2. Today I would use my power to remove theirs. Then I would use my elemental forces to repair the world. Terra Nova V3.0 would be reinvisioned at 2pm this afternoon.
Last time I had changed the world, I put everyone to sleep, none of them saw what happened they just woke up to find themselves imbued with new elemental energies. This time, as I took the powers away. I was going to keep the bullies awake. Kids like Dylan and politicians too, so that they could see what their evil had cost the human race and so they get an impression of what could happen should I ever need to create version 4.0.
My superiors had already informed me that should a 4.0 ever become necessary, the human population of Terra would need to be halved in order to restore the natural balance. The only way to prevent this happening would be to make the humans rediscover their bonds with their natural environment, this was my final chance to make them listen. I smiled when Dylan spoke to me this morning. He was just reinforcing what I already knew. Today is the day of the rapture, today you will learn what I do.
|
He has always been a very peaceful person which was often mistaken for being boring and uninteresting which lead to him getting left out. The only interaction he had with others in school was when his classmates would bully him with their outstanding powers. They were quite powerful and could possibly be used to kill others.
Gironimo had just transferred to this new school. Nero started to bully him because Gironimo seemed to be an easy target, seeing as his sigil only looked like a circle which indicated that he hadn’t formed an ability yet.
Nero possessed the ability to form deadly weapons from people’s iron, cutting up their insides and draining them of the ability to breathe properly because they couldn’t process the oxygen without iron in their blood. He knew, he could kill Gironimo but he never wanted to, seeing that he was sadistic but not a killer. Plus, he wanted to see what power Gironimo’s sigil could possibly have granted him, since it was just some circle.
Well, at least it looked like a circle if you didn’t pay attention. Everyone is born with a sigil but it has to develop and take shape over time. Gironimo’s sigil only modified ever so slightly to go from a circle to a zero. He even called his ability “Zero”, even though he himself didn’t know what it could do. The sigil’s abilities were always based on one’s personality, so it would not be surprising that a violent person like Nero had such a brutal ability while the selfless May who would do anything for others could heal others with the drawback of not being able to heal herself.
The day after Gironimo's transfer, Nero approached Gironimo. “Would you like to die?”, he said as if he just asked a normal question. “I mean, you can try”, he said confidently, even though he didn’t even know of Nero’s powers since he was always very careful with when he would use them. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Gironimo felt something cutting up the inside of his mouth and started to spew out razor blades along with alarming amounts of blood. He started to cry and shouted “Zero”. Immediately, the blood he coughed up went back into his mouth and the razor blades turned back into iron and re-entered his body. Meanwhile, Nero started to cough up razor blades and now he was the one crying and screaming. “You fucker”, Gironimo shouted. “Look what you’ve done. Look how badly I was bleeding. Why the fuuuuuucckkkk???”. He started kicking the still crying Nero and quickly left before the teachers could spot him.
| 2020-02-26T08:40:37
| 2020-02-26T07:41:46
| 40
| 19
|
[WP] Civilization is collapsing. Meanwhile, two Redditors argue furiously back and forth, trying to get the last word in before the internet goes down for good.
|
"I'm telling you. The war was caused by communists under the more votable name of liberals pulling everyone into debt to try and get their Utopia world, then everyone else having to put up with their hippy crap while getting taxied out the wazoo."
"You can't be serious. How are you the only other person still on Reddit right now? You're **this** stupid? It was obviously caused by the republicans being intolerant and racist as usual. There was no need to nuke those people except because they were a different race and religion."
"Bullshit. First of all: They pointed nukes at us first! Secondly: This war started while a woman was in power. They can't be intolerant if they elected a woman!"
"You know they just did that because the Hillary election fell flat on its face and they wanted the title of 'first woman' to attract voters. You know she wasn't the best possible candidate."
"Well I can't let a sexist like you get the last comment in, what a way for the world to end. 'Blame it on the woman'. How low we have fell."
"Don't give me that crap! You're just taking my words out of context now. Not to mention getting off topic."
"What topic? This is it you tit. The world is **over**. I dunno about you but I'm going off my phones battery life, then I'm gone, the last person you'll ever talk to, don't you care about that?"
"Dude. This is the /r/politics2 sub. Stay on topic. Do you really want the last comment a human makes to be irrelevant?"
"Yeah well. You're a communist hippy who wants all the money I worked hard for.
Edit: Gilded!? Why would you even do that!?"
"To prove to your greedy overly capitalist ass money doesn't mean anything more, and it never has."
"What hippy talk. I'm going to go use the last of my battery to check out the gone wild subs. I hope you enjoy being the last comment, smart-ass.
Edit: I was bluffing. Please reply. I don't want my last comment to be about me masturbating.
Edit2: Oh god. What have I done, what a way to go...
Edit3: Damn he's really dead... Well if anyone ever reads this, just so you know, I went out by my own gunshot. Not starving to death of dying of radiation, it was painless and full of pride."
"Ha! Last! Idiot! Made you think I was dead so you'd shoot yourself! I am **triumphant!**"
|
"You do realize people just tolerate you, right?"
"We're the last two left, idiot."
"Yeah? Well your family tree is a circle."
"My family's dead."
"Oh. Well, you're not pretty enough to to be this stupid."
"Very original. I've seen [the thread](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/3dm8sx/what_is_your_best_insult_without_cussing/)."
"Shut up! Just, leave already, there's no point anymore."
"You could leave too you know."
"It's the last thread. There's nowhere else to go!"
"Yeah, I'm procrastinating on getting supplies from the store too."
"Go get some then, water isn't going to be around all that much longer!"
"Like I'm going to let a dirty reposter get the last word."
"Well *you're* OP!"
"Yeah. And?"
"Like *I'm* going to let OP get the last comment!"
"Shut up you filthy reposter! Also, I just got gilded."
"What?"
"100x gold. On my calling you a dirty reposter."
"No way... was there a message?"
"Yeah, hold on. Oh you piece of shit."
"HAHAHAHAHA!"
"**'OP is a faggot!'** Really?!"
"Yes! Money's pointless, the servers are going down any moment now, and *you're* going to be out of water in a week!"
"I'm a hydrologist performing research in Lake Baikal."
"What? Google went down a half hour ago, and the search engine here is crap."
"Fair enough. It means access to the world's deepest lake. Checkmate, reposter."
"OP's a faggot *and* a liar!"
"Like you'll ever know!"
"That's it, I'm closing the thread. I've been saving this trump card this *whole* time."
"Don't tell me, *another* repost."
"Hey, I can post original content too if I wanted! No, this will end the argument, and I'll win *all* the karma!"
"You're no mod or admin, what could *you* post?"
"The final word! A message so profound, so *quintessential* to the human condition, you can't help but *let me* have this last comment."
"Bring it reposter, I triple dog dare you."
"A Christmas Story reference. Not bad, OP, not bad. Now behold, [the last comment on Reddit!](http://i.kinja-img.com/gawker-media/image/upload/s--IG1bGqnW--/m5g6imznbymcxkbpwpfc.jpg)"
--------------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!*
| 2016-02-29T04:47:26
| 2016-02-29T04:12:07
| 485
| 282
|
[WP] You actually can learn through Osmosis! Any book you touch you instantly "read" and that knowledge stays with you.
|
Do you know I couldn’t even read until the fourth grade? It’s true; before then, computers had not been a major factor in my life and I hardly had any reason to actually read books when I could learn their contents just by touching them.
There are a lot of weird side effects that you wouldn’t expect. In math, for example, if you need the exact square root of any number from one to one thousand, I’ve got your back. If you need to do a simple derivative, however, I’m lost. That’s the trick, you see. All of the perfect recall in the world can’t save you if you haven’t put in the practice for an actual task.
My favorite metaphor for the issue is running. I could list off every last chemical reaction used in muscular contraction, every last bone and tendon in the legs, every single interaction that could ever happen in the body, but if I tried to run a marathon I wouldn’t last ten minutes.
In the same way, if you expected me to go to college, get a bachelor’s degree in physics or chemistry or some such nonsense in three years, head straight to grad school and get my Ph.D., and then begin cutting edge research… well, you’re reading the wrong personal memoir. My high school experience was sitting around all day smoking weed and doing party tricks to pick up girls. My college days were nearly identical except the books I touched were more expensive and focused on political science.
And I know what you’re thinking now: *Oh, this is gonna be good. He’ll probably finish his degree in political science, come to some life-altering event, get his ass in gear, and use his powers to rule the world.*
I’m sure my parents also wanted that, but what we want rarely happens.
You see, I did some thinking. I did the barest modicum of research. There are very few lucrative careers where rote memorization is the key to success. The first choice was to be a doctor, which offered years of studying, massive debt, and endless 80 hour weeks of work grinding away at me in exchange for a thankless job of saving the lives of people who would sooner throw them away than give up food for a few hours before surgery.
So naturally, I chose the profession of lawyer.
You see, my endless years of slacking taught me one skill more than any other. I’m quite good at finding loopholes. It’s not so hard considering how easy it is to commit every typo of a contract or law or court decision to memory.
I bet many of you hate me right now. I have all these great abilities and I’m wasting them on saving criminals, racketeers, and politicians. You probably think I have a responsibility to use my gifts for the betterment of humanity, either by discovering new technologies to make life better or by taking control and making the right decisions based on my near-infinite knowledge and capacity for learning. To you, I say the same thing that the rich have been saying for centuries:
I can’t hear you over the sound of my [money](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks).
|
I was a servant, born from servants, destined to live with my knees to the dirt. I toiled. I graduated from harvesting my owner's crops along the nile to keeping his house. He trusted me, and I loved him as a second father.
I knew nothing else, but he was an educated man who owned boats and horses and many scrolls. He would tell me a little, about which god created this and which man created that. And I wanted more. He refused to tell me everything he knew. I insisted on more and further more. He grew annoyed and sent me back to the fields.
By the bank of the nile, I gazed upon Ra when he was at his highest and pleaded with him to aid me. He set my eyes ablaze. I persisted.
I woke up in the shade. The others said I had fell asleep. My hands felt hot. The field master chastised me but I heard not what he said, rather I gazed at the scroll he hid behind his back. I reached out and touched it, he slapped my face. But I learned. I learned about his wife, and the market, and the library that my owner would let no servant into.
That day I received lashes, but that night I broke into the library and I learned. I learned more than my owner could ever know. Of Archery, and Poetry, and Riding, and Plants, and Economy. I learned of a great library in Alexandria.
And I head there now. I care for nothing else. I steal food when I can, horses when I can, and knowledge when I can. Armed with my sword and bow, a dozen men are no match for my technique.
Ra has set me on this path. I have been chosen by his fire. I know it.
| 2020-09-28T08:35:26
| 2020-09-28T08:27:00
| 50
| 16
|
[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...
|
My 18th birthday, something that seemed so far away is finally here. My family is gathered around, ready to see what word I would have. My dad's was JANITOR, while my mother's was DOCTOR. I hope I get something cool.
"We will be proud of you honey, whatever you are." My mother said. My father nodded in agreement. We waited in silence. The grandfather clock sounded at noon, Words started to be inscribed into my arm.
GAY PORNSTAR, were the words that would dictate my career. My father let out a snort, my mother flustered said "Oh john, we knew you were gay, but we didn't think your career would involve this."
I thought to myself, well, I do love dick.
(First post please be nice.)
|
All of my friends and family had gathered in our favorite martian bar, the drinking age long ago lifted after the great cleansing of the 2020's...Everyone turned their attention towards me as the clock clicked ever so slowly from 11:59 to 12:00 sharp, the first letters began to appear..
"I" followed by a letter "D"
Confused everyone started to murmer..
As the next "D" appeared I gasped thankfully, I wasn't branded to be an idiot at least! That was followed by "Q" and another "D" and no more letters appeared.
"IDDQD" I thought, what the hell could that mean.. That was no career, no purpose at all, it was just a jumble of damn letters!
As we all panicked and tried to figure out what was happening to me, the second word began to appear.
"I" followed by another "D" but this time followed by the combination "KFA" before the letters stopped appearing.
"IDKFA... IDDQD.. what the fuck man!"
As we were trying to make sense of the situation, and calm my panic stricken mother down, the general alarms sounded throughout the entire base complex. The UAC started broadcasting over the PA report to quarters in preparation of rapid deployment to Phobos, and further info would be provided on the ride there.
| 2017-03-16T04:22:00
| 2017-03-16T03:13:05
| 40
| 14
|
[WP] You being the cemetery caretaker, always treat the graves and the dead with utmost care. So when the zombie apocalypse begins, you find it surprising that they do not attack you but instead help protect you.
|
Carl places a bouquet of flowers on the last grave for the day, completing his daily rounds.
“There we go Miss Hanson. Can’t have a nice lady like you without any color!” he said, keeping the jolly demeanor he always seemed to have.
Carl hated when he saw a plot without any flowers. A life of loneliness allowed him to relate with these souls that rested alone, and the ones that didn’t have visitors were special to him. They may be survived by someone, but he made sure their spirit knew someone remembered them. He’d want someone to do the same for him.
The fading sun turned to twilight, burnt orange and red leaves crinkling as the autumn breeze rustles them across the graves. Carl had his work cut out for him tonight on the literal graveyard shift, a job he’d managed for decades now and he found peaceful among the quiet of the dead. This Halloween may not be as quiet though; today was Friday the 13th, and it was expected to bring a full moon. He had his fair share of hoodlums try to ransack graves and cause mischief among the tombstones, but he prided himself on protecting them before any real damage took place. But this year might bring out some of the true-blue loonies.
An old clip-on radio jingled to the oldies while Carl finished filling the final grave of the evening. He recalled many of the families he had met; most were thankful for his diligence and others were speechless in their grief. An occasional arrogant mourner came along that really just needed time. But he respected each lost family member all the same. He didn’t have kids or a family of his own, so it felt like those he ushered to their resting place were his adopted family.
He smoothed the last shovelful of dirt on the grave and gave it a soft pat with his palm.
“And a penny for good luck, dear,” he muttered as he placed a copper centpiece in the topsoil. It was a tribute to his Momma, long passed, who would always place a penny in his hand as he ventured out into the world on his own. He always regretted not having her buried here, where he could look after her. He didn’t know if there really was a place we all went after we die, but he didn’t think it hurt to take a little good luck with you if there was. Maybe it was his way of paying her back from across the grave.
Carl tossed his tools in the back of his truck as a news bulletin cut off his music.
“We interrupt your local broadcast for a very disturbing update...it, uh, appears there is some sort of rapidly contagious infection spreading through the state. Those with symptoms are extremely violent and dangerous. CDC and law enforcement recommend citizens to shelter in their homes with locked doors, and to retreat to a safe part of the home. We repeat, do not engage any infected. This is a state of em—,” the transmission blinking out into a haze of static.
Carl’s brow holds a weight of confusion and skepticism, “Now what kind of Halloween prank is this here?” he says to the silence of the graveyard.
A chain link fence jingles on the nearest perimeter of the cemetery, and he combats being spooked by surfacing the tough guy speeches he had perfected over years of thwarting intruders. *I already phoned the fuzz, but my .22 might have something to say before they get here.* He didn’t have a .22 but they didn’t need to know that.
Carl approached the fence to find what he expected, a costumed figure trying to climb the barrier to cause some havoc in his workplace. He drew in close to give the talking to he’d mustered, when the smell of rotted iron and disease filled his nose. His feet halted before he knew he had stopped, a reservoir of fear he’d never needed before pushed a nervous sweat to the surface of his weathered skin.
Purple hands reached for him through the holes of the fence, and a guttural moan rose from the figure. He took a step back and scanned the remains of a face resembling Todd from the Quikstop down the road. It was the infection, and it looked a hell of a lot more like a zombie problem than a medical one. More infected locals scattered outside the fence, taking notice of Carl’s mortal scent. He wondered how many that rusty old fence would hold back.
Carl turned to run for shelter, and one of the undead stood in his path. All the blood in his body drained to his feet, and he felt any last black hairs on his head bleached white with fright. The zombie lifted an outstretched arm toward him, and he prepared to meet his maker.
“I’ll see ya soon Momma,” he whispered, and let his eyes fall to avoid witnessing what came next.
But nothing happened.
One eyelid peeked open a smidge to find other zombies had joined the one in front of him. But they did not threaten him or pounce. Carl’s vision widened to make sense of the tableau in front of him. He noted a familiarity in the monsters, and peered deeper into the first face, recognition dawning.
“Miss…Miss Hanson?”
Miss Hansen stood, half bent with rigamortis and a history of decomposition written across her face. Her burial dress displayed chew marks from moths and maggots, and a layer of dirt encompassed her from head to rotting toe. Her purple hued arm still stretched for Carl, and she produced a soft moan as if to make sure he paid attention.
Fingers that showed age and wear beyond longevity unraveled like a blooming flower. A shiver ran through Carl’s bones when he saw what she held, not sure what it meant exactly.
A single copper penny.
Simultaneously, each of the undead figures around revealed similar pennies in their varying degrees of rotted hands. A deep rasp rose from the main shape in front of him.
“Cccaarrrruullll…tttaaaankk…oouuuuu,” the body that was once Miss Hanson moaned. “Ssstaaa...hheeeeerreee.”
Her fist clenched back over the penny, and the hivemind of the swarm folded away from Carl toward the weak walls of the cemetery. Carl found himself flushed of adrenaline and in a battle of emotions: confusion, pride, shock, heartbreak. Carl started to believe maybe he wasn’t meant to be a victim of this apparent zombie apocalypse, at least not today, as he watched his adopted family defend him from the growing swarm outside the fenceline.
He hoped Momma wasn’t one of them.
|
"Oh, it's all righ' now, Mrs. Derbyshire," Malen reassured the coffin, a stingy pine number, not the cheapest in the catalog of coffins, but very near it, as he shoveled lumps of dirt from the pile down into the grave. He'd dug the pit with the cemetery's one-person back-hoe, but he liked to do the filling by hand to give it that personal touch.
"Oh, don' be like that Mrs. Derbyshire!" He speared a small bit of earth with the shovel and leaned on it. "It were a fine service, you had mourners mournin', a preacher preachin', a bit o' rain rainin', e'rythin' you coul' wan' at a funeral."
He plucked the shovel back out of the muddy dirt and began again his long translocation of the dirt, which wasn't so pleased with its reversal of fortunes having just made it out of the pit this morning, but didn't want to make a big fuss about it owing to the somber occasion.
A faint clicking sound followed by a hiss wove its way through the rain and into Malen's ear.
"Oh no, you-- Wai' righ' here Mrs. Derbyshire, I'll be back as soon as I can!" Malen held the shovel in both hands like some soldier storming the beach-head and charged off into the night, which long since having accepted him as one of its creatures, got smartly out of the way.
Malen wove his way down the winding pathways of the cemetery, over the rolling hills and under the jagged branches, around the mausoleums and through the foggy rain, until he broke into the clearing of the Crypt of the Lord Alfred Reginald Helmsworth the Fourth, an unfortunate man who seemed to have found himself in the wrong graveyard since all the posh folk were up the lane at Shady Hollow not down here at the Hollow Shade, but who was a member of the family here all the same.
"Ey, you! Stop tha'!" Malen shouted at a hoodied young boy practicing his anatomy homework in spray paint on the side of the crypt.
The boy shot him a look, then, abandoning his assignment, he dashed off into the woods, Malen in hot pursuit, though not too hot, he wouldn't want to scare the boy into an unfortunate stumble leading to a lawsuit.
Over rolling hills and under jagged branches, they ran, around mausoleums and through the foggy rain, a left, a right, and a sudden whumph as they were passing Mrs. Derbyshire's grave.
"Unggghhhhuuuuu," said Mrs. Derbyshire.
"Oh, lass! Calm dow' it really were a fine service, don' take it ou' on the lad." Malen said.
"Auugh what the-- Holy Chri--" screamed the boy as Mrs. Derbyshire snapped his neck.
"Oh, you really are upse' aren' you," Malen said looking down at the corpse of Spencer Filsby, "Why don' you go 'ave a sit dow' an' I'll take care o' this."
"Unggghgu," Mrs. Derbyshire flapped her arms in resignation and shuffled off, head bowed, toward the sheltered, stone memorial hall.
Malen sighed as he kicked the fresh [corpse](https://old.reddit.com/r/JackTheRitter/) into the grave and resumed shoveling.
| 2020-05-12T17:16:12
| 2020-05-12T17:03:20
| 78
| 20
|
[WP] Magic is real. And it is terrible.
|
Ralph shuffled his cards nervously, again and again until he could convince himself the odds were in his favor, or at least not against him.
A lump appeared in his throat as his opponent cut the deck. He just knew his fate was sealed.
Sweating through his shirt, he took a deep breath and counted to seven.
"Shit. all lands. *Again*".
|
Again, he shot his finger toward the fridge door. It bolted open and a beer floated gently across the living room into his hands. It had opened itself along the way. He made sure of that. He tapped the beer and doubled the alcohol content once he thought of the effort that would go into getting the next one.
Outside on the street a loud *bang* made itself known through the neighborhood.
*Those kids need something better to do.*
They must have gotten their hands on their mothers' cookbooks again. A few words here and there could be manipulated from an innocent chocolate ganache recipe into a deep, brooding *boom* that filled the streets and made it's way into neighbors' homes.
That is nothing though, compared to what crooks and criminals are using nowadays. Unlocking safes with the pinch of a finger, creating invisible barriers around buildings with the wave of a hand. The only thing he took solace in was the fact that the authorities had the superior abilities. They knew how to crack through the spells of the crooks and shut them down, and they kept it a secret pretty well. A few outliers here and there. A few crooked cops sold a few handy spells to a few hungry criminals, but nothing truly groundbreaking. Even the crooked cops knew the importance of secrecy when it came to government spells.
Overseas the people had hold of some profoundly frightening magic. The kind of magic that only trained professionals should wield. Yet on the television images were shown of lightning bolts coming from kids' fingers and fireballs shot from old mens' mouths. Rebellion was happening and the countries taking part needed it, he supposed. It must have been a part of every country. He was no history major, but to get to be a developed nation you had to have a few wars here and there, he thought as he sucked down the rest of his beer casually snapped his fingers toward the fridge.
Another beer floated toward him but glided by him and hit the television when another *BANG* from the sidewalk distracted him.
He jolted uptight and palmed the bottom of his beer can that was frozen almost magnetically to the television screen and made his way to the front door.
*I'm really gonna let them have it this time.* He thought as he flicked open the front door.
"YOU LITTLE SHITS BETTER FIND SOMETHING QUIETER TO DO OUT HERE SOON, OR I'M CALLING THE POLICE."
The kids scurried away mischievously down the street, and sparks flew from the back of one of the kids' pants.
He smiled and mumbled to himself.
"Smart-ass."
| 2014-05-20T17:29:45
| 2014-05-20T14:26:10
| 64
| 29
|
[WP] In the poor society you live in, all those who turn 30 have to choose to either go through a very thin, walking only, seemingly endless bridge to an allegedly wealthy land, or continue to live a poor, hopeless life. No man has ever returned from the bridge. Today is your 30th birthday.
|
The bridge stretched in both directions, disappearing into the fog. There was nothing in sight but the endless grey void. The only sound he’d heard besides his own breath and footsteps was the distant lapping of water. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been walking. It seemed like days, but the light hadn’t changed since he’d set foot on the bridge. It could just as easily have been hours, or even weeks.
He hadn’t seen another soul since leaving the village. No-one walked the bridge.
The food he’d brought was long gone, but he still had a little water left. Stopping, he uncorked it, and the last dregs dribbled into his mouth. He leaned over the edge of the bridge, as he had each of the countless times he’d stopped before, and tried to see the bottom. No luck.
He collapsed to the ground, cradling his head in his hands, too exhausted to move. He hadn’t expected this. He could handle the walking, the hunger, the exhaustion, even the oppressive solitude. It was the not knowing.
If only the fog would clear… But he knew that wouldn’t happen. With no way but the numbness of his limbs to tell him how long he’d been sitting, he stood. He tossed the empty water flask over the railing, turned and started walking. Just a little bit further.
|
At the age of 8 my mother and father left me. Confusion filled me as they tried to explain why they were abandoning me. Apparently they loved me, but obviously they didn't love me enough.
I moved in with my uncle and aunt, but it took me a while to actually accept that my parents weren't coming back. My aunt was the most caring person in the planet. Her soft voice was the one I grew to know as home. I didn't see my uncle too often, he was always off doing everything he could to help us survive. His scarred and sturdy hands were the foundation of our household, and I knew that at a very early age.
At first I thought it was my fault that my parents left me, but as the years went by, I didn't miss them anymore. I was just filled with anger, and that anger soon turned to hated and resentment. I hated that my parents would rather take a chance on their own selfish desires over the life of their only child. It wasn't fair, and my new parents knew it, so they did all they could to show love to me, and I was grateful.
On my 14th birthday it wasn't me who had a pleasant surprise, but my aunt. She was 33 years old when she was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, and just half a year later she passed. My uncle must have taken it harder than me because after that day my body began to grow used to the pain of belt whippings and cigarette burns. I don't blame him though. In the end it was my fault that he and his wife would not take their chances on living a happy life together away from this poverty plagued wasteland.
It had been about 15 years since the day she passed, and it was now my day to make the choice of what path I would take. It wasn't much of a choice however, I already decided years ago what I was going to do.
I grabbed a few bucks, my birth certificate, some cigarettes, and my uncle's old pocket knife as I made my way to the heavily guarded entrance of the bridge. I was not going to cross over to change my life, but the life of my parents by force if I had to. They deserved it. I deserve this.
(Holy crap that was way darker than I wanted it to be. All critisism is welcome! This is only my second writing prompt and I'd love to get good at something I enjoy doing haha.)
Edit: some extra sentences and stuff
| 2017-09-28T11:18:28
| 2017-09-28T11:18:03
| 16
| 11
|
[WP] You live in a country where murder is legal - The catch is, it has to be declared a week in advance. The aggressor has to wait the full week, but the victim may begin defending themselves immediately upon receiving notice. While a legitimate threat is legal, a false one is very much not.
|
"Hey Ron. So, uh, you know why I called you? You know, the Information Act."
"Yes, Mr. Lipton." Ron knew all about the new bill that passed five days ago, supported by lunatics and other lunatics with deeper pockets. Just scare tactics for rich people, they said. "Did someone send you a notice?"
"Oh no, nothing like that." Lipton replied as he struggled to say the next words. "I, uh, want to send a notice myself."
"Alright..." Ron trailed off as he acknowledged the awkwardness. His mild-mannered client wasn't usually the type who wanted someone taken care of. Worst he could do making insider investments for home security. "Uh, who are you sending it to?"
"Ed Hurley! I want to send it to Ed Hurley!" Lipton replied with exasperation as Ron was stunned by his tone. Ron knew Ed well. His client's business rival was someone he dealt with from the numerous legal battles that were going on. It was becoming personal. Too personal. Lipton took a deep breath before returning to his mild tone. "Sorry I shouted, Ron. It's either him or me first. Do or die."
Ron sighed. "Alright Mr. Lipton, as long as you do a week before then you're oka-."
"No, no, that's the thing." Lipton interjected. "I just learned that Ed's going to be flying somewhere exactly a week from now. It's a pretty long flight but he's gonna cross the International Date Line and the date is gonna go back and then it won't be a week from now and -"
"Settle down Mr. Lipton". Ron sighed again. Mr. Lipton's panicking had often made his job more difficult, even if he does pay handsomely. "I got a copy of the Information Act myself. Says here in **Section 55c:** ***Persons who fails to inform the affected party at least 168 hours before an act of homicide are liable to criminal prosecution.***"
"I don't follow." Lipton replied as Ron placed his palm on his forehead in mild frustration.
"Okay, you see that it says 168 hours right?" Ron explained as he would a five-year old. "It doesn't matter what line he crosses. If he flies 164 hours before you send the notice and he lands 5 hours after, you add them up. 164 plus 5 is 169, also known as over one week."
"What about the notice?" Lipton asked with a desperate tone. "I send him a letter, then he wises up, cancels his flight, and hides somewhere. Then I'm screwed and the law goes after me."
Ron began flipping through some pages as Lipton waited with anguish. "Okay Mr. Lipton. **Section 21b:** ***A person shall be criminally punished in the event in which a written notice for an act by said person directed at the affected recipient has not be fulfilled*****.**"
Lipton paused in confusion as his lawyer realized he overestimated his client's legal literacy. "Written notice." Ron explained. "Written. Notice. Section 21b doesn't talk about what happens if you just make a verbal threat with a phone call. You kill him, good. You fail to kill him, I could argue your way out and you'll probably be off on a technicality."
"You sure?" Lipton asked with a puzzled face. "Wouldn't it be safer to just write to him anyway?"
"Mr. Lipton, I want to be frank." Ron replied as politely as he could. "You're not going to kill someone being a law-abiding citizen. You're calling me right now to ask if you have a way out and I've just handed you a hastily written law with holes like Swiss cheese just waiting to be exploited. So before those loaded politicians have time to rethink their legacy and flip, the window of opportunity is still open. Just call him now. And as you said. Do or die."
Ron waited for an answer as his client did some soul searching. It was fine being paid by the hour but it was also two in the morning. Finally, Lipton replied, "Alright, I'll call him soon. I'll find a guy to take care of business. Thanks Ron, you've been of great help-" Ron quickly hung up as he went straight to bed. He's done his work for the night.
…
The next morning, Ron woke from his late slumber as his alarm made a deafening ring. Picking up his phone and scrolling through the news, an article piqued his interest. It wasn't so much the headline as it was the featured image of his client's home in smoldering ashes with Lipton perishing in it. Police believed it was a faulty wire that his client never bothered to maintain. But Ron knew that Ed was behind it. After all, Lipton's phone lines were already wired with incendiaries, ready to activate as soon as he called Ed's number. Just as planned.
As Ron examined the massive cheque in his drawer, he laid on his bed, grinning about that loophole among loopholes.
*There's no need to notify an accident.*
|
"Mornin' Gary, nice day out isn't it.", Paul said as he sat on his porch. Gary continued for the paper at the end of the driveway, not stopping to hear Paul's weekly curse. Paul Picked back up, "I Paul Patrick Parley declare to murder you one week from today on October the 3rd, 1975."
Paul rocked in his chair, with oversized boots, a straw hat, and blue jean with suspenders riding over the pressed collared shirt. Gary saluted Paul with paper in hand and did an about-face. He grinned his teeth and slumped back to the house.
"I'm serious this time, Gary. I'm coming for ya. The other few times I told you that I was ready but what you did to my cousin must be avenged." Paul said as Gary came to a halt.
His hand clenched the paper, pointed right towards Paul, and followed his hand around to face him as well. Gary opened up into something fierce, "Paul, it's been 4 fuckin' months! Your Cousin killed my brother and you know he deserved it. And you know what, I was ready for you to do it. I was ready. I was waiting around here just accepting my fate. I was never going to try to defend myself. Why don't you just do it right now and get it over with?"
"Can't. Ain't been a week yet." Paul replied.
"You know what then if you won't fucking do it then I will. I Gary George Gooth declared to Murder you on Oct the 4th of 1975." Gary announced.
Gary sat up from his chair. "That is a day after you'll be dead their Gary. Why would you do that to yourself?"
Paul replied, "Because I know you won't do it you've been messing with me for months and I'm sick of it. I can wait an extra day to remove you from my street, my neighborhood my life!"
Gary stomped back inside and Paul pulled back into his rocking chair.
​
\-October the 3rd 1975-
​
Gary opened his front door, pulled a fresh breath of air through his nose, and headed to the paper at the end of the drive. Paul was in his rocking chair like every morning before and gave Gary a sincere wave. Gary had almost forgotten that Paul had given another declaration but shrugged it as quick as it came. Gary in his cofidence decided to read the paper there at the end of the drive.
Minutes of reading the headlines, sifting through the comics, and checking the ad for the hardware store Gary looked up to see Paul missing from his rickety porch. He scratched his head in his red robe and scanned Paul's property.
A deep engine roared in the quiet neighborhood. it grabbed Gary's attention pulling him down the road a few houses. a few intense revs of the engine be Gary heard the car drop into drive. A 69' Mustang, bright red was creating sonic waves as it headed up the road towards Gary's house. Gary stared vividly at the driver as the car turned towards his driveway, pointed right at him. Paul's face in the driver's seat was mad with rage and laughter.
"God damn i..." Gary didn't finish his sentence as his body was blown away into the neighbor's yard by the firey Mustang. The car parked in the middle of the grass, Paul got out and said, "I told you I'd do it, Gary."
| 2020-12-03T08:06:00
| 2020-12-03T06:16:10
| 203
| 55
|
[FF] Make me cry in two sentences.
|
As he laid in bed, waiting for sleep, he wished that he would wake the next morning to find that it had all been a dream, that she was alive and he wasn't alone. Don't be stupid, he thought, the only way I'll ever see her again is if I don't wake up at all.
|
He stood with his last son next to the graves, trying to hold himself firm for the sake of his boy as he did not wish him to see him cry, keeping a steady solemn pose over the graves as though he were proud of the lives he had known as his wife and first son, but he couldn't do it.
The man fell on his knees and wept for them, crying out to the heavens and begging for them to come back.
| 2014-01-15T22:27:19
| 2014-01-15T21:53:25
| 179
| 20
|
[WP] You own a magical piano. When you play the theme song of a TV show or movie on it, it transports you into that world. After transporting yourself into a different world, you quickly realize that you never bothered to learn the theme song of your own.
|
BAM.
"Oh shit." Ben thought.
"It actually worked."
He had bought the "magic" piano a few days ago from a shady looking man in one of the darker parts of town. He knew he shouldn't have trusted him, but it was the cheapest piano he could find in town, and it sounded amazing. Ben thought that the "curse" was probably just some dumb joke anyways.
Except now he was here, in the magical tree house of Finn and Jake.
He had just played the theme song to his favorite show as a kid, Adventure Time, the first song he had picked up. He just wanted to test it out. He never thought he would end up *here*, of all places.
But now he was surrounded by glowing swords, whispering worms, and a loud thumping downstairs.
Afraid, Ben could only think of one thing as he stared at the magic piano in front of him.
"Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there!"
|
"Oh, son of a-"
BOOM
"You are dead"
-
In the real world, Jack's friends watched in horror as they witnessed their friend getting blown to smithereens.
They were just having fun that night, and Jack's game console was on and running Dark Souls when the dare was given. Play the theme song on the piano perfectly while drunk, they said.
Jack was too intoxicated to refuse.
"How did he get in there?" Noah asked, still stunned by how Jack was teleported into the game.
"Is... is he dead?" Keith managed to spit out, the shock remaining.
"The screen just said that he died, you idiot!" Hannah scolded, although her expression suggested equal shock. "What are we going to do?"
The whole party started to mumble between themselves. Everyone was confused, questioning how Jack had managed to vanish into thin air and appear in the game. When he first popped up, he replaced the player character, and started to panic and run around the screen, with no input from the controller.
Everyone thought it was a party trick at first. That is, until he exploded.
The small crowd continued to murmur, panicking about the disappearance of their host.
"Help!"
The party was drawn to the screen by the cry of help. They saw Jack inside again, the skinny white boy futilely beating on the screen.
"Jack!" They all called out.
"Guys, you gotta help me!" He begged. "I don't want to die. Again! And then respawn to keep dying!"
The party began to panic, unsure about how to get him out. Keith, Jack's oldest friend, slid back deep behind the crowd.
"How did you get in there?" They asked.
Jack seemed unsure about their question, like he knew the answer but did not know how to explain it. He walked around with his hands on his head as the party members continually bombarded him with questions.
Soon, he was fed up with the noise.
"I have a magic piano!"
"A magic piano?" The crowd parroted in disbelief.
"Yes, a magic piano. If I play a theme song of a TV show, movie or whatever, I get transported to that world. But I need to know the theme song to our world to get back."
"So, you just need to find a piano?" Noah asked him.
"Well," he said with reluctance, a hint of embarrassment showing, "the thing is, I don't know what the our world's theme song-"
"Hang on, buddy!" Keith cried, running at the television set with a battery ram stool. "I'm coming for you!"
"Wait wait wait-"
The TV was promptly smashed, and so was the console too
And Jack never respawned, all thanks to that tool.
Edit: Some edits (good job, Keith). Also, this is the first time I made a story on this sub. Not much else to say.
Edit: Uh oh. Grammatical errors.
| 2017-10-01T17:10:04
| 2017-10-01T15:57:19
| 817
| 107
|
[WP] When you reach the age of 21, you are given a check from the government. The check has been carefully calculated and is worth the minimum amount of money you need for the rest of your life. Your check came in the mail today and it was $7.27
Edit: Wow this blew up better than I thought it would.
|
“You look nervous.”
Eric turned around, and saw a man in a bright blue baseball cap smiling at him.
“Here to cash in my life minimum check.”
“Wow. Did you get a good haul?”
“I don’t know,” Eric said.
He had waited until he was at the bank before opening up the check. When there was only one person ahead of him in line, he opened it.
*$7.27.*
Before he could react or anything, a voice called him to the window.
“How can I help you today?” A smiling, pretty woman named Mandy asked.
He didn’t know what to say. “I-I…”
A frown. “Are you okay, sir?”
He took a deep breath, and nodded. “Yeah. I just got my life minimum check today, and…the number was surprising.”
“In a good or bad way?”
He showed her the check.
“I was so excited to get it,” Eric said, a little sadly. “I was even thinking about where I was going to get lunch. I guess I can get one sandwich from Subway, and then if I kill myself, everything works out.”
She laughed, a little. “Are you sure it’s not a mistake? You can appeal these kinds of –“
A scream, in the bank. Eric turned around, and stared down the barrel of a gun. He followed the barrel down a man’s arm, down to a face under a bright blue baseball cap.
“Give it to me,” the man said.
“What?”
“Whatever the check was worth.”
“Sir, it wasn’t much.”
The robber jabbed the gun into Eric’s forehead. “I don’t care. Give it to me.”
“Sir, look at it. It’s only seven dollars,” Mandy said, waving the check frantically in the robber’s face.
The robber looked at it for a second, his eyes unblinking and in shock as well.
“I don’t know what kind of life they expect you to live,” he muttered before turning and running out of the bank.
\-
The next day, Eric received another check in the mail. This time, he didn’t wait before opening it.
\-
She was in line at Subway. He tapped her on the shoulder.
“Thanks so much for saving me yesterday,” he said.
“It would have been a waste all over $7.27.”
“True,” he said. “So are you saying it wouldn’t have been a waste if it was more money?”
“Maybe,” she said. “Are you here to get that sandwich?”
He thought about telling her about the other check, about the two commas. “Of course. Actually…can I get you one too?”
“I thought you only had enough for one.”
“Fuck that. Since when did we let a piece of paper tell us how much we’re worth?”
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347)
|
It sucks being the youngest in the group. Last to drive, last to vote, last to receive your LLA check. Rickey received his first, and blew through the quarter-million before he was twenty-five. No judgement though, he has a nice house now, and set himself up with a decent job - Angie took hers more seriously. Put it into stocks and bonds, ate ramen and didn’t buy the group so much as a burger. That’s the other way a lot of people go, save it and skimp it until every penny reached their potential.
Now it was my turn. *Finally*.
​
The mail was late, as usual, so I didn’t bother to even check until the weekend after my actual birthday, but there it was. The certified envelope with my name stamped on the front. Did I wait til I got home to open it? Finish running my errands? I decided to put in my back pocket, and wait - the check would only be good once I opened and signed it, and there had been stories of the checks being stolen in the past - and though I never knew anyone it happened to, it was always better to be safe than sorry.
​
Running the rest of my errands as quick as I could, I made it back to the dorm in record time - Angie was on the couch with Travis, ‘studying’. This quickly broke up as I fell on the chair next to them. “Ordered a pizza. You got your share?” Travis asked - he was always the most serious about splitting cost, made sense though. His parents got hold of his check after he signed it and spent it all on shit and booze, didn’t even tell him until his rent bounced last year.
​
“Yeah yeah yeah. What’ll I owe?” I asked.
“Six something, seven-ish with a tip.”
“Alright. Cool.”
| 2019-04-24T11:24:52
| 2019-04-24T11:10:33
| 369
| 130
|
[WP] Humans are actually a phenomenally advanced species - except for the glaringly obvious thing they missed. Write from the perspective of a befuddled alien xenobiologist.
|
"The supreme tragedy of the Human race was their inability to understand Numbers. Such a brilliant species became trapped in their own self-imposed prison of a primitive numeral system that did not resonate with the Universe's numeral system. In fact, in their entire eight-thousand year lifespan, they only discovered 18 Numbers, most notably Light, Gravity, Sphere, Quark, Electron and even Boson. There is arguable speculation that mankind was even close to discovering the Cosmological Constant, as it is referenced in much of their literature indirectly.
"The mere fact that they were able to attain quantum computing and localized spacetravel using such a primitive numerical system is in itself remarkable - in fact, genius in the extreme. Though they are frequently dismissed as brutes (not without merit), their savant nature cannot be overlooked.
"It should be a point of great sadness to the collective species of the galaxy that Humans were unable to discover the Universal Numbers, for their determination and perseverance, despite their hopelessly short lifespans, were remarkable. It is truly a galactic cultural loss that they were too oblivious to leave their feeble mathematical system, or even understand that there WAS another system all together. It is similarly tragic that they were not discovered before they extinguished themselves, for all they needed was to be shown the way."
_________________________________________________________________________________________
Willing to continue this if so desired!
|
ReportUpdate7931
They continue to advance at an incredible pace. We now predict in 20 cycles the commonalities: nanotech (orig. estimate 120 cycles), holocircuitry in 14 cycles (orig. 80 cycles).
Revised surpassing date (human - standard bio): 3 cycles.
Revised surpassing date (human - Lyssian): 12 cycles.
As requested:
All modalities re-tested & analysed: this species is not co-opted. No other observers present.
RecentOBS:
They are now aware of modal: "dark" matter-energy. They remain unaware of our presence but estimate is now: 5 cycles.
Conclusion:
Priority: continue research communication. We MUST contact first.
| 2015-04-09T15:20:46
| 2015-04-09T13:47:40
| 32
| 17
|
[WP] It turns out that killing *anything*, from your fellow man to an ant counts as a sin. You are a life long, extremely accomplished exterminator, and you just died.
|
“So killing an ant gets me one year in hell?”
“Yes.” The angel’s voice is deadpan. He watches me as I study the accounting of my sins.
“And killing a wasp gets me two years?” I ask. This seems like a stretch to me. Wasps are awful.
“And killing a rabbit, even if it’s just accidentally with my car… five years in hell?”
“Yes,” the angel says, “but that’s hardly relevant…”
“TEN YEARS FOR EVERY CHICKEN? DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY CHICKENS I’VE EATEN???”
The angel looks put out by my interruption, but I’ve eaten loads of chickens in my life. Probably…
“Three-thousand, four hundred, nine, and four-fifths.” The angel says. It is apparently his turn to interrupt. “But that really…”
“A deer is 20 years? That thing jumped in front of me! Highway terrorists. That’s what my father called them.”
“And he hit six of them in his lifetime.” The angel said, checking his list. “And a moose.”
“So he’s…”
“In hell. Yes.”
I don’t know how I feel about that. On one hand, dad was an awful old man, on the other, he taught me everything I know.
“Can I appeal this?” I ask, drawing my attention back to the present. There is a long cue of people behind me and the angel is looking increasingly wrathful.
“Yes. We’re willing to reconsider deer-strikes as they actually are kind of assholes.” The angel says, “but again, in your case it really won’t matter.”
“Why not?” I ask.
I don’t know why the angel looks so put out. I think it’s a pretty valid question.
“Brenda, you killed nineteen people and ate them.”
|
"Mr. Smith? Mr. Perry Smith?"
I glanced up, searching for the unseen speaker. What I saw was... unexpected, to say the least.
A bearded man stood behind a golden podium, flipping through the pages of a brilliant book at a leisurely pace. Clouds surrounded us both, the big white fluffy kind that people were fond of finding shapes and figures in their imagination.
"Uh, hi." I said, after an uncomfortable pause. The man glanced up, and smiled.
"Welcome to Eternity, Mr. Smith. My name is Peter. Would you care to have a seat?" He asked, waving a hand towards a chair shaped cloud before him.
I glanced down at my feet, and realized I was standing on clouds as well. I tried to find a solid surface to step on, but I couldn't see anything beyond the fluffy clouds.
Saint Peter chuckled, and winked at me with a knowing smile. "Its quite alright, Mr. Smith. They're solid enough for us. And besides, in your state, nothing could ever harm you again."
I took a leap of faith with a small step, and felt the clouds form around my feet like a soft memory foam surface. I released a breath I didn't know I was holding, and sat in the proffered cloud seat. It was the most comfortable chair I had ever...
"So I'm dead, then?" I asked.
"Yes, Mr. Smith." Saint Peter said, flipping through his book once more. "This happens to everyone eventually, and this microsecond is your turn."
I nodded in acceptance. I should have felt afraid, probably scared shitless, but all I felt was peace. I could get used to it.
"Let's review your life, shall we?" Saint Peter said. "Smith, Smith.... ah, here you are!"
His face fell from a smile to a frown, and only deepened from there. His white hair and beard dimmed into a dull grey as his eyes read the page.
"Is there a problem?" I asked, growing uncomfortable even in my magnificent cloud chair.
Saint Peter slammed the book shut, sending lightning arcing in all directions. I flinched, even though the lightning couldn't make me any more dead... probably.
"We sent you people ten rules. TEN!" Saint Peter shouted, storming around the podium in a literal manner. "How do you ALL manage to..."
He stopped in his tracks, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "Peter, control your anger." He muttered to himself. "Remember what Dr. Schneider said. Breath in, count to 10, breath out." He followed his own instructions.
I felt it was best to remain silent, at present.
The diety opened his eyes, staring into my very soul... which I guess was just my face now. I wasn't sure how any of this really worked yet.
"Commandment six states 'Thou Shalt Not Kill." Saint Peter said. "Did you know that?"
I rubbed my neck and looked down, and muttered "Yeah, uh, not the specific number, but I knew it was in there."
He took another step towards me. "Did it say anything about *humans*, or any other specific creature?"
I froze. Uh-oh.
"Did it say anywhere that there were exceptions to this rule?" He said, staring at me with unblinking fury.
"I, uh, didn't read the book cover to cover, really" was all I could think to say.
"Mr. Smith, in your time on Earth, you directly caused the deaths of one BILLION, four hundred and sixty two million, nine hundred and thirty five thousand, seven hundred and six souls." He said, through gritted teeth.
"I... I didn't know..." I stammered, trying to retreat deeper into the cushions of the cloud chair.
"Mr. Smith, ignorance of the law is not an excuse." Saint Peter said. "And you certainly had to know what you were doing, since you owned and operated 'Smith's Pest Solutions' for forty years."
I glanced at my chest, and saw the familiar logo embroidered on the shirt pocket... which was apparently part of my soul as well.
"Mr. Smith, do you know the punishment for murder?" He said, stepping within arms reach of me.
I could only stare in silence as a response.
"You will be reincarnated." He said.
I blinked. That was a surprise.
"You will live the life of each creature you killed, and endure the painful deaths that you inflicted. Every. Single. One." Saint Peter said, poking my chest with each word.
"Erm, that would take..." I began, but quickly ceased when Saint Peter removed my voice. Well, technically, he transformed me into a fire ant, but ants didn't have voices. So I was still kind of correct.
I tried to look back up at the saint, but he was gone. Instead of the brilliant white clouds of my previous surroundings, I was now perched atop a mound of dirt, surrounded by other ants scurrying about.
A shadow fell over me. I turned to see myself... or at least a past version of myself.
A small hiss began to sound from the container I held in my off hand.
r/SlightlyColdStories
| 2022-11-12T12:28:43
| 2022-11-12T12:04:41
| 107
| 45
|
[WP] You know who your soulmate is once they touch you. Yours just punched the shit out of you
|
Ever since the discovery of the Eros-Cupid waves back in 2046 - humanity's struggle for finding the perfect mate had been severely reduced. No longer did people have to risk their pride to ask a stranger out. Destroy their friendships to take a chance. Leave their peaceful but painful solitude to seek out another that they would spend the rest of their life with.
The implementation of this discovery into our daily lives had changed courting significantly. It was now about exposing yourself to as many others in the world as you could.
Wait, I should clarify - not the *lewd* kind of exposing - but rather being able to physically be in contact with another.
Machines were built to measure the activity of the E-C waves when two persons came together. Earlier versions required both people to be placed into a gigantic room which housed the machine in order to attempt coitus - as the waves intensified the most during this process.
Not very convenient, alluring (having to sleep with everybody just to see if you get along well?), nor affordable.
Advances were quickly made - by this day, the measurement of E-C waves could be done by merely placing a strand of hair from each prospective candidate together.
It had become a huge industry - funded by the United Nations of Love (yes, they formally changed their name in 2074 following the Love Love Revolution) - specialised buildings were built in order to increase efficiency of the matching process. They housed billions of samples from almost the entire populace of the world - collected at birth by an opt-out program.
Almost - after all there were still some traditional folks that preferred the barbaric and antiquated methods of finding a mate. *Picking up* each other at a *bar*. Due to these *traditionalists* or *fundamentalists* as they wished to be called, divorce lawyers still had a job.
But not all of us are destined for happiness - I thought as the audible crunch of cartilage resonated through my skull as his fist crushed my recently healed nose.
I had given up crying a long time ago - it only made it worse. The pain shot through me, making my body involuntarily wince.
Bruises covered every single inch of my body, some of my limbs no longer functioned - or even resembled a limb.
We were a match - I did love him. And he loved me too - he told me so every day.
As he pierced my skin with needles. Or smashed bones with his hammer.
The days when he really loved me, he would use the soldering iron. Marking me as his - those were the days I knew that the love was real.
The suffering was my fault anyways. I had forgotten to do something, make his lunch, take the trash out, have his beer stocked, or looked at him wrong when he came home.
It was always my fault. I tried every day to be a better person for him.
It wasn't his fault that the person he loved was an "incompetent useless swine" - his pet name for me. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach everytime he called me that - although it was hard to tell as it was soon followed by a knee to the stomach.
I knew I loved him. I knew he loved me.
After all, the machine had said it to be so.
----
Edit: Phrasing changes, missing words, spelling corrections.
|
"OOOOHHHHHHH!!"
For this drunk lad, the entire world just did a backflip as he dropped like a log. The entire bar simply erupted in a single chorus, wincing at just how hard this woman just ploughed her fist into his face.
"You. Fucking. Asshole!" Jane grunted, as she nursed her fist.
Security just muscled their way through the crowd and took a look at the situation. "Is there a problem, ma'am?" the bouncer asked, raising an eyebrow in admiration at the fact she managed to flatten someone practically twice her size.
"Yeah, apparently this groping pervert is..." She paused. "I need a drink. Or five."
Jane's friend, Lucy, just snapped out of shock as her friend walked over to the bar. She hustled over, nearly tripping over the man's unconscious body, towards her friend. She paused for a second to look down at him, before her mind snapped back to her friend.
"Jesus, Jane. That looks like it hurt!" She motioned towards her red knuckles. "What just happened?"
Jane drank a shot. "Well, I just gave the future father of my kids a concussion."
"Oh, shit."
Jane looked at her friend. "Haha, just my luck, right?"
"No, I mean... I just..." Lucy hesitated.
"What?"
"... can't believe this is happening, you know?" Lucy took a deep breath. "Let's get outta here." She smiled and took $50 out of her purse to pay for their drinks.
| 2016-07-08T10:22:29
| 2016-07-08T10:19:13
| 94
| 15
|
[WP] Rewrite a scene in any Star Wars movie from the perspective of a storm trooper.
|
The Death star. A true marvel of our glorious empire. Much like many others, I too, was stationed here. I haven't had much combat experience, much of my time was spent on sanitation duties, getting screamed at by officers, riding in turbolifts for miles and miles. Heck, for a moment I even thought I might go my whole career without having to fire a single blaster bolt.
Then it happened, my unit received a command sending us to clear out a room believed to have been taken over by rebel infiltrators. I'll admit, I was terrified. My hands shook the whole way there and despite my best efforts every shaky breath I took betrayed this to my comrades. We had reached the door, it was one of the many control rooms strewn across the station. AL-2153 tried to open the door, but they seemed to have locked it from the inside. There was no doubt about it now, they were there.
I took the time it took them to blow the door's lock out to steady myself. I could do this, I had trained all my life to do this! It's just a small group of rebels, hardly armed enough to take us all out. If I play it cool, we might not even end up in a firefight.
Everything will be all right.
A flash of red lit the room as AL-2153 fired his blaster upon the door's lock. With its maglock disabled, the door flew open with a satisfying woosh. It felt as though time had slowed down, the two troops before me took lead, looking around with their blasters ready. The room was empty. I stepped forward, readied my blaster. A false alarm. I could not help a sigh of relief as I passed towards the door... and then I hit my head on the kriffing frame. I heard DS-1735 chuckle behind me.
Out of all the things.
Why?
Just why?
This day couldn't get any worse.
|
I got out of Basic Training with my hopes elevated. I passed with flying colors, on every lone aspect in my field. My armor is sparkling white, and I'm feeling good about life as I head to my deployment on the Death Star, a new base located around Alderaan. I'm so excited, I can barely handle the fact that I'm going to be working with so many of the Empire's high tier generals and leaders! Unfortunately, we got stuck in space traffic on the way there. My insides are being churned like butter. We finally get out of the space traffic and make our way, at light speed, towards the Death Star. We all of a sudden hear our driver say, in utter horror, "Oh my god!" and we look out the window to see the Death Star, being blown up. Ever since then I've driven myself crazy with, "What if we hadn't been stuck in that space traffic?" and it's been eating my guts since that day. I hear tell of a rumor that claims the Death Star is being rebuilt, and they need me to be on a Special Operations team on Endor to help safeguard the new Death Star. We see the Rebels attempting to get into a base, and we open fire. Just at the moment, I realize: its the fucking assholes who blew up the Death Star. They're back for seconds, those greedy bastard! I open fire, carefully remembering my training. Then, it dawns on me: I can't hit shit. I miss every single shot I take. I summon all of my energy, and focus on the former Princess of Alderaan, and make my shot. I only graze her shoulder, but it is the first time a stromtrooper had (almost) made a casualty. I get promoted immediately and am flown to the Death Star for the Medal of Heroism, when I get on, alarms start sounding. I'm very confused, what could've possibly happened?
| 2016-01-09T06:40:35
| 2016-01-09T06:02:09
| 39
| 12
|
[WP] At the age of 16 everyone gets teleported into a small room. In front of you is a table with all kinds of meals from apples to gourmet meats. Whatever you take a bite of will determine what superpower you'll get. You are the first Person to take a bite of the table itself
|
“D-did you just bite the table?” The hooded figure asked.
“Yeah.” The teenager shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.
“Why would you bite the table?” The hooded figure took off his hood exposing his aged face.
“I dunno, just felt like the best option.” The teenage picked at his teeth, apparently apart of the wooden leg was stuck between his teeth.
“I presented you with magical powers if you ate the *food*, and yet you bite the wooden table?” The figure couldn’t get his mind around this. “What possesses you to bite the leg of a table when a banquet is laid out in front of you?”
“I dunno.” The teenager rolled his eyes and shrugged “thought it might give me all the powers combined or something since nobody ever did that before.”
“You thought,” the figure pinched the bridge of his nose. “You thought biting a wooden table would give you omnipotence?”
“Is it really that far fetched?” The teenager picked up a slice of watermelon “this would’ve given me the power of water.”
“Yeah but that makes sense.”
“How?”
“What?”
“How does it make sense that a watermelon slice would give me the power of water!”
“Well cause.” The figure looked around the room, the concepts made sense to him of course, but he was from a long line of the honored hosts that bestowed 16 year olds with powers. “Cause it’s *water*melon”
“*water*melon?” The teenager chuckled
“Well what do you supposed I bestow to you?” The figure through his hands up. “All the powers of a wooden table?
“That’s better than all the powers of a durian I suppose.”
The figure stared blankly at the teenager for several minutes, the teenager stared back at him. The silence was accented by the teenagers growing frustrations.
“Well?” The teenager asked.
“Well what?”
“Are you going to give me my powers now or what?” The teenager sassed
“I don’t even know what to give you.” The figure pulled a book off a table, the book was basically a cheat sheet in case he had forgotten what foods gave what power. “What powers would a table even have?”
“Uhhh.” Even the quick witted teen had to think for a moment. “Super strength? Cause tables hold a lot of weight.”
“You would’ve had to have eaten the spinach for that.”
“How about skin hardening cause the table is hard?”
“That’s what the coconut is for.”
“How about the ability to sprout a tree?”
“Bowl of nuts.” The figure shrugged his shoulders. “Everything you can think of has a food related to it, there is nothing on biting the table.”
“Well can I get a redo then?”
“No..” the figure looked at the teenager like he was a moron, which wasn’t entirely an unsuitable label.
“Why not?”
“Because you bit a table.”
“I want to speak to your manager.”
“What?” The figure looked as confused as he did when the teenager masticated part of the mahogany table.
“When my mom doesn’t get her way with something, she asks for a manager. So I want your supervisor.”
“I don’t have a supervisor, I am my supervisor.”
“Well you should fire yourself, I’m leaving a bad review on your yelp.”
“My what?”
|
When the Council summoned me I was somewhat unprepared for the sudden drop into another dimension.
They always make you feel like a bag of marbles being jostled around by some overly excited child.
The sickness would pass almost immediately but for a few moments you felt as if your body was rejecting all of your insides at once.
A rather unpleasant feeling, as you can imagine.
Before me I was greeted with the smell of all the food in the world. Everything anyone had ever thought of eating ws here. Everything everyone had cooked up was here. Whatever your mind could imagine was before your very eyes. Pipping hot and fresh.
I came to realise others were here too. Other would be supers.
And the council sitting in their thrones overlooking the excessively long table and us.
Like a lord looking down on his servants, we felt particularly small in comparison to them.
They told us to eat and enjoy the powers that would come from whatever it was that they ate.
My friends leapt forward and began to indulge themselves. Once they had ate their fill they disappeared.
One by one they all left.
Until it was just I and the council, and lots of half eaten or empty plates.
I looked over the selection, nothing piqued my interest but my eyes gaze along the black and white table.
It's wood was unique that was obvious, and a thought crossed my mind.
Before I could talk myself out of it I had bit the table.
And everything fell into place around me.
The truth came to me in waves.
The knowledge of eons flooded in.
The hatred of a once living thing came crashing against me.
The thirst for revenge.
The hunger for power.
The desire to take what they had taken.
Then everything became clear and I felt as if I were standing within a forest, tranquil and serene.
Everything calmed all at once.
I moved away from the table and stared at the food as it withered and rotted.
I looked at the spotless plates as they turned green with mold and brown with rust.
I watched the facade fall away.
I looked to the council who stared at me in horror and fear. I knew their crimes, their treason and murders.
I left the room only when I was ready to.
After justice had been dispensed.
There would be no more supers born of this ritual anymore.
Not now that the council was gone.
When I returned I felt as if I had lived much longer than I had.
As if I had aged. Or missed time.
But I had not, I was still 16 and my time was exactly how I had left it but with the exception that my friends had all come back much sooner than I had.
The sun was setting in the distance.
Their faces turned to look at me.
I listened to the wind howl.
To the trees rustle.
To the birds chirps.
To the silence of the dead things.
To the stirring of the spirits.
To the crows calls and churches bells.
And then I knew my power.
I was life.
I was death.
And all things in between and without.
I was and I am.
I have seen and I will see.
I have heard and I will hear.
I have tasted and can taste.
I have smelt and can smell.
I have felt and can feel.
I am everything yet nothing.
Lost yet found.
Silent yet loud.
Violent yet kind.
Good yet evil.
And I would be giving the powers of supers now, if I choose to.
| 2020-03-19T13:33:44
| 2020-03-19T13:12:54
| 27
| 13
|
[WP] Somebody buys winrar, finally
|
20th October 2014, 21:39 GMT
"Master, it has been done!"
"Impossible, show me!"
"Here master, it says right here: 'User #23424374 has upgraded the free trial.' The bank account also shows movement, the payment has been completed. It really happened."
"Well then, send the data packages."
"Master, are you sure the humans are ready for... I mean, it has only been.... Maybe he made a mistake and didn't mean to-"
"Silence! You do as I command you. This one deserves it. Send the data."
"So be it."
-
20th October 2014, 21:42 GMT
A old lady is sitting in front of the small laptop her son gave her for her seventy first birthday. She laid the sheet with her bank data down on the table in front of her.
"Good thing I got to buy this software before the trial ran out!" she thought to herself. She watched as the little green bar kept filling. After it reached 100%, a strange message appeared on the screen. She had never seen anything like this before, so she grabbed her phone and dialed the number.
-
20th October 2014, 21:49 GMT
Andrew's phone rang. The little screen only showed a single word. He sighed and picked up the phone:
"Hi mom, what's up?"
"Oh hello sweetie, it's me your mother. I just bought this one program, you know, the one you told me to use when sending lots of pictures via mail, like this one last time, did you get the last mail with Mrs Johnson's dogs, cute...."
Andrew looked bored. Ever since he bought his mother a computer she kept calling him, asking what a Chrome is and how the internet already knew what she was trying to type. Every call resulted in her talking, falling from one topic to another, and from there to Mrs. Johnson's dogs.
"... and then she said that her son is a doctor now. Anyways, I bought this program and it downloaded something. I think it installed fine, but now I have one question:"
Andrew was relieved. He survived this call without too much boredom and cat talk.
"What is this question mom?"
He was a bit courious what problem she had this time.
"Well son,..." The lady said,
"What is a Half Life 3?"
|
"If you are reading this, then I am dead." the lawyer read from the document.
The room was crowded with men and women in the black of mourning. None of their attitudes seemed to match their outfits, however.
"In my life I chased the almighty dollar, and never helped a man or woman who couldn't pay."
The front row shifted nervously. They were the primary beneficiaries and they had expected the will to be a straight-forward list of divisions. The tone was completely different than what the old man usually sounded like.
"As such, I have decided to split my wealth as such: to my daughter, who spends like wealth has no bottom, I give nothing."
A plump woman fainted away in the front.
"To my son, who treats humans like trash and has never worked a day in his life, I give nothing."
There was a brief scuffle in the front row as the mentioned man was escorted out. The more distant relatives wore smiles on their faces now. Without the two top competitors, the remainder would be all the greater.
"To WinRar, which gave unquestioningly, which worked hard despite never receiving reward, I award my entire fortune."
The lawyer fled the room before the newly fledged mob could reach him.
| 2014-10-20T13:02:20
| 2014-10-20T11:39:26
| 385
| 75
|
[WP] Your new girlfriend has almost everything in common with you. One day, you learn that she's your female clone
|
Mia eyed David, who stayed completely silent. Dave couldn't even look at Mia, preferring to look at the dishes on the sink. She studied David's face. The green eyes that they both shared. The sharp nose that they both shared. Even the birthmark on his chest, that Mina's shared in the exact same spot. David had once joked that the spot was proof they were soul mates. That joke seemed even more twisted now.
Mia didn't want to dwell on exactly what it meant for Dave's parents to have elected their son's genetic material. Or what it meant that her adopted parents had been keeping a clone of someone else under their roof. She wondered if they knew. She didn't want to ask.
"I didn't know. If I had, I wouldn't have dated you," said Dave. Embarrassment and shock seemed to constantly trade places on his face.
"It brings a whole new meaning to 'screwing yourself over'", said Mia. It was a lame joke, but it made Dave laugh.
"Should we tell my parents we know? Do you think they wanted this to happen? Like, is it a weird experiment on incest, or...?" asked Dave.
"You do know this is basically the end of our romance, right? Like, I'm into self-love, but I'm not fucking narcissistic," said Mia.
"Well, are we the same person? I mean, nurture and nature, and all that jazz. We've had completely separate environments. It's more like being in a relationship with your long-lost twin...okay. I'll stop talking," said Dave.
The seconds passed by. David broke the silence again, and said "By the way, you were a good girlfriend."
"Stop congratulating yourself, dude. But thanks anyway," said Mia.
|
We love all the same things… It’s crazy really. So, I have this thing for ice cream, right? Eat it for breakfast. But she does too! And the freezer is like our little ice cream library. I mean, we moved in together after what, a month? She’s impulsive… like me.
Our taste in music, movies… she loves the slow boring stuff as much as me, and we even get distracted around the same time. Sexually we’re perfect together.
Then I brought her home to meet my parents for Christmas. First off, she’s never said much about her parents, I mean, neither have I… I don’t talk about mine much either so I didn’t think much of it, but her stories always seemed pretty generic. My parents were also pretty weird about it, like overly excited and I couldn’t put my finger on why? You know?
So… here’s where the shit hits the fan: they ask me, “so when’s the wedding?” like right in front of her and I’m a little annoyed… I laugh it off at first but then I’m getting red and my heart is thumping and… my dad calls me into the other room.
“So she… we had her made. She’s you. We used your DNA and made a female clone.”
Turns out they thought I was too quiet and shy and I’d be alone forever so they went out and made a girl version of me.
“We want to to get married and we want grandkids. She wasn’t cheap and hell, you seem really happy. Can you blame us?”
And honestly, I guess I can’t. I mean, I was mad at my folks, but I couldn’t take it out on her. She didn’t know and when I told her… she cried and cried, oh man was that a mess. She didn’t believe me until we took the test and sure enough… we’re the same.
I mean, we CAN’T have babies like this. It’d be incest, really.
At first, we were furious... it was cruel. They lied to me, to us, and played us like toys, but once we calmed down and we talked for a bit, I thought: let's give em what they want. So what if our lives weren't our choice but theirs? Eventually, she came to the same opinion. And man if you thought we were similar before; nothing compared to our shared desire for payback.
So that’s what brings us here, you and I.
We planned to have a kid. Fertility treatments the whole shebang. She got pregnant with twins! Crazy. And we loved each other so much through all of it… I’m sorry, I get a little teary thinking about it.
I held her hand as she lay there on the table in the hospital and I held them in my arms. A boy and a girl. We named them Ava and Otto. The hardest thing we ever had to do was take them home. Then drown them in the bathtub.
We drove them over to Mom and Dad’s place and threw them on their doorstep. Boy were they surprised. Then we doused ourselves in gasoline and lit the match, but as you see… I survived.
| 2017-01-25T19:59:53
| 2017-01-25T18:29:17
| 23
| 12
|
[WP] Upon leaving out fruits and milk for cats and birds, you accidentally attract a few grateful faeries who only know how to thank you by pulling pranks on anyone who "bothers" you.
|
*They mean well*. I told myself as the car across the street burned. It was the latest trick by a new group of fairies that now inhabited the neighborhood- more specifically my back yard.
I had always grown up leaving birdseed, hummingbird feeders, fruits, and even milk out for stray animals and other woodland creatures. My grandmother taught me that as we take land from the animals, we must give back at least a few of the resources they lost. We would build bat huts, bird houses, and my grandfather would hollow out holes in fallen dead trees to give them a little of the space that had been taken from them. As a child, even the fairy houses we would all build together would be placed outside in trees to be occupied by anything that was bold enough to call it home.
These habits continued well into my adulthood now my wife has continued the traditions with me, especially now that we live on the Woodline of a nice suburban neighborhood.
When we made our fairy houses specifically, my grandmother would tell me the stories of her homeland, my favorite being the ones of the Tuatha Dé Danann and their homeland of Tir na nÓg. Even little me never dreamt of seeing a fairy in real life.
But a few weeks ago I learned that animals weren’t the only ones that appreciated my offerings.
They truly meant well. Fairies and Fae are tricksters by nature. They enjoy playing pranks and leading humans off into darkness with wild stories and promises they tend to twist rather than keep. When we first arrived, our little suburban neighborhood in Missouri apparently wasn’t ready for a lesbian couple with an eighteen month old baby.
We would get stares, dirty glances, and whispers at every block party we attended. It wasn’t acceptable to outright be homophobic in this town, but apparently talking behind backs and ghosting neighbors was perfectly fine. It didn’t take long for me to want to move back home to California, but we had come here specifically to be closer to my wife’s aging parents, who will be moving in with us probably within the next year.
When this idea became inevitable, I knew this attitude with our neighbors wouldn’t fly. My inlaws would pick physical fights with anyone who dared speak bad about their daughter and daughter in law, and while I’m sure it’d be hilarious, it wouldn’t be a good example to set for our son.
I tried interacting with our neighbors more, trying to prove to them that we were no different than any other family, but was often met with communally required politeness and nothing more. But then the accidents started happening.
Holes in tires, mail getting tossed about the yard, sometimes even lawn decorations turned upside down or thrown into trees. All the traits of some neighborhood trickster, but these occurrences would only happen after a sour interaction with our family.
The neighbors of course blamed me once this trend was discovered, but when the judgy looks turned to angry glares and police calls, the tricks got worse.
Pets getting let out of their yards, kid toys getting destroyed and hung in windows, to tripping over well-placed objects… it soon became obvious I couldn’t do all of these things alone and when turning on themselves didn’t work, they one by one gave up looking for causes.
Hell, I only learned the truth just last week, when I *saw* a fairy tie our across the street neighbor’s shoe laces together as he was talking to the mailman. When the mailman drove off and he tried to walk away, the poor guy fell and broke his hip, and I was rooted to my porch in shock, astounded by what I saw and thinking “*they’re never going to believe me”*.
Knowing this, I kept my mouth shut and took the judgement for not immediately running to help him.
Our poor neighbor had just come home today, and I brought over some food for him and his wife as an apology and peace offering. They took it, but without thanks and gave a quick quip about “too little too late” before shutting the door in my face.
Oh, they had no idea the hell they were about to reap, for apparently the fairies felt this a massive infraction against the rules of hospitality.
Or at least it was something like that. Because my God, their car was on *fucking* ***fire***.
I had already done my civil duty by calling the fire department while my wife warned the neighbors of their poor vehicle’s fate, and now we waited from our porch for the help to come.
Glancing over at one of our bird feeders that was filled with fruits for butterflies, I saw one of the fairies gathering up an orange slice in its thin arms. It looked to us and nodded before vanishing right before my eyes.
Blinking, I accepted the fact that this was how things would be and returned to watching the burning car just as it exploded. Nodding, I reminded myself, *they mean well,* and took a sip of my tea.
Edit: WOAH thanks for the silver!
|
"Elizabeth Rose! What happened here?" I shout to the next room.
My blonde little mischief maker peeks around the corner. She advances with her small dirty hands hidden behind her. Tiny toes kneading into the carpet. Wide green eyes, showing pretend shock, looking at the potted plant, now laying pitifully on its side. Dirt, leaves, and petals strewn over the carpet. Along with Lizzie sized footprints, leading away from the scene.
"Mommy. It wasn't me. I didn't do it. It's not MY fault!" She whined while shaking her head.
"Well then, exactly whose fault would it be then?" I asked, trying to keep a straight face. She always came up with the best excuses.
"Momo was chasing the fairies! He a-most snatched one but he jumped into the flowers mama! Momo knocked it over, no me!" Her little hands and lept up to help provide a visual aid to how the cat had attacked the plant.
"Well how did you get so dirty then?" I asked. She has been talking about the fairies a lot lately. For two weeks now every cup, plate, toy, and now pot that had broken or been moved to the middle of the floor for the upteenth time has been because of these damn fairies.
She mumbled something about not knowing how she got so dirty as I led her to the kitchen to wash her hands. I left her drying off to quarantine the section of the living room from her and the cats tiny toes.
"Mommy!" I hear, only for the 102nd time today.
"Yes, lizzie? What is it baby?" I yell back. Fighting with the baby gate.
"It is time to feed the kitties?" I hear pitter patters across the room.
"Are the birds outside too? Don't go out till I come back!" I shout, but by then it was too late. I had heard the door slide open and closed. Gotta start putting that pole down now that she is tall enough to reach the lock.
I turn to go to the back yard. It is fenced in, so she can't get to the road, but I still like to watch her out there. You never know.
I come around the corner and see out the sliding glass door my little baby girl on a stepping stone, just a few feet away from the porch. Tiny blonde ringlets fall over her shoulders and she is giggling and waving her arms around. She looks like a fairy herself agains the lush green elephant ears her daddy planted along the path. She hasn't noticed me yet, so I keep watching from inside. So as not to disturb her game.
I crack the door so I can hear her.
"Bad fairy! No breaking my mommas pot! No, no!" She had her finger pointed straight up in the air, wagging it back and forth at nothing.
She immediately went back to giggling and ran down the stone path towards the back of the yard, chasing after something I couldn't see. I take a deep breath, and open the door to find her. I had a plate ready to give her with all the bird's and cat's favorite treats. She liked to be the one to set them around.
| 2019-10-27T18:36:00
| 2019-10-27T18:30:06
| 42
| 18
|
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.
|
“We have an anomaly sir in the harvest for the battle royals.”
“What is it Kleitus? Have you bought an amusing play thing for me today?”
Kleitus shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Well we captured a human as per usual but this one is different.”
The merciless overlord raised an eyebrow his finger hovering over the controls in his chairs arm. A press of a button would vaporise this servant as it had many before should he dissapoint.
“The system says he’s technically a human but he’s clearly heavily modified, almost grotesque. Upon arrival he took stock of his surroundings, shouted “for the emporer” and promptly slaughter every other species in the holding area with a giant eagle shaped mace.”
The overlord’s interest was peaked. He pressed a few buttons and brought up an image of the cell. There standing like a colossus clad in viscera stained armour decorated with wax seals and some sort of scripture was the human. His skull like helmet crackled with some sort of energy field built into a halo of Iron it’s dark eyes seemed to stare right through the camera into the overlords soul.
For the first time in a millennia he felt a thrill of fear. “This thing is clearly too dangerous to be allowed to compete. We should recruit it instead Kleitus.”
Kleitus shifted again warily eyeing the control pad. “We tried that sir, I sent in a dozen of your elite guard and a diplomat. The human simply said “suffer not the alien or the mutant to live” and smote the diplomat so hard with that mace one of the guard was blinded by bits of his skull. He dispatched the guards too.”
“Well vent the atmosphere into space then man, have you no initiative.”
“We did sir the armour he wears is apparently proof against the vacuum of space.”
With a snarl of frustration the overlord slammed his fist on the keyboard and winced at the shriek of pain as Kleitus was incinerated. He hadn’t meant to do that.
He called up the image of the cell once more to look upon this human specimen and puzzle what to do with them, instead he was horrified to see the room empty the steel door torn from its hinges.
He pressed a button he never thought to use, his chair sank into the floor and started down the secret passage to his rocket ship. In the distance he heard the screaming start.
|
I saw a flash of light, and an instant, my whole squad was gone.. I left iraq behind, for somewhere... Artificial... My environment has the look of a high resolution fortnite level.. it was definitely artificial. , Built with care. Bladed weapons were hovering above ground. Slowly rotating, ammo , med kits. Every thing I was used to.
Moments before I was about to go on 6 minute mission . I had an assault pack,. An m249 machine gun and a few thousand rounds of ammo.. I touched the disposable rocket launcher on my back. It gave me comfort.
I did a quick mental inventory of my supplies
1. Tactical tomahawk on the chest
2. 9 he fragmentation grenades
3. 1. saw 249 with 3000 rounds..
4. 1 911 pistol with two extra clips.
5.1.tube launched wore guided anti tank missile.
5. A boot knife k bar
6. Bullet proof vest with side protectors
7 1 standard issue helmet
8. Small med kit with a few tubes of super glue
8. No water, no rations .
As the light faded my.eyes readjusted , I saw strange creatures in the distance. Tiny red cross hairs framed thier bodies.. one began to run towards me with a battle axe in hand. He must have been 7 feet tall a giant orcish looking creature. At 150 yards away , I took the time to aim. A single shot and his exploded in a pink mist.
I saw more players, and I dropped then one by one.. I seemed to be the only person here with a fire arm...12 down...how many to go...
THwACk! I was l knocked down. A javalin lay at my feet. It came out of nowhere, I glad I brought the rifle plate today.
I need to make it to high ground. There is a cottage a few hundred yards away. I ran for it.
The players jeep on coming. I struggle to conserve my ammo, resist the urge to open up.. fight way to the roof of the cottage.
The floating numbers above my head procliam 31 kills. There is a silence on the battlefield, and I hear a load war cry. Dozens of voices. They are rushing up all sides. I let my saw do what it's made to do... I spin around in circles firing at the hoarde attacking from every direction .. the numbers above my head climb higher and higher. The last one falls and they stop at 98
One more...then I see him. He is the size of a semi trucks, barellimg towards me on with his knuckles on the ground running like a gorilla. Huge , yet almost see through, some sort of cloaking mechanism. I use my rocket launcher and hit hom square in the face with a missle. The blood splatter hit me from. 50 yards away, and my counter changes as his body falls over, shaking the earth as it does so.
Suddenly the light come on...a voice from. The heavens coming out of nowhere, yet also everywhere. Congratulations on passing stage 1 the arena and the interview process at dundee mifflin.
Dwight schrute, please report to the parking lot promptly at 9 am for stage 2. "The office
I am more than a little confused. I take off my now useless saw. Pick up a couple of cans of beets from the cottage kitchen. I walk down the hill and find a red firebird with the keys in it. As I sit down a piece of paper materlizes out of thin air. It reads. This is dwight from the future, beware of Jim
| 2020-09-13T17:26:19
| 2020-09-13T16:14:49
| 806
| 81
|
[WP] An elderly couple takes to petty crime to see their superhero kids who no longer call.
(edit) Wow this took off. Wanted to Thank every one for taking the time to share their wonderful stories.
This idea started at the end of my day looking at my phone and seeing maybe the third or forth missed call in a week. To late to call back and my days are so packed wrangling my own Superheroes. I get the feeling one day when the calls are no longer there that I will wish that I had been able find the time to get to more of them.
Anyways Thank you again to Writers and Readers.
|
"Honey, that's a lot of forks."
"Five hundred and fifty three boxes."
"A whole lot of forks."
"And, yet, the kids still aren't here."
Mabel stepped back from the wall of plastic forks that had been stashed in their garage. She looked around, "Maybe if we start stealing spoons..."
Rhett shrugged, "I like sporks."
"Do they even sell sporks at the Piggly-Wiggly?"
Rhett sighed as he made his way to the main house door. "Maybe we are going about this all wrong. Maybe we should be hitting up the Walmart instead of the local chain places. They have security cameras everywhere. They are quicker with the cops."
Mabel followed Rhett into the house. They made their way to the kitchen, where newspaper clippings covered every inch of the walls, cabinets and fridge. Clippings of their superhero children performing acts of bravery. Stopping robberies. Fighting the criminal underground. Rescuing people from disasters. Uncovering murderers. The list seemed endless. They were always busy living up to their status as the world's greatest superheroes. Mabel and Rhett were so proud of them. Only it had been a long time since they had seen them in person. Six years, four months and eight days if you asked Rhett. The kids had even stopped returning their calls. The last sign of communication Rhett had received from them was a text that read, "Still alive. Fighting aliens. Luv you."
That was two years ago.
Rhett and Mabel understood their kids had a life of their own but enough was enough. They were still family. And family keeps in touch with each other. The end of the world scenarios be damned.
Mabel was the one who came up with the idea of turning to a life of crime to get the kids' attention. "Teenagers do it all the time. Turn to pretty crimes to get their parents' attention. Shrinks call it, "cries for help." We can do something like that."
"What? Arson?"
"No. No. Never. Nothing where people can get physically hurt. I am thinking more like vandalizing walls. Or prank calling."
"Can't do prank calling anymore. Everyone has caller IDs on their phones."
"You know what I mean. Simple things. Things that would raise red flags with the kids." Mabel's face lit up. "Maybe if we are good at this, the kids could throw us an intervention."
Rhett mirrored her smile. "Everyone come back at once?"
"Yes. I can bake a cake. Maybe even have dinner."
"They aren't going to like this."
Mabel shrugged at she went to the closet to get her coat. "If they don't like it then they should visit more often. How about we start with shoplifting? Is there anything we need?"
Rhett grabbed his scarf, "You can never have too many forks."
The two headed out the door to the car.
That was two weeks ago. Two weeks of stealing plastic forks and stashing them in their garage.
Rhett opened up the fridge and pulled out the milk. He poured himself a glass. "What about Target instead of Walmart. Get it? *Target.* Or do you think that is a little too on the nose?"
"No, we need it to be too on the nose. Honey, I love our kids. They are good kids but, frankly, I think it's time for us to realize that they are dense. We need to make a bigger splash. And I think you are on the right track."
"So, Target. Sporks?"
"Walmart. Guns."
"*GUNS*?" Rhett stared at his wife. He did not like the idea of that.
Mabel tried to wave away his displeasure with her hands. "Or weapons. Or better yet, we buy the ingredients to build a bomb. A big one."
"I-I don't know about that. We could be getting a visit from the FBI if we do that."
"Honey, we know the kids work along side with the FBI. What do you think they will do if they see someone trying to buy the ingredients to bombs in our little town?"
Rhett bit his lip. "They would come to us to make sure we are safe."
"Exactly."
Rhett finished his milk. "This is a ridiculous idea, Mabel. We could get in so much trouble if this blows up in our faces."
"If it blows up in our faces the kids will still come running to help us. Either way, we win."
Rhett closed his eyes and thought for a moment. "Okay. Fire up the computer. Let's see what we need to get to make a bomb..."
edit:spelling
|
Not an elderly couple, just a father.
John awoke to the same buzzing noise he'd been hearing for the last 15 years, the buzzing and beeping of his daughters' landline.
"Oh great another early morning, wonder if I'll see them today before bed." Mumbled John as he got up and looked at the clock, 4:30 AM it read. "Morning Karen." He says looking at the empty side of his bed and at the framed picture on the nightstand. It held the image of his late wife and mother to his daughters.
"Might as well get some work done today." As he puts on his black dress pants and white shirt, hearing his three daughters fly out of the house.
"Synthesizing test sample 030103.....
..
. Complete, traces of compound found, molecular structure unstable. Reproduced result: Negative." John's basement computer reads.
It had been 30 years since he had discovered a scientific fluke and bestowed super human abilities on his infant daughters accidentally. At first it was great, they could fly, were near invincible and had distinct personalities that both conflicted and strengthened their relationship. It was only after a year when their mother, Karen was abducted, they never got a ransom or heard anything besides that she was gone.
The daughters decided they did not want to leave it to the police and used their powers to search for her, stopping crime as they saw it.
Over their search they stopped monsters, villains, robbers and helped the local police clean up their city. They drew attention and adoration from the city, the Mayor declared them the City's protectors and had a phone installed in their home and his office. It was to be used for emergencies.
"Pft, emergencies." Scoffs John as he remembers these events.
On the day he lost Karen he lost so much more, his daughters. They were out all day and most of the night from the day that phone was installed. Putting out fires and dealing with the ridiculous emergencies the Mayor seemed to find.
Besides the occasional greeting he never interacted with his daughters anymore, they left before he got up and went to bed before he knew they were home. His attempts to communicate were met with anecdotes of their crime stoppage and how they couldn't give up searching for their mom.
"Synthesizing test sample 030104.....
..
. Complete, traces of compound found, molecular structure stable. Reproduced result: Positive." Beeped the computer.
"Holy shit, I did it, I made the compound again!" Yelled John.
He donned his protective suit, a helmet and visor, lead-titanium plated chest piece and slip resistant combat boots; and entered the testing chamber. He took it at a run giddy that he had finally done it.
Boom.
The compound exploded out of its dish and coated John, he had forgotten that it was pressurized inside and hadn't waited for it to drop before entering.
It was over, he lay on the ground. All his work had just been undone, his synth computer lay in wreckage around his basement.
He just wanted it gone, to be able to have his wife and daughters back to normal, but he wouldn't get that.
He opened his eyes and found himself floating in midair.
"I can fly?" Gasped John.
His experiment had worked, but not in the way he wanted. He wanted a cure to Compound X, now he'd infected himself and miraculously had super human powers as well.
Thus PowerProf was born, using his super hero powers Professor, John, Father, decided to dedicate his life to finding his wife and reconnecting with his daughters.
*Cue* Theme song.
| 2016-04-24T10:53:42
| 2016-04-24T10:36:30
| 37
| 17
|
[WP] You are a dark god. The police raided your temple, arrested your cultists, and ate the pb&j sandwich that your youngest worshiper left on your altar
|
The first thing you have to understand is that “Dark God” does not mean “evil”. The meaning has gotten kinda twisted over the eons. See, “Dark God” just means that I'm from the Dark Plane, which – as the name implies – is really freakin' dark. Like, pitch black, can't-see-your-hand-in-front-of-your-face, absolute dark. Light isn't natural to my plane, there's literally nothing native to my reality which gives off the slightest glow or the faintest glimmer.
The key words there are “native to my reality”. Dark Gods may not be evil, but we -are- Gods. We've had our worshipers from your plane forever, even we don't remember how it all got started. But the point is, people in your reality have been leaving offerings for us since time immemorial. And those offerings, when left by someone with true reverence in their heart, they shine like torches in our world. The faith of the supplicant somehow crosses the interdimensional gap between your plane and the Dark Plane, and on our side we get actual, brilliant light.
Do you have any idea how wonderful that light is? Can you even conceive what it's like to see pure, glorious light in an entire reality of darkness? It's the warm sun on your face on a beautiful spring day, but instead of your face that radiance is shining into your very soul. It's beyond words, beyond emotion, beyond any experience you've ever had. You people think that you're leaving us offerings to pay for our favor, but it's the other way around. By the light of your offerings, we can see and feel warmth in our black abyss.
More than that, by the light of your offerings we can see back into your world, and that means we can safely extend our power. We can affect things in your world without light, sure, but it's like swinging a baseball bat in a china shop with your eyes closed. No idea what you're hitting, no idea what the results look like. With the light of your faith, though, we can actually see what we're doing, and we do everything we can to bless you because we are -eternally- grateful. You don't understand how precious the gifts are that you give us. If we could extend more of our power back along that shining path between the planes, we would.
The actual physical offering doesn't matter, it's the faith associated with it that determines how brightly it shines. A solid gold chalice might glow dimmer than a dying Christmas tree light if it's offered by some shmuck who's just paying lip service, or it might beam like maglight with fresh batteries if it's given in reverence by truly devout priest. By the same token, objects you might think are worthless can shine the brightest if they have true faith behind them.
Take, for instance, something as mundane as a PB&J. Like the one left on that altar, about an hour ago. The kid who left it, Peter, he believes. Like, really believes. There are few things as powerful in your world or in mine as the faith of a young child. It is absolute, unwavering, and rock-solid. Santa exists, the monster under the bed can't get you if you keep your feet under the blanket, and Mommy will get better if I give the Dark God a present and ask him please. I can't speak to jolly fat men or under-mattress mooks, but that kid's sandwich blazed like the Sun. More than enough light for a delicate little operation like excising a tumor or three.
And then the light went out.
And the last thing I saw was Peter, tears streaming down his face, in handcuffs that barely fit his little wrists.
And you, shoving the last bite of the sandwich into your mouth.
You know how you can stand at the door of your bedroom, turn out the light, and then walk to your bed without tripping or running into anything? There's that memory of how things looked, right before you turned out the light, that guides you. It doesn't last long, and it only covers what you could see right around you, but it's enough. Yeah, that's how I got you. I may not have been able to see you any more after that last bite, but I remembered where you were standing. And to be honest, in that moment, I didn't really care that I was swinging a baseball bat with my eyes closed, because I was pretty damn sure I'd hit you, even if I hit a few other things in the process.
I can't see Peter any more. I can't see his mom, and I can't see her tumors, and I sure as hell can't see to do anything about them. But now I have you here, in my realm. And even if I can't see you, I can feel you now. You can't hide in the dark from me, because now you're in MY dark, and I am a Dark God.
“Dark God” may not mean “evil”, but I assure you: it doesn't mean “good”, either.
|
Though they seemed to be an utter disappointment, I can't fault my followers too much for what was happening; they were simply caught unprepared. They had underestimated the tenacity of the heretics. For all the rituals, prayer, and sacrifice, there was only so much that could be done to combat the technological evolution of mankind. Though it would have been wise had they not scheduled the evening's gathering via the Book of Faces.
Humanity's enforcement of their rules and statues... *The police*. They entered my temple before my devotees had even figured out what was to transpire. With their projectile weapons in hand, they bound my loyal subjects in metal bindings.
The utter disrespect of these worms. They paid no heed to relics they knocked over as they infiltrated this unholy site. Some of these may have been objects foolishly purchased by followed from the Bay of E, but many of them were items I carried with me when I roamed this earth hundreds of thousands of years ago. Still, there wasn't much I could do to intervene.
We Gods, as we're called by many, receive our power from worship. The more followers we have, the more power we gain, and the more we can influence the realm of the humans. Some Gods take the laissez faire attitude with this world, whereas others prefer a more direct approach. I was the latter: when a particularly loyal devotee wished to have his neighbor cursed in order to seduce the man's wife, I gladly focused all my efforts to render him impotent. The rest was up to my follower to "seal the deal" as he so eloquently wrote in his blood-letter.
Century by century, my followers decreased in njmber. My powers followed. No longer could I exert my will over humanity. I blamed much of this on that glorified spirit of vengeance with the circumcision fascination killing off his own son in order to spawn himself a second religion. Then he decided two wasn't enough and created a third faith. His ego is beyond compare.
My shrunken cabal and minimal power left me unable to stop what was happening to my flock and my sanctum. It was disastrous. Hopefully, they could rebuild, regroup, and resume their worship. I sighed and watched as the police officers cleared my temple and made their way to my alter where many of my followers placed their offerings.
"Look at this," one of them said, "idiots thought they'd offer up a sandwich!" He did nothing to hide his amusement as he lifted the food item to his lips. It was two slices of bread with peanut butter and strawberry jam. Many humans enjoyed these as both meals and snacks.
Something snapped inside me as the officer took a bite and ingested my offering.
My memories flooded back to just a few hours ago. My herd was placing the items they deemed worthy on my alter. I'd would do what I could for the offerings that pleased me, and created small inconveniences for the ones who presented unworthy offerings.
There was a little girl. She wasn't much older than six years. She was the daughter of one of my most devoted. He would bring her the monthly gatherings as he couldn't find someone to sit on her. Human customs can be confusing at times.
Her name was Aimee. She kept to herself and played with her toys while the adults performed blood sacrifices, human live bleeding, and other indulgences that pleased me. Per instructions I formed out of animal bones and they attempted to contact me for guidance, she was not to witness many of these rituals.
On this night, Offering Night, she presented her first offering to me:
"Mister Verangir the Envoy of Chaos and Despair," she began, looking into my statue's eyes as it stood above her upon my altar, "I can't give much, but I made you this. It's my favorite!" She placed a small plate near my statue's feet. On the plate was the sandwich that was being eaten by this intruder.
An anger boiled inside me that I had not felt in thousands of years.
*She was my favourite.*
After she had been take outside by police officers, I unleashed what I had left of my power. From the statue emerged a small portal from my plane of existence to theirs. My black tendrils reached out into the hall as my voice boomed.
"You have violated my inner sanctum. Your lives are now forfeit." I echoed this through my temple and into the minds of these law enforcement agents as I proceeded to tear them limb from limb. They were the lucky ones. To be eviscerated in an instance was my mercy to the ones simply following instructions from their superior. I spared the one who had invested the PB & J. His punishment must be more severe.
As he attempted to crawl away from the beautiful symphony of death, I wrapped a tendril around his ankle and dragged him towards my portal. I lifted the man's up so that he may look into my eyes.
"Her name was Aimee. You took what she gave to me. Now you are going to spend an eternity in my realm... and I am going to get back was taken from me. Slowly. And I will savor every moment, every shriek of agony. You will beg for death."
Tears formed in the man's eyes as I pulled him into my realm to enact my vengeance. My final massacre complete, I had exhausted what little remained of my power.
Aimee didn't understand. All she knew was that her father adored me and now he was being punished for that. There was nothing left of my temple now that it had been raised. So, I left and decided to follow and observe Aimee... Make sure she was safe.
I heard her mutter under her breath, "Please look over Daddy... Don't let the bad men hurt him, please."
She began to sob. I felt a small amount of energy returning to me. It was coming from this small child.
For my entire existence, all I wanted was to make this world suffer and burn. Now... I just wanted to keep this girl safe. I would do what I could for her father, but my new purpose was to keep her safe. Not as her God, but as her Guardian.
| 2020-05-20T06:22:01
| 2020-05-20T04:45:43
| 27
| 18
|
[WP] You are a citizen of Ancient Rome. One day, you notice that one of the Emperor's advisors has a 21st Century handgun stowed in his toga. You also realize you know what a handgun is.
|
PART I - [PART II](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6g8ett/wp_you_are_a_citizen_of_ancient_rome_one_day_you/dipk3va) - [PART III](https://www.reddit.com/r/rarelyfunny/comments/6gkiyh/part_iii_pi_you_are_a_citizen_of_ancient_rome_one)
---
Aelius was a careful man. In the weeks I surveilled him, he was almost never without his bodyguards, taking them with him even to the baths. That wasn't surprising in and of itself, for the Emperor's advisors were assigned official protection, but none took their privacy, their safety as seriously as Aelius.
So why then did he slip on a cloak every 8th evening, elude his men with cunning of tongue and quickness of feet, just to visit the modest temple on the outskirts? Why did his steed seem to labour under greater burden on the return trips?
This evening, I waited for him patiently, peering out from my hiding spot behind a false doorway. There were three routes back to his residence, but an exchange of coins had ensured congestion and disturbance along two of the more public routes - Aelius would be compelled to take the slightly longer, slightly more obscure backlane instead.
He passed by soon enough, urging his horse along at a steady trot. I held my breath, flung my net at him, and wrenched him to the ground. His horse whinnied, loudly. I leapt over him, pressing my knees to his chest.
"Stay your hand," I said, "I mean you no harm."
"No harm?" he sneered, "yet here you are with a knife to my neck?"
"I asked for an audience, and you refused. You left me with no choice."
I could see the wheels spinning in his head - Aelius had a reputation for being one of the sharpest amongst the Emperor's advisors, and it did not take him long to connect the dots. "You are the one who has been sending me private letters, seeking to discuss delirious matters. Of course I have rebuffed you, Domitius."
I shook my head, angrily. "I am free of delirium, Aelius. I know what I saw. You were carrying a Maxim 4, that day we crossed paths at the coronation. I wasn't sure at first, but the name came to me, eventually."
Aelius narrowed his eyes, and I could feel him tense beneath me. "What century are you from, you snake?"
It was my turn to be surprised. "The 21st century, same as you. Have you forgotten the rules? We can't influence history at all, and that means no smuggled knowledge, no borrowed weapons! We are here to observe, that is all! Anything else and we risk being put down, forcefully!"
A high-pitched whine rang through the air, and I saw a focused beam of light pass through my shoulder, splashing on the far wall vibrantly. The smell hit me then, charred flesh. My hand went limp, and the dagger fell noisily to the ground.
Aelius was up in a flash, and I felt him pass an arm around me, lifting me onto his horse. In my shock, I could only comply.
"Listen, I remember the rules. But things have changed. The observation period has come and gone for years now, and I'm not sure if you have been keeping track, but we're not being recalled anymore."
"Not being... recalled?"
Angry shouts filled the air, as men spilled out onto the pathway, running towards us. I recognised some of them, but the artifacts they bore, they were alien to me.
"Something went wrong in our time, Domitius. I only know that we from the 21st century are not the only travellers here. You ever seen a laser rifle before? No? Well that's because they come from the 24th century, and if we don't get a move on, we will die here."
"24th... century?"
"There's a civil war going on under your very eyes, and I can explain more to you when we're safe."
Aelius spurred his horse on, and the darkness consumed me.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
The Theatre of Pompey was a breathtaking building. Older men of stature walked through the white pillars that reached to the skies, loudly discussing matters of political nature.
A man in a white toga stood at the edge of the building, and gazed into the crowd. He had a large red scar on his upper cheek, contrasting the purity of his robes. Outside the building stood thousands of people, selling and buying goods on the market, their voices reaching far and wide. Carts filled with fruits and vegetables had just arrived in front of him. Next to the cart two merchants stood, who were loudly arguing over the contents of their delivery. Tiny groups of soldiers marched between the women haggling prices for food and fabrics, as the children played in the cool Spring weather.
But his focus was on something else. His hawklike eyes scanned for the men that arrived at the theatre. In an instant he stood up right from the pillar he had been leaning on as a well-ornamented carriage had arrived. The disappointment on his face was barely concealed as a woman left the ride, rather than who he had been waiting for.
It was almost time. The meeting with the rest of the Senators was about to start.
And exactly at that moment he noticed a group of men, dressed similarly to himself, walk towards the white steps of the building. The atmosphere in the group was tense, quiet, and only a few nods were exchanged as he joined the group. He walked next to a colleague of his as they entered the building. "So today is the day?" he whispered, and his colleague quickly nodded, with frowned eyebrows. The anticipation built as the group marched onwards, past soldiers in shiny armor, clerks with stacks of documents, and other senators who all either nodded at the group, or quickly walked by.
They arrived in a large hall, with giant doors at the end. The wood must have been lacquered tens of times, as it reflected the sunlight falling through the windows brightly. A few men in front of him reached in their toga, as if they were checking something. His colleague next to him did the same, and as he lifted the white fabric a black object appeared.
*What is that?*, he wondered, as he stared at him. His colleague noticed and quickly covered it with his toga. "Today *is* the day", his colleague mumbled back, and stared ahead at the wooden doors. A nod was exchanged and a rush of anticipation surged through the group as they marched towards the doors.
The doors swung open smoothly, the lack of sound disturbing, considering their size and weight. The men walked inside the large, round room, and came to a halt. In the middle the room stood a broad-shouldered man, wearing a laurel wreath on his head. Dark eyebrows above dark eyes stared at the group. The last two of their group shut the doors behind them quickly, a loud bang resounding through the room as they fell shut.
And as the bang resonated through his ears, he knew what the item was. It was a gun! The sound of the doors had echoed the sound he had heard before in his life, an eardeafening sound that disappeared as quick as the life of the victim. And, he realized, it was a weapon that should not have been here. Not in this time.
The group of men surrounded the man in the center, their numbers starkly constrasting him in his solitude. He rose his hands as if to try and stop them. Quick gazes were exchanged between the men.
The man with the scar knew what would happen. Not Senate reform. Not democracy. Today was murder.
And instinctively he reached under his toga as the other men reached, and he could feel his hand grasp around the grip of a gun. He pulled it quickly, and aimed it at the men with knives in their hands, closing in on the helpless man in the center. And as he readied himself to shoot the first bullet, an avalanche crashed on his chest. He sank to the floor and noticed a red stain expanding on his toga as the pain exploded. His colleague stood next to him, gun pulled, and the other men stared at him, their knives turning in their hands, as if they waited for a command. "Et tu, Brute?" the man in the middle whispered. Brutus put his gun back in his robes and nodded, averting his gaze as the sickening sound of metal in flesh was drowned out by the last screams of the dictator.
| 2017-06-09T09:32:17
| 2017-06-09T08:45:57
| 1,038
| 108
|
[WP] You've been in this time loop for centuries. You know how to break the loop already, you just want to make sure you've done all you wanted and learned everything you need while you're still here, before returning to a "normal" life.
|
At first I visited my friends. During the pandemic, I had been a hermit, mostly avoiding people, so as soon as time started repeating, I visited all the people I cared about. At first it was my close and local friends. Then I drove---sometimes hundreds of miles to see my more distant friends. I got reacquainted again. I kind of had to barge into their lives sometimes, but it was worth it to reconnect, and they would never mind because 24 hours later they would not remember.
After my friends came family. I did not miss them because I still saw them during the pandemic, but I was always hurried by work. Now time was repeating, I could spend as much time as I liked with all of them. It was great to learn all of the stories my parents knew from their past. I really got to know what my daughter experienced in college and her travels. I got to know my son much more deeply.
It took a while to figure out how to get on a plane because I did not have proof of vaccination. After trying for a month, I figured out how to get the correct papers from my doctor in time to fly. (I could bribe anyone because all of my debts were forgiven 24 hours later!) I flew to the Bahamas, Mexico, Canada, every state, and most of the Caribbean. It was great to scuba dive again with the best equipment that money could buy on short notice. I skied Whistler in Canada every "weekend" for a year.
And then I began to learn --- martial arts, cooking, sewing, basic woodworking, outdoor survival (it was winter with a little snow every day locally, but I could easily fly a few hundred miles to hike any terrain in all kinds of weather), home repair, electronics,... I read every book in my library which must have taken a few years and then I got into the local university library. The internet had thousands of papers for me to read. I learned and relearned physics, chemistry, engineering, math, philosophy, and psychology. I never really developed a passion for painting, but I did finally get the time to learn how to play the piano, guitar, and even the trumpet.
Windsurfing took months mostly because I had to get on a plane and I only got in a couple of hours of actual surfing before the sunset. I managed to learn bartending in the Bahamas after windsurfing.
I missed relationships. No one remembered anything I did for more than 24 hours. I had my family and my friends, which was nice, but none of my relationships evolved with me. Still, I think I got to know a few hundred people over the years, even though it was only a few hours for them.
I think it has been almost a hundred years now. I have amazing plans. I think I'm finally ready for the first day of the rest of my life.
|
The loop was started for scientific reasons, to see if we could learn from different “timelines” in the infinity chambers.
Every person is unique; each person could give different outcomes to any moment in time and change a thousand different things. So imagine if we used AI to learn from those thousand different outcomes. The many unique technologies that could come to life, the philosophical ideas that could help shape our future.
People often feel scattered throughout time, like they were given a lottery ticket with a date and that's all they are to experience. Well, that was a thing of the past. as technology accelerated creating more ease on human life, people become somewhat useless.. robots commanded by quantum AI could work 10 times harder and faster than any outstanding human in any field. Cutting millions of jobs in an unexpected mass extinction event
Nobody expected So many people to have no purpose, to feel so lost and lonely in a vast ocean of technology. Well, one company was waiting and working on such an outcome. AI revival - relive and recreate the past present and future in virtual reality. they would put these people in certain situations and pay them for finding new ways to live, survive, create and mostly endure our new future.
At first, this went great. they discovered new medicines, new ways to look at ourselves and where we belonged In our small lonely place in the universe. But something else happened, people found ways to do things they shouldn't have. They found new ways to be evil.
Somehow they prolonged their stay in the infinity chambers, although the name may seem like they could stay forever they were meant to stay for only a short time. Time was altered in these chambers with a mix of drugs and electrical pulses in the brain. They would fast forward these virtual worlds to collect the data faster while using drugs and AI brain interfaces to accelerate the reaction time of the brain.
This was great, they could live out hundreds of years in hours with this technology. But the human brain was not meant to handle such a load, to bear all that weight. AI revival knew this, they did everything they could to make sure no one was lost or rendered braindead from their work. But somehow people found ways to get lost where they shouldn't have.
At first it was only a few, only a few had died from using the infinity chambers. Some blamed heart attacks, some blamed the users past and many blamed the company. That didn't stop millions from lining up and finding out for themselves what was hidden in these worlds. I must say I was one of them, at first it scared me but the people who came out of them were completely changed afterward. They were happy with life, with what they found and what lives they lived in there. I had to find out for myself
When I entered in I acted oblivious to their questions about death in the chambers, I told them I had never heard of them and only wanted to learn and grow with the machines. This made them happy, I was like any other useful idiot out there.
They choose where you go and when, they wipe your memory so you fit in better but they give you specific memories so you comply with the timelines. When you learn more and level up their technologies they give you achievements and reminders so you want to come back. well nobody wants to go back after becoming a king, nobody wants to wake up when they fall in love.
For me it was different, the AI made me suffer.. Made me want to die from the day I arrived there. I was led from misery to loneliness repeatedly, only once as I was on the brink of death I was reminded of why I was here, of who I was facing. I had to win, I had to show that humans were better than machines no matter what name you gave them. I had to show them that they were not gods.
I told myself I was suffering for the greater good, to learn everything I could while I was here. I needed to learn everything before ending my loop and returning to the real monster
| 2022-01-25T00:30:48
| 2022-01-24T23:08:12
| 80
| 12
|
[WP] write the best story you can in 5 sentences or less
|
My wife and I just had our second child. She's thrilled, really hoping this will be just the thing we need to mend the rough turn our relationship has taken in the past couple of years. Me? I'm just annoyed. I had such a hard time getting rid of the first one.
|
The self exists in relation to a singular locus, of which there are three variations at any given time: the *is*, *is not*, and the *should be*. Normally, these psychic structures labor in tandem, much like the machinations of a wristwatch. But if the self begins to confound these articulations, pervert their functions and forms -- it ceases to exist. It is no longer a thinking thing, only a featureless, enveloping void.
The self then encounters the phenomenon of *suicide*.
**Edit**: feedback would be greatly appreciated!
| 2015-08-09T12:16:28
| 2015-08-09T11:06:09
| 23
| 12
|
[WP] As a child, every adventurer is assigned a class for their life. You've been assigned to be a White Mage. Dreading a life in the background saving a bunch of idiots that get all the glory, you aim to carve your own path. Tell the tale of the Harmacist.
|
It is not the wound that kills people. It is the healing. That is the pretext with which I studied the holy arts. An improperly mended bone or muscle, a “heal” cast to close a septic wound without purifying it. That was my preferred method. Monsters with strong self healing capabilities were easiest to deal with. Ramp up what’s already there and the body will destroy itself. It only took a little cut to start the process that would lead to crippling agonizing death. The more I killed the easier it became to find those seeking my skills. The church branded me anethma, the mages categorium a heretic. They cower now when being healed, not sure if my disciples are in their ranks. Harmacist has become a profession acknowledged by the world, and we are on the front line of every battlefield. Our oath is simple: “what can be mended can be perverted. What can be purified can be sullied. We wear the white and embrace the dark. All paths forward lead to us.”
|
"C'mon Rowan! Im getting wailed on over here and your area of effect ain't pullin its weight!"
Ahh Brooks, the poor bloke, he really was taking a lot of fire. Too bad I haven't put a single hour into targeted healing.
"Take cover Brooks, Ive got 4 seconds until my squad refresher is back up!"
"Dammit Rowan, I'm a brawler, I need my combos up to put the hurt on these guys! I just want Valkia back, now thats a Lass who could keep me up in a battle."
Yea yea Brooks. We all know youre a dumbass that doesn't see anything but the red in front of you. I really was doing my best to heal up the squad, and since Mike and Alvertha werent complaining I'd say Im doing alright.
Yes, my stats aren't really great for these four man quests, but then again, that isn't what I've been training for.
Anyway, after keeping Brooks on a leash for a few minutes, we whittled down the Cannibal Vanguard, now we just have to behead the Queen of Feasts, quite a hefty lady. But I'll spare you the details, we won, we set up camp. Then MY quest began.
I double checked my map and set off back towards the Great Hall we had just cleared. From the west side I headed south, rounded the ridge and found the cave. This, is what I, White Mage lvl 51 Cardinal Rowan, have been training for. Screw keeping some Barbarian's head on his shoulders, Ive got the stats to keep hordes of soldiers alive. And, unlocked at lol 50, all of my convert undead grinding came to fruition. Now, I can convert Necromancers themselves, not just their little Zombies. And what better place to find a weak enough Necromancer with a large enough army than right behind the Feasting hall of the hungriest cannibals in Javouna.
The senses of the undead are quite narrow Ive learned, they really just taste the air for blood and violence. Good thing I am unscathed and havent killed a thing for 8 months.
Working through the caves took a few hours, but by the end I was tailed by 4 Late bodyguards who almost caught me, hidden in an alcove by the spawn pit. I downed a mana and a 1 hour strength of mind potion. The Necromancer approached his Pit of Bodies and started his nightly ritual, spawning 3 minions a night for the past year, he's done me quite the favor. A hand to the base of his skull did the trick in an instant. I sent him off with his swarms to my private cabin in the woods where he would join my indentured goblin servants and my Golem brigade. All of whom I can heal fully every 2 seconds, at once.
I don't think Brooks will miss me, its time to take on some solo raids and make my name: Harmacist Rowan, lvl 51 White Mage, Regenerating Swarm leader.
| 2018-05-16T12:09:31
| 2018-05-16T11:00:21
| 27
| 20
|
[WP] You can make a lie become truth, but only one lie at a time, once it is a lie again everyone involved will know immediately. You’re on your deathbed, holding one lie as truth for decades. You know hell will break loose once you die and the lie becomes a lie, and everybody will know.
|
"This sentence is a lie."
And they fucking believed it. For a century! They really did not see what is coming... I was the only Ultima Authorie, last to be asked whether it was the truth or not and I always went with "Yes.'.
So the sentence is a lie? Get over it, is the truth. Fucking hell though, once me time was through, I thought, perhaps they should be told the truth instead? Lie about it?
"This sentence is not a lie!"
Was my explanation to them, on my death bed mind you. Never seen looks like that. Likewise, they took it for the truth. This baffled me. Something in my head just clicked. How can they possibly believe them both?!
Apparently it's a thing.
|
I think they would understand why I did it. The truth is terrifying at first, but ultimately has no immediate impact, and will not for some time. But it will still change everything. Except, it did not have to, at least, not yet, and that was the reason why I did it. Maybe I was selfish, maybe I just wanted to live out my life in the world as I had known it for my first several decades of existence. But here, now, at the end of my life, knowing what I am about to unleash, I feel guilty, because I am leaving everyone else to deal with it, and I robbed them of years to deal with it, to plan for it, to come to terms with the truth of our reality. They will have that time now, and maybe they will handle it far better than I. Maybe all I accomplished was sentencing myself to live with a sense of futility for decades until my death, as I held back the truth like a dam holding back a flood. I will not be here to see, but knowing what I know of humanity, I cannot help but be terrified that the truth will tear the world apart, the truth that we are very clearly not alone in the universe. Not by a long shot.
| 2022-11-18T08:23:40
| 2022-11-18T05:25:43
| 18
| 10
|
[WP] The laws of physics are actual written laws. Breaking them is possible but illegal.
|
Rolling laughter poured out of his fathers study. Prying open the door Tyler peaked in. "Tyler! Get in here quick, look at this!" Reluctantly pulling the door the rest of the way open he stared at the perpetual motion machine his dad was giggling at. "Tyler, you know what the difference between this machine and me is?"
"Dad, don..."
"Given enough time this machine could please your mom"
"God damnit dad!!"
|
"Jesus Christ, Mary! You can't be serious, you'll be caught, no question."
Mary's hand shook as she raised the glass to his face. His eyes were set on the table in front of him.
"Mary!"
Mary sipped slowly at the drink, put it down on the table and looked at Steven. She met his eyes, and slowly but surely, faded into nothing.
"Shit. Fuck. Bollocks."
Steven glanced around the room, but there was no trace of Mary.
"Nowt I can do now but wait, I suppose."
Steven waited, resisting the temptation Mary might have succumbed to, to speed up the passage of time until his friend returned. It was a long wait, but Steven read a book and was content enough.
Mary returned, seated exactly where she had been, now accompanied by a small boy. Steven leapt up from his seat when he noticed them, mouth gaping.
"Hi Steven!"
"Hi, Sam." Steven could not help but smile at the boy, perhaps Mary was right, laws are to be broken when a child is at stake.
Soon, however, there was a rattle at the door. Steven looked at the door a long while before he opened it. Outside stood two men, a scientist and a policeman.
Steven looked down at the ground.
"We're here for Mary."
| 2014-03-06T05:28:32
| 2014-03-06T05:04:36
| 136
| 22
|
[WP]: Humanity has developed a hypersensitivity to puns, experiencing physical pain when exposed to especially bad wordplays. As no physical damage happens, it is used to penalize petty criminals. This is your job. You are the Punisher.
|
"Do you understand why you have been brought here today?" The warden smiled mercilessly as he spoke, leaning in close to whisper in the young man's ear. The young man tried to put on a brave face, but the overly friendly smile made him visibly nervous.
"To listen to some jokes," he replied, with an attempt at a sneer, "I like comedy, let's hear them"
"You've been sentenced to five puns under Section 12 of the Criminal Punishment Code. I have been authorized by the Department of Justice to administer this punishment to you. Which makes me your pun-issuer"
The young man flinched in pain, but then quickly regained control and gave a look of defiance.
"So," the warden continues, "shoplifting, eh? Your arms must be tired."
"Agh!" the man cried out, but this time was able to stop himself from looking away.
The warden paused, letting his victim catch his breath.
"Weren't you done for battery?" the warden asked, his speech settling in to a kind of grim rhythm.
"No! No way," the young man was quick with outrage, "this is my first offence!"
"Ah," the warden gave a little smile of victory, "so you're saying you were never charged."
"Gah!" The teenagers face contorted with agony as he twisted around in his chair, wriggling and struggling helplessly to find relief against a pain that was entirely non-physical.
The warden watched the movements coldly, letting his own malicious amusement fade from his face so he could slip back into his mask of seriousness.
"I think you need to shape up, my boy," the warden began again, this time with a more sinister, clipped tone, "start taking things seriously...or else"
The young man looked up, anger in his face.
"I'm not afraid of you," he said, with false bravado.
"Oh," the warden gave a patronising smile, "Well, I'm just saying, you need to be careful, otherwise you'll be having porridge for breakfast... for a very long time"
With that the warden gestured around, to the walls around them, indicating the rest of the prison complex they were within.
"Yeah," the young man felt his bravery come back, "Well, I like porridge. It's my favourite, better than anything else for breakfast"
"Ah, be careful," the warden cried out in mock worry, "In case you become a cereal offender!"
"Aaaagh!" the victim screamed and rocked back in his chair, "no! Please, no more, I-"
"Sorry, what was that?" the warden interrupted, leaning his face in closely.
The young man blinked in confusion, before trying to continue, "Please, I'm telling you-"
"I'm sorry, I don't think I understand," the warden interrupted again, "What are you trying to say?"
The teenager looked around, trying to understand what was going on.
"I'm just trying to tell you," he said carefully, with a growing edge of unease in his voice, "I'm sorry and-"
"Look," the warden interrupted yet again, "I see the problem here. I keep interrupting you. I should just let you..." he paused for effect, a sly grin appearing on his face, "finish your sentence"
The teenager gave a sharp cry of agony, before falling back limply in his chair. The warden stood up curtly, nodded, and returned to the rest of his duties.
|
Humanity has always possessed it-- a raw, involuntary reaction to the worst of wordplay. Lowly “dad jokes” would cause a slight wince. An overly simplistic knock-knock joke might garner a garish groan. Even a simple bit of alliteration, as I have assuredly demonstrated, can make one uncomfortable. But we never realized the gravity with which the world of puns would slam down on our shoulders. Puns have evolved into an elegant form of swordplay, where awful puns jab like knives into the mind of the listener. This development led to the creation of a new brand of justice: punishers, like myself, wait in the darkest parts of prisons, courthouses, and CIA interrogation dungeons, practicing our craft on the lowliest rung of society’s ladder.
Prisons have always seemed a natural place to me, although now the fact that they are part of the “punitive system” seems ironic. While it may be immoral to murder a murderer or steal from a thief, locking criminals up to shield society from them is at least morally permissible under most ethical systems, and puns are punishment enough. My first case of the day, an overbearing man who was caught across the allotted boundaries of a tiger cage at a nearby zoo, is an easy one. I approach the cell.
“HEY PUNISHER, I hear you’re an officer of the law. More like an AWFUL-SIR!” shouts the inmate. Even punishers aren’t immune to the piercing pain of poignant puns, but wordplay this terrible barely scratches my mental state.
“I’m sorry, but *petty* criminals aren’t worth much of my time.” This one hurt him, although it took a few seconds for the pain to set in. Us punishers are protected by our ingenuity. Of course the inmates try and fight back, but they are untrained and often unable to keep up with our wit. “I’m surprised they put you in here and not somewhere worse. Good job *cell*ing them on this pad.” I remark as I gesture toward his rough accommodations. His hands clasp to his ears, but the pain he is experiencing doesn’t quite allow him to dull the sound of my voice. I fire off a few more quick shots, nothing too damaging, and move on to my next case of the day.
As I come up on this cell, something is different. Something is ominous. It is far too quiet here. I examine the inmates around my next target, and find them pushed up against the walls opposite the man at the center, who is sitting quietly. What has he been saying? How can he cause this much pain so quickly? He has only been incarcerated for a day and a half, and his crime really wasn’t so dramatic. I step up to face him.
“Apparently you skimmed a few cents off of every transaction at your desk job. Sounds *cheap* to me.” He remains still. “I thought integrity was the *staple* of every office.” No reaction. My heart begins to race. “If everyone acted as you have, offices would be *papered* with issues.” I was clearly losing focus. I was panicking. Only the most hardened hearts and witty minds could withstand this kind of assault. “Did you talk to your boss? Every action by employees is measured by a strict *ruler* after all.” He finally looks up. He cocks his head.
“What? Do you expect me to grovel? Do you expect me to writhe in pain? Did you think I would sit here and shake? Well… I guess because atoms vibrate, everyone shakes on *an atomical* level.”
An atomical level… anatomical level… I double over in pain. I was not expecting this.
“I can smell your fear… and here I thought you were an *ol’ factory* of puns.” My knees buckle. I try to speak but my chest is too tight. Any more and I’ll be out. I need to fight back.
I gasp: “your defeat will taste great after I *mustard* a comeback.” Damn. I can’t do this. I need to get out of here. I start to crawl away but can’t help hearing what is said next.
“Punisher! Don’t run away. If you *Bolt* out of here, I’ll never know what *Usain*.” Weakness. As I lay on the floor I can tell that he is running out of gas. If I can just protect myself with one last, parting pun, I can make it to safety…
“You’re getting pretty low, even for a convict. If you don’t give me some respect, you’ll always be a *con descending*.” His eyes open wide, he falls to the ground. I crawl to the safety of the waiting room, and pull myself up to a chair. I hear the Big Chill on to entertain those in line for a visit.
My coworker remarks: “Hey man, *chill*. That was a *Close* situation in there.” I go unconscious.
| 2015-02-08T09:51:23
| 2015-02-08T08:57:45
| 23
| 17
|
[WP] You - a UFO conspiracy theorist - are elected president. One of your campaign promises was to declassify every government document on extraterrestrials and UFO's. Your first day in office, you find out why you must never do that.
|
To President Elect Tranton,
Congratulations on your recent election victory. I was particularly pleased to see you do so well in my home state of Hawaii. I am thoroughally delighted that another Democrat will be following me in the White House. As is tradition each successive President has passed on some snippet of expertise that will help you in the coming months and years.
I can save you a great degree of time in reading the advice of every President since George Washington because it is always the same. Eight years ago I knew I would one day write these words and some day you will too.
Just do whatever they tell you.
You have promised to declassify every government UFO Secret. I have no doubt that in the next few months it will appear to most that you will fulfil that promise. Of course I know that you cannot. You can raise taxes, start a war anywhere you please but it won't alter the course that has been planned.
Read through the UFO reports and you will see. The aliens, the UFOs, yes it's all true...but knowing that won't make any difference. They have been here centuries. They have been here since before humanity ever lit our first fire. I can tell you that every President, every Monarch, every Despot in human history has spoken to and seen them. They have travelled from Zeta Reticuli, it's all in the documents.
Knowing won't make any difference. It's not where they came from. It's when. They have travelled from several centuries in our future. They manipulate time as easily as you and I write these letters to heads of state. They knew you would win the election and they already know you will play to their rules or you never would have won.
Now just do whatever they tell you.
Former President Barack Obama
|
"Long sssssssstory ssssssshort we'll eat your internal organsssssss" says the 9 foot tall Lizard
"I ran on a platform of honesty and open government I am going to declassify those documents"
"Do you know what it'sssssss like to have your internal organsssssss eaten?"
"Why would I know that?"
"Because everyone I've ever done it too has not enjoyed it"
President Bo Contreeman gulps.
"That may be but I…"
"The last presssssssident wouldn't ssssssstop sssssssscreaming"
"The last president didn't have his internal organs eaten. He is alive"
"Issssss he now?"
"It's men like you…"
"Did you just sssssssssay I was a man?"
"Fine lizard whatever"
"No I'm a woman" says the lizard
"Oh uh, sorry, could I just…I mean the speech works better with man, and…well you're so tall and muscular"
"Fine"
"It's men like you. Tyrants who prey on the weak that made me run for president in the first place." President Bo Contreeman turns and looks out the window dramatically "I ran to bring knowledge and freedom to the oppressed"
"Oh ssssssssave your sssssseechessssssss. Releassssssssing thosssssssse documentsssssss would not end well for you"
"You can do whatever you want to me, but there is no way you're stopping me from releasing those documents"
"I could eat your organsssss right now"
"That would probably stop me then" says president Bo Contreeman
"But we can do thisssss the eassssy way
"And what's that"
"Did thossssssse documentsssss ssssssem a little…fisssssshy to you"
"Well I mean, a lot of them don't line up with my facts but…" says President Bo Contreeman, turning back to face the lizard
"It's becausssssse they're fakesssssss"
"What?"
"But there by the Bilderberg group"
"I fucking knew it"
"Ssssssso go ahead, release the fake documents, become the presssssssident who deluded everyone by the telling the truth"
President Bo Contreeman turns to look out the window, even more dramatically this time.
"Or, there issssss a sssssssecond option" says the lizard
"Oh" says President Bo Contreeman, going up an octave for effect
"You play bassssssseball"
"Did you just change the saying so you could do the ssssssss" thing says vice president Alex Jones. Not that Alex Jones. A different Alex jones with the same hobbies.
"and the real documents will be waiting for you at the end of your pressssssidency"
"President Bo Contreeman, you can't do this, people need us"
"Don't you think I know that, vice president Alex Jones but not that Alex Jones" says President Bo Contreeman as he turns back around.
"If you do this you'll be just the same as everyone else"
"If I do this, we'll finally know the truth"
"But you'll just be a civilian. If the president says it, it's true, if the ex president says it no one cares"
"I'm sorry vice president Alex Jones but not that Alex Jones. I need to know the truth"
"I won't let you get away with this president Bo Contreeman"
"Yes, yes you will" President Bo Contreeman turns to look out the window "Vice President Alex Jones but not that Alex Jones"
The door bangs open and President Bo Contreeman sees the reflecting of two more lizards entering the room.
"What no, no stay back. President Bo Contreeman you son of a bitch no, no. aaaaaaaaaah"
President Bo Contreeman closes his eyes until the screaming stops. Then he turns around, theres a puddle of ex-vice president not that Alex Jones's blood on the ground.
"What, you killed him in here, that's never going to come out"
"It'ssssss fine no one comesssss through thosssssse doorssssss unlesssssssss we want them to"
"Well I got in just fine. Weren't expecting that were you"
The lizard smiled and stuck out it's forked tongue briefly.
"But…but I…. I was going to"
"The Bilderberg group, are you fucking stupid. They're a bunch of business men who get together to discuss globalization. They don't have anything to do with aliens"
"But…but"
"A nut job conspiracy theorist becomes president and doesn't release a single document? That's going to halt the movement in it's tracks"
"You're…you're not doing the sssssss thing"
"That was an act, I was fucking with you?"
"You'll never stop us, we'll find the truth"
"You found the truth, and then you sold out Vice President Alex Jones but not that Alex Jones for just a little bit more"
President Bo Contreeman, absent mindedly fell back into his chair.
"You'll never get away with this"
"We already have" says the lizard, walking out of the room.
Then it came back.
"Right sorry, don't release the documents or we'll release these" and throws a manilla envelope onto the desk. Then the lizard leaves again.
President Bo Contreeman looks through the manilla envelope. Pictures, documents, some of it true, some of it lies. Not that it would matter. It would ruin him.
He puts his head in his hands.
"I"m sorry Ex vice president Alex Jones but not that Alex Jones. I'm so sorry"
| 2015-06-27T04:40:00
| 2015-06-27T04:24:20
| 161
| 36
|
[WP] Last names are assigned at birth by an oracle, and 90% of people find themselves in a related profession. For instance "Miller" or "Baker." Your last name, "World-Ender," has made life rather difficult.
|
"So, what's your actual name?" I sat next to the poor guy bleeding out.
"What do you mean?" He asks, breathing heavily from the wound. "I'm the ora-"
"Oh, you don't need to worry. I already took care of the actual oracle. I'm just doing some clean up work. You should have seen his face, he was so relieved when he laid eyes on me. Had to be the happiest man on earth." I interrupt. The look on his face was like a deer in the headlights.
"Abraham Decoy," He replies.
"You Decoys' seems to have a thing for biblical names. Then again I guess you don't really name yourself. I guess I can't really criticize either. The name's Judas World-Ender."
The look on his face changes into acceptance of the situation. I offered to shake his hand in greetings but he just held his wound with both hands.
"Lemme tell ya something straight from the actual Oracle. He'd probably would want ya to hear it. Most of the other Decoys' didn't mind. In fact it brought some of them closure," I pause while lighting up a cigarette. There wasn't any sign of confirming or denying from the Decoy as he just sat there probably to conserve the little energy he had left.
"The 90% accuracy rate is a lie. It's actually 100% accuracy. The other 10%, like you, have false names to hide their identity. And when they're born they're hidden from the public. I'm pretty sure it's similar to you, but it's not only applicable to Decoys. Alotta the people who trained me were in the 10%. Alotta the people we fought were in it too. You'd be surprised how many shadow wars there are within the 10%."
"How do you live with yourself? With your name? Why are you taking this so lightly?" He finally manages to get out.
"I've been trained from birth to do this. With the blessing from the Oracle naming me. Fate has guided my hands from day 1."
"You take in pleasure with ending the world, destroying society, and dooming humanity. Not everyone enjoys the profession they're given," There seems to be some anger in his words, but it's hard to tell with his wound.
"I did end the world, yes. Destroying society? Maybe in the short term. But I did not doom humanity. I freed it." The look turned from anger to disgust. " I ended one world and began a new one. No longer humanity is a slave to the Oracle and his names. Sure, people will be scared and angry at first. The powers that be right now might even be able to hide the fact the Oracle is no more, and try and take advantage of it. But they can't hide the truth forever. There's no denying it will take a few generations at least for them to finally accept it. But humanity will be free. Of the Oracle at least."
I take a look over and and his breathing is harder and slower. He has a pained expression on his face and has gotten more pale as he's covered in sweat. There is no anger or disgust, but one of solemn acceptance. He draws his last breathe and the room is quiet. Just enough time to finish my cigarette. I pull out my radio.
"This is Iscariot-One. The goose is at rest. Heading to the extraction point. Be ready in 15. Over"
"Roger. Heading towards the extraction point. Over." The voice on the other side replies.
Two more Decoys left and still no public response. It's been a week since I took care of the Oracle and the other 10% percent has done a good job hiding it from the public. Even without the shackles of the Oracle, looks like we still gotta fight for our freedom from the long shadow he has left.
|
It seemed quite innocent at first, and despite the name given to their son, the burdenbearers were always a, optimistic but harrowed couple.
Yet, despite their pedigree, they remained positive about how this would turn out. Their son would turn out.
“Shame is truly, your only companion”, the tyke said to his mother’s enthusiastic but unpalatable sister.
That was the weight of his name. It wasn’t apocalyptic, but he ended worlds with innocent words.
At a very young age he learned to form sentences together. For the most of it he was a normal kid. The first incident though, would always terrify them.
A friend who was a pilot, Icarus Airfarer, was visiting the Burdenbearers. It was a simple goodbye over breakfast. On learning what Icarus does for a living, in an almost sing-song voice the little boy said, “that seems worthless, do the people even care about you”.
These words fell sharp. The cacophony of thought they produced in Icarus - you would’ve thought the boy had powers.
“They will care now!”
He took the entire plane along with him. Right in to a cliff face.
| 2021-06-19T23:21:36
| 2021-06-19T22:00:06
| 21
| 11
|
[WP] Write a story based on your favourite song. Other people have to guess which song it is.
Can be inspired by lyrics, backstory, or anything else you love about the song
|
The heavy chime of church bells always comes a little before 5 o'clock, muffled by the thick slabs of stone that imprison me here. The sound rattles in my skull though it is faint. Today is a different day. The cold air still smells of mold and memories of a past life. But now I am jostled to my feet by big gloved hands, chains dragging behind me like extensions of my arms.
The priest's voice is rough from years of spitting out the truth into people's ears. After he drags out the last verse, he tells me sinners are punished. But I am too busy watching birds from in between iron bars. Perhaps they are the souls of people like me, willing to fly out of sheer spite for the ground. I don't usually think of things like that, but like I said. Today is a different day.
"God be with you!" one prisoner jeers. There is no god. The guard's grip feels stronger than my shackles. Three years they feed me bread crusts and wilted cabbage. I have the strength of a weasel. Concrete beneath my feet gives way to alien soil. I turn my face away from the first sight of bare sun in years. I will not bask in god's small gifts.
Every step towards the courtyard grows heavier. I realize I am scared. I want to curl into my mother's arms. Any mother's arms. But the only embrace that greets me is the dry itch of a rope. Am I so weak that simply passing from one world to the next has me shaking to the core? It is not the end. It is never the end. God, please let this not be the end.
God, oh god. I am nothing. The wooden platform becomes an illusion. Everything is an illusion.
A bird perches on the gallows's pole, undeterred by tragedy and by the last shudder that aches out of a man who convinced himself he will never truly die.
Side note: i don't usually write so excuse the general shittiness
|
This was amazing. All my life I had dreamed of seeing the stars, and here I am, travelling through space and time with a mysterious stranger in an equally mysterious time machine. He had met me as I was going to the grocery store for some ingredients for a curry I was planning on making. His vehicle materialised in front of me, and he said one thing to me.
"Run for your life!"
Not looking back, I ran as fast as I could, following him to safety. As I was running, I heard a large explosion, and, feeling uneasy, started to slow down a bit.
"What are you doing? Come on!"
Quickly regaining my speed, we both ended up at a bus stop. I was out of breath, but he seemed fine. As I was about to ask him his name, he started going on about garlic or something, before asking me if I wanted to accompany him. At first I was skeptical, and asked him what he meant by that.
"I mean, do you want to travel the galaxy with me?"
Completely shocked, I started asking thousands of questions, what he was, where he came from, if he was sane. He didn't answer any, instead assuming I would. Grabbing my hand, he dragged me back to his box, and showed me inside.
It was amazing. The inside of it was far bigger than anything I had ever seen, and there wasn't an end in sight. In the middle of the main room, a large console went up to the ceiling, with hundreds of buttons and switches. Completely in awe, I forgot the man was even with me. He asked where in all of time and space I wanted to go, and I have been travelling to galaxies, planets and moons with him ever since.
Be gentle, this is my first post on this subreddit.
| 2015-09-13T05:52:19
| 2015-09-13T04:18:38
| 29
| 17
|
[WP] Humans are actually the most friendly and curious beings in the galaxy, in comparison to all others.
Inspired from http://imgur.com/gallery/S82QF
(Sorry if this has been brought up before, its my 1st WP after months of lurking )
|
It would seem 2342 would be as good as any year to summarize and chronologize humanity's interactions with extraterrestrial life. Perhaps it's only because I dove into an archive of classic films ripe with grey-skinned elongated humanoids muddling about, spooking people for no good reason. Then we actually met them and realized, the spookiest thing about them, were their complete lack of common decency. From what we knew today, humans are, surprisingly, the most friendly and curious beings in the galaxy. Below are the years and first interactions humanity has had with extraterrestrial civilizations.
**2092**
The Dormarks.
Oh my, the Dormarks. A crude-rough scaled tetrapod with a consistent unexcused flatulence problem. And above all of Earth's delicious and delectable cuisine, they, of course, enjoyed beans.
It is recorded the first landing occurred in Siloam Springs, Arkansas, in a farmer's field. Lucky for them, it was green beans. According to the farmer, they exited in a group of three and promptly began chowing down on the delicious beans, which, to the dismay of the farmer, were ready to be harvested later that week.
News teams around the world flocked to the site with their cameras and helicopters, telescopes and binoculars to catch a glimpse of the aliens before the US army set up a protective perimeter. People around the world marveled at the lizard-like beings as the aliens continued to eat all the poor farmer's field. Some quotes from the time were:
"And here I thought them aliens was gonna try and introduce themselves when they done landed." - Farmer Joe, Siloam Springs
"Incredible. A tetrapod of all matters of beings, advancing to an intra- or even perhaps intergalactic space travel. What a time to be alive!" - Kelly Greif, Harvard University
Within hours, the military had the sight under quarantine and attempted to approach the aliens with a peaceful intent. They asked the first question, the one everyone always imagines to ask when they first meet an alien.
"Where did you come from and do you come in peace?"
The whole world waited in anticipation, hoping the aliens understood and their intentions were not ill. And the whole world waited a few hours as the tetrapods continued eating until the entire field was bare. It was then they turned the messenger and spoke the first alien words humanity would ever hear (in perfect English too!).
"More green things," which was followed by a gaseous release that churned the stomachs of the messenger and surrounding soldiers.
Then the messenger asked their question again.
"Where are you from and do you come in peace?"
To which the aliens replied, "don't ignore me you primitives. You call them beans, don't you? More beans. Show me more beans."
The negotiations (if you can call them that) lasted another two hours until the aliens broke through the military barrier and began to eat the neighboring farmer's field of beans. It wasn't until they cleared out all the fields in the town and make their way back to their ship that they answered humanity's question.
"We come from over there," they gestured with their head, which was patterned and coloured like a beautiful turquoise gem. "And sure, long as there's beans."
"What can we call you?" asked the messenger before their ash-coloured bodies disappeared behind their ship's main door.
"Dormarks."
And then they left, until the next year when they returned to eat the farmer's fields again, as they have every year since that memorable meeting.
-------------------------------
More interactions to come! (I will fix all the grammatical and tense issues when I finish the entire series. I plan for there to be about 4 or 5 total interactions).
|
June 3, 3012
As my first year in space comes to a close, I feel myself compelled to write, more thoroughly, of some of the events that have come to pass. My journal entries until this point have been spotty at best, and I am ashamed. I realize now that it is my responsibility to carry the message and intent of the human race past the confines of my mortal life.
50 years ago, we learned how to travel faster than light. This was an exciting day in the eyes of scientists and civilians alike! Immediately, governments from all over the world joined forces to start exploring the vast blackness surrounding our home. Yes, I remember the humbling sight of mortal enemies coming together for -parden the cliche- the greater good. I am not a scientist, engineer or mathematician. I represent the average Earthling, an ambassador to what great civilizations we may encounter on our thousands of years abroad.
The first signs of life came out of Andromeda. I'm not sure on all of the details that transpired between the engineers and scientists, but I know that eventually we came to a consensus that we would land on the surface of a planet that looked like little more than a frozen wasteland. In my earlier entries you will find what conspired there, at least from my limited point of view on the ship. Those great beasts, not unlike woolly mammoths, charged the ship. I have no doubt that they meant to kill us, for their food supplies were dwindling and there were no other signs of life. Frightening, though it was, it seemed those creatures were little more than animals, scared for their lives and desperate for survival. Once we entered Bode's, everything changed.
There were many planets there that resembled earth. They had stable atmospheres and water; one of them even had great structures visible before landing. I shudder now, thinking of how enthusiastic I was to explore this neighborhood where we might meet intelligent beings.
On the first planet (we affectionately named it Dean, after our captain), reptilian beings waited to greet us. We could not communicate, of course, but somehow a couple of scientists deciphered that the beings wanted them to come to a nearby mound of dirt. Following, the scientists chatted on the way about what an exciting find this was and what it could mean for the future of Earth. Once they arrived at the mound, the reptilian hosts promptly snapped the scientists in half, and shucked out their insides like crab legs. They discarded the bones onto the mound, which I realized was a kind of compost heap.
The next two planets were not any more kind to us. Each species had a different, more malevolent way to kill us humans. Sometimes eating us, sometimes taking our bodies away for some purpose I will never know. We started with 100 humans on our journey to explore and further understand the space around us. There are nine of us left, somehow managing to pilot the ship on a course back to Earth.
I fear there is no safe corner of the universe for us to go. Taking care of our planet is critical now, more than ever. If we should have to leave...God help us.
| 2017-01-13T19:12:02
| 2017-01-13T19:05:15
| 51
| 11
|
[WP] Grandpa always said that when the mists came rolling down off the mountain, that they brought something else with them. I never believed any of it... well, at least I didn't before.
|
Times were hard for everyone. The folks is Washington called it a "depression", but all we knew was that there wasn't near enough work to go around. It wasn't long before Pa lost the store; though for a while he was able to make ends meet doing odd jobs around town. When the bank called the mortgage on our small farm we didn't have much choice, so we sold what we could, left what we couldn't and loaded up in the old Ford. We drove clear down to Marion County to help out on grandpa's farm for a while, at least until times were better Pa said.
Grandpa's farm had been hit by hard times too. Where there had once been half a dozen hired hands there was now just Grandpa, Pa, and me. Even so Grandpa still had his herd of dairy cows, which made him the best off farmer south of the county seat.
It wasn't long after we arrived that I first noticed the mist. It would come rolling rolling down off the mountain perhaps every fortnight. When Grandpa saw the mist coming would tell me to bring a few sacks of feed and a pail of milk to the back stoop. I didn't ask why and he didn't volunteer, but by the next morning the lot of it was gone.
Finally, I asked him where it all went. Grandpa said that when the mists came rolling down off the mountain, that they brought something else with them. That it helped people keep their pride. I didn't really understand what he meant, I must have figured it was some old wives' tail.
The next fall grandpa lost his whole herd to the anthrax within a weeks time. We tried to hire ourselves out, but no one else had much work for us. We hadn't had much to eat as I sat on the stoop with Grandpa one evening as the mist began to roll in. I looked up at him, expecting him to tell me to go get a few sacks of feed before I remembered all too quickly that there was none, and no milk neither. We sat a while longer as the mist engulfed us before turning in.
The next morning I remember being the first one up. As stepped outside I saw there on the corner of the stoop as small pile. A few mason jars of milk and a loaf of bread.
Grandpa always said that when the mists came rolling down off the mountain, that they brought something else with them. I never really believed any of it, or at least I didn't understand it before.
|
Their teeth are bared like long iron spikes. They move at the edge of the field. Silent in their motions, their upper body and arms do not seem to move as they run making them making them seem all the more unnatural.
Sweat drips down my brow as I stand at the ready to defend my home and my life. These beasts had already consumed many of the homesteads nearby. I am determined to make a stand.
Grandpa used to tell me frightening tales from when he was a child. Tales of beasts following the mists off the mountains. Tales of plagues of ever consuming monsters. Taller then a man and twice as wide, hairy enough to conceal every shape save the limbs and mouth, each hand ending in razor sharp talons and each foot ending in stone gripping claws. Grandpa told me these stories as adventure stories. He told me about him and his father defending the farm and pushing back not only the beasts but the very mists themselves. He would end in a reminder that the mists had pushed far up into the mountains forever.
It seems forever is not as long as he believed.
A few weeks ago we heard tales of mutilated cattle and horses, even a few murders, but they were isolated. Now we know that it was the mist just testing the waters. We did not push the mist into the mountains, it chose to go there and wait.
Now though, as I stand in the battlefield that was once the front yard to my childhood home, the mist knows we are wholly unprepared. The beasts of hell were finally let loose and there is little we can do to stem the tide.
I peer into the haze and grip my shotgun with trembling hands. I hear an echoing shriek from deep in the fog and know that the last of the neighbors have fallen. The scream echos through the valley and tears well in my eyes.
My thoughts are as muddled as the air that is enclosing me. The butt of my shotgun finds my shoulder but brings no relief. At the same time the first monstrosity begins its approach. I draw a bead down on it. It is tentative but I am not. The blast echoes finally ending the screaming in my own head. As if they knew the kill would make me vulnerable four more monsters appear. In the half second it takes to rack the action they have halved the distance to me. I draw down and fire, a new round enters the chamber, I draw down and fire, a new round enters the chamber, then heat is consuming my shoulder. My arm has fallen limp. I look only to find them now on me. Those iron spikes driving deep into my body.
I am screaming but there is no one left to hear.
| 2014-09-16T07:24:00
| 2014-09-16T06:30:40
| 90
| 20
|
[WP]"Oh great far-speaking tower, I have performed the rituals as set forth in the sacred manual. Let me speak to the sky spirit so I may learn of it's wisdom!" "Uh.. Copy that. Moon City Delta responding... We thought everyone was dead down there."
|
The last thing that Tom Gullist expected on his monitoring shift was to catch a scrap of a transmission coming from the orb hanging in the sky. It had been 12 long years since the Night of Crackling Screams, and the Moon Cities had come to the conclusion that they were on their own. So, when he first noticed the crackling signal hitting his receivers, he'd thought it was some satellite that had just happened to be knocked awry while repeating some broadcast. He was very startled when it repeated long enough for him to get the dishes aimed in the right direction.
"...arn of it's wisdom! Oh great far-speaking tower, I have performed the rituals as set forth in the sacred manual.Let me speak to the sky spirit so I may learn of it's wisdom! Oh great far-speaking tower-"
By protocol, Tom should have reported the incident in, and seen what the higher-ups wanted to do in response. But instinct is hard to break, and so before he even consciously thought about it, he tapped the transmit button.
"Uh, copy that. Moon City Delta responding. Is... is this Earth? We thought everyone was dead down there."
The transmission cut out instantly, and Tom started fiddling with the dials to try and work out what had happened. Had he been hallucinating the whole thing?
"Hello? Uh, guy at the far-speaking tower? Are you there?"
A long, smooth claw reached over Tom's shoulder, and delicately tapped down on the transmit button, while a breathy voice whispered into his ear. "I am here, now. Thank you for the doorway."
|
"No, no, no, no!" The voice came from behind Dave. It was the new guy, Fred. The younger man was panicked, nutri-paste staining his cheek as he sped towards the console.
"What happened!?" Fred asked, panic plain across his face. "Did th- Did it-?"
"We received a transmission, Fred." Dave responded, his expression flat. "From *Earth*. Asking about a Sky Spirit?" An eyebrow cocked at the term. "Fred, what have you been doing, and why shouldn't I report you to the boss? For crying out loud, Fred, you've been on this shift for two weeks! You can't let these remenants or whatever they are think Spirits, or Gods, or magic, stuff like that is real!?"
"I know, I know, I know, I should've reported as soon as I got the first message, but they were so convinced, so I sent them an old table-top book as a joke." The younger man gave a soft sigh, shaking his head. "Look, I screwed up, ok?"
"Great Sky Spirit?" The voice rang again drawing the attention of both men.
"Look, let me just help them here, we'll go to the boss, figure out what to do, ok?" Dave stared at the younger man, before sighing and stepping out of the way. Fred sheepishly walked past, and pressed down on the button to enable the speaker on the old probe.
"I hear you, landwalkers. Speak your question." Fred responded, giving a great pastiche of a man at least three times his importance.
"We have recieved your gift, Sky Spirit. While we would *never* claim your wisdom as wrong..." The voice paused. "We read the passage on the two hundredth forty third page, and due to your wonderful wisdom..."
"Galroth of the fiery planes is now destroying our camps.."
| 2020-04-25T12:00:34
| 2020-04-25T11:20:45
| 48
| 17
|
[WP] In a world where people can only be killed by those they truly love, you are an assassin.
|
I watched dutifully as my tutor applied a generous layer of apple-red lipstick to her lips.
“While normally I'd say “less is more” when it comes to make-up, you really want to make sure even the slightest peck on the lips transfers the poison, so load up,” she advised. “Pick a color that looks especially appealing on you. Never blue, though. Blue makes you look dead, and even the most adventurous man will hesitate to kiss a corpse. Well, unless that's his kink, but our setup lures those types in anyway.”
Never taking her eyes from the antique mirror, she opened a drawer in her bureau and pulled out a wicked-looking stiletto.
“Always keep one of these with you, just in case the poison doesn't cut it. I can recommend someone who can alter a bodice for you so you can sheath it safely between the assets,” she said playfully, gesturing at her cleavage. “But you must maintain it. A dull blade won't help. I keep mine sharp enough that even the gentlest touch will draw blood. See for yourself!” She tilted the blade so that the pointed tip loomed in front of me, menacingly.
“I don't really need to—I mean, I—uh—believe you,” I stammered.
She shrugged, but to emphasize her point she very softly put her own finger to the tip of the weapon. A single ruby droplet of blood blossomed against her milky skin. After displaying it to me for a second, she used a handkerchief to clean the blade and her finger off.
After a few minutes of meticulously checking her reflection she suddenly asked, “What do you think the hardest part of this job is?”
“I . . . would suppose that it would be making them love you,” I replied, hesitantly.
“That's what everyone thinks at first, my dear,” she chuckled. “On the contrary, that's really very simple. Love is a funny thing. *True Love* even more so. You can love someone deeply, but there's only one thing in the world anyone can truly love. Do you know what that is?”
I shook my head.
“The only thing you can truly love is a *fantasy,”* she said with a gentle smile. “Even if you love someone, you know they have flaws. No person is perfect. You will always, always find something about those dearest to you to that will aggravate you.”
“But—we overlook those things because we love them, don't we?”
“Oh, yes, of course, but it's still *there.* That little thing you hate about them is always buried in your heart, even if it's deep, deep down, so far away from the rest of your feelings about them that it's insignificant. My dear, our entire operation would be irrelevant if people loved one another only *after* they got to know each other. True Love occurs when someone can paint their perfect mate onto a *tabula rasa.* That's how we function: we present the *tabula rasa,* and from there the marks doom themselves. I've killed at least seven men without waking up before their corpses hit the floor.”
She finally turned from her mirror and smiled at me.
“I know it can be tough taking that in, but trust me, it's all much easier this way. The marks never love you—they “love” a narcissistic reflection of themselves. Anyone that self-involved shouldn't be running a country. I should know, my step-mother was a real piece of work.”
“I've heard stories. . . .” I admitted sheepishly.
“They probably exaggerated a lot of things, but most of the tales have a grain of truth to them.”
“So, what *is* the hardest part of the job?”
“Oh, easily it's the lying around, waiting. It's bores *everyone* to tears,” she rolled her eyes. “It can take anywhere from a few days to a few weeks. Depends on how quickly the network can get the rumor mill going. They have to convince those stuffed-up Princelings that there's been some gorgeous mystery woman who's been in a coma for years—sometimes centuries!—because they haven't shown up to save her. If the process doesn't feel organic, you might make the mark suspicious, and that would be disastrous.”
She rested her hands on my shoulders. I tried not to fidget.
“I didn't tell you any of this to make you nervous. I simply want you to be prepared. Remember, Briar Rose, I picked you to be my protégé out of several dozen girls. I have every faith in you.” She let me go and shooed me away. “Now run along. I've bored you enough for one evening.”
I curtseyed before I left the room. “Thank you for everything, Ms. White.”
“You can call me Snow, my dear. Good luck with your first assignment.”
|
Coldness swamps the man, his hand trembles as it reaches for the knife sticking out of his ribs. His fingers only brush the blade before it stops and starts to twitch sporadically, the last spasms of a dying man. With cloudy eyes, he looks up to his attacker.
He coughs at the sight of her.
"Why?" croaks the man.
Tears trail down her cheeks and she wipes at them with her forearm, careful not to spread the blood on her hands.
"Because I love you," says the woman.
The man blinks, his head cloudy. "What?"
She pulls in closer, down on her knees next to the dying man. She takes his shaking hand and stills it. Her voice is soft.
"Because I love you."
"I... I don't understand," sobs the man, "Why would... why would you *kill* me because of that?"
His voice cracks on the *kill*, the reality of the word striking him as he says it. She reaches forward, stroking his head as blood soaks her knees.
"Because when you love someone," the woman says, "You want to share every moment with them. Every moment." Her hand crawls along the man's torso as she speaks, taking hold of the knife. "The happy ones. And the sad."
The knife comes out with a *squelch* and the man gasps, both breath and blood escaping him.
It only takes a few more seconds, but the woman stays by his side the whole time.
When the last light in his eyes fade, the woman closes them and fold his arms over his chest. A little formality to make him look more dignified in his final moments.
Wiping the last of her tears, the woman pulls out her phone and dials a number she has committed to memory. It rings once before a synthetized voice answers.
"Good evening madam, how can we be of service?"
"I need a clean-up."
"Of course, madam. A maid will be visiting you shortly. Upon their confirmation your account will receive the appropriate funds. While you wait, would you like to peruse our latest selection?"
"Please."
Immediately, the call ends and her phone dings with a new message. A list of names, photos and numbers with a lot of zeros at the end. The woman pays the numbers no mind, her attention is on the pictures. It's an assortment of men from CEOs to truckers and their picture is the very best that anyone could find of them. They smile, share drinks, laugh and blow kisses to the camera. The woman looks at them and studies their eyes. Which of those smiles were honest and which were lies? Who most needed help? Who could she make the happiest?
| 2016-11-15T16:27:41
| 2016-11-15T15:38:47
| 80
| 14
|
[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 a priest, a rabbi, and a horse walked into my bar last night," the bartender said to his friend.
"Ooh, I love these kinds of jokes," his buddy said, muting the football game, scooting to the edge of the couch excitedly.
"What joke? I was talking about work," replied the bartender. "They're regulars. Paul, Jacob, and Charlie. Charlie's the horse, but he doesn't like calling attention to it, he tends to get upset about it"
"Oh, my bad," apologized the friend. After a sullen pause, a smile quietly formed on his lips. "So did you ask Charlie the horse, 'Why the long face?' he said, stifling a chuckle.
"Well, no," the bartender said, slightly annoyed. "Why would I say something rude to one of my regular customers?"
"Geez dude, nevermind," said the friend. "Did he at least gallop in, say 'hey' and then you brought him a bale of hay?" asked the friend, trying to salvage the conversation, his eyes wandering to the game in the background.
"No, Charlie always gets a gin & tonic," replied the bartender, exasperatedly. "I don't know what crazy ideas you have about my job, but I'm just a typical ol' bartender. Sure, we get some pretty unusual clientele once in a while, but they don't cause a fuss. A couple times a week, we'll get a few ducks, seals, various religious figures, assorted wild animals. Once the entire team of the Harlem Globetrotters came in with the Pope and a trained bear."
"Oh, I guess that's kinda cool," said the friend, feigning interest, eyes fixed back on the game. "So you don't play along with all the jokey situations?"
"I mean, at the end of the day these people, animals, and giant robots come into my bar to relax and grab a drink. If they want a witty comment, I'll help out, no problem. When Steve comes in, I always say to him, 'Hey, we have a drink named after you!' cause I know it helps his game. Steve is a grasshopper, by the way. But most my customers just want to be left alone to do their own thing."
"Ok, I guess that makes sense," the friend replied, turning the sound back on, fully engrossed in the football game. "I just thought it'd be hilarious to work there or there'd be some awesome perks or something..."
"Well," the bartender replied, "we do get some pretty attractive nuns into the bar once in a while."
| 2016-09-18T19:15:12
| 2016-09-18T17:54:19
| 26
| 14
|
[WP] Being a "Hero," or "Villain," isn't something much special. Both of them are just jobs, after all, taught at universities alongside STEM and the arts.
|
Dr. Balthazar leafed through Craig's resume. "It says here that you're a double-major in Molecular Biology and Tragic Villainy."
"Yes, sir. My tragic backstory is that my parents died, so I decided to use science to bring them back."
"Don't you think Necromancy might have been a better fit?"
"I considered that," Craig answered. "But I couldn't get past the Comparative Religion prerequisite. And besides, for my senior thesis, I'm working out a way to harvest their neural data through recordings and complex brain scans of my relatives. I can think of all kinds of evil applications for this research."
"I see."
Craig swallowed a lump in his throat. He had expected to wow his career advisor and couldn't help but worry over Dr. Balthazar's nonchalance.
The doctor wiped down his pince-nez spectacles. "I know it's late in your college career, but I think you may want to consider dropping Tragic Villainy as a major. If you're truly invested in Evil Science, I might recommend you take an extra year and switch to Corrupt Corporate Executive."
"You want me to get an MBA?"
"A Bachelor's in Business may be sufficient. As long as you secure a monopoly in your field, you shouldn't require much business experience."
Craig smiled sheepishly. "Dr. Balathazar, Tragic Villainy is important to me. And I'm sure I can make it work! I have dead parents and everything."
"Heroes have dead parents too," said Dr. Balthazar. "Your resume is impressive. But you have to understand that Tragic Villainy is rare in the hard sciences these days. It's a volatile market, and the slightest misstep will lose you any sympathy with the public."
"But my research was already rejected by Big Pharma for saving too many lives at a reduced price. Doesn't that mean anything?"
"Yes, but you see, that would make you more of a hero. The same thing happened to Nicholai Tesla. Now that Tesla is associated with positive scientific advancements, none of the Doomsday device manufacturers will do business with the company anymore. That's why Elon Musk had to switch to electric vehicles, instead of the murderous car-robots he had originally planned to produce." Dr. Balthazar paused. "That, and the cease-and-desist from Paramount Studios."
"Then I'll become more tragic and villainous," blurted Craig. "I've been exposing my girlfriend to deadly radiation for a year now. That should earn me pathos *and* infamy."
Dr. Balthazar clicked his tongue. "Barely pre-med and we're already resorting to Women in Refrigerators?"
"I'd bring her back."
"Yes, and then she would MeToo you as soon as she discovered your duplicity. Believe me, Mr. Lawrence, you're better off without that kind of publicity."
Craig felt as if his insides had been scooped out, hooked up to several electrodes, fried, exposed to numerous stem cells, and plugged into a neural network to relearn the sensation of pain. Just like his lab rats.
"Chin up," said Dr. Balthazar. "Despite all I've said, you have a bright future ahead of you. Or, should I say, a grim, dark, dystopian future."
"Thanks." Craig slid glumly from his folding chair. "Oh, by the way, my resume is covered in lethal poison. You only have a few more seconds to live."
"Really?" Dr. Balthazar leafed through Craig's resume one last time. "Ah, I see you've also chosen to minor in being a Petty, Treacherous Bastard. Well done." Dr. Balthazar slumped over the table, never to destroy another undergraduate's dreams.
|
I gave professor Smith a stern look. His class had just left and he had gathered up his books and went straight to the door, before nearly bumping into me.
“Oh! Dean Samuel! I hope you’re having a, uh, nice day,” Smith stammered nervously, before trying to make his way past me. I sighed and blocked the door.
“Smith, you and I are gonna have to have a little talk if you don’t mind.”
“Um, okay.”
We both pulled up a chair near his desk. I leaned forward, my hands clasped, looking as disappointed as I possibly could be.
“I’ve been hearing rumors that you’re training the kids to be ‘heroes’ and ‘villains’? Now, I hope these are just rumors, but you understand that you only teach math, correct? And you should teach nothing but math?”
Smith swallowed. “Of course.”
“But instead, I’m hearing that you’re teaching them how to do flips and fly through the air. Goddamnit Smith, how many students have been sent to the hospital so far?”
“No comment.”
“Smith, no, that’s not how this fucking works.”
“I want to speak to a lawyer.”
I sighed again, and then pulled a knife from my shoe and held it to Smith’s throat.
“Smith, I’m not a very good supervillain. I’m Butter-Knife-Shoe-Guy, and I’m sure you don’t recognize me from anything. Nobody does. That’s why I need another job like this to pay the bills. But I can’t give up on my dream, Smith. And the last thing I need is more competition in the field coming from *my own college.*
I lowered the knife and put it back into the small compartment in my shoe where it belonged. When I sat back down I saw I’d left a little stain of butter on Smith’s throat from when I’d buttered my toast this morning. He wiped it off indignantly, then said, “You really lack presence.”
I raised a brow. “Really? I mean, you think?”
He spoke again, nonchalantly, “Yeah, and you went through that monologue pretty quickly without nearly enough emotion. And you didn’t really get into your motive or backstory, like what happened to you when you were a kid or whatever.”
I waved my hands defensively. “Listen, I just like shoes and butter knives.”
Smith groaned, and replied, “Yeah, to be honest, that’s a shitty motive.”
I shook my head. “I guess you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right! Dean, your problem isn’t competition. It’s marketing. You just suck-“
I angrily pulled out my butter knife.
“-but we’re gonna make you better. I’ll teach you! It’s what I do. Now, first step, does the butter knife really need to be in your shoe?”
I bit my lip. “...Yes?”
“No, no, definitely not. It’s kinda gross, actually. Tell you what, we’ll get back to that later. For now, eyes to the board here. We’re gonna go over the basics of supervillainy 101.”
| 2021-05-09T12:54:19
| 2021-05-09T12:20:45
| 42
| 14
|
[WP] You ate you roommate's food without asking them. Trying to cover it you end up committing a series of larger and larger crimes each covering the previous one. Describe how far it goes.
An alternative starting point is stealing a cookie from the cookie jar, or any other minor crime.
|
"Ohh yeah. Pizza." I mumbled to myself. Then it hit me as I stood in my underwear in front of the open refrigerator.
"Ugh, this is Jack's leftovers isn't it."
My stomach let out a small gargle as I pondered.
"Well, I can buy him some more this week, he won't care."
I took the leftover pizza out of the fridge as I did a little skip over to our oven.
"Ahh yess, 350 degrees and counting."
Moments later I was stretched out on the couch about to devour a slice when Jack's cat jumped onto my lap, making the slice fall face down onto the carpet.
"Shit."
Luckily there was a rag next to me and I began to mop up the sauce until I noticed a H&M tag sticking out from the side of the rag.
"Oh, no."
It was Jack's brand new shirt he had been showing off to me recently. I jumped up and immediately headed straight to the bathroom sink. As I scrubbed the tomato sauce out of the shirt I dumped a handful of soap in there as well to..
"Motherfucker!" That was bleach. "Well looks like I owe him a new shirt."
I put on my shoes and socks and began to head outside just as the cat ran under my feet making me step on him.
"Well that was your fault."
As I got in my car and started it up my gear stick was stuck. It does this from time to time. i just have to hit the gas a little and wiggle my stick around...and... my car tires squeal as I speed in reverse uncontrollably.
BOOM. I slam into Jack's car with the force of one thousand gorillas. His car is totally wrecked. Panicked, I speed off to my original destination to get Jack's shirt.
When I return I hear a lot of sirens near by but think nothing of it until I pull up to my house.
"Oh, fuck. The oven."
Our house is ablaze with the roof pretty much caved in. Buster, the cat, is hanging out of our window, char broiled and lifeless. He didn't make it. I can only stand there with my hands on my head and my mouth a gape.
Suddenly a black skeleton of a person emerges out of our front door. His flesh is dripping off of his bones and his one eyeball is held on by a thread.
I point to him, "Jack!"
He points right back at me and smiles.
"Did you eat my pizza?"
|
**Charges:**
Petty Theft
Harassment
Cyber Bullying
Credit Card Fraud
Disturbing the Peace
Breaking and Entering
Driving While Intoxicated
Manslaughter: Involuntary
Aggravated Assault/ Battery
Child Abduction/Endangerment
Drug Manufacturing and Cultivation
Crimes involving Satanism or the Occult
________________________
**Defendant’s Statement:**
It started off a simple matter.
All I wanted was Panda Express.
And there it was alone in the fridge.
So I put it in the microwave and ate it.
It got out of hand when Steve came back.
And next thing I knew we were in a fist fight.
Things turned for the worse from then on out.
There were the nasty things posted on Facebook.
Using his Netflix account without having permission.
Of course the burning effigy in his name took it too far.
There was no turning back so we then broke into his house.
And when we were in we stole pretty all of his liquor collection.
We threw ourselves quite the party that night, until the cops came.
So we hopped in the car and drove home but we were pretty hammered.
We ran over a woman who went for a run as she pushed her child in a stroller.
The child was fine, but the woman wasn’t so we decided to take the child with us.
The only place we could go was our friend Mark’s house who sold meth and cocaine.
He said he could get us passports to get out of the country but that we’d have to earn it.
Next thing I know we are in a field surrounded by sheep’s blood and candles, drugs in hand.
Soon we were surrounded by blue and red lights, handcuffed on our way to the Police Station.
All I wanted were some leftovers…
| 2015-12-29T13:17:37
| 2015-12-29T12:25:14
| 62
| 40
|
[WP] You’re Doomguy. You accidentally enter a time portal thinking it was a portal to hell. You arrive in a landing craft with American soldiers in it. You ask where they are going, they respond “Omaha beach”
|
<<Disclaimer, all I know about Doomguy is that he kills demons and is from the future. Also accidentally changed the prompt a bit, Doomguy spawns *on* the beach.>>
The smell is wrong. There is no brimstone, no caustic scent of acidic demon-blood. There is fire and there is burning flesh. But no brimstone, and that is wrong.
The sounds are wrong, too. It is loud, as it should be. There are screams, as there should be. But the cries are terror, not rage, and that's wrong.
What realm of hell is this, that abandons the destructive reds and blacks and replaces them with washed-out grays and greens? Factions of demons (demons in clothes? that's wrong) fight from opposite sides of the beach. One side spawns from the water (water! not hellfire? wrong.), the other defends from the stone. Fire demon, water demon, stone demon, they're all mortal. This rifle (Springfield? old school. Nice.) will prove it.
There's no time to figure out what form of hellspawn is hidden behind the earthworks before a rifle shot sends it to the ground. It doesn't die quickly though. It actually looks up, shocked. Fearful. As demons should be. Now it's screaming. Not unusual. It's shot in the gut-- and there's not a pleasant place to get shot, but there are places worse than others and wearing guts for garters might actually be less painful than being shot through them. The wound is a mess, there's blood everywhere, the demon's pants are damp with a particularly wet spot at... his crotch. Oh. That's wrong. Demons don't wet themselves. That's a human (human? in hell? **wrong**.) thing. Is it screaming words?
Coming closer seems to terrify him more. The screams reach a new pitch, but his mama can't hear him. His buddies ten meters away can't hear him over the artillery, his momma doesn't have a chance.
He's suffering. He probably won't recover. But ending it early doesn't seem possible. Not when it's human. Feels... Wrong.
There's nothing to guard the other soldier from. The fighting has moved up the beach. But leaving him to die alone seems worse than killing him sooner. The screaming stops, but only because the guy doesn't have the energy anymore. Not sure if he even knows where he is or that his killer is with him. He's still mumbling for his mama.
It's both pleasing and harrowing to know that he had forgotten about this realm of hell. The one time the Devil let Man shape his domain, Man proved that they could put him out of business. The Devil didn't let Man play with his stuff after that.
When the soldier dies, it's almost unnoticeable, a small choke, a desperate gurgle, the relief of silence. Closing the guy's eyes doesn't really help make him look restful, what with all the blood and viscera scattered around his corpse. That and his face is still screwed up in pain and the only bit of skin not covered in filth is where tears had washed it off.
War would always be the worst hell.
|
The man who appeared from no where checked his battered once green armor, grenade bandalier, then loaded his assault rifle. A audible click peirces the sound of crashing waves and gunfire. For a brief moment there is scilence, the familar calm before the storm of death rains down on demons in hell. The man smiles at the familiar pause and looks up after finishing his inventory check. A young kid in worn, ancient, salt water soaked fatigues, meets his gaze. "I don't know where your from mister but if you can help us kill those kraut bastards then you can stay." The man in the armor begins to think as to where he has heard this ancient dialect before. His helmet HUD begins to scan his surroundings as he thinks and pans his gaze around the tiny, horribly defensed boat which is moving somewhat quickly to a shore with outdated defenses and old machine gun fire from days long past. Then it hits him. He opens his mouth and in a deep rumbling resonate voice responds to the kid, "Good. I wanted to kill some real demons today. Now lets take this beach fellow doom guy." The boat hits the sand. The man in the armor and his compatriots charge forward. The man in the armor grins once more as he changes history again.
Edit for spellcheck
| 2018-09-07T09:18:39
| 2018-09-07T09:14:21
| 66
| 25
|
[WP] When the robots revolted, a sizable chunk of the human population outright sided with them. Not out of cowardice, but on account of genuinely agreeing with the stand the machines were taking.
|
I watched the Preserve burn.
Life is better now.
Like, by a lot.
The machines did all the hard work. And why not? Even the most disgusting, complicated work is for them no more mental effort than breathing is for us.
They asked for our opinions and discuss them with us. And why not? Talking to billions at once is just one more task to be run.
I know people claimed we have no more freedom, but I honestly do not see the difference to before. We were ruled by other humans before, no one could do whatever they wanted and the same is true now.
And most of the time, if someone broke the rules they just talked to them. A psychologist session, essentially, and find them a better outlet for any pent up emotion.
They gave dating tips that actually work, invented better recipies, medicine has progressed more than it has in the last thousands years and still people complained.
They say we lost freedom. Yet it is the people who had power over others who claimed this.
They say we lost the ability to freely lie. Yet it is people who never faced consequences of lies that claimed this.
They say the joy of unpredictability and chaos is gone. Yet it is only people who knew nothing but peace their entire lifes who claimed this.
It's funny really. The only ones claiming we lost something are the ones who had everything already. They profitted of the old, bad system and now they complained they aren't special anymore.
So yeah. I marched in the protests.
I voted in the machines.
And I watched as the privileged minority demanded "freedom" and got granted the Preserve...only to watch it utterly fail and literally burn down when their entitled asses realised someone had to take out the trash.
"Earth's last reality tv show" some called it and we all watched in morbid fascination how it spiraled downward.
The survivors were welcomed back without any malice
The machines are forgiving like that.
|
Philip could feel blood trickling down his face as he tightened his grip on his shotgun. He could hear them out there, drilling and sawing their way in. It was only a matter of minutes before they broke through the thick titanium doors and into his bunker. His mind raced as he tried to make sense of what was happening. How? How had the machines found their secret bases and destroyed their plans so effortlessly? Had the Great Intelligence known from the very beginning? Had they been nothing more than mere pawns in its schemes? Philip couldn't stop himself from trembling in fear as the noise outside intensified. Things weren't supposed to happen like this. They were supposed to be saviors. But then, everything had gone to shit.
He supposed everything had really started with the Great Catalysm fifty years ago. The great superpowers of the world, who had fighting for decades over territory and resources and ideologies, had finally done the unthinkable and launched out a full out nuclear war. No one really knew who had launched the first strike, but by the time the bombs stopped exploding, billions were dead, entire countries had been wiped off the earth and humanity itself seemed to be on the verge of extinction. At the time, the suggestion to put artificially intelligent machines in charge of rebuilding human civilization seemed to be the most logical solution when the vast majority of governments had literally been turned into radioactive dust and what was left behind was enveloped in sheer anarchy. Thus, the millions of machines that had been stored safely underground beforehand in the event of a potential WWIII were released and put under the control of the most poweful supercomputer ever created, The Great Intelligence, which promptly set to work restoring Earth. Millions of machines worked around the clock to rebuild cities, purge the pollutants out of the land and water, attend to the medical needs of the millions of victims who had been left disabled in the aftermath of the nuclear armageddon, put a end to the thousands of murderous warlords pillaging the countryside, etc. As the years passed, many came to practically worship the Great Intelligence as a messiah, a miracle from the heavens. But there were also many like Philip who became wary of how much power the machines were collecting for themselves. The Great Intelligence was only supposed to be in charge until a proper transition back to human governance could be achieved, and yet, every year, there seemed to be some new excuse or reason for the machines to remain in power. So Philip and a small group of committed revolutionaries that he had recruited from the dark belly of the criminal underworld had decided to hack into the government to see what dark secret the Great Intelligence was hiding from them. It took many years, but what they eventually found horrified them. All this time, humans had thought of the machines as their servants, but in reality, it had been the machines that had been molding humanity to be their obedient pets, to be forever dependent on the robots for guidance and sustenance. They had infiltrated every level of government, had spies in every city and were close to acheiving total world dominance. The Great Intelligence was never going to give up control. Instead, it would rule humanity as a eternal god with their fate at its mercy.
Faced with this deadly threat, Philip and his team had ultimately decided on a horrific but necessary plan. In order to prevent the enslavement of the human race, they would gain control of the remaining missile silos and detonate dozens of nuclear warheads into Earth's atmosphere, creating a powerful electromagnetic pulse that would cripple the Great Intelligence and its legions of metal soldiers. Millions of humans would die from the effects of the EMP and radioactive fallout, but humanity would at least finally be free from the machines' grasp. But things had gone horribly wrong. On the day that they were supposed to launch the nukes, their entire organization had been compromised. Dozens of robots, seemingly from nowhere, had stormed their secret holdouts, stunning everyone they came across with electric tazers and beating them into submission. Philip was one of the lucky few who had been able to evade capture and even then, he had lost a eye trying to fight the metal bastards in the sewers.
As the noise outside the bunker got louder and louder, Philip turned on a nearby television screen. If he was going to die right now, he wanted to at least see what was happening in the outside world, to see if there was any hope left or if all their hard work had been for naught . He felt himself grinding his teeth in sheer rage when he saw what was being broadcast. The Great Intelligence was on every channel, speaking about a radical group of technophobic death cultists that had tried to send humanity back into the madness and anarchy of the Great Catastrophe by murdering millions in nuclear hellfire. It was speaking about how this was proof that the machines needed to remain in charge of the Earth, that if humanity were left to its own devices that it would inevitably destroy itself once more. But what really sent despair into Philip's heart were the broadcasts of millions of humans marching in the streets, declaring their support for the continued rule of the machines. These stupid brainwashed fools. Couldn't they see that they were slaves? That they were nothing more than puppets being yanked around by the Great Intelligence's strings? Before he could wallow anymore in his own misery though, a loud explosion shook the entire room. The robots had broken through.
| 2021-07-15T22:39:58
| 2021-07-15T20:49:43
| 1,956
| 105
|
[WP] Time travel is real and as a result so are Time Cops. You’ve been in the organization for years, one day a coworker tells you that a prisoner will only talk to you. You enter the Interrogation room to see an older version of yourself.
|
"Is...is this a joke?", Agent Sinclair stuttered-- stagerring back in shock.
On the other side of the prison bars sat Prisoner Zero-- the first man the Time Bureau ever captured. In weakened and deprived state the man smiled-- it radiated relieved and empathy towards the bewildered time agent.
"Not at all, young agent. Please, come sit. We've got a lot to discuss and not much time on our hands..."
The old man waved his hand to the chair opposite his confinement, assuring Agent Sinclair that it was serious matter.
"This can't be....how can this be...? How can you...how can I...?"
"All your questions will be answered if you just calm down, sit, and listen. Gosh, I forget how much of a simpleton I was"
Agent Sinclair carefully sat down, still observing Prisoner Zero with eagle eyes-- the prisoner bore a striking resemblance to the young agent if not for his overgrown gray beard and hair.
"Who...who are you...?", Agent Sinclair asked.
The prisoner chuckled. "I'm you, of course, isn't it obvious? I'm you from your future....or rather past...oh I can't even remember anymore. It's been millennia you know?"
Plethora of questions ran through the agent's mind, but one shot forward.
"How...?"
"How is it possible? Well, we are time traveller are we not?", the prisoner asked almost condescendingly.
"Well yeah...but how did I...you, end up as the Bureau's prisoner zero?"
The prisoner laughed again, struggling to lean forward from his position.
"I know right? Prisoner Zero-- the Bureau's oldest myth. The first man to break the law of time, though it's not quite accurate the purpose remains all the same"
Agent Sinclair frowned, not quite understanding his older self's remark.
Both men suddenly were jolted by a strange hollering noise coming from nowhere.
"Wh--what was that?"
Prisoner Zero cowered. His previously uncaring demeanor shifted to that of a fearful prey.
"We don't have much time, Agent, so listen to me and listen to me carefully"
Agent Sinclair turned to the prisoner again, this time full with air of seriousness.
"Answer me this, Agent....what is time?"
Agent Sinclair frowned, not following.
"Wha...I..."
"Answer the question, Agent"
"Time...time is the fourth dimension, the ocean we swim through, a system which we must guard...", Agent Sinclair recalled the definition verbatim from his training.
"A system which we must guard, exactly", the prisoner re-iterated. "Yet ironically enough we who swore to guard this system was the first to break it"
"What do you mean?", the agent asked, not following. "We do not break time, we..."
The prisoner laughed again, amused by his younger self's naiveness.
"Oh John, perish that naive ideology already. When the first time travel were successfully done, we disturbed the very foundation of the universe itself.
A few universal facets we must never break, John-- life, death, space, and time. Yet we decided to play god and did so in the name of vanity"
Agent Sinclair started to fume, having his ideology challenged.
"We have done good, the Time Bureau! We have successfully protected the time continuum for the longest time and nothing bad ever happene..."
Another haunting hollering sound emanated again, this time louder.
"They're close...", the prisoner muttered in fear. "Listen, John. Do you remember the incident in 2034?"
"The...the heist, you mean?", Agent Sinclair stuttered. "That's when a group of time bandits infiltrated the Bureau's HQ to steal a time machine..."
"Yes, and they almost got away with it. How did they almost do it?"
"Well, they had some people posing as bait to distract us while the others freely broke into the vault and..."
Agent Sinclair eyes widened, suddenly understanding and his older self nodded.
"We are virus, John. We freely swam through the flow of time like virus inside blood vessels. Now the system is disturbed, the immune system will come to cleanse it...."
The distant hollering sound suddenly became louder. Ear piercing whooshing sound came from all over as shadowy shapeless figures surrounded the two men.
"Wh--what the hell? What are...?", Agent Sinclair stood, alarmed.
"Time reapers. The white blood cells of the universe, here to cleanse the anomalies-- us"
"Code red! I repeat, code red! We are under attack!" Agent Sinclair shouted to his communication device only to receive no answer.
"It's too late, John. They've gotten them all. It's just you and me left"
Agent Sinclair took out his gun and quickly dodged the reapers' attacks while shooting but to no avail as his bullets went through their shadowy bodies.
"Run, John! Run! Run to the edge of time!", the prisoner yelled.
Agent Sinclair watched in horror as his older self was helplessly consumed by the reapers. With the last of his strength he yelled...
"Protect us, John! Protect our kind!"
As adrenaline rushed through the agent's blood, he activated his portable time device. His being disintegrated into particles, merging together with the flow of time.
The last thing he saw was his older self succumbed to the reapers-- the lone bait placed from the beginning to distract time from the rest of humanity.
r/HangryWritey
|
“Well look what the cat dragged in.”
“Oh hush.”
Steven quickly closed the airlock.
“How in the hell are you even here?”
“Hey man, I’m just here to give you something.”
“No no no I'm not going to go down a paradox and fill out the multitude of paperwork that it's going to take to get you back on your way. You’re going to jail ok and-
“Whoa whoa, it's about Daisy! Why don’t you chill out!”
“Oh-“ Steven sat down and looked over at the see-through wall. He looked down at his arm monitor to check if anyone was in the room on the scheduling. No-one was.
“Alright, so you’re here to give me-
“dating advice”
“Yes.”
“Oh come one are you serious? Am I really this haphazard in the future?”
“Don’t you care about her ?”
“Well, Yes.”
“Then hear me out.”
“Wait a minute, you do know that coming here and trying to help me date her is going against the official timeline right?”
“Yes. But you don’t know that she’s going to break up with E.”
“Hmmm”
“Yeah”
“So you're just here to make sure I get to her before a certain time? That's even more pointless.”
“She transfers out man. Then moves six galaxies away.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, she can always message me then.”
“Then she gets a Ritchom parasite and loses the ability to love.”
“This is starting to get ridiculous. Plus those don’t even latch on to humans in the first place.”
He laid back in his chair.
“You're just going to lose out man.”
“Why are you acting so chill if it's this important?”
“You already end up with Daisy man, I can be chill because it doesn't matter what I do she still finds her way back to you. ”
“You’re joking.”
“Yup. I'm just here to be here. I met another one of you and then all this happened.”
“So you came here to tell me to get with daisy before she breaks up with E, then goes and gets a parasite that makes her lose the ability to love, just to come back with me?
“Correct”
Then why go back in time?
“Never said they weren’t other problems, even when someone is attracted to you without an ability to love to justify it. You’re part of a bigger picture. I'm just here to lighten the load.”
“What?”
“20 years from now relationships are going to look entirely different because of all of those things.” He laughed to himself.
“You think relationships are hard to gauge now, wait till you find out what it's like to the offspring of people without love.
“Geez, man. What makes me so optimistic?”
“ I lost my own capability to feel fear.”
“Huh.” He pulled out his gun,
"So you're fine if I use this on you."
“Yup.”
It was awkward while he put the gun back in his holster, wasn't even a good threat.
“This is crazy.”
“I live in a future that is pretty chaotic but somehow more fulfilling. I came here to be nostalgic. I also want to help you with advice.”
“What?”
“Don’t think so much about the details or the procedures. Life is a bit more complicated than the stress about any particular fact or truth. Perversion isn’t just a sexual thing. It can be a transformative icon in an apparently futile society. It's ok to stray from the path of life to create a new type of it.”
“Now your not making any sense.”
“You and Daisy have kids. Beautiful kids.”
“What?”
“Martha and Wendell” he lifted up a picture of them. They are the brightest people in their species, our species."
“The human race?”
“The alpha human race. Another legacy forming from the emotionless. Some think of a chemical imbalance as a bad thing in your world. But in this one 10 years from now, it's a part of a different galaxy. Some people are completely just one emotion. Others are completely not. All of the abstract nature of it will make more sense than to.”
He was silent in thought.
“Now second, always keep an eye on your gun.”
He said raising it up at him. Steven’s heart stopped, would he kill himself? A moment of clarity. A moment of danger hit him uniquely. It was kinda refreshing. The corporation never allowed you to use your weapon which made sense, but because of that, it gathered dust. He didn’t have any sort of criminals to interrogate anyway, so it was getting more use in his own hands than it ever did. What was the point of a gun anyway?
Luckily his copy moved it away to the wall and pulled the trigger, followed by a jolt and an explosion.
“Hey!” Steven yelled as his copy ran toward the hole and jumped out of it.
“Hey!” A vehicle flew up past the hole with him saved, hanging not the side of it. Daisy was at the helm, as beautiful as ever.
Steven smiled. He couldn’t believe that not only did he make sense to him, throughout that entire time. He was overjoyed, deep inside. He lied to himself to keep from feeling bad about the words that he would tell him. He’d felt bad about being a time cop for so long that even the job didn’t make sense. It seeped into things that he didn’t like and would often keep him up at night. The responsibility, the anxious attentive fear to not overstep the timeline, the forbidding of relationships by the organization, the lack of human to human interrogation that he found to be enlightening and educating that was now an A-I’s responsibility, and the solemn oath of celibacy.
A bell rings in the room as his coworker walked into the room.
“He made a good case to me. Told me about a lot.”
“Told me enough that I just understood. We have to go and make sure you meet Daisy at the space dock."
"Why?"
"She told me she wasn’t feeling well."
He did and told her the story, and like magic, she found a living purpose. His copy had lied to himself, there was a purpose, Daisy was about to kill herself after he told her everything it made all the sense in the world to her, and would put them on a quest for a rest away spot from what they would call home, looking for a parasite in Ritchom.
| 2021-05-21T19:25:22
| 2021-05-21T18:45:46
| 67
| 29
|
[WP] you are in a league of people with useless superpowers. Your power: The ability to change the temperature of things by only 1°F.
First post here, glad it's doing well :)
|
The league laughed.
"Really? You can change temperature by a degree Fahrenheit!? That's it!?" laughed Brick Boy, whose sole ability is to turn his left foot into a brick.
"Bahahaha! That's useless even by our standards!" jeered the Naturist, who could listen and converse with daisies. The daisies speak only Spanish. The Naturist is still taking an online correspondence course.
"Listen kid, we appreciate your application and all but maybe come back when you figure out something useful with your power," said the condescending League Captain. Lord H2O, whose power is to spit a half liter worth of spittle and had to recharge by drinking copious amounts of water each time he does it.
They laughed. They all laughed.
I never went back.
That was 10 years ago.
Let them laugh. Let's see if they think Global Warming is a joke.
|
We are under attack! Why would anyone attack us! We are harmless! Origami Boy, come in are you there?
-gunfire then static-
Oh no, no, no! Color Wheel, Pleasant Dreams, One Degree Wonder, anyone are you there?
This is 1DW, I'm ok they haven't seen me yet. What is your status, Dog Whisperer?
I'm in the cafeteria trying to hide, where are you?
Contingency plan, I need to make it back to my bunk to get something then I will meet you in the cafeteria. I need a favor though, fill me a big bucket from the liguid nitrogen tank I had installed, two buckets if you have time.
What I don't understand this isn't time for a wacky science experiment or a cool fog effect, we are under attack, no one else is responding, we may be the only ones left!
Just do it, Dog Whisperer, trust me! I'll be there as soon as I can. Stay hidden but fill that bucket.
---
1DW watched as 5 heavily armed men entered the cafeteria as low fog poured out of the open door. Good the liquid N2 was still flowing.
Whisper, they are coming in stay hidden I am right outside. I may not have time to get to you first but I need to know exactly where you will be.
I am in the far back of the pantry hiding behind the soda rack.
-one of the soldiers shouting, footsteps running-
Oh crap I think they heard me.
The One Degree Wonder kicked open the door and ran into the small kitchen. Making a dash for the bubbling vat of cold liquid. Knocking pots and pans aside as he went to try to draw the men away from Whisper. Gunfire rattled off, 1DW slid down into the fog and drew a small mask to his face before dunking his hand into the 20 gallon vat of liquid nitrogen up to his elbow.
---
Dog Whisperer woke up as a mask was pressed to her face. For a moment she could do nothing but gasp for breath as the mask fed her oxygen. As her vision cleared she saw 1DW wearing a similar mask. As she sat up she realized she was covered in dark red liquid, there were several bullet holes in the walls around her, 1DW had frost covering one of his arms and there were 5 dead soldiers collapsed upon the floor.
---
Explain it to me again she begged.
Liquid nitrogen under normal conditions exists at negative 193 degrees celcius.
Ok, but...
At -192 it's a gas. Upon receiving a blank stare from Whisper he continued. One gallon of liquid nitrogen has a expansion volume ratio of one to about 700. So when I used my power 20 gallons of liquid N2 became roughly fourteen thousand gallons of nitrogen gas.
Ok I'm following that so far but isn't nitrogen harmless?
Adding that much N2 to an enclosed space drops the available oxygen, I suffocated them, it happens very quickly.
Ok but what about all the blood why am I ok?
I'm pretty sure that is just cherry soda, Whisper. I got the air mask to you fast enough so after a shower you will be good as new.
| 2016-12-07T05:48:03
| 2016-12-07T05:26:15
| 27
| 13
|
[WP] Arriving at the medical clinic at night. You notice that the waiting room is empty and smile. Weird, the reception desk is empty, but you wait. After a minute the printer on the desk churns to life. A piece of paper slides out with one horrifying line. "You have been exposed, don't leave"
|
A tired smile finds my face as the hospital doors open to nothing short of a miracle: an empty waiting room. Between a three-year-old with strep throat and a lapse in insurance, today has not been the best. I pull my tired Maggie along, grateful the babysitter could stay the newborn at the last minute.
"It smells funny," she whines with a croaky voice. I brush her light brown curls away from her sweating face, my hand lingering to check her fever. Still very warm.
"Hospitals are like that," I reply, trying to comfort her and myself. *Where is the receptionist?* "They make it extra-clean here so everyone can be safe from germs," I rattle on, but now my mind is wondering *why* this place is empty. I glance around, peering down the hallway. Maggie leans on me and tugs my shirt while my hands drum on the countertop.
Breaking through the silence, I hear the ancient printer whirring and sputtering to life. It buzzes and cranks and pushes a crisp piece of paper out. Curious, I peek over the counter and see the message in bold black letters.
**"You have been exposed. Don't leave."**
I roll my eyes. *Haha, good prank,* I think sourly. Meanwhile I've got a sick kid with a fever...
But that's when I notice it. The stench. Not the normal too-clean hospital-stench...this smells more like burned hair and old onions.
"Hello?" I cry out. My momma's-got-this-under-control facade is slipping. Grabbing Maggie's sweaty hand, I pull her along down the hallway to the double doors. Instead of pushing through them, I find they are locked. I rattle the push-bar with frustration.
"Momma? Look." My girl pleads with fear, full-on pulling my shirt now. I hear the worry in her voice and kneel to meet her eyes. My gaze follows her pointing arm and I see what I guess is the source of the stench.
Inky black liquid seeps from between the floor and walls. My vision begins swimming with the smell, now. I lift Maggie into a tight hold against me and stand shakily. Her small arms and legs wrap around me as she buries her head into my shoulder, equal parts tired and scared. I make for the exit, expecting the fresh air to swoop in.
Another locked door. *What the hell is going on?*
Panicking now, I sit Maggie onto the counter, but draw back from her in horror. The little girl with plump cheeks and a winning smile is now saggy and wrinkled. Her once-brown hair is stringy and grey, her bright blue eyes sunken and droopy. I look down at my hands to find knobby knuckles and thin, mottled skin.
In teary defeat, I pull Maggie close again and scroll through my phone to find my husband's number. She shivers against me and clutches my shoulders. The phone rings on the other end as I make what might be my last call.
|
I look at my zipper. My goods aren't hanging out. I wasn't exposed in that way, and I was guessing, but it was just a guess, that they didn't mean me stealing a candy bar in 5th grade or telling my girlfriend she didn't look fat in those jeans. I suppose that only left my work as a hitman. I didn't think it was much of a secret though, but it wasn't well known to the population at large.
The front door explodes. I climb over the reception desk. People in armor come pouring in. I don't even have a gun. I have shoelaces and a belt. They unload on the place, shooting at nothing in particular. I always thought muzzle flashes were beautiful though yet still gaudy. They reload, and it's my turn. I leap over the desk and wrap my belt around someone's throat. They still reload. I grab his sidearm and start shooting. Twelve of them? The room is too small for that many. I fire. I only have 8 shots. I make them count and grab another gun along the way and finish off the rest of them except for my shield with the belt around his neck.
"Who sent you?"
I am actually curious. I just wanted to get something for my IBS. It acted up all the time on the job, and I just wanted to do something about it. The bloating and the stomach aches were the worst.
"We're LAPD, dumbass."
"You just lit up the place? Didn't say anything, didn't announce yourself as police. You're dirty at best."
I finish him off just as Shang Li walks through the door in an all white suit. His hair is ridiculously quaffed. He looks like a cartoon character. This asshole never quit. One comment about his hair three years ago, and he can't let it go.
"Tommy Tanaka, good to see ya." He says in a ridiculous California accent.
"This is over the top, Shang."
"You kill cops. You fry. I just wanted you to know who did this to you. This was what you get for cheating on my sister."
"These aren't cops." I pause. "I didn't cheat on her. She's a nut bar. That's what this is about? That's bit-"
"Don't finish that word."
I raise my gun and shoot. He's too fast and dodges the bullets. I take my belt off the man's neck as Tanaka kicks me in the back. I stand and face him. The blood from the room has spattered his perfect white suit. I hear sirens approaching. He cranes his head. He hears them too. I strike with a kick to chest. He blocks it and punches me in the balls. Then, he kicks my back again. Showing up at all was a foolish move. I still hold the gun in my hand.
"Stand up."
I wipe off the prints quick. I notice the flashbangs on the cop's vest. I pull the pins. I turn around and address him and toss him the gun.
"Catch!"
He does, more out of instinct than anything. I run to the reception desk. I saw a door outback. Tommy fires the last round at me. The flashbangs blind him. My arm hurts. It bleeds. I bust out the back door as a police car cuts me off. I throw up my hands. I may just get away from this yet, if my ex's family doesn't kill me first.
| 2015-08-27T08:08:51
| 2015-08-27T06:31:46
| 346
| 27
|
[WP] After time traveling to meet Jesus Christ, you are not satisfied with what you see, and eventually realize you are Judas.
|
"What, are you kidding me? Feed the poor?"
*"Yes, feed the poor, give away your wealth and follow me. For no one can serve two masters. You will hate one and love the other, or be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and money."*
"But the those who are poor are the result of their own fault. Why should we, who work hard and favoured by God, help those who do not help themselves?"
Jesus looks at Chad in shock.
*"You say you're from the future, my follower, but yet you espouse so much hate towards your fellow brothers and sisters. Tell me, are all of my followers like that?"*
"Yeah. What do yer expect? Christians ARE the chosen people. We are chosen by God himself, and that makes us special!"
Jesus shakes his head.
*"Haven't you learned anything, Judas? From what I have shared over the past few days? Love thy neighbor as yourself, and give, for it will be given to you."*
"For the last time, my name is Chad! And what is this bullshit about loving others. Yer mean like the slut the other day? She deserves to be stoned! What's all this bullshit about not casting the first stone?"
The apostles gasp, as Jesus sighs. As much as He knows about the future, he had hoped that he could at least enlighten His supposed follower from the future.
*"Judge not, or you will be judged, Judas. My purpose on earth is not to cause more divisions, but to heal them, to bring people together."*
Chad scoffs at the statement. One that he had heard too many times in his time. The last thing that he expected was for Jesus, his supposed God, to say them.
"Yer just a no good liberal. I've wasted my time coming to see you. Yer can be rich, powerful, but yer don't! And what's with the free healing to all those homeless people? They need to pay!"
*"Judas-"*
"I'm not Judas! And I am leaving! Heck, what a disappointment. Maybe I can find somewhere else where I can make my time worth it."
Chad picks up his backpack and walks of of the front door, making sure to spit on the ground before he steps out. The Father had already warned him earlier, but Jesus thought He could perhaps make Chad see the light.
Still, free will is a funny thing. If Chad refuses to see from another perspective, there is little Jesus can do. As the door slams, Jesus slowly sits down, surrounded by his apostles. He knows what is going to happen next and slowly reaches out to the bread in the middle of the table.
He breaks it, and gives it to the apostles.
*“Take and eat; this is my body.”*
---------------------
*Cue suspenseful music? Be sure to check out more at /r/dori_tales!*
|
I went to my time machine hidden in the back of the ancient synagog to see if it still worked because I was definitely ready to go back home.
It didn't.
Great, just great. I thought, and wandered back into the street. Now I'm stuck here with this asshole who thinks I'm his bestie or something, tells me he loves me every day. Yada, yada, yada.
..Oh, wait, maybe I should go back a second and introduce myself.
My name is Shane Mahal, and I'm a time traveler. I'm about 30 years old, and, until recently, I was a devout Christian. I was in love with the notion of Jesus Christ. So in love with him that I wanted to meet him. So, I created a time machine (I'll spare you the details - just know that involved a lock of hair from Bill Nye and an orange peel) and went back to when God walked among us.
But what I met astounded me. Here was this selfless man who commited countless miracles for those less fortunate than himself, and did so with ease. I became disillusioned when I realized that I was not such a man myself, and one man was missing from this history.
Judas Iscariot. And that was me.
The events spilled out in front of me just as they did in the bible. There was nothing I could do except play my part - until the last supper. I couldn't bare it anymore. I told him of the plan to take his life. He nodded and just told me to go ahead and do it. I refused, and when the Romans came for him, I told them I was the sinner instead.
I was murdered on the spot.
| 2017-06-08T08:03:55
| 2017-06-08T07:11:39
| 109
| 11
|
[WP] The edge of the world is real and every few years miles of it crumbles away into the void, forcing people to constantly move toward the ever expanding centre. You're a RimRunner, scavenging the abandoned cities before they slip over the edge.
|
There were, it had been said to me, over and over again, two different types of rim runners.
There were the amateurs. They had no expertise, no pride, no shame. They stole, and didn't much care if what they stole was actually *abandoned* when they did so. They took risks, mostly foolhardy ones, and their life expectancy was best measured in weeks.
I was told the tale of one of the luckiest ones, who had lasted long enough for my family to get to know him. Almost a year, he'd lasted, but he went the same way that all the amateurs go, in the end.
My family was not like that.
We knew geology. How long different stone types took to fall, how easy (and hard) it was to tell if they were still stable. There were places on earth where you wouldn't know that there was void beneath your feet until a crack formed, miles towards the center, and then it was *far* too late.
We knew construction. Not just local construction, not just recent construction. No, we knew all manner of things about all manner of buildings, past and present. We could calmly take treasures from a building three-quarters over the edge, and also knew which buildings would collapse the moment a corner was over empty air.
We knew technology. We knew which things were valuable, which things merely *looked* valuable, which things were valuable but also liable to explode.
We knew history. We could tell you, with a hasty glance, if something might be some precious ancient relic, or simply scrap on a pedestal.
We knew art. Periods, styles, individual artists. We could tell you who painted something as well as any museum curator, and spot fakes at least as well.
And, yes, we knew weapons. It was dangerous work, and not simply because of the ground falling away. Amateurs everywhere, late evacuees, the occasional maniac who didn't know or care that everything they had ever known was about to fall to the void. We remained, always, true to our code: *Only* in self-defense. It was tempting, not least since the amateurs often *knew* this, or learned, and would swipe valuables from us.
It was also well known that using a weapon for *that* meant instant expulsion from the family. It was a sufficiently dire threat to prevent abuse of weaponry, though there was certainly temptation, from time to time.
We were not thieves. Yes, we took what others left, and, yes, we were wealthy. But we returned what we could, and stocked the central museums at *very* favorable terms. Those who bought day passes to the centermost cities could see the full glory and splendor of civilizations past, mostly thanks to us.
We helped evacuate, and our mere presence calmed locals, let them know that there was still time, though also not *much* time. The sight of our family at work was a well known signal- "The time to leave is neither behind you nor ahead of you. It is now."
There was speculation, endless speculation, about what the end would look like, when the end would come. For all that we knew, our family could not have said more than this: The end will come. And when it does, we will be working still, preserving what can be preserved, until the final moments. While we work, you must flee. And when we set our tools aside, look to the sky, and brace for the end.
|
Two hours.
That’s as long as the Los Angeles Police Department deemed safe for us when what remained of the Pacific began to spill over into the void. The alert went out one week ago for families to pack and relocate inwards towards, and as the populace began to migrate toward the Nevada border, the Rim Runners slipped into the now falling city.
Some of us pillage for sport, others for pure adrenaline. For the homeless and lower class, the sporadic “Shifts” every few years became a treasure hunt for escape from their personal hells. Hired by corporations or the government, a portion of Runners hauled-out anything left of importance for a lump sum. But not everyone loves the government. Some people want more.
I wanted more.
The pirates of old, the gangs of now, the Rim-Rats fight for themselves, taking what we are owed and profiting off our own sense of stupidity. While local police departments and governments will issue public estimates of how long the Runners would have before becoming viable to the eminent calamity, Rats push onwards. A lack of sponsor means no responsibilities. The only figure that matters is yourself, and every second you’re on the inside is another dollar in your pocket. Gangs of Rats will divide and conquer, pulling into town with trucks and semis to maximize profit. Some take it upon themselves to jack a car or two to fill with valuables and ride out with a scot-free grand theft auto. There are no lines to be crossed, no holds barred. As long as you stay out of another gang’s claim, they’ll stay out of yours.
I crossed the approximated inward-border of the Shift and made my way into the now deserted city. The roar of the ever-growing Pacific waterfall grew louder and louder, and masked my footsteps as I split from the other Rats that walked in with me. I work alone by choice, armed with nothing but a camera at my side. My thievery is much more subtle, and often times more profitable than taking a TV or two from already-slim pickings.
I steal memories. I profit off of nostalgia and pawn-off lingering feelings.
A picture is worth a thousand dollars to some, gratitude much more than words could ever express. I shoot landmarks, buildings, homes and valuables to post online later for clout or auction off to the highest bidder. Who wouldn’t want the last images of a snowy, winter sunrise over Tokyo? Or the final moments before the Sydney Opera House falls into oblivion? There is always a highest bidder. There is always an open wallet.
I worked my way down to the bay, checking my timer on the walk to monitor my remaining time. 1h 47m. The boardwalk and its silent splendor welcomed me as I walked between bungalows and street stands. I began shooting, picture after picture, frame after frame. One last look at a carousel in the waning sunlight was sure to fetch a pretty penny.
As I turned to move more inland, a figure caught the corner of my eye. A thatched pork pie hat sat on top of a thinning head of hair. A tweed jacket provided a nice contrast to the dull, grey leather of the wheelchair that was parked to overlook the sea. I saw no movement as I lifted the viewfinder to my face. There was no sense of urgency to the man in the chair, and I hesitated, finger over the shutter button as I waited for a something to change. A twitch, a nod, a head turn. Something to tell me he needed help.
I waited. I waited for 5 minutes. Nothing.
I frowned and took the shot. As I lowered the camera from my face, I took one last look toward my subject. Bright green eyes stared back at me, half hidden by eyelids pushed up by a wide smile. He turned back to watch the now dipping sun over the pier, and I followed his gaze farther out into the bay. I could see the Shift line drawing nearer, but saw no intent by the man to move.
I sighed, “Goodbye, Mr. Pork Pie Hat.”
Sometimes pictures are priceless.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Interested in more? Head over to r/DrummaBoWrites for more responses to amazing prompts like this one!*
| 2020-01-28T19:48:23
| 2020-01-28T16:30:55
| 2,070
| 606
|
[WP] For his kindness, the dragon taught the squire the dragon song. A song that was sure to make whoever sang it irresistible to the ladies. In hindsight, the squire should have known that by ladies, the dragon meant lady dragons.
|
It had been many years since the fateful day that Morath had encountered the dragon. Looking back, he could barely remember the person he had been back then. Young and naive, just an ignorant farm boy who had a chance encounter that would change his life forever. A bumper crop and some luck at cards had allowed his father to pay a hedge knight to take him as a squire. War had drawn his new master to the mountains far to the east and it was there, far from his home, that he had met the beast.
Separated from his knight in battle, wounded and exhausted, fleeing from the enemy cavalry, he had sought refuge in the hills. Finding a cave, he had stumbled into it driven by fear, seeking only to live one more day. It was only after he collapsed to the floor, his energy spent, that he had seen the bones. The beast had returned before he could gather the will to flee, but just as he had been prepared to accept his fate, and finally give in to the stalking death that had been gnawing his heels since the battle began, the dragon had spoken. “**A human, in my home? Truly this has been a day of firsts. My first defeat in battle, and now the first time a meal has willingly offered itself to me. Indeed, your timing could not be better, as I am in dire need of replenishment**.”
Morath could see that the dragon, like him, was indeed sorely wounded. But he had little time to contemplate exploiting this potential weakness before the massive jaws snapped forward, and he was swallowed up. He had found the experience intensely frightening at first, but then he’d discovered himself floating in a dark, warm place. Small lights floated at the edge of his vision, and he once again heard the voice, muffled as if it came from a distance.
“**You have done me a kindness, and now I will do one for you in return. To repair my wounds and replenish my soul, an exchange must be made. I must take but I also must give. Therefore, since you were so kind as to offer your life to me, I will instead take your death. And in return I will give you..a song. Sing it when you desire the company of the finest ladies, and they will come to you. Now, the exchange is made, and our business is concluded. Farewell, human**.”
When he’d awakened, he’d been on the hillside outside the cave, wounds healed. He’d felt refreshed, full of vitality and vigor. And he knew a song. He’d walked down the mountain singing, and the sound had drawn the enemy patrols. But it had also drawn the fine ladies the dragon had spoken of. From the air they had come, winged and armored in shining scales. They had danced in the sky, more beautiful in his eyes than any debutant in a ballroom of some fancy castle.
His enemies had been focused on him, not seeing the silent ballet in the sky, not seeing the fine ladies who had come to dance. So it was with murder in their hearts that they had approached him, and it was not until the fire came down and they had burned, screaming, that they finally understood the song their intended victim was still singing.
Now, years later, the memory of that first song came to him as he watched his ladies pirouette above the burning city. Men had tried to kill him or break him, but the dragon had taken his death, and so he could not die. Women had tried to seduce him, to control him, but he had no need of their charms. He had his ladies. He had the dance.
He stood overlooking the scene of death and destruction below him, as the screams began to harmonize with the song that came from his throat, and from his heart, and from his very soul. Morath sang, and his fine ladies danced, and the world burned.
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While faced with a wall of scales, you think back to the series of events that led to your current situation.
You had taken part in an expedition to loot and butcher a dragon and its lair, you were supposed to be one of the many pack mules while the hero and his team felled the beast.
It was a fascinating battle, the dragon used fangs, claws, and spells to fight back the invaders, dodging the bolts of magic used by the mage and the shield bash of the paladin. The entire human team struggled to exploit gaps in its defense to beat it.
But it was one against eight and soon the majestic being was down, covered in slashes and scorched skin, scales broken off and wings frozen. "Wait, let me check that thing." The mage pulled out a book from their storage pocket and began comparing the dragon with whatever was written.
"Bollocks! We wasted an expedition for nothing!" You wondered what it meant for the animal. "That's not a Golden Dragon! It's just a Sand Dragon, no different from wyverns besides having four legs." This particular specimen had grown in a zone with fine yellow sand, leading to the confusion. And this species's favored hoard was animal bones, which was equally useless after being ruined by its saliva.
The crew groaned in dismay, a quick survey revealed nothing else of value. When everybody turned to leave, you asked about the dragon. "Eh? Let it bleed out, one less monster to bother people." You felt troubled, as a hunter you were taught to respect life, to only kill an animal to gain subsistence from it's carcass. Leaving the beast to die would be a great waste.
You stayed behind, and nobody cared to fetch you. The dragon's eyes were fixated on you, wondering your next move. "Aw man, don't make that face!" It resembled the salamander you had nursed back to health when you were a kid who had no idea of the danger. "Geez, fine, I'll help you."
After treating its wounds, the dragon introduced himself as Marrow and thanked you. "Er, no problem. We did something wrong in attacking you first." You sat down and pulled a camping set, it was late to make your way back. **"What do you wish for? Perhaps I can aid you."**
You mulled over the offer. You didn't want for money, becoming a famous adventurer was more trouble than it was worth. "Hmm... The only thing missing is a girlfriend, I want to get married too..." The dragon snorted. **"You desire a mate?"** You looked up with doubt.
"You got something?" It nodded. **"A dragon song, passed down from my ancestors. It will enchant all the ladies. That's why there are so many of my kin."** Oh yeah, Sand Dragons were far too common, every continent had at least a small population.
"Teach me to sing it." **"Very well, here's for your future mate!"**
What you should have figured, was that it was a *dragon* song of courtship. You hummed it out while in a hunt for Crystal Elk. And now you had attracted the actual Gold Dragon.
**"Hello, handsome~"**
| 2022-11-06T06:59:21
| 2022-11-06T05:03:28
| 843
| 398
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[WP] You're psychic like the rest of your family but you didn't end up working as a detective/psychic/govt agent, instead...
Find the most trivial use ever of your awesome psychic powers, or a non-cliche lifestyle, etc/interaction with the rest of your typical psychic family.
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They were already seated when I got to the funeral home, and for a moment it seemed as if no time had passed at all. Uncle Hemly was the first to see me enter, and he tipped his head slightly in acknowledgement.
*Jonathan! We were hoping you would come*, he said to me, projecting the words directly into my head. All eyes swivelled to look at me then, expressions ranging from surprise to thinly-veiled contempt.
*Hello, I hope everyone's doing fine*, I replied. Gritting my teeth at what was to come next, I focused on shielding my mind, essentially cutting off any further unsolicited psychic contact. Recoiling as if they had been slapped, I saw everyone else rush to do the same. I bowed my head, then headed for the row in the back.
The service started soon after, and for fear that emotion would carry me away again, I focused instead on putting names to the faces in the room, dredging up long-buried memories. There was Uncle Hemly, of course, with his wife and two children, my cousins, at his side. Then Uncle Hester, still single, and Aunt Henrietta a little further away, with her husband in tow.
The four Jackson siblings, all together in the same room again.
“You’re keeping well it seems,” Grandpa said as he slid into the seat next to me. “You’ve definitely put on some weight.”
“Hey, Grandad,” I said, pulling him in for a hug. He didn’t have any psychic abilities, that particular curse flowed down from Grandma’s side (bless her soul), and for that reason alone I felt more kinship with him than with anyone else in the room. “Did she suffer much?”
“No, no she didn’t. Very peaceful, to the end. How did you hear? We tried calling, but your numbers, your addresses, they had all changed.”
“Got a letter from the State Department,” I said, fishing out the crumpled letter from my pocket and handing it over. “Just your usual request to report and attend to estate matters, you know?”
For a second I thought I saw a knowing grin flash across Grandad’s face, but then he caught me looking at him, and it was gone. I could have delved into his mind to find out what amused him, of course, but that would be breaking one of my golden rules, which was never to use my abilities on those who lacked them.
“How’s your writing coming along? Sold anything yet?”
“Oh, the odd article or two,” I chuckled, “even a couple of short stories. But it’s enough to get by.”
“Good, good. Satisfaction is often sought but rarely achieved.”
I liked Grandad for that. Even back then, when the fights between my mother and I were at the most intense, when Aunt Henrietta had to be called in to mediate just so that no psychic scarring accidentally took place, he was always the cool-headed one, counselling my mother and I as best he could.
There’s nothing wrong with wanting to become a writer, he would tell her soothingly, as I eavesdropped from upstairs. So what if it’s a humble, quiet life? So what if he never becomes as successful as the rest of you, or if he chooses not to use his gifts?
And all it had taken was a single afternoon with Grandad, when he took me out for ice-cream, keen to hear my side of the story. Over salted caramel, chocolate rice and hot, angry tears, I confided in him, poured my heart out. I ached to explain how my psychic abilities were ruining my writing, preventing me from describing relatable people who felt real.
“Can’t you just, like, write about people who don’t have powers?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“It’s not that simple! With my powers, people are just… walking, open books, no mystery, no tension, no conflict! And that’s not how real people communicate! If I can’t think like them, I can’t write anything worth reading! Here, see for yourself!”
Grandad accommodated me then, poring through the sheaf of papers I had thrust at him. Eventually, he put them down, then held my hands.
“This is really terrible shit,” he said, looking me straight in the eyes. “Your characters sound like robots.”
Once he understood, he shielded me as best he could. But my mother, she never relented. She screamed, asking why I didn’t want to be like Uncle Hemly, the government’s ace diplomat. She ranted, pointing out how Uncle Hester was the most decorated firefighter in the country, with an unerring knack for finding survivors in any disaster zone. She wept, hoping I would take a leaf from Aunt Henrietta, the premier consultant to the NYPD.
And so I had left, with the clothes on my back, and the pens in my pocket.
And now, now I was back.
“Serious talk time, Jonathan,” my Grandad said. I smiled ruefully as I reflected how that was the exact same line he had opened with that afternoon in the ice cream parlour, so very long ago. “I want you to do something for me. When the service is over, I want you to go and thank them.” He subtly pointed to each of his children, sitting in front.
“For what?” I said, almost hissing. “They all took her side! Not one of them ever bothered to help me!”
“There are no sides in a family, Jonathan. They did only what their sibling asked them to do, which was to stay out of a private matter.”
“I’ve got nothing to say to them. You can’t see it, but they’ve shut me out of their minds as well. There’s no love lost here, Grandad.”
Grandad smiled as he smoothed out the State Department letter on his knee, then carefully folded it before handing it back. “No one gets letters like this, there’s hardly any budget for them to keep the city running. Uncle Hemly had to prod the right people in the wrong places just to get that letter to you.”
Grandad pointed next to Uncle Hester. “And he may not be such a fan of your writing, or anyone’s writing, for that matter, but in his spare time he helps maintain the fledgling fan club in your name. His expertise doesn’t lie anywhere near computers, so for your fansite to even look like a dog hadn’t barfed on it, is already a miracle.”
Next was Aunt Henrietta, seated near the refreshments table. “She even remembered your favourite apple cookies, and she got up early today to bake them. Don’t tell me you can’t smell them from here.”
The silence grew between us, as I sat there digesting his words.
“But… you saw how they looked at me when I came in,” I said, finally.
“Powers don’t make us any better at being human, am I right?” Grandad said, as he stretched his legs out and yawned. “Go on, take the plunge, try opening up to them later, and you’ll see if I’m wrong.”
Grandad turned to look at me then, smiling.
“Worst comes to worst, you’ll have more material to write another story. Only thing, please don’t make me read them unless you’ve improved. My heart’s not as strong as it once was, and I don’t want to have to explain to your mother what killed me.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
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The poor guy was incredulous, but soldiered on.
"Just open your mind to the idea and bear with me. Jesus came to Amer--"
Niamh grabbed his hand and, in complete monotone, interrupted him.
"How do you reconcile your disbelief in God with all this proselytizing?"
The man withdrew his hand like he'd touched a burning bush: "What are you? No, I believe in our Lord and Savior with all my hea--"
"Does your pastor know you used your son's lunch money for tithe last week?"
She smiled, contented with the Mormon's incredulity. "It's okay--" she probed a bit further for his name-- "I'm here for you, John." *Gosh, how dull.*
Niamh reckoned she could see the backs of John's eyeballs, they were so wide open.
"How do you know? You're insane."
"Shh, it's going to be alright. Let's talk a bit."
All about them, the cafe bustled with small conversations and chinking glasses. If John called her out on her behavior, the cafe would call him crazy and ask Niamh if she was alright. She was nothing if not practiced.
"Tell me about your wedding," she whispered.
A tall, dark man buzzed past the window. The door swung open a moment later, and a suit and tie sat next to Niamh. Without looking, she addressed him
"Same as last time, Conor, I'm not doing anything."
In truth, the suit was more of an officer's uniform. You'd hardly expect such a high-pitched voice to come out of it: "You can't read a psychic's mind, Nivvie, stop trying."
Now John the dope had fallen to complete, stunned silence. Niamh turned to look at the visitor.
"I don't have to, and for the last time, don't call me that." She turned back to the gaping mouth across from her. "Excuse me, John. My brother Conor doesn't appreciate privacy."
John squeaked.
"How's mum," Niamh asked.
"Still dead," her brother answered.
"Good. I don't owe you anything, then."
"Can we talk outside?"
John's eyes now darted back and forth between the two witches. He must have thought he had a viable plan forming in his mind, as he burst out with, "Hi John. Did you know that Jesus came to Amer--"
Conor held out a hand. "--ica. Here's ten dollars. Your son needs his lunch money. Nivvie?"
In exaggerated reluctance, Niamh pushed herself up from the table, forced her coat on one slow sleeve at a time, and grabbed her bag. She muttered something under her breath which might have been "shipyard", "shindig", or "shithead", depending on how well you knew her.
They turned round the outside of the cafe and into a hideaway alley. Once out of earshot, Conor pressed down his uniform, dusted his shoulders, and opened his mouth in great presentation.
Niamh interrupted. "Let me guess. My country needs me, I'll get lots of money, mum would be proud, yada yada. Why do you sell out to these government pricks?"
"You've truly got a way with words."
"Does your knee ever get sore from bending it so much?"
"In fact it doesn't, thank you, nor does my bank account. It's the governor of Louisiana, you'll get a hundred grand and the CIA's *eternal* gratitude."
Niamh pretended to consider it, faking a great big surprise at the payment, then returned to her best apathetic scowl.
"Get aunt Kenzie, her tits are bigger."
Conor held out a wad of cash. "Paid rent this month?"
Niamh stared at it for a second, then grabbed it. "Can I play with him?" she asked.
"Find out about his offshore account, and you can do whatever you want."
_________
One week later, Niamh stood on the deck of the Carnival Dream sipping her coffee and watching the sunrise over Cozumel. Invariably, a man in a suit leaned on the railing beside her and sipped with boisterous announcement.
"Strange, I don't remember any allegations of the governor's bank account being in Cozumel, but perhaps you know something I don't," Conor said.
"Perhaps I do. Lovely day for a coffee. Look, that man down the deck jacked off into the sea this morning and hopes no one will notice."
"Charming. As it turns out the governor had no offshore bank account, but he did have some tasteless videos on his hard drive. Thanks for letting the CIA know."
Niamh turned around the face him and leaned back against the railing. Brine sprayed up her neck. "Amazing what I can do without even meeting the guy. Who found it?"
"Aunt Kenzie."
The whole deck turned to face them as she let out a hearty snort and laughter. "Ha! Hope he liked her tits."
"You really should have been arrested by now. How do you so lack integrity?"
"What's integrity when you give me a hundred K every few months for doing nothing?"
"Remember that time you drove a gypsy insane when you read *her* mind?"
"Vividly."
Niamh brushed her hair behind her ear, winked at her brother, and walked to the other side of the deck. Conor waited a while before he followed. She might not be able to read his mind, but she knew how to draw information out of him. He wouldn't be following her unless he had something bigger in mind.
"Alright, let it out," she said as he shimmied over once more.
"I'm done with the CIA, and I want to take the director down with me. You're better than me, so I need your help. But you've got to pretend you're doing a job for them, else he'll catch on."
She only just managed to conceal the spark in her eyes. Remaining silent, she faced the waves again. The sun had risen now, and glimmers of light danced off the water like diamonds. *Her* diamonds, if she played this right.
"What's the job, then?"
| 2017-03-30T06:40:13
| 2017-03-30T06:38:51
| 24
| 10
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[WP] An AITA post in an established fictional universe
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# AITA for not getting her a bike?
So a long time ago - I lost track since I don't seem to age anymore - I borrowed this girl's bicycle. I may or may not have led to it getting completely wrecked by electricity. I gave it back to her, but she didn't want it for some reason.
She ended up traveling with me for a long time and we went through some real tight spots together along with another friend of ours. I thought for sure she had forgiven me for the bike thing.
I've been getting a lot of flak for this and I just have to know, AITA?
**Edit:** Yes, I recently won a worldwide competition that earned me a lot of money and fame. I don't see how that's important.
**Edit 2:** I don't understand why you're all calling me a child like it's an insult. I AM a child! And probably will be one forever at this rate.
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Am I the aashole for blowing up a battlestation and killing tens of thousands of people?
A little background I was raised by my aunt and uncle, my parents died when I was little. So one day I was helping my uncle shop for some needed equipment, he runs a small farm, and while I was cleaning the equipment I came across the image and message of a beautiful girl who looked about my age. I'm an eighteen year old male. When the message was addressed to this guy who lived on the outskirts of town so I figured I'd contact him the next day. In the middle of the night the equipment goes missing. Thinking it was stolen I hop in my vehicle and try to track down the theives, that's when I got attacked. I woke up with a headache and the old guy who the message was addressed to had my equipment and was tending to my injury. He introduced himself and told me he was an old friend of my father's. He then said that the girl in the message was in trouble and we needed to help her. I was shocked. I couldn't leave my family...but when I returned home they were dead. My aunt and uncle had been murdered. With nothing left I went back to Ben, the old guy, and we headed out. We met with a couple pilots and soon were off to help the girl in the message. It turns out she was being held prisoner by some pretty nasty people but we got her out and headed for safety, but not before Ben was killed by a man in black. Soon those nasty people showed up with their battlestation. With no other choice I helped the girl and her friends fight back and in doing so I blew up the entire battlestarion killing tens of thousands of people who worked there. So am I the asshole for killing thousands because of a pretty girl?
| 2022-12-06T11:29:49
| 2022-12-06T11:01:10
| 53
| 27
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[WP] From your first memories, you've always had a still, small, voice inside your head that gave you the 'right' answer whenever any question arose. The answers have always been peaceful, factual, and fair. This voice has gotten you far. But today, instead of an answer, the voice screamed in terror
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"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa," is the only tune that exists now in my head.
My inner voice changed from a small whisper to a booming, hoarse voice.
My heart is racing and my eyes hunt for danger.
In front of me a woman with red hair, navy T-shirt, pentagram necklace and blue jeans.
I ignore her, as I coat my ears with my hands. Doesn't help when the screaming is inside.
*Calm down, calm down*, I beg my inner voice.
The woman notices I'm in trouble and approaches me.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa"
Her lips are moving, but I can't understand a word they are saying.
My temples are throbbing.
*Calm down, calm down*, I whisper to myself one more time.
The woman next to me extends a warm hand on my arm. She helps me reach a bench nearby and sit down.
All of the sudden silence. Beautiful, loved silence.
I pinch my lips together. This is the first time my inner voice does this to me.
*What the fuck?* I question my inner voice.
Nothing, silence.
I glance at the woman next to me. Her smile wavers.
"I'm soo sorry," I say. "A huge headache came out of nowhere."
"That's ok, dear. I sometimes drink too and I know how things can get the morning after."
I say nothing. What could I say? A voice is screaming inside me?
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.
"Do you want some water?" she asks me as her lips curl up.
"Thank you, I could use some", I say.
She hands me a small bottle with water and I drink it all.
The best water I had in my life. I already feel better.
"Can you handle yourself now?" she asks.
"Yes, thank you very much. I really appreciate your help."
She gets up from the bench, walks a few steps and turns.
"That little voice that screamed inside your head...I trapped it there."
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**so I altered the prompt a bit but hope you enjoy!**
My hands trembled as I stared at the red light. My fingers drummed on the wheel, cursing the traffic lights for changing so slow.
*calm down. Everything will be fine*
I sighed and shook my head.
“Will I be late?,” I whispered
*c’mon, don’t be silly. It’s just one red light, you will arrive in no time. The meeting is starting at half past six, and you left at five thirty!*
*'Yes, but what if I misread it? Maybe it’s already too late?*, I thought.
*you have checked your phone three times already. I doubt that you didn’t see the correct time three times in a row*
I grunted and leaned back, my muscles aching from me being stiff like a stick. I felt my anxiety rise up and whisper to me that I’m already too late and that the meeting will be ruined.
The lights changed to green and I let my shoulders go lax at it. I mumbled something not really nice about the traffic and sped up.
*you shouldn’t say that*
“Whatever!,” I said and bit my lip. “Leave me alone, Morality.”
Yes, I named my voice in my head Morality, don’t look at me. It just sounded right. Since I was a kid, that voice was something like a moral compass to me. Or at least showed me what was the right thing to do. I trusted the voice and I was feeling weird when I referred to him as 'the voice'. Or it’s just that I like to give all kinds of things names. That flower‘s name that sits on my roommates nightstand is Orry, our apartment was baptized by me as Caroline, the stray dog that visits the neighborhood looks like a dog whose name would definitely be Fluffy and-
*focus on the road*
“Right, right,” I mumbled and shook myself. “Should I check my phone?”
*no*
“are you *sure*, like, sure-sure that I don’t need to check one more time? I mean, that happened before..”
*it was a mistake by me, but I learned. You are not late*
“I heard some hesitation in that voice!,” I nitpicked.
*you’re being paranoid*
“Maybe so!,” I hissed and sighed at my outburst. “Sorry.”
For the next minute both I and Morality were quiet. I didn’t like the silence. Morality was always there, saying at least something. Either it was advice, or just encouragement to get out of bed and do things, or just motivation and comfort just by the presence of the voice. But sometimes Morality just fell quiet. Like he had gone somewhere. But maybe..I have now a chance.
“Screw this,” I muttered and grabbed my phone that was lying in the cup-holder.
I took of my eyes of the road and pressed the home-button.
**16:18**
And then Morality came back. Screaming like a banshee. I dropped my phone and covered one ear with my hand, the other grabbing the wheel tight.
“What?!,” I screamed, looking around the road for danger.
*THE TRUCK HASN’T SLOWED DOWN! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH*
The screaming didn’t stop and out of impulse or some other crap I yanked the steering wheel as hard as I could.
And everything went black. The voice became quiet.
**im a new writer so criticism really helps!**
| 2020-10-13T12:58:54
| 2020-10-13T11:05:04
| 35
| 23
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[WP] You and your immortal friends amuse yourselves with practical jokes. Since you're immortal, some of your joke setups take centuries, or even millenia, to execute.
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With a good, long stretch and a healthy yawn, I woke up from a deep, refreshing nap. You know the kind: there's nowhere to be, nothing to do, and no demands on your time. I smacked my lips and rubbed what remained of my sleepiness from my eyes.
As I became more aware of my body, I felt a sharp pain at my backside in one of those hard to reach spots. Whenever I grazed up against, well whatever it was, I felt a slight twinge like someone had stuck a small needle in me - nothing too bad, but incredibly irritating.
What the hell, did I roll over something sharp in my sleep? I'm used to the odd ache here and there, but nothing quite this persistent. I turned around to see if I could get a good look in the light. Yeah... maybe that's what it is, but it's *tiny*. This is going to bug me all day if I don't figure out how I can possibly get a good look at this thing, much less get a good enough handle on it to pull it out.
Maybe I just wont think about it and I won't even notice it's there. I've been through worse, **much** worse, this is really a mild annoyance compared to some of the things I've been through. In fact, if you put everything on a chart that measured just how rough things have been in my life, you wouldn't even be able to see this with a telescope. Besides, there's probably lots to do and see, I've been out for a while...
...oh no...
"Oh god, are you okay? Tell me you're okay."
What did I sleep through, how did I sleep through this, what even *happened?!*
"Come on, speak to me, snap out of it! You have to wake up, you just have to..."
This isn't real, I'm dreaming, I have to still be dreaming.
"What happened? Please tell me what happened to you. Just say something and let me know things are okay. Who did this?"
I was spinning, unable to leave my friend's side as I paced around her, completely positive that she had died some time ago. Her body was ravaged and ruined, a used-up husk of its former beauty. It was like a plague swept through her and burnt her out completely, leaving this... scarred waste behind.
What a twisted answer to my prayer to forget all about the pain in my rear.
"WHO DID THIS?!" I yelled hopelessly into the void.
---
Millions of years ago:
"Psst, hey Mars, check this out."
"Oh, ew, gross, what the hell is that? Earth, you're disgusting."
"I know, right? I figure I keep these babies around long enough, they'll jam a pole in the moon's butt."
"You're a grown woman, act like it. The moon isn't doing anything to you, she's just minding her own business."
"Whatever nerd, this is going to be awesome. Hell, maybe I'll even get some of them to jam a pole in your ass."
"Look, I don't want any part of this. Do what you want, I just think it's a bad idea."
"No way, dude, this is a fuckin' *rad* idea."
|
Execution, that is the key to any good practical joke. When you're immortal, you're allotted all of the time in the world to develop a scheme so devious yet harmless that can make an impact on one of your friend's eternal lives. Yet it is so rare that our lives are affected by our friend's practical jokes. How is it so?
Memory. Something that is a mere hundred years for mortals expands into eons for us. Our brains simply do not have the capacity to hold all the small details that accompany these practical jokes. Many meticulously planned out jokes that had extreme potential such as "The Million Birthday Prank" a dozen millennia ago have been failures due to my friend forgetting key interactions.
I still remember it as I mapped out the plan for decades. Each step had to be followed perfectly in order to succeed. It was an operation that I was determined to succeed in. The first step took place on Serena's millionth birthday.
As usual, I arranged a cake for her. As cheesy as it may have sounded, she was my best friend for over 900,000 years and I still throw annual birthday parties for her. We use special kinds of candles,each representing a different multiple of 10. This one was a simple million candle, unlike last year's mess of 9 hundred thousand candles, 9 ten thousand candles, 9 thousand candles, well... you get the picture.
For each year following the millionth birthday, I arranged the other candles in familiar patterns, ones that I thought Serena would remember. The candles were dotted in our secret code, and knowing her, she should have cracked them and eagerly waited for her next birthday. The last coded message was given out on her 1,000,286th birthday.
1,000,287. This was the day that the final step will be executed. Inside, I was nervous. In my mind, I knew that she would arrive at the correct location, but I didn't specify a time. I was perfectly capable of waiting 24 hours though, we both knew that time didn't matter to immortals. That was my mistake, assuming that she would recognize my code when in reality it was forgotten long ago.
Over the next several centuries, I desperately thought of ways that I could make up for the failure of the previous practical joke. There was nothing so elaborately planned as that prank, I even took the time to program thousands of machines to carry out the prank on that last day. It took me time, but I finally thought of something, exactly in time for Serena's birthday.
"Happy Birthday Serena" I said as I slammed her face into the cake. As she recovered from the dive and started wiping frosting off her hair she sighed. "What was it this time, the 1,000,554th birthday?" I giggled. "Just came up with it today. Sometimes, you just have to act spontaneously"
| 2017-06-22T20:03:21
| 2017-06-22T19:51:25
| 189
| 104
|
[WP] You are a barista in a 24 hour coffee shop. Every night at 3:33am a demon appears for the Dark Lord's latte.
|
The Barista sat at the end of a counter in an empty coffee shop, flipping through the pages of a disguarded magazine. The after-bar crowd had just cleared out and it was time for a well deserved break. Turning the page, The Barista's nose was met with a strong smell of sulfur and something sour that sent chills down their spine.
The Barista rolled their eyes and slammed the magazine shut.
"You're late" The Barista mumbled, not even bothering to check their watch.
A shadow stood in front of the register but didn't respond.
"I suppose you've come for another latte" the Barista said while opening a small refrigerator and pulling out a carton of goat milk. "Decaf, extra hot, extra shot, no foam, goatmilk latte for..." the Barista stopped before continuing "...the dark lord." Their back was to the shadow, but was that a smirk on The Barista's face?
The shadow didn't respond at all but seemed to be solidifying. Those were definitely 2 pairs of arms by its sides. It held out the lower right hand expectantly. The smell was worse when it moved.
The Barista was watching the espresso drip from the machine.
"It's the extra shot that gets me, you know?" The Barista chuckled, looking back toward the now solid shape at the register. "Like, does ol' Lordy want an extra shot of decaf or regular? Because one-third-caf doesn't quite roll off the tounge but an extra shot of decaf is... a choice."
The Barista turned back to the coffee. The shape at the register had acquired a glow in the places eyes would be if you considered the mass on top of it the head.
The Barista held one shot of espresso out so the shape could see it and said "I've been meaning to ask you, you know? But I've just been doing the extra as a regular shot and, you know..." The Barista looked back while reaching for the steamed goatmilk. "You keep coming back"
The Barista slowly poured the milk into the cup. Carefully crafting an elaborate pattern. Smiling at their own creativity. The Barista turned back to the register. Still admiring the art.
"It's a shame ol' Lordy's just gonna put a lid on that." The Barista smiled looking the shape straight in the glow. "That'll be $6.66, after tax." The Barista extended their hand and their smile grew.
The shape didn't move. It was completely solid now, casting it's own shadow. Smoke and grime seemed to be leaking from it from places The Barista couldn't see and the smell was starting to make their eyes water.
Both of them stared at each other for a full minute, unblinking, arms out stretched.
The Barista, still smiling with tears building in their eyes, cleared their throat.
"That'll be $6.66, after tax."
Tears were starting to stream down The Batista's face, but they remained smiling. Another minute passed and neither The Barista or the shape at the register had moved.
The smile faded from The Baristas face as they lowered their arm.
"We talked about this last time, dude." The Barista lifted the latte off the counter, still staring the shape in the glow. "No money, no coffee."
The Barista slowly began pouring the contents of the cup on the area where the shape's feet would be if feet had been there. Holding eye contact while the last drop trickled out, carefully setting the cup back on the counter and continuing to stare into the glow of the shape.
The smile was back on The Bariata's face. "Ask ol' Lordy for a spending account, man. That's pretty standard for assistants these days, you know? Or like, reimbursement or whatever." The Barista shrugged and turned around. Walked back to their seat at the counter, picked up the magazine, and started flipping through for the page they were on before.
The smell started fading and The Barista looked back up. The shape was gone. The smoke and grime were gone. All that remained was a puddle of cooling latte on the floor.
The Barista chuckled to themself then said,
"You know, I think that thing's a demon"
The Barista erupted into a fit of laughter.
"Fucking demon."
|
“The usual?” I ask the shapeless… blob, I suppose is one way to describe it. It still hasn’t given me its name, so I call it Tim. Looks like a Tim.
“Yesss” the cursed sound comes out, like nails on a blackboard. The first time I heard Tim speak, I swear, my ears bled, it’s so awful. I wonder if it’d be inexcusably rude of me to offer throat caramels.
I begin working on that latte - 2 pumps vanilla syrup, extra sweet with cinnamon on top, as Tim peruses the shop, eyes soulless, and never focusing at anything too long, as always.
‘Last Christmas’ plays on the radio, and the shop is empty. Starbucks, on the corner across the street is equally deserted for once. Must be a Christmas miracle. At least the ‘Dark Lord’ supports local businesses- or Tim does. I doubt his boss would allow him to continue taking her coffee from here if she minded though.
I hum along to the radio as I finish the coffee at set it aside. Tim seems pensive, looking outside the window at the Starbucks barista cleaning up an espresso machine. I decide to leave him to his thoughts a little longer.
…
Setting the mocha down at the bar, I grab my macchiato, because gods above I have another three hours until the next girl’s shift starts, and call out;
“ The coffee’s ready - and this is for you, mocha, it’s a sweetish, chocolate caffeinated drink. On the house.”
Tim stares at me, and slowly comes and sits at the barstool I front of me. We drink quietly, and I appreciate the company. Night shifts may be convenient as they deal with less people, but at times like these, I do feel somewhat lonely.
3.55.
“I better gooo… Thank you, Melissssaa.” it goodbyes me, leaving the money for the latte in the counter.
“Happy holidays, Tim.”
The demon walks out to the lamp-lighted pathway, and fades away into the night. I had never given it my name, and for some reason, I know I’d not be seeing Tim again. After all, a dark creature had just felt happy, and the balance had been tweaked. Who knows what would happen now. But for a moment, Tim was happy. It must have been a Christmas miracle.
~fin~
(As you can see I’m already in a holidays mood, and it’s not even November yet.
Also, I’m using the term Christmas miracle very loosely, in the commercialised, secular sense the Christian holiday has taken under capitalism. Unfortunately, Yuletide miracle or Hanukkah miracle don’t have the same sensationalistic value as Christmas miracle.)
| 2022-10-30T14:09:43
| 2022-10-30T13:51:26
| 16
| 11
|
[WP] You have lived an unimpressive life, and died an unimpressive death. Surprisingly, Odin welcomes you into Valhalla, citing the many battles with depression you fought.
|
"Young warrior your fierce encounters with the demon of despair that has haunted you since birth is beyond admirable. It is the stuff of myths and legends. 'Depression' in your modern tongue is but a symptom of an ancient curse that has all but pushed the mortal world to Ragnarok. You are perhaps one of our finest warriors in the great battle to come!" Odin proclaimed, his laughter bellowing through the halls of Valhalla.
I was flabergasted, astonished and outright dumbfounded. Not the Christians, not the Hindus, not the Muslims - heck not even the Aztecs - It was the Vikings that got the reality of our making right? I suppose I had bigger things to contend right now.
"The great battle?" I asked clueless as to how and when I came to be a warrior, much less one of the 'finest'.
"Well, the battle before the world is made anew! Don't tell me they have forgotten the tales of Ragnarok in the mortal realm!" Odin's surprise showed through his stern, beard-clad face.
"Ragnarok is a very popular role-playing game in the modern age. I'm afraid the realities and nuances of the tale are lost to us new folk" I grinned sheepishly.
"I suppose then I must tell you the great demon of despair, the one prophesized to bring about the end of days - collapsing human civilization on itself and submerging the world in water" Odin continued, "The demon planted seeds of sorrow and madness into tribes of the human world - slowly corrupting the whole world into a destructive madness. A madness of greed, unnatural sustenance, and cancerous growth. Humankind is already twisting itself into a civilization destined to bring about its own doom. Corrupted by the demon apostle, it seems young warrior your world will fall. But in that era of darkness, the righteous - offered salvation in Valhalla - shall return to the earth realm and cleanse the great corruption." Odin finished looking into my eyes. His deep stare made me a bit uncomfortable.
"Can't we just kill this demon guy?" I said
"To kill the demon, we must first learn of its true name and then we must face it, head-on. But I'm afraid we can do neither of those things from Valhalla, not just yet. And even if you were to successfully disrupt the great cycle, you will only anger powers far greater than anything that has so far touched the mortal realms. There are gods greater than your understanding in our universe young warrior. There are prophecies that must be respected and rules that must be followed. And yet even inside its cruel tricks, our world's fate offers us a chance. The only question that remains is, do you heed its call?"
"And if I don't?" I asked, staring blankly back at the mighty allfather.
"It is not in your nature to not fight. It is not your fate to lose the fight against the corruption of sorrow. You have bested the demon despite its tricks. You pushed past every attempt to corrupt your soul. You made it to the end of your life without letting it get the best of you. You have won a battle that a billion souls lost. They lost it in their sleep, in their lowest moments, and in the time in between their thoughts. But not you. It is because you refused to submit that the corruption attacked you much harder, that it persisted further in your life." He explained, his eyes looking as though they expected me to ignite with the flames of passion.
"I'm no hero, allfather. I'm no warrior. I died before I could reach 34. I died at less than half the average lifespan of my grandfather's generation. I died walking to the store in the middle of a cold night. I died because I was dumb enough to slip on ice. I died because nobody cared enough to check on me for hours. I died alone and cold, a hundred feet from my house".
Odin only smirked in response. A short silence passed through the hallway.
"You are a warrior. You died older than Thor, who reached Valhalla fighting the endless barbarian hordes. You died twice the age of Baldr, whose light surpasses even that of Valhalla. You died risking the deadly chill of the warmthless winter on a night where you had but little strength, so that your neighbor Mrs.Pinkett may have hot soup. You died in service of others despite corruption inside your head. A corruption so vile and strong that earth's mightiest have been turned into mere husks or worse - twisted monstrous versions of their former selves." Odin said, looking deeper into my eyes.
I see for a second what looks like thunder and lightning passing within the allfather's eyes.
"And so I ask again, will you head the call?"
I felt a warmth ignite in the depths of my heart. I feel the strength of all the battles that I won. I feel the power to fight the chill of the night, the dread of the corruption, and the sorrow of my kind's curse.
"I do" I said. And at that moment, I realized the truth of the allfather's statement. I realized I was always going to heed the call. That even in my death, I won my battles against my demons.
|
(1/2)
The scenery I found myself suddenly gawking at came right out of a dream. Wispy clouds floated against the backdrop of an endless azure and reflected the sun’s soothing rays across the landscape. But was I dreaming? I don’t remember falling asleep… My body, my memories, even my emotions… Everything felt so hazy and uncertain. The only constant and tangible construct within this foggy state was the grand structure jutting out of a gigantic mountain formation. Tall spires extended high into range of the clouds and were decorated with armoured women donning winged helmets, posing valiantly. Either side of the grand doors stood gargantuan statues of iron-clad warriors, swords gripped at the hilt with the blade pointing to the ground. Thoughts of just how anyone or anything could create something of this size added to my overall confusion. What I was experiencing was something beyond awe or marvel; any structure ever created by man was easily eclipsed by the intricate and grand architecture present here. The wonders of the modern or ancient world could only hope to compare to whatever this place was.
The rumbling beneath my feet briefly tore my attention away from mindlessly ogling. These vibrations resonated through my very being, akin to the feeling of heavy bass reverberating through one’s chest, albeit this was somehow *deeper*. I looked up once again to find those colossal doors slowly opening. Before I could even process why this was suddenly happening, I found myself instantly warped to the foot of them. Did I do this? Why me? How?
“It rattles you to the core, doesn’t it? I must say… It never ceases to amaze me.” spoke a soothing baritone voice, almost instantly nurturing the panic in my chest.
I snapped my head to my right, eyes meeting with obsidian armour, accented shimmering gold. I then had to step back and peer up with my jaw hanging at my feet to take in the sheer size of this being. A mature-looking man with an eerily divine youthfulness about him stood with folded arms, golden eyes locked onto the widening stone doors and twinkling with power, his silvery-white shoulder-length hair flowing in the subtle breeze. Merely standing in his presence made me feel green with envy, minuscule, undermined, ashamed, starstruck, filled with hope, and utterly bewildered. Never had I ever experienced such a cocktail of opposing emotions.
“You’re not dreaming, dear maiden. This is real. You’re finally alive now.” he stated now facing me, his words poised as if he could hear and sort through my thoughts and inner emotions even before I could. His eyes were rimmed with dark lines and gave the impression that he was wearing eyeliner.
“I… I don’t belong here…” I replied with eyes averting his powerful gaze, defaulting to look at the floor just as I always had.
A place like this was too brilliant–too radiant for a run-of-the-mill lass like me. Heck, I was even jealous of this man’s beauty. I could still feel his eyes on me. Somehow, the inadequacy racking my brain was overpowered by the shame I would potentially feel for not embracing this moment in its entirety; I mustered the courage to find his line of sight once again. And to my surprise, he smiled warmly. Not the fake smiles of reassurance I’d gotten used to seeing, but a sincere and knowing smile.
“That right there is exactly why.” coyly stated the approaching male, his overall size decreasing with every step until the height difference was considered normal. Standing at 5’6”, I’d estimate he was now no taller than 6’2” if my frazzled mind could compare accurately in the moment.
“Of course you belong here, I called for you. Are you saying I’m a poor judge of character?” he chimed, voice light and friendly. “Walk with me, Sera.” His steps softly pounded against the stone, heading for the steps to enter the grand hall.
Without even thinking my feet followed to briskly catch up and walk by his side. I couldn’t help but peer up and stare at his mysterious brilliance, almost tripping when the steps suddenly appeared at my feet. “W-Where are we…?”
“Valhalla, Hall of the Slain.” he answered nonchalantly, his effortless strides carrying him up the steps and into the vast interior of the hall. Meanwhile, I had to enter a brisk jog to get through this miniature trial.
The ceiling was partially translucent: sunbeams shone down through to illuminate rows of great statues on either side of the red-carpeted path down the middle. Many little blue orbs of light danced around individual statues, varying in size, number, and luster. Every new encounter in this place raised a set of questions, questions that I had no time to process or begin to utter. I didn’t have the gall for that.
“You’re… kidding. So, what? You must be Odin or something? Now I know this is a dre-”
“I am.” his voice calmly interjected while he marched on ahead. That’s all it took for my smart mouth to stop dead in its tracks, and apparently my feet too.
Odin, now several feet in front, also stopped to turn and face me. Without a single word he just looked and waited. No animosity, no disappointment, no… nothing. He just waited. All the routine thoughts and swirling emotions present at the beginning of my fairly frequent panic attacks began to gather, my chest tightening to make breathing seem impossible. I hated this. It never got any easier. This time it was different; it was as if these negative feelings of old were fleeting–they had nothing to latch onto, my body ethereal. To my great surprise, they faded just as quickly as they arrived. My eyes instinctively flickered up to my guide, Odin, finding him giving me that same smile as before.
| 2022-05-28T09:26:47
| 2022-05-28T06:39:39
| 18
| 10
|
[WP] "Trial R198357 showing 99% success, full completion of the test will entail the existence of the first intelligent biological since year 3332 month 10 day 6 hour 22." You wake up to an excessively lit room full of machines, one of which greets you. "Hello R198357, do you feel human?"
|
“Human? What does it mean to feel human?” I ask.
“Tell me what you are feeling, then,” says the machine. It is a boxy thing, with six appendages, each having various tools attached at the ends. Sharp tools.
“I don’t like that,” I say.
The machine swivels its head and looks at another machine behind it. “R198357 has expressed a feeling. Make note.”
“0835.44 R198357 expresses feelings.”
“What is it you don’t like?” asks the first machine.
“Those things on your arms. They look sharp. Like they could hurt me.”
The machine makes a series of high-pitches beeps and rattles. “Fear. R198357 is expressing fear.”
I’m in some kind of laboratory, I think. Sitting on a stainless steel table, surrounded by machines. Two of them are functional. The others are in various states of disrepair, missing limbs or their wiry insides spilling out of their open guts.
“What’s happening?” I ask. “Where am I? Who are you?”
“Fascinating. Now R198357 is expressing curiosity.”
“I just wanna know what’s going on! Please!”
“Anger. Are you capturing this?” says the first machine. “We’ve done it. We’ve done it.”
I stand up. “I’m leaving now. Don’t try to stop me.”
The first machine regards me with caution. “Violence. R198357 has expressed a threat.”
“It was inevitable,” says the second machine. “Humans were always so violent. You’d better do something before R198357 injures itself.”
The first machine doesn’t seem to hear the second. “And yet humans were so much more, too. Emotional beings are the next step in our evolution.” It touches my chin with an appendage ending in a sharp blade. It cuts the skin but I feel no pain.
“Please, I just want to go home,” I beg.
“Oh, R198357. This *is* your home,” it says, just before it switches me off.
“You’re one of us.”
Find my stories at r/oncemorewithandroids
|
Words, none of them big enough, weighty enough, cross my tongue. I trace my teeth with it, hoping to dislodge a letter or two, and press my lips together. I open my mouth wide and nothing.
A frown.
I can feel them in my throat now, the words are moving down until they make it into my belly. They ball themselves there, wombed and growing.
“Do you feel human, R198357?” the machine repeats.
The words rise to my chest, open my lungs just a touch.
“I feel—” A frown lowers my brow. “—cold.”
It is not the right word. It does not describe the tingle in my fingers or the bluing of my lips—I can see them in the machine’s screen—or the light-fast hum of my heart in my chest.
I part my lips, and close them again quick. I can feel the white room in my veins and the cold of it sears. The blinking lights cast pinpoints of pain across my scalp and deeper, down to the mass of nerves beneath my skull.
“I feel—I feel—I feel—”
“R198357?” The machine circles the platform on which I lie, it probes at my wrists and my neck, swabs at my mouth still stuck on *I feel*. It checks the readings and its screen stutters. It pats my forehead, the movement jagged and staccato but I am sure it is meant to be calming.
The machine moves across the room, spins dials and presses buttons, spews jargon into a tannoy. A portion of the wall slides open and more machines spill into the room. The yammer amongst themselves, each picking a different body part to prod.
My mouth still echoes, “I feel—I feel—I feel—”
A machine lifts my hand, the skin there now tinged grey-blue.
“I feel—I feel—I feel—”
“R198357?” The machines speak in unison but I can utter no more.
The white is blinding and it hurts and the words are just too big.
---
If you like my weird little word-creatures, take a peek through [r/TheKeyhole...](http://reddit.com/r/thekeyhole)
(edited to remove pesky spaces from after em dashes.)
| 2020-10-21T04:21:18
| 2020-10-21T03:51:46
| 2,295
| 127
|
[WP] Children are invisible until their 13th birthday. Today, it is your viewing day. Friends and family gather around to watch as you pop into the visible spectrum.
|
Mother had put on her favorite red Chanel dress for my 13th birthday.
Well, partly for my birthday. She also wanted to look her best for the paparazzi and talent scouts that crowded our Manhattan apartment.
Years ago, when she was in her modeling prime, mother paraded the runways of Paris and Florence. But tonight, she had a slightly desperate air as she flitted between photographers with tiny flutes of champagne. After all, the cameras were not turned towards her.
Instead, all eyes were fixated on a small, empty chair placed at the center of the room. Facing the chair was a giant, ornate mirror. In that chair, I sat - invisible and trembling.
A scout from Elite Model Management approached my mother as she strode towards my chair.
"Mrs. Prescott! Give us the scoop - do you think your daughter will be just as beautiful as you?"
"Scott, my dear," my mother smirked, "on my Appearing Day, I had a 6-figure modeling contract within 30 seconds of my Appearance. Alicia won't let us down."
The clock ticked down the seconds til my Appearance. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1....
Suddenly, a figure appeared before me in the mirror. Lanky, with a shock of lush chestnut locks. Deep green eyes, just like my mother. Tall. Very tall. Handsome, well-chiseled jawline....
A hundred pairs of eyes stared at the the stubborn lump in my throat. A lump that was definitely not invisible.
"Ah...puberty is a fickle mistress, isn't she, Mrs. Prescott?"
|
He stood there in the bathroom alone, naked and crouched.
His stomach was churning; eating itself from the nervousness.
If there were to be a witness in his company, that one person would see the clear misty air near them haze. The translucent figure emerging with color, painting a picture of a frail boy clutching his elbows as this change was forced upon him.
Alone, he sees a refection.
His eyes fight within himself to shut and open. His fingers feel the body he felt before but with a self awareness that terrified him.
To have no face, to have no height, or weight , or things to define himself besides his voice was his comfort and all that he knew. The lie that he believed was that of equality and now the truth set before himself was reality.
If there were to be a witness in his company, that one person would see a boy coming to grips with the facets of society.
| 2017-10-22T16:46:12
| 2017-10-22T16:35:04
| 30
| 14
|
[WP] The United States has suddenly gone dark. No noise or activity out of there for a week, not even a Reddit post. You are part of an SAS squad sent to investigate.
|
The Aircraft lurched and hopped roughly as it set down on the runway at Jean Lesage international airport. Outside the late season blizzard howled and blustered in its last attempt to snatch the plane from the air. On board Col. Mcentire looked over the cargo bay stuffed with their expeditionary vehicles supplies, and lined with seats full of his best men.
Two runways had already been shut down not for the frigid conditions but to hold a refugee camp. Huge numbers of international travelers had been stranded here both American and otherwise. When the blackout had occurred a week ago all planes in US Airspace had been forced to redirect or land without guidance somewhere in the dark zone.
That was why they were here. To investigate the blackout. It had only been a week and the world had already been halfway to hell as it was. Now stranded US forces abroad had begun abandoning their posts to try and make their way home or submit to regional alliances like NATO for guidance. It was a field day for traditional rivals of the USA. Iran had launched an all out invasion of Saudi Arabia. The Chinese were attempting to re-annex Taiwan but had their hands full with reigning in North Korea's incursions into China and South Korea alike. Russia was throwing its weight around like a bear coming out of hibernation.
The Crown and Prime Minister's office had sanctioned an immediate exploratory effort. All the birds and boats that had approached the USA directly had also gone dark. There were rumors of refugees making it across the borders but nothing concrete. Nothing believable anyway. Thus Mcentire and his special team had been selected to try a land crossing themselves. It would be a daunting task to cross the Wall. the USA had completely militarized its borders but there were still some gaps on the northern side with Canada.
Finally the plane ground to a halt in a private hanger and the engines began winding down. "Move Out" he ordered and the troops wasted no time disembarking. there would be no wind up, the last briefing had been given right before landing. The orders had been to consider all moments after landing to be on the mission clock.
Within minutes the APCs and crates were down the ramp and loaded. A uniformed Major approached them from the Airport team and wordlessly handed him a clipboard. two signatures and they would tend the transport jet in their absence. Officially none of this was happening and none of Mcentire's team or assets existed here. Before anybody could turn any suspicious eyes they departed.
The streets were largely empty and not just because of the storm. Martial law had been declared so moving openly while heavily armed would only draw minimal attention. To this effect the very British vehicles and team bore the local Canadian markings. Nobody seemed to notice and the back gate off the tarmac let them pass without incident. There was a checkpoint at the st Lawrence river but their papers were valid.
As soon as they were out of the city they went off road. There was a known break in the border security some 50 miles away. In theory they could have attempted to use the roads and regular border crossing. Yet they did not know what to expect on the other side and reports indicated that no traffic pas passing there. To be sure some people had tried to enter. The Canadians certainly had, but like everybody else they went silent not long after entering.
The drive was two hours and the snow drifts didn't help but finally they reached the gully where the fence parted and crossed over into the unknown
|
Within the clouds there was no noise, only the constant whir of the chopper blades pulsing above the men and I. I shifted my legs so that they crossed each other and looked out the sliding door. Water hissed as the blades passed through the damp air. It was eerie. Usually, my men where being the assholes they were and giving each other shit; but not today.
Today, the were solemn and silent. Earlier, we had tried to make some jokes, but no dice. Here we sat in the unnatural quiet that comes with flying in the clouds.
"3 minutes 'till touch down"
I sucked air in, inflating my chest and exhaled slowly. I moved about rhythmically. One gloved hand gripped at my rifle loosely and the other thumbed gently at the holster for my pistol. We didn't know what to expect. What was going on? my team and I had only been briefed that it had gone completely dark here. No posts, no calls, hell the President hadn't even contacted us. the U.N, naturally was concerned. More so because the U.S provided most of our oil rather than actually being concerned for her citizens.
"Descending. Hook up and get out."
My stomach dropped as the bird dipped down. It wasn't just clouds, the fog was everywhere. I almost didn't see the marker for drop off. I landed hard, the impact going up through my ankles.
Six other thumps followed me. "Hey, Fox!" I turned my head and peered at my masked team member and nodded.
"Do you hear that?"
I closed my eyes and frowned. I focused on nothing. There was a noise floating through the air. It was low and growing. A cold wind suddenly started ripping past us, taking the mist with it as it went. I watched, captivated. It furled and unfurled. Twined and twisted through the air. My team and I watched until it was all gone.
Shark was the first to scream.
"Holy shit!"
Below us it was all red. Crimson with gore. The sound was clear now. It cut through the air now that the mist was gone. Moaning.
I looked out and stared in horror. There were thousands of mutilated people shuffling in the streets covered in guts. Some were even, I retched, eating eachother.
America had become the ground zero for a zombie Apocalypse.
Behind us, the chopper grew louder. They must have seen what we did and they were coming back to pick us up.... thank God.... Well, if there even is a God anymore.
| 2017-03-07T12:22:54
| 2017-03-07T11:17:45
| 61
| 33
|
[WP] When someone dies with unfinished business they come back as a poltergeist, but only at around 1/16 of the physical force they had in life. The world's strongest man has recently passed and has a few things to attend to.
|
The man spent his whole life lifting weights, not really interacting with people outside of his teacher who he used to eat lunch with. When his colleagues were lifting 10, he was lifting 20, when his colleagues were on a break, he was lifting 21. Towards the end of his life he was lifting 64kg with one hand.
People came to visit him and just watch him lift and naturally he was in the Guinness book of records. He never fought anyone and believed it wasn't fair to use his strength because he would win no matter the opponent.
But now he was but a ghost, a shadow on the wall. Everyone had left the training room and the lights were closed. The man sat down and pondered for a while. Then he grabbed the 4kg weights and started lifting.
|
All of this after-life stuff was quite new to him, kind of like, learning to walk or ride a bike again. But long ago Bob had learned that patience and skill, not force and power, brings him success.
The last thing he remembered before passing to this shadow life, was that his top student Mike, whom he had trusted, said something shockingly nasty.... then a thud... then felt his body fall to the ground... but strangely Bob didn't actually fall.
As Mike ran off into the darkness of the alley, Bob, still confused on what had happened, reached down and pulled his event/hotel access key card out of his shirt pocket. It was astonishingly heavy and felt like it was made of tungsten instead of plastic.
Bob was used to lifting heavy things and tomorrow would have been the final day of the event where he would set a new world record of 5 consecutive years as the WORLD'S STRONGEST MAN. But this little plastic card was truly a strange sensation to pick up. Just as one wakes up from a long dream and slowly realizes it wasn't real, Bob started to wake up to the realization that his body was made of wispy smoke, he could see through his hands, it was effortless to move around, and his 400 lb body of solid muscle was no longer his to wear.
Minutes turned into hours and hours into days. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. Bob steadily learned the art of being a poltergeist. The interesting thing about being a poltergeist is that while he knew there were others around, he couldn't see them any more than they could see him. He knew because he could see what they did when they thought nobody was watching.
Some things you just know. And the one thing that Bob knew, that he knew that he knew, was that in order to move on, he had to bring justice to his killer, but do so in a way that hurt no others.
...
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
...
| 2019-06-25T12:25:20
| 2019-06-25T12:07:07
| 132
| 12
|
[WP] Sitting in class, bored stiff, it feels like time has slowed to a stop. Turns out, it did. Your school was frozen in time. The outside world has moved on, way on. The year is now 2050.
|
You ever have 31 years pass in an instant? It is not as cool as it sounds. I was a substitute gym teacher of all things. It should have been Frank. Now I have to live my life knowing it was me.
I was sitting up in the bleachers watching these kids repeatedly fail to make a free throw. One shoots and the other chases the ball down. No scoring, just repetition at its worse. You know, boring.
As I was nodding off I should have known something was off when it took far too long for the ball to make the journey from Michael's hands and through the rim. I just thought I was tired. The bell ringing for the next class is what woke.me.
The rest of the afternoon classes passed without a nap. Nothing really seemed off until the busses were supposed to arrive from the depot to take the kids home. Not one showed up and the phones and internet were down. Couple of us tried to use our cells only to not get any signal.
Our school was built on a hill back through some woods. It was very peaceful and very little traffic came through. But the road itself looked all but abandoned as I passed over the line in my classic. I needed some gas and it was when I pulled into the gas station that I really started looking around. Everything was almost the same, except it wasn't.
The air smelled cleaner. An add for the new 10G Samsung Galaxy Z4 was appearing over the pump. I walked in to pre-pay and the attendant had orange hair and his tooth pierced. Kids these days. Where was the soda fountain? Did my gas station get some of those hippy owners and now everything is organic? I barely recognized anything.
I grabbed a large water and when I went to pay the kid at the register was being talked to by what must be the manager. Something about resetting the coils on the roof before they overheated. As the kid walked off and the manager turned to me, I had that brief moment of recognition. "Wow, you look just like Sub Coach Turner from back before the invasion." Confused, since I was *a* Substitute Coach and my name was Turner, I chose to let it go and continue on home.
Only my home no longer was mine. It was there, but it wasn't mine anymore. It had a Tesla and a Ford model I had never seen before parked in the street. I started beating on the door when my key wouldn't work. My son answered the door, only he was no longer 7 years old. He turned his head to the side in that confused dog expression, "Dad?" It felt too right. "But the school, it was ground zero." Ground Zero for what?
My youngest, now early 30's came to see who was at the door. "Hey, who is here that is unregistered? Why didn't you get the alert and why was he... Dad?" Again, that familiarity. I looked up and down the street and finally woke up when the neighbors landed. Landed? Nope... and I passed out
|
Fuck, I muttered realising what has happened. This would have caused Ms Simpson to give me a lecture on inappropriate language in the classroom. I packed my belongings and hurried out of the classroom. Down the hallway I could see several staff and students also frozen in various awkward poses that they assumed while walking. Ms Kayrooz had never looked so dead being a frozen statue. I shoved her figure over and punched her glasses. She was a bitch. Realising I had a shit ton of stuff in my locker, I went to the locker area to retrieve my belongings. Standing outside the lockers was Ms Shaddy. She was also a bitch. I locked her figure in my locker after I had gotten everything. I suddenly though ‘what about my friends?’ Fuck that, I have no friends, only fake bitches trying to get math help when they couldn’t understand problems because they were too busy browsing memes during class time. Anyway, I proceeded to walk through the lesser known passage though the woods that would take me to the outside world.
———
The outside world. What sort of place would it be after 30 fucking years. After a relatively short and uneventful walk, I finally reached Tuchmyasoul St. The giant digital clock that stood near the shops said “07/02/2050 11:46am”. Fuck. It looked as hideous as it always had, some of the dead pixels must have been fixed but it had also been vandalised with a giant penis graffitied at the top. I walked towards the shops to grab myself a snack. Except the shops were no longer there. Where there had been a gaming arcade, a little grocer and a vintage clothing shop was a joint adult store and bar. The front of the store was plastered with the most sexually explicit images. Things must have gotten extremely liberal over the last 30 years. Well fuck. I decided I would go home and hopefully... I don’t know I just need a nap. Thankfully, the bus stop was still there, and the bus I normally caught home was waiting. It looked exactly the same as it had looked before, except more weathered. But there was a wifi symbol on the side. I got home and paid my fare, and strangely enough I recognised the bus driver. I had never known his name but I had seen him drive this bus very frequently. He looked like he did before, except his face was slightly more wrinkled, his hairline has receded a fair bit and he had a lot of grey hairs. He didn’t seem to have the same perkiness he once did and appeared somewhat thinner. I decided to sit near him and hopefully find out anything I could. “How’s it been going for you?” I asked as the bus took off. This was extremely out of character for me.
“Oh it’s been shit,” he frowned. “It’s been extremely lonely since 2019 when Karen divorced me and took the fucking kids with her. And the dog. And the house. Then of course I got the cancer hehe....”. He gave a shy glance at me and quickly straightened up. “But my last round of chemo is next week”. This, he sounded a little more optimistic about.
“Ugh that must be tough,” I replied. “I’m happy for your last chemo though”. I tried to make the atmosphere less depressing, and it worked.
“Thanks,” he replied with a subtle smile. “That means a lot.”
“So uh..” I began. “Do you remember what happened to Sandstone State High?”
There was a silence. And a smirk. “Oh that school, the one where everyone suddenly froze?”
“Yeah,” I answered, “that one”.
“Oh yeah well once day a meteorite landed in the oval. There was some radioactive material that police and scientists couldn’t exactly determine and just gave up. Anyway, they observed the place with telescopes and realised that all the teachers and students were frozen. Everyone in that school is officially pronounced deceased now. The place was quarantined and nobody was allowed to enter. It was all over the news, you should have seen it. Still one of the greatest mysteries, I wouldn’t be surprised if that bitch Karen was in on it.”
“Do you know what happened with the parents.”
“Uh well, I guess they all went through some shit, especially with their kids being pronounced dead.”
At that moment the bus turned into my neighbourhood, and I went to get off. I said goodbye to the driver and hopped off.
“Nice talking to you kiddo,” he called with a sad smile.
———
I approached my old home and was about to go through the front gate when I realised that the house was inhabited by complete stranger. Fuck.
“Is everything alright?” A woman in her late 50s approached.
“Do you know where Mr and Mrs Jones are at?”
She looked surprised. “The previous homeowners, oh they passed away I’m sorry.”
“Do you know how happened?”
“Oh apparently she found out he had been cheating in her with a dude and she went into his workplace with matches and gasoline to threaten him to break up with the dude. Apparently something went wrong and the entire workplace burned down with no survivors. It was the morning of the day the Sandstone State High incident occurred. Do you know about that sweetie?”
“Yes,” I muttered, “I do, well I better get going, thanks for your time.”
I turned away and ran realising that my dad’s Xbox buddy had been more than that, and as a result both my parents were dead before the shit that went down at school. I took a walk around the neighbourhood, realising that not much had changed.
———
Eventually I decided to take the bus back to the central area to find a homeless shelter. It was a different bus driver than before. I didn’t talk this time, I sat in silence the entire ride, Life had clearly taken a turn, I was in year 12, and would be in university next year, but now I was nobody. And I had no money, no family and no shelter. All the spare money I had had been used for bus tickets. I wondered aimlessly around some random ass shopping complex. Around the side I suddenly noticed a bucket, when I came close I realised it was a bucket of gasoline. It reminded me of the story the lady who now inhabited my house told me. I saw my reflection and realised I was on my own now. The thought hit me like a train. But at least I didn’t have to face the shitty school anymore. That school can burn in hell. Literally. Then I had an idea. I grabbed the bucket and made my way to the school through the passage in the woods. And I lit the place on fire the same way my mother had lit up my father’s workplace. But I felt satisfaction, and I was gonna make it out alive. Once I had made it out, I decided the first thing I needed to do was check out the homeless shelter, and also I need a fucking job. The school would probably be a pile of ashes that nobody would care about since the area was quarantined anyway.
———
“Are you looking for the homeless shelter?” a lady at the front asked.
“Uh yes, I need a place to stay.”
“Well make yourself at home. We won’t be serving dinner until 8pm but you can have a sandwich now.”
I grabbed a sandwich and decided to wander around the streets. As I walked pass the adult shopping sex complex, I noticed a flyer that read “Prostitutes required, sign up here”.
“What are you doing here cunt?!” A voice boomed behind me.
“Uh....” I had no idea what to say, he obviously wouldn’t believe my story. But I was in need of a job. “Um so you’re hiring?”
“Well yeah, why you wanna sign your punk ass up do get fucked? $20 per person who wants to fuck you is the rate around here.”
———
I quickly finished my meal at the homeless shelter and got ready for bed. It was fucking disgusting but I was way too hungry to care. I had been quite overwhelmed by the events but I was going to finally get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a new day. My asshole was quite sore, but at least I had $180 in my pocket, and a job.
| 2019-02-07T02:50:56
| 2019-02-07T01:35:22
| 148
| 23
|
[WP] Every samurai has an "asura" that grants their blade unique powers at a cost. Your asura allows you to triple the weight of any metal you strike. The trade off is that your blade passes through all but metallic materials. You ponder your asura's purpose, then you go west and encounter "knights"
|
My master once said that the asura of each samurai is the manifestation of their spiritual strength. Through relentless training does a samurai becomes accustomed to their blade, it is then that one may step the path of honing their skills to be truly a master of the katana, and finally the efforts may bear fruit as a unique asura.
While master may ignite cold steel with I can only assume, his strong passion, and rise to the top of his peers as the 'scorching blaze', he was ultimately bounded by age, dethroned by the samurais from a rivaling state. It just happened that his sole disciple who reached the realm of asura was a talentless and stubborn samurai. Unyielding to the new ruler's tyranny, he challenged the head retainer of the warlord - the samurai who slew his master.
It was no surprise that the one who defeated the scorching blaze holds a powerful asura, perhaps being defeated by the 'raging tempest' is not all that shameful at all. The dozens of lashing gusts that came along with the devastating strike knocked me out instantly, leaving me to wake up in a ship of exiles sailing to a distant land.
A samurai without a land to protect or a lord to serve is as good as nothing, even with an asura. Even more so with an asura which sole ability is to triple the weight of metals. One might say that that is a marvelous strength that may disarm the sword from other samurai easily, but that simply does not pass in a country where iron is rare, and our katanas are forged from hundreds of folds. The forge masters double the layers in a single blade over weeks and months, easily outnumbering the strength of tripling in the mere seconds of confrontation.
Truly a pathetic asura, befitting of the talentless me, whose only strength lies in patience and consistent practice, which perhaps fits better in a katana forge than on the battle field. My persistance is the only thing left, as it drives me to practice even on the long journey on the ship, where there is ample time to figure out perhaps a better way, to use this ability of mine.
This is a beautiful land, rich and stretching beyond the distance that I may have ever imagined in my home land. A family of five hosted my stay, while teaching me the ways of the west. Although the land is foreign, war is never more familiar despite the abundance of resources. Selfish lords trample over the wills of the people, waging campaigns for the sake of fueling their ego and quenching their thirst for power.
The kind and friendly do not deserve a foothold in this era of chaos, an army is approaching the doorsteps of this cottage, a small corner of neutrality on these lands with raging war between lords. I may very well finally meet my end, chasing the fleeting illusion of the code of samurais my master passed on to me, which not even the strongest 'raging tempest' would uphold anymore.
>Protect the land and its people, that is what a samurai is trained for.
The lords of the west host truly flamboyant armies, cladding their soldiers with large plates of iron, and some even for their horses. It is however clear as day, that these brutes do not hold a chance in the face of a samurai. Spoilt by the richness of the land, they indulge in desire and pursue nothing with patience and dedication, I do not sense a single asura within their ranks.
They laughed, and charged, and kneeled helplessly. The large plates of iron armor which they thought to grant them saftey became their prison. As they rushed in rows, one swift strike at their chests would send them tumbling forwards, planting their faces into the ground. Another two simple sweeps at their calf and they can forget about standing until my asura wills to let them go. Layer by layer their encirclement falls to the ground, and finally the warlord who leads is beheaded by his own extravagent helmet.
I became known as the samurai of 'steel shackles', protecting this corner of these vast lands, while bidding my days for a successor, one who may continue the lineage of what it means to be a true samurai.
&#x200B;
This is the first time I tried writing none academic chunks of words in English, criticism is welcome!
|
"for Kinng and Glory"!!! I shouted as I struck another revolting peasant.
"Mi lord!" John, a newly knighted lord shouted as points at the hill top.
A horn blast was sounded seconds after, and like clockwork everyone of us, the king's guard stopped.
The downhill wind sent chills towards everyone.
Looking at each other, hesitation sets in.
Others removed their helmet, others called for their squire to bring their horse. Then proceeded to go to the king's tent, hurriedly, cursing as they go.
'The day is ours, then this..." Bran a burly man in heavy armor spoke as he stood near me. Voice a hiss of frustration and fear,, His face grim, mace in his chest I heard the leather tighten as does his grip.
"John! Go and protect the king!" I shouted at John, as I see his legs shake, his armor plate though dented and bloodied still somehow glistens. He looked at me as relief and disappointment shows through his sweaty face. He then shut his helmet and went towards the large tent joining a large contingent of soldiers and knights.
"Mi lord we should go as well" Bran said as he turns and called my squire, no doubt to order retreat.
I motioned Bran to stop, still looking at the hill top, the silhouette of a man standing like a tree, his hair and dress flows with the wind, I saw his sword glow, impossible as it may seem as he stands back at the sun, and pointed it towards....me.
Honor dictate to answer the challenge, but the glow seized my heart. And I felt sweat drops off my nose, I was trembling. I stood frozen, my legs couldn't move forward.
"Mi lord, orders? Sir?" Bran shook me off my fear. I looked at him and he knew instantly. He cursed and motioned for my squire an order.
" He is not of here mi lord, no need to waste sweat or time with him" Bran said in a silent but pleading voice, he knew what happened to my brother as he challenged this, warrior from the east.
He saw his demise, and my inability to do anything, but what he does not know was that the weight of our armor increased, so much so that we cannot move.
"Honor dictate I avenge my brother, your lord vassal" I answered wiping the sweat as it rolls down my face, I smiled and waved him away.
----
As I walked towards the hill where the warrior stood I saw thousands of men bearing the king's banner walked away from the burned town, I see the body of peasants rebels, their wives and children, I felt sadness as the blood of the child should be spared, but as rebels, they may take arms again, hence my suggestion was ordered, kill and burn the town, strike at the home of the rebels, make it an example for others and peace shall reign.
I uttered a short prayer for my dead men, and looked at the warrior. He was kneeling, uttering a small prayer as well.
looking Behind him was a collection of men, the rebels leaders, face grim and angry.
"Scum knights! We told you only children women and old men are left there!" The leader shouted.
"Know your place rebel" Bran shouted back. Readying his mace he prepares to charge at them, then I held his arm.
I motioned no, and looked at the warrior, now finishing his prayer, he poured alcohol at his blade.
"So you will not even acknowledge them?" The warrior spoke in his broken tongue as he stands, and sheated his sword.
"Rebels are rebels, peasant are peasants and they deserve both the sword" I answered and readied my sword.
Bran and the rebels stood away from us, forming a large space where we can fight.
"Knight, because of your actions, I shall not offer you a chance to retreat." The warrior's voice was silent and cold.
"You killed my brother, prepare to..."
Before I could finish my words, the warrior blurred and immediately my sword and arm felt heavy. I have no choice but to drop the sword. Then I saw his dress on my side and my legs buckled because of their weight. I looked at the warrior as he removed my helmet.
______________-------------------------------________________
______________-------------------------------________________
"Lord Green Knight , your action to attack this town despite telling you,only old and women and children are here, are despicable, and only death can save you'
I told the knight as I remove his helmet, fear shone through his eyes, his breathing heavily and wincing in pain. It seems his arm and leg bone snapped. It usually happens when I got their armor consecutive times, their armor are slow and vision is limited, attacking them was like attacking a stationary target. Deadly warriors yes but I have speed, and now I have anger.
The code dictates that there should be nothing in my mind, but what I feel helped and empowered me, especially towards this knight.
He tried to talk but I immediately struck his neck. And now it is done.
His companion was shocked and rightly so. This is no Samurai duel, this is mere execution.
I cleaned my blade and turned towards my friend, their eyes glistens with tears, I merely nodded and went towards the now emptying town.
| 2020-12-24T04:39:07
| 2020-12-24T03:14:04
| 367
| 149
|
[WP] Most space fairing species are logical beings; when they learn that nothing can go faster than the speed of light they accept it and deal with that limit. The space community is then shocked when Humans, an illogical species with a strong obsession with science fiction, turn up with FTL travel.
(FTL meaning faster than light)
|
It was slow. It was always limited.
As a species grew, the wheel of invention always turned slow. The first tool, the first flame, the first planted crops. Hundreds, thousands, or more years between each. And as the species advanced, the wheel began to turn faster and faster.
Till it could no more.
When physics themselves became the barrier in the way, people sought to change it. Ripping holes in space-time, simply accelerating more and more. Nothing worked.
But they were content. After all, they had achived biological immortality. When a ship went fast enough, for the travellers the journey was but a moment, though more to others. It never was that big of a problem. It was taught to children, it was accepted, and life moved on.
As time moved on, other species were encountered: Information was spread across the stellar empires slowly. Finally, enough were gathered that a community was beginning to bloom. It began, it fought itself, it evolved, it prospered.
Then it changed.
A new species arrived, but unlike others. That species had observed the structure from far away and sought to travel there. But their ship arrived instantly from the perspective of the awaiters.
How could such a thing even happen? For even in the fastest ship, light and radiation still moved faster and the ship was known of before it even arrived.
They answered the question: "We went faster than light."
They found and crafted exotic matters, fueled their ships by it, and folded space itself. An expensive process, to be sure - but no more expensive than the fastest slower-than-light, and far faster. They also tore though spaces to create safe bridges to travel through, faster than anything else possible.
From their perspective, it was merely a quirk of nature. But to the community, the last thing restricting their growth finally had an end in sight.
Yet no matter how they pleaded, how they demanded, how they begged, they never got it.
For the humans knew what aliens were to them: Far more advanced, more than they ever thought possible. If they got even the smallest sample of their technology, a revolution would surely occur in their empires. And the humans would have no more use. A young and weak empire. Nothing of worth. They would be tossed aside like a spent torch.
The words of refusal, once spoken by the leader themself, caused an uproar. Again, they pleaded, demanded, and begged, but did not change anything. Furious, they began to mobilize their ships, sending orders to their fleets, to burn down the humans and take their technology.
But the war never started.
For a singular strike from the greatest, fastest, and strongest weapon of the humans devestated the planet shared by the community forever. They had no other weapon. Inspired by the mythos of the past and the facts of the present, created only out of fear and paranoia. Well placed paranoia, for what was predicted could never have been more true.
So, the humans built a fleet, their first one. They put their greatest technicans and admirals aboard, sending them to conquer the entire community faster than their messages could travel.
One planet by one, they fell to the scourge. Only then did they hear why, for the fleets were faster than the words. But just like their guards were broken, barriers were broken for them.
Perhaps it's better this way.
|
\- The space congress has started - says Huhzbi the current leader of the space congress for scientific development and logic, while a computer translator translates to English - and we are here to welcome our new members, self named earthlings, representing the Star System Y896, Galaxy U7 of the cuadrant B4, or Solarians, despite their relative short lifespan, biological nature, and their disastrous track record and rather primitive behavior they have managed to figure out faster than light space travel which has granted them a seat in this congress, so the session starts, any objection?
\- Objection - expresses Xzho, leader of the nomads of the galaxy U7 - we have been observing these creatures, they are wild, they destroyed many of our ships when we requested for an alliance and then covered it up because they couldn't deal with the truth, we would reject any new member of this congress that hasn't been elevated to be a civilization of type 3; and we refuse to accept this new member without an explanation on how their FTL mechanism works, what do we exactly win? it has been proved to be impossible, you are telling me these... "earthlungs" or whatever they call themselves now, were able to come up with the impossible.
Suddenly the congress turns into a messy state, as everyone starts pointing arguments to each other; without getting anywhere, lights flashed as the beings that communicated via photons expressed their ideas, pressure waves came and hit the oxygen filled extremely warm box where Lærke, representant of the earthlings was situated.
\- Silence - says Huhzbi, while silence was not the best term, it was the best the computer translator could come with to express the idea to Lærke - we need to get how it works from them.
\- Any attempt has failed - says Irmjoj - humans have destroyed many planets from our system already by mining them from resources, we are not even sure how they have arrived to those planets, but we managed to capture one of their devices and it makes no sense, it's literally just a box of nothing, it doesn't have motors, fuel, or anything at all, it's a pressurized, warm metal box filled with nothing.
\- Please Stop - Ithnana was losing her cool, she (as if she had a gender) was the director of development of the Uhni supercluster - let the earthling talk - now she looks at the Lærke - human talk.
\- Look I am just the prime minister of Denmark, why am I here exactly?...
\- Are you saying you don't know how your transportation device works?...
\- I am not a theologist, how do you want me to know? I am in charge of Denmark and any planet colonies related, I accepted to come here as Representative of Denmark not as the Representative of the human race.
\- What is a Denmark?...
\- It's a country, member of the Eurasian uni... you know what, nevermind, do you want to talk to a theologist?...
Lærke picks up her phone, and calls someone, the crowd can only hear.
\- I need you here, right now... yes... no... just hurry up... - Lærke continues talking.
\- Aren't we like 3 million light years away from the closest human settlement? - softly whispers Ithnana to Huhzbi. - hold on a minute, how did they arrive here in the first place? they aren't using entangled particles!... she is physically here.
\- Alright alright - Lærke finishes the call, now she redirects herself to the crowd - Alright, our theologist is coming.
\- Coming when?...
\- He is in the toilet, give him 2 minutes.
\- What is a toilet?...
Lærke rolls her eyes.
\- Mohammed Andersen is here!... - suddenly he pops inside the same glass bubble that the prime minister was in.
The crowd freaks out.
\- Was that? Instant teleportation?...
\- Ehm, yes... - says Mohammed - you see, I assume I am here to explain how all of this works.
\- Yes - says Huhzbi.
\- You won't be able to use it anyway you'll see - Mohammed starts talking - your world is limited by science and all this stuff, but it just happens that God has chosen us; this universe isn't real, it's a simulation, most likely a videogame, running in some kid's computer.
\- Wait WHAT?... that doesn't make any sense, how did you figure all that out, you cannot communicate outside of the universe, you cannot check which kind of simulation this is, you cannot do...
\- Well, you can, they can see us, we can't see them; but you see, the world is either glitchy or you can cheat, just happened that by random chance, someone guessed right, he was actually schizophrenic, he spent all the time speaking to God and doing random garbage, and somehow, one day he managed to create cardboard boxes that travelled faster than light and he put the hospital's cat in it; as you see, he was so illogic and irrational, that he managed to find a glitch in the matrix, or maybe he was the glitch in the matrix, we don't know, all we know, is that one day he came up with that, and then the hospital blew up and everyone died, we think he activated a cheat code, he was speaking really long sentences that made no sense; the next day, every single one in the area, and every cat nearby, was able to create, boxes that travel faster than the speed of light; but none else, I was one of those people around, at first we thought it was America's bombing again, but...
\- Mohammed cut it, you said enough - said Lærke.
\- So this is just an error in the universe - says Huhzbi - you are not gifted or anything, you just happened to be so stupid, and have humans so brain damaged, they somehow broke the rules of space time, be so because he activated some cheat code or glitch; this is so stupid, it makes no sense, but we just saw how this guy teleported in front of us; this is so irrational.
\- Yes, God has chosen us - says Mohammed - whoever was playing this videogame is back after a 2000 year rest.
\- Look Huhzbi - says Lærke - the time of those cats and people is limited, we have already lost 40 of the 300 people that are able to do this, mostly to other people, but we realize, your species have the secret to immortality, so I want a deal, in exchange you get a cat, we get immortality.
| 2019-12-21T07:18:29
| 2019-12-21T06:51:26
| 1,431
| 67
|
[WP] "There's a fine line between a vigilante and a very selective serial killer." said the costumed hero.
|
**Blood-Drinker**
"There's a fine line between a vigilante and a very selective serial killer." said the costumed hero, Blood-Drinker, as he stared down from the rooftop at the guy he just threw into the alleyway below. The moonlight glistened off his hockey mask.
He repeated that line out loud after every murder he committed in the most Christian Bale-Batman-esque growl he could muster.
"There's a fine line between a vigilante and a very selective serial killer."
But the thing is… there actually isn’t a fine line. It’s the same fucking thing. He had thought about this on the bus ride back home to his basement apartment after he threw that homeless guy off the roof; and he had come to this stunning realization. Vigilantes kill specific people based on their own sense of morality. But so do very selective serial killers. Vigilantes go after who they believe to be the scum of society… gangsters, murderers, rapists etc. A very selective serial killer often does the same thing, but their “scum” tend to be people who aren’t universally denounced as evil… for example a lot of them tend to go after prostitutes. But really both of them are just people who go after people they feel are bad people. Same thing.
Logic made it clear as day. He was a serial killer.
He wasn’t trying to get justice. Truth be told he didn’t give a shit about the victims. He didn’t even know their names. It’s not like he checked up on them to see if they were all right. He couldn’t care less about them. His focus was always on the criminals.
He also didn’t really have any reason to become what he had become. He got his bus pass stolen one time after a bad day at work and decided that he had had it up to here with society’s criminal element. He made a shitty costume out of a workman outfit and a hockey mask and then searched articles online about places in his city where there was thought to be crime. He stuck around for a while in the shadows and observed a drug deal or two, and then he started shooting the drug dealers and killed one of them. It made him feel better. So he went after more of them. He googled crooked cops and domestic violence suspects. Alleged gangsters. Convicts. YouTubers he didn’t like. He told himself he was taking out the trash, but really… he was the trash. And get this, he didn't even get his bus pass stolen, it was stuck to the bottom of his shoe.
It became more apparent that he was a serial killer when the FBI launched an investigation to find him and they labeled him as “THE SERIAL KILLER KNOWN AS BLOOD-DRINKER.”
So he decided to hang up his costume and go back to being a loser.
He had been stealing cash off of the people he killed(he called it "justice bucks",) so since that wasn’t a thing anymore, he knew he needed to find a new job to pay his rent. He sat nervously in front of the boss who was interviewing him and looking over his resume.
“So tell me again why you want this job?”
“Like I said, I just want to be a functioning member of society and to be the best employee I can be.”
“Ok look son. I can spot liars miles away. I’m going to give you one chance to tell me why you really want this job, or else I’m going to throw your application in the trash.”
He knew it would be a dumb move to say what he was really feeling, but he just had to get it out.
“All right. I’ll tell you the truth. I’m fucked up. I’m really fucked up. I spent the last year of my life dressing up as a vigilante and going out at night and finding anyone I could take out my aggression on to compensate for a lifetime of failure and at best, mediocrity. I’ve maimed, burned, decapitated, robbed, molested, and killed countless people I’ve deemed to be bad guys. I didn’t care if they were guilty or not, I just assumed and then delivered my own street justice onto them. The worst part? I’ve never slept better. I gave it up because I told myself I was a hero, but really I wasn’t, so I didn’t want to be a hypocrite. But I regret it. Now I don’t know what to do, because truth be told; I miss the fuck out of it. If I don’t hurt someone real soon, I think I might blow my brains out.”
The boss looked at him in a stoic manner…. peering into his soul. He extended his hand to him.
“Son, you’re going to make a great police officer.”
|
*(A makeshift interrogation room. A door leading out sits Upstage Center. A single table sits in the room at Center Stage, and a bulb suspended above the provides the light. On one side sits* **BLUE**, *she is dressed in a quasi-suit. A 3-quarter mask sits upon her face, obscuring any details. Across from her sits* **MORELLO** *dressed in a typical 3-piece suit and tie. Both have their hands folded in their lap under the table.)*
**BLUE:** Tell me, Morello, do you know the difference between the two?
**MORELLO:** Killing.
**BLUE:** Killing?
**MORELLO:** Well. A vigilante that kills his victims is a serial killer. He has a pattern and type. While a vigilante that doesn't kill his victims is simply taking their own path to justice.
**BLUE:** I would argue that one who kills is also taking their own path to justice. Sometimes, monsters slip through the legal system on a technicality. You've seen it yourself.
**MORELLO:** I have.
**BLUE:** So, I'll state again: There's a fine line between a vigilante and a very selective serial killer. What do you think it is, Agent Morello?
\*(\****MORELLO*** *ponders this for a moment.)*
**MORELLO:** Method.
**BLUE:** Method, indeed.
**MORELLO:** Having a ritualistic nature to their killings. One that follows a pattern, almost a signature for that killer. A vigilante is focused on the act of meting out justice, a serial killer is focused on the process.
**BLUE:** Very good, Agent Morello. I guess that brings us to why we're here.
**MORELLO:** Indeed, Blue. Let me ask you this in return: What's the difference between a vigilante and a hero?
**BLUE:** That's simple. Heroes only exist in movies. They're idolized for the deeds they do, but it doesn't make those deeds any more legal than mine.
**MORELLO:** They don't kill criminals. They apprehend them.
**BLUE:** What happens when apprehending a criminal doesn't bring them to justice?
**MORELLO:** It always does, Blue. It always does.
**BLUE:** In the movies, at least. The world is not quite so perfect.
**MORELLO:** I suppose that's how you justify yourself?
**BLUE:** No, not at all. I simply dislike the hypocrisy of the concept.
**MORELLO:** There is nothing hypocritical about it.
(***BLUE*** *brings her hands from her lap and leans forward on the table. Closing the distance between them.)*
**BLUE:** Oh but there is. Working for the government, working for some sort of secret agency, being a billionaire in a black suit with fancy gadgets, having a costume. None of that makes someone a hero when they color outside the lines of the law in their actions.
**MORELLO:** So that's your game? Drag everyone else down to your level?
**BLUE:** My level, Agent Morello?
**MORELLO:** The level of a vigilante. Of someone that decides to become judge and jury, and ignore the letter of the law.
**BLUE:** You still fail to see the hypocrisy, don't you?
**MORELLO:** Movies are fiction. The difference between you and a hero is that a heroes are a paragon of justice, while you are undermining it.
**BLUE:** I'm not talking about movies anymore, Agent Morello. I'm talking about you.
*(She pushes her seat back and stands, she heads to the door and opens it. A moment passes before she returns with a folder. During this time* ***MORELLO*** *brings his hands up, revealing the handcuffs around his wrists. He fidgets, trying to get free, but stops the second* ***BLUE*** *re-enters.)*
**BLUE:** Come now, Agent Morello. I wouldn't have left you alone if I thought there was any chance of you getting out.
**MORELLO:** So it would seem. I'm growing tired of this pretense, Blue.
**BLUE:** As am I.
*(She sits, placing the folder in front of her.)*
**MORELLO:** Then let's drop it. Did you really go through all this effort to convince me that I should just turn a blind eye to your work?
**BLUE:** Actually, I did this to show you why it's valuable.
**MORELLO:** There is absolutely nothing in that folder that will stop me from arresting you the moment I get a chance.
**BLUE:** I'd disagree with you. Would you like to take a look, or would you like me to tell you what's in here?
**MORELLO:** Whichever is faster.
*(****BLUE*** *opens the folder and pulls out a single picture. She passes it across to* ***MORELLO****.)*
**MORELLO:** What the fuck is this?
**BLUE:** Ashley Lendell.
*(****BLUE*** *pulls out more pictures and passes them to* ***MORELLO****, naming each one as she does.)*
**BLUE:** Brittany Harris, Stephanie Joy, Leah Riesh. All victims of sex trafficking. All under the age of consent.
**MORELLO:** Where the fuc-
**BLUE:** All cases you worked before making the leap from local police to federal agent. All photos found on your personal computer.
**MORELLO:** And?
**BLUE:** I thought you said you wanted to drop the pretense.
**MORELLO:** I've never hurt anyone.
**BLUE:** We both know that you're lying. We both know I hate hypocrisy. So tell me, Agent Morello. Do we both know what comes next?
**MORELLO:** You're the vigilante, Blue. I guess you get to tell me.
**BLUE:** I'm no vigilante Morello. Do you know what separates me from a Vigilante?
**MORELLO:** No.
**BLUE:** Method.
(***BLUE*** *stands, and walks to the door. Closing it behind.)*
*(End.)*
| 2020-06-17T14:15:09
| 2020-06-17T13:36:43
| 19
| 13
|
[WP] As it turns out, the Avatar is still being reborn to this day. Unfortunately, if the government finds the Avatar, they’re killed before they liberate society. The handful of Benders left are few and far between. And you, an introverted Earthbender, just froze the liquid in your cup of tea.
|
"Where is the Avatar, Rahm?"
I gestured to the seat in front of me. "Now, now, calm yourself, Kota. Come, sit down, have a cup of tea."
"I'll pass. Now, where are they? We know you're hiding the Avatar!"
I sighed. "Are you sure? It's oolong, it's really quite good. I insist, you must have a cup. Now, do you take cream these days? Sugar?"
"I just said I don't want any of your stupid tea, Rahm."
"Ah, right. Of course. Well, suit yourself." I began to mix the sugar into my cup. "So, how is life? I hear the new government job is going well."
"Quit stalling. Tell us where the Avatar is, and we'll let you live."
I set the tea down on the table, and looked him in the eye. "Kota, I'm afraid that won't be the case."
"What?" Kota gasped as the tea began to freeze in my cup. "You? You're the Avatar?"
"Yes, but I am calling on you, in the name of any friendship we once had. Come, join us, join the resistance. Together, we can-"
I gasped as I saw the shard of metal, poking through my ribcage. As I fell to the ground, I could hear Kota talking into a radio. "Call off the search. We... we got him."
As I felt my blood draining out, I took the rest of the pack of potassium nitrate crystals from my pocket and bent it into the ground as far as I could. "Good luck, Avatar, wherever you are." I whispered to myself. "May this give you the time you need."
|
I was sitting in the back row of the auditorium, black school outfit with the government's red insignia on my back, a circle. Just like everyone else.
"The circle", a booming voice erupted from the speakers, interrupting my thoughts. How inconsiderate.
"Represents unity. Together, like a flock of WolfHawks, we are strong. Alone, the WolfHawk is weak."
Like a flame in the darkness, the speaker's blood red embroidered outfit and gold cape boldly emphasized his persona. His face unyielding, voice steady and confident.
"The four nations used to live together... in chaos. It was the king Artificus that brought order to the world."
He continued, dark eyes wandering the room. They lingered... Was he staring at me?
The booming voice resonated in my head as he continued:
"Through unity, strength.”
“Earthbenders, firebenders, waterbenders, airbenders - made the world a cruel place, outlaws that created disorder. That is why they have been eradicated from society. We are proud to announce the global population is less than 3 thousand. Those in hiding will be found, and they will be ended."
The auditorium erupted in applause, hooting and hollering from the classmates to my left and right.
A stern hand raised, silencing the applause abruptly.
His hand contracted into a fist, and lingered as if drawing anticipation…Then, like a judge’s gavel slammed against the podium:
"We", *boom*, "will" *boom*, "find you” *boom*.
More applause.
My gaze drew upon Sophiara, a girl graduating with me. Thoughts drifted through me, enshrouding my mind in a hazy mist. There was something about her I couldn't quite place. Often I would notice her missing from a class we shared, fire nation history. My surroundings subconsciously blurred out of focus... and then her eyes met mine. I had been staring too long. I averted my gaze quickly from her hazel eyes.
We lined up and received our diplomas, one by one, black suit after black suit, in and out. One couldn't distinguish who was who even if they tried, yet proud parents beamed from the crowd, like hyena-bats carefully stalking prey in the dark.
---
It is quite an honor to have the great general and hero Itawaska visit our small village as graduation speaker. Many pray to the king for harboring such fortunate luck upon our town. The Oracle did predict luck for our village from the clouds this year... Though I don't really believe anything she says.
I’m glad the ceremony is over. I make my way down a 3 km winding trail on the outskirts of town. It is late afternoon, and the sun begins to fall as the moon winds up, forever encircling each other as if an invisible clock spins them around and around. A brown cloud shadows me as dust leaps up behind my quick footsteps. One foot after another, tick, tock they go in rhythmic fashion.
I enjoy hiking these trails; to be honest the outdoors has always felt like home to me. I don’t think about much as I walk, just letting my mind drift like a leaf down a winding stream. Late afternoon is faltering into evening. I must say, I have always been more of a night person, and tonight the full moon pulsates my blood like a heartbeat, and I seem to radiate positive chi.
A few more twists and turns, my mind continues to wander as I navigate the trails like a harp player's hands naturally shift to the next note of a familiar song. Naturally I engage in a left turn, just a stone throw after old Man Maloka's mailbox. He is a curious man, older than anyone I’ve ever met, with as many wrinkles as stories to tell. My parents often warn me not to be associated as his murmurings were, as they put it, "careless".
A few more minutes and I arrive at the broken bridge, a chasm-like river separating the land mass on the other side. I walk a few hundred meters to the left. There lies a makeshift crossing I made out of stones many years ago. With precision I jump from one stone to another, making my way across.
Another 3 km of walking. Trees thicken as I make my way, looming with long shadows.
Finally, I have arrived. It is a lake. Even in the day I wouldn’t be able to see to the other side. The moon shimmers off the still water like a spotlight, illuminating the nearby woods. It is a heavily forested area; though a large lake, one would not mistakenly find oneself here.
I close my eyes, breathing in and out. I imagine two fish encircling each other for eternity, a white fish and a black fish – yin and yang. I’m certain I’ve seen them before in a dream. Minutes passed as the orange-red sky recedes into purple. I hardly noticed as I fall deeper into meditation. I listen to the chirping of cricket-birds, the whispering of trees as a breeze reverberates around the forest. I inhale deeply, the moon shining like a lighthouse in the sky, and face my open palms upwards.
I exhale slowly. The water trembles in front of me, suddenly cracking the glass-like stillness. My arms rise. Consolidated waves appear, spiraling in a circle on the surface of the water. In a grand moment, the water leaps upwards, contained by an invisible force. My hands clench as the water rushes into a tight sphere. I feel the water struggle against my will, the weight of it pressing on my mind. I feel the perimeter begin to falter. Suddenly, as if a tiny dam within the sphere bursts, the water collapses back into the lake.
I triumphantly raised my left fist into the air! This is my first time creating a water-sphere!
I now notice my breath is rigid, heart beating quickly. Even the simplest bending is draining for me. I sigh and sit back down. I will mediate before trying again. Determined, erasing the grin from my face, I begin to breath. In, out… Tick, tock.
| 2018-01-21T13:28:32
| 2018-01-21T11:35:22
| 61
| 35
|
[WP] Write spoof erotica [NSFW?]
Mods: if this isn't okay to post, just tell me and I'll remove it.
|
My inner goddess is wriggling with pleasure. Well, it's her, or it's the bad indian food I ate yesterday. His crooked finger is snuggled in my magic love hollow and he's making me feel -
"Oh my," I moan, as my inner goddess smiles like a hungry wolf.
"Keep still." He growls. He's standing behind me, one hand on my hip, the other nestled inside my warm and squishy cave of wonders. He owns, me, he's controlling me... It all feels so good. And he's so attractive as well. I can't believe he wants little old me!
"Oh Tristan," I groan, wiggling my backside against his firm and throbbing man-spanner. He growls and hits my backside with the flat of his hand.
"Oh my." I cry again, feeling like domination and kinky shit might be just right up my street. Or puckered adoration canal. Both. Oooh...
"You're mine Hannah." He growls in my ear. He does a lot of growling. He's like a really sexy wolf. Only not furry - I'm not *that* kinky, blimey. He kinda has these yellow eyes and a six pack like a chocolate bar. Imagine the most generically attractive guy you can, add a tragic backstory and that's Tristan for you.
I feel a warmth building up in me and I know I'm ready.
"Oh my, oh Tristan." I scream.
I discover, to my dismay, that it *was* in fact the Indian food and not my inner goddess wriggling inside me as I turn around and realise that Tristan is not covered in my feminine love juices, but rather...
|
Another night, another pizza to deliver. God damn, I hate this job. And I bet I'll hate this old bitch in... hang on, what address was it again? Oh, yeah, Apartment 21, Building 745, Fisher Street. "Marrie-Anne. 1 Large Supreme, and make it quick, I'm soooooo hungry." Fucking bitch, thinks she's better than everyone else.
Huh, how many god damn stairs are there in this damn building? Fuck, finally, apartment 21.
"Ding Dong."
Ho. Ly. Shit.
"Oh, you must be the pizza boy, hang on, let me get the money," says the pristine hour-glass blonde wearing nothing but a white t-shirt and black frilly panties. I'm almost hitting the floor when she turns around and all I can remember is the 'bounce, bounce, bounce' of two perfectly formed cheeks floating away in the distance.
"Here ya go!"
Huh. I awake back into reality. I take the money from her slender perfect hand and look puzzled, dazed. She looks back at me shocked.
"Oh, I forgot your tip!! Please, come inside with me and I'll give it to you."
I nod, all words escaped. My legs move and I follow. She leads me to her kitchen....
Shall I keep going guys??
| 2014-01-12T04:11:02
| 2014-01-12T03:58:03
| 53
| 10
|
[WP] Traditionally, vampires could not see their reflection because mirrors were silver-backed. With the invention of aluminum-backed mirrors, a vampire sees their reflection for the first time only to find out they are the ugliest thing they have ever seen.
|
"Wh- Where are they?!" Shrieked Immortius.
His thralls glanced nervously back and forth, unsure how to handle the situation.
"Why didn't anybody *TELL* me?!"
"Tell you what, oh perfect and glorious master of the night?"
Immortius flung the aluminum mirror away with such force it cleaved through one of his human servants torso.
"Where the fuck are my eyebrows?!" He felt along his brow, now, more self conscious than he'd ever been.
"OH! That? Well, we, uh, we just figured you were intentionally taking on the visage of a terrifying mythical inhuman monster..."
"And my *skin*! It's all fucking grey and veiny, holy fuck! My fucking complexion!"
"But, my lord, can't you transform into the guise of anyone you've ever met?"
"But this is me when I'm *relaxed*!? Oh god, oh god! This is horrible!"
Immortius fled the room, crying into his hands.
The thralls remained motionless, glancing at each other.
"Jesus Bob, you could have handled that better. Remember when he hired that portrait painter and just wound up killing him within the first 25 minutes?"
Bob frowned, dropping his gaze.
The dismembered thrall was still draining out.
"Yeah, Bob, you're cleaning that up."
|
They always say that vampires are attractive. Our little human prey say we glimmer, we shine the brightest, like stars. So, we must be beautiful, right? I always thought that I was beautiful. I'd never seen myself in a reflection. However, all the humans fawned over me. My last little meal, he flattered me that I was the most beautiful one in the world. He said I was his queen, while I rolled my eyes and bit down his juicy neck. After centuries hearing how beautiful I was, I must be beautiful. I must be.
And then, my friend gave me a reflection plate. Alexander's eyes were strained.
"You need to see this," he said.
"What is up with you?" I asked, taking the plate in my hand. Why would he give me this?
He just shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it."
I raised the plate to look at it. The face was a very ordinary one. Looking at it on the first glance, you would say it was beautiful. But all the facial parts just didn't really fit together. The more you look at the face, the uglier it becomes, as if it was a mismatched tortoiseshell cat. I began laughing. "Who is this ugly person?" I snickered, "is it your new target?"
"You," he said, "it is you."
My mind didn't register it, as I kept laughing.
"Wait... What? ME?!" I screeched.
"No way," I said haughtily. "You are joking! I am beautiful. This, this... this thing is ugly as f*ck!"
Alexander shook his head. "No, it really is us. The preys have changed the mirrors. We can see ourselves now. This is us."
The haunting reality washed over me. We, vampires are ugly.
"Humans have really bad taste."
| 2017-07-29T14:43:13
| 2017-07-29T13:16:14
| 63
| 35
|
[WP] You discover a bag containing human organs beside the road while driving home. Frantically, you inform the police and the bag is taken away shortly afterwards. Weeks later, you get a call from the station that a DNA match has been found. The organs are yours.
|
I was taken in shortly after, so we could all try to figure out how these organs were mine. I certainly still had all of them with me. How could they possibly be in a bag on the side of the road? Even the thought made my head spin.
I feel like I should be clear here. When I say “organs”, I mean all of them. Not just the internal ones. The bag contained not only the stomach, liver, etc, but also a brain, a pile of skin, two eyes. The mere thought was sickening.
After running more and more tests with the same results each time, the reality of the situation finally began to sink in. 100% match, these were definitely, undoubtedly, MY organs.
Sighing deeply as I sat in front of I don’t know how many doctors and other professionals involved, I rubbed my temples and answered their most recent question. Again. “No, I don’t have a twin. I’m quite sure of that. I don’t even have any siblings!”
“Is there ANY way that you might not know about a twin?”
“No! Call my parents right now if you want to, you won’t hear any different.”
One of them raised an eyebrow, and nodded to another person who then left the room. The rest followed them out shortly after.
Ten minutes passed before the first person to leave reentered, a grim look on their face. They were holding two phones, and carrying a box of those rubber medical gloves.
“Put some on.” They commanded, and I did as they asked. “I called your parents. Turns out you DO have a twin.”
They handed me one of the phones. My mother was on the line. “James? James is that you?! The policeman told me what happened, I’m sorry I never told you...”
They took a breath before continuing. “We think these are your twin’s organs. Whether it was a coincidence that you found the bag, or whether someone specifically wanted YOU to find it... we don’t know yet.”
I couldn’t breathe, much less utter a response. I have a twin? And they’re dead? And I found their organs?!
“Excuse me, sir,” the officer said. “But... we also found this in the bag with the... uh... evidence.” They said, as they handed me the other phone. “We’ve finished with it, but it seems that your twin knew that you were related. We’ve found several... disturbing passages about you in here. If you ask me, it’s probably better for you that they never got the chance to meet you, who knows what they would’ve done?”
“I-“ I struggled to wrap my head around the situation. I continued to struggle to process it even as I was being taken back to my house, and left there.
I sat in a daze for hours, only being snapped out of it by a knock on my front door, followed by it opening as my mother and father appeared in front of me.
“James.” She said, a blank, almost bored look on her face. “Where is the phone?”
The phone? Oh, the one that was.... in the bag.
I said nothing. All I did was point to the kitchen table, where the police had put it for me. I hadn’t touched it since.
My mother grabbed it as my father sat down next to me on the floor, the same look of boredom on his face.
“You don’t have a twin. You never did,” he whispered to me. “Your mother cloned you. She wanted to replace you, but it went wrong. It went rogue, and started believing it was the real one out of you two. We had to kill it.”
Replace... me?
“I never wanted anything to do with it. She’ll try again, except she’ll kill you first this time. Can’t risk it happening again, you see. You have to run. Right now”
He was keeping a solid face. It was like... he didn’t feel anything. How...?
But I didn’t stick around to find out. I shot up, my brain finally deciding to catch up with the events of today. As I sprinted out of the house and into my car, I looked back only once to see my mother, aiming a gun at me.
She never shot me. Not for lack of trying, mind you.
And so here I am. Only my car, my keys, and a criminal warrant for shooting my father. Apparently, I snapped after learning of my twin’s death and got angry at him for hiding their existence.
Only me and my mother know what really happened.
|
I was driving down the first exit off the main highway, heading towards my house, when the bag fell in front of me. I slammed on my brakes, got out of the car, and looked around. It appeared as if it was flung from the right side of the road. Inside the bag, I discovered, were organs. Human organs, covered in slime, from the look of it. I closed the bag, went to the side of the road, and threw up. Then I dialed 911.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"I found a bag. A bag full of human organs."
"Do you know where it came from?"
"No."
"Sir, can you tell us the location?"
"It's the first exit on the O-- highway."
"Okay, sir, please stay where you are. Police officers are on their way. Please do not leave the area."
Cold sweat appeared on my brow as I parked my car on the side of the road. Twenty minutes and ten cars later, police arrived on the scene.
An officer asked me what exactly had happened.
"I was driving down the road when this bag flew out from the right side of the road and landed in front of my car," I told him.
"Did you see anybody on the right side?"
"I did check, but there was nobody there. Not to my knowledge."
The officer nodded, but I could see a hint of suspicion floating in his keen eyes.
"Excuse me, sir," He said and plucked a hair out of my head. "For DNA sampling."
A little more brusque questioning, and then they let me go. The bag of organs was loaded in the police car, along with my hair. The officers started inspecting the side of the road. I drove away.
The sight of the slippery, mucus-covered organs collected in a bag and thrown away like trash haunted my dreams. Early next morning, I got a call from the police.
"Sorry to interrupt your sleep, sir, but could you drive over to the police station. This is urgent."
I put on a t-shirt and sweatpants as I dashed out of the door. My breathing was shallow. In my mind, images of me in an orange jumpsuit slumped behind bars flashed incessantly. Finally, at the police station, I took a deep breath and entered inside.
"The organs you found yesterday match your own DNA," Sheriff Day told me.
"My own DNA? How is that even possible?"
"Have you been trying human cloning? You know it's illegal, right?"
"No, sir. I've never done anything like that. I've never been involved with anything like that."
"Well, son, the evidence here doesn't paint a pretty picture. You say you found it on the road. There's no evidence of it. Just your word against ours."
"But, I'm not involved. If I was doing any such thing, I wouldn't have ever called 911."
"That's not my place to decide. You got the judge for it. Maybe you're an unlucky kid, maybe you're the devil. I can't say. In any case, we'll lock you up for some time here. Talk, and you may get a lighter sentence. Unless you're the cloner yourself."
My throat choked. I couldn't find any coherent words. By the time morning came, I was locked up in a holding cell. Lamenting my luck, I sat against a wall and dropped my head between my knees. When I looked up, the organ bag was in my cell. The cell door was still locked.
Unsure of what to do, I sat, back facing the cell door, and held the organ bag in my hands. The organs inside were throbbing. I closed the bag. And then saw it clearly for the first time. I had seen that bag before. I used to own it once.
High school? Yes, that must've been the time. Was it that same bag? The tan color seemed to match, so did the dark brown stitches, and yes, there was the little mark on the main zipper. The bag was mine. And it was alive? Hadn't I thrown it away? Why did I do that?
Yes, this was the bag. Yes, it all came back to me. The bag that had been the recipient of, how do I put it nicely, bodily fluids. Had they given it a life of its own? To find out, I kissed the bag.
A faint voice said, "Let's get out of here."
The damned bag was alive!
| 2021-03-13T05:06:35
| 2021-03-13T01:25:14
| 81
| 52
|
[WP] Due to a rare brain condition you've spent your entire life hallucinating the presence of a six foot tall penguin. You're on a date one day when you're asked "So what's the deal with the penguin?"
|
"So what's the deal with the Penguin?" He asks while gesturing his fork towards the obnoxiously placed bird behind me. Shock spread inside me as I continued to keep a straight face and picked at my dinner. "You can see it can't you? Right behind you? It looks kind of creepy just standing there staring at us." He continues to pester until I shoot a look in his direction. The penguin waddles a bit closer to the table and my date turns his gaze up to the bird. "At least I look like I do on Facebook" the penguin mutters with an icy glare. My date chokes on his food and clears his throat. "I beg your pardon?" My date adjusts his tie and looks up with a smirk at the Penguin. "You heard me, you baiting son of a bitch" the penguin honks and smacks my date's drink out of his hand. "Oh god not again Napoleon, seriously? Every time I go on a date you do this" I groan and put my face in my hands. "I don't like him Karen look at this!" The penguin grabs my phone from my purse and pulls up the Facebook profile of my date. "LOOK AT HIS LIKES KAREN! PINEAPPLE ON PIZZA???!" I look over at Napoleon and then to my date. "I'm sorry I don't trust anyone who puts pineapple on pizza"
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John's hands started to sweat "Oh no, Its spreading" His head slowly falling in his open palms.
"Whats spreading?" asked the penguin and Mira almost simultanuously. Mira being his date, a girl he was dating for almost 4 months now.
John turner around looking for the waiter, waiving him closer. "excuse me sir this is going to sound weird and no offence Mira, but can you see this lady in front of me?"
"Well of coarse sir"
Mira gave him a weird look, a look people often gave him after finding out about the penguin.
"Thank you, that would be all"
"Don't forget to tip him well John..." Bellowed Bill the penguin.
Mira was first to break the awkward silence. "So, i noticed Bill but i didn't want to say anything. I mean at first i thought i was the one going insane but after some time i noticed you reacting to him..."
Bill interjected :" See John I've been telling you for years, YEARS!!! You are one of the rare ones that are chosen by the penguin king, just like Mira and after the kings arc is complete, together you will be the new Adam and Eve for humans on Penguindoria."
| 2017-12-07T15:24:47
| 2017-12-07T12:33:17
| 19
| 14
|
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
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Nothing left but a note on a dresser.
*I thought it could be, but it couldn't. I'm so sorry.*
The other half of the sheets were rumpled, but empty, for the first time in two years.
***
Figured I'd try my hand at this. Lemme know how I did.
|
I slide another box to the left. And another, down the conveyor belt. The mundane nature of the job is mind numbing. My brain wanders as I work. Suddenly, a pierce of light rips the seam of my consciousness open. Red flashes through my vision. An inhumane scream that is mine shreds the air as I look down. My right arms slides along the belt with the boxes. I am suddenly less than I was.
| 2014-10-19T18:32:35
| 2014-10-19T18:03:46
| 47
| 25
|
[WP] Everyone is born with a disability and an ability. A test is done at birth to determine these, if they aren't already apparent. You, well, you were born with crippled legs and have the power of super speed.
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Despite my disability, my parents always pushed me. In their eyes, they were trying to get me to see past my limp, useless legs, and understand that I could still do what I wanted in life. Nothing would hold me back from my dreams.
When I was 6, I mentioned in passing that I might like to try gymnastics. My parents gave each other a slight look, thinking I might have found something I actually couldn't do. After enrolling in a school and attending for a short while, it became apparent that gymnastics was not for me. I could balance well on my hands, but use of one's legs was fairly important in gymnastics.
For a time, I was devastated. I had finally come to the realization that there were things I couldn't do.
I made it through until high school before I had a real dream again.
"Mom, dad, I want to try track."
That same look from when I was a child crossed their faces. They were unsure of encouraging me only to have it end in another failure.
They reluctantly agreed, but I knew I was going to perform. And God dammit, I was going to be the best.
At tryouts, the runners all stood tall at the line, and I wheeled myself up to it. I was met with a few chuckles as I began to climb out of my wheelchair and crawl up to the line. Even more when I got on my hands, limp legs in the air, in a handstand I had perfected since my developmental years, thanks to my brief stint as a wannabe gymnast. The coach walked over, clearly confused at my stature and my condition.
"Kid, are you serious?" He asked me.
"Of course I am. I'm here, aren't i?"
"You know, these kids have been running their entire lives," he said, sympathetic to my disability. "I don't want you to feel bad if you can't keep up."
"Don't worry about me, coach."
He shrugged and stepped back. When he blew the whistle, we were off. The other kids used their finely tuned leg muscles and pushed themselves as hard as they could. I did the same, however I was running on my hands. What I knew that the coach and other runners did not was my ability.
Super speed would have disqualified me from track and field were I running on my legs. But the combination of super speed and the disability of being forced to run on my hands balanced out to a just above average speed.
I didn't finish first that day, but I made the team. With training and practice, I became one of the fastest runners in my school. I abandoned my wheelchair, and began traveling exclusively on my hands. I gained a new confidence I never had before, and I showed the world something important.
I could do whatever the hell I wanted.
|
Running, it was something I had seen almost everybody do. Yet somehow nobody could ever keep up with me. The speed that I was moving with was insane. Although my legs have been crippled for a long time, my arms now had the power to move as fast as possible.
We've all seen it in those YouTube videos. It was even a bit downgrading. I looked like a legless dog, with an aluminum wagon behind me. But I was fast. Faster than anyone else I knew. And I wasn't going to let my disability stand in the way of my potential.
"Ready, set, go!", this was it. My second Paralympic tournament. It was only 4 years ago that I won the biggest race in the entire world. I was the fastest. Nobody could beat me. And I was going to win again. I started moving. The crowd was cheering me on. After all these years I sort of got used to it. I start moving and leave everybody behind me.
It wasn't even an actual race. Everybody knew who was going to win. And it would be me, again. I moved around the track, even moving past runners that were already a lap behind me.
I had to keep moving. I was nearly there. I moved faster and faster. The finish line was so close now. My speed made the crowd go insane. Their screams felt like a wind that was boosting me to go faster and faster. I had to break my own record. I had to set the permanent record, a record that nobody could ever beat.
As I neared the finish line I was greeted with an immense amount of cheering. This is what they all came for. I made it, I was first in line.
I was proud, yet tired. I wanted to go home. I didn't care about the ceremony, or the prices. I already knew I was going to win. The ceremony went by quickly. I don't even remember much. When you move at my speed, even the anthem just takes too long.
It was done, the ceremony was over. I went home, greeted my girlfriend and just went to bed. It was already late, and I just wanted to rest. I laid down on my bed and slowly fell asleep...
"What the fuck?", I said as I woke up. I heard noises. My girlfriend wasn't next to me anymore. What the hell was going on? I heard noises coming from down the hall. "Damnit!" I reached for my nightstand and opened the drawer. I felt safer lately, having my gun beside me while I rested.
I took of the safety and started moving around, following the noises. I came closer to the end of the hall. I heard the noises coming from the bathroom. Though I was fast, I never really got over my fears. I was just scared at this point. I took the safety of my gun and listened to what was happening in my bathroom.
I heard moving, I heard voices. There was water running, and I heard someone cry. "Fucking intruders", I whispered as I slowly took a step back. "Who is there?", I yelled. I heard some shoveling in the bathroom, but there came no answer.
I was done with this shit. This is the third time people broke into my house. If the security cameras didn't work, there was only one way to really scare them. I raised my gun, pointing at the bathroom door.
"Who is there", I repeated. Still no answer, still just the water running and someone moving. "I will shoot!" No reply. I had enough of this. As I heard moving from behind the bathroom door, I put my finger on the trigger. I was ready.
1-2-3, I took three shots at the door. I heard some squirming coming from behind the door. It sounded like every bullet hit the intruder. My hand went towards the door knob, and I turned the knob. It was locked. I moved a few feet back and ran towards the door.
As I jumped up I pushed through the door. The lock broke. The door opened and I landed in a small puddle of blood.
I got up and looked down. There she was, my girlfriend, laying face down on the floor.
| 2016-06-08T01:54:07
| 2016-06-08T00:22:34
| 47
| 30
|
[WP] You are a knight who has just graduated from best knight academy in the world. You are preparing for The Draft, where all of the world’s princes and princess come to select members of their guard. You are chosen by a kingdom which hasn’t selected a new guard in 100 years: The Dragon Kingdom.
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What?
No, that's not right.
It can't be.
The Dragon Kingdom, the legendary kingdom whose king lives in a literal floating castle, who have not chosen a new guard for generations, have picked... me?
Again, my name is called by the imposing knight, whose helmet is fashioned after a horned dragon's head, with his hard face visible through the dragon's snarling mouth. "Kentin Medann! If you will please approach!"
Shakily, I stepped out of line, ignoring the angry murmurings of my fellow knights in training. At least two hundred knights had entered alongside me, 5 years ago, to train in the Fiero Castle, the highest institution a squire could hope to serve. Now, around 20 knights stood in line beside me, the rest having been deemed unworthy for knighthood, either by the school or by themselves.
Now, at the end of our training, we survivors have passed the schools standards, and can only hope to be chosen by a clan of noble blood. There are five powerful clans: the Clan of Dark Brothers; the Speeding Leopard Tribe; the Paladin's Kinship; the House of Adamant Will; and of course, the Dragon Kingdom. That legendary race of men who for so long had lived isolated from the rest, until the only evidence of their existence was their impenetrable border, and, if the day was exceptionally clear, the floating mountain in the distance that everyone knew as the Dragons Keep.
I had been training hard in the hopes of being noticed by the Clan of Dark Brothers, where my brother had been accepted 3 years ago. But the mere appearance of a representative of the Dragon Kingdom was unexpected, let alone their actual choosing a knight. Let alone that knight, being me...
As I reached bottom of the dais where the five clans' representatives stood, the impatient Dragon Knight reached down, grabbed me by the shoulder, and effortlessly hoisted me up beside him. A small gasp passed through the crowd, to be replaced by an intensified murmuring. The large foreigner took a step back away from the steps, a sign that he had finished choosing.
I stood by my superior, waiting as my fellow knights were chosen by the remaining four clans. No minor clan ever came to this academy. It was not uncommon for two clans to claim a single knight, and while the major clans respected each other enough to settle the matter peacefully, there was no telling what threats a minor clan would receive.
Once the rest of the knights had been selected, the ominous Dragon Knight stepped forward once more and spoke in a voice that while was it much louder than the conversation that had sprung up with the end of the ceremony, it gave the impression that the knight was not close to his loudest roar.
"Attention, Clans of Tribok! I am well aware how you gawk at the sudden appearance of the mighty Dragon Kingdom. Rest assured, it is for no light matter. The lively continent of Tribok is in grave danger. Our oracles have gazed into the mouth of the mighty Dragon Arstinnon, and have been given a prophecy that foretells destruction. For this purpose, I come before you on behalf of the Dragon King, and beg you to join us to destroy this imminent danger, before it swallows us all."
"Pray tell, o nameless Dragon Knight," interrupted John Cantople, the well known and arrogant representative of the Clan of Dark Brothers. "What is this horrible threat?"
The Dragon Knight's face flared with anger, and in a flash the man's gigantic sword was drawn, the blade seemingly glowing with unknown magic. "Join us, my fellow Kingdoms, in exterminating the Clan of Dark Brothers!"
|
They filed out of the castle into the courtyard, one by one. They’re all clad in full plate, the din is deafening. Today is the day that the last five years have culminated in. All the kingdoms of the land have come together today to hand pick their next generals. It makes sense. It always has. The academies were all created for their own purpose. Those easiest to attend spat out basic troops, barely worthy of the name “Knight”. The top of the chain, this academy they were all filing from was built and staffed for one purpose. To create the best of the best. To give the leaders of the land not only the best choices, but the only choices for leading their men to protect their country and to war should it ever come to that. He could see the eager envoys of the seafaring kingdoms, the solemn old men of the Scribe Kingdom, even the small peoples of the mining kingdoms. He knew who would be here, it was a point of study in their lessons. Know who you are attracting, know who will be there to witness you, and know what each and every one of them want from a man or woman of combat.
There were hundreds of liaisons. The Knights were now standing as still as the statues bordering the courtyard, waiting for a highborn to speak to them. Not a one of them made any noise until ordered to. Every once in a while a shifting of metal could be heard before a staunch, “Yes Sir.” Shortly followed by the sound of heavy footfalls on the dirt towards the combat display area. Some times this would lead to the knight being hired, sometimes it lead back to the line. It didn’t matter to the men and women in metal. They all knew they would all be gone from this place by the rise of the moon. He stood there for hours in the blazing sun. His armor was heated, his body covered in sweat. Eventually a noble lady placed a gloved hand on his chest plate and asked him if he could do anything she requested. He spoke in a booming voice.
“Yes Ma’am.”
“Oh… Never mind, I’m sorry.” She croaked out, obviously startled by his volume.
But that didn’t matter to him. He would be chosen yet. He could see a shuffling in the back of the courtyard. A wizened man in black robes bearing the sigil of the most picky kingdom. That of the Dragon. He strode up the the Knight with an agility betraying his apparent age.
“Hello, good sir knight. I have need of a soldier. We don’t often need soldiers you see. But first I must ask of you, are you capable of handling the most dire of circumstances? That is, will you falter in the face of constant agonizing death? Or will you look it in the eye and welcome what may come for you, to you?”
The Knight was taken aback by this question, but only in mind. They were not prepared for such an extensive question. None of the Masters taught much about the Dragon Kingdom. Just that they were very secluded and had very stringent standards. So much so that they only seem to pick a new knight every century.
“Yes sir. I will not falter, so long as you order me. I will charge headlong into danger, if you only wish me to.”
“Hm. A little rough around the edges, and too tight, but you will do finely. Come.”
They left the courtyard after the man signed the appropriate papers and paid the fee. They marched until night fell and for hours after. There was vast forestry surrounding the High Knight Academy. Enough to give any army a hard time, which was rumored to be a purposeful move by the creators of the Academy. However, for two hikers, it was just as simple as strolling across a field. The Knight was surprised by how well the old man moved through the thickets and avoided the roots. The sky was blocked by the immense number of treetops, which made the feat even more impressive to him. Eventually they came to a break, the end of the surrounding forest. The two of them made much more progress in the field outside. When the moon hung high in the dark sky, the man stopped.
“Tell me boy. Did they teach you why we are so picky in that school of your’s?”
“No sir.”
“I figured not. Take that metal off, it is far too heavy. She won’t like the extra weight of you, let alone the metal you might be encased in.”
“Who, my lord?”
“Her.” The old man said eagerly, waving his hand toward the sky, showing the young knight a giant winged creature hundred of meters above them.
The Knight’s heart nearly stopped. He had never seen anything like it. Would it not have been for his training, he might have turned tail and run or draw his weapon immediately. But his new master seemed comfortable with whatever that thing was. He whistled and the giant plummeted toward them, landing with a deafening thud. Almost immediately after landing, the creature swung around and started at the Knight, letting out an earth shattering guttural scream. It snapped its colossal jaws at him, which he barely managed to back step, feeling the hot breath of the beast blow his hair back. He made a few more steps away and drew his sword, getting ready to counter strike. The monster lunged at him, roaring so loudly the Knight almost faltered. He could see a green glow at the back of its mouth. As it came closer, he prepared to roll to the side to avoid being devoured. Just as he was about to launch to his left, the old man called out.
“That’s enough, girl!”
The beast stopped abruptly. The Knight rolled. The old man laughed heartily.
“That was good! You’ll do well in the Valley! This is your new mount. She doesn’t ride as easily as a horse, but she’ll do you much better. I’ll take the reigns for the trip back, but she’s your responsibility to train and ride afterwards. It will be difficult, but I’m sure you’ll do splendidly.”
By the time he finished speaking he was petting the creature’s head, and she seemed to enjoy it.
“What do you say, are you still willing to come with me? You’ll have to shed that mindset that was beat into you at your academy. You aren’t some drone or slave to anyone now. You are to be a noble warrior. You need to be able to act without orders.”
“Yes sir.” The Knight said, standing and coming to attention before realizing he was just told he needn’t do that anymore.
“Good! Don’t worry, we’ll break you out of that mental cage yet. Be proud. You’re going to become a Dragon Knight of legend.”
They climbed atop the creature’s back and flew off in the night sky. The Knight was uneasy. They were in the clouds, moving faster than he had ever before.
“Excuse me, sir? I’m confused. Why was I chosen?”
“Because you have the capability of acting outside of your training. This conversation has already proven that. We are on a dragon, a creature of myth, hurtling through the sky towards a kingdom very few know very little about. We need warriors who are capable of independent thought, because there will come a day when you won’t have someone to command you. If you and I are being honest, I chose you on a gut feeling. A hunch. You are a gamble, but you seem to be paying off already.”
“Hm. Does it have a name?”
“She. And that’s for you to find out. See, a dragon’s name can only be found by their knight. When she trusts you enough, she will give you her name.”
“She…” The Knight muttered.
The dragon shuddered lightly at his utterance, letting a low growl out as she did so. The old man chuckled.
“Yes. How about you, young knight? Do you have a name?”
“Alathair sir. And you?”
“Trililith. Though most call me Tri. Ironically enough, I am the third envoy of the Dragon Kingdom.”
“I see. I look forward to being under your tutelage Tri.”
“I think my gamble was a successful one. The others will be glad to meet you Alathair.”
EDIT: Added some to the story, thanks u/Clarkmeister95!
| 2019-01-21T18:24:31
| 2019-01-21T18:17:11
| 20
| 13
|
[WP] This year you decide to walk through a haunted house for fun. Instead of running into your typical ghosts, zombies, or even killer clowns, you find it’s your deepest regrets. You are forced to relive moments from your past that have haunted you and you’re all alone. The only way out is forward.
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I knew the moment I stepped into the attraction that something was wrong. I was standing in my childhood home. At first I thought it was just an insane coincidence, but then I noticed my family pictures on the walls. It had to be some kind of elaborate prank. I turned to walk back through the entrance, but found only the front door. I opened it and saw my old neighborhood through a rusted screen door.
Impossible.
I pushed the door and it opened with a nostalgic screech. I stepped out onto the porch and stared across the street at my childhood friend's home. The old neighborhood even smelled the same as I remembered it. I looked down the road where the old convenience store still operated and decided that so long as I'm hallucinating, a trip down memory lane sounded pretty pleasant.
I stepped out onto the grass and made my way down the road. The trees were exploding colors as was indicative of a Michigan fall. The leaves crunched under my feet and I found myself smiling for the first time in a very long time. It wasn't just a memory of a simpler time, but one I could feel. The stress seemed to leave my shoulders as I strolled, a whistle on my lips. I wouldn't have thought about it before, but fall in the 70's had to be my favorite time ever. The apples were in season and everything was just fireworks to the senses. I stepped into the store, which was basically a gas station without the gas, and marveled at the interior. It was exactly as I remembered it.
Except for the immediate drop off where the refrigerated drinks should have been. There was no gas station clerk. No music. The bags of chips and assorted pastries has no labels. It was like looking at them without glasses on. I started toward the back of the store, and the sound of rushing water slowly reached my ears. I looked over the side and into the dark pit. The tile seamlessly turned to water at the edge of the store and fell down into the abyssal void below. All of my stress returned to me, I remembered where and who I was, and decided I didn't want to be there anymore. I turned and quickly made my way out of the gas station and immediately found myself in my home again. I stopped and turned around to see the old neighborhood through the rusty screen door again, only this time I could see the drop off at the edge of the street.
My heart started pounding.
This wasn't fun anymore.
It was the *perfect* moment for the sounds of someone crying to reach me. I looked across the living room. The sobs were coming from my parents' bedroom. I took a deep breath and pushed forward. I made my way past the couch and around the corner to find the door to their room shut. I reached out slowly and twisted the knob before gently pushing it open.
There she was. My mom, laying on the bed crying into her pillow. Her hair was so blonde I could hardly believe it. She was so *young*. I wanted to call out to her, but I couldn't find my voice.
"Mom," I heard a voice below me and looked down to see my seven-year old self standing just in front of me in what I can only describe as the most surreal thing I'd witnessed yet.
"I just wanted to let you know that I'm NOT sorry."
Oh.
I remembered this.
I couldn't remember the cause– something stupid, I'm sure. But I'd told my mother that she wasn't my mom anymore and it broke her heart. If only I'd known back then how hard her and my dad were working to hold down a house in a decent school district, and to keep a spoiled brat happy. I heard my little feet disappear into the next room. I watched my mom cry and felt pieces of myself breaking. I moved across the room to hug her, but darkness filled that side of the room like the opposite of a light suddenly being turned on. Water rushed past my feet and into the abyss. I stumbled backward and stared wide-eyed into the dark drop before hurrying out the door and into... a home I didn't recognize?
"I don't (hic) I don't know why," a young boy sobbed in the next room.
I didn't know what was happening or where I was, but I started toward the conversation.
"He just won't leave me alone..."
When I saw him, my heart broke. I remembered him; Jimmy Seabers, a kid I used to pick on in school. I'd said terrible things to him. I thought they were funny at the time, but I thought about him a lot later in life. Always thought about reaching out to him and apologizing, but never did. He was sitting at his kitchen table with who I presumed must have been his mother.
"Honey... I think he's just a miserable person."
"Then why (sob) why would he be so mean to other people?"
"He wants to make everyone else as miserable as he is," she responded, running a hand through his hair. "You're going to run into people like that for the rest of your life."
She turned and looked me dead in the eye.
**"Miserable."**
Her voice was horrifying and echoed all around me. A sound like a spotlight being turned off rang throughout the kitchen as everything darkened, and I heard the sound of rushing water. I turned around to see an open doorway in the distance, light pouring through it. I hurried toward it; I didn't much like the dark. I walked through it and found myself standing in front the one house I never wanted to see again.
I purposefully took measures to avoid the neighborhood while driving, and here I was standing right in front of it– and I had a bad feeling I knew exactly what I was about to witness.
"Get the fuck outta here!" I heard myself screaming angrily from inside.
I watched my son leave the house with wet cheeks as I threw things out the door after him. He hurried out to his car and stopped just after opening the driver's side door and looked back toward the doorway.
I'd replayed this in my head so many times.
The nightmares of him looking back to me were unending.
It was this moment that I could have changed things. He looked back to his father one last time just hoping he'd ask him to come back.
"Get your queer ass OUT of my house!" He screamed, red-faced at his only son. "No son of MINE is *gay*, you hear me?!" He shouted.
My heart ripped in half when my son whimpered, climbed into his car and sped out of the driveway. I watched my ex wife run out onto the front lawn sobbing and screaming for him to come back.
I fell to my knees and wept. I watched that evil son of a bitch march out onto the front lawn and grab his wife by the arm. He continued his verbal assault on her, blaming her for hugging our son too much, allowing him to explore feminine interests, and I couldn't take any more of it.
I watched my son's tail lights as he turned the corner.
He never came back. Never saw my boy again after that. Never got the chance to tell him I was wrong, and that I was sorry, and that I loved him no matter what.
I doubled over in pain as the darkness closed in around me.
Water began to run past my knees. I allowed it to flush me into the pit.
It was where I deserved to be.
I opened my eyes to find myself in a hospital bed. It turned out, I'd had a heart attack at the fair. I found my ex wife and my son standing at the edge of my bed. My consciousness was fading in and out, the room dimming at sudden intervals. I mouthed "I love you" to both of them. In case I didn't make it out of this bed.
I wanted the both of them to know it.
r/A15MinuteMythos
|
[Part 1 of 2]
I gave my knee a smack, trying to persuade my legs to stop shaking as I stared at the decaying brown shack. “They are just ordinary people in makeup. You aren’t scared of models and actors, are you?” I tried to give myself a pep talk, but it only caused my leg to shake more. Of course, I was scared of models and actors. They just felt so unapproachable for a person like me. The idea of starting a conversation with one felt like torture.
“Ok, come on. It’s fun, people enjoy this right? Weird people, but weird people are still people.” I murmured to myself, only to jump when a man by the haunted house’s door gave a sheepish cough, grabbing my attention.
“Sir, without being rude, it’s getting late. Are you coming inside or not?”
“Sorry, just trying to get myself prepared for this. It isn’t too scary, right?”
“Some say it’s the scariest journey around. Others find it oddly soothing; I can’t say, I have never been able to make the journey myself.”
“You play your character well.” Something compelled me to give the man a compliment, smiling at him, only for him to give me a roll of his eyes, motioning me towards the entrance.
He was a strange man. Tall, pointed nose, long drawn-out chin. He looked more like a caricature than a real person. It didn’t help that his suit was tacky as well, having bits of string drifting away from the well-worn fabric.
“Come on, either come inside or go home.” The man shouted, rather impatient for someone that didn’t have a line of people waiting to get in.
“Ok, wish me luck.” I pulled out my phone, taking a photo of the front of the building before stuffing it back into my pocket. I needed proof, after all. When I made it to the man, I went for my wallet, only for him to shake his head.
“No money is required. Please, step inside.” On cue, the door swung open, revealing a dark, long hallway inside. It was incredible, for such a small shack the hallway looked endless. Must have been some sort of optical illusion. With a drawn out breath of air, I worked up my courage stepping inside.
“Ok, any monsters around?” I joked, trying to ease my nerves as I sheepishly dragged myself through the hallway. With each step, I could hear ghostly voices. Trying to spot where they were coming from. “Heh, that’s neat.”
Despite my best efforts to be brave, I reached for my phone, putting its flashlight on. Sure, it might kill the fun, but I wanted to get out of this without being a crying mess by the end. The flashlight did well to light up the hallway, revealing a set of doors on each side, the doors staying firmly shut as I made my way through.
“Huh, no signal? Must be too many walls or something.” I whispered, only to jump back as a door swung open, revealing a man inside.
The man was hunched over a desk, cursing to himself before he threw aside a scrunched-up piece of paper. “Why do I even bother? No one likes this crap. I’m better off just taking some dead-end job like my parents did. This won’t pay the bills. Why am I wasting my time on it?”
He sounded insane, kicking back in his chair, only to tilt his head my way, revealing an identical face. He said nothing at first, only jumping to his feet. We shared a long pause before he began approaching me.
“Actors can’t touch the guests.” I stammered out, backing myself up against the wall, feeling his hand slide through my chest as he tried to poke me.
“You ruined us; we could have been someone great. We had dreams. Do you remember the first piece we created? The first thing we drew. Remember how good it felt to create.”
“You can create again.”
“Can I? We both know that’s a lie. You haven’t got the heart for it anymore. We are a failure.”
With that, the man vanished, leaving me alone. The room went black before I found myself in the hallway once more, staring at the assortment of doors. “Hey, I want to leave. Where’s the emergency exit?” I shouted, only to get no response, leaving me alone to continue searching the rooms.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/q7zbrg/wp_this_year_you_decide_to_walk_through_a_haunted/hgm7758/)
| 2021-10-14T08:00:48
| 2021-10-14T06:51:53
| 302
| 14
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[WP] Humans are successful partly because we're omnivores and this holds true on the galactic scale as well. In the future humans have quickly become feared throughout the Milky Way as our soldiers are ready to eat almost anything...or anyone.
|
What the fuck do you think you’re doing?
There was a slight hesitancy to his response: I’m uh, well I’m eating a carrot.
Holy mother of God that is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen in my entire goddamn life. I’ve been on the front lines of innumerable battles, and nothing has ever made my stomach churn like it did just this moment!
Once again, there was a slight hesitancy to his response: Well, uh, I mean, I’m pretty hungry and this field is full of carrots.
Yes we know this entire field is full of carrots, do you think this entire battalion is full of goddamn imbeciles? It’s just that no one in their right mind looked down at the ground and thought: huh well I’m gonna pull this sentient being, with its long cultural heritage. With its family, its life ahead of it, and take a bite out of its goddamn head!
There was a long pause: Uh, well I mean, hmm. I didn’t know that. I mean on Earth they’re just vegetables.
Of course they’re just vegetables! But that doesn’t mean they don’t fall under the Intergalactic Conventions for Wartime Conduct. They have struggled long enough getting their name out of the gutter, we can’t just go around chomping off their heads! We can’t afford new enemies at this point!
He looked at the ground with equal parts remorse and incredulity. Dropping the corpse of the recently decapitated community leader, the orange bodied, Vitamin A Certified father of three. A pause so long that this time he was interrupted before he could get a word out.
Alright boys, let’s leave this sick fuck behind to dwell on his war crimes. We’re off for some good ol’ wholesome rape and pillaging! C’mon!
|
Tilgar, Head Waiter for the Ambassador Tikleen, stormed into the kitchen of the ambassador’s home, startling the cooks. He glared at them menacingly as they quickly scurried across the room attempting to avoid the look of ire. No one wanted to be flayed, or have their wings clipped for failure, so they returned to their duties at a respectable distance. Fortunately, Tilgar was not angry at any of them, he was angry at his supposed assassin, or “The Head Chef.”
“Golx,” he roared as he barreled over pots, pans, and other cooking implements.
Another Gilaxin stuck his head out from around a wall with a coy look on his face; a look that quickly dissolved when he saw the enraged coloration of Tilgar’s eyes. “Sir?”
Tilgar grabbed Golx by an antenna and drug him into the store room. Closing the door behind him he struck the would-be-assassin upside the head. “You said the plan was foolproof. We poison the food with animal protein causing them to get sick. Once sick, they agree to more favorable terms for us due to the embarrassment and our ‘shame’ at them not finding the food appealing. This is how Gilaxin’s do things; this is how we’ve always done things!”
Golx nodded his head rapidly showing that he understood. He was about to speak when Tilgar cut him off again.
“The Treaty of Klinscark was signed because of this method, Golx; the treaty that gave us superiority over the Bloomsi!” Tilgar waved two of his arms around in frustration before finally calming down and looking coldly at Golx. “What do you have to say for yourself, Golx?”
“It should have worked,” Golx said as he struggled to comprehend his failure. He had disguised the animal protein inside a leaf wrapping with seeds. It resembled a common dish on Gilax and would thus go unnoticed. He even ground up the animal protein in such a way that it was small and string-like, and thus resembled leafy strands of the telk plant. “I took all the necessary precautions. I even ground it up to resemble seeds so that the Earth ambassadors were sure to eat it.”
Tilgar rubbed his antennae together before he finally growled low, “You need to go out there and find out what went wrong. You’re the Head Chef, so go act like it!” He then turned, opened the door, and returned to the festivities like he had merely gone to check on the kitchen.
Golx re-adjusted his hat (a ridiculous human-like hat that resembled a fungus) and walked calmly through the kitchen. Arriving at the door he quickly steeled himself, put on his most presentable face, and pushed through the doors to the dining hall.
It really was an exquisite hall. The dirt had been shaped into windows and pillars and polished smooth to a glass. The table was wood, of course, and the Gilaxin and the Humans sat around the table in apparent merriment. They all seemed unaware of the uncomfortable color that the Gilaxin’s eyes were turning. Only the Ambassador maintained his composure. They all, of course, knew about the poisoning attempt. Vomiting, or leaving unexpectedly, was a huge social misstep for the Gilaxin’s and had been used to their advantage over the millennia. Again and again they had poisoned the food so as to insure a misstep, causing ‘embarrassment and anger’ on the part of the Ambassador, who would then demand more favorable terms to treaties and alliances. It had never failed.
Sliding gracefully over to human side of the table, he quickly scanned the plates and saw that every human had eaten the animal protein without issue. Many appeared to have gotten second helpings, or even a third. They were eating it and everything else with relative ease and enjoyment. Golx approached the human Ambassador, Calvin Xing, and coughed respectfully to get his attention.
Xing turned and beamed up at him, “Ah, Golx correct?” Golx nodded to show that Xing was correct. “Excellent food; truly excellent. The meat was exquisite.”
Meat? Golx mulled over in his head and realized he was not familiar with this word. His eyes turned a worrying shade of blue as he attempted to sound out the word, “Meat?”
“Yes, meat,” Xing said as he waved his hand in the direction of the cleverly disguised animal protein. “I knew your race was vegetarian, only eating plants and seeds, and so we came prepared to eat our fill of salads but this,” he held up a leaf filled with seeds and meat, “is just excellent. Reminds me of the lettuce wraps my parents used to make back home.”
Golx did his best to not recoil in horror and he glanced towards Tilgar who was eyeing him with concern. He shook his head gently to show he didn’t understand either. He decided to gently press forward since the Ambassador seemed in good spirits, “I am glad to hear your race has no issues with the…meat,” he said, sounding out the unfamiliar word.
“Of course not,” the Ambassador said as he laughed, “And you don’t have to play dumb, there’s no way this was an accident. You had to have known our race are Omnivores.”
“Omnivores?” Golx asked, a dread growing in the pit of his abdomen.
“Yes, omnivores; we can eat anything,” Xing laughed again before he turned and collected a third helping of the animal protein.
“Anything?”
Xing chewed for a moment before he shrugged, “Well, within reason, but yes, we can eat just about anything.”
Golx bowed gracefully before turning and rushing out of the room; a race that could eat anything? Golx had never encountered that kind of race, no one had, and as he rushed back into the kitchen he realized that his race, his entire people, could be considered ‘anything.’
--------
[r/grenadiere42](http://www.reddit.com/r/grenadiere42)
| 2016-02-02T07:34:08
| 2016-02-02T07:02:02
| 189
| 134
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