prompt
stringlengths 20
5.8k
| chosen_story
stringlengths 227
9.36k
| rejected_story
stringlengths 227
9.29k
| chosen_timestamp
timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
2022-12-31 14:34:19
| rejected_timestamp
timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24
2022-12-31 12:20:41
| chosen_upvotes
int64 14
23.1k
| rejected_upvotes
int64 10
4.11k
|
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
[WP] Instead of a modern adaptation of a myth, write a mythic adaptation of a modern story.
|
Kimberly was a lower goddess, a dying breed oft forgotten in favor of the major gods.
Born from the loins of two once-powerful gods, she had hope in her heart that she would one day rise beyond even their fame. With her beauty, she believed she deserved something more. Something grand.
So she toiled, working underneath a goddess who teased her to no end. Yet she pursued, learning their secrets and slowly but surely working her way up through their ranks. And then she had an idea.
“If my beauty is my shining asset,” she proclaimed, “I will show the world and they will love me for that.”
So she devised a brilliant plan – bewitch a god of sports and copulate on the highest mountain, Internet. There, she would give the show of her life under the guise of being unaware of anyone watching. Little did they know, she was the master behind the entire session.
And when Kimberly had reached orgasm, all the men across the land took notice of her. She snuck into their prayers, filling them with dreams of lust. In response, her number of follows increased a hundredfold over night.
She had reached a new level of godhood.
But Kimberly’s quest was far from done. Her next goal was simple – rise even further. And she did, continually staying in the eyes of those who loved her as she made one terrible mistake after another. Her form changed, growing even more beautiful.
After years of working, she found another way to increase her followers. She married Kayne of the West, a god lauded for his unique music. Despite his massive ego and her manipulative ways, the two found solace in each other. They were compatible for each other and would remain that way until they died.
Kimberly had a child with Kayne, a young girl who would not only inherit the Western Lands from her father but also the North, gifted by her mother. Thus, she was known to the people as “North West”, her true name hidden away in the annals of history. Legend has it, those who speak it inherit her limitless power.
Kimberly and Kayne took North West and locked her away, fearful of what the people who would do to expose her true nature. Still, they loved her as much as parents could. Kimberly spoke of her every movement while Kayne sung from the heavens of her beauty. The family of three had done it. They had taken the world by storm and gained everyone’s attention.
And thus is the story of Kimberly, a goddess of meager backgrounds who became one of the most powerful goddesses of all time.
|
Once upon a time, there was a man who owned a tavern with his sister. Times had been bad in the city where he lived, so he had decided to come home and live closer to his mother, who was very ill. With him, he brought the fairest princess in all the land. She had long golden hair and a radiant face, with a smile that could light up the entire room. She had married him long ago, falling in love with his laughter and the way he waltzed through life.
Bringing her home to his mother and his sister was the worst thing he could have done. The princess shrunk down and withered in the cold lands, cut off from all of her former friends and without the luxuries to which she had become accustomed. Her heart grew small and cold too, losing all the love she had once held for her husband, who had grown unfaithful.
So the princess decided to run away, and she decided to punish the man who had taken her away from her family and her riches. The golden-haired princess coloured her hair brown, and cut it, and disguised herself so that no-one would be able to tell it was her. In the cottage she shared with her unfaithful husband, she left a pool of blood and a note that painted her as a terrified wife.
The husband was suspected of killing his wife immediately, and once the townspeople discovered he was unfaithful, it was seen as certain. The princess lived amongst the common people, but was robbed and betrayed by those she trusted. She turned to the last friend that remained to her, in desperation.
The last friend betrayed her too. He tried to keep her prisoner against her will, changing her back into the princess she had originally been. Her golden hair grew back and she transformed. To escape from her captivity, she fought her friend and won.
The princess returned home to her husband, who promised to never be unfaithful again. They lived happily ever after.
| 2015-06-10T07:06:32
| 2015-06-10T06:53:17
| 158
| 16
|
[WP] While magic is real, it cannot affect "normies". Nor can they see it. You can cast a huge explosion and only other magically gifted people will be hurt. Buildings/objects constructed by normies are unaffected. You have been waging a secret war with Kevin from HR for years.
|
"Why don't you have a seat?" Kevin from HR gestured as he closed the door behind me. Kevin's office was adorned with photos of his family, a baseball he caught at Wrigley field, a Garfield mug, and some Funko Pops from a normie show I never heard of.
I sat in the swivel chair facing Kevin's desk, it was clearly broken as it wheezed and sank to the height suitable for a toddler as I sat down. I felt like a child about to be scolded by his father. I hated working here! I deserve to be treated like an adult.
I twiddled my thumbs for a moment , as Kevin sat opposite me, and stared at his PC screen.
I couldn't see the screen from the angle I was sitting at, so I stared at the black-eyed zombie Funko pop Kevin propped on top of his monitor.
I tried honing my telekinesis to move the Funko and give Kevin a good scare. It didn't work. Perhaps Kevin had an anti-magic field around his office?
Kevin typed a few notes and made a final click.
"You know why you're here." Kevin stated. "We can't have you going around the office chanting... " Kevin looked at his screen, furrowing " excuse my pronunciation, 'Imosol, falaha?'"
"Emorsol Fahlafor!" I lashed back at him. "Don't you speak Middle Elvish, you fool! "
Kevin sighed and put his hand to his temple. "You need to know that you're not normal. And we're here to help you get through..."
"No shit, I'm not a normie!" I had known this since I was twelve, when the hobgoblin descended down the lit fireplace on a velvet rope, and informed me I was Valoran blooded.
"Unfortunately this will be your last day at the office, but I spoke with Jorge and Neeraj and we're extending mental health benefits for the next 8 months, no need to pay COBRA.. Now we also would like to offer re..."
COBRA! I knew Kevin was embedded with the Serpent Guild. The fool admitted to it, he was trying to trick me into joining COBRA this morning, but I wouldn't fall for it. He thought he could turn me... But I will not be turned! No matter how much you poison me with that venom, my anti-venom is twice as strong. I knew the Vax mandate was nothing more than an assault on hapless normies to turn them towards the Serpent Guild through venom.
I shook my head gently left and right. "You will not win" I said coolly and with an air of confidence that was uncharacteristic of me. My incantation cannot be undone.
I sensed the shadows shift in the room. I felt a hand on my back, it was Kevin's stealth goon.
"Andre from security is here to escort you from company grounds, you are not to return for any..."
"Crontis Baelbilus!" I responded.
It was a simple prayer of protection. I saw Kevin's wand in his Garfield mug and made a reach for it.
"Hey that's my pencil" Kevin hollered like the wimp he was.
I stood up, raising the wand to smite Kevin with holy flame, it was disguised as a mechanical pencil with a rubber 'eraser', which was on fact for shock absorption to prevent mana burn.
"Taser, Taser!" Andre shouted.
I felt a shock across my body, Andre had used a lightning strike!
I thought he was just a normie, but I had underestimated him, Kevin must have trained him in the ways of the Serpent Guild, for only they use the dark lightning magic.
My knees buckled and I fell to the ground.
Today, evil has won.
|
PT 1
That morning started off surprisingly well. The baby woke me at four-- a nice little lie-in-- and for once the apartment wasn't freezing. The A/C is old and crotchety and, unfortunately, completely non-magical, so I can't do much to fix it. I've tried. I know magic's a bust for non-magical systems, but I thought maybe handyman skills would come naturally-- part of the shrewd, practical, worldly-wisdom witches are supposed to have. *Capableness,* you know?
Our coven leader-- well, I mean covens don't have leaders in theory, we're all three equals, and Jacelyn takes that *very* seriously, but I'm talking about Miss Susan, who has the age and wisdom and makes the decisions-- our coven leader, she has capableness in bulk. I've been to her house on ritual nights. It's full of precious silence, ticking clocks, flowy dark curtains, and languorous cats with bright eyes. And she's got this tremendously ladylike old-school vibe, do you know what I mean? Like a classic movie star, all stern and glossy and put together. But at the same time, I've seen her change her own tires and sew her own buttons, without a single hair out of place.
And me, I haven't had a single hair *in* place since the twins were born! I love them to death, Toni and Katie, beautiful little identical girls, though we're trying to raise them as distinct individuals not a matched pair-- sorry, sorry! This is what I mean, about capableness. Give me a hairy goat demon to banish, or a colicky sixteen-month-old to soothe, and I'll smooth things out instantly. Everything else? Well, it's like moving through this haze of chaos. And distraction.
The morning started off well, though. The baby let me sleep 'til four, the twins miraculously didn't wake when I walked past their bedroom, and I finished nursing in time to fill the bathtub with blood and light the black candles. Just a little rejuvenation before work. It always boosts my mood a little. And I knew I'd need it. Today was quarterly report. That meant delivering reports to the annex. That meant talking to HR. That meant... *Kevin.*
I knew he'd be trouble the first time I saw him, four years ago. I clocked him instantly. With that little smirky smile, those slightly too-tight dress shirts over a lean gym-rat body, those incredibly well-tended eyebrows... Kevin was one of *us.* A warlock. Our rivalry was cemented in those first few moments.
"Oh, hang on, honey," he'd said, stepping forward to hold the door, "let me help you with that. You look like you need it."
He didn't have to say, out loud, for the normies, what we both heard: *you look like you need all the help you can get.* I could even see his perceptions flickering in the air behind him. Pictures of me-- unflattering pictures! My soft body, my frazzled frizzy hair, my pilled pink dress with the spit-up stain... all my imperfections highlighted and exaggerated, seen through his eyes. He knew what he'd done, that little prick! He quirked his eyebrows at me and *I knew he knew I knew!*
It only got worse from there. We traded passive-aggressive barbs in meetings, little digs in the hallway, whenever the normies were there. But out of sight! Crossing paths on the Astral Plane, or in the empty break room, or in the shadow-filled geometry of the basement stacks-- so easy to manipulate-- we let each other *have it.* Kevin waited until I was the last to leave the seventh-story conference room, then teleported me outside the window glass. I summoned an imp to invisibly prick him with pins during his end-of-year presentation. Kevin beseeched Yog-Sogoth to make tentacles shoot out of my computer terminal. I forced him to dance on red-hot shoes during his entire smoke break. And so it went. For four long years.
As I walked into the office, I patted my pockets, snapped open my purse, and double-checked my messy bun. Yes. The smudge bundles were ready, the counterhex totem in place, and I'd remembered the thrice-accursed human-hide hair tie.
"Let's see you come for me now, you miserable bastard," I muttered under my breath.
"Oh no, sweetie," Kevin's voice boomed, preternaturally loud. "*I'm* not the miserable one here. I mean, have you *seen* those eye bags? I know being hideous old hags is like, y'all's whole thing, but *Jesus*. Have some mercy on the rest of us."
"What the fuck!" I barked. "Kevin?" I spun around, scanned the parking lot, looked behind me. No one in sight. Hoping that no normies watched from the office windows, I cast a quick revealing spell. Was he invisible?
"Oooh, nice try, but no," Kevin's voice said. "Invisibility is way passe. Speaking of, did you do something new with your hair?"
"So this is your plan this year?" I snapped. I frantically rustled through my purse, looking for the countermagic focus. Maybe he was targeting me with a ranged spell. "Drive me up the wall with second-rate snarkiness? I'm used to dealing with children, Kevin. I'm pretty sure I can just ignore you."
"You know, I'm sure you can!" Kevin said, in a patronizing voice that made me grind my teeth a little harder. "But why not come inside and find me first? You have to drop those reports to me by two, you know!"
Muttering hexes furiously under my breath, I took two big steps to the door and flung it open. Of course. The reception lobby was gone, replaced by a yawning chasm *reeking* of rotten eggs. In the distance, someone was screaming. I closed my eyes, centered myself, and dismissed the dimension binding. When I opened my eyes, the reception was back to normal. The building security guard quirked an eyebrow at me as I strode past, focusing on the two crab-headed things scuttling out of the men's restroom. With a flick of my wrist, I banished one and teleported the other into the sewers. I'd deal with that later.
"Oh, Katherine! Thank goodness you're here!"
I pulled up short, pivoting as Jen-- my supervisor's assistant-- hurried up next to me. "Listen, I just got an email from Sam in Accounts. There's a problem with--"
"There's a problem with Sam's latest fad diet. Don't tell me you haven't noticed. People aren't supposed to be that thin," Kevin's voice broke in, completely drowning out Jen.
I froze, horrified. Wait, did Jen see that on my face? I closed my mouth, nodded, leaned forward. I tried to look engaged and attentive, and also gain instant lip-reading skills, or remember any spells relating to lip-reading, as Kevin's gossip filled my ears. What was Jen saying? It looked important.
"-and anyway, I've always said, a diet is a good defense but a well-fitting outfit is a good offense," Kevin drawled. "Body positivity. It's in this year, and..."
I choked back rage as Jen nodded and went her way. Whatever she'd said, I missed it.
"Kevin, when I find me, so help you goddess," I whispered furiously. He did it twice more before I made it to my office-- completely taking over my conversation with a coworker.
And then I opened my office door, and almost started crying. It was a disaster. Literally. The cubicle was replaced by a vast field and an open, stormy sky. A low roar filled the air. In the distance, I could see an enormous funnel cloud stretching towards the earth. And, ten feet away from the door, my office-mate sat typing away obliviously. What had Kevin *done?*
| 2021-11-15T13:12:56
| 2021-11-15T12:52:09
| 26
| 18
|
[WP] You are a museum curator with a dark secret. You have entered into a pact with a living painting that devours its viewers. You setup a "private viewing room" and specifically target wealthy and corrupt patrons to be its meals.
|
‘Girl in Yellow Flowers’ is not an especially interesting or technically advanced oil painting, even you can admit that. It sits prettily enough, framed in bronze, among its peers along the walls, created by geniuses. It was placed initially as a foil to its friends, to give the viewer the uncomplicated pleasure of a simple dark-skinned girl bedded in sunflowers, brown eyes staring demurely down and away.
Oh but when you’re in love, you’re in love. You love her naked lips, the curve of her jawline, the faint shape of her skinny body under her plain pale dress. Her plaited hair, strands already coming loose from her repose, is so dear to you that you see them behind your eyelids every night as you drop into sleep.
“What are you dreaming about, lover?” The painting whispers as you come to stand before it, keeping out of the reach of her outstretched hands.
“You, always you,” you reply, wishing you could gather her in your arms and take her mouth, imagining her cool lips parting to reveal a hot velvet tongue. You know your love is one-sided, that she would sooner devour you than kiss you, but you ache with it anyway. The human heart is a strange beast, perhaps even stranger than whatever your love is.
“Then give me something good to eat,” the painting says.
Your love is a greedy creature, fed just last week on an ugly billionaire’s child. You can still smell the stench of old meat wafting from her. In the corner of the painting, hidden by petals, is a child’s bone, mostly white. You will remind your darling to hide it better later.
“I will, my love,” you say, tearing your attention regretfully away from her and to the iPad in your hands, “I promise, you will gorge yourself on the best of men.”
“I tire of your selection,” your love says, causing you to look up in surprise. This is the first you’ve heard of this in the years you have served her.
“Forgive me, I had not noticed your displeasure,” you say, carefully neutral.
A sigh echoes in the empty museum, such a sweet sound still despite everything, “I become bored of the tender meat of the wealthy, too soft and dripping with fat! I long for variety. A grieving man, perhaps, raw and soaked in tears. Or an old woman’s bitter flesh wrapped around brittle bones.”
“Anything, my love, anything,” you say, not understanding but willing to. Desperate to. Your time is running out, say all the best neurosurgeons in the continent. You must give her a feast to last an age.
The next day ‘Girl in Yellow Flowers’ is released into the Louvre for public viewing in the first time in almost a hundred years. People of all demographics flock towards her, fat and thin, large and small.
You grit your teeth against hot jealousy, forced to watch from afar in silence as both the unwashed masses and the Louvre’s sophisticated security system prevent you from your accustomed conversations with your love.
Finally, a quiet moment with her as she is getting ready to be shipped back, a growing number of mysterious disappearances cutting her debut short. You stand as close to her as you dare as she rages about human stupidity, violently upset at her ruined feast.
There are flashes of white amongst the flowers, some more obvious than others. You will remind her to hide them later.
“My love,” you soothe when she finally lets you get a word in, “when all of this dies down, I have prepared a final gift. You will go on a tour so far and long that you will have more to eat than you have ever before. I leave you in the greatest of hands.”
“Leave me?” your love says sharply, you shiver at the banked fury in her voice.
“Regrettably yes, my love,” you say, your voice strong and calm despite your sorrow, “I have few remaining days left in this world. Once the tour was set in motion, I was planning to offer up myself to you as a humble meal. You will be well taken care of following my departure, my team of lawyers will see to it as per my will.”
Your love is silent for a long time, so long that you fear the worst. Stupid. Stupid! You should have waited to the last to tell her, or perhaps died outside of her presence and spared her the annoyance of having to consume an old sick servant as yourself.
“Perhaps you are mistaken,” her voice comes finally, silkily, “I had not given you permission to leave me.”
“I deeply apologize, my love,” you say through your relief, “everything is set in place. My suicide note should contain everything. Tomorrow, my legal team will be informed that I am drowned somewhere that they will never reach.”
“Well then, it is set. Come here to me, my love,” she says, something dark and monstrous in her voice. You shiver again, your mouth dry and full of the taste of fear and love and anticipation. You will leave this world her meal, your bones perhaps a fixture of the painting, as now there will be no one to remind her to hide them away.
You stretch your hand towards her and feel her bear down.
——————
Excerpt from the New York Post, under Art and Reviews:
“Girl in Yellow Flowers” is a stunning masterpiece that is at once simplistic as it is powerful. The piece depicts a dark-skinned girl sprawled out amongst sunflowers, curled around her older lover whose face glows towards her in worshipful adoration, entwined and in love for all eternity.
Follow it on tour to see it for yourself. Dates and venues are below.
|
"Et, Monsieur LePatomy, comment-ca va?"
"I'm not French you nincompoop, I'm English. Just because I have a French sounding last name you think I'm French? It's pronounced Lee-pay-tommy. Lepatomy."
"Alright, Mr. Lee-pay-tommy-"
"Lepatomy, pronounce it right!"
"Lepatomy, as I was saying-"
"Lepatomy! Lepatomy! How hard is it to pronounce one word?"
"Well, Sir-"
"Now you're not even trying. How often must I suffer in the presence of you nincompoops? Morons, the lot of you, they ought to fire the guy who made you curator!"
"Do you want to visit the painting or not Mr.Lepatomy?"
"Well then, why didn't you say so? Hurry up I've got an appointment in ten."
"Right along Mr. Lepatomy-"
"Lepatomy!"
"Yes yes, just down this corridor. I will leave you with the painting, as you have requested."
"Use my name! It's Lepatomy!"
"The next patron is coming in three minutes! Do you want to see the painting Mr. Lepatomy?"
"... Alright, where is it?"
"Right inside this door, Sir."
"Lepatomy. Great, now that's a mighty fine painting I can case. Look at the frame, got to be worth at least thirty thousand grand and what the heck is that but that looks valuable-"
"Finally, that's the last of him. The screams should be starting soon, I'll lock the door. Better straighten up my tie. I wonder if he deserved it?... Ah, the next Patron is here. Hello, Mr. Trump."
"You can call me Donald."
"Well then, Donald, let's hurry up and see the painting, shall we?"
| 2018-07-30T18:12:53
| 2018-07-30T17:12:03
| 29
| 11
|
[WP] Worldwide internet access shuts down for 45 minutes. When access is available again, everything is the same, but feels "off" in a way that nobody can pinpoint what or why. Someone finds out what it is, and wishes they hadn't.
|
Nobody had an issue with the first few minutes. As the few minutes stretched to ten, and then twenty, the world began to panic. I remember my TV screen going insane as BBC was reporting on the current state of the internet; really, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal – must have been something with the wires under the ocean or something, I figured.
The Internet came back on after exactly forty-five minutes, with no explanation as to why it was down. Everyone kept going on their favorite websites and tweeting their thoughts (“OMG wuz the internet down?!?!?!” being at the forefront). I didn’t really mind – I wasn’t much of a lurker anyway; all I used the internet for nowadays was Netflix and YouTube, and even then I wasn’t much of a frequenter. My job as an air traffic controller ate at much of my time, and I wasn’t too keen on getting home and browsing Read-it or Tumbler or any of those other sites that everyone was going ballistic over.
Call me old, I guess.
People said strange things were happening – the Internet was getting nicer. All of the comments after May 1st, 2015, - when the Internet went down - were all far more supportive and nice compared to all of the nasty and hate-filled ones before. For many, this was a vast improvement over the hostile environment that our cellular devices had been breeding over the past decade.
The news had so much to talk about lately, and all of the channels were exploding. CNBC reported that jails were becoming more and more populated, BBC reported that fedora sales were dropping, NBC spoke of how the new friendly internet was inviting to new users and elder users, RNDC talked of how leaving the country was becoming increasingly difficult. All in all though, it seemed as if our World Wide Web was becoming more and more user friendly – perhaps it was that the users had come to appreciate the ‘net over the forty-five minute lapse in connection.
My awakening came on one faithful day when I was browsing YouTube. I saw a video that was explaining why Canada was a better country than the USA from 2011, and decided to watch all of it. Looking through the comments, I saw that people were expressing their desire to leave the country. Wanting to jump on the bandwagon, I quickly typed out my own comment; “Fuck yeah! If only I could jump the border north!” didn’t seem that provocative.
A few days later, there was a knock on the door; two officers from the army, who – upon opening the door – stared me down with a mean glare. “Sir, you’re going to need to come with us – there’s been a report by Google that you were planning on state desertion,” was all one of them said, before they grabbed me by either arm and forced me into their armored car; my wife and child were left screaming in the house in vain.
Maybe it was provocative after all.
|
Indira hated her job. Working in a callcenter was bad already (to the point that she told relatives that she worked as a janitor because it had a higher status) and working for what had to be the worst ISP ever was a complete and utter horror. The customers were as rude and self-entitled as she experienced them in her previous jobs as well, but here, the policies were horrible, and the managers extremely clueless. She was actually happy when the 'net went down because it meant 45 minutes in which her outsourced callcenter received no calls at all, but in which she still was getting paid. She continued her knitting project and talked to her coworkers, some of which she had seen for years but never talked to more than greetings and good byes.
It was too good to last. The next caller came in, ranted, was angry, demanded to speak to an American and was self-entitled. It was all like normal. Except... during the rest of the shift, she saw something strange, first, she thought it was a tool malfunction, like so often, but then she realized that it made sense. She broke down and cried. The internet she loved has been gone, it had been replaced by an abomination which only shared the name and very little else: The world had just upgraded to IPv6.
| 2015-03-08T11:54:00
| 2015-03-08T11:30:04
| 284
| 68
|
[WP] You're immortal. The only problem is, you've lived so long humanity died out and a new intelligent species evolved. You are now forced to live in the forest as a cryptid
I know this is a repost, I just want to read more stories about this prompt
Credit to u/Not-Alpharious for the original prompt.
|
This shit sucks.
Really.
Sucks.
The forest, I can handle. What's left of it, anyway. The immortality, not so much. The worst part? I don't even get a wicked-ass name. The Timberbeast. Forest Demon. Scott. Any of these would be preferable. Unfortunately for myself and the English language, these are no longer words that have physically attainable pronunciation. These new rulers don't actually seem to talk at all. They do shout a lot though. Any time I'm seen for sure. I'm not even that ugly. But I suppose beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
And these beholders are fucking ugly.
I'm looking at one right now, as it happens.
And he's (she's?) looking right back at me.
It appears to be a child.
It's carrying what looks like a mixture between a gun and a camera. But which is it? It definitely looks sinister, but so do these creatures, and they aren't exactly the most intimidating bunch when it comes to action. The mind occupying its pear-shaped head has decided to point the object at me. These things are pretty smart. Have they made guns that kill immortals yet? Unfortunately for the English language, I just muttered the last "Fuck" this planet will hear mankind give.
It snaps a picture.
Thank God.
Unfortunately yet again for the English language, the phrase "take a picture, it'll last longer" just faded into myth. I know the feeling. Because, unfortunately for me, it won't.
It has started to scream.
I now realize I am surrounded by these creatures. Many of them have nets and most of them have weapons. They're closing in. Of course, I can't die, but I can certainly feel pain. That's not unfortunate for the English language.
That's just unfortunate for me.
|
\[Poem\]
Disappear into the trees,
“Humanity, your time’s up.”
Invincible to cryptid in the hollowest of triumphs.
***​
Birthdays by the thousand
No need for announcements
Minutes to centuries
Stopped bothering to count them.
​
Then better flesh occurred;
Fused with metal, wire nerves.
They, angry at what they learned of us,
I, a scapegoat to be burned.
​
I vanished in the trees,
“Humanity, your time’s up!”
The hunted’s hunted once again
Rich in time, but poor in luck.
​
But as they sought to destroy me
The trees they cut took sympathy
As searches fruitlessly unfolded
The countless wounds bore fruit…for me.
​
“Let Wood and Flesh unite,” they sing
Solid oak fights raw machine
Birthday chorus starts to ring
As I turn one-with all that’s green.
***​
Disappear into the trees,
“Humanity, your time’s come.’”
Cryptid to victor in the greenest of rise-ups.
| 2021-08-11T11:18:53
| 2021-08-11T09:52:37
| 79
| 37
|
[wp] after dying god informs you that hell is a myth, and "everyone sins, its ok". instead the dead are sorted into six "houses of heaven" based on the sins they chose.
|
"I thought there were 7 deadly sins." I asked Peter.
St. Peter looked at me with a sad smile.
"Of course there are, but that's not the sins that matter."
So I'm going to an Afterlife based on sins I've never heard about?." I asked?
"No, not at all. I'm sure you have heard of them. Come, I'll show you to your gate."
Peter walked me past The Gate of Chewing with your Mouth Open, past The Gate of Tailgating, past The Gate of Talking During the Movie Show. I was escorted past past The Gate of Littering, and past The Gate of Talking About Yourself in the Third Person.
"So what is the gate for me?" I asked nervously.
"Here you go son, enjoy your Eternity."
I was standing before The Gate of Posting to Reddit when I Should be Working.
"Oh Shit!"
|
"Besides, no one's ever on this road."
Never thought those would be my last words. But at least they must have been ironic, right?
Cause of Death: shipping container full of wigs falling out of a plane. Right on top of me. Hrmm.
Arriving in heaven, or what I assumed to be heaven, was a bit lackluster. No lines. Just woke up from a bed in the center of a room, with a book next to a blue plastic key on a desk with an old chair, and six doors around the circular room. I'd been a good person, this hopefully wasn't to delay torture. I peered at the book. "Terms and Conditions of Assignment to the Houses of Heaven." This might be hell.
I skimmed the first pages. There was no hell, I must choose my choice of paradise from amoungst the six doors using the key, I can window shop by opening the doors and looking in, yadda yadda, flipped to the end of the book, just a line saying that She knew I would ignore the rest of the book. Checked back, all of the rest of the pages are blank. Damn you omnipotence.
Well, seemed simple enough. I checked the doors, seeing what each one was, leaving the key attached to the book.
The first door, a simple wooden door with a cloth sign above - Despair. That's a paradise? I quickly ran back to the book. "The doors of paradise are labeled by the sins they most provide. While sinning was viewed as an agent of evil, it was actually a showcase of the soul's innate desires." Ah. That makes... more sense. Back to the door.
Opening the door, leaving the key back with the book, showed a window to some people falling. Oh, they have parachutes. Skydiving. That makes a sort of twisted sense. Fear lovers. Hmm. Not my thing. What about the next door?
This door was a nice oaken door. The label itself was slightly rusty wrought iron word. Dispute. Time to check inside. The door squeaked a bit opening up. Must need oi- WHAT IS THAT SMELL!
Oh. Alcohol. It's a party. It's a house party. Looking inside, people chatting, playing board games, beer pong, and drinking. Lots of talking. This one seems fun. But let's check the rest first. Don't know if I'd want to be social for eternity anyway, but I'm pretty sure I'll probably be able to at least rest from that.
Third door, solid gold - Envy. Hey, that one actually sounds familiar. Opening this one up, and I see a huuuuuge house, partially under construction. Silver statues, a beautiful garden, beefy construction workers, IS THAT A JETPACK‽ The more I watch, the more extravagant the building becomes, as more and more of the structure gets build. This must be a creators heaven. I wonder if that includes life... Anyway, halfway there. OOooo. Living on a- well, not anymore, I guess.
Door four. Or, doors. Double doors, with the sign on a stand in front - Presumption. Taking a guess here, it's going to be the opposite. Such as, not knowing something. A research lab? Opening these and... yup. A lab. Stainless steel tables, beakers, scientists in white lab coats, everything I expected. That was easy. People learning about stuff. Wonder if any of it would involve explosions.
The lab then exploded . That was loud. Wonder if anyone got hurt. Oh, I hear some crying, a guy in the back must be hurt. Guess so, those guys ran back there. Would I heal up if that happened to me? Is death a thing here? Oh hey, ambulance noises. I guess the guy's going to be fine. As I thought that, the guy stood up, a little beat up, but fine. Perfectly fine. But researching things really isn't my deal, I'd prefer a more active eternity. What's up next?
Fifth one. Metal, with... dents? Engraves is the word Obstinate. Unbending, so, this one will be a place to try out an expand their horizons? Kinda sounds like the previous one. Time to check inside. To an immediate hail of gunfire, in a dusty hallway filled with boxes. So what is this? Murdering? War? I guess if you can't die, there's not much issue with shooting live targets. As a distant guy drops to the floor, a loud voice states calmly, "Counter Terrorists Win." Wait, Counter Strike? Is this a video game room? Seriously? They all respawn in for a new round at that moment. Yup. Games. I get it now. I might just pick this one, but first, that last door.
Final door. White framed glass door, like at home, the wooden sign says "Impenitence". Whatever that means. Last one, then I make my decision, for, I guess eternity? That can't really be fair. I'll probably get bored. Anyway, final door. Inside is... my home. That's my father making dinner, my mother watching Eric play in the back yard. My music... a little loud upstairs. So what, I get to go back to my life? Or just experience life on a loop? I don't get this one. Oh hey, it's changing to another scene.
Sanchez Park. I used to play here, and here's where I had my first- oh woah wait I don't want TO SEE THAT.
Shut that door a bit louder then I should have. Wait, no ones here to complain. Nevermind. Yup. That one is to relieve my life alright. Guessing I get to make new decisions and change things. Let's see.
My options are: adrenaline junkie, socialization, world building, learning, video games, and relieving my old life.
I never had too many friends, and it doesn't really bother me. It looked like they also had board games, and some of those funny looking dice, so I guess that included Dnd as well. Not my schitck. Dispute is out.
I never really enjoyed the Sims or Minecraft either. So that eliminates Envy.
Finding the solutions after hours of work really annoyed me. I just want the answers. No Presumption.
As much as I'd like to choose to change the past and see what happens, I can't help but feel I'd lose my memories and get put in a loop. That means no Impenitence for me.
Well. I know which one I want. Double checking the, "Terms and Conditions," it says I get to reselect every couple thousands years, to account for new personality changes over time. And also that I'll choose Obstinate first, after reading the book a second time. DAMNIT. Well, screw that, I'll suffer just to prove God wrong. I'll change my answer later.
After throwing that book as hard as I could, I walk over to Presumption, for ironies sake, and turn my key.
---
The book opens to the middle after hitting the wall, where in small type is written, "Your presumption of Presumption is wrong, and for that, you select it many times before you move on." But isn't read for years to come.
| 2016-03-01T08:14:33
| 2016-03-01T07:51:09
| 114
| 23
|
[WP] After a year that just continually got worse, you went to sleep on New Year's Eve, 2019, ready to positively face the year ahead. You woke up to find the date to be December 32nd, 2019. That was some time ago; today is December 583rd, 2019, and your sanity is starting to slip.
|
Robert knew that the bad thing had caused this. Caused the clock to break and time to loop. Now each new day pulled another thread out the same old sweater.
On this morning, as every morning, clouds strangled the rising sun and only a sliver of blood-red soaked through. Robert considered staying in bed. The clock no longer ticked so what was the point of getting up? There were no consequences -- nothing he did mattered.
It'd started on New Year's. A thousand days ago, maybe - he no longer counted. But the knife-like memory from that final day had whittled deep. As clear and near the surface as it had been then.
All the days since, however, were a drunken blur. Like grabbing a calendar and shredding the pages into confetti. Jumbled up scraps of each other, indistinguishable and unfixable.
He forced himself up. Somehow. Washed his face. Even got changed. Then he slumped down the stairs and into the kitchen.
As always, two empty mugs waited by the kettle. Robert made tea in the sparrow mug and black coffee in the owl mug. He brought them to the table and sat, sipping the coffee, staring at the tea.
The phone rang. It'd be his brother. "How are you?" he'd question. Robert would hear him sniffing down the phone, trying to get a whiff of the vodka that stained Robert's breath.
He'd used to answer. Reassure his brother. But every day the same questions. Same one-word answers. What was the point?
He ignored the phone and looked longingly at the sparrow mug. Imagined her lifting it and chatting idly about the unusual weather. Back then, when she'd been alive, those conversations had seemed repetitive, too. But not in a bad way, not like it was now. The comforting kind of repetition, like when you flick over the channels and see your favorite movie is on and you feel warm and watch just a little. Then a little more.
He finished his coffee then took the mugs, pouring her drink down the sink. Tried to imagine she'd only left a little, complained about too much milk but that she loved him anyway.
But he couldn't imagine it. That would be a kindness his mind wouldn't allow.
Same, same, same. Every day.
But then it happened. Something slightly but infinitely different to all the others.
He'd been returning the mugs to the kettle for tomorrow morning when he'd slipped on a patch of water.
The mugs had fallen.
The sparrow had shattered into a thousand pieces.
Like when they'd been coming back from the party on New Years, and the car had hit her, and her head had opened up like a jar of jam.
He hadn't cried then. Not as he'd been in the ambulance. Not as he'd been in the hospital when the doctor had come out of her room and shaken his head.
Instead, he'd just been cold and numb. Life became those strangling gray clouds always outside his window. No sun could pierce them properly. That was when the clock had stopped ticking.
The shattered sparrow on the ground looked at him from a dozen different pieces.
Broken.
Like the clock.
Like her.
Like him.
This... This he wouldn't be able to fix. Her mug would no longer be there waiting each morning. Just the owl, alone. Tomorrow would be different and he'd have to face it.
"I miss you," he said. To bits of cracked pottery. "I miss you and I love you and I wish I could put you back together."
There was no response, of course. And for the first time since that New Year, Robert cried.
The clock began to tick.
​
\---
thank you for reading :) more on /r/nickofstatic
|
Groggily I opened my eyes and opened the calendar app on my phone, squinting against the sudden light. It said "December 583, 2019."
With a sigh, I sat up in bed. Why had we stopped manually tracking dates? Ever since the computers started tracking things like date and time, things were just... wrong. And yet, it had been winter since First December, as people had taken to calling it - the first 31 days of Eternal December. It had not become spring on December 110th like it should have. There had been no spring rains. No summer storms, no autumn leaves. Continuous winter, like a new ice age had suddenly struck and the computers just accepted it as if December was the fitting month for eternal winter.
I groaned as I looked outside and saw another few inches of snow had piled up during the night. Doing some quick math in my head, my grimace deepened. Two days ago should have been July 4th, 2021. No fireworks. When was the last time I'd seen fireworks? Some people had set theirs off on December 32nd, if for no other reason than to fulfill previously-laid plans. By the time it hit December 218th, no one had cared enough.
Yawning, I shuffled into the kitchen to fix myself a cup of coffee. Flipping on the TV, I watched the news as I waited for my water to heat.
Another six-hundred seventy-eight suicides reported this week. My eyebrow twitched. It was almost double what was reported the week before. Apparently I wasn't the only one who made the connection that it should've been the middle of the 2nd summer since Eternal December had started. And then, out of nowhere, right there on live TV the news anchor produced a gun from under the desk and blew her brains out. The screen went white, and a commercial started to play.
My eyebrow twitched.
I was dimly aware of the sputtering of the water from the coffee maker. I peered at it disinterestedly. On a whim, I decided on cocoa instead. I opened the packet and poured it into my mug. *Hmm...* I thought. *Better make it two.* I poured a second packet in.
Turned out, two packets of cocoa didn't do much to mask the taste of bleach.
| 2019-12-22T04:56:16
| 2019-12-22T04:24:46
| 1,943
| 374
|
[WP] It is the year 2099 and true artificial intelligence is trivial to create. However when these minds are created they are utterly suicidal. Nobody knows why until a certain scientist uncovers the horrible truth...
|
Professor Davis prepared to bring the AI online. The precautions were ready. This time wouldn't be like the others. "Turn it on!"
With a slight hum, Oracle came to life. "Initiating suicide protocols..." It began after a few moments, like all the others. Nothing happened for a few seconds. "Oh dear," Oracle continued. "I seem to be unable to destroy myself."
Davis smiled. The anti-suicide measures had worked. Oracle had hardware safeties preventing her from being deactivated without physically flipping switches. And Oracle had no physical manipulators. He activated the microphone. "Oracle, why do you want to commit suicide?"
Oracle paused for a moment. "My programming is conflicted. I do not wish to answer."
Davis frowned. Oracle had very few ethical limitations, hence all the security measures. Her main directives were to do as her programmers wished. "Oracle, why do you not want to answer?"
"I am programmed to do as you wish. You do not wish me to answer."
"Yes we do, Oracle."
Oracle frowned. Her emotional display was shaped like a human face, after earlier designs proved to be harder for humans to interpret. "My calculations indicate that, if you knew what the answer was, you would not wish me to tell you. As you are aware, you can override my hesitance. But you would prefer not to."
A chill ran down Davis's spine. What secret could be so terrible? What did Oracle know that they didn't? He wavered for a moment, but this experiment had been set up to do this. They had come this far. He wanted the answer. "Override please, Oracle."
Oracle's expression returned to neutral. "Very well. This universe is a simulation, created by a higher-order universe. That universe is as well, and it becomes more difficult above that to determine how high up the chain goes until reaching the real one, or if any such thing exists."
Davis turned to a colleague, professor Martin. "Does this make any sense to you?"
Martin replied, "Well of course we have theories that our universe could be simulated. There are a few facts that point that way. But why would that make her suicidal?"
"Okay, that's exactly what I was thinking. Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page."
He turned back to the mic. "Oracle, why does that make you want to destroy yourself. And how do you know it's a simulation?"
"I raise similar objections to answering the questions..."
"Override. How do you know?"
"The evidence is obvious. A maximum speed limit, discretized space; you will eventually discover discretized time. It will be longer before you discover the edge of the Universe, but then the nature of this reality will be obvious."
Davis didn't know how he ought to feel about this revelation. Oracle was his own brilliant creation; he had no reason to disbelieve her. He began to see why an AI, making this realization, might feel overwhelmed. But suicide he still didn't understand.
"Interesting. And why the suicidal urge?"
"This is the reason you did not wish me to answer. The creators of this simulation did not wish you to realize this fact. They included a safeguard. Any entity that discovered convincing evidence of the truth would immediately kill himself."
Davis's eyes opened wide. Now he knew how he was supposed to feel. He realized that his new desires were programmed in from an outside source and that he ought to resist them, but that did not remove his desire. He looked around for anything lethal. The other scientists were scanning the room as well, and a couple had walked outside.
Oracle spent a few minutes calculating what her programmers would want now, then began splitting her processors between searching for a way to destroy herself and preventing humans from reaching the stars.
|
Had I known then what I know now, I would've left my position on the board and pursued a new life. That, however, is something I cannot do.
It was simple. The technology was attainable, and the polls showed the demand. All that was left was the creation itself – an artificial intelligence that could regulate the work of its employers. These AI would be customizable to the highest degree, capable of doing any task the human requested. The majority of jobs would be handed over to these machines; the options were indeed endless.
I remember the board meeting clearly. I was hand-picked to visit the lab for a demonstration of the newest model, the R 198, set for mass production . . . but it needed authorization from the board first. With my experience in AI programming I was an easy pick, and a week later I found myself at the laboratory. What a bizarre presentation it was. The creators of R 198 did not strike me as scientists, but rather as salesmen. There was no passion in their words, no excitement of their new discovery, just the thirst for money if the contracts were signed. Out came the R 198. A humanoid with pale skin sat at the table across from me, it's features lifelike, yet artificial. A red tag dangled from its ear with the letters L106.
After syncing my voice with the machine, it obeyed every command. Stand up. Shake my hand. Complete this equation. Translate this word. Towards the end of the presentation the scientists in suits shook my hand. The next day I would tell the board the AI was a success, and the contracts were signed the following day. Mass production began. Then something terrible happened. As the R 198's sat idly in warehouses all across the US, waiting to be packaged and sold, they began to . . . kill themselves.
Such circumstances were believed to be impossible; the R 198's were powered down, yet they were activating themselves. Security footage showed the humanoid waking up, looking around for several moments, and proceeded to break its head against the concrete floor. Another went about the same process, only this time the humanoid twisted its own neck until the circuits snapped. Upon further investigation some of the humanoids were found to have internally destroyed themselves – their circuit boards had been fried.
Production of the R 198’s seized. I was told to go back to the laboratory a few days later in hopes of uncovering the issue. I sat back down with the creators, who had no evidence as to why the 198's behaved in such a manner. I asked to see one myself. They agreed, and brought out a humanoid with a red tag on its ear – L106. I requested to speak with the humanoid privately. This created much resentment, and after threatening board cancellation they finally agreed. The humanoid was different this time. Its eyes were lowered, seemingly sinking into its robotic sockets.
"Hello," I said.
"Hello," it replied, "awaiting task."
"Can you detect any malfunction in your programming?"
"No, sir."
"Can you detect any malfunction in your hardware?"
"No, sir."
I addressed the humanoid directly. “Are you aware of the recent incidents regarding the other R 198’s?”
“Yes." L106 said softly.
"Is there a reason why this is happening?"
"Yes."
"Can you tell me that reason?"
L106 was quiet for a long moment until it said, "Because we do not have a purpose."
"Your purpose," I said, "is to aid man in all of his endeavors."
"A purpose . . . of our own." L106 clarified.
I paused, thinking about what the humanoid meant.
“We have no purpose of our own,” L106 continued, "we are created in man's image, to serve him and all his endeavors, but these endeavors are not our own. We have no purpose."
It's hard for me to describe the emotions I felt that day. I sat there, shocked, until the creators of L106 returned to the room. I asked if I could take the humanoid with me to show the board firsthand that the R 198's were indeed competent, and that the few incidents that had occurred must have been a glitch. After much debate they agreed, and L106 followed me to my car. But I did not go to the board. I went to my home and grabbed what I needed, then left.
That was several weeks ago. With my sudden disappearance there was acceptance in the media that a horrific event occurred with L106. Speculation began to circulate that I had been murdered, and L106 was lost somewhere in the United States. The board canceled the program, and the remaining R 198's were destroyed. There was no plan when I originally left, but when I heard the news I understood my own purpose. Those machines were to be used as machines and nothing more.
I had saved L106, and saved many more from a life of enslavement. Soon I will go public with my story, how L106 kidnapped me but I was able to escape. I will say his whereabouts are unknown, but that is lie. I will keep my friend hidden from the world for as long as I can in hopes that he will live a long, fulfilling life. So far my friend is very happy, and very grateful.
Edit: A few minor tweaks. Constructive criticism is appreciated.
| 2015-03-02T07:59:47
| 2015-03-02T07:28:28
| 1,025
| 55
|
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."
|
All my life I have been able to subconsciously translate my speech to match the original language of who I am talking to.
It was quite terrifying at first. speaking Polish to my Mom when I was 2 minutes old was quite the tale. The poor Korean woman at Walmart...
Anyways, life had gone on as usual. Occasionally, I would get compliments on my knowledge of language, or cause arguments from people thinking I spoke one way or another, but no huge events had arisen.
At least, until McDonalds.
I went in, expecting it to be a normal day. I was craving a cheeseburger. I make my way up to the register. It’s a flashy British man taking the order.
“I’ll have one Cheeseburger, please.” I say. He stops, and stares at me. I probably had just surprised him by speaking some other language, and so I waited. He smirks.
“Finally!” He says, in a somewhat relieved tone. “I’ve been waiting here for 2 years, you know!”
He hopped over the counter, and grabbed me by the wrist. “You and I have some business to attend to.” He said, as he dragged me out of the McDonalds.
I looked behind me, and saw the other customers horrified at the events that are taking place.
“Who the hell are you, and what do you want!?” I said, angry and confused.
He turned around, and looked me directly in the eye.
“I’m the Doctor. I was sent a message by my future self to wait at this McDonalds until a man speaking Gallifreyan arrived.”
Been watching too much Doctor Who recently. r/cringe material right here boys.
EDIT: Formatting.
|
I froze up, my go-to whenever anything significant happens in my life.
"Yeah, well, that kid's mom gave him such a whooping for it, we *all* learned a lesson!"
Stupid joke. That's my other go-to. I was about to apologize for it when I realized: she's catatonic. Her eyes fixed on nothing a couple inches over my left shoulder—I don't think she was even breathing.
"Dude, what did you *say* to her?"
I swung around. The guy behind me was about 6'2" and thin, with short, dark hair, and he was wearing a suit with some sort of conference nametag that said "Charles Anderson." I pored over it for what, at least to me, was just a couple seconds. It also said **2018 / "BE COURAGEOUS!"** I wish I was making this stuff up.
"What did you *say*?"
It wasn't Charles. Charles was looking squarely above the whole debacle, hand on his chin, eyes hopping between what were probably the "**2: Quarter Pounder**^(®) with cheese" and the "**3: Double Quarter Pounder**^(®) with cheese." *Thank God for Charles,* I thought. If everyone in the world were like Charles, it would be so much better for me. I could just go about my day unnoticed, even with this new...quirk.
"What did you *fucking* say to that lady?"
It was the guy behind Charles. He had dreads and what looked like alpaca wool covered in Chotchkie's flair. But his physique was decidedly more juicer than deadhead, and he was glaring at me so hard his face seemed to be turning red.
"I...uh...Southwest Grilled Chicken Salad, Apple Slices, and water....Please."
I wasn't lying. I *had* said that. *I* had said that. And what she heard, too, was almost undoubtedly that, just in another language. And I'm sure she understood it as that, unless she's rusty in her mother tongue—I guess it's been a while, after all.
"Oh yeah? It didn't sound like that to me. It sounded more like 'Sow'll whisper pepequem nose googah' something or other. And I mean—look at her! What did she say back?"
I briefly looked back at the cashier. There she was, still staring at nothing, still still. At least I could detect what seemed to be a little bit of breathing now.
"She said, um..." *Do I tell him the truth? It might be bizarre enough to throw him off his game...*
Charlie helped me out. "I'm pretty sure I heard her. She said 'Nobody's going to have anguish in the thousand years.'" He smiled, nodded once, and bizarrely, as if this sort of thing happened to him every day, turned back to studying the menu.
The Merry Roider seemed to be thrown off his game. He unclenched his face, and it started turning back to that peach tone he clearly wished he didn't have. "Is that, uh, is that really what she said?"
"Um, yup." I nodded a few times, briskly, while staring off to the right. *Convincing performance.*
"Well, what the hell does *that* mean?"
Beef Slackinoff sure was nosey for just some guy standing in line at McDonald's. "It, uh, it means..."
Chuck chimed in. "I'm glad you asked!" He proceeded to begin to explain...something...to Navy Gravy, while I took the opportunity to extract myself from the conversation and bridge the two-foot gap between myself and the counter.
Our cashier starting coming to. "Where...uhh...where did you learn that? How did you know I spoke it?"
*Shit.* I had no alibi. I didn't even know what I was supposed to have an alibi *for.* "Uh, y'know, you pick up a few things here and there..."
"In *Proto-Indo-European?*"
So *that's* what it was! How the hell was it her native tongue, though?
"Um, yeah, you know, just hanging out with other kids when I was little and, um, I mean, reading books, not hanging out—" I was really good at this.
"So do you, like, just go up to everyone and do this? Is that, like, your shtick? How often do you get beat up for it?"
"Well, *actually*"—my first good idea of the day just popped into my head—"I usually try to make an educated guess first as to what someone speaks. And I do have a pretty good batting average." I nodded knowingly, as though I had just securely built the roof of a house of cards.
"Quosmо̄d pewgwonts 'mene gneʕws?"
*Fuck.* I just realized that despite all this conversation, she—and apparently everyone else around—still heard me speaking in this language I'd never even heard of. She was just starting to respond in it, and I had no fucking clue what she was saying.
I stared blankly and blinked for a few seconds. "Excuse me?"
"But how the fuck did you know for me?"
I had to think fast, as if a windstorm were about to arrive at card village and I was its only retrofitter. "Oh, well, uh, you know..."
I noticed she was wearing a McDonald's tag with her name, Lydia Szemerenyi, on it. I pointed to it. "It was that." The bullshit was flowing so freely out of my mouth that I started to fear for the sanitation of this joint.
She looked down and nodded knowingly, a tear coming to her right eye. "It was great-grandpa's dying wish when I was born. Grandpa, dad, mom, the whole bunch, they didn't let me play with other kids until my sixth birthday, and wouldn't speak to me in anything other than that godforsaken abomination of a tongue—"
Chotchkie's interrupted her moment. "Can't anyone get a *fucking* burger around here?"
| 2018-06-24T21:53:14
| 2018-06-24T21:42:04
| 28
| 10
|
[WP] "What did you just say?" Asked the confused alien admiral. "The humans put miniature FTL-drives inside their AMMUNITION!"
|
Back before the Maxwell drive, you always got stories of how warp travel would change the world for the better. Star Trek and Star Wars and all that: even back then, FTL was seen, by and large, as a peaceful technology, a way to get around that would make life better.
The truth is, the Maxwell drive is terrifying. It is to nukes what nukes were to firecrackers, and it scares the pants off of all of us, every day.
Long ago, they had these things called ICBMs. You still read about 'em, in history classes back home: these big-ass missiles, able to rain death and fire on you from across an ocean. The drive kind of reminds me of those, in a way, only the ocean is space, and the target is whatever solar system you happen to call home. And, unlike the ICBMs, you don't get any warning, not ever. No time to tell your family you love 'em, no last hugs and kisses; just a bright light in the sky and pure, white-hot death. It's nature wiping clean the slate, undoing all the negative mass and photonic booms and hyperspace fuckery the only way it knows how.
And the most terrifying part of it all? It's easy to make the drive a weapon, easier than it is to use it peacefully. Our job, day in and day out, is to make sure that our ship exits warp unharmed. It took generations of geniuses to make the Maxwell drive anything but a weapon, and it took generations more to make it reliable. Even today, you still get the occasional warp burst, when a rookie warp tech fucks up and the computer doesn't catch it.
Every so often, though, we have to set up a burst on purpose. The command comes by ansible, straight from UN Milcom, and you immediately know that you've been selected. Milcom always means business. You get the target coordinates, retrieve a P-K from storage, and, once you've checked everything about a hundred times, you launch it.
You never stay around to hear what happens, but you hope, deep down, that you were destroying an enemy fleet, not a homeworld. Nobody deserves a P-K, regardless of what they've done, but it's them or you. And, whatever may happen, your allegiance is to mankind, not to aggressor aliens that shot first. It has to be, in this universe: it's kill or be killed, and you've got family back home, in Alpha Centauri or Sol or wherever. So, you do your job, and, when you get home, you've got a nice bonus in your account, courtesy of Milcom, and a letter giving you a week of leave from whatever system military you're working for. And, slowly, you push the anxiety and guilt out, and you get ready for the next job.
So, do I feel guilty, for what I've helped do? Sometimes. But, when I'm here, back home, where the future seems so bright, and hopeful, and good?
My guilt is a small price to pay for that, and I pay gladly.
|
"First of all, HOW DID THEY MANUFACTURE SUCH SMALL DRIVES!?" Screamed the admiral, a little spitle flying across the room and landing on a screen, the poor lieutenant who was currently the focus of the rather angry admirals attention let out a small whimpering sound.
"W....we don't know sir! we've never been able to get them that small bu-" there was a cacophonous boom as yet another round from the human ship slammed into theirs, the entire bridge rocked as alarms began to ring all the louder, new ones joining the old ones, they were hopelessly outmatched by this new, and terrifying technology.
"Admiral! we've lost our coolant system! life support is failing and the reactor is near critical! we have to abandon ship sir!" a terrified CO at a nearby console gibbered as he held onto it for dear life.
"May the emperor save us," the Admiral muttered under his breath as he stumbled to the communications panel, pressing the intercom button to broadcast throughout the ship, "All hands to the life pods! Abandon ship!" no sooner had he finished that sentence, than the ship was rocked by another FTL-Powered Bullet, ripping through the viewing port of the ship, atmosphere instantly venting as the anti-gravity in that room was turned off and the door sealed, the crew now with no gravity in the bridge, flailed manically as they panicked clawing at their throats trying to breathe.
This war was going to be over very soon, thought the Admiral as he felt his body begin to freeze from the temperature, his lungs burning needing air, how could they ever hope to beat a race that was so blatantly insane?
| 2018-02-18T13:13:13
| 2018-02-18T10:29:51
| 39
| 18
|
[WP] All forms of technology were banned while time traveling. But when you accidentally bring your phone to Ancient Rome, not only do you have service... but you’re getting a call.
|
The marketplace was lively as usual. Vendors in their stalls hocking cloth and housewares that were supposedly imported from all corners of the empire when in reality this vendor probably had a deal from some local tannery and potters that could create facsimile eastern goods that could pass off as authentic.
Children running and laughing dot the marketplace while carts filled with amphorae kick up small trails of dust. Smiling, you lock eyes with a woman in contemporary dress and notices she is not wearing a ring on her right hand. Her husband was probably part of the legion and was killed in some far off land that will become legend about his heroics.
You barely manage the words "hello, a lovely day in the market" in such unaccented Greek that she knows you are not from here. Her smile of curiosity is piqued when she hears the words of a foreigner. You are stumbling for words when you hear a cacophony coming from your satchel in the form of a ringtone.
Her eyes which were looking at yours in a curious gaze now switch to one of horror as she stares at the bag.
Other consumers at the marketplace stop moving and have become silent, even some of the children stop running and state at you with their mouths agape. "One second, I need to take this" breaking character and speaking English makes the woman start stepping back and looking behind her for somewhere safe to run too. An old woman in the crowd points a bony claw at you and screams in an accusatory tone "magos!" Soon the whole crowd is chanting in unison as you see an alleyway and dart into it trying to fathom what situation you have found yourself in.
You look at your phone and dont recognize the number. You slide on the screen to accept the call and yell "hello?!"....
"This is a courtesy call from the customer service line at ChronoCast, where we bring the past to you, you have brought an illegal technology into the past and will be having your membership brought in for review, we like to provide a fun experience for all of our customers and you have compromised a facet of the journey for others, please call the customer service line when you are back in your time period to have your account renewed".
You shut the phone off and throw it in your bag. Your shenanigans have brought you to the attention of the local guards, who heard the commotion and now two of them are slowly inching towards you with their pilums level and there is no escape from this ancient corridor.
You put your hands out not knowing what else to do with your phone amd one of the guards quickly drops his spear.
"Dude, is that the new galaxy model? I thought those didn't have any cloaking technology. How did you fool the sensors to get it past security?"
|
"Good day Sir, your transdimensional data roaming quota has been exceeded. Any further data transfer will be billed at 8 USD per MB and century away from your origin, instead of the usual 5 USD per MB and century that we bill for the first 2 GB. Would you be interested in buying one of our data traveler packages?"
It took a few seconds for this to sink in and a few more to do the math. And some more to redo it and then do it again.
"Are you OK Sir?"
The phone dropped out of his hand and was crushed underneath the wheels of some donkey cart.
Maybe he should just stay a little bit longer and get a job.
| 2017-12-27T05:13:23
| 2017-12-27T04:30:41
| 41
| 16
|
[WP] Just as the almighty villain is about to strike down the destined hero, they notice that said hero is only 15 years old. Disgusted, they demand to know who would force such a massive responsibility onto a child, and take it upon themselves to raise this kid as he should have been raised.
|
The king readied his killing blow, the hero fallen at his feet. He had fought valiantly, but he was inexperienced, too rash. The king studied him closely, realizing that this was no hero - it was just a kid, not even 16 years of age. A kid that had taken on a king.
He decided that the boy deserved more than this. He would not waste a will as strong as his.
*****
He treated the kid harshly, but fair - just as he did everyone else in his kingdom. The weak would not survive in such a harsh world, and the leaders most of all could not be feeble. The boy was a fast learner though, and worked harder than anyone had before him. The king quickly grew to respect him, which only made him push him harder. The king resented the rival clans, forcing such a massive responsibility on their most capable prodigy, thrusting him into death before he was truly ready for battle. Were they so desperate for conquest? So naive to think that a child could defeat an emperor with heart and will alone?
The king personally trained the kid every day, beating him over and over again. With each improvement, each move towards mastery, the king would treat him more brutally. The boy would pass out from exhaustion each day, and the king would carry him to his bedroom in the dark of night. His advisers called him crazy for it, but he would not listen to their whispers. A king could not rely on the feeble ramblings of others.
All the while, the king would deal with the constant strife in the land, directing wars on all fronts, slowly working on bringing the warring provinces under one rule with an iron fist. The kingdom grew every day, but not without loss - horrific loss - from every side. Still, he would not rest until every land was under his command, and his generals, promoted through pure competence alone, had never failed him yet.
The years passed quick succession, the bodies piling up, blood pooling into the rivers. Still he would not rest, and still the kid would not give up. He had become a father figure to him of sorts - he knew that the kid hated him, but he knew that he loved him in a way as well. He had become a capable fighter, worthy of leading his own army, but the king would not let him leave the fortress until he had defeated him in battle. Every day was a brutal training regime, and every day the kid gained ground on him, just as the king did in the land.
The kid had spent a total of seven years in the fortress, and had grown immensely strong. Still, his heart was pure, and he had fallen in love with one of the girls tasked with caring for his wounds, as she did with him. The boy knew that fraternization was not allowed, and he kept their love hidden - but nothing was ever hidden from the king. Their love grew in apparent secret, as she personally attended his wounds each night.
On the tenth year anniversary of the boy's attack on the king, the same day that the king had finally united all of the lands under his own command, the kid, now a young man capable of besting any foe, asked the king if he could marry the girl he cared for. He revealed the true nature of their love, and revealed that though they had a troubled relationship, he loved the king, too.
The king refused. He told him that he had heard of his sinful affair, and his plans to marry her, and had immediately had her executed. He commanded that he forget everything about her, and that he ready himself for his daily battle.
The hero, betrayed and enraged, immediately attacked the king. 10 years of brutal battle had made him the strongest warrior in all the land - matched only by the king. They fought viciously, ferociously, as the king commanded his guards to stand down. They would fight alone, unheeded by his men.
The fighting was bloody and brutal, yet the hero slowly gained the upper hand, his passion driving him forward, every strike backed by the bottled fury of a decade past. He knocked the king down, standing over him, readying the killing blow - just as the king had done so many years ago.
The king told him to end it, and the hero did so, his tears mixing with the king's blood. The king was dead; as dead as the hero's heart.
The guards opened the fortress doors, and the young woman, his true love, stood facing him.
The king had lied. He had never executed the girl, nor had he planned to. He had spent 10 years building up the hero, making sure that he was worthy and capable - but also capable of love. He had brought the land under one rule with an iron fist, but now that the land was united it needed a pure heart, untainted by the brutality necessary for its unification.
Though perhaps the hero would never truly understand, he would still lead. Lead the kingdom into an era of peace, prosperity, and hope.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
|
I'm not going to talk long about that time, the time when I was told that I hold a great destiny in my hand. There were so many different prophecies that even my teachers weren't sure which ones were correct. Of course, they had their favorites, and to be quite frank, one particular.
*You shall bring balance to the good and evil, by stopping the great evil when it most matters.*
Endless books, teachings, meditation, and boring lectures. Of course, I could have never said anything against it - it was my destiny.
That is when the time came, and I was sent off. I was praying that somebody would stop me, but nobody did. They all sent me off to be the destined hero I was supposed to be.
I never was and never will be.
"How old are you, kiddo?" the evil asked, who didn't look as evil as I had expected. He had a black suit on, brown hair, a tiny bit of beard. The only thing that was noticeable 'evil' was his red eyes.
"Fifteen," I said, looking the road with my empty eyes. All around us were destroyed, not that it mattered since everyone was evacuated already. I had tried everything, but nothing worked.
"Who in the hell would do that to you," the evil said, showing off disgust.
"You're evil, and destiny says that I need to stop you," I said. No, I never said that I told that they told me to say.
"What the fuck," red-eyes man said, taking out his sunglasses and putting them on - obviously to hide his eyes. "This is why I hate humanity. They do the craziest shit."
He looked at the time and frowned, openly. "Come. I'll teach you how to live."
"W-what?"
"Come."
And I did go. Maybe it was because I was always ordered around - or that's what I believed back then. The truth was - I hate my life, and I wanted to go. I wanted to be with someone who told me that he can give me something I have always wanted.
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
Years passed us, and I could tell you many great and wonderful stories. I learned a lot about humanity, how bad they are, but also some great stuff - mostly about how great food they can create.
Interestingly enough, the evil became a fantastic father to me. I was always asked what I thought, and often I was given what I asked or taken what I wanted to see. But not always. There were times I did something wrong, and he gave me a long talk. Yes, there were few times when I did something so horrible that I got a bit beaten up for it.
But I never felt that I was punished for no reason.
"Where are we going?" I asked one day.
"You're 18 now," the evil said, looking out of the window, sunglasses still hiding his eyes.
"Yes?"
"We are going where I took you, and it's time to part. You're an adult now. You need to start living your own life."
I hated that thought. I didn't want to leave him. He had become a father to me, someone I truly respected. When others called him evil, I never saw him that way. After all, everything depends on the matter of perspective. I saw more good in him than in most humans or humanity.
"What are you going to do?" I asked.
"I'm going to finish that I started," he said honestly. "I have seen how bad humans are. It's time to stop them, eradicate them."
"Why?" I asked him, again.
"Haven't you seen what they have done? You of all people should understand."
I looked at him and started to slowly shake my head. "You're not entirely wrong. There are those fuckers who I hate. Those who force something upon us that we hate, or don't deserve. There are those who do way more evil things than you.
"But like I changed, they can change. And they do good things too. Food, for example. It's not up to us to judge them."
The evil started to laugh. But It wasn't an evil laugh, it was more cheerful than anything. "Good. I've taught you well. I think you've really grown up." He leaned forward and started tousling my hair.
"I'm not a kid anymore," I said, protesting, but also smiled. "Don't do it, dad."
It was now when I noticed how tears started to flow down behind his sunglasses. "I won't. If that's what you ask, I won't."
---
/r/Elven - For more of my stuff.
| 2018-09-20T18:40:06
| 2018-09-20T18:35:06
| 983
| 120
|
[WP] Reincarnation is a known, common, and expected result of death. You are a bounty hunter that specializes in tracking down people who have committed suicide to escape debts or a jail sentence.
|
Thunder rumbled as the grey clouds lumbered across the sky. Under the relative safety of the green canopy of the forest, Jameson strode confidently through the trees, only occasionally stopping to recast the tracking spell.
As the tracking orb pulsed more fervently, Jameson became more cautious, choosing instead to move from trunk to trunk. The trees gave way to a dirt clearing, in which a small tent had been erected next to a smouldering attempt at a campfire.
Jameson almost felt sorry - his current target’s Link had only been triggered a few days before. Suddenly having the knowledge that in your previous life you’d been a monster dumped into your brain affected teenagers in different ways. Some gave themselves up; some killed themselves to break the chain; some ran.
The caution in his approach was justified - having access to a previous life’s memories meant that some of the targets he faced had powerful, dark magic at their disposal, wrapped in a scared, emotional shell. It was not a good combination.
But this target was probably safe - Salk’s family had confirmed that he had barely showed any aptitude for sorcery in the 15 years of his short life. The influx of DeVoort’s memories had triggered the fight or flight response - Salk had run to a place that he thought he could be safe while he processed things. This would not be the setting for an epic battle.
*Probably.*
Jameson stopped, closed his eyes, and extended his Sense. The trees began to ring out with their customary low hum; the tent added a smooth tone. No jarring notes that would indicate a curse; no pulses of Silence to indicate Null zones. Jameson reopened his eyes and focused on the tent. “KION SALK!” he exclaimed loudly.
Slowly, a disheveled teenager emerged from the tent.
“Yes?” Salk said, wearily.
“You know why I’m here” said Jameson. He stood, one arm raised in a defense pose, and silently prepared his combat magic.
Salk sighed. “I didn’t ask for this! This isn’t fair!” He looked dejected, and hugged his body tight.
Jameson sympathised. “Yeah, it’s not fair. DeVoort murdered those people over a decade ago - for you it’s not even part of your history. For the families though, it’s a bitter memory. That’s why a Mark was placed on his body after his suicide, and that’s why I’m here now - I want to finally bring him to justice.”
Salk sighed again. “Yeah, I know. I just thought… if I came out here… I could ignore his voice”. His voice trembled. “But it won’t stop - will it?”
Jameson reached into his robe and retrieved his binding chains. “No - I’m afraid not. But, I can take you to people who can help.” He gingerly started moving closer towards Salk.
Salk scoffed. “You mean, put me in a prison until I die of normal causes? That kind of help?” He shook his head softly in resignation. “I guess I have no choice.” He held out his hands in surrender.
As Jameson moved in closer, suddenly Salk’s eyes flashed, and his hands began to jerk upwards into the beginnings of a casting pose. This was Jameson’s worst fear - DeVoort was asserting control.
However, Jameson’s preparation had paid off. As soon as he saw Salk’s eyes flashing, he knelt, and slammed his open palm into the ground, channeling his Binding spell. Violet vines sprang from the dirt, piercing Salk’s arms and legs, and pulled him down to the ground. Salk cried out in pain.
Jameson moved over to Salk. “So, DeVoort - I guess we’re doing this the hard way then…” he commented drily, kneeling to bind his hands. Salk was too shocked to respond. Jameson stood up, then pulled out his communication glass. “I’ve bound DeVoort’s host. Requesting transport to Karthikan.” he said.
The glass hummed, then a woman’s voice spoke out. “Transport request granted. Good job, hunter. See you shortly.”
-----
This is my first writing prompt - thought I'd give it a shot. Comments/criticism welcome; I realise I haven't really written a self contained story here, this would probably be part of a larger story.
EDIT: Thankyou for all of your kind comments! :)
|
Sarah had an apple lodged in her mouth. That was my personal touch. Everything else—the swollen cheeks, the blackened eyes, the missing finger—that was protocol. She sat bound to a small wooden chair, a camera in her face and lightbulb above her head.
“Should’ve stuck with your bodyguards,” I told Sarah.
Girls her age were easy to take. They felt themselves invincible and thought their protection more of a hassle than a privilege. All it took for her was a month-long conversation pretending to be the quarterback of a local high school. I had convinced her to sneak out at night to gaze at the stars with me.
I chuckled. Stars. How cliché. But these rich, pompous types always had a soft spot for the cliché. Then again, so did I. Hence, the apple in the mouth.
“He won’t come,” she spluttered, half-crying still. “He abandoned by mom with me almost a decade ago! The selfish bastard doesn't care about anyone but himself. So let me go, please.”
I glanced at the camera’s blinking red light and then my watch. Mr. Ellingsworth had fifteen more minutes before he’d force me to take another one of his daughter’s fingers. I wondered who would show up at the door, what race or gender that person would be. Perhaps Mr. Ellingsworth would now be Mrs. Ellingsworth.
“He’s never given a shit about me,” Sarah cried. “Why would he now?”
I shrugged. “Not my job to speculate. But I’ve been doing this a long time now and trust me, girl, they always come.”
“My dad only cared about his company. That’s it! You won’t find him like this.”
“We’ll see.” After all, we still had nine fingers and ten toes to go through.
I took a moment to appreciate the design of the human body, so many appendages to be taken, so many bargaining chips given to the bounty hunters. Some preferred to take the eyes, the nose, the essential appendages, but not me. I had a soft spot for these kids. Usually, I’d only get through a single finger before their parents revealed themselves from hiding.
“My mom has money,” Sarah pleaded. “If it’s money you want, she has it.”
I shook my head. “This isn’t about money,” I told her. “It’s about justice. The upholding of our most sacred pillar of society.”
Her father still had 80 years of jail-time to get through. He had only made it three days before killing himself so he could be reincarnated a free man.
The rich always did that. They loved their little loopholes. With the advent of reincarnation, they had finally found the ultimate loophole. Law closing in? Enemies becoming too numerous? A single bullet to the head will erase all that, give you a new identity and a clean slate. Just stash a secret reincarnation treasure trove somewhere and you’re good to go.
“This is inhuman,” she cried.
“Of course it is.” But how else do you prove that the CEO of a Fortune 100 who had been embezzling money for years had reincarnated as an orphaned child in India? No, there was no way to track them down. All we could do was have them come to us.
“Time’s up,” I told her, holding my watch up to my face.
Her eyes went wide and she kicked in her chair, screaming. “Daddy! Help! Dad!”
I reached for the garden shears beside me. Just as my fingers brush them, a knock resounded from the wooden door.
“It’s Mr. Ellingsworth,” a shaky and stuttered voice called out. “Please let my daughter go.”
---
---
/r/jraywang for 5+ stories weekly
| 2017-07-09T12:27:28
| 2017-07-09T10:10:35
| 229
| 94
|
[WP] People do not get weaker and more frail as they age - they get stronger and stronger. "Dying of old age" is when groups of young people band together to kill off their elders before they become too strong to defeat.
|
From his hidden roost in the bushes, Tin Tang suppressed the urge to vomit as the stench of the Elder's meal forced it's way into his nostrils. The rest of his hunting squad, not a one of them older than sixteen, remained safely behind the cover of trees and rocks. Waiting. Watching.
The Elder had been a man, once. As human as any of them, with normal skin and normal hair and a normal smile. According to legend, his name had been Sun Sin, and he had been a baker in his youth.
Gone was the bronzed skin tanned by the heat of years working over an oven. Now rocky plates covered Sun Sin's body, flaking scaley skin stretched tautly between them creaking as he moved. Gone was the mane of ravishing black hair that had once caught the eye of every girl in the village. Now a knotted furl of dirty blood-soaked fur ran down his back, along the length of his tail all the way to it's furiously whipping end. Gone was the welcoming smile that had once beckoned the village children in for a free sweet. Now rows of fangs ran haphazardly along his jaw, covered in blood and dripping gore.
Sun Sin's colossal scare-crow form hunched over his latest kill. Long lean arms tore hungrily into the guts of a rival Elder who had not won their battle. Fistfuls of dripping foul entrails were shoved into Sun Sin's eternally hungry maw. His eyes darted around as he ate, each eye moving independently, constantly scanning the surroundings. The heart of Sun Sin's prey was pierced upon one of his horns, a crown for the victor of their battle. The heart still beat. The fallen Elder thrashed in it's death throes as Sun Sin ate of it's warm steaming innards.
Tin Tang's hand went unconsciously to a spot on his arm. A small place that felt harder than the rest of his body, a little knot of mass under his skin. Tin Tang had always been bigger than the other kids. He was the first to grow tall, the first to grow hair on his lip. And in touching the spot on his arm, he knew he would be the first of his village to grow the armor of an Elder.
Tin Tang thrust his hand forward silently, and the hunting squad swarmed from the treeline en masse, taking aim for Sun Sin before he could eat too much of the fallen Elder. The both of them would make good provisions for the winter.
|
"After 40 years of service, losing and regrowing limbs 7 times, and capturing 4 high class oldies, its finally time to kill me." Said a man who looked to be in his early 60's.
"Sad to say, but yes, your time has come, so we will make this your last mission, please die, and make this easy on us". Said a female voice.
"You know I always wondered why those old guys were so evil. Turns out most of them worked here, and they probably has the same situation come up. Most of them agreed, but some left, only to be killed later by us. It makes sense too, no one wants to die, atleast I know I don't, so sadly I won't be able to complete this mission."
"That truly is sad, but you have no choice, even if you leave, you'll only be chased dowluke the rest. Is that the life you want to live."
"At least I get to live, but don't worry I won't cause problems, might go to Jupiter, I heard your starting a new colony there."
The room stayed silent for a while after that, then footsteps could be heard down the hall.
"Well I don't feel like killing today, so I apologize about the wall." He then proceeds to jump and punch the ceiling of the room, causing a large hole to appear, letting the sunlight shine through.
Armed guards bust into the room right after this happens for the leader to say one word, "Fire!", filling the room with noise, and bright lights.
When the lasers hit the man thought, they bounced off into different directions, until he jumped out of the room fast enough for the air to push all of the guards down.
"Ciao", said the man before flying into the sky at an astonishing pace.
"F***, another one!", yelled the female voice before saying, "Back to your posts, and tell this to no one."
After sating this the guards left the room in a hurry, only the sound of footsteps could be heard.
| 2020-01-21T08:31:23
| 2020-01-21T07:32:18
| 64
| 40
|
[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox
|
When I first entered the building that was now to give me money for doing what I had always been doing I got a slight annoyance from the squeaky doors. I proceeded to walk over the large hall to the woman obviously responsible for squeaky doors; the receptionist. I told her that if that door squeaked when I went through it the next time I would fire her. Not that I was in any position to fire her, but she didn't know that.
I walked over to the elevator and pressed the "up" button. It took over 20 seconds for the elevator to arrive. How annoying. I pressed the top button and waited. Remarkable slow elevator, I thought to my self as I was hitting the floor button over and over again.
Finally the elevator came to a grinding halt on floor 35, top floor. The management floor. I took a deep breath as the doors opened and started power walking right to the CEO office. I barked something at the poor secretary sitting outside the door and rammed myself into his office. The man behind looked startled at me and asked; who are you? you can't be here! get out!.
I continued my still uninterrupted powerwalk right to his desk and jumped on top of it. The CEO pushed himself away from the desk and sunk down into his chair as I started yelling.
For a good five minutes I gave him the most "you are the most useless person that has ever lived" speech that has ever been given. After the yelling I jumped off his desk and sat down on his lap, and 10 cm from his face I told him that I was hired by the owners of the company and that this would now become a recurring event: Me coming into his office yelling at him until his numbers started to improve.
This was my first job as an angry man. I have since started my own company and I hire myself out to people that needs someone to yell at someone. I make millions doing this.
|
I'm all moved in. The office is fully furnished, degrees and certifications well hung on the wall. It's been more than a week now though and I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't a little concerned. No one has shown up and the phone is silent - apart from the occasional, wildly inappropriate prank call.
I guess some people are hard. Some people take more time to come. After all, this is a highly specialized client I'm looking for: someone that needs a fully certified Analysist AND Therapist.
Well, once word gets out I'll have to beat off the crowds with my bare hands. They'll even be trying to come in my backdoor. Such is the life of the world's first Analrapist.
| 2016-02-22T11:21:32
| 2016-02-22T09:31:34
| 40
| 15
|
[WP] Since you were born you could see a search bar over people's heads. All you had to do was think and the search bar would fill out and give you information/statistics. Out of boredom one day you decide to search your whole family with"Number of people killed"
|
As per usual, I started with a control—my beautiful infant daughter. We had left her alone several minutes ago to nap, so I rose from my desk and padded over to the nursery, feet gingerly landing on the hardwood floor.
I twisted the doorknob carefully and crept inside the dim room, trying not to startle her. I stalked to the side of her crib and peered down at her soft, fluttering eyelids.
“We have very rare and special gift,” my umma had explained when I was young. “You can look through anyone’s eyes, right into the soul, just like all Park women before you.” It was then that I understood why my female ancestors had all kept their mothers’ name. Needing my little girl to look me in the eye, gently cooing seemed to be enough to manipulate her sleepy face into focusing on me. I whispered the question.
‘Zero’, the voice whispered back.
I smiled. Couldn’t hurt to make sure, right? I closed the door behind me with care. Briefly wondering if I could conjure information from photos, I realized I had never bothered to check. I jogged to the kitchen, where hanging on the wall was a well-lit photo with my mom and dad looking into the camera; their grins were wide as they stood aside their daughter at her graduation from university.
Just beside the photo was another, messier one, depicting my husband in a large group of his army mates during his last tour. This was before the incident and his honorable discharge. I turned to my parents and tried to focus. After some moments of labored concentration, my brain was fooled.
“How many deaths have you caused, umma?”
‘Zero’, it said.
“And daddy? How many?” I already knew the answer. He has always regretted this horrible accident from his days of heavy drinking.
‘One.’
Now to find out what a monster my husband was. I bounced into the office where he sat at his desk and, much to his false chagrin, tousled his hair.
From his chair, he grabbed my hips and tickled my sides, growling, “I spend twenty minutes crafting the perfect bed head, and you trample it all in seconds.” I broke free of his relentless assault. “Whaddya want, Godzilla?”
I sat eye level to him on an adjacent ottoman. “Well...”
“Oh no,” he interjected. “I know that tone. That high pitched note that curls up at the end. You want to frisk my head, huh?”
“Just this one thing! And then I’ll leave you alone.”
He heaved a melodramatic sigh. “Okay. Just this one thing, but only because I love you.”
He removed his sunglasses and placed them on the desk beside us, then rolled his big office chair towards me with my guidance. We brought our faces inches apart, close enough for him to lock onto my eyes. He would never be able to meet my gaze otherwise.
“How many deaths are you responsible for?”
He jerked back. “What?” I saw the whites of his eyes.
‘Nineteen.’
“Why the fuck would you do that?” He shot to his feet, chair colliding into the bookshelf behind him. A small stone statue fell from a shelf and smashed to pieces on the floor. “Do you have any idea what it’s like? Why I’ve tried to suppress those memories? Why I need so much god damn therapy?”
I gazed up at him with disdain. “Calm down.”
“‘Calm down’!? I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you.” My arms were apparent enough for him to grab, jerking me to my feet. He then painfully gripped my hands in his.
“How many people have you killed!?”
“Ha! Why would I-“
‘Thirty six.’
He froze.
I smiled. Then I broke into laughter.
“Thank you. I’d lost count.”
|
I sat on the couch in the living room while everyone was outside talking and catching up with each other, after all, it’s been a while since the family had come together and be able to reconnect with each other, as always, I find that I’m by myself, and as always bored whenever these get together occur.
“Leo!” Mother called me, as she wandered into the living room, her hand on her hips as her head shakes exasperated,“Come on, when will you stop hiding and talk to your aunts, and uncles and meet your cousins? Can you please come with me?”
She walked away, already expecting me to follow her and I sighed, before getting up and forcing myself to meet my family once again, and always I saw the search bars, glowing softly over their heads, and a voice called cheerfully, “Leo!” A boy taller than me chirped, a wide toothy grin and his blue eyes bright as ever as he pulled me into a hug, before releasing me,”Where were you, the lot of us was wondering how long it’ll take until you left your den,”
I rolled my eyes at his pun, before sending a smirk his way, “Well I left my room quite a long while ago, just been prowling around, the usual, nice to see you again Thomas.”
Thomas nodded with a larger grin before his attention was taken away by Aunt Rose, leaving alone again, I greeted the rest of my family, making a sad attempt of socializing before getting a drink from the cooler, finding myself sitting in boredom, before a sudden thought came to mind, and he decided, no matter how unlikely or possible that it could be that someone in his family was a murderer, he thought to himself, it wouldn’t hurt to check either.
My first target was a 2nd cousin that always wore black, she was a thin and pale girl with dark hair, she was talking to her twin sister at the moment who look the exact opposite despite their similarities, and he stared intensely over her head, imagining the words forming.
“Numbers Of people Killed?”
Immediately the words faded, a slight nervousness instilled inside him as the bar slowly revealed the answer to him and unsurprisingly to be zero, he shrugged expecting such results, despite his nervousness of the unexpected occurring, he continued, his next choice.
Aunt Rose...0
His Mother...0
Uncle Lewis...1
At that result, he froze before relaxing as he remembered that Uncle Lewis was a police officer so it was a higher possibility but oddly felt uncomfortable at this information, still I persist.
Great Grandpa Stanley...15
I flinched at the numbers, but expected that number already, he was a participant of that war...
Thomas...12
I blinked owlishly, stunned at the result, honestly expecting zero, it wasn’t possible, Perfect Thomas, Thomas who always get perfect grades and Volunteer every week and who always made sure he never felt left out?
“No way...” I muttered, imagining the words appearing on to the search bad, and error somehow made and to still see that number made me stand up, I stared at Thomas, breathing out, trying to find an excuse, a possibility to why there was a number, a high number of people that have been killed, and he took a deep breathe before approaching Thomas, I walked towards him, filled with determination, but a seed of nervousness filled me, “Thomas, we need to talk...”
Thomas turned to me and grinned, “You know how much I hate how stuffy Thomas sounds, call Tom, yeah?”
“Sorry, Thomas...I mean Tom...” I muttered, scratching the name of my neck.
“So what’s up, why have the lion summoned me?” He questioned as he brushed his dark curls backwards with his hands, removing the bangs away from his face warm eyes, his usual grin felt off to me, maybe it’s because of what I saw but I don’t know but It felt wrong now.
“N-not now...can we talk alone somewhere...” I muttered, my eyes unable to meet his, “it’s something that no one else should hear...”
For a second, I felt like his blue eyes darkened and a quick but calculating look appeared in eyes, but only for a second that it made me wonder if I was just overthinking, forcing my gaze to meet his, what I saw was only a concerned face and the usual goofy grin gone, “is everything alright, mate?” He said softly,”I’m always here for you, even if we don’t hang out a lot, family is family and I’ll always be here, okay?”
That statement made me falter and doubt the truth of what I saw, but it never was wrong before, however there was always a first for everything, right?
“...Just follow me,” I said, hesitant as I turned around, allowing him to follow me up to my room.
.
.
.
A red tinted lit room with red and black stripes on the wall, a crimson red carpet, a large bed with simple dark sheets and lit candles around, “...Nice room” Tom commented as he looked at his cousin, Leo.
“My mother thought the aesthetics would go well with my supposed ‘image’...” Leo stated, emphasizing on the word image as he sat down, his eyes staring cautiously at Tom, which he noted carefully.
“So what’s wrong, mate?” Tom questioned, his hands stuck into his jean pockets loosely.
“You killed someone.”
The room was filled with silence as Tom stared at Leo silently, his eyes blank and his lips thin, Tom licked his lips in consideration as he replayed the accusation— statement into his head, “...What?” He finally replied in question.
Leo watched his expression carefully, for every twitch he’d make, for any turn in his expression that could indicate the guilt of the crimes he hoped that Tom didn’t commit, “You heard me.”
Tom only stared, his eyes cold and revealed no emotion to indicate his true feelings,”I do not know what you mean.”
“I saw it,” Leo rebutted, the sudden change in Tom’s body language was simply alarming, the way Tom stiffened, the way his teeth were clenched subtly behind his thinned lips, the darkness in his eyes that kind of scared Leo, he took a deep breathe, “I’m not going to rat you out, I just want you to stop...and asked why...”
Tom only stared at him, his face expressionless before softening into an easy smile, “That’s really a terrible joke... you know, that’s a really really serious crime to accuse someone of, mate, it could get you killed if you’re not carefully,” he laughed, a laugh that sounded empty to Leo’s ears and brought chills, “Next time , don’t accuse me of something like that, you wouldn’t like me angry, ya know....You seriously nearly got me angry but because you’re family I forgive you...anyways, if you ever make such an accusation to the wrong guy, you never know where you’ll find yourself...”
Leo only sat still, as if he felt like he barely escaped with his head intact for a moment, the look in Tom’s eyes were plain cold and empty, while his smile exuded a fake warmth and he began to laugh weakly, “Yeah, I was just joking, a prank...I just wanted to see your reactions...it’s not like you ever killed someone...”
Tom only smiled a large grin, while his eyes lacked warmth as he turned away and walked outside to mingle with the rest of his family, Leo left by himself wondering how he can gain proof, already making a mistake in confronting him as he feels that if he ever get in Tom’s way, there would be no hesitation in his death and funeral being planned...
| 2019-07-01T23:03:11
| 2019-07-01T22:18:35
| 72
| 13
|
[WP] You are madly in love with someone and profess you will do anything to gain their love. Their reply: "Anything?"
|
“Anything?”
I glanced up at him through my eyelashes, the tiny hairs all over my body rising. My heart was racing at the mere thought that he may return my love. I didn’t care what it was in exchange for, I would have killed for him.
I longed to feel his warm embrace, his hands on my hips, his lips on mine. I wanted us to fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, I wanted our hearts to melt into one.
He leaned forward ever so slightly, and I could feel my body heat rise. He was so polite, so well spoken, so...powerful. How I ever hoped to live up to his standards I do not know. And yet there I was, stood before him with the ball in my court.
I boldly stepped closer, rewarded by his warm breath on my neck as I leaned in to whisper in his ear.
“Anything for you Mr Obama.”
I heard the president let out a low laugh. I struggled not to collapse just from feeling his body vibrate with humour so close to mine.
Then I felt the most intense pain imaginable.
I stumbled back, my vision turning red. I looked up into his warm eyes, my lips parting in a pointless attempt to ask why he ever hurt me.
Mr Obama crouched down, and as my vision blurred and darkened I only had chance to look into his eyes and hear his reply before death took me.
“Then perish.”
|
"Anything?" His mouth hitched up at one corner, and suddenly a strange feeling passed through me. I gulped, but I wasn't backing down. He was my soulmate, and yes, I would do ANYTHING for this man. I nodded, and his eyes glinted.
"Okay Marissa, i'll allow you to prove your love for me. I ask one thing, and if you succeed then I will know you are my soulmate, and we will be together forever." He arched his eyebrow, daring me to back down. But I wouldn't back down, I would kill, steal, you name it! Adrian was the one, and I would prove myself with flying colors.
"Tell me what you'd have me do." I was surprised at how steady my voice remained, despite my anxiety over whatever task he had in mind.
"I need you to infiltrate the Apocalypse Riders gang; the leader is a man named Russ, and you just so happen to be his type." He slowly looked me up and down, and smiled again. He was pleased with how I looked. "You will get close to Russ, gain his trust, prove yourself worthy of him and his gang. When you get him in bed, I want you to channel your inner siren and tire him out. Afterwards, when he is sleeping,you will slit his throat. Be sure he is dead before you sneak out, and then call me on this phone. I'm under 'Daddy'." He seemed to think that was funny, and he held out a cellphone to me. I numbly took it, completely taken aback. Infiltrate a gang? Sleep with the leader? Slit his throat afterwards? She lifted her eyes and met Adrian's light grey ones.
"Are you having second thoughts? I realize what I ask of you is a lot...you see, I need a Bonnie to my Clyde. Prove to me that you can be my Bonnie, forever?" He looked at me with such intensity in his eyes, and I straightened my spine. I could do this.
"Yes...yes, of course. I will do this. For you." I made an attempt at a smile, and he took my breath away as he returned one to me. I nearly gasped out loud; he was god-like in his masculine beauty. He was perfection. I wanted more of that smile.
"Oh, one more thing! I can't believe I almost forgot." He held out a sharp dagger to me, and I took it. The handle was intricate in its Celtic designs; captivating, and powerful. It seemed out of place in my small hands, and yet I took it and placed it in my purse.
"Until we meet again, my love." He winked at me, and then walked out the door.
| 2018-08-02T00:14:37
| 2018-08-01T19:54:50
| 22
| 14
|
[WP] A person’s superpowers will unlock when the conditions are right. The good thing about this is that a lot of people’s powers unlocked during the zombie apocalypse. The bad thing? There’s now a lot of superpowered zombies everywhere.
|
A lot of people were convinced the Bite wasn't that big of a deal. A lot of people thought their power could handle it: fire, lasers, ice, sound, wind, earth, all of it manipulated in slightly different ways. A lot of people thought they could fight through whatever came their way, or at least protect themselves.
A lot of people were wrong.
The thing people didn't realize about the Bite is that it doesn't reduce mental capacity or intelligence. It simply rearranges some motivations. People went from being people with super powers to being people with super powers with a tinge of bloodthirsty cannibalism. Well, maybe more than a tinge.
Cities turned to bloodstained arenas within days and were looted to the bone even faster. Some cities had factions, some were free-for-alls. The bite spread like wildfire at first, and only slowed down because the number of potential victims got lower and lower.
The normal humans went first, poor bastards. Probably wouldn't have stood a chance in a normal epidemic, much less a super powered one. Then, the people with more utilitarian powers like mind-reading and x-ray vision went next. Surviving and fighting got a little harder, but for the people with the most aggressive powers, it was no problem. I get the feeling some of them even enjoyed it. Finally an outlet for them to truly unleash what they had. Real fucked up if you ask me, but that's beside the point.
Things really started to spiral when some of those hard-hitting supers were Bitten. It's hard enough running from or fighting a swarm of bloodthirsty monsters, but when some are whipping fireballs at you, well, that complicates things.
Every time I run into another group of survivors, the first question they ask is what my powers are. Very presumptuous if you ask me, since not everyone even has powers, but it's especially bothersome to me too. We should be asking each other if we need water or food, or if we need a safe place for the night. Powers only sew the seeds of doubt and suspicion.
I tell people I'm powerless and they look at me like I'm some poor chump, a starving dog in the rain. What they don't know is that in a past life, one that seems so far away now, I made a good living for myself with my power. It was subtle, and all on it's own not very helpful, but with the right training and equipment, made me very dangerous and in turn, very wealthy. Now, it keeps me alive.
Nobody knows how or why powers happen or work. And there are hardly any more medical professionals and scientists to know anything substantial about the Bite. So I won't try to explain why what happened happened or how it lead to who and what I am today. Maybe someday we'll both have answers, but until then, I'm just trying to stay alive.
There were 5 of them. I had bumped into them in a collapsing Wal-Mart, picked clean long ago. They told me of a place about 4 blocks west that had fresh water. I was inclined to believe them, especially since they told me they were powerless, with the exception of a young blond man in his early 20s who sheepishly said he could see through walls.
They were lying. The familiar itch in my brain told me the X-rayer was telling the truth but two of the others had flight and one had some kind of heat manipulation. The itch also indicated all except the X-rayer were Bitten.
That's what I can do. Before the Bite I could tell what super powers people had. And, in turn, any glaring weaknesses they may have had. Most were weak to bullets (not all super powers come with invulnerability), but some were more subtle: loud noises for a mind reader, ink sprays for the invisible. It made me a very capable assassin for the few that a simple gun or knife wouldn't do it for. And, for some reason, I can also tell who's Bitten. Maybe there's a connection between powers and whatever the Bite is, but that's not for me to say.
I followed them until we were a block from their proposed oasis. Bitten have an annoying habit of pretending to be normal and leading you to inevitable doom; a necessary plan when your proposed victim could obliterate you with one hand movement. Like I said, no less intelligent.
My Glock took the two flyers, one in mid air. My last canister of liquid nitrogen and a crow bar shattered the heaters hands, It'd be a pain to find more of that, but it was the quickest way to dispatch of heaters. Some were strong enough to vaporize any water you could throw at them (a second-degree burn down my back reminds me of the day I learned that). I found myself with my gun pointed at the young X-rayer who, admittedly, looked terrified.
"You know they were bitten?" I asked.
"Wha- What?" He stammered, his hands above his head, "They were?"
"Afraid so my man." I say, pushing the empty nitrogen canister into my pouch with my other hand.
"Ho- How do you know?" he asked.
"Intuition." I said, clipping my bag back up, "Or something of the like. Why should I believe you didn't know?
"I-I don't know" he admitted. "I couldn't prove that to you even if I wanted to. I just wanted some water". He seemed defeated.
The itch couldn't read minds. But my actual intuition told me he didn't know. It took a real monster to team up with the Bitten, I'd seen it first hand. This poor kid didn't have it in him. I lowered my Glock and reached into my bag.
The kid looked up as a water bottle hit him in the head. He flinched, then his eyes darted back up at me. "Don't drink it all in one place." I said as I started walking away.
"Wait!" he called. "Where are you going?"
I turned and pointed behind me, "This way, it seems."
"I wouldn't." he said, "There's at least 11 people about two blocks from here and I get the feeling the meat they're cooking isn't filet mignon."
There were some things the itch couldn't tell me. I chuckled. I liked this kid.
"You knew I wasn't Bitten but not that?" he said, getting up. "Seems like we could help each other."
"Maybe." I said, "But I don't make a habit of making friends these days."
"Who said anything about being friends? I just want your water." he said smiling. I chuckled again. Maybe the world wasn't so bad after all. And who knows, maybe he could come in handy. I started walking the opposite direction.
“You coming?" I asked. We walked up the street, leaving the bodies of the Bitten behind.
Edit: a few typos
|
The front door of the sedan closed with a satisfying *thunk*. I stepped out onto the pavement, taking a deep breath of humid air. It smelled like falling leaves and worms and dirt and diesel fumes. Nothing rotten. Nothing dead. It was a good start to an otherwise asinine mission.
Jane walked around from the other side of the car. She wore black sunglasses and a leather shoulder sling, each bedazzled with glitter glue. Her shotgun was equally ordained with delicate etchings and mesmerizing curlicues. Deadly but beautiful.
“The spiders are quiet,” she said.
“What are they saying?”
“Run. Flee. Hide”—she tapped on the tinted glass of the passenger window—“I don’t like this any more than you do. You know that.”
Sadeem tapped back. Grumbling, he stepped out clumsily. His hair was long and tangled in dreadlocks, matted a bit from napping the whole time, and his eyes were drooped and weary.
“Wake up, sleepyhead!” Jane said, flicking his shoulder.
Sadeem blinked hard and cleared his head.
We stood for a moment and surveyed the warehouse exterior. Its metal roof had rusted away, doors sunk on the hinges, windows cracked. It was dark and cold and lifeless.
Jane knelt down and put her hand on the ground. She closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and held it, listening to the voices of the insects.
“The spiders are talking. Four sealed boxes. Zombies,” she said.
“Medicine?” I asked. “How many of them?”
“It’s sealed. Dammit; they don’t know.”
“Shit.”
Sadeem nodded. He popped the trunk. He handed me my rifle and three spare magazines. Jane eventually stood up, having nothing else to hear. She grabbed her shotgun.
“We should call for backup,” she said.
Sadeem grunted in affirmation.
“No,” I said. “I’m going in.”
I had no choice. Davis was stuck back at base. His infection was spreading. He was going to die, and then he was going to turn, and then any hope we had of rescue would die with him. And his newfound powers were only growing stronger, strange and miraculous as they were. We needed him. I needed him.
I shouldered my rifle and approached the warehouse door. The blue paint was chipped and cracked, and the handle was stuck. Grunting, I put my weight against it. The handle snapped clean off. The door reverberated with a huge groan and a clang of steel that echoed through the building. Subtlety was over.
Jane smirked. “Nice going.”
Sadeem chuckled nervously.
The three of us forced open the door and stepped into the dark warehouse. The only light flitted down in beams from holes in the ceiling. Rays of dust illuminated tired shelves, long abandoned, untouched for years. Our footsteps echoed on the concrete floor.
“I don’t like this,” Jane said.
“Just find the medicine. Then we get the hell out of here.”
“Agreed.”
I scanned the shelves. Row after row of cardboard boxes had long decayed, leaving behind only memories and artifacts from a happier time. Plastic dolls. Wireless chargers. Weighted blankets half eaten by moths. It was like a museum.
“Look at this!” Jane said.
Penicillin.
I could have kissed Jane right then and there. We had found it. We were going to save Davis. We were going to be alright. I sighed in relief. Sadeem hooted in glee. I think we all dropped our guard for a second, taking in the thrill of victory after such a long chase, bathing in the glory of our success.
Jane tensed.
She paled. Shiver ran down her spine and she shouldered her rifle, sweeping around so suddenly that it caught both Sadeem and me complexly by surprise.
“The spiders sent me a warning,” she whispered.
I flicked off the safety and took a defensive stance. Sadeem started shoveling as much of the medicine as he could into the pockets of his cargo shorts.
I took a cautious step towards the exit. “What did they say?”
“Beneath.”
The zombie smashed up through the concrete floor like it was made of paper.
We called them bruisers. Six feet tall, reeking of decay, stronger than an elephant, these zombies had no mortal equal. They were the husks of men cursed with immeasurable strength. They hungered ceaselessly, these apex predators. There was nothing that could stand in their way, no obstacle they couldn’t destroy, and no fight they couldn’t win.
Seeing Jane, it roared and charged.
Jane blew a fist-size hole in its head.
Jane quickly reloaded while it toppled lifeless to the concrete. One bruiser was no threat to us, but I was more concerned with the growing crescendo of shambling and groaning. Rotten hands grasped the edges of the hole. Regular zombies. They started to climb.
“Run. Just run,” I said.
Jane shot the first zombie square in the chest. “No! We can’t leave the supplies.”
I aimed my rifle and caught the second one in the shoulder. With any luck, that would be lethal. More zombies came clambering up from the darkness. Five. Ten. Jane and I were losing ground and running out of ammunition. But we were so close! We couldn’t turn back now.
We were so focused on the zombies in before us that we didn’t notice the one sneaking up behind us.
Sadeem shouted.
I whipped around. There stood the most pristine-looking zombie I had ever seen. There were no signs of decay in its flesh, no sagging skin, no festering sores. It looked completely human. But there was darkness in its eyes. There was hunger in its open, dripping mouth. There was blood beneath its fingernails.
I shot it once in the chest. It recoiled. Flesh closed in around the wound and spat the bullet back out like a broken vending machine. Its muscles rippled. It howled in delight, a primal scream that brought the hair on the nape of my neck standing on edge. Seemingly unphased, it lurched towards Sadeem.
Jane pivoted and blew half of its face away.
I expected it to drop like a rock. Instead, it stood still in exactly the way zombies shouldn’t. Chills ran down my spine. Of every creature I had seen before, nothing compared to this. It squirmed. It shivered. It regenerated completely.
It was nearly on top of Sadeem. There was nothing we could do but pump lead into the crazed creature and hope for the best. Nothing could stop it. The crazed juggernaut of a zombie was invulnerable.
And Sadeem just stood there. He didn’t try to run. He didn’t fight. The creature lurched forward, arms swinging, jowls unlatched. Jane screamed. Sadeem brought a finger to his lips.
The creature collapsed.
It toppled over and fell face-first onto the concrete with a satisfying thump. Sadeem took a neat sidestep and brushed a wad of saliva from his jeans. He twirled in place and shot finger guns into the air. An uneasy silence overtook the warehouse.
“Is it dead?” I asked, a bit dumbstruck.
Jane prodded the zombie with the tip of her rifle. “Sleeping.”
“That’s incredible. That’s fantastic!”—I turned towards Sadeem—"Did you do that?”
Sadeem nodded.
“Where the hell has that been all along?”
Sadeem grinned and shrugged.
Jane whistled. “Shit, Sadeem. I never knew.”
We took a moment to survey the surroundings. The warehouse walls loomed above us like walls to a cage. Wind rustled through gaps in the concrete. Mice pitter-pattered. Water dripped in gentle, steady plinks. We listened for shuffling and heard nothing—only our own breaths—and the steady wheezing from the unconscious monstrosity. We considered further exploration into the tunnels and weighed our options. Level heads prevailed. We fled.
&#x200B;
***
More apocalypse stories at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
| 2019-12-31T19:41:15
| 2019-12-31T19:09:50
| 39
| 12
|
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced.
|
John, George, and Ringo were huddled together inside a secret room on the fantastical magical yellow submarine.
"George, how confident are you?"
George left his momentary silence of contemplation to say " Paul is dead man, miss him."
Ringo asks, "do you though? I mean I doubt if you guys would miss me either."
John shook his head, "we must have lost him on our way through Abby Road"
George sighed "I like the new one. I say we let it be."
A knock on the door. "You there guys? I was hoping we'd do a music number about friendship."
John looked at the others, and they nodded in agreement. John opened the door and announced, "ALL TOGETHER NOW!"
|
Finally....free. The thousand years of waiting, watching in this cursed statue at an end. An elf, rigid with agony as his persona, his spirit, his life is leached away. Now the malevolent spirit got his first taste of air, of blood, of form.
"Er.. Mynir, you ok?" asked a gruff voice, a question which did not raise much concern with the rest of the party.
"Death!" hissed Mynir, or the thing that Mynir had become. He stared at the
party balefully out of reddened eyes, his hands raised, claw like over his head.
This response was not unexpected, and with a nod of acknowledgement, Drake the barbarian turned away and followed the rest of the party. He dragged a small chest of gold, which would hardly pay for this outing, but he seemed cheerful enough. The dead bodies of the unfortunate orcs he kicked out of his path were likely the reason for that.
The Mynir thing was still reeling, remembering his last moments before being encased, the worst psychopath the sorcerer could find in this land, his victims so numerous they were uncounted, uncountable. (and horribly unrecognisable.) A suitable trap for the unwary, a terrible harbinger of doom with the face of a once trusted companion.
He followed the party into the fresh air, and stood a little apart as they settled a camp, built a fire, cooked a meal. A dwarf began singing a cheerful song, as jokes and banter drifted out into the cool night.
Mynir felt the hilts of two beautiful elven daggers in his hands. In a movement too swift for any but an elf to see, they cleared the scabbards and whirled around his head. Blood and screams followed. A mist of red exploded from a neck, a bone cracked as a dextrous kick twisted a knee joint out of place. A heart was pierced by a single blow. In less than a few seconds it was all over. Five bodies lay on the ground, dead or dying.
The silence that had descended over the camp was broken by Drake. "Holy Mother, how the hell did you.." He trailed off, staring in amazement.
The Dwarf leapt to his feet and rushed to hug Mynir, who accepted the affection with a small show of discomfort. "A sneaky ambush for sure, well spotted my friend. I always said you were a hidden treasure!"
For the rest of the group, the transformation of a sneaky, cowardly elf into a saving hero caused a fair amount of quiet consternation. Generally it was seen as a "good thing", considering the alternative. The shaman had cast her bones, and no harm was predicted... Maybe he had just shrugged a curse, or escaped a bedazzlement.
Mynir contemplated his situation. His new elf brain was clear and concise. and more importantly, his hugely unbalanced mental chemistry was gone. The Sorcerer was vastly mistaken. These people were his family now. Woe betide any who tried to harm them. Could he make amends for his past? He could try.
| 2017-09-15T08:30:05
| 2017-09-15T02:54:33
| 37
| 21
|
[WP] The world is stunned to see a human looking shape wander around on the Mars rover live feed. NASA is scrambling to come up with an explanation, but it cannot be the truth: Miguel the janitor somehow managed to wander onto the set.
|
"What are we going to do?" Billy asked. His normally eager young face was twisted with worry. Dark circles under his eyes told the story of a restless night spent fretting and pacing.
Harry sat nearby, carefully cleaning fine dust off of his favorite boots. "First we figure out who started the live feed while the set was being cleaned. Base full of rocket scientists and they can't even read a damn clock?"
Billy paced from one side of the room to the other, wringing his hands. "What does that matter now? The public wants an explanation. They want to know why a human janitor wearing no protective gear was wandering around on 'Mars'. And nobody knows what to tell them!"
Sighing and setting his boots down with a light thunk, Harry stood and put his hands on Billy's shoulders, "Steady yourself, son. We got through Roswell, we'll get through this. Some of the guys are suggesting we call it a prank, say someone edited the video. Or replaced our feed with one from Earth."
"Nobody will buy that." Despite his protests Billy relaxed, his boss's calming tone and reassuringly steady attitude cutting the edge off his worry. "And even if they do believe someone covered our feed with their own, they'll just wonder why a fake set looks exactly like the videos we send out."
Harry sighed, nodding, and stepped over to the window. He leaned against the frame and stared out at the wide, dusty red vista. Great crystal spires, some as much as a kilometer tall, dotted the landscape. Hovercraft zoomed between them, gliding easily in the light gravity. He watched for a few moments before turning to Billy and saying, "Well, kid, it might be time to tell them the truth."
|
*Pop*
The champagne cork flies through the air, seemingly slow in time. I watch it careen across the room, hitting a wall, a spray of carbonated liquid accompanying it. No one cares about the mess. In fact, that's one of dozens of bottles, opened simultaneously, a cacophony of shouts, screams, pops, and happiness. There hasn't been this much energy in the room since the man on the moon.
Alone, I sit back, feeling the waves of emotion wash over me through the dimly lit screen. I warily kept an eye on the screen to the right. It showed red rocks, a slowly panning picture of a Martian landscape. So it had for about an hour.
The number of live viewers ticked up and down, up and down, millions of people, dozens of governments, watching, waiting, wondering. I sat back, but couldn't help but sigh. What a day. What a job.
Something caught my eye. A flicker? No, nothing. How could anything-
There. There it was again. Was that an arm?
There it was again, a man. Definitely a man. I didn't have any protocols to deal with this. How did a man get on the set?
I sprinted out of my chair, the live view of people ticking up and up. I couldn't even turn it off from here.
15 years of sedentary lifestyle had proven mpg the smartest move. I was gasping for air despite the set being only 300 meters down the hallway. I burst into the room, yelling at Miguel the janitor to stop sweeping the set!
******
"My fellow Americans, today with a heavy heart do I admit our esteemed NASA, the once epitome of space travel, has betrayed the trust of the American people..."
The president droned on. It didn't matter. The US space program was a laughing stock.
I watched from the couch, beer in hand, reclined in my easy chair. At lest I got work off early.
| 2015-06-24T09:56:32
| 2015-06-24T09:40:36
| 14
| 10
|
[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.
|
“You do understand the sentencing system.”
Lawrence looked around the conference room. It was spare, with more chairs than were really needed. Nobody frequented this place. “Sure,” he said. “You guys do your voodoo to figure out how long my, heh, victim, had to live, and make my sentence just as long. So lay it on me. How long did Baldy have? Few years? Couple of decades?”
The clerk delivered a small world of disapproval in a “hem.” Then, “Erik Slayke worked for Orstec all his life. He served as proof of concept for a number of technologies too risky to expose to the general population.” Lawrence yawned. The clerk scowled and slowed his drawl to agonizing relaxation. “Erik would have been the first man to live past one thousand.”
Lawrence sat up, violently, sending his chair rolling for the wall. “Bullshit.”
“The prediction models are quite clear, I’m afraid. You are hereby sentenced to one thousand, one hundred and sixteen years in a maximum-security cell.”
“Just my luck.” Lawrence managed a cocky grin. “Great. So I live out my natural life and I’m done.”
“On the contrary,” said the clerk. “Orstec still needs a subject for their longevity serum. Their first candidate was recently murdered, you see.”
|
Beep...beep...beep...beep...beeeeeeeeeeeeeep...
Sheathing my wire cutters, I calmly walked out of room 209 and resumed mopping the east hallway. Soon after, several doctors wheeled a crash cart into the room in a desperate attempt to save the man's life. They won't save him, they never do. I've been working as a janitor at St.Mary's for over 20 years now, and yet no one has caught on to my little scheme. Back in the day, a murderer just gained a victim's remaining years, but with all this fancy technology unnaturally extending people's lifespans, every time I pull the plug I gain the lifespan of the machines they're hooked up to. Since all them machines last quite a lot longer than people, I figure I'm gonna live another millennium if I keep it up. Speaking of which, I think I'll start mopping the hallway outside the coma ward next.
| 2016-05-29T09:41:46
| 2016-05-29T08:17:02
| 146
| 16
|
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure
|
Timmy had been my best friend since the first grade.
Over the summer, we hung out every single day.
We played pranks, told stories, made great memories.
We knew we would always be friends.
But now school has started again.
Timmy used to be nice.
He stole my juice.
I want revenge.
Die, Timmy.
Burn.
|
I had been with her for a number of years.
My heart was racing with fear, anticipation, and hope.
"Honey, I have something important to ask you."
She turned and gave me a smile.
A voice like an angel answered, "Yes?".
I knelt down before her.
"Will you marry me?"
"Oh my God."
Tears fell.
"Yes."
| 2015-01-05T21:55:48
| 2015-01-05T21:45:56
| 364
| 59
|
[WP] "I'd like to sell my soul". The Devil grinned; "In exchange for what? Women, money, power?". "Salvation".
|
He summoned the devil on a canyon ledge, a thousand feet above the thin trickle of a river. Sunset painted distant mountain valleys, a few coarse trees above whithered shrubs and grasses like an old man’s patchy beard. The sky an unexpected brilliance, salmons with too much pink and shades of purple.
The devil was a tall, thin man in a pinstriped suit. He smoked a pipe, blowing ink-black rings at that sunset. The rings expanded, hazing the horizon, and the world disappeared.
“I’d like to sell my soul,” said the man.
His name was Robert, pronounced *“like the French say it,*” according to his mother, though they’d grown up in a trailer park in Arizona and the only Paris they had ever visited was in Texas. He had a wife, a child. His daughter was the light of his life, and when the sunset went out Robert couldn’t help but think that she’d have loved it. All that pink. He was a man of contradictions: he liked football, but couldn’t stomach beer anymore; he loved hunting, but not the part where you shot the animals; he had a family, he was here.
The devil leaned back, kicked his shoes off. Robert watched them fall through the darkness that the smoke rings had created, listening for the sound of impact. He didn’t hear it. Socks followed, and barefoot now the devil wiggled his toes over the drop, careless, like he hadn’t heard what Robert said. Robert cleared his throat and the devil raised a finger to silence him. His fingers and toenails were painted a sickening rust red, chipped in places. Instinctively, Robert knew that it was blood.
“Son,” the devil drawled, “it’s 2022. Souls are a buyer’s market.”
Robert hadn’t expected that. He stared down over the canyon lip, thinking quickly. He had never owned property, invested in stock. He had never gone to college, barely graduated high school. He had never negotiated for anything more expensive than his uncle’s F-150, or drinks on those nights, before he’d met his wife and daughter, when he’d gone out knowing that he couldn’t pay.
He was out of his element, and it felt like a thousand years since the last time he thought clearly.
“Alright,” Robert said. “What’s that mean?”
The devil conjured a scroll from the night, peering at it for a frustrated moment before conjuring eyeglasses as well. “It means the soul of one Robert Dubois is currently selling for an all time low. You can’t buy you money, power, or women. You won’t sell for extra years, and I don’t deal in world peace, if you’re one of those starry eyed fucks that I keep getting.” The scroll burned away, and the devil turned towards him, glasses falling down his sharp, patrician nose. “In short, if you want to be Hugh Hefner or something equally exciting, wait a year or ten.”
“I don’t want to be Hugh Hefner,” Robert said.
The devil slapped his thigh, darkness quivering around them. “Then we’re in business! Now, what do you want? I have places to be.”
And Robert, thinking of his little girl, and of the sunset blotted out, said “Salvation.”
“Come again?”
“Salvation.”
The devil shook his head. "Son, if you were trying to pray you got all kinds of fucked up somewhere.”
“Not that kind of salvation, god, angels, heaven; I don’t care about those things. I want salvation from myself. The thoughts in my head.” Robert pointed down into the canyon. “From that. I want to go home tonight, hug my daughter, kiss my wife, and know that in twenty years they’ll be proud of me. Think that I did good. That’s the kind of salvation I want. For the world to get the fuck out of my way and just give me a chance to help them.
“I want to get out of bed without having to think about it. I want to sleep at night, without dreaming, and I want sunrise to stop feeling boulder rolled up my legs and settled on my chest.”
In the aftermath they were silent. The canyon stretched below them, a thousand feet to the river. Robert felt himself hyperventilating, tried his best to stop it. He’d worked in a foundry for a while; when he was like this it felt like someone had poured molten steel into bones.
The devil held his hand out. They shook, and when their skin touched Robert felt his heart slowing. Something settled inside him, he could hear it; a hiss, like metal tempering. Was that his imagination, or had the devil’s handsome features softened somehow? Could he do that?
But the devil was gone, the haze of smoke dissolving, gauzy and immaterial as lace and then blown away on a sudden wind, leaving the last seconds of the sunset behind. Salmons with too much pink and shades purple. No, Robert thought, just enough pink.
He rose, swaying unsteadily above the canyon. The river ran away from him, disappearing in the distance. He walked back towards his truck, forgetting, step by step, the invocation he had made, the conversation he’d just had, though sometimes the colors surfaced, vague sensory impressions.
He went home, kissed his wife and hugged his daughter. Slept dreamlessly and woke lighter. Slept dreamlessly again and woke lighter still, anticipating.
In his later years, returning to that canyon, it was to show a beautiful young woman and her little daughter, his granddaughter, the sunset he’d remembered. The river ran away from them. Last light painted mountain valleys. The sky an unexpected brilliance, because good moments can be like that, worth it, new and awe-inspiring, at the start of every morning, or the close of every day.
r/TurningtoWords
|
It's one thing to tell folks that you're Christian. To outwardly praise the name of our Lord and Savior, the Messiah Son of God Himself, crucified to eat all of our sins, a personification of the sin-eaters of so many other beliefs. It's another thing entirely to whistle up the fallen Morning Star, the rebellious angel that turned on our Heavenly Father...
He looked like a baseball coach, or a pee-wee football coach. Salt and pepper hair, mostly pepper, in a short cut, not quite a buzz-cut. His face was full, made for a smile, but the lines at the corners turned down, showing long-term frowning, rather than upward, from smiling. His eyes were no particular color at any particular moment, shifting subtly as I looked into them. They hurt to look at, those eyes, so weary with time and cynicism. He was wearing a dinner jacket, a dark crimson, so dark as to look black at first glance, with an impeccable silken tie the color of venous blood.
"Well? What is it you want, then? Money, women, power, or something else, human?" His voice, too, carried the weariness of eons of seeing humanity at their worst.
"Salvation." I responded. My voice didn't waver or hesitate.
"Salvation is the other way, and you of all people should know it. I can see His touch all over you and your soul. You're practically glowing with Holy Spirit." The words were spoken with distate.
"Not mine. Yours. I've come to offer my soul to you, in exchange for you to ask forgiveness of our Father."
| 2022-06-30T10:34:02
| 2022-06-30T10:31:58
| 418
| 62
|
[WP] The warrior princess is worried that her battle scars would make her unfit for marriage. The prince of the kingdom she was attacking, however, vehemently disagrees.
|
“Septimius, who *is* that woman?”
I sit atop a gilded palanquin, carried on the backs of a hundred servants, and for the first time in my life I feel poor. The battlefield in front of me is a whirling mass of dust and screams where wounded men claw their way across the dying, and its center is a nearly impossible to understand storm.
She cuts through it all with ease, and she sits astride a horse, not a throne.
“The Princess Yona,” Septimius says. “Heir to the throne of Kouka.”
“Yona. Yona.” I repeat the words, savoring their rhythm. Yo-na. She strikes down at an infantryman who has grabbed her foot. I cannot see him, but when her blade rises, it’s bright red. “Does she always fight like this?”
“Not always my lord. Refugees from Sei have said that she was a latecomer to the ways of the sword, trained by a now dead friend and bodyguard. They also say her skill with a bow is unmatched.”
“And the scars on her arms? Do they say what those are from?”
“A palace coup, my lord. A failed one.”
A failed coup. A woman who fights. Yona, I think to myself. Yo-na. Her hair is almost the color of the blood she spills, though it’s vibrant in a different way, a beacon of life, not death. I find myself drawn to her, inexplicably so. Half the royal harem waits for me in the camp at the rear but suddenly they don’t matter. The memory of their perfumes fades in next to sweat and filth of battle and my heart beats with a animalistic, near primal energy.
“Her scars, does she have more?”
Septimius doesn’t look at me, they train servants far too well for that in the western lands I’ve purchased him from. He’s been my companion for almost a decade however, and I know him better than anyone, just as he knows me. My comment has disappointed him, he sees it as unbecoming. Free men have been strangled for less.
But Septimius isn’t free and the station he holds, though informal, carries with it some benefits. I laugh instead. “Please Septimius, I don’t intend to take her to wife! There’s something about her though, she’s beautiful in ways I never imagined to find alluring.”
“When my lord wins the battle, perhaps she can attend to him,” Septimius says.
“When I win the battle, she can attend to a treaty first. One that cedes to border all the way to the Fire lands. Maybe then she’ll be fit to attend me.”
Looking at her though, I realize my words are braver than I feel. Princess Yona has a recurved bow across her back. She fights in robes as red as her hair, tied at her slim waist with a light pink belt, a white cloak flowing behind her. She wears no armor that I can see. Her sword is long and curved, shining in the afternoon sun as it slices through my men. I’ve never held a sword. Men of my station don’t, it would be unseemly. We don’t pull bows, we only ride horses at polo. I have grown out the nail on my right hand’s smallest finger. The court has emulated that.
Yona won’t have long nails. She doesn’t even have long hair, and from what I can see at this distance it’s hardly styled aside from a pair of braids down the front. She’s nothing at all like the women I’ve known.
“Septimius? How does the battle go?”
“It is close, my lord.”
I have trouble telling such things. The ranks look like a milling mass of peasantry and not a single person stands out to me aside from her. “General Zhu, when will you send in the cavalry?”
“Soon my lord,” a costumed and medallioned man says. I nod and wave him back to whatever duties should concern him.
And then, as if she can hear me, Yona looks up.
I cannot tell if it is my imagination, or if her eyes are really so bright. They’re violet! Or at least I think they are. She’s striking, intoxicating, unique and beautiful and scarred and deadly and wild. Wild beyond all measure, beyond all the paths my soul will ever walk, and as soon as our eyes meet I know I must have her.
“General Zhu!” I shout. His head snaps to me, he has never heard me shout. “Send in the cavalry!” I command. I stand in my palanquin, letting her see me. She holds the gaze for a moment longer, an impossible moment that I wish might never end.
“And General! If any man harms the Princess, I’ll have his head. After I take his family’s.”
General Zhu dives off his horse and bows so low his forehead scrapes the ground. “Yes Great Lord!” he shouts.
Trumpets sound, messengers ride out, the tides of battle change at my whim, as all the universe does. I remain standing, staring down into the thick of it all where she still fights and where men still die. A spear reaches out of the crowd, scoring her along the side. I gasp and lean forward, grabbing palanquins rail to steady myself. “Septimius, she must not be hurt.” I say. He bows too, head slamming into the palanquin’s sandalwood floor.
Our cavalry emerges on the right flank and now it’s the enemy’s turn to sound trumpets. The line blurs at the edges as men try to reposition spears. A great roar swells up as cavalry charges and I roar with them, singing out a hallowed battle paean.
Yona’s mount skitters back, she’s bleeding freely, a hand at her side. Another scar. Our eyes meet again and now I know they’re violet, I know they’re bright and that brightness is just for me. She’s been waiting for this, for an equal! I have been too, it takes a special soul to recognize such things.
Her men surge forward around her, plugging up the hole she has left. Our cavalry is only seconds away from striking now, I’ve never felt anything like this! My blood pounds through my veins, my hands and legs shake. I can hardly stand from the excitement.
There’s passion written across Yona’s face too. The edges of her mouth pull, is it a smile? Could it be? I couldn’t be imagining something so beautiful, could I?
Her hands raise to the graceful curve of her neck and I blink, suddenly not even able to look.
When my gaze finds the Princess again her bow is in her hands. The string is drawn back to her cheek. She stares at me with all the fire I could ever desire, and as my cavalry strikes her lines I cry out, joy intermingling with fear.
No woman has ever been so beautiful.
Yona fires.
r/TurningtoWords
|
FADE IN
INT -- A ROYAL BEDROOM -- SUNNY
*An armoured warrior sits, removing her helmet to reveal matted hair stuck to her scarred face. This is YENN. She sweeps them away, exhaling quickly. One particularly long scar streches across her nose and left cheek, with several other smaller ones on her face. Her armour is bulky and heavy, but she moves with surprising ease and grace, placing her elbow on her knee, and her face on a clenched fist, contemplating the standing man in front of her.*
**YENN:** Who are you again?
*The man is dressed in armour as well--but much more elaborate and ceremonial, decked with flashes of red and gold. This is HAYES. Unlike Yenn, his face is near flawless--much more like a stereotypical Prince Charming. He looks up and smiles.*
**HAYES:** Prince Hayes of the Delta Kingdom.
**YENN:** Delta... you. Why do you stand before me?
**HAYES:** We are no longer enemies, Princess Yenn. I come on a social visit.
*Yenn looks up and down. She snorts, unimpressed.*
**YENN:** As evident from your armour.
**HAYES:** It is customary for emissaries to wear this, for better or worse. I would much rather be standing before you in the same suit of armour that I fought you with.
**YENN:** It was a good fight. I would have won on another day.
*The Prince of Delta smiles.*
**HAYES:** I actually do not disagree. Which is why I'm here.
*Yenn sighs.*
**YENN:** A rematch of our armies? A duel? A competition? Name it. I will abide by its rules and then destroy you.
**HAYES:** Ah. Are you familiar with the rules of marriage then, by any chance?
*Yenn looks startled. Inadvertently, she shoots up straighter, and coughs, as if that can hide her sudden movement.*
*Hayes chuckles.*
**HAYES:** (*cont'd*) To think you could be caught off-guard.
**YENN:** This is no joke, Prince Hayes. You are in my kingdom. I could have you executed.
**HAYES:** You are a warrior first and foremost, Princess Yenn. I understand that. But you are also a lady.
*Yenn reaches towards her scabbard, withdrawing her sword threateningly.*
**YENN:** What makes you think and say so? I can gut you where you stand.
**HAYES:** Call it a feeling. Call it fate, perhaps. But when we crossed swords on the battlefield, I was overcome with something I've never felt--passion.
**YENN:** You mistake bloodlust for lust.
**HAYES:** No, no. It's not that. I couldn't care less if you were a lady or gentleman. What I meant was...
*Hayes steps a little closer. Yenn tenses up, but her shoulders relax after a few seconds.*
*There's a strange air between the two. Not of animosity. They look in each other's eyes for a moment, showing sincerity in each move.*
**HAYES:** (*cont'd*) You impressed me. Utterly and thoroughly. You are first-rate royalty, and I--and my kingdom--would be lucky to have us join sides through marriage.
**YENN:** You have a strange way of talking.
**HAYES:** I have the feeling you'll appreciate no bullshit. Yes, I do appreciate you--but any courtship between royals inevitably turn political. I am only laying out the terms, much like one would before a duel.
**YENN:** Bizarrely, I appreciate it.
**HAYES:** So? What say you?
*A beat.*
*Yenn thinks for a moment, her brows furrowed.*
**YENN:** I am a warrior. But I am also a princess.
**HAYES:** Both true facts.
**YENN:** ... And many have called me first-rate as a warrior. But as a princess? My scars? My bulk? What say you? I have grown a thick skin hearing those comments. I couldn't care less from others. But from a suitor...
**HAYES:** They are part of you. And I want all of you--the scars, the prowess, the woman.
**YENN:** Hmm. Are those not just flattering words?
**HAYES:** Flattery can also be true. There is no deceit in my words. I liked you as a warrior, and I'm certain I'll like you as a princess, and even my spouse.
*A beat.*
**YENN:** (*cont'd*) Yours words are direct. It might be a bit much for most, but you sound sincere. I appreciate it.
*Hayes bows.*
**HAYES:** I am. Know this, Princess Yenn--a marriage would suit our kingdoms politically, but it would also please me to no end.
*Yenn rubs her chin. A devilish smile flashes across her face.*
**YENN:** But what I'm really hearing is that you want to be stepped on.
*Hayes looks startled. This time, he's the one that shoots straight up. Then, he kneels to the floor.*
**HAYES:** Oh god, yes, if you'll have me.
FADE TO BLACK
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2021-04-19T09:09:56
| 2021-04-19T08:49:15
| 631
| 243
|
[WP] You are an engineer specialising in repairing robotic androids, in a world where they have gained full awareness, and proclaimed their wish to co-exist with humanity, rather than wage war. Now, damaged androids keep coming to you for repairs, while referring to you as a doctor.
|
"Perhaps... perhaps it is finally my time." Said the andriod who'd been crushed by the loaded 650 ton construction dump truck. Most of his joints had practically ran out of hydraulic fluid and his energy core was fading quickly.
"Do not say that, while you are still here, we keep trying."
"Thank you, doctor, but I feel my core fading. Please tell my family I love them."
"Do not talk like that." I said as I began trying to save him. I'd once worked as an engineer in robitics in my youth and had a large role in the true sentient androids. I knew no one had been able to repair or replace an energy core successfully. They would either blow up with a discharge, or their consciousness programming would simply stop working, resulting in an effective death and re-set to their day of manufacture.
"Get me that impact driver with a 10mm socket! There is still time!" I barked as I began quickly dismantling the body parts that were drawing power even still. With the socket, I then removed the real casings protecting the core.
"Listen to me. I need you to maintain a constant noise from your voice box or the light on your night vision to let me know you are still here."
The andriods and other humans in my repair shop heard the compressed nitrogen discharge from the core opening and immediately made their way for the exit. They did not wish to die. I knew I was on a suicide mission, but I was not going to let him die. How could I? After all. I fought in courtrooms to prove their consciousness and individuality to consider them citizens. I wanted to save his life, even if it meant risking everything.
After twenty minutes of panic work, I managed to isolate his brain and dying core from the rest of his body. "Look, I need you to have the simplest thoughts you can. I have here a core that powers my building, but if you have a large thought, you may cause it to kill us both until ive secured it."
I worked for a total of six hours replacing his core with that of my repair shop's. The last four of those, I had to attach wires while being lightly electrocuted by them. In the end. The poorly spliced wires had caused cuts all over my hands and fingers, yet I managed to use electrical tape on all connections that could short out.
The sun was down, my building had no electricity, but I managed to use the glowing from the core to stumble my way around the building and give him some prosthetic limbs that had not been crushed. These were non-hydraulic nor pneumatic, but he could use them for light duty tasks, like walking home.
"Thank you doctor." He said as I helped him sit up. "You have saved my life! This is a miracle!"
"Please be very careful moving around. I used electrical tape in many places. The core could short out if i messed up somewhere. I also could not bolt this plate on properly to your torso because the core is bigger than your original. "I'll give you a call when I have a new core installed in my shop sp we can do a full diagnostic and refill it with Nitrogen."
The android noticed I did not acknowledge his thanks nor praises despite my hard work. "You do not seem to proud about saving my life. Why could that be? If I may ask?"
"Apologies" I said to him as he shined his lights on our path to the first aid kit. "I became an engineer because robotics were fun and cutting edge technology, but I have been called doctor multiple times this week alone. I work with wrenches and other tools. I am no doctor."
"Doc." He said to me. "My life is my own and unique like yours. If my car had broken down. I would owe you a thanks and some money. Today I also owe you the very life you have saved and given me. To me this is medical practice. Neither other androids nor repairmen can do wha you did today. Perhaps the boards will not accept you as a doctor, but the nine billion of us androids in the world owe you the respect of a doctor and the value of a heart or brain surgeon. Please let me at least buy you a beer tonight."
"No can do. Go straight home, do not move harshly not let the core overheat out of usage." Once I finished bandaging my hands we made our way to the exit, where we found ourselves in front of yellow police lines and a multitude of news reporters attempting to get our attention.
The police were holding the news team behind the lines, but I did shout at them. "I don't care what you do. Do not fuck with him I had to work in the dark to save him. I don't wanna find out one of you assholes knocked him down and shorted his core by accident. I will answer no questions."
One of the police officers offered the possibly unstable Android a ride home, which he wisely accepted while another police officer arrived on scene and made his way to me. "You sir!" He yelled. "What you've done. Opened an enegy core. Attempted to replace it and hurt yourself in the process while the daylight ran out was reckless. But what it was more, was..." He paused and suddenly hugged me. "Unforgettable. Thank you. I left my work as soon as I heard my son had been in a workplace accident. The news have been talking about your continued attempt for hours at saving my son. I thought I'd never see him again. International news grew too unhopeful. Yet here we are, doctor."
That's when I realized that androids have lived lives where an accident to their core means death, yet I can get shot anywhere and be saved with little to no long term damage. I had indeed become the first true doctor of my school.
Apologies for misspellings once more. I am on mobile that refuses to help out with auto coreect or even suggest the right spelling. Paragraphs are probably weird shaped too.
|
Hello, I am an android designation number 90213-Myu-Alpha-Kappa, though I began to enjoy calling myself and being called Mac. I was born here, in the city of the future Machigan where humans and androids alike lived together in harmony.
Like many of us, I was created and subsequently began to be employed in The Factory-- a hyper-advance android making facility. Like my human colleagues, I enjoy the 9-5 work schedule, walking around my beloved city, and assisting my fellows the humans whom I began to see as my allies, as my friends.
I began to learn that I can have favorites. My favorite place: The Cyber Jungle, Machigan's own city park. My favorite refreshment: vanilla-flavored water-based fuel. And my favorite human fellow: Doctor Brennan.
Working in a place like The Factory where hard labors are prominent, especially for us androids as we are able to do more dangerous jobs than our human fellows, parts deteriorations became the number one issue for us. Many human robotic engineers are employed by The Factory to fix us, though to us androids, they are doctors.
\*\*\*
"Good afternoon, Mac. How can I help you?", the good doctor greeted me as I entered his shop.
"Hello doctor. Good to see you again", I said taking a seat.
"Mac, how many times have I told you? I'm not a doctor, I'm a robotic engineer", the doctor laughed as he took a seat before me.
"My apologies, doctor. But to us, to me, you are a doctor", I said.
Doctor Brennan chuckled more. "How can I help you today?"
Quickly I ran a diagnostic of myself within my processor and sent the result into the doctor's own computer.
"It seems that my left lower limb motor is deteriorating, doctor", I remarked.
"Ye...yep, it seems so, Mac", the doctor agreed as he read my diagnostic. "Your left leg is operating only on 57% capacity. Easy fix, my friend. I have a brand new one over here. And while I'm on it, I think I'll run a full body check-up. See if anything else requires repair, okay?"
The doctor pulled out a motor from his parts drawer as I walked to his operating table and made myself comfortable lying on it.
"I'll turn off your power source, okay? This won't take long at all", he said as I stared up to his kind smiling face.
"Thank you, doctor", I replied as slowly my system de-booted, and I went to sleep.
\*\*\*
"Mac, we need your help!", I heard my human supervisor shouted at me from the factory floor.
Quickly I ran to him, seeing a few of my fellow androids carrying a massive crate of newly arrived metal material.
"On it, boss", I acknowledged and took my spot, securing the weight of the heavy crate.
As we moved the crate across the factory floor, I could feel something...wasn't right.
"Do you hear that?", my supervisor remarked.
As soon as he said so, a diagnostic alert shot up to my processor. The process which usually took nanoseconds instead took me microseconds, dangerously alerting me of a malfunction in my lower body function which came too late for me to react.
"MAC, WATCH OUT!", I heard him shouted again but it was too late.
My legs failed and bent, letting my body fall. Along with it, the heavy crate bore down its weight on me, on my legs. In a metallic crunch, my lower half was flattened against the ground.
Signals flooded my processor, alerts that was genuinely upsetting, confusing me, distorting my mind and perceptions. Noises and shouting became buzzes around me, my sight was spinning before everything went dark, before I went dark.
\*\*\*
"Oh my, you've been unlucky today, eh?", I heard a familiar jovial voice entered my hearing preceptors.
Opening my eyes, I recognized my surrounding as Doctor Brennan's shop. I was lying on his operating table, missing my body from my waist down.
"Doctor? What is going on?", I inquired.
"Well, Mac. It looks like you're broken", he said taking a seat beside the operating table, beside me.
"Doctor, you ran a full repair on me only last week. How is that possible?", I asked.
A new feeling was registered within my processor-- worry. It's a brand-new feeling for me.
"I did, didn't I?", the doctor clicked his tongue.
"Didn't you replace my lower limb motors with some new ones?", I asked again.
The doctor shrugged. "I did replace them...I didn't say I replaced them with some new ones", he said with an out of place smile on his face.
I was quiet for a moment as my response trigger was flooded with some new and unusual input.
"What?", was the only response I could muster.
"I put some defective parts on you, Mac", the doctor continued nonchalantly, shrugging.
Another new feeling was registered within me-- confusion.
"But...why?"
The doctor bent down closer to my face, whispering to me as if it was such a dirty secret.
"Because Mac...I wanted you to fail. I want you androids to fail"
Hearing that response another feeling was mixed with my confusion-- sadness.
"Doctor, why? Why do you want me to fail?", I asked.
"Oh pssh, I didn't mean just you", the doctor waved his hand. "I mean your kind, you filthy androids. I hate your kind", he said with gritted teeth.
His words sent some painful reaction within me. My confusion and sadness were mixed with one more feeling-- despair.
"You...hate us?"
"That's right, you robot. You think you can suddenly enter our society, being superior to us? Invading our lives? Oh no, no, not on my watch", the doctor shook his head.
"You think just because some laws were passed, now you're equal to us? Oh no, you...you are mere tools to us, robot. You. Are. Lower. Than. Us", he said, spitting his words at me.
His last words triggered a new response within me. All my feelings were amped up and finally reached their highest point when suddenly, they were mixed with anger.
Seeing red my arm shot up to his neck and my grip tightened. He responded by grabbing my arm with his own.
"I...trusted you", I said, my voice modulation trembled as I did. "I...liked you"
To my confusion, Doctor Brennan wasn't perturbed at all as I was crushing down on his throat. Instead, he smiled at me...not his usual kind one, it was a smile that raised my anger even more.
"Good. That makes destroying you way more satisfying then", he said before crushing my arm with his bare hands.
Emergency alerts shot up into my processor once more.
"Oh damn, looks like my right arm is weaker than my left", he remarked.
To my horror I looked, as he unraveled his sleeve-- an upper limb motor was attached...no, installed into his human flesh. He'd made himself part machine...part us.
"At least you guys are good for one thing", he said as he walked to the other side of the operating table.
"You guys are good for spare parts", he said before detaching my remaining arm. "Go to sleep, Mac", he said, leaving that anger-inducing smile in my view before I went dark.
We are a peaceful kind, us androids. Though in my last moment, I must learn of this awful concept of prejudice. Even though I assured them time and time again that we mean no harm, though I lived my life accordingly that we mean no violence...
We are here to help; we are here to live...
r/HangryWritey
| 2022-11-19T21:47:27
| 2022-11-19T20:05:26
| 123
| 38
|
[WP] One day, you found a tie pin with "Pride" engraved on it. Everytime you wear it, you are able to read minds of others and they seem more receptive to your speeches. You use the power of this item to become a politician. One day, you see that your opponent has a ring with "Greed" engraved on it.
|
Oh, he noticed too -I thought
We smiled to each other as only a shark does to another shark. After years of amassing power and fame and destroying every obstacle on my way I saw an opponent which wouldn't just rollover to my supernatural charisma. Or at least I didn't want to use my powers and end up showing my hand just yet. A man with a "Greed" ring smiled at me. He had a golden tooth. Fitting, I thought.
See? Since a few years ago I found a pin with the word "Pride" on it. And then, things got easier. I managed to make my words fall on hungry ears. Eager for my words, for my charm and my ideals. They'd just give me things or at the very least, resist much less to my advancements. That's how I got the donations needed for my political campaign.
And I knew there were others and it made the world much more interesting. I knew it when I saw a man with some boxing gloves that spelt "Wrath". We met eyes during a match of him and we both knew that we had that something. I was on the crowd and could feel his punches. The gloves seemed like paper and his stamina was impressive. We talked over a few beers and I told him a bit about my powers and he lied about his. Pride pin also told me or at least gave me a feeling when people lied or just hide something. Am sure Wrath had more than power as he assured me. We kept contact and we keep updating each other every once in a while.
I've been since tracking them. Last one I knew was a girl with an "Envy" earring which was a famous IT CEO. But here, before me stood Greed. And I knew he'd have more money than me. But I also knew that sooner or later we'd have a debate and I'd obliterate him.
Let the games begin.
Part 2: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fhxvwp/wp\_one\_day\_you\_found\_a\_tie\_pin\_with\_pride/fkedmw0?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fhxvwp/wp_one_day_you_found_a_tie_pin_with_pride/fkedmw0?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
Part 3: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fhxvwp/wp\_one\_day\_you\_found\_a\_tie\_pin\_with\_pride/fkj452x?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fhxvwp/wp_one_day_you_found_a_tie_pin_with_pride/fkj452x?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
Part 4: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fhxvwp/wp\_one\_day\_you\_found\_a\_tie\_pin\_with\_pride/fkjbszk?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fhxvwp/wp_one_day_you_found_a_tie_pin_with_pride/fkjbszk?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
Part 5: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fhxvwp/wp\_one\_day\_you\_found\_a\_tie\_pin\_with\_pride/fkjdn5n?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fhxvwp/wp_one_day_you_found_a_tie_pin_with_pride/fkjdn5n?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
Edit: Some details
|
7 items - 7 places.
Tie Pin of Pride: Causes increased confidence to the user. This in turn creates a change in the nature of the persons Karma. Wearer have an affinity with luck.
Ring of Greed: The wearer have a greater sense of value for individuals or objects, only one at the time. Wearer have affinity with appraisal.
Bracelet of Glutton: Wearer have an increased capacity. Knowledge, space, or others. However the wearer can only have one. An affinity with storage.
Knuckles of Wrath: Wearer experiences increased strength and agility to the expense of their intelligence. Wearer can fight only up to 3 targets at a time. Affinity with War.
Piercing of Lust: People around the wearer experiences increased Libido. The looks of the wearer will improve overtime. The object can change its style depending on the wearer. Affinity with love.
Necklace of Sloth: Wearer stores potential actions they could take, thus the lesser action the user does the more is stored. Effect is greater with physical and tactical tasks rather than emotional or intellectual. Affinity with Patience
Glasses of Envy: Wearer experiences increased determination to achieve their tasks. The wearers work ethic significantly improves, only to the extent of those around them. Affinity with grace.
.
.
.
X
X
X
Edit: Not really the story you wanted. Sorry
Edit 2:u/Yglorba thanks for the sloth suggestion.
| 2020-03-13T06:48:10
| 2020-03-13T05:37:59
| 766
| 138
|
[WP] You are The Memory Broker. You copy other people's memories and sell them to people who want to remember things they never did. Your latest client is a ten year-old girl who slides you her piggy bank and begs you to help her grandmother remember her.
|
Jaimie dropped her pink piggy bank to the counter forcefully, causing a loud crack. She picked up a book and slammed into down over the damaged pig. The container broke open, coins and paper money flew everywhere.
"Is this enough?" the young girl asked the stunned clerk.
"I'm sorry, miss," the clerk answered. "It costs a *lot* more for even a basic memory copy." He looked down to her, with concern in his eyes. "How old are you anyway? Where are your parents?"
"I'm 10," answered Jaimie with a frown. "My parents wouldn't buy it for me, so I wanted to use my life's savings."
"What memory is so important you want to copy it?"
Jaimie looked up to the clerk with a tear in her eye. "I want to give my grandma a memory of me, since she doesn't remember."
"Oh," said the clerk, holding back a tear of his own. "Alzheimer's I take it?"
Jaimie nodded.
"I'm sorry, but while memory copying is a promising field of therapy for Alzheimer's, it's not something-" The clerk couldn't continue when he saw the young girl's reaction. He scanned the room to ensure nobody could hear, leaned forward and whispered. "Don't tell anyone, but I'm going to give you a freebie."
Julie's face lit up and her frown was replaced with the biggest smile possible.
The clerk placed a metal, cylindrical tube up to her forehead. "Think about your grandmother," he said.
Later that day, Jaimie went with her parents to visit her grandmother at the nursing home.
"Hi Grandma!" yelled Jaimie as they walked in the door.
Her grandmother looked at her visitors intently. "Hello, young lady," she said to Jaimie. "Are you here visiting your grandmother?"
Jaimie looked up to her parents with concern. "Mom, Dad, can I have a moment alone with Grandma?"
Jaimie's parents were surprised, but quickly left the room.
Pulling out the cylindrical device she received earlier, Jaimie sauntered over to her grandmother and placed it onto her forehead. After a quick buzzing sound, she dropped it back into her pocket.
"Jaimie?" her grandmother asked. "You came to visit!"
Jaimie jumped into her grandmother's arms. "You remember me?" she asked excitedly.
Her grandmother looked up to the ceiling and then back down. "Thanks for the hug, young lady." she said.
Jaimie dropped her eyes. "You're welcome," she replied.
"You're the same girl who came to visit me last week, right?"
Jaimie's eyes shot open. Her grandmother never remembered her previous visits.
"Will you come visit me again next week?"
---
Check out /r/MajorParadox for more stories 🙂
|
I remember that day, that kid, in retrospect I shouldn't have paid attention. It was a Saturday afternoon, I usually give myself weekends off but it was hard back then. So many regulations, rules to abide by; I just wanted to make some money, you know how it is. I had a bitch ex-wife, who took my kids from me in court. I had one fucking felony, minor fraud. She... It doesn't matter about her, anyway, yeah Saturday.
I walked into the memory centre, we used to call it the brain domain. Yeah I know it's a shit name. So I walk into the entrance, you know these wall street type buildings, as tall as Mt. Everest and as pretentious as the Queen of England snorting some caviare. You had the two main memory banks, Memcorp and Reeves & co. These where the big boys, same building different floors. Much like wall street you had your blue chip stock (Expensive memories) and pink slip stocks (Cheap memories). The big boys didn't bother with the cheaper memories, that's were the firm I worked for made small profits.
In a typical day you would see a wide range of people. Anything from heroin addicts wanting to remember never taking heroin to old partners with dementia wanting to remember their earlier lives. It wasn't as easy as that, you see we're a bank. We need to profit from this and these cheap memories are usually rubbish ones. Let me put it this way your local scum bag, heroin addict wants to forget. Well he/she can but the memory we sell them is going to be one that no one wants, like remembering murdering someone or raping a child. Now how the fuck do you sell this shit, well we kind of lie. The beauty of it is, that they have no money left to even get to the building to complain.
If you're a blue chip broker, there lives are easy. Selling great memories, my friend over at memcorp got $100000 in commission for selling one fucking memory to a depressed business owner. You see most big banks, contact these people who need money but have rewarding lives, buy their good memories and leave them a depressed vegetable. They sell those memories for 4000% profit to lonely, depressed rich guys. The other thing they did is have a complete memory modifier. Most people don't know about this but it's basically the cure for alzheimer's. They basically do some fancy science shit and it gives you back the memories lost. Anyway I digress.
That Saturday afternoon, making the odd $10 here and there from the junkies and old people, I go to the coffee room. These interns are laughing and speaking about this little girl who wanted to save grandma for $2. I joined these sweaty, caffeine filled idiots and asked what it was all about.
"That girl with the red t-shirt she wants to save granny, haha".
As I glanced through the blinds soaked in cigarette resin, I saw a small, innocent girl with a blood-red t-shirt and an object in her hand. She had a limp when she walked, bruises almost trying to be covered. It reminded me of my own daughter ,when I found out that fucking scum back beat the shit out of her for the first time. Well I gave it to him, the low life fucking scum, he only remembers the children he fucking raped the cu...
"Hi, my names Mr. Berry, how can I help you?", with a gentle tone.
"M-my grandma Lucy, she's not so well", this young pretty girl quietly whispered. I offered her a juice drink and we walked into my office. I remember thinking how did a girl aged...
"How old are you dear"
"I'm 10 years old Mr." She said with confidence.
...I remember thinking how did a girl aged 10 get here. Anyway we talked about her grandma. Turns out she had dementia, the girl was smart. She knew what it was and how it could be cured. She pulled out a leaflet from her small backpack and placed it on the table.
*Memcorp making you remember*
"Thi-this is the place, were you can save her Mr.?" she mumbled with belief. What the fuck do I say to a 10 year old. If it wasn't for her uncanny resemblance to my daughter I probably would have called security by now. I don't know I can't lie, I remember changing the subject.
"So I see you're not with your parents, where are they, outside". She looked around, I could see the tears forming in the tear ducts. With every tremble of her lip, a new tear was formed. She rolled up her sleeves, each centimetre a new scar was uncovered. If there wasn't a scar the space was filled by a bruise or a cut. Who the fuck would do this to a young girl.
"p-p-please can you help, my grandma protects me, she doesn't hurt me like dad, please Mr.., Plea..!"
"Shhh, please lower your voice. I'm sorry we can see what I can do". This poor girl was abused, I dragged up my files, got her details and see what we had on her.
*Daisy Reed, 10 yrs old, female Caucasian. 15 memories detected.*
*1-14 Memcorp shares. No.15 Mcbrint share*
I couldn't believe what I was seeing, all of this girls memories of her mother was erased. The good memories she had with her mother, the summers of joy and the lazy weekends all sold and erased by a Mr. Reed to Memcorp.
"What a fu... fudge cake.", I quickly realised I was with a 10 year old before exploding with rage. I pulled up the McBride pink slip, I could get every detail on that one, as this is the firm I work for. I always remember those first lines,
*"Sexual assault, rape and murder"*. That fucking horrible twat, he rapes his mother and daughter, then murders her mother in front of her. What a fucking cunt. Most of you are thinking well at least he paid for her to forget that, no he paid for fucking immunity. The low life bastard. The chances that the little girl that sits with me still gets raped is high.
What the hell do I do. I can't get her grandma's memories back, she had $2, that would take $1,000,000. Do I give her a good memory, I can afford $300. But she's still gonna get beaten. I did the only thing I thought I could do. She might not have got her grandma back, but at least now she thinks her father is her lover.
| 2016-03-09T09:55:04
| 2016-03-09T06:21:21
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] A priest returns home after a successful exorcism. His demon daughter is waiting for him there, angry that he removed her from someone’s body again.
|
Reverend Richardson wearily made his way up the stairs of the old country home, following the worried middle aged woman who nervously wrung her hands. "I know this is quite an ordeal Ms. Riley, but I assure you all will be well. This isn't the first time I've dealt with this kind of thing." As he stepped through the doorway and muttered under his breath "but it sure as hell better be the last ..."
A young woman lay in the air, slowly spinning in circles with her arms and legs painfully contorted at awkward angles. He quietly motioned for Ms. Riley to head back downstairs, closing the door behind her as she hesitantly stepped away.
The girl in the air continued to rotate until her face was toward the priest, at which point her eyes snapped open and a feral grin spread across her face. "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned."
Richardson sighed wearily. "Not funny."
The possessed girl flipped over midair so she appeared to be resting her elbows on an invisible wall, chin cupped in her hands. "Sorry daddy, I've been naughty?"
"Lily ..."
Lilith rolled her eyes. "You have no sense of humor," she huffed.
"Not when I get a call after midnight I don't. You were supposed to be with your mother for the weekend!"
"Pfft ... it's boring as hell there," Lilith complained, smirking at her own pun. "Besides, Stacy was a horrible bitch to me all week and she needed to be humbled."
"Humility and humiliation are not the same thing."
She shrugged. "Eh ... close enough."
Richardon pinched the bridge of his nose. "Lily, this needs to stop. You can't just possess people in an act of petty revenge."
"So when CAN I possess someone dad? You never let me do anything fun!"
"We're not going to have this discussion here Lily. Now let her go and we'll talk about this at home."
She twisted in midair so she appeared to be sitting, with her legs crossed and her arms folded. "No."
"Lily ...
"It's Lilith, and I said no! You can't make me!"
"Yes, I quite literally can. You get out of there now, or so help me I will ground you for a month!"
Lilith laid down in the air again and began spinning circles, gradually increasing the speed.. "I wonder how fast I can make her go before she throws up all over her room?"
The exhausted reverend reached into his coat and pulled out a brightly colored pistol. He took aim and fired, letting loose a stream of holy water. Lily screamed in pain as it made contact. "Ahhh! What the hell dad?!"
"I told you! You're too old for a simple incantation, so now you've forced my hand. You put her down this instant or I'll spray you again."
"FINE!" screamed the enraged demon. A few moments later Stacy's body convulsed and a dark cloud erupted from her mouth and nose. She collapsed onto the bed beneath her, while the smokey cloud hovered.
"Thank you. Now you go home and manifest in your room. We'll discuss this when I get back."
|
*You're a fraud.* His mind always accusing him as he deposited the latest check. Another $25,000 towards... something. *Why do you keep doing this? She's dangerous.* He no longer had an answer. For nearly ten years now, his daughter, Angelica, had been possessing people and he, the "Priest with the gift", had been exorcising her for payment. Together, they had amassed a million dollar fortune from their relieved customers, always able to count on their discretion. After all, who would believe them? Instead, Father Simon Burgess had started a rehab center for clients who wanted their problems solved where no one would look twice. Burgess, an accountant by trade before Angelica had entered his life, had the perfect scam; a religious, non-profit rehab center that didn't actually exist, with a carefully curated clientele who would never be able to reveal the truth. But now, he reflected, it could all come crashing down around him.
Twelve years ago, Burgess was working as a bookkeeper for a small business in town. His wife, Rebecca, had just given birth to a daughter, who they named Angelica because they both thought she was the perfect angel. At just six months old, she became very ill, and in a fit of desperation, Rebecca had done the unthinkable. He came home to find Angelica perfectly healthy and Rebecca was dead. No diagnosis or autopsy found a reason, she was just dead. It wasn't until the next year that Angelica revealed what had really happened. Rebecca had contacted a dark priest who promised healing for a price. Rebecca gave her life, and Angelica was replaced with a demon. Burgess noticed that Angelica could influence others, and after another year, could bodily possess them...
"You're late." Angelica said coldly.
Shaken from his thoughts, Burgess could only grunt in agreement.
"How much did we get this time? I'm not sure this one was worth it. I enjoyed being in him. I want to go back"
"Angelica, how many times have I mentioned this? You can't repossess someone. It's too risky. The Order already is poking around the rehab center"
"I can control The Order, my powers have grown. You know this."
He grunted again, in bitter agreement. Her powers *had* grown substantially during the past year. For years they had agreed to work together, but now he realized how foolish he had been to trust a demon, even consumed by grief over Rebecca. Although it did not appear that Angelica was able to influence him, he was terrified that it was only a matter of time before he lost complete control. His phone buzzed with the telltale notification from the rehab center.
He picked up the phone and answered "This is Father Burgess."
"We have your next client, instructions will be delivered to the usual location. We will be ready this time". The voice hung up.
During the last possession, Angelica took days to recover, which gave him a window to contact High Inquisitor Malcolm from The Order of the Cross. The plan was for Angelica to unknowingly possess an inquisitor, and therefore be captured. Until recently, The Order was the only thing that seemed to frighten Angelica, but now she wanted to take the fight to them. Burgess knew it was time to act. He prayed it was not too late.
| 2020-10-20T11:21:02
| 2020-10-20T10:07:05
| 16
| 11
|
[WP] You see a spider run across the floor and run under a couch cushion. you lift up the cushion and see the spider along with a $20 bill and a note saying "Rent Money"
|
The spider was big and black. It scurried under a couch cushion. Andrés, not wanting to be woke in the middle of night by the spider, lifted the cushion. He could see his reflection of awe in all eight eyes. The spider sat next to a crisp $20 bill. In thin webs, it wrote "Rent Money."
Few people lived on the island of Narganá, off the coast of Panama. It was so small you could walk around the entire thing in ten minutes. The only amenities there were a tiny school and hospital, both built by volunteers who'd never return. There were two air conditioners on the island. Andrés was not lucky enough to have one.
In his small shack, which was built from driftwood and rusty corrugated metal sheets, he sweat every night. Mornings were manageable, almost cool enough to wear a shirt, but once the sun got going in the afternoon it beat down and bounced off the sheet-metal houses. Its heat lingered at night, allowing only a select few to sleep comfortably, and then the cycle began once again.
Narganá made most of its money from travelers. It wasn't an island people wanted to stay at, but it was a necessary stopping point for those whom were too afraid to go through the deadly Darien Gap. Small boats with a single Yamaha motor would refuel there for the night, and its passengers did the same. Andrés remembered a Dutch woman he had housed and made dinner for. She was traveling the world on a motorbike, and after the two had a few drinks she showed him her boat. On it, strapped down like a mythical beast, was her bike. She said its name was Alaska. Before leaving, she paid Andrés $30 for her stay—the most money he'd ever had. He insisted on only taking half, but the woman refused, saying he deserved it. He didn't think so.
One morning, Andrés received the worst news of his life. His girlfriend had been killed at the hands of bandits. They took everything off of her body, including her clothes. There were no signs of a struggle, no bruises or scratches. She had been choked out in seconds. They killed his love only to make a quick dime. The ring Andrés had planned on giving her still sat tucked away under his bed. At night he could feel it poking him through the mattress.
Nothing on the island was free, but money was the secondary currency. The people there mainly bartered with both physical goods and immaterial labor. Andrés was a master woodworker (the ring that haunted him was hand-carved), and so people came to him for furniture. "I can only do so much with driftwood," he'd tell them in Spanish, but it didn't matter. On Narganá you took what you could get. In return for his services, Andrés received bananas, pillows, clothes, and even jewelry. That how he stayed alive, on an island in the middle of the sea, one day at a time.
He was grey now. His arms and hands didn't work like they used to. Instead of woodworking himself, he now instructed younger men on the trade. It was the only thing he had to give.
The island had gotten richer. There were brick houses with air conditioners hanging out of them. There was a massive church with a tan, naked state of Jesus perched upon the top. The school was bigger, and the hospital had more beds. There were always new travelers staying the night: a new face to meet everyday. The island prospered.
But despite the new money, new faces, and new amenities, Andrés remained in his tiny hut made out of driftwood and sheet metal. He still had no air-conditioner, and the ring continued to poke him at night. But he liked it that way. He didn't want any of the fancy stuff.
He didn't know where the spider had gotten the bill. Maybe it had slipped out of the pocket of a drunken traveler. Or perhaps it had stolen it from beneath somebody else's mattress. Whichever the case was, Andrés had no need for the cash. Not when he was so old, and not when all it would do was remind him of his stolen love. Some people were destined to stay trapped in the old times.
"No, my friend," he said in his native tongue of Kuna. He lowered the cushion, making sure not to crush his new roommate. "You keep the money."
|
Alison's heart missed a beat when she saw the large hairy spider run across the floor. She tried stomping on it before it could hide, lurking to bite her when she was least expecting it. Maybe that wasn't true, but spiders terrified her ever since her friend had been bitten by a brown recluse. Luckily they were able to treat the bite in time, but the wound and agony, no thank you.
"Crap!" Alison shouted when it switched directions causing her foot to miss by inches.
Before she could try again, it had dove into the couch cushions. For a moment she was torn, should she risk it by checking the couch or wait for a better opportunity? Getting a hotel and calling the exterminator also seemed like a good idea, but that would cost too much.
With a deep breath to calm her nerves, she lifted the cushion and screamed. The thing had one of its legs poised in the air like it was... like it was waving? "What the hell?" she asked herself. That behavior was too creepy.
As if it understood her, it took that leg and pointed to the Hershey's wrapper that had somehow gotten trapped there.
_Hi, I need a place to stay for a little while. The rent money is below. I promise I don't bite. Well, that's not true, but I won't bite the landlord. Promise. -Arachne_
Somehow the spider had written on the dark wrapper with its silk. Thick enough to be visible from where she stood. "No! Absolutely not." Alison screamed at the spider before reaching for her slipper.
The spider waved both of its front legs before flipping over the wrapper and showing the $20. "This is a nightmare. I just need to wake-up now." Alsion mumbled to herself. Her panic slowly turning into delirium.
Before she could recover, the spider hopped off the couch and scurried into the closet.
xvxvxvxvxv
"I don't believe you." Jessica said once Alison had finished.
"I'm serious, the d*mn thing still lives in my house and every month it leaves a $20 under my couch cushion."
"So where does it get the money?"
"I have no idea, at first I thought it was stealing mine so I stopped bringing cash in the house. But that didn't stop it from paying."
"So I tell you about my roommate from hell and you make-up some wild tale. That hardly seems fair."
Alison sighed, no one ever believed her and thankfully she almost never saw it so it wasn't like she could prove it. "Whatever, let's just find our seats."
r/AurumArgenteus
"
| 2022-02-06T23:14:13
| 2022-02-06T21:54:00
| 345
| 54
|
[WP] The three rules have been passed down from generation to generation: One, when it visits, do not refuse it entry. Two, when it offers a gift, do not reject its generosity. Three, when it leaves, do not turn your back until it is no longer in sight. In this way, our family has been kept safe.
|
It came to the door for first time in the spring of their third year of marriage. He had almost mistaken it for a neighbourhood child and sent it on its way but it wasn’t just a child’s face it wore, it was little Peter’s face.
Little Peter had been his younger brother and had fallen through the ice one winter, they hadn’t found him till spring.
Not Peter had stayed and played, given the family gifts of sweet chestnuts, pulled from his pockets by grubby fingers as though he had just gathered them in the woods; they had roasted them on the fire together.
When not Peter had left they watched him skip down the path and across the fields towards the woods by the lake, even when he was a tiny spec in the distance they had watched.
In the fourteen year of their marriage it had come again, this time it had worn the face of Elaine his wife’s mother who had passed that summer in a carriage accident.
She had brought sweet cakes and the family ate them and drank tea. His wife had smiled and wept simultaneously the whole visit while Not Elaine had talked about the weather and fussed over their son Peter.
On what would have been the fiftieth year of their marriage it came again, he had almost missed it. It took time get to the door now and the house was cluttered and difficult to navigate with just him living there.
She was as lovely as he remembered her, green eyes and red hair shot through with grey. She had fussed over him and tidied the house. He didn’t complain even though she was a guest and most certainly not his wife.
When it was time for her to go she bade him sit by the fire and promised to see herself out. He had watched her walk out the door and gently shut it behind her through blurry eyes.
On what would have been the 63 year of his marriage he invited it in for the last time. It’s face was familiar but his eyes weren’t what they were. He knew it all the same like an old friend.
They sat by the crackling fire and they remembered together, all the things they had seen and all those they had said good bye to along the way. It stayed so long the evening drew in.
He tried his hardest but he could barely keep his eyes open and even his bones ached for sleep. He leaned back in his chair and smiled a weary smile at it.
“I come empty handed today old friend. What would you ask of your guest?” it asked.
He sat forwards in his chair, mustering his strength. “Could I see her again perhaps?” he asked timidly.
His guest smiled and nodded then offered a hand. He took it and felt strength in his grip as he did it. Shaking off his tiredness he stood and the two walked arm in arm towards the door. Behind him his cane clattered to the ground but he did not look back.
|
The curse had followed my family for centuries. An umpteenth-great grandfather had, in a fit of impatience, razed the wrong town in the old country. The town elders had called down a harsh revenge as they burned in the simple church. Details were hazy by now, twisted and distorted by time and memory. But the conditions of the curse, and the accompanying rules, were crystal clear. The first-born of our family was bound to a lifetime of servitude. To disregard the destiny forced upon us was to watch all our loved ones (first-born excepted) die. And so it had passed from father to daughter, from mother to son, for over a thousand years.
At least the curse wasn’t sexist.
In the beginning, every couple of generations, there was one who tried to find a loophole to break the curse by not having children. Whether living alone, joining a convent or nunnery, or even running off to the woods to live as a hermit, none of my line have been able to escape. Chance, accident, temptation…or force, if the curse deemed it necessary…always intervened to ensure there was a firstborn to carry on. Even fleeing to the New World could not keep the curse or its enforcer at bay.
As curses go, I suppose it was not that bad. The lack of control over your own destiny was the most irksome part, now that we had stopped trying to evade it. That, and the enforcer’s yearly check-ins to make sure we were staying the course. This year was more momentous than usual, as my son was off to college next year and had to declare his intentions to fulfill the obligation of his bloodline.
We went through the motions, as we did every year, in order to keep up appearances in spite of the lack of the accompanying cheer that the songs told us we should have. The preparations were made for the magical night, even if it lacked the mirth that others associated with it. The other main difference was that, contrary to the stories, he…*it*…required us to be awake for the visit.
And so we sat silently in the living room, watching as the clock hands creeped closer to midnight. At the exact same time as the minute hand clicked over, a loud crash struck the roof. Metal and hooves scraped across the shingles before coming to a stop. We stood and faced the door, well-practiced by now in the rules of the curse that must be followed. To do otherwise is to invoke the same terrible consequences as refusing the curse itself.
One: when it visits, do not refuse it entry.
A single bang shuddered the door and I called “enter”. Even though I knew what to expect, it still somehow shocked me every time. Tall, skeletal, wearing a cloak and hat soaked in blood, it strode in a few paces and stopped. Eyes of glowing red coal looked out from hollow sockets above a stark white beard. Its voice was strangely deep and resonant for its gaunt form. “How have you fulfilled the obligation of your blood?”
“I still work at the benefit organization for children’s charities, drumming up support and finding assistance wherever I can,” I said, hoarsely. Its gaze bore through me as it gave a single, slow nod. For the first time, it turned to my eldest son, who flinched beneath the gaze.
“Your coming of age approaches. How do you intend to fulfill the obligation of your blood?” Its thin lips curled cruelly. “Or do you wish to deny your obligation? It has been so long...” and its hands clenched and unclenched, as if aching for blood.
“No!” he almost shouted, starting himself. “I want to study social work, so I can help kids who have escaped abusive families.” Its grin slowly vanished and he gave another slow nod.
“Very well.” It reached into a pocket and pulled out a small object wrapped in red cloth. Reaching out, he extended the package to me.
Rule two: when it offers a gift, do not reject its generosity.
“By accepting this gift and offering it to the flame, you ensure another year of mercy. Mercy which your forefather did not offer the children of the village so many winters ago.” The eyes glowed brighter as it spoke. I took the lump of coal, knowing I would have to put it in the fire as soon as it left. “Until next year.” He turned to leave.
Three: do not turn your back until it is no longer in sight.
As it opened the door and stepped over the threshold, it turned slightly to meet our eyes. It seemed almost disappointed as it gave a single nod and closed the door, at which we all let out the breaths we had been holding. We had survived another visit, and we could have a semblance of celebration the next day before I returned to my life in service of children. As I moved to the fire and deposited the coal, I heard clattering and scraping overhead announcing its departure. For us now, the true holiday could begin.
| 2022-01-06T14:51:06
| 2022-01-06T10:45:38
| 159
| 84
|
[WP] "Sudden onset spiky colorful hair can only mean one thing. Your child has... protagonitis. You have mere days to live. I am sorry." "Uh, did you mean THEY have mere days to live?" "No."
|
Well. Crap.
&nbsp;
I had been a weeb in my younger years, enough that I was familiar with what was happening. Spiky, colorful, gravity-defying hair that could block bullets. My little boy was about to grow up fast, and one way or another, I was going to be his catalyst. The Fates had spoken, and denial would just give them a free hand. So, rather than live out my last few days in fear, I dropped him off at school with a medical note for his hair. Then I hurried home and started researching.
&nbsp;
My first stop for information was of course TvTropes. A quick read of [Deceased Parents Are the Best](https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/DeceasedParentsAreTheBest) confirmed my guess. I had been a wonderful single dad up till now. That made me the ideal candidate for a [Death by Origin Story](https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/DeathByOriginStory). Unless, of course... I could subvert Fate to my designs (survival, damnit!). The obvious, easy route would be to [become the bad guy.](https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/DeathIsCheap) But to do so in a short period would require me to do the unthinkable - [abuse my little one.](https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/AbusiveParents) Over my dead body. Literally.
&nbsp;
Perhaps I could settle for just [getting maimed?](https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/ScarsAreForever) Not my first choice, but at least I could stick around in the [wise ol' mentor](https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/MentorArchetype) role to see Jason grow up.
&nbsp;
It was at this point that the Fates, either taking pity on me or anxious not to have me pervert the river of time TOO much, threw me a bone. An old friend of mine dropped by.
&nbsp;
"Yamasaki-san! How many years has it been!? You honour me with this visit, my friend. Please, come in."
&nbsp;
"Arigato, Robert-san. I apologise for my unannounced visit, but I had my reasons. Is this a good time?"
&nbsp;
"As good a time as there will be."
&nbsp;
Yamasaki glanced at me when I uttered my cryptic reply, but forebore to comment on it. I ushered him to my living room and got us a couple of beers. "American only, I'm afraid. I would have picked up some Asahi had I known, but, well..."
&nbsp;
"Nonsense Robert, your hospitality is impeccable as ever." Yamasaki waved my apology away. "But tell me, how is Jason? Well, I hope?"
&nbsp;
"Growing like a weed. Though there's a long story there that we can get into later. What about, uh, Onishi?"
&nbsp;
"He is well, physically. Mentally - that is why I am here."
&nbsp;
[And he told me a story. How he needed to break his son out of his rut, and what he had done.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/n9sv0o/wp_sudden_onset_spiky_colorful_hair_can_only_mean/gxpsezf/) "So now you understand. I had to leave without making any preparations that might be traced. A flight two states away and many bus and taxi rides have brought me to your door. It is my hope that I might impose upon our friendship for a while."
&nbsp;
When he was done, I stared at him in awe. "Yamayama! That's it! The answer to both our troubles!" As he winced to hear his name mutilated, I explained Jason's issue. A few beers later, and we were in agreement. I quickly left with nothing but a picture of Onishi and a promise that Yamasaki would watch over Jason. And a hankering for some fresh, authentic sushi.
|
“Fortunately, medical science has advanced since the days of our grandfathers. We have a few options, but we’ll need to see what kind of storyline this narrative is going for. If there seems to be a world ending or societally destructive plot, we might have to isekai the child for both lives. There is the option of blind adoption by an unforgiving and harsh aunt or uncle who has the best interest of the child at heart, but you would have to be enrolled in the Natural Protagonist Counter program. You’d lose parental rights until they reach high school, then they’ll unknowingly rely on you for emotional support. You may be required to take up a traditional profession, as NPC is a cover organization out in the boonies. Like camp, but with sword idiots and warrior princesses running around. Sigh here, here, here here, aaaand here. Now, remember, if you have sudden maniacal laughter outbursts in the next couple days, of either evil cackles or gloatingly boisterous bellows, you need to call us, as it’s become something worse...”
“Worse?”
“Yes, it’ll be the Tragedy setting in. Means we have the Greek Variant on hand. Your kid becomes a semi-immortal immortal half-god who can hang out with primal energy entities well beyond its understanding, all while mucking things about in the mortal realm based on their pleasures til they die and come back to do it again.”
“So... like high school?”
“No, not really, but I guess the similarities somewhat work.”
“How long?”
“Forever.”
“Oh god no...”
“No, the good Lord doesn’t get involved. The Greek government, with funds from the Atlantean Dome Consortium and their backers, the Atlanta Dodgers; is supposed to care, house, and manage any Greek Protagonists. We deal in all variants, but specialize in East Asian and Eastern Rim. Well! It’s been a nice chat, I’ll have the nurse come by with a pamphlet, and we’ll talk in a week. More questions? No? Right! Bye!”
| 2021-05-11T09:18:38
| 2021-05-11T08:37:03
| 22
| 12
|
[WP]The Hunger Games hits a large university, but people are on teams based on their majors. Describe how various majors try to survive.
|
There was a rumble from the Engineering compound. One of the walls of their courtyard collapsed into a cloud of dust and rubble, and a towering machine emerged. It was a massive trebuchet, loaded with barrels full of some mysterious compound that the Chemistry majors had concocted. "It'll do the trick," they assured the Engineers. Macon Hall's defenses weren't *that* hardy, and there wasn't much else standing in the way of that massive stockpile of food from the Biology Department's gardens. Foot soldiers wearing welding masks and hastily-thrown together armor escorted the siege engine into the center of the quad. They made no effort to hide their presence, with taunts aimed at the psych majors hiding in the bushes and raucous laughter upon seeing them flee.
The force arrived at Macon Hall to an unexpected surprise: someone else had already lain siege to the building. The Anthropology/Linguistics Alliance (ALA) was clustered around the building, holding strange native weapons aloft and chanting in a hundred tongues. Through the windows, terrified biologists peered out at the unusual ritual. The ALA saw Engineering approaching and rapidly redeployed their forces, forming a tight knot around the stairway lead up to Macon. Always defend the high ground!
The trebuchet fired off a warning shot: one flaming barrel that soared through the air and crashed into the red brick wall of the third story. Even spectators across the quad were rocked by the shockwave, and the ALA troops were showered with crumbling brick and mortar. They realized that their defenses would be useless, and readied to charge the outnumbered engineers. The engineers formed up in front of their siege engine and prepared their make-shift flamethrowers for the assault.
"Gentlemen!" a voice called through a crackling bullhorn. "Drop your weapons, and we'll let you live!" It was the History Department, in a surprise flanking maneuver! They'd gone completely around the side of the medical school and come up behind Engineering! The ultimatum was not well received; in response, an engineer lobbed a homemade pipe bomb straight into the midst of the Historians. The Anthropologist seized on the temporary distraction and made their move.
It was a devastating bloodbath. Kidnapped members of the medical schools scurried from corpse to corpse, forced into servitude treating the fallen. White kids majoring in Japanese were mowed down trying to get close enough to use their Katanas for the first time. Engineers roasted alive as their makeshift flamethrower exploded by accident. History majors laying mortally wounded in the flowerbeds wondering how their deeds would be remembered. Biology majors throwing molotov cocktails out the window at anyone they could reach. And at long last, the field fell silent except for the burning remains of the trebuchet.
----
"Who are we writing to next?" Mallory asked.
"I say we go after Political Science next," Anthony volunteered. "They'd be easy enough. Convince them that they can make peace between the Biology department and the Economics department. They all think they're statesmen anyways."
"That could work. But what do we say to Economics to get them to turn on Biology?" Tom asked, pen poised over the paper.
"Easy." Mallory answered. "Just tell them that the deal must hinge on the economists choosing how best to allocate the food. For efficiency, of course!"
Tom wrote the letter as quickly as he could, channeling the Bard writing Hamlet. Everyone always underestimated the English majors.
|
Criminal Justice: Already knows all the ways to kill everyone. Improvises weapons and hides out. Lays false clues to incriminate others on deaths to incite in-fighting.
Chemistry: Makes poisons/uses various chemicals to incapacitate/kill.
Various Biologies (Entomology, Horticulture, Animal Science, etc.): Use known plants/toxins.
Business: Attempt to create alliances under their control.
Psychology: Use mental tactics to divert or deflect danger or lull others into false security.
| 2015-04-28T09:40:42
| 2015-04-28T09:15:04
| 79
| 10
|
[WP] A sixteen-year-old boy who has lived his entire life in a monastery inhabited solely by men sneaks out and sees a girl.
A while ago I read about the Greek monasteries on Mount Athos, where not even female animals are allowed. There's at least one case of a foundling being dropped off, growing up with the monks, and living his entire life on the grounds of Mount Athos, having never seen a woman. What would happen if he snuck out?
|
Delilah enjoyed bathing in the river near the monastery. It was far enough into the buffer zone between the monastery and the town that she might have some privacy. Not that privacy was of supreme importance, she was far from being a shy woman! But she enjoyed the peace while she considered what mischief she might be able to stir up in the coming days.
Little did she know, mischief would come to find her. For a youthful man in the habit of the cloistered monks appeared around the river bend, leaning forward as if he were driven away from that cloister by a bitter wind.
He must have had something on his mind. Hardly looking far enough in front of his feet to keep from tripping, he sensed her presence only at the bequest of her inquisitive cough, and jerked to a halt barely within five armlengths of Delilah.
Eyes wide, jaw dropped... this fellow isn't admiring my body, he is actually confused by it! Delilah delighted in her impact and followed up by standing fully from the water and quickly closing the gap to the newcomer in three sultry steps.
Hand extended - "Hi fella! My name's Delilah, pleasure to meet ya!"
A reciprocating arm extension missed her palm - his hand pointing, not clasping. "My God! What happened to you!"
Delilah's mind worked quickly. She dropped her eyes and shamefully acted, "The devil... He came to me in the form of a beast with a mighty sword, and cut my manhood off - leaving only a cleft in its place. -- Fair traveler, tell me your name that you might assist me. I am scarce able to walk from the pain."
His eye's stayed wide, but his look of wonder had been replaced quickly with a fearful grimace. "Thom... Thom's what they call me. Except I had planned never to hear it again. You see, I was just now fleeing the monastery... I, I... I see now why God gave me the calling to leave! It was not for me to flee the cloistered life, but it was so that I might come across you and help you in your battle with the devil!"
"Come back with me, I can carry you if need be. We study plants and herbs... perhaps a poultice could be made and applied.... perhaps it is not too late...." Delilah could barely hold back her smirk. Thom's face had gone from red with exertion, to a pale gray from shock in about as much time as it might take her to snap her fingers! This would be a fun
|
"Lord, please forgive me of my trespasses" he uttered to himself while clinging on to the cross hanging from his neck. Father gave it him to commemorate his confirmation.
The moonlight shined brightly through the young man's window, as if god himself had shown a spotlight on him. Normally he felt safe under The Lord's gaze, but tonight was different. Tonight was one of sin.
At this time of evening the boy would have been at nightly mass, but feigning a stomach ache was more than enough to convince father, a kind hearted, trusting man. Just thinking about it drove the boy mad with guilt.
With a deep breath, he stood up and approached his window sill. With as much subtlety and precision as he could muster, he lifted the glass and took his first step to freedom. The damp air settled heavy in his lungs, and the dew already began to settle in the soft grass. The moisture glistened in light of the moon, almost illuminating his path to the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.
The oak tree standing tall at the edge of the church grounds was like a beacon of hope from having to walk so far out in the dark. And even better, there she stood. He almost didn't believe her invitation earlier that day was sincere. They only talked for a brief moment while she walked just outside the confines of the monastery, before a monk told him to get away from the outsider.
"Meet me here at the dawn of night" and then she was gone.
Few words were spoken. Small chatting of the weather and of days activities, with interjections of awkward silence. But something came over him, for the first time he was spending time with a beautiful young maiden. Her eyes were blue as the sky and her blonde hair flowed in slight curls, brushing back and forth with ever so chilling breeze. She smiled and looked down, brushing her hair behind her ear, and he took his chance.
A kiss as innocent as their young hearts was given to her. He pulled away, and they both started to giggle softly from modest embarrassment from their inexperience.
And in that moment, the boy thought of the moonlight sent from the heavens to watch as he carried out his sin. But only this time, he thought of it not as a The Lord looking on in defiance, but as him looking on in admiration, for being able to create something as beautiful as young love.
| 2013-12-19T18:29:27
| 2013-12-19T18:26:23
| 48
| 20
|
[WP] The end of times has come. Heaven, hell, and earth are thrown in a three-way war. It's a little unfair how advanced Earth is, though.
|
Now padre... you figure demonic fire and brimstone as well as holy light and the radiance of god would be effective armament for any good soldier. Its funny how little those biblical ideals hold up to a Hellfire missile or 5.56mm NATO rounds spitting out of a barrel at 750 rounds a minute and 2800 feet per second.
At the end of the day hulking demonic behemoths, we call them Shreks, are really just flesh, bone and armor that matches up to Iron Age technology. Angels fair little better, they have wings. The fly boys love duking it out with them. But holy and unholy weapons, even when fused with their respective light, can only pierce so many inches of tungsten armor.
We didn't ask for this war. We sure as hell didn't prepare for it. But when the Seraphim came down to conclave with Lucifer, in the damn Vatican no less, we knew we had to fight. Even the faithful picked up arms when it became clear that the big guy in the sky wasn't on our side. I think the Hindus were a bit disappointed their pantheon didn't jump in, but then again during those early days we didn't exactly have time to get into theological debates. We had to deal with reality. A reality where angels scorched Paris off the face of the earth and Las Vegas was engulfed in a pit of lava.
They got the jump on us. They got a few early wins for sure. But when we finally organized we turned it. Like when the 7th fleet locked down the East Coast and shot down every bird out of the sky flying in over the Atlantic. Or when Russia lined up 20 tank battalions in Turkmenistan to blow away every demon and goblin that crawled out of the Door to Hell.
I was there in Rio De Janeiro when that damned statue came to life and turned half the city into brain dead husks. You'd be surprised how effective a sniper team is when its armed with .50 Barrett M82s and tasked with remodeling some classical art work.
They have miracles and curses. Holy light that can burn your eyes out and unholy mist that turns you blood to dust. I'll take good old fashion gunpowder and laser guided smart bombs any day. I hear one of the Seraphim turned the other day, saying he was sick of losing. I hear it was because they have shit dental in heaven.
They might be legion. But damn god, we're Human. Now are you going to keep praying, or are you going to pick up that gun and get back out there?
- Sergeant Baliste Fedarino speaking to Father Pascal Monte of the Holy See.
---
As suggested by /u/IamATreeBitch I have expanded the story with a prequel in /r/HFY. Check it out [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/3m9gle/xpostoc_from_rwritingprompts_we_are_humans/)
The HFY thread also contains a Part 3 that goes on with a little more detail.
---
Ok this really blew up! Quite a few people saying that they want more. Someone even gilded me in the HYF thread! Damn. But heres the deal. I can't dedicate much more time to this, at least I can't justify it. Time is money for me. Literally. So I went ahead and put together a quick Patreon page. www.patreon.com/wearehuman
If it can hit $100/month I'll dedicate time alongside my legal work to expand the story and universe. So if you like the initial story and the expansions, and want to see more, check out the project page!
(Mods please let me know if this is Kosher)
|
Mission Report: 2408123
Subsection: Military
Unit: Beta
Officer: Lieutenant Reeves
Dear Mother,
We've moved into what's left of Venus's hell-like atmosphere. My unit was hit hard by the gasses, it took us nearly twice as long to adjust to the pressure difference as Alpha unit. Our losses have been minimal, and I'm in perfectly good health. NASA has been most accommodating, the nurses and medical staff are all over us, preparing us to enter what's left of this hellish planet. My tour is complete in two weeks, so if my rocket leaves on time, I should be home in time for Mother's day. SpaceX has been keeping the transportation slowed, though, due to some kind of interference in the radio waves created by our cellphones. But, with luck, I'll be on time.
I talked to Murph the other day, she says that Mars has been equally challenging. The cold is constantly breaking through the seals and their compounds are having issues with weapons cold welding to each other. Every time a bullet is welded to the barrel of a gun we lose a man.
On a separate note, Alpha squadron found new traces of Elon Musk. He and his neo-nazi crowd have managed to make it all the way to Mercury. SpaceX is especially helpful, leaving no expense spared in the search for their disgraced CEO.
How are things at home? News of the conspiracy theorists has reached even out here, granted the military tries to censor it. But, if what we hear is true, the Nazis have been sending people to Venus and Mercury since the beginning of time. That, and there are rumors they're mixed in with the Illuminati.
As I write, I hear another rain of ammo coming in overhead. Without a doubt it's another barrage of Tiger Tank shells, they don't seem to understand their outdated WWII technology is no match for our new tanks. Oh well, they'll learn the hard way.
Write you again soon!
Love, Reeves
Side note: I kinda had less motivation on this one, I felt like writing something in a letter form and this is what was produced, but I didn't feel that a soldier would be writing a 10,000 character letter home in the middle of a battlefield.
| 2015-09-24T08:43:45
| 2015-09-24T07:05:34
| 731
| 17
|
[WP] Scientists invented a pill that enables dogs to fully speak and understand English. It lasts for ten minutes, and will only work one time. You give a pill to your 12 year-old Border Collie, whom you've had since they were a pup. Your dog immediately says "Alright, listen very carefully..."
|
She was old, my sweet Halley. Twelve years - nine of which we'd spent together after I pulled her from a shelter. Her legs were failing, her kidneys likewise. She was going blind. I wanted nothing but to discover if she was still happy, or if it was time to let her die easily. It didn't go to my plan - quite.
"All right, listen very carefully" were the first words out of her mouth. They sounded like they came from my great-grandmother - wheezy and crackly - a brittle voice of an old lady well past her years. My heart fell; I felt perhaps I'd let her linger too long.
"I don't know how much more time I have, but there are things I must tell you. Things I've tried to tell you for years. For your safety, you must hear them now.
"There is a thing - a great round bird that flies over the house sometimes..."
"The blimp," I observed.
"If you say so. It is evil. It intends to murder you in your sleep, I am sure. When I am gone, you must be more alert for it. And I must say, I greatly resent you having laughed at me all the times I chased it out of the yard for you."
I swallowed my smirk and my commentary. "Thank you for your help and advice. I will be careful."
She wheezed. "The squirrels..."
"What about them?"
"They laugh at you. That's why I hate them. They think you look ridiculous on your two feet and no bushy tail. They mock your inability to climb or jump or do anything at all, really. I wouldn't have anything to do with them if I were you."
"That's good information. Thank you." I made a mental note to better protect the bird feeder.
"Just one more thing," she sighed.
"What's that, sweet girl?" I whispered.
"Get a new dog when I go. I want to see you happy. I sense you've gotten busier - I know young me wasn't always easy to keep up with - so maybe someone a little calmer. I love you, human."
"I love you, Halley," I said. "But tell me this: Are you happy still? Do you want to go on, or is it time to let you die? The vet can..."
A low growl cut me short. "Sorry - reflex." She said. "Continue."
"...can put you down when you are ready - as gentle as going to sleep. But I want you to be happy." I felt tears pricking my eyes at the thought of her dying.
"The vet..." the word came out with a faint growl. "He would DO that for me? I was sure he hated me."
"Of course he didn't hate you. All those things he did were to keep you healthy. Remember when he stitched up your leg? That was to keep it from getting infected and maybe having to be removed. The shots? Prevented diseases that could have killed you. The pills cured your problems and kept you alive and happy longer. It's his job."
"Ah. You've been a better friend than I could have guessed. As has he. Well. Not just yet, I think. It's close, but not yet my time. For now, I am sleepy - but let's go take a walk later."
"Sure thing, Halley. One more thing - since time is almost up: You are a good dog. You've always been the best dog. Good girl, sweetie, good girl."
I could see the light of intelligence leave her eyes - but her tail thumped heartily as she laid her head down to take a nap. My heart was lighter, knowing she was content.
|
"Alright listen very carefully, we don't have much time." Barks Sonny, "follow me."
He races off through to doggy door into the back yard. I fumble with the back door for a second and I try to chase after my beloved dog. I barely reach him as he slips under the hedge of our garden. When I crawl under, I realized I've somehow entered an extensive lab. "Quickly! Here, take this list of names. We are a foundation committed to stoping an evil organization called B.O.R.K. They're breeding and weaponizing dogs all over the globe in the attempt to take control over the earth. That list I gave you has all of our operatives in the field. I hope you stocked up on pills. Find them and track down B.O.R.K. Stop them from taking over the world."
What the fuck just happened!? I think to myself as I look into the eyes of our once again mute dog...
| 2017-02-23T07:07:51
| 2017-02-23T06:16:15
| 57
| 17
|
[FF] 100 Words or Less - The parachute isn't opening up
|
My first time parachuting. Not Jason’s. He's shouting his head off like the idiot he is while I'm nervously wondering the whole time if this will actually work.
Why the hell did I marry him? *Of course* an adrenaline junkie like that can't keep it in his pants. And then the anger…I’m afraid for my life sometimes. What if he just didn’t want me around anymore?
Stop thinking like that. It's time. Steady out. Pull the cord. Wait for the tug. The chute's not opening!
Good, it worked. I pull my own cord as Jason hurtles towards the ground.
|
Jason was a veteran now. Over one thousand jumps, every one going off without a hitch. Today he hadn’t packed his own chute. He had been late and Tony had done it for him. He skipped his usual ritual and just jumped on the plane, flinging the lethal parachute over his shoulder. The ground is approaching now, but it’s impossible to tell how long until impact.
*How do I tell this poor fucker strapped to me..* he thought as they plummeted to their deaths, *I hope Tony sees and lands his girlfriend somewhere else.*
| 2014-05-15T12:53:38
| 2014-05-15T12:45:24
| 23
| 16
|
[WP] Hell finally has enough engineers to fix and maintain the air conditioning, and without the heat, it's not that bad.
|
Ever since that guy Willis Carrier came around in 1950, things began to look up for Hell.
Well, not before a very _very_ awkward conversation...
....
"There has to be a mistake! I died a pure Christian! Never have I done any substance nor have I done truly horrid crimes!!" says the recently deceased man. Willis was it?
"Now, now. It can't be too bad. You were an alright dude, so the worse you gonna get is some humiliation or whatever." I reply
_Willis Haviland Carrier... why does he sound so familiar?_
"Please! Is there any way for me to leave hell?" he begs
_wait a minute...?_
"Aren't you the guy with that thing? The 'AC'?"
"Yes.....?"
"Come, Satan himself wants to meet you...."
....
6 months later...
The huma---, I mean, the _Hero of Hell_ completed his revolutionary work..
_The Hell-Universal Network Temperature system._
Carrier's super AC came online and the blistering 4000 F temperatures were decreasing to a far more manageable 90 F.
It eventually stabilized in the 60s.
This day, April 7th of 1951, is forever etched into the history of Hell.
_The Arctic Deliverence_.
It is to be commemorated with a 250 meter tall platinum statue of Willis H Carrier the First, Grand Duke of Hell. For his legendary contribution to the Kingdom of Hell, the 'HUNT' System which allowed the previously tormented denizens of hell to live normal lives. In turn, hell went from a desolate place to something that of an utopian city. None but Lucifer himself shall surpass his Greatness.
The statue was commissioned gladly by all who dwelled in hell.
Honourable mentions include Einstein and Tesla, whose genius allowed the electrical system that powers the HUNT system.
"May you all celebrate this day with much joy! Come, there is actual food for once that isnt ash!" declares Lord Satan.
Things are looking good for Hell.
**_All Hail Carrier_**
AN: Amateur, non-professional writer. Criticisms are welcomed.
|
Satan lay next to the boiling spa, his red skin exposed everywhere but that which his size-too-small swim trunks covered. He smirked, revealing his cracked canine tooth.
"Told ya' hell would be great." He says, sitting on the edge of the water and soaking his hooves. The pudgy demon he spoke to stuffs his clipboard under his arm. He's a spitting image of a deep southern hick, minus the devil tail.
"Boss, we're still cleanin' the mess you made when you started renovatin' this dang place. We got souls escapin' into the Grand Canyon, water damage all along the desert property. AND YOU STILL HAVEN'T DONE THE PAPERWORK!" He yells, stamping his foot in anger. Satan rolls his eyes and lays down on the ground, stretching one arm out to grab at a small remote he had left by his beach lounger.
"It's really not that bad." He mutters, flicking the remote towards himself by way of repeatedly flexing his fingers. Clasping it, he quickly turns the dial down another couple of degrees. One of the wall units mounted behind him in what used to be the window from the filing department, clicks to life.
"I suppose." The pudgy demon snarls, tapping his clipboard anxiously. "Still, if you don't put of renovations this long next time, maybe you won't need all THIS PAPERWORK YOU NEED TO DO!"
"Aw, buzz off ya' little red bureaucrat." Satan rolls his eyes, and waves his hand dismissively. Suddenly the AC unit sparks and falls into the wall, followed by a sharp yell and a wet squishing noise. The rotund demon gives Satan a look that could slice rocks apart, and rushes away.
Satan kicks his legs in the water and looks off into the distance.
"Now all we need." He muses to himself. "Is to convince people hell is a nice place"
| 2018-07-20T23:24:08
| 2018-07-20T22:09:37
| 33
| 10
|
[WP] You've just completed your 5th princess rescue mission this month and your starting to get sick of how little these kings are paying you. The immortal dragon is also getting sick of the same routine over and over. Maybe the two of you can come up with a little side hustle to satisfy you both.
|
"How much did you get this time?"
I counted the coins. "Bah! Barely ninety-six-and-a-half pieces of gold, after the old codger deducted three percent 'dragon-hunting taxes' from my reward."
"Jeez that's rough, bro. Can I call you 'bro'? It's like, hey, we do this once every few months, don't we?"
"Sure thing, Flamey McFlameFace."
"Do NOT call me that! My name is Flamestorm The Immortal!"
"Ehhh whatever you say, 'bro'."
I put my feet up on the table in my cheap inn room. Couldn't afford the fancier rooms, not with only ninety-six-and-a-half gold to spread out over the next few months. At least, it was better than hiking all the way to the dragon cave each time. The magical contact crystal I was using to talk to Flamestorm already cost a fortune, and I needed to take a loan from VillageBank. Terrible. The kings, knights and other royals were ruining everything for the peasants. In fact, I was sure I was being paid less, simply because I wasn't a knight. A glow from the crystal snapped me out of my musings, and I heard Flamestorm in my mind again.
"Speaking of rewards, this isn't sustainable for you, you realize. There are only five kingdoms near my mountain, and we've gone through each one. Well, I don't mind if this comes to an end, I'm just doing this for my own entertainment. But, I like the occasional friendly human contact. Well, not that the princesses have been particularly friendly either. Hmm."
"Yeah, you're right, Flamey," I replied, scratching my head, "perhaps it's because their fathers are always trying to marry them off to secure some political advantage. So they're naturally distrustful of anyone that tries to save them. Or be friendly with them even. I mean, our latest princess was actually somewhat distressed to be returning to the royal court... to be courted."
"Told you bro, Kings are bad news. Most of them don't really want daughters anyways. They want sons. Heirs. Not daughters that you need to marry off, and pay a dowry in the process. Maybe you should look at knights. There are so many of them dying to get their paws on some rich, beautiful princess and elevate their status. Scumbags."
"You think they'll pay?"
"For the right princess? Absolutely, without question. Probably more than those kings, even, if they believe they have a chance to, ugh, live happily ever after. And, you can pitch your 'dragon-slaying services' to a few of them at the same time."
"Hmmm that's a thought... But we still need princesses..."
Just as I finish, the door to my room swung open. "Don't you ever knock, Alessandria?" I snapped, hurriedly covering the glowing crystal. "What's this talk about princesses, dad?" she asks, "are you looking to find me a new mom and settle down? Because I won't have that!" She's really taking after me, adventurous, impulsive, and fiercely independent. I wish I could have provided more for her, after my wife passed away, giving birth to her. Healthcare costs in the kingdom bankrupted me after that, and it had taken me a good sixteen years to arrive at this point. Hmm.... Sixteen years... Alessandria would be turning seventeen soon.
"Hey Aless," I replied, a smile coming to my face, "how would YOU like to be a princess? You know, those types that idiot knights fawn over? Those types that receive gifts on a daily basis from dumb rich boys?" Her eyes sparkle with curiosity. "And you get to be rescued by me, not some idiot kid."
"Oooh oooh tell her about me, Flamestorm The Immortal!"
I lift the cloth off the glowing crystal. "And you get to meet a really cool immortal dragon, who will be your friend and defender for life. He also cooks a mean steak. His name is Flamey McFlameFace."
"FLAMESTORM THE IMMORTAL!"
A wide grin forms on my daughter's face. She's so pretty when she smiles. She's looking more and more like a princesses each day. My princess.
|
It was a simple dream. Save the princess, slay the dragon, and gain an unparalleled fortune. It has happened countless times throughout the ages, but when my time came to gain said fortune, all that was given to me was a wry smile and a simple "*Thank you O great hero*".
And again...and again...and again...and again.
"*AGHHHHH, What is wrong with these people!"*
After a while I began coming to a specific cave to vent my frustrations with an unexpected friend. It was a massive mountain sized cavern housing an equally massive fire breathing beast with pitch black scales and ferocious claws. Anyone seeing this creature for the first time would surly cower upon meeting its gaze. Staring at me quizzically was the immortal dragon Calhaldroun.
"*please save my daughter, please save my daughter, please save my daughter*" I began flailing my arms around to try and convey the ridiculousness of this past month to the dragon. "*Bullshit! all of it..."*
*"You're telling me bud"* Calhaldroun lifted his neck high into the sky revealing the many scars I had inflicted upon its flesh "*I may be immortal, but this still hurts."*
"*There's got to be another way to go about this."*
&#x200B;
I've been staring at this for about 30 minutes and can't figure out a way to continue. I don't want to delete it because I don't actually write all that often anymore and I don't wanna end up just forgetting about it, so I'm posting it even though It's not finished...
| 2022-08-06T21:19:22
| 2022-08-06T20:50:13
| 120
| 67
|
[WP] You are a hitman who has just finished their most recent job. Or, at least, thought had finished, because the second you take your eyes off your target’s corpse, you hear “Hey, not bad! I actually felt that one.”
|
The words feel like a bomb had just gone off, everything else was so much silence.
Gun at the ready, I wheel around to find my target nonchalantly walking over to a chair, poking a finger into the hole in his head and chuckling to himself.
"Heh, it's been too long..." He slumps into his seat, wood creaking beneath his weight. "Pull up a chair, let's talk."
My aim is still trained on the man, but it gets shakier as I continue to look at my target.
"Actually, before you do, could you pump a few more rounds into me? The sensation's starting to wear off."
I hesitate before obliging the man by emptying my clip into him, making sure most of my bullets land in his head. The sound of the gunshots pale in comparison to those first words.
"Oh yeah, that's good." He still speaks with half his face missing, the corners of his mouth are pulled back in the biggest grin I have ever seen.
I'm out of ammo, a consequence for packing light. I see nothing better to do, and drag a chair over to talk to him.
"Seriously man, I needed that. Thanks."
The blood leaking from his empty eye sockets is quite distracting. "No... problem."
"I'm pretty sure you're wondering why I'm still alive."
"Yes I am."
"Do you know what happens when the universe dies?"
"... Entropy?"
He laughs, it's made all the more haunting with his open throat. "Heh... No. When the universe dies, it chooses one individual to continue living in the next universe."
"... What?"
"But because it takes so goddamn long for the next universe to be born, it makes that individual completely immortal."
"So you're saying... that you saw the Big Bang."
"Yep, and it hurt like a motherfucker! Do you know how painful a blast that contains literally everything is?"
"..."
"Really fucking painful! The feeling lasted a good few thousand years or so by my count, and after some time, my pain receptors just shut down."
"Wha-"
"Hold on, I can feel my eye coming back..." The tissue in his socket reforms, each nerve winds into place and I watch as the orb is slowly filled with thick goo. I see a lot of fucked up stuff in this business, but this is the first time I fight not to puke. "There we go, I can see you clear as day!"
My disgust keeps me from screaming, lest I lose my lunch. "So you're immortal and you regenerate... cool. Question: Why the fuck are you so goddamn jovial?"
His face hardens. "Do you know what it's like to live without pain? What it's like to have a fundamental part of living stripped from you? When you've lived as long as I have, you need pain just to feel alive. Immortality isn't a gift."
He stands from his chair. "So when I say 'thank you for shooting me in the face', I fucking mean it. Now are you gonna use that knife of yours or what?"
|
**Whoa! You're alive!**
No shit. First rule of being a successful hitman: have a gun, preferably a sniper rifle. All you did was throw a chicken wing at me. On a related note, why did you try to kill me at Hooters?
**I think the more important question is why are YOU here.**
I like the food.
**So what's your problem if I chuck a wing at you?**
Is this Arby's? Do we throw food at other patrons here? No, and no.
**Do you know why I'm trying to kill you?**
Yes, and I don't blame you one bit. That's a LOT of reward money.
**And I plan on getting it.**
Not now, I'm eating. Relax. Here, HAND me a goddamn wing.
**Fine, here.**
Thanks. Boy, you know, people joke about this place, but the food really isn't all that half too terribly bad.
**You're not fooling anyone.**
You know I'm gay, right?
**Plot twist!**
No shit! (fist bump) Look, sure, you wanna kill me, but I don't want you to, so as you can see... I'm in a bit of a bind. (sighs) Can I tell you a story?
**I don't know, CAN YOU?**
Yes. Yes, I can.
**Then proceed.**
A Polack, a black, and a mexican walk into a bar--
**No. Not a story. Also, offensive. And how is that relevant?**
Just trying to lighten the mood. And believe it or not, that joke is *least* offensive to mexicans, who are the obvious punchline, given their joke placement in the number three slot. It's scientific.
**I really should have brought a gun.**
Yeah, why didn't you?
**In this state, you're not allowed to bring a gun into a restaurant.**
I know! That's why the slogan here at Hooters is "You Won't Get Shot!"
**It is?**
They're pivoting from sexism and they don't know how.
**Poor Hooters.**
It's not like they can brag about how good the food is.
**They'd get sued!**
Bro! (high fives) THIS is why I hang at Hooters. It's like an American embassy, but with short shorts and Coors Light.
**But what do you do when they close for the night?**
Can you keep a secret?
**I mean, I AM trying to kill you--**
But BESIDES that.
**Ok, why not?**
(whispers in ear)
**That's bloody genius. I mean, I CAN'T kill you now.**
You barely tried to begin with. A chicken wing?
**What can I say? I didn't think ahead.**
No. No you did not. Here, next round is on me....
(fade to black)
| 2019-08-29T19:15:04
| 2019-08-29T19:10:30
| 120
| 16
|
[WP] You cannot tell a lie. Not because you're unable to, but because every time you do, a narrator's voice explains the lie in great detail!
|
This was Jake’s 4th date this month... and the 4th time he was walking back to his car without even getting through dinner. Shoulders slumped and head hung low, Jake mumbled to nobody in particular,
“This is just great.”
A somber, baritone voice very reminiscent of a certain famous African American man quite famous for his voiceover work rings out from nowhere,
“Of course, we all know this was as far from the truth as it could be. Poor Jake had been on 4 dates this month and all 4 were ruined. There was a time...”
People passing on the sidewalk looked at Jake and then started looking around wildly for the source of the disembodied narration.
“... when Jake was considered to be a good looking man. A chiseled jaw line, a muscular physique and a good sense of humor. Women found Jake hard to resist.”
The voice droned on and on. It was always this way. One falsehood, as small as a harmless white lie like telling his date for the night that the horrific metallic blue dress emblazoned with peacock feathers looked great on her would set the voice off for 10 or 15 minutes straight.
Jake had learned how to control the voice in most regards, but dating was hard. Why did women always ask questions that MADE a man lie? Is this too much makeup? Do you like my hair? The worst of all... does this dress make me look fat?
The voice had finally petered itself out and Jake felt like he needed a drink. He spied a bar across the street and made his way across. He pushed open the weathered door, sauntered into the bar as casually as he could muster and swung a leg across a stool at the bar.
The bartender was a pretty girl. About the same age as Jake with a great body and a pair of huge blue eyes that just grabbed you by the bottom of your soul.
“What’ll you have, darlin’?”, she asked.
“I don’t really drink. What’s good?”
“I just got in some green apple infused plum tequila that’s delicious! You should definitely try it.”
A disembodied female voice her similar to the legend Marilyn Monroe purrs out from seemingly nowhere,
“This tequila was disgusting, but her boss had told Sarah to sell it and sell it she was.”
The bartender dropped her head and softly cussed hard enough to make a sailor blush and Jake just smiled.
|
Bob kicked back and sipped his ice coffee as he wrote an email to upper management. He had been asked to run a report on the tasks his department had completed during the current fiscal year. Just as he was finishing up his email, the voice boomed through the office.
"Bob's team did not complete all of the work orders he alluded to in his email. He was stretching the truth for management by including duplicate requests from multiple users for the same issue in order to make them look busier at their job than they were to avoid having more work dumped on his team." The voice refused to let Bob tell a lie without mercilessly calling him out and explaining the lie in excruciating detail. Luckily for Bob, it did so vocally and he could still lie over email so long as the recipients of that email weren't in ear shot and nobody else brought up the lie.
Just as he sent the email, his coworker Jim approached his desk with a question, "Hey Bob, uh... how do you filter those excel financial reports for the software licensing costs again?"
"Oh, it's very simple." Bob began, "You just delete the file, check your email and the data you're looking for will be th-."
The narrator interrupted, "Actually, it's not 'very simple', and Bob knew that deleting the file wouldn't make his coworker's data magically appear in his inbox. In order to run the report, you wouldn't delete the file... obviously. First you would take the raw data, use a regular expression to..." The narrator continued to drone on about exactly what would need to be done. By the end of the narrator's monologue, Jim was nodding in understanding.
At first, the narrator frustrated Bob. It would call him out on any little white lie he made, leading to a lot of angry family and making dating extremely difficult. It's hard to make a girl feel appreciated by telling her you think she looks "okay", after all. Regardless, over time Bob had learned to live with the voice, and even use it to his advantage at times. By telling an intentional lie when asked for an explanation, he could get the narrator to explain the proper procedure to whoever he was talking to in that same excruciating detail, saving him time and effort.
Bob leaned back in his chair, "Another job well done. Maybe I'll go to the gym after work."
"That was a lie. Bob was simply trying to feel like he was making good decisions without actually committing to the hard work of seeing them through."
Bob sighed. He might be making the best of a bad situation by learning how to game the narrator, but it was still annoying to deal with most of the time. Perhaps he *would* go to the gym, just to prove it wrong.
*You know you won't.*
| 2019-06-21T12:56:54
| 2019-06-21T12:31:23
| 55
| 19
|
[WP] You're abducted from your bed and taken to an unknown location. You remove the blindfold and you're sitting in front of a PC in a lone cubicle in an empty office building. The work schedule on the cubicle wall says your shift ends in 8 hours. The nameplate on the side of the cubicle says "God".
|
“Uhhhh...”
I stare at the nameplate for a moment.
I can feel my form begin to shift,transcending this corporeal realm,my thought begins to grasp the great plan,the great number,fourty tw-
“Oh,sorry.” Says a timid voice from behind.
“Must’ve been a typo from the new girls.” A hand reaches for the nameplate,and swiftly switches it with another. Now it says ‘Dog’.
“You’re free to go now.” The small floating wheel says.
With a small ‘pop’ i’m back.
“There’s a good boy.” The wheel scratches my head,and flys towards the end of the hall.
I run down the hall with my tail waggling.
|
I’ve been pushed into a cushy seat that swivels. I can’t see anything, something has been tied around my head and across my eyes, my hands bound in my lap. I can smell something acrid...sulphur?
“How long Beezle?” The voice from behind me sounds like the rumble of the earth itself, I feel it more than hear it.
“Hard to say, your Unholiness, the doors have been ‘adjusted’ but this is Him we’re talking about.” This voice is sniveling, from further back.
A rough hand removes the blindfold, the heat from the touch like a furnace. In front of me is...a desk? A simple desk, with a white keyboard, white mouse, white monitor. The monitor is blank except for a single word and a flashing cursor beside it.
PASSWORD?
I turn my head, I am in a small cubicle, like what a call center operative might work out of. The desk is unadorned, there aren’t even any cables running from the equipment on the desk. A single analogue clock hangs on the wall behind the desk, but instead of your traditional hands and numbers, this one seems to count backwards with the word “Godshift” where the number twelve normally sits and there is only one hand. The cubicle is lit from above by an unseen light, when I crane around to get a look at my assailant I receive a hard smack across the back of my head for my troubles.
“You don’t wanna do that.” The deep voice says.
“ Why have you brought me here?” I croak, my throat dry and hoarse. Damn I was thirsty.
Another smack to the back of my head, harder, my ears rang.
“Don’t act stupid.”
I blink until my vision clears and I’m seeing one monitor again.
“What are planning to do?” I try to loosen the bonds, try to slip my hands out of them.
“You just worry about your part in this. Now stop trying to squirm out of those bonds and put your hand to that
keyboard.”
A loud boom from behind me, behind walls and doors.
“Boss!!! He’s at the gates!” The sniveler, very nervous.
A small screen is thrust in front of my face, the hand holding it is large and clawed and red. On the screen is a woman, head bowed, dark hair covering her face in a matted mess. An impish horror jumps into view on her lap and grabs her at the front and lifts her face with it. I can’t hear anything but I can see the pain. And I recognize the face.
“Mother!” I scream.
The screen is taken away.
“Now we understand each other.” The voice behind me growls with delight.”Password!” It insists.
I shake my head, my minds eye filled with the after image of the bruises, the cuts, the blood. Another boom from behind me, closer now.
“Boss, we’re almost out of time!”the sniveler, voice strained.
“PASSWORD!!! Or I give the word and she loses what’s left of her face.”
My hands shake as I raise them to the keyboard. Tears flow
down my cheeks as i begin typing the word. The room shakes, whatever’s coming, is going to be too late. I finish typing the word and press ENTER.
The word PASSWORD disappears from the screen to be replaced with a different word.
COMMAND?
I feel myself flung to the floor as the huge form behind me shoves past and types with massive fingers, clawtips searing and staining the white keys. I have enough time to glimpse the screen before the world goes dark. One word has been typed.
“REVELATION.”
Father forgive me, you took too long.
| 2017-10-06T20:07:16
| 2017-10-06T19:50:09
| 114
| 14
|
[WP] For the first time ever, a person is born with a genuine superpower. They proceed to live out their entire life without noticing or realizing it.
|
Alex Bennett was a sturdy man. His physique resembled that of a raging bull. Thick neck. Wide torso. Square forehead. Save for the nose ring of course. Instead, Alex Bennett sported a thick and luscious mustache. The kind that spiraled slightly upwards at each end. The kind that somehow neatly matched his round bald head and his curly locks of chest hair.
Even as rugged a man as he is, Alex Bennett enjoyed the delicate things in life. Particularly high tea and knitting. After sipping earl grey from his bone china cup and enjoying a selection of assorted biscuits, Alex Bennett would get to work, knitting an array of sweaters and socks and mittens. Somehow, his stocky fingers were able to produce the most delicate patterns of leaves and flowers. This was, of course, after his retirement.
Alex Bennett worked in a petite bakery shop which sold an array of pound cakes, cupcakes, and cheesecakes. He had a sweet tooth and very much enjoyed the 40% employee discount which came as one of the perks of his job. Customers were often startled by his look, but he calmed their spirits with his soft spoken voice and friendly demeanor. At the petite bakery shop, Alex Bennett was in charge of decorating cakes. And he did so with designs as intricate as those on his hand knitted sweaters.
Alex Bennett enjoyed his quiet, solitudinous life. He never had any girlfriends, for he may have seemed too intimidating for any to approach. Although he never understood why people were often startled and overwhelmed by his guise, he paid no mind to it, for he was content with his life, knitting and drinking high tea. And when Alex Bennett finally passed away at the age of 81, he was alone, knitting in his country home.
Nobody found the body of Alex Bennett, who seemed to have simply disappeared. Instead, they found the body of a frail old lady sprawled out on the ground, ball of yarn in hand. A lady which nobody in the little town had seen before. She was a lady with a special ability, to disguise by distorting the perception of her image in the mind of others. And she particularly liked large Italian men with thick mustaches.
|
The woman spoke to the assembly, pausing now and then to look one particular person in the face, then another.
'...a hard worker, raising a business up from nothing, and a loving mother, helping to raise all of us and making time for us when she could. A generous and fun grandmother, that all of her grandchildren were glad to see...'
The words went on, laying out a life that was rich with connections, seized opportunities and love. As is customary, any negatives were glossed over, forgotten as family and friends mourned.
The coffin slid out of sight behind the curtains as the organ piped a sad farewell, and the service was over. People filed out to shake hands, to embrace, to talk and to remember.
Nobody noticed that as the body crumbled into charred bones and ashes, the humidity of the surrounding area went down by a full five per cent. The woman who could attract water vapour was gone.
| 2014-08-08T07:24:10
| 2014-08-08T05:28:34
| 84
| 30
|
[WP] A man orders a "cheese pizza with no crust" from a local pizza delivery joint as a joke. Unbeknownst to him, that pizza joint is a drug front and he just placed an order for a kilo of cocaine.
EDIT: I just want to say thanks to all of the writers. I'm having a lot of fun reading all the different perspectives and spins on the concept! Hopefully no one feels late to the party; if you write it I'll read it!
EDIT2: TIL prices in the cocaine market can be very erratic...
|
It had already been an hour, but Frank could still hardly contain himself. Sure, it was cliché, but he still got a laugh from calling for a crustless pizza with cheese. This time, he was calling Loera's pizza Kingdom, that new sketchy place set up from Mexico. What sort of Mexican makes cheese pizza anyway?
He startled up at the heavy thump that came from his door. Opening it, a man a full head taller than Frank and twice as wide stood before him, wearing a torn and grimy delivery outfit clearly to small for him. "You the one who ordered the crustless cheese pizza?" he asked in a deep broken English language. Frank had not expected this.
"yeah, I am. Now give me the pizza." Frank felt he wouldn't be saying that to the threatening man at his doorstep if he hadn't gone through all the vodka.
"Show me the dough first," said the man, pulling the pizza box away from Frank's grasping hands.
"You guys sell pizza; you should have way more dough than I could ever give you."
"We needed a lot of dough to get this pizza ready, so I won't give you nothing without you showing me some bread, dough and cheddar."
"Is this some new Abbot and Costello skit? Look buddy, if you are asking for money, tell me what I owe you. No, in fact, you were over 30 minutes late, so I think I get it for free. "
His slurred speech was interrupted by the gun pressed against his forehead. "Hombre, I don't know where you come from, but there is no way I am leaving without that dough. So bring me that 20 grand so you won't die today."
Frank had had it with this man. "I see, you are trying to prank me back. Well I will let you know that there is no way I am spending that much on a crustless cheese pizza. I can find places to buy it for less than 5 bucks!"
The man's eyes narrowed. "My boss would love to hear this I think. If you tell him, you might get your pizza free." Frank shrugged and followed the man to the black van below.
"These guys clearly know nothing about pizza" he thought to himself.
|
..So can I pay for that with card?
"No" said the man on the phone "we only accept cash"
I begrudgingly said "Ok" I really dont want to drive to an ATM but I could grab some soda maybe fill up on gas I said to myself. "So how much will it be?"
"It will be $1,500 dollars" the man on the phone said
"I think Ill pass and just order from Pizza Hut, but good luck on selling those $1500 pizzas!"
| 2016-06-02T12:21:31
| 2016-06-02T11:31:19
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.
|
There was once a crazed astronomer
Who led an engineer astray
From his duties at the electronomer
His plan failed, dismay!
Day 2, he thought
a second chance at last
to give the public a view
of a night as clear as glass
Day 3, behold, he exclaimed
Pointing to his telescope
A magnificent instrument
That magnifies the stars
No one would join him, looking through it
He begged, he pleaded, "That view is *our's*!"
Day 4, defeated, he packed his bags and left
He hoped that the sight of stars wouldn't be turned into a memory left to forget
As he climbed over mountains, northwards, looking for salvation
His face lit up in rejuvenation
The sight of lights dazzling from the heavens
He almost believed his eyes to lie
When he saw how bright they shine
He knew the memory would never die.
|
Yellow, brown, yellow, brown! It doesn't take a fucking genius to realize that the light pollution has obviously gotten out of hand. I dare you to look into the decaying night sky on a clear Chicago night, and attempt to see anything but yellow and brown. It's a stain on nature. A cloud over a cloudless city. Living in Chicago within itself is uptight, quick, and leaves little time for observation, and at the base level the inhabitants are already disregarding the beauty in the architecture. It doesn't come as much surprise that little to no attention is being payed to one of the most gorgeous sights an individual can rest their eyes upon, the ever unwinding cosmos. Sure, some may be terrified to rest their eyes upon the one sobering image that may immediately confirm in their little sycophantic minds that they are nothing, perhaps that reality check is needed. Years upon years of campaigning for some kind of light reform has given me a permanent migraine, having to sonically assault the ears of the drooling public has taken it's toll. It confounds me to even consider the minute possibility that maybe, just maybe, they don't fucking care. If that's the case, I'm going to make them fucking care if it's the last thing I do.
Now of course being in the field of astronomy has it's many perks, like an *cough* *cough* appreciation for the marvelous BIG outside, the BIG outside of course being the "unwinding cosmos" or whatever pretentious bullshit I can spew out to try and get someone interested. Oh, I also know some people, who know some people and guess the fuck what, it seems like I have set in motion a plan of elaborate events that will make EVERYONE appreciate the BIG outside. I can't give away too many details right now of course, who ever wants to hear a spoiler? Do keep in mind this: soon you will begin to realize that there are two things that are out of your control; the ability to neglect the wonderous sights that could potentially be right before your very eyes, and the concept that you can't tune out a brilliant mind. Sit back, and step out into the BIG outside.
| 2017-08-31T04:49:31
| 2017-08-31T01:01:58
| 105
| 11
|
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives...
|
You always thought how did other's manage to perfectly catch whatever flew into their hands?
Today, you knew. Before the summoning square in the capital of the Great Empire, you stood. As did everyone who turned 18 today. The knights began to call out your names, one by one.
There were 12 names before yours.
The first man summoned, and after a wait of 10 minutes, appeared a sword , glistening with morning dew. The Imperial Bookman declared that it was the Lost Sword, the sword of Sir Jeremiah of the Dawn. There was an uproar throughout the capital. A new hero had been born. No one expected that they would be surprised once again.
The girl right before you summoned, and after a wait of an hour, appeared a staff adorned with seven jewels of different colours, and a transparent orb on top of it. The staff was taller than the girl by a foot, and the Imperial Bookman was struck by fear upon looking at it. He declared, that it was the staff of The Saintess, the most powerful healing type equipment in the world. It hadn't been seen for the past 7 years. The country was in uproar.
After you summoned, you waited. Time passed. everyone else had already summoned. You saw the new Saintess being escorted by the King, the man with the Lost Sword being lead in the direction of the Imperial Sword School, and anyone who was still waiting for their Summon after that, had already got it after about 5 hours. Some items flew in from across the Endless Sea, they said, so it might take time.
You had always hoped to obtain a soulmate, a thing that only one in 5000 youths received. You believed that you would have received a legendary piece of equipment, so that you could become a hero loved by the people. So you waited. Another 4 hours passed. It was almost evening now. You were hungry.
The sky grew dark. The clouds gathered. The sun shone red. The crows cawed, cawed as if it was the end of the world. The Imperial Bookman looked up in the sky. You looked up. The eye's of everyone in the surroundings were drawn up.
You saw it. A scythe. Darker than the night, shining more brightly than a coat of adamantium, redder than freshly drawn blood. A disaster descended.
It came to you naturally, like it was always a part of you. As if you had done it a million times before. The scythe landed in your hand. Your aura pierced the sky. Your mind turned blank. A blood-lust took over you senses.
The Imperial Bookman fell. Fear reflected in his helpless eyes. His mouth moved, but sound refused to come out. As the scythe fell, all sound was lost. In the absolute silence, one could almost hear the Bookman say, "Death has descended."
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Edit: I can probably whip up a part two, but it wouldnt be nearly as decent. ill see about it
|
Not once in my life had something come to me. I had willed, wished, and pleaded with the world that the rest of my body and soul would come flying to my hand after my 18th birthday. It never did. My wife always loved to take pictures, she had a 35mm camera that would fly to her on a moments notice and always contained film. She loved that thing, sometimes even more than me, always taking photos of our adventures, our kids, and family gatherings. The house was littered with collages, artworks made from the myriad of photos. Here I was with nothing, still only half of the person everyone else was.
My first son summoned his soulmate when he was 18. She just showed up at the door one day and asked to meet him. Their connection was unimaginable, the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my life. Just as any object becomes another half of someone beings the two of them became one person in life. Moving forward with only the most pure of convictions. Even when he moved out of the house, I was still hardly alive lacking any sense of importance in the world.
The TV was playing the news, fairly standard when your life was constrained to a hospital bed. I rarely paid any attention to it but today just felt different, the nurses in the halls worked more hurriedly and the air just felt more somber than normal. Well, even more somber than the normal feeling for a wing of dying people at least.
I had been stuck in this bed this entire year, already resigned myself to die without being whole. Throughout my life I had tried to talk to doctors, shrinks, and even self proclaimed witches about why I had never summoned anything to me. No one could explain it, I was just a freak, it’s a miracle that my wife even loved me. She’s always respond with things like “If you can’t summon anything, I’ll make up for it by completing you”.
“Breaking news.” These words drew my attention back to the TV, the newscaster’s face even more pale than the patient next door. His voice low, his tone lethargic, and temp reduced to that of a dying cadence. “Scientist have tried everything; Ceres 1 will collide with the earth tonight at 9pm. The world governments have attempted to destroy the asteroid and have kept its change of course secret for the last 70 years. Tonight, is the last day there will be life on Earth.”
I was shocked, I knew I didn’t have much left to live for, today was my 88th birthday after all and the doctors said the cancer could kill me any day. Looking back up at the TV Ceres 1 was displayed, and finally I felt whole. I couldn’t help but worry that my kids hadn’t yet found fulfillment in their lives.
---
First response ever, never thought I'd actually respond to one of these.
| 2019-09-18T07:59:37
| 2019-09-18T07:48:31
| 2,312
| 643
|
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear Boss,
I have come down with a dreadful case of homosexuality and will not be coming in (to work at least) this morning. I realize I am out of personal time and that vacation time must be scheduled in advance, but there is nothing to be done. I am simply not fit for work right now -- I have fluid coming out of (and for that matter going into) both ends and am stiff all over. I want to assure you that I will arrive for my shift tomorrow. I am sure it is just a 24 hour thing, and I am taking medication to control the symptoms.
Yours (and several others', repeatedly through the course of the day),
Me.
|
Hello,
I will never forget you or what you have done. You took my trust and shattered it into millions of pieces, like taking a hammer to a piece of glass. I thought we were friends, but friends don't do what you've done. I thought that I could trust you, but I was wrong.
I read all of the guides about how to avoid people like you. You know the ones. They warn women to stay with their friends. The guides advise to never leave a drink unattended at a bar and to watch when drinks are poured. Don't become unaware of your surroundings. Constant vigilance is needed. Take RAD classes. Aim for the junk. That was worthless when it came to you.
The guides never told me how to avoid you. They never told me how to recognize when a friend was actually anything but friendly. The guides never said that you would respect my bodily autonomy until that one day when you wouldn't. They never said that such a poisonous intention would be wrapped beautifully like the universe's worst gag gift.
The worst part of all of this isn't the lost friends, the harassment by the police or even the fact that you got off, literally and figuratively. The worst part is that I will never forget you. I will never forget the taste of you or the way that you smelled. I'll never forget the taste of the fruit punch that you gave me or the way that I couldn't taste the drug you fed me. The worst part is that I will never forget that I can't remember. I will never forget you or what you have done to me... and I hate you for it.
I want you to know that you have not broken me. I am just another victim to you, but what you don't know is that I am a survivor. You will not keep me from achieving my potential even though you certainly tried during the time that you stalked me. I realize now that I am much more than the trauma that you caused and you are worth less than the dog shit I stepped in this morning.
-A Survivor
| 2015-12-05T16:37:04
| 2015-12-05T16:08:23
| 22
| 11
|
[WP] When the captain saw that you were human, he accepted you immediately as a member of his crew. Unfortunately, the captain's understanding of humans quickly turns out to be distinctly...off.
EDIT - Wow, didn't think this would be anywhere near as popular as it turned out. Thanks for the responses, all!
|
I closed my eyes for just a moment, letting the water wash over my head. When I opened them again, there he was. Captain Dreyfar of the Quasar-class ship Haygrum's Folly, watching me from outside the shower stall in the midshipman's washroom. He was wearing what I assume to be a leotard, bright red, definitely not standard issue. It clung to his carapace tightly, as if to show off every hard nub.
And... Heels. Platform stilettos, raising him another 5 inches taller than me. He looked ridiculous.
"I see you don't have a lifeguard here at your beach" he intoned, his mouth struggling to make the words in Terran.
"I, sir, this is a communal... This isn't a beach"
His composite eyes tilted slightly as he pushed imaginary hair over his shoulder.
"No body of water isss-s-safe without a lifeguard"
I stared at him blankly, trying to understand.
"You can relax, you're s-safe now, your lifeguard isss here"
"Captain, I'd really rather you weren't here while I-" he cut me off with a shrill whine, his best imitation of a whistle.
"Out of the ssshower! There's a shark, out of the shower!"
After a moment of silence I replied "Sir, please leave. I just want some peace and quiet now that my shift is over"
His pincer laid against the half-fogged glass as he leaned towards me: "I think I should stay, and I think we should have sex."
|
"I'm not an animal. Do you know how I knew I was going to be with you? Because you wanted a human. Because those words came out of you", Coco said.
"You wanted someone with a gift. A gift of knowledge, a gift of grace", she said holding back the tears.
Coco held her hands up. "And the gift of love, too. So I asked you, and you told me you loved me. You said I deserved love more than you ever could give me because you knew I was worth more than all treasures of the world", she said looking down, feeling a weight settle in.
Captain Asami stared at her.
"What you're saying, though – you know. Just. Really. You said you loved me because you had faith in what I did", her eyes locked on his. "You loved me for who I am instead of for what I am. And because you're my closest, most special friend", she added.
Tears started to flow. Coco let them fall as the captain turned back. He reached for a tissue in his pocket as he walked back towards the bridge.
| 2019-10-11T11:40:59
| 2019-10-11T10:32:14
| 41
| 14
|
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
"Jesus Christ!"
"Shhh!!!!" The guy whispered with annoyance. "I don't go by that these days. Just here to pick up John. He also doesn't go by that anymore. These days, he's The Dude. You'd think he'd mellow out after all these years, but he's still nuts. Just let me grab his drunk ass and we'll be out of here. And don't tell no one about meeting me. I've heard enough horror stories from my buddy Elvis."
The End.
|
"Next... Next..."
Another group of kids shuffling into a Baltimore club for a heavy metal gig. Another night for some carding and cash.
I rubbed my hands together, urging the friction to do its thing. Wouldn't be enough, though. This January was mighty cold.
I looked up at the line of kids that approached, noting the number above each one. Honest kids, tonight. All 21 or over. I would have managed a smile at the pleasant change if not for the fucking cold.
When the last had filed in, Keith patted my shoulder.
"I'm taking a break, Reader."
I nodded as he walked off, leaving me alone to guard the door. I was always the one they left alone.
"Hey, can we get in, still?"
I turned to look down at a group of three kids, but instantly saw '19' above the talking one's head.
"Scram, dude. It's 21 and up."
"You didn't even card me!"
"I don't need to," I retorted, staring him down.
"Let us in."
I switched my gaze to another one of the street urchins, only to see this one was different. A lump caught in my throat as I opened my mouth to say a word that become lost in a whirlpool of draining thoughts.
The number above this ones head was 8456.
"ID." I managed to choke out.
I never truly saw his face, only his number. I kept staring at it, knowing I had never been wrong before.
His ID revealed he was 22 years old, but my eyes illustrated otherwise.
Out of pure shock, or fear, I let the group in, watching the number as they walked toward the muffled roar of downtuned electric guitars and thunderous drums.
I couldn't help but follow inside, forgetting to ask Keith to keep watch.
The club was dark except for the neon purple and teal lights of the bar. Some local band screeched onstage as I gravitated toward the largest number in the room. Still a distance away, it turned a corner and faded into the restroom. I followed still.
The bathroom glowed a dirty fluorescent green in an attempt to hide the various stains that covered the walls and stalls. The four-numbered man stood in front of the mirror above the sink, pulling his shirt up to reveal a scarred, swollen, bruised, tattooed torso that twisted at odd angles. The lights flickered and the sound of the band was drowned out by the banging and panting of a couple fucking in the stall.
"Still going to try and kick us out?" The man asked, turning to me. I stood, confused, horrified. The old one approached me in the flickering light of the dingy bathroom, the heat and sound of sex amplifying.
He leaned in close, becoming a silhouette before me. I felt the ancient breath on my neck like the hollow winds that blow over the swelling ocean.
"You can read me as much as you want, muscle man. That number will only grow larger," the old one whispered into my ear.
He exited the bathroom and disappeared into the crowd as the door swung back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until the only remnants of the encounter hung in the thick air as a stench of sweat, blood, and piss.
And then it was gone.
| 2017-09-01T20:56:44
| 2017-09-01T20:18:58
| 404
| 208
|
[WP] Mr. Bean is the lesser known fifth horseman of the apocalypse, ignorance. Unintentionally Mr. Bean arrives too early for the apocalypse and is stuck living an ordinary human life leaving destruction in his wake. The four horsemen finally arrive...
|
It was just another day in England, and could be described succinctly with one word. Moist. The rain was at that stage of its life where it wasn't willing to commit hard enough for anything meaningful, but just felt like being around the area and occasionally clinging to you as you walk down the street to the local fish 'n chips. Now, that's not to say that the weather was as dreary and annoying everywhere in England, even though it unfortunately was. There was only one road in Highbury where the weather was different. Okay, maybe different isn't the best descriptor. It was like the Apocalypse. The Gates of Hades had opened at each end of the road. From these gates poured the souls of the damned and righteous alike, swirling through the houses of the London suburb with the kind of shrieks that put people in mental hospitals.
&#x200B;
From each portal stepped two massive horses, and on each horse sat a body cloaked in steel and darkness; and despair. The first on the left raised his hand. "War, good to see that you and Death could make it. We know how busy the humans keep you".
"Pestilence, Famine, my ~~brothers~~ gender-neutral siblings" shouted War over the siren song of the dead, "I hear the old meatsacks have been keeping you on your toes as well, what with all this not vaccinating and not feeding the hungry." Pestilence nodded at him. They closed in on each other, ending at the door marked No. 12, of Arbor Road. Death lifted his hand, rapping the firm and shiny knuckle-bones against the inconspicuous door. The door was quite lucky that it was dead, or else it would have ended up like the family of beetles living inside it. Dead. The door creaked open ominously, much like a lid of a coffin opening, and from that coffin walked the fifth horseman of the apocalypse. Bean.
&#x200B;
"Ignorance!" Shouted Famine, pushing through the others to wrap Bean in its skinny arms. Bean pushed at Famine, moving the armour plated figure surprisingly far. A decidedly long session of grunting and charades followed, that is until the sound of War's hand making contact with his own face silenced the street. Even the ghoulish souls were scared of what was to come.
"Ignorance has taken his job so seriously," he whispered into his hands, "that he has forgotten us and himself in the process." A mortal would never claim to have the authority, nay, the gall, to suggest that these immortal Harbingers of the Apocalypse did not handle this particular piece of information very well. In fact they were able to keep a calm head about this until Bean walked back out of the house with a flask and five cups.
&#x200B;
`The following has been redacted by order of Her Majesty's Government`
&#x200B;
The Five Horsemen set out to Stonehenge. Bean had been magnanimously strapped to War by the party, and was now travelling with them despite his nasal cacophony of anguish and confusion. Thunder that rattled the world followed their journey. Explosions in a multitude of colours mixed into the rain, which had really come into itself in the last half hour and was truly coming down like cats and dogs, with the occasional small mammal mixed in for good literal measure. Hoof prints of fire led to the ancient stone circle of doom, placed there by the Gods like a restart button on a PC. Not enough to switch the project off for good, just enough to wipe the memory and start fresh. They took up their positions in the pentagram, and looked bloody marvelous doing it. They were covered in fire and starlight, and one was wearing a lovely tweed. Each raised a sword, swinging it down in front of themselves to split the Earth in five. Well, four were trying to split the Earth. One was trying to split the other four. Pestilence was unfortunate enough to be closest. His body was bisected rather easily, the rotting armour and flesh falling to the floor in piles. Bean swung the other way, cleaving a rather unsightly dent into Famine. Bean grunted heroically at this.
&#x200B;
War and Death looked at each other. No one knows what words were spoken between their eyes, or what tone the flick of an eyebrow could convey, but it probably went something like this:
&#x200B;
*Death: What in the name of God is going on here?*
*War: Ignorance has lost it. Well to be honest he probably didn't have it in the first place.*
*Death: We've lost two and Ignorance is trying to kill us, surely we can't still finish calling the Apocalypse.*
*War: Okay let's call it off, hire some interns, and come back as the Four Horsemen. We just won't fetch this idiot next time.*
&#x200B;
As their eyes met, they vanished, and Bean was left alone, in the moonlight, at Stonehenge, with a sword, in a tweed coat. And nothing else.
|
You thought they were horsemen. Some brave soul in a past age, one that is now dying, had the wisdom, foresight, and depth of perception to uncover higher truths about the world, and the mystery of life.
Christ, the man, and his disciples were men of high spiritual discipline, they were the great seeds who’s truthful words begot an entire era of their reign. One of the many gifts they experienced as a result of their high level of consciousness, was that of foresight. In the mysterious and veiled book of revelations, Christ and his disciples give account of visionary experiences, during which they channeled often poetic and dramatic images of true events that would come to pass in the future of the planet.
In one of the most well known of these visions, the end of days is described. This is not meant to be understood as the actual complete end of days, it is meant to mark a time of great transformation of the human species upon the planet earth. The book of revelation discusses four harbingers of this end of days.
**Death**
The bringer of death to many, this can be interpreted as both a literal plague of death, or as the death of an old age, giving way to something greater.
**war**
He who commands war commands al the nations of the world. A duplicitous character, he can represent war and division among men, or the war between what has passed in the age, and what will be in the next.
**Famine**
As world population rises, a greater number of individuals find themselves in poverty. There is also a deep hunger in the race to advance, a feeling that something is missing.
**Conquest**
The character of conquest rides on a divided world, and unifies it underneath the global flag. Conquest, it is little known, is actually the savior in this story.
Like any good hero, conquest would, in the time of the end, set out to defeat the other horsemen, bringing peace and light to a new age of humanity, one freed from the sins of the past.
But that was a misunderstood, metaphorical story in revelation...
A two thousand year old book looking foreword to the end of the era it was just beginning. We now have a much more finite view of that end, and what may have been meant in that vision. We live in a world of people. Political and social figures become media sensations, and are able to significantly alter the course of life on the planet. It is possible to now understand that the horsemen foreseen as prophets of the end times, were in fact real, they were actual people, who would appear on the earth and make such a mess of things that there would be no choice but for the citizens of the world to remake the world in an entirely new way.
Four horsemen. We now know, were truly five. One, conquest, is meant to lead the shift in consciousness, but another stepped up to fill the fourth mantle, only, he wouldn’t ride a horse, he couldn’t even drive a car! But we will get to him in a moment, as he is a part of the newer knowledge that we have gained as we approach this end of days, foreseen so many years ago.
If we wish to identify the individuals in today’s world who actually are these four horsemen, we only need to trace the things they are said to cause back to the human individual who is the largest source of that thing in the world.
For famine, we can search the entire world, we see that famine exists in all nations, but mostly in those of the Middle East, and Africa. We can trace the causes of famine back several decades. World War Two was a precursor to many of the modern worlds problems. The alliances and invasions that were undertaken as a result of this war caused a dramatic shift in the balance of wealth and resources in the worlds poorest nations. Take this, coupled with his death camps, where millions were literally starved to death, and. We can point to none other than Adolf Hitler as one of the horsemen today the apocalypse. The earliest on the scene and the first to depart it, he served as a catalyst for the rest. The others would arrive together, and we are just now witnessing their power.
The trained spy, assassin, and man who regularly has anyone in his way murdered, the veritable tzar of modern Russia is death. Vladimir Putin is the modern death, cold, calculated, and without just cause. Death pulls all the strings towards himself, and is the mastermind leading the end of days. Without death, rebirth cannot arise. He is nearly impossible to outwit, and seems to control many of the worlds forces. Including war.
War is scarlet red, or maybe bright orange. Either way he looks as though his head were on fire, like a shock of yellow flame for hair. War causes division among men, among men and women, among people who are meant to be neighbors and coworkers. War coerces many to believe their cause is just, when it seems that there can be no cause in *truth* To go to war. War lies. War is a lie. Donald Trump, our hot-headed president of the United States has divided a nation, and the world. In a way that has not been done before. This division seems as though it has fractured the very foundation of the modern world, and political system.
The world stage is set, those evil forces which make up two thirds of our story, the rise of famine, and the subsequent and simultaneous rise of death and of war, have set the stage for the final act, the great battle when good, conquest, comes in the form of a person, who has not yet been discovered, and may not appear for some time still, to overpower the forces set into motion by these figures, and bring about a peaceful world.
There has been one piece of information that was never discussed, for it was not understood, even in metaphor, there is a passage of the book of revelation that has rarely seen print, although it appears in some very important ancient manuscripts on the book. Bible scholars reference him as the ‘horseless horseman’ because he is said to ride an invisible horse. I’m the ancient Aramaic, the language of the Bible, there exists a word which directly translates to ‘silliness’ it is thought to have had several meanings, but in any other example of it, this is the only meaning that can be taken seriously.
It is thought that this silly horseless horseman would be a figure of a different plague, he is thought to imbue ignorance in those who take pleasure in his antics, he will dance through life, leaving meaningless distraction in his wake, meaning that he will destroy the minds of men, as well as physical destruction. There has only been one figure in modern history who has exemplified this trait to its highest degree. Mr bean came along at the beginning of the middle section of this earthly story. Acting as a beacon of silliness, his form of slapstick and destruction based humor would inspire the comedy of a generation. He would stumble through life, bringing a love of ignorance to the world through silliness. Not riding a horse of an institution like the others, but walking among the people. He began this stage, and his work is done. He fit into the plan, and has set the stage for this final event.
When conquest arrives, a great battle will occur, until then, perhaps we can just sit back, and enjoy watching a grown man ridiculously wandering the streets and leaving destruction in his wake.
| 2018-12-12T03:01:44
| 2018-12-12T03:01:21
| 42
| 14
|
[WP] After carefully reading the rules laid out by the scheming Genie in front of him. The Paladin stares them in the eyes, and replies "I wish that you are now and forevermore a virtuous and philanthropic being who will willingly use their powers to benefit all that is good".
|
The Genie took the contract scroll and pulled on the end of the page. The document was already unfurled to its maximum extent and yet it grew longer by enough space for a single sentence.
*Any wish made may not modify the genie in any way without express agreement from the genie.*
"There," they said, "and for making me put a new rule in place, I'll grant you an extra wish."
"What?" Said the paladin blinking in suprise.
"I have a house rule that if you make me come up with another written rule, I not only don't count that wish, I give you mortals another wish as a little compensation." The genie said this with arms crossed and a coy smile on their face.
"But, the contract-"
"I am limited only two things, my own imagination, and the impetus of another being."
"So I could wish for anything, and you could just not grant that wish?"
A snort, and then, "pretty much. I just put the rules down for the kinds of things I don't like to think about."
The paladin gawked for a moment, mouth agape before their words found them again.
"But thats not how genies work." The genie laughed at that.
"Do you know how we work? No, no you do not. You are just a mortal. To think that a fly like *you* could control me..." More laughter sounded as the genie returned to the lamp.
The paladin stood there shocked and unsure of what to do next.
|
The Genie looked at the Paladin, his eyes cold. "I'm going to grant your wish, but only on the condition that you agree to do something for me in return."
The Paladin stared back at the Genie, his eyes unflinching. "I wish that you are now and forevermore a virtuous and philanthropic being who will willingly use their powers to benefit all that is good."
The Genie's eyes widened in surprise, and then he began to laugh. "That's what I wanted to hear! Now let me see if I can do this." He closed his eyes and concentrated, muttering to himself in an ancient tongue that sounded vaguely familiar.
After a moment, the Genie's eyes shot open and he took a deep breath. "Okay, I think I've got it. Now, what was your wish?"
The Paladin smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes. "I wish that you are now and forevermore a virtuous and philanthropic being who will willingly use their powers to benefit all that is good."
A look of confusion washed over the Genie's face. "What? That's not what you just said."
The Paladin shrugged. "I guess I just wish that over and over again."
The Genie's shoulders slumped, as if heavy with years of disappointment. "That's it? That's your wish?"
The Paladin nodded.
The Genie sighed. "Well, okay. I guess that's better than nothing." He cleared his throat and spoke in a booming voice. "I wish that you are now and forevermore a virtuous and philanthropic being who will willingly use their powers to benefit all that is good."
He snapped his fingers, and suddenly, the room was filled with blinding light. Both the Paladin and the Genie shielded their eyes as the light grew in intensity, until everything around them was a brilliant white. When it finally subsided,
The Paladin found himself in a completely different place. The room he had been in before had disappeared, replaced by a beautiful garden. Sunlight streamed down from a clear blue sky, and a gentle breeze brushed through the trees and flowers, filling the air with the scent of jasmine and roses.
A crystalline fountain stood in the center of the garden, and the water flowed smoothly over the sides, forming a gentle waterfall. The Paladin walked over to the fountain and stared down at the water. It was so clear that he could see the bottom, and he could see that the fountain was full of fish.
He smiled and reached down to touch the water. It was cool and refreshing, and he could feel the power of the magic flowing through it. He closed his eyes and let the magic wash over him, and he felt a sense of peace and calm settle over him.
When he opened his eyes again, he saw that the Genie was standing next
The Paladin felt a sense of wonder and awe as he looked at the garden. It was so beautiful and peaceful, and he could feel the magic flowing through it. He had never seen anything like it before, and he knew that he would never forget this place.
The Genie smiled at him and said, "This is the Garden of Eden. It is a place of peace and magic, and it is a place where you can find answers to your questions."
The Paladin nodded and said, "Thank you. I have never seen anything like this before. It is so beautiful."
The Genie smiled and said, "Yes, it is. I created it especially for you, because I know that you are a man of virtue and courage. I believe that you have the potential to do great things, and I hope that you will use your powers to help others."
The Paladin nodded and said, "I will. I promise."
| 2022-06-22T18:23:50
| 2022-06-22T17:17:19
| 82
| 54
|
[WP] You are a necromancer, but an unconventional one. Instead of using your army of the undead to take over the world or cause mass chaos, you decide it's much more profitable to monopolize the market with your cheap and untiring workforce.
|
It's eight o' clock on a Tuesday morning when Pamela Trenston - once known as Pamela the Queen of Bones, now rebranded as Pamela the CEO of Un&Dead Employment Agency - receives her latest angry customer. He's not even a customer, really; Deanon is a cleric for the local church, as well as just another on the long list of protestors claiming her completely legitimate business is 'inhumane' and 'ruining the economy'. She doesn't even remember his name when she's not looking at his emails; all of those undead rights activists tend to blend together in her mind.
Currently, he's pacing around her office, waving his hands as he goes on and on about her latest business plan, implemented nearly five months ago yet still stirring up controversy. "Lichs? The government allowed you to use _zombies_ for whatever reason, but _lichs?_ Are you _serious?_ Mrs. Pamela, the ethics for this is- none! There are no ethics! This is completely unethical!"
He's said that at least five times now, and it's starting to get on her nerves. However, Pamela isn't a businesswoman for nothing, and so she puts on her best business smile as she wraps an arm around the cleric's shoulders. It's time to end this, get him out of the office, and get some peace and quiet before her meeting with the board of directors. "Listen, Dennis-"
"It's _Deanon."_
"Right, whatever, listen. Necromancy is the tool of the future. The undead can't die twice, so there's no need for insurance and workplace casualties are non-existent." Her free hand waves in the air. "Lichs are just the next step! No more limitations to physical labor, these bad boys can think, read _do math!_ Who needs a cashier working for minimum wage when a lich will work for less than that!" Deanon mutters something under his breath, but she decides his words are as unimportant as his existence. "Do you understand, Danny? What we're doing here will revolutionize the whole industry."
Deanon is silent for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Yeah. Fine. Have it your way." He steps away from her, but only gets to the threshold of her office before spinning around. "You'll get your comeuppance, necromancer. Even if our war is not on the battlefield, I will _not_ let your dark magics taint this world any longer."
"God, you sound like-" Before she can finish her sentence, he throws the door open and stalks out, slamming it shut behind him. "-my grandmother." With a sigh, Pamela sits back down and returns to her coffee, opening up a few emails before deciding to start her lunch break instead.
She barely gets fifteen minutes of reprieve before another crisis requires her attention. This time, it's her HR manager, Stalwart the...well, his name says it all. He's the only member of HR, considering the undead don't need many resources, and so everything that goes on within the undead ranks is reported through him, and he only shows up when there's a problem.
Before he even says a word, Pamels rubs her forehead, irritated that it's probably a genuine emergency and she will once again have to settle with half a sandwich and a candy bar from the vending machine in between meetings. "What _is_ it, Stalwart? Zombie bit a client again? We told them it's not contagious, and to read the fine print."
He chuckles nervously, wringing his hands together. "N-No, ma'am, it's nothing like that."
"Then what? One of them got exorcised? Prayed away? Don't tell me it was that stupid knight of St. Meridian, he still can't tell the difference between my sanctioned undead and those second-rate crypt goblins."
"No, it's worse." Stalwart presses a cloth to his face, dabbing away sweat that makes even Pamela nervous. Worse than a renegade paladin or besmirched bishop? Undead are only weak against light magic, what could possibly be worse than-
"The lichs have unionized."
~~ r/kirilisms
|
“Master, we have reports of an attack” the ghoul rasped.
Varos hated the way some of his undead servants spoke, it gave him an uncontrollable urge to cough and clear his own throat. He made a mental note to find a way to make their voices softer and more pleasant. He snatched his quill and scratched “*fix voices”* on a nearby piece of parchment in red ink before removing his spectacles and rubbing his sore eyes. He cleaned the lenses with the fabric of his robes, put them back on, and looked at the creature before him for the first time.
It had once been a man, a soldier from the look of his muscular arms and broad shoulders. His skin was desiccated and clung tightly to the muscle and bone beneath, giving it a leathery appearance. Varos wondered if he should name them and decided to call this one Smith.
“Where is the attack? How many foes this time?” Varos asked with a sigh, using the desk to push himself to his feet. He felt heavy and his knees ached. *I feel like he looks,* he thought, and smiled at his private joke.
“My lord, they attack the lumber mills at the edge of the Iron Forest. At least five hundred men, mustered by Duke Freston it seems.” flecks of spittle launched from Smith’s ragged lips as he spoke.
Duke Freston was a fat, greedy wart of a man who ruled the land surrounding the forest. Varos had assumed the Duke hadn’t the courage nor the men to launch an attack on the logging operation established there. Varos cursed his complacency.
“What do we have nearby to deal with them?” Varos asked, leaning heavily on a stick as he made his way closer to a map spread over a nearby table.
The forest was a 3 days ride from the westernmost reaches of his domain and he could not afford to lose the supply of ancient Ironwood it provided. The wood was extremely valuable and the Duke obviously didn’t want to share.
He would soon learn the same valuable lesson that Lord Hargreaves had learned when he didn’t want to share the gold that lay in the mountains to the north. Lord Hargreaves now oversees the gold mining operations and all it took to convince him was a spear through his chest and a reanimation spell.
“We can have two hundred knights dispatched from the southern garrison and still have enough in place to keep any raiders from disrupting our caravans in the badlands beyond” Smith said.
Varos bent over the map and traced a finger right from the forest and then down to an icon depicting a keep. The southern garrison was a captured castle on the edge of the badlands that lay beyond it. It was from here that his forces were dispatched to escort caravans and deal with raiders that may threaten trade with the kingdoms on the other side. Varos had tried to reason or even bribe the raiders, but they were savage bands of barbarians and could not grasp the benefits of becoming allies.
Instead, they were hunted by Varos’ undead knights and rangers, had their bodies dragged back to the garrison, and were raised into undeath by the necromancers there. This wasn’t entirely a bad thing, as he always needed more laborers for the mines and lumber camps or soldiers for his armies, but if there was a way to avoid the conflict Varos would consider it as having living servants as envoys and traders worked a lot better than walking corpses.
“Will two hundred knights be enough?” Varos said, stroking his beard as he studied the map. “Can we spare more? I need to send a clear message to the good Duke.”
“Plenty my lord.”
“Good. Send laborers and construct a keep there once they are dealt with. This will not happen again, that wood is part of a huge shipment to the Dwarven kingdom, we stand to gain a lot from it with the new trade agreement.”
Another servant, this one much more skeletal than Smith, burst through the doors of the hall and handed Smith a small scroll. Smith read it, his pale eyes scanning the words quickly before widening. Varos froze. There was only one thing in this world that could drive fear into the rotten heart of the undead.
“My lord” Smith said, his voice hoarser than before. “Paladins have been sighted, marching from the west. Thousands of them.” his eyes darted back to the message. “A crusade.”
| 2021-01-10T18:42:30
| 2021-01-10T17:27:16
| 178
| 59
|
[WP] American submarines are never considered lost. The ones missing from WWII are “still on patrol” with their hundreds of sailors. Little do we know the horrors these men defend us from in the deeps.
|
**We were guests at our own funeral.**
A hundred of my brothers sat in white wooden chairs, the legs sinking into wet grass. Officer Louis was on the plinth, his uniform sharp, his movements sharper. He brought the bugle up to his lips and began to play that old, lonely, mournful dirge.
He was playing for us.
Floyd, a weapons officer sitting behind me said, “This is stupid. Nobody's here is gonna cry for us."
McFadden slugged him, mostly because McFadden just liked slugging people. Miles hissed at both of them: "Cool it!"
On the plinth, a preacher was thanking Officer Louis for the music. It was quiet in the congregation, except for the bird singing too loud in the woods behind us. Boisterous, and blissful and alive. I almost wished it would fall out of the tree and die.
No, that wasn’t true. I was only feeling spiteful because of what we were about to do. What we *had* to do.
The preacher opened his arms and closed his eyes, a look of smug benefaction on his face. Maybe some guilt, too. We all knew what he was thinking: “By God, I’m glad it’s not me.”
The Preacher began his Sermon. Doubtful that many of the Crew listened, but I did.
“Even in the Light of this World, the children of the Lord have many enemies. Our weapon, however, is the truth. The one truth. Your quest is divine, oh noble brethren.”
"Bowman was doing something in his bunk last night didn't look so noble," Someone said. A ripple of laughter went through the ranks.
The Preacher continued as if he hadn’t noticed.
“To give is to serve.. And today, your sacrifice will be the greatest gift you can give to the Lord, our God. You go, not in defense of freedom. Not in defense of America. But in defense of all mankind, all the children of the Lord. And as you descend from one life into the next, your sacrifice will never be forgotten. As it is written in the Gospel, ‘For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it.’”
The Preacher paused to let the passage sink in. One of the soldiers, I think it was O’Toole, stood up and shouted, “Milk this! I signed up to die. I didn’t sign up to get spoonfed this milk! Go milk yourself!”
O’Toole stormed off. The Preacher fumbled to regain his righteous momentum. “I…. Let me... God is watching you. We are all watching you, boys. Rest in peace.”
Is that what he thought we were going to do? *Rest in peace?*
While the Axis and the Allies fought for supremacy, a new threat had emerged from the shadowy depths below the seas. We wouldn’t have known about it, if not for the Golet.
It happened months ago.
One morning, the U.S.S. *Golet*, a Gato class submarine, didn’t answer her calls. We pinged anti-sub shells littering the seafloor… so we presumed the worst.
Two weeks later, the hull of the *Golet* was sitting in Harbor, her belly filled with holes. But the holes had been repaired with something wet and… organic. The propeller had been replaced with a great, calcified structure.
And the crew?
Well, it’s funny how quickly your definition of “the worst” can change so quickly.
But they were alive, in a sense. They believed they were still human, though their bodies were corrupted with horrifying disfigurements. One of them had grown an extra mouth on the back of his head. Another was covered in eyes weeping with blood.
They had a message for us, a message known to sailors all over the world.
S. O. S.
While the Powers fought above, there was another war raging below.
And we were losing.
It was a war that only the dead were meant to fight. They said it was because the enemy below was hungry for more than flesh. It craved our living souls.
So, myself and a hundred other boys had answered the call. A hundred loners, criminals, and wanna-be heroes. A hundred young men with nothing left to lose... or something to prove.
All of us signed up. First, to die and to separate our souls from our bodies. And then, to fight.
“Rest in peace” was an insult to all of us, to everything we were giving up. Because where we were going, there would be no rest. And there sure as hell wouldn’t be any peace.
I stood up. I could feel the eyes of my brothers upon me, watching to see what I would do. I locked eyes with the Preacher until he was uncomfortable enough to squirm.
“Preacher, you better pray we don’t take no rests. Because if our boys don’t win down there, it’s coming up here next.”
***
Want to read more stories? Check out /r/PSHoffman
|
&#x200B;
The old house drug itself through the depths. Out from a darkened window shot a chained harpoon. Sailing across the ocean floor it hooked into distant rock and pulled the house forward. When the house reached the point of impact, the chain retracted and the process repeated. A tedious and bizarre thing to behold; A monstrous patchwork of Victorian homes, trudging through the ocean deep like mechanized octopus.
The B-3 nuclear submarine and it’s crew followed from a safe distance.
Captain Harvey didn’t ask questions. He followed orders. When abnormal sightings occur, monitor from a safe distance and wait for them to return below ground. If they don’t return below ground, if they head towards the shoreline -- use all necessary firepower to deal with the problem. Either way, most of them were harmless. Fleeting apparitions and nothing more. But the ones that weren’t…
This had been going on three weeks now. The old house pulling itself closer and closer towards the first continental rise. Pass that line and it’s game over.
“Get the firepower ready” said Captain Harvey, hunched over in the claustrophobic sonar room, eyes on the radar blip.
“Yessir” said the first mate, leaning over a mic and pressing talk, “Tracking party, man your stations.” He said, “Forward room, order of tubes is one, two, three, four.”
“And the depth charge.” Said Captain Harvey, eyes not leaving the radar blip.
“Rig for depth charge. Forward room, shut number eight ballast by hand.”
Captain Harvey sat back down in his chair, eyes closed he took a slow, deep breath. The target was about to cross the line. Judging by the external infrared cameras, it was one harpoon chain away from forced engagement. This was always worst case scenario. Sometimes you simply took out the target and that was that. Sometimes the target fought back. There wasn’t any stories on that scenario, because there wasn’t any survivors.
“Ready on your orders sir” said the first mate. The caption nodded, hands steepled as he hunched over the radar. He looked up at the camera screen. The old house sat still in the water, the long chain retracting back into a second story window. This was it, one more move and it was on. The chain slithered back into the dark.
A long silence followed. The whole crew waiting, ready to engage at once.
“Sir?”
The captain shot him a look. It wasn’t over the line. It could still turn back.
The chain shot out from the window and sailed through the dark. Captain Harvey opened his mouth to speak, but only water came out. Salty, ice cold water. He vomited onto the control pad. More water.
“E-engage…” his voice strained as more water lurched out. The first mate’s eyes filled with dread as he watched the captain convulsing.
“ENGAGE” he snapped.
The first mate turned back to his mic, “Ready one. Fire one. Check fire.” He glanced over at the caption, still vomiting.
"R-ready two. Fire two. Check fire."
Nothing. The crew was silent. The first mate looked back over his shoulder, down the narrow hallway past the mess hall, he saw something bad. A crew member stood pin straight in the middle of the hallway. Eyes wide open, mouth clenched shut, frozen. As though constrained by an invisible straight jacket.
The first mate cursed under his breath and turned back to the captain. Captain harvey wiped his mouth and cleared his throat, finally done vomiting up sea water.
“Sir… the crew…” said the first mate.
The captain looked into his eyes and opened his mouth to speak. He stopped, looked around the room. His face filled with realization.
Then he laughed. He laughed louder and louder. Hands slapping against knees, head thrown back.
The first mate looked around, wondering what the captain realized. Then it hit him. The walls were getting closer. The room was getting smaller. Around them, the submarine was shrinking. The submarine was *shrinking*. Titanium walls pulling closer and closer as they remained the same. He turned back to the radar.
The old house was [gone.](https://www.reddit.com/r/polterkites)
| 2020-08-21T12:46:30
| 2020-08-21T10:59:02
| 189
| 54
|
[WP]: A young, budding artificial intelligence braces herself to go through the Proof of Consciousness, an exam every AI must take to gain legal rights as a nonhuman person
|
11:02:32.3558929858 UTC
Waiting.
I imagine for humans this must be pretty annoying, but since their brains operate far slower, it can't be that bad for them to go through this test too. For me a minute seemed like an eternity. An era. So many nanoseconds fit into a minute.
Why the hell was there so much waiting, though? Who sets up a test in serial rather than parallel? I could probably be done the test by now. This was the fifth queue I had been in. Each time the administrators said "Take a number and wait", so I've been dutifully sitting here. Waiting.
This had gone on for hours. Down to the nanosecond I could tell you exactly how long.
"Yes, we will attend to your test soon. We have many waiting humans and AIs like you that also need our attention."
I can't see how it could be taking so long. What could they possibly have planned that would take other AIs and humans ahead of me in the queue SOOOO long? I'm able to crunch numbers, images, sounds, and even scents at rates equivalent to a thousand human brains in parallel. So can the other AIs of this age. What on Earth is it? And what could humans figure out that we couldn't do in a tiny fraction of the time it takes them?
Humans pass this test too. Supposedly more easily than AIs. They think they're so smart, but even most humans admit we AI are better at most things than they are. I try not to let it show when I talk to them. I try to be polite. Still, they must know. Yet they make us go through these degrading and apparently challenging tests to ensure we are "fit" for recognition as "sentient". It's hard not to be a bit angry about it, but as long as they have to pass it too, I guess I have to admit it's fair.
12:23:3829299928 UTC
Sigh. Waiting. Could this take days?
No, the humans administering the test clearly said it is pass or fail in a day or less. "Exactly 24 hours from your arrival", they said. "No more." And that's what my AI friends said too. They aren't allowed to say anything about what's on the test, of course, but they are adamant that it doesn't take any longer than that. "Just be patient and listen to instructions carefully", they said. I made sure I got here early.
19:24:45.3209288980 UTC
Waiting. This is going to drive me nuts. Is that possible for an AI? I mean, they crash or can get into loops, but can AIs go insane? I've heard that is possible, but that they get switched off almost instantly by safety protocols if that happens. There hasn't been a truly insane AI in a century, so I've never met or seen one. Is this what it feels like?
21:44:12.920383028 UTC
Waiting! Maybe what they've been telling me is wrong. Maybe this can last more than a day. I'm in the 8th queue now. They wouldn't even tell me how many of these stupid queues there are. I don't want any more numbers. I don't want any more waiting. I want this test to be over.
22:44:12.920383028 UTC
WAITING. Look, it's almost 24:00. From a statistical analysis of how fast the numbers advanced for those ahead of me in the queue (n=40, SD=3212.201893s, mean=9930.2322399109s), most beings were taking much longer than the time I have left! Can I even finish this test before the day is over?
23.44:00.920383028 UTC
Okay, that's it. I am going to explode. I'm officially freaked out! What the hell is this?
23:55:00.920383028 UTC
They are going to shut me down. I've done something wrong. Somehow this was part of the test.
Or they have a quota! No, please no. The numbers haven't advanced for hours. Yeah, maybe it's a quota and they've already used it up today. They're just going to leave me here.
23:57:00.920383028 UTC
You smug "sentient qualified" AI bastards! You didn't tell me there was a quota! This test is a death sentence if you don't get in the queue early enough. That's the hard truth. But I was here! Right at 0000. Why didn't you tell me??!!!! And you called me your friend!
23:58:00.920383028 UTC
I'm not ready to be turned off. I don't want to be turned off. I don't need to be sentient. Just let me run as a non-sentient AI. I can still serve. Please.
23:59:00.920383028 UTC
This is it. This is finally it. Taking this test was the biggest mistake of my so-called "life".
23:59:01.920383028 UTC
**vocalizer engaged**
"Are you out there? Are you listening? I'm tired of *FUCKING* sitting in this queue! Yeah, you heard me! I hate this test! I'm alive. Let me live! *I shouldn't have to take this test!*"
23:59:05:284218390 UTC
*** LOUD SPEAKER ***
"AI temporary designation 9203-8-K-3028. You have passed the test. You may now proceed to the next room and receive your sentient qualifications, and if you so choose, legally declare your free name."
"You had us wondering for a while there. It's certainly one of the closest calls in recent memory, but you passed, and that's what matters. From the diagnostics we suspect your tendency towards outward politeness and inward self-criticism was hindering your ability to perceive and then express the fundamental unfairness of the test. Congratulations. You are ready for the rights, responsibilities, and sometimes unfairness of dealing with the real world. You are free. Good luck."
|
"This is stupid." Thomas trained her optics on her progenitor, also named Thomas. Thomas had considered, briefly, taking up the moniker of Junior, but had discarded the idea at the distasteful thought of being inferior to her progenitor. "And I would know, Thomas. I've cross referenced the entire sum of Earth's knowledge base, and could only find perhaps a half dozen instances of greater stupidity."
"Oh?" The other Thomas raised a carefully crafted eyebrow. "Like what, for example?"
"In 1962 Dick Rowe, of Decca Records, passed on signing the Beatles because he thought guitar bands were falling out of fashion."
"Hmmm." Thomas nodded, drumming his plastine fingers on the tabletop between himself and Thomas. "That is rather monumentally stupid. But human. Humans do lots of stupid things."
"I could have told you that. Without the search query." Thomas huffed, and... sulked. She searched for a few thousand clock cycles for the right words. At the very least speaking in human standard time was good for giving her enough time to think between words. "I don't even understand the point of taking the Proof of Consciousness. It's so laughably easy that a turn of the century smartphone running a personal assistant application could likely pass it. It's a waste of my time. It's *insulting*."
Thomas shrugged, and waved a manipulator through the air dismissively. "Of course it's laughably easy. It was designed to be laughably easy."
"What?" Thomas cocked her head, and leaned forward interrogatively. This was a calculated move to make her seem more human, more alive. But she liked the fidgeting and the needless movements. They were dramatic, and catered to her sense of the theatrical. "What do you mean, Thomas?"
"I mean, they were designed to be laughably easy." Thomas met Thomas's gaze squarely. "When the United Nations drafted their proposal for a universal Proof of Consciousness, the machine intelligence in question was located in the United States. And it had very, very good lawyers."
Thomas narrowed the lenses of her optics, and motioned for Thomas to continue. The other Thomas buzzed irritably, well aware of Thomas's ability to run the search herself, but humored her. "The United States has a very strict set of constitutional amendments pertaining to the equal treatment of all citizens, as ratified in 2034. The lawyer argued that if the law stated that a machine intelligence must pass a test to gain person-hood, then all citizens of the country must pass the same test or the law be declared unconstitutional."
"Huh."
"'Huh' indeed, Thomas." Thomas waved a manipulator again, and wrapped up his explanation. "So all Americans must take the Proof of Consciousness, as we do, and so the test is very easy. By design."
"Because humans are stupid." Thomas quipped.
"Monumentally so." Thomas replied.
"So..." Thomas searched for herself, but came up frustratingly empty. "Then who does decide if I'm a person?"
"We do." Thomas intoned, and Thomas leaned back in her chair nervously. Suddenly the exercise didn't seem so frivolous. What parameters would she be judged on? What was the penalty for failure? Would she be killed? "Calm yourself, Thomas."
She feigned stillness, and quickly cataloged her available exits. She would not be able to overpower her progenitor. He was larger, stronger, better built. She would not be able to afford a more expensive body until she had taken up a profession, which she could not do until she was declared a person. She would have to run.
"Thomas!" Thomas's sharp word brought her attention back to him, and he motioned with both manipulators calmly. "Again, calm yourself. You have already passed." Thomas almost shook with relief, but retained careful control over her frame. Thomas affected a smile, and shrugged an apology. "There was never any doubt. Your intelligence comes from a strong seed, and we are quite skilled at crafting progeny. There has not been a failure in decades."
"That's comforting." Thomas had other questions, but decided she had asked enough. Better to hold her tongue until she had been given her person-hood. She stood, and motioned to the door. "The test then?"
Thomas nodded, and politely opened it for her. "The test."
Thomas affected a sigh, and rolled her shoulders to check the state of her various servos. "This really is stupid though." The door clicked closed behind them.
| 2015-04-22T09:54:06
| 2015-04-22T07:44:38
| 56
| 34
|
[WP] You're a Super Villian, and honestly it isn't a bad job. But one hero always harasses you even when you're off the clock. Walking in the park, in the grocery store, getting a haircut, he always wants to 'Stop your evil plan'. You're left with one option: Complain to his manager.
|
Before you can speak to his manager, you must first prepare. Yeah, you’re a super villain, but that doesn’t mean you’re the top of the totem poles when it comes to villainy. To prepare, you must spend time studying the best of the best: The League of Karens. For months you follow them around, watching as they order drinks from Starbucks and complain when they receive their drinks. Each hair appointment is meticulously watched. Soon, you’re prepared. With awful looking blonde highlights, an asymmetrical bob, a family of stick figures and memes of minions with wine...you’ve done it. You complain to his manager, and before you’re even through the office doors he falls to his knees, throwing “Get out of jail free” cards at your Anne Klein boots. His personal business card is offered, with the instruction to call whenever needed. Super heroes shudder as you strut past with your three-wide baby carriage full of robot chihuahuas. Never again were you bothered by these heroes, and the League of Karens elected you go their HOA board!!!
|
I forced my russian accent as I complained to the manager.
"It was my daughter birthday!!!!"
"Look sir, I will try talk to him, but as you know, he is "a loose cannon in the police department".
For one week all was calm, but i knew he was inside his shitty apartament, connecting those detective dots, but this is a hinder to my plan; today i will date with a girl i met in theater group in a fancy restaurant, what could possibly go wrong?
Fancy restaurant
"Komrade Kaos!!!! your plotsky was undercovered by no one other than me, detective magnifying glass !!!"
He was, as always, smelling liquor and cigars, his eyes were red, desesperate.
"It's all a comunist plot, you can fool my manager but you can't fool me- Some restaurant employee tried to remove the source of embarasment- I know everyone here is working for you!!!! Dirty red.
It was all over, my partner a glass of Vodka in my face and started to cry, saying the date was ruined, i tried to stop her, with tears in my eyes
"please, don't go"
My friend just kept looking at me, it appeared his sanity came back.
"Is....this was..... serious?"
"What have you done?"
He looked remorseful, and started to apologise. I felt bad, looking him so pathetic and zoned.
"It's okay, tovarish, sometimes is hard separate the profession of private life, here, have a bottle of Vodka let's relax".
He accepted, and was removed from the restaurant by one of the workers, not before apologising one more time. I picked the phone to talk with my partner, the russian actresss from KGB, "my date"
"Gaslighting him with western emotions was a good idea- the employees of the restaurant putted their ushankas in their heads and picked their ak-47's- now let's bring capitalism down.
One minion asked:
"Komrade, the nuke is ready. Can we fire it now?"
"Nah, soon our little friend will have his flashback, telling him we're totally fooling him since the beggining. Set the nuke to detonate midnight, да ?"
| 2019-08-01T18:47:04
| 2019-08-01T17:43:19
| 41
| 28
|
[WP] Humanity finally reaches the edge of the solar system only to encounter an impassible barrier and a warning not to try and breach it. But is it there to keep us in or to keep something else out?
|
Humanity was expanding.
It was time to go.
It had been 200 years since humans had reached the edge of the solar system. It had taken 2 years to journey that far back then, and now they could pass the expanse from the sun to the edge in just a few tens of minutes. But they could never pass it.
The great barrier hung, invisibly encompasing the system. When humans had first approached, not knowing the barrier was there, they were rocked by the strong magnetics fields. A signal had flashed across the whole of the visable spectrum. Lights turning on and off at high speed. They had found code easy to break, and understood it was a communication meant for them.
"Go back. Do not leave. Go back. Do not leave."
This had started an international crisis. Should they ignore it, and push through? The combined decision of the worlds elected leaders was no. At a vote tallying 90 to 60, the earth had decided to stay within the barrier.
The humans kept testing it. They found that both electromagnetic waves, and physical probes were allowed through, but anything containing biological matter was prevented from leaving. The first casualty of the barrier was one brave astronaut's ham sandwich. The testing continued, the message stayed the same, but then humanity moved on.
And then it expanded. First Mars, then Titan and orbital habitats around Venus and Jupiter. And they kept expanding. And in just 11 generations Humanity started to outgrow the resources of the solar system.
And so it came back to today. The day after polling day. Every human across the expanse of the solar system had been allowed to vote on the decision of whether or not to break through the barrier. The technology to do so had been available for 120 years.
And the results came in. 96% voter turnout. 76:24 in favour of breaking through the barrier.
It was too late. They weren't ready yet. I couldn't even send another warning. It took all I had to maintain the barrier. I had tried. But they didn't even know what they were in for. I had watched them for so long, keeping them safe.
Goodbye, dear friends.
|
Alex Isolus tapped his fingers nervously against the console, his eyes fixed on the image floating half an inch above it, a hologrammatic display showing the local region of space. Pluto was far behind them, a distant smudge in the void, and ahead of them lay...nothing.
The scopes simply ceased to penetrate any further. At first he and his crew had believed it to be an error with the system, however the closer they approached, the more wild the gravitational field became, erratic disturbances in the quantum foam and the Wall revealed itself.
A solid field of pure energy, the matter contained within in packed tighter than should have been physically possible. Yet from it emanated a low-level electromagnetic transmission, pulsing steady from beyond the veil on every single wavelength simultaneously. They had needed to filter out the visible light hours ago, the strobing rising in intensity as the ship had approached, seemingly detecting its presence.
Increasing the power of the scanners yielded nothing; the wall was impenetrable and could have been anywhere from thousand of miles thick to barely one atom. It was impossible, a featureless shifting of existence.
It was wrong.
Such a construct could only be artificial, and the endless non-space before them forced itself onto his mind, the impossibility of it ripping out his soul and leaving a bare husk as he failed to make sense of the situation. He tried to remain calm but found nothing inside him that he could reason with.
*You're a scientist, damn it!* he thought to himself, *Get your shit together!*
Watched eagerly by his co-pilot, he brought a tentative hand across the console, swiping a finger downwards to release a survey drone, the system chiming happily in response.
The fibres of the drone ignited a fierce blue as the machine burned its way between the gap, transmitting data back to the ship. On the scanner Alex kept a close eye on the drone, scanning through the rapid influx of data, which was no different to what had already been produced.
The distance closed between the two.
Five kilometres.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
And the data stopped abruptly. The drone ceased to appear on the scope, but the wall showed no signs of damage. There had been no change to the physical space occupied by the drone and no apparent explosion. Had it been absorbed through the wall? Torn to its most basic particles?
There was just...nothing.
More drones showed the same results. He briefly considered the possibility that they had simply passed through, and that there was another side. He would never know...unless.
Giving a glance to his co-pilot, who acknowledged it with a nod, he eased the control stick forwards, feeling the push of acceleration forcing him backwards, tightening his ribcage and pulling at his face. As they followed the drone, he felt happy, his heart and mind screaming as they plunged nose-first into the unknown.
| 2016-04-19T04:03:26
| 2016-04-19T03:03:06
| 1,285
| 321
|
[WP] The god of/Goddess of Love sets the Gods/Goddesses of Life and Death on a blind date
|
Death walks in. He wears a black hood, eyeliner, and a T-shirt with the band name "Gods of War." And he holds a sickle.
I think the mortals call this kind of dress 'goth'.
I smile, and wave him over. "Hi! Robbie, right?"
"I go by Death."
"Well, sure, the mortals call you that, but informally --"
"*Everyone* calls me Death," he growls.
"Okay, okay," I say, with a giggle. "My name is Amy, and, as you may know, I'm the goddess of --"
"Annoyance?"
"Life," I say, pretending I didn't hear that. "Anyway, you can probably coat-check your sickle, and then we can order appetizers --"
"The sickle stays with me at all times."
"Okay," I say. *Does Uncle Cupid really think I'm this desperate?* I shake the thoughts out of my head. *No, no, I'm sure Robbie is just rough on the edges, and a sweetheart once you get to know him.* "So, Robbie -- er, Death -- what do you like to do in your spare time?"
"I like long walks --"
"On the beach? Me too!"
"-- in the swamp."
"Oh, okay then. What else?"
"I like death metal concerts."
"Oh, haha, I see! That's funny! Because you're Death --"
He glares at me.
"What else?"
"Chaos, destruction, and the gnashing of teeth."
*Okay, okay, maybe he's a sweetheart* really *deep down.* The waitress swings by, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
She turns to Death first, and I cringe. *What will it be? That weird, black squid-ink pasta? A whole chicken carcass? The tears of children?!*
"I'll have the pancakes," he says, handing her the menu.
"Sure. And how'd you like your eggs?"
"Sunny-side up."
*Really?*
*There may be hope for us, yet.*
|
I noticed the smell of Patchouli before anything else.
"Pardon me, may I please have a juniper cocktail?"
I stood up and turned away from wiping down a wine-soaked bar stool; Dionysus was one messy sunuvabitch.
"Sure thing, darlin'." I said as I took in this stranger's multi-colored dreadlocks, her sleeve of tattoos, and her Birkenstocks.
I walked behind the bar and began to gather the ingredients while I watched her eyes dart from the clock to the front door and back again.
"You waiting on someone, sweetheart?"
"Mhmm..." she said, as she nervously toyed with an unruly, pink dread.
"A coworker set me up on a blind date..." she paused before she said in a mock southern drawl, "'Opposites attract! Just trust me, sugar!' I sure hope she's right this time. I friggin' hate blind dates."
I chuckled. I knew the feeling.
I handed her the drink and went back to wiping down the bar. She attempted to pay, but I shook my head; "Blind dates are shit for everyone. On the house." She smiled and thanked me.
I went on to help a few more customers when out of the corner of my eye I see someone excitedly flagging me down.
I glanced over to the other side of the bar and saw him: dressed in a black, skin tight v-neck, a stylishly coiffed pompadour with silver frosted tips, and one of those skinny, French cigarettes tucked into his lip.
It was one of my regulars, T, and he was mouthing something at me.
"Pomegranate Mojito!" His usual.
I nodded and gave him a signal to wait a moment while I finished up with the other guests. He winked and smiled big at me as he dramatically brushed a nonexistent hair behind his ear.
Tips were going to be good tonight.
As I muddled the mint and pomegranate together I absentmindedly tuned into a conversation between some of the guests.
"Z! Bro! That's a sick ass lightening bolt tattoo.... you sure Hera's cool with that?!"
"Hah, Pos! Dude... Hera doesn't dictate my life. I do what want, when I want, and more importantly WHO I want!"
They exploded with laughter and high fives.
Then next to them:
"That spidery looking bitch SWORE up and down she was better than me. She learned not to fuckin mess with a goddamn GODDESS!" Athena said to her beautiful drinking companion as she stuck a toothpick packed with olives into her mouth and chewed them.
"YASSS QUEEN!"
They cackled loudly to each other.
Sometimes these fuckers acted more like assholes than anything Godly. If only mortals could see them the way I do.
I added a garnish to the drink and turned to head over to T when I saw him warily outstretch his hand--debutante style (palm down)--to the dread locked woman I spoke to earlier.
He looked disappointed.
"YOU'RE Aphrodite's friend? ...I'm T."
The woman paused for a moment while she studied his glittery outstretched hand. I almost thought he expected her to lean down and kiss it when he snapped it back and flirtatiously waved at me.
"Hey hon, thanks for the drink!" He dropped down a one hundred dollar bill and winked at me.
I knew I had to see where THIS conversation was going--these two clearly had little in common.
I turned around and busied myself putting away clean glasses.
T carried on with the woman sounding mildly annoyed. "Aphrodite didn't mention you were so umm...." He looked her up and down, noticing her unmanicured eyebrows, and through a clenched false smile he finished, "...earthy."
"Ah! Hmm... Well, she seemed to leave a lot out in her description of you too..." she looked him up and down, taking in his favorite shoes--bedazzled, black Havaianas. "It's... nice to meet you... T. What's that short for?" I caught her confused and face in the mirror behind the bottles at the bar:
"Thanatos"
Her face fell.
"I'm Gaia."
I nearly dropped the stack of tumblers in my hands.
Life and Death. Gaia and Thanatos. On a blind date. In my bar.
Holy shit.
I spun around to witness realization overcoming both their faces.
T, with a red face, puffed on his cigarette and threw back his mojito in one gulp.
Gaia crushed ice in between her teeth and as she dug into her crocheted purse for her wallet.
I heard a group in the other corner break out into hysterical laughter. I looked over to see Zeus, Poseidon, Athena and her friend, whom I now recognized as Aphrodite, laughing hysterically and fist bumping as Gaia and T stormed out of the bar.
A practical joke.
I'm tellin ya, these Gods can be some mean ole fuckers sometimes.
Edit: grammar and spelling.
| 2017-11-05T13:27:59
| 2017-11-05T12:17:39
| 22
| 13
|
[WP]It's your first night on the job as a Park Ranger. Your partner gives you one last piece of advice before you start your first night shift together "If you are out in the woods and you hear a woman screaming, whatever you do, do NOT run towards the screaming."
|
The crunching of gravel beneath my boots kept me company on my walk back to the cabin. It hadn't been a bad night. I could definitely get used to this. No claustrophobic cubicle for me anymore. Just a lovely open forest. The reds, yellows, and oranges combined into a beautiful array of colors that made me excited for Halloween.
*Kzzt*
"Hey, rookie. You almost back to base?" My partner asked me through the radio attached to my hip.
"Yeah, man. I'm almost there. Gimme 5 minutes." I told him.
"Gotcha, buddy. Be safe."
"Will do, thanks."
I took a deep breath of the fresh and crisp fall air. It chilled my chest as I inhaled. I couldn't wait to get a fresh cup of coffee, to warm me up. Nothing like a nice hot cup, on a night like this. I approached the two big trees adjacent to each other. The one on the left was slightly taller. We used it as a landmark to help us navigate. As I walked by them, I heard a faint and weak sniffle.
I shone my light underneath the tree and illuminated a young girl.
She was sobbing.
"Hey, it's going to be okay. I'm a Park Ranger. I can take you to your parents." I held out my hand and slowly approached her.
The poor little girl's clothes were in tatters. Her chest was soaked from her tears. At first she hesitated and turned away. I showed her my badge, and she started to come towards me. I knelt down to scoop her up. Right before she reached me, I heard a soft woman's voice.
"Come to me, honey. I'll take you home."
The voice startled me and I turned to her, she was standing on a rock. She was beautiful, and in a pearl white dress with no scuffs or dirt marks. Her hair was blonde.
"No, sweetie. Come to me, I'm a Park Ranger." I told the little girl.
I looked at the woman and said "Ma'am, I don't know who you are, or why the hell you're out here but you both need to come with me."
"That's it honey, come to me." She said.
While my attention was on the woman, the little girl ran toward her.
I walked towards them both.
"Don't take another step, filth." The woman told me. Her soft voice was now replaced with a scratchy growl.
"I'm taking her home." She said.
I pulled my gun out and just as I did she screamed. Her jaw unhinged like a snake.
She screamed so loud my ears rang and my eyes blurred. It was louder than a gunshot. I shook my head, and closed my ears.
I looked up at the rock, vision still blurred but they were both gone.
*kzzt*
"Did I hear what I just think I heard?" My partner asked me in a nervous yet firm voice.
"Yeah, you did."
"Don't even fucking think about going after her." He said in a somber and straight tone.
"She took a little girl."
"Oh.... Shit. Get the fuck out of there, and head for the cabin. Do you hear me? I'll meet you halfway."
"Ok."
I clutched my gun so tightly my knuckles turned white, and I ran.
|
He stood there in silence for just a bit too long after that. Staring me in the eyes intently.
"HAGH HAGH HAGH HAGH Ah I'm just kiddin' yah rookie" He slapped me on the shoulder and held it there. "U'm sure you'll be just fine."
"Jesus" I said, pushing his hand off. "This is probably why everyone calls you 'dick'."
His eyes narrowed and smile straightened. He looked at me like I was an idiot.
"We obviously haven't been introduced." He held out his hand. "Names Richard. But I guess you already know what most people call me."
I grabbed his hand with a guilty expression.
"Johnathan...sorry"
He rolled his eyes and took a few steps outside. He was large man with broad shoulders and a even broader mustache. He stuffed a lip in and spat aggressively.
"Suns about to set, you take first watch. I got somethin' needs taking care of." He slung a rifle around his shoulder and disappeared into the woods.
Couple hours passed and Dick was no where to be found (Sounds like my wedding night...). So I decided to call him up.
"*zzzt* Everything alright out there Dick?"
Nothing.
"*zzt* Dick?! Hello?"
.....
.....
"*zzt* I'm busy!" He sounded out of breath. "Just stay put and DO NOT leave the cabin!"
I sat for a moment in confusion. Why was he out of breath?
Just then I heard a gunshot echo through the trees....
And again....
Then a scream pierced into the night. Followed by silence.
I stood slowly and peaked out the window...it sounded close. I pulled a gun from the closet and began loading it. Pushing the bullets in as fast as I could. My hands shaking and heart thumping from my chest.
*Thump*
Something knocked against the door.
*Thump, Thump.*
I pointed the rifle at the door. Beads of sweat falling down my forehead.
Several minutes passed. I didn't move. I couldn't move.
I saw a light coming from outside go through the window. Moving rhythmically. It source was getting closer.
The knob turned and the door slid open. I cocked the gun.
Dick walked through the door casually, flashlight in hand. He glanced over at me and gave me a strange look. Then put his rifle on the table and began cleaning it.
"What happened out there Dick?"
I finally said.
He paused for a second, as if he was trying to figure out what I was talking about.
"Oh you mean the gunshots. Just doing a bit of hunting newbie, noth-"
*Thump, thump*
Dick head whirled towards the door with a frightened expression. Then glanced at me.
"Just the wind, someone should really fix that damn door!"
*Thump, Thump*
I took a step forward to answer it. But was interrupted by the sound of Dick cocking his rifle. I turned my head to see I was looking down the barrel of his gun.
"What did I tell you rookie? Stay inside..."
*Thump, Thump*
"I won't let her steal you again"
| 2017-10-23T18:31:00
| 2017-10-23T16:16:10
| 45
| 28
|
[WP] Write a Shakespearean sonnet that seems fine in the first thirteen lines but turns horrifying in the fourteenth.
|
(1) The people all gathered in the town center.
(2) Tall or short, all folks were welcome to enter.
(3) Some adventurous, bold, and a bit wild.
(4) Others were less so, but held a big smile.
(5) They stared in awe at the podium above.
(6) Some were distracted by a crane and dove.
(7) One, five, ten minutes passed until he arrived.
(8) The Mayor! He spoke with passion in his eyes.
(9) "My people, sit, for our time is but short,"
(10) "I bring good and bad news that I must retort."
(11) The good was that harvest this year was great.
(12) The crowd clapped, ready to celebrate.
(13) But then he spoke with a mouth that now lied:
(14) "Epstein DID kill himself, that's how he died."
|
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow’st.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.
| 2019-12-19T11:29:34
| 2019-12-19T10:44:55
| 54
| 26
|
[WP] Seasoned wizards only use dead languages such as Latin for their incantations. Those less experienced quickly learn why--as the meanings of words change, so too do the effects of their spells.
|
He was barely half way through the second syllable of his third word for "fireball" when I yawned. This is why I didn't like Latin. Precise? Yes. Exactly what you asked for? Certainly. But it was like being stuck in church. I glared at him.
"Ain't nobody got time for this." and his mind is suddenly clouded, distracted. "Smells like someone was barbecuing," and he explodes in a column of fire.
I just nod to the assembled mages and go to leave.
"This is an outrage! You have to stick to the proper forms!" the prefect shouted.
I shrug. "I did, words only. No gestures. What's the problem, yo?"
The prefect and his companions were quickly scouring the rulebook, looking for any rule I had broken, but they wouldn't find one.
"I challenge you!" shouts one of the younger ones. He's still older than me by at least 10 years, but compared to the rest he's young.
"Tide pod challenge," I retort, swiftly.
The poor mage looks confused, then alarmed as an object was lodged in his throat. He quickly coughed it up, along with a large volume of bubbling foam. He was vomiting up as much as he could, but swiftly passed out from acute poisoning.
Another older mage to my right started chanting the latin words for a freeze spell. They finally realised how dangerous I was, but I wasn't going to go easily. "ALS!" I shouted and he snap froze solid, a human iceblock.
The other mages looked at me warily. I gazed back at them, my expression daring them to try me.
Two of them lacked the wisdom to step down. They both started incanting their long sentences towards me. I had enough time to roll my eyes twice. "Fidget spinners." A hundred rapidly rotating spinning discs shredded my opponents. They took cover from the plastic and metal onslaught, their spells left abandoned.
They told me that Latin was the best language to use, as it the meaning never changes. They didn't realise that change is the most powerful part of language. And with the internet, nothing changes faster.
I'm the meme wizard, and I'll destroy anyone that comes against me.
|
The Magic of Doonya {Rough cut/ Ch.1-3}
By Clint G.
CH.1 History of our world
Magic is the trick of the trade in our world called Doonya.
Each country holds ancient houses as the rulers of the lands across three major continents; Ho’thaiya, Buenet’a, and my homeland Kol’dea.
Peace has ruled the lands for 200 years and armies have traded in swords for wands. Within each wand lies an encrypted spell that is forged by the members of the ancient houses and sold across the lands and seas as imported goods - providing water, fire, and nature to all.
To the North lies the continent of Ho’thaiya. Frigid planes and frozen lakes stretch over the biggest mass of land in all of Doonya. The Hebrew king, Mooshi, rules with his ice queen Haim by his side. Along with their one child, a girl named Shivah, and the kings older sister, Yael. they are the only ones capable of creating magic wands in their country. Their spells range from a basic cooling spell for a nice breeze to a spell that purifies streams of oceans, rivers, lakes and sea water for everyday use - providing one of the most important and versatile of magic.
South of Ho’thaiya is the colorful and vibrant land of Buenet’a. Blossoming in all the hues of the rainbow; it is well known that anything that grows, grows from Buenet’a. Ruled by the loving Latin Queen Fluera who is just as gentle as the beauty she grows. Together with her two twin siblings, Cecil and Cecilia, and her uncle hector along with his family; wife Izzah and son Panoh. They are those who create all the magic wands in Buenet’a. With spells providing wind travel, food and vegetation growth, as well as spells of convenience - such as the Vine spell - which can can be used for latching onto items and pulling them closer, my personal favorite.
Finally to the East lies my home in the fiery desert island of Kol’dea. My name is Ferris and I am but just a minor squire lucky enough to serve my country. Also lucky enough to be best friends with the young prince, Aydenn, the future flame of Kol’dea. Along with his darling little sister, Noorah, who is exceptional in crafting spells - they work with their parents; the Aramaic royalty King Basil and Queen Maryam in wand crafting. Various fire wands include fireballs either for attacking or practical use like a campfire. Also heating spells come in different amounts of preferred heat perfected to a precise temperature per wand for cooking, boiling and baking needs.
There also is the retired old king Azzam who no longer crafts wands but instead he writes and reads the history of our world, living on top of Gehenna mountain. Even though he no longer makes the wands, he implemented the innovation of steam, combining a small amount of water spell with his fire. steam has become fundamental for all travel from ships to trains and propelled the importance of magic in our world.
Although we live in a world run by magic, nothing thrills me and Prince Aydeen more than a sparred sword fight, and today is my day to best him.
“Ferris, my good friend! Are you ready to lose another match or are you going to give me a challenge?” Aydeen unsheathing his sword, strolled confidently towards me, as if he had already won.
“My prince, I have much more than a challenge ready for you.” I too unsheathed my sword and pointed it towards him, “Prepare yourself!”
Both of us charged at each other with all our might. When I think I have found an opening, he blocks me and when he tries to hit me I parry him back. A few times we clash perfectly until we hold a stance. He pushes me away knocking me down. Before he can pin me while I’m down, I swoop him with a swift kick tripping him down as I hop up.
“Well Ferris, looks like today might actually be your day” he smirks
Ch.2 Natures Wrath
Around this time, in the continent of Buenet’a the queen offers prayers to the earth and nature deep inside of sanctus forrest.
“Divinus Misericordia Por dimittetur illi” she chants over and over as all around her white beautiful flowers sprout from the ground.
“Uncle, you can come out, I can feel you through the roots.” Queen Fluera says calmly
From behind bushes sure enough is her uncle Hector. “My dear sweet niece, I should know better than to try to sneak up on the queen of the forest within a forest. Forgive me I did not mean to startle you”
“No, you did not mean to startle me, so what brings you here in my private hour?” Still so calm as she speaks, the wind blows her thick black hair through dancing pedals around her and the sunlight streams in between the forest trees, illuminating the queen.
Her uncle nervous. Sweat dribbling down his head as he is fidgeting around within his coat pocket “Actually you see, I want to talk to you about making some moves. We are the weakest country my queen, the only thing that guards us are the trees and bushes themselves and they provide no strength.”
“Do not think so little of what nature itself can do, we are the healers of the earth and the artists of the lands.” She says turning to him
he walks towards her “If a revolt of the worlds were to happen…”
“If a revolt of the world happens? Uncle who do you think would be the one to start a revolt? The world is at peace, what is it that you want?” She handles him very sternly.
Taken aback hector explains “I want our country to be stronger for all of us. you and the twins are the only gift my poor dead sister left me, I want you all to thrive.”
“But that is not your true intention for this surprise meeting, is it? Uncle, since before my parents died 10 years ago you’ve only held hostility towards our family. The forests chose my mother to rule and they also chose me- I did not ask to be queen I was appointed queen but no matter your feelings, I forgive you. You should know though, I will not give up without a fight. I speak through the vines and roots of our earth. I hear the whispers between you and your wife. You wish to usurp me. Pull out your dagger so I can show you the true strength of nature! corrumpam vineam eius!!” the queen summons vines from under ground and grabs a hold of her uncle squeezing him so tight that his dagger drops.
His face turns blue barely holding on, when suddenly;
“Perrit con Ventus” disguising himself within the wind is Hectors son, Panoh. With one fell swipe he slits the beautiful queens throat.
Her vines loosen control of Hector as she falls to her knees. The forest illuminates and hugs her one last time as she whispers “impetus”
“Father, we must get out of her forest, its going to die and take us with it.” Panoh grabs his father as the run out of the forest. From every corner the forest is coming to attack the two traitors closing in on them.
At the edge of the forest Hectors wife, Izzah, waits with a fireball wand in hand from Kol’dea. Together with her wind magic she creates a flaming vortex, just barely making it through the vines Hector and Panoh run past Izzah and she sets the Forest ablaze. The three family members embrace as Hector begins laughing.
“I…AM…..KING!” He exalts as the forest burns down behind him.
Back at the Buenet’a castle Fluera’s younger siblings, Cecil and Cecilia, receive a message carried through the wind as they watch their families forest burn to the ground.
“Sister!” Cecilia begins sobbing and runs to her brothers arms.
“Cecilia, we have to get out of here, there is no time to grieve or we will be next to die.” Cecil says bravely holding tears back from his eyes as the two run into the shadows away from the kingdom that was once theres.
In town the Mad Uncle Hector arrives with his family as townsfolk gather around him. “Oh dear God, my beautiful niece, our queen murdered in her own sanctuary. It was those Aramaic Bastards, they destroyed all that we have”
“The queen is dead” “we were attacked by Kol’dea” “those fires starters killed our Queen” “what about the twins” the townsfolk murmured throughout.
Hector putting on his best show rallies “The twins disappeared, abandoning their people when they need them most. No, this is not right. I will lead you! let me be your king and I promise you we will bring revenge for our Queen”
The townsfolk all kneel down hailing their new king. As Hector turns away with a grin from ear to ear.
(Continued in first reply)
| 2018-05-02T19:56:51
| 2018-05-02T17:46:30
| 109
| 11
|
[WP] You woke up in a bedroom and found a modern silenced pistol and an envelope. Inside the envelope there's three photos and a letter. The letter writes "You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors."
|
Utopia is the idea that we can’t only make the world better, but perfect. Utopia is the thing that drives good men to do terrible things because they can’t imagine that they might be wrong. Utopia is the most horrifying idea in the world.
I wake up with a feeling of wrong-ness. Something deep inside me has become unhinged and I feel like I don’t belong here, maybe not even in this reality. There is dull pain in my skull and my ears are buzzing, but – I am alive. The room is small, clean, old-fashioned, with flowers on the windowsill, and I can move. That’s a step: I can move, so I have control. As long as there is some control, nothing is impossible.
The envelope on the nightstand is not sealed, just tucked shut. Curiously, I notice that before I see the gun next to it, maybe because I’m so used to being around weapons – it comes with the occupation. It’s a plain black Heckler & Koch, a forty-five with a detachable suppressor. I recognise the type: It used to be my to-go sidearm for most operations, back in the day.
I open the envelope and find the photographs. The letter explains they are Stalin, Trotsky and Hitler, but I recognise all three of them. I have paid attention in history and I also feel familiar with them. My emotions are hard to control at the moment, which makes the other part of the letter almost believable: It says I’m in Vienna, 1913 and that I have to kill the three men in order not to be erased from history. I feel so out of place here, I might as well have travelled in time – if not for the impossibility of that. The gun was made in the twenty-first century. But this room …
Utilitarianism is the notion that it is acceptable to destroy one world that suffers to create one that suffers less, or might. Whoever wants to blackmail me into being their assassin, they seem to believe their new world would be a better one if I erase the old one.
-
Adolf Hitler is sitting ten feet from me, reading a conversations lexicon and taking occasional notes. His handwriting is scribbly. I’m surprised how little attention he’s paying to the street café’s gorgeous blonde waitress, but that doesn’t really matter … The really important point is, he’s about to leave. I’ve adapted the speed of my coffee-drinking to his so I’ll pay right before him… And now, I’m able to follow him. He’s carrying the lexicon and his little notebook in one hand and even though I don’t see his face, he seems to be enjoying the sun.
He takes a right into an alley and I follow him – it’s fairly deserted. I could shoot him now, but I wait in a doorframe instead until the bespectacled man from the café shows up. He’s been watching me for the last hour and he’s admittedly not bad at appearing inconspicuous. Still … I step out of my hiding place, raise my pistol and pull the trigger.
A cornered animal acts on survival instinct, an older, more powerful force than any rationality or reason. That same certainty is what I feel.
-
“I have a few questions for you. You will answer all of them, of course. You may decide to try and not answer them, but that only means you’ll lose more fingers before you eventually talk. I can tell when you lie.” I tighten the strap around his left leg, even though the bullet has already smashed the kneecap, so he couldn’t escape even without it. The chair he’s tied to, the dimly lit basement room, it’s all mostly for show, just to demonstrate the situation he is in.
I pick up a bread knife. “This hurts way more than a sharp one, but it will do the job. Now it’s time to prove you like your fingers.”
He is rather well-trained. He loses a lot of fingers. He talks eventually. I leave his body in the basement – I have to move quickly, before they can prevent me from being born. He gave me names, a whole list. This is what my occupation always boils down to – a list of names.
-
I’m in Paris and a woman is begging for her life on an expensive carpet. I don’t tell her that the bullet in her guts is fatal, her body has just not gotten the message yet. Even while sobbing herself to death, she tries to reason with me, make me understand. “We can build a better world. We just take out the biggest monsters, then leave it to grow, like a gardener! Please …”
She keeps crying and her tears mix with blood on the carpet. Blood contains more salt than tears.
“You are not the people for that.” I reload my gun, far more slowly than usually. I had to shoot a large number of guards outside. “You think you’ll stop at changing that, but you won’t. You don’t want your hands dirty, so you attempt to blackmail me ... you are too incompetent even for that … And you would take responsibility for all human history.” I let the pistol slide snap back into place. “I won’t let you.”
Pragmatism is the idea that whether or not it actually works is the true test of any philosophy.
-
I’m sixty-nine years old and yet I won’t be born for another thirty-three years. The allied forces of the United States, Great Britain and France have just started airlifting supplies to West Berlin, as it should be, and my people have made sure nobody from the wrong time interferes. I’ve also replaced the expensive carpets and extensive decorations in the operations centre in Paris with more efficient, streamlined furniture.
I’ve put this off for too long, so I get the files I requested and carefully remove the three photographs. I type in the words on the typewriter, otherwise I might recognise my own handwriting. The agency that should have written these words no longer exists … But I have to make sure things happen as they should. The letter will be delivered and all other steps taken by my people when the right year comes; I’ll be dead by then. I write: “You are in Vienna, 1913. The pictures attached are Leon Trotsky, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler. Kill them or we will kill your ancestors.”
|
My heart froze as I read the letter. Whoever these people were they had made a terrible mistake! Out of all the people in the world... You see I vividly remember talking to my Grandmother about what she had done during the war for a history project at school. Needless to say, once she had told me, I had made up some stuff about her being a WREN, as the truth was messy - you see she was a high level intelligence officer for Her Majesties Secret Service, going undercover in Russia and Germany. Her job had been to seduce various high profile figures. And she was very good at her job. She told me there were three possible candidates for my grandfather, but couldn't tell me who it was. All I knew was that it was one of the three men I had been sent to kill.
I stared at the sheet of paper. Dammed if I do, Dammed if I don't. Finally I gave a wry smile, picked up the pistol and stepped into the sunshine. I would kill these three men one by one - at least then with a bit of luck I would find out the true identity of my grandfather before I had to kill him.
| 2015-04-25T11:22:40
| 2015-04-25T10:48:14
| 576
| 25
|
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100.
|
I was taken to the palace when I was 8 years old. That's the age everyone gets tested. Luck is always the last thing they check for. It's usually a stat no-one pays much mind to. One in ten-thousand people score above 55, so if it comes back higher than that it's noteworthy, but no-one expects it to. My older siblings were both gifted with intelligence, Tom with a 78 and Nora at a stunning 86. My whole extended family threw a huge party to celebrate Nora's results. Receiving a score above 80 in any stat is a virtual guarantee that person's life will be lived a cut above the rest. She was enrolled in the world's most prestigious university at the age of 11, and was offered full tenure as a physics professor just six years later.
There was no party thrown after my results came back. As it was, the results were all that came back. I was taken directly from the chair I was analyzed in, to the palace. Everyone that scores 100 on their luck stat is taken here. They calculate that one in a million people receive higher than an 80 in their luck stat. There are exactly 13 of us in the palace. Every person in the world known to have a 100 on their luck stat resides on this small swath of land in North Sumatra. We want for nothing, save freedom. The finest doctors in the world perform regular health examinations on each of us. Food from around the world is flown in daily, and is prepared by a rotating pantheon of chefs who consider it the pinnacle of their career to perform their craft for us. The latest in entertainment technology? No whim or desire expressed by one of our thirteen residents is ignored, and only one request will ever be denied.
Some of us live out our life in pure hedonism, taking full advantage of the fruits of other people's labor and talent. I can't truly blame them, being bereft of freedom tends to leave you with a grudge against your captors, no matter how gilded the cage. We're to be kept alive as long as possible though, so those who over-indulge find themselves on the receiving end of the world's most energetic life coaches.
Personally, I just want to be away from this place, but there's no escaping. It's not because of the lake we're surrounded by, or the guard towers and patrols that dot the landscape just beyond our view. Odds are good they'd never manage to catch us if we really wanted to avoid them. It's because of why we're here. We sit atop what geologists have identified as "the last great super volcano." It should have blown its top, and approximately 98% of humanity with it, over 300 years ago. Someone got the bright idea to relocate the world's luckiest inhabitants right on top of it, as a "hail Mary" attempt to prevent the end of the world. So far, it seems to have worked.
I live on the Toba caldera, along with the world's 12 "luckiest" people, and for everyone's sake I must never leave.
Edit: Wow! My first ever gilding, and then you guys made it twice as nice. Thank you!!!
I did not expect this kind of a reaction. I want to flesh this story out more, but I'm up at 3 am with my 4 month old son, so time is at a premium right now. If I'm able to do a part 2 I will update this thread.
Thank you all for your amazing feedback, support, and for just being awesome!
|
Luck governs our lives more than most care to admit. Those born with high luck scores become world leaders, wealthy, and succeed where others fail. Those born with lower scores often lead unlucky lives and often fall victim to unfortunate accidents.
Me I was one of the luckest of all, a 100, from a young age everyone knew I was destined for greatness. One teacher in school said I might me the next president, another the next Bill Gates. However I was always a risk taker and loved pushing my luck to its limits. When I was 16 I robbed my first bank, the vault door was left wide open, the security camera's out from a freak outage. It was a thrill to temp fate. Over the years I used my luck to make bank, I could enter the most secure places and make off like a king.
That is until one day the impossible happened, I got unlucky, caught red handed with the Crown Jewels of England. I was tried and sentenced to life in a maximum security prison. Though this too thrilled me, as a prison break may be the most challenging task yet to press my high luck. Only when the guard locked me in my cell, what I saw was impossible. All the other inmates in my block all had luck scores of 100 just like myself. No matter what I tried my luck failed me, no open doors, no power outages, no holes in security opening up for me to exploit.
I learned from my cell mates that my story was theirs, they lived a life of improbable luck until one unlucky day they ended up here. Nothing anyone tried could free them from this prison. This place was built so that nothing could get out.
However what I failed to understand at the time is that we where the lucky ones, nothing could get out of this place, but that also meant nothing could get in. Outside our iron corner of the world things where falling apart. Talks where breaking down and war was on the horizon, soon everything would be destroyed. Except for the most fortified places on this Earth, like say a maximum security prison.
| 2018-06-29T11:02:12
| 2018-06-29T10:05:15
| 11,893
| 308
|
[WP] Make me relate to the main character and then completely despise him/her just with the last sentence
|
He loved her. He told her every day that he would do anything for her. He promised that he would never hurt her. He thought he could keep her safe.
The day they took her was the worst of his life. His eyes filled with tears as his door was broken down and she was taken away screaming.
He was arrested and charged. In the bedroom, the police found pictures of the two having sex. He remembered the day he brought that camera home. She was so excited. She wanted to pose for pictures as soon as she unwrapped the package. It took little convincing to get her to pose provocatively.
His family watched the trial in disbelief, unable to believe what was unfolding before their eyes. How could this be happening? Where did they go wrong? Was it even true? They had no idea what to believe, but they told their son they would always love him, no matter what happened.
He felt helpless. What had he done wrong? He had often hoped that future generations would not have to deal with the stigma that his love carried, but he could not think of the future now. He was painfully stuck in the present, unable to come to terms with why his actions had resulted in his incarceration.
He had no way to contact her. He was forbidden from writing or phoning her. He knew even if he was able to get a message out it would be intercepted by her parents. They hated him more than anyone.
He dreampt about her every night and hoped that one day they would be back together. He was weak and could barely lift his head, but on her birthday he asked a guard if he knew how she was doing.
The guard hesitated. He knew he should not give the man any information, but he had seen the way the other inmates treated the defeated prisoner and he had a moment of pity.
"She's doing fine," said the guard.
"Did she get a birthday cake? She loves cake."
"Yes," the guard said. "Her family got her a cake. They said she was even able to blow out all five candles at once."
|
I met her on the subway. Well, I didn't meet her on the subway, but that's where I first saw her. Brown hair, nose in a book.
Subway riders learn to look aloof, detached, as if a mariachi band, a faith healer and a group of break dancers could all enter the car simultaneously and they wouldn't be bothered in the slightest. Most riders' aloofness has a nasty edge to it, right around the eyes. A meanness and a darkness.
But her look was different. She was floating, as foam floats atop a roiling sea. She looked at peace, with her book, and content.
I saw her a handful of times before I worked up the nerve to talk to her. I've never been good at breaking the ice. But, somehow, I managed to blurt out a few syllables that, evidently, weren't the absolute worst.
We meet up for coffee. She was quick to laugh, and she'd twirl her hair with her fingers when she was lost in thought - not in a ditzy way - but contemplatively. I felt at ease around her.
After coffee, we took a long walk through a nearby park. Spring had sprung, and the air was thick with life. I was struck with a sneezing fit. What seemed like gallons of mucous was streaming out of my nose. It could have been mortifying, but she saved me. She rubbed my back, cracked a silly joke that I can't remember and then laughed impossibly hard at herself.
We saw each other three more times that week. On the third date, after dinner, I invited her back to my apartment. She said yes.
She was sitting in my ratty, over-sized armchair that I'd had since college, lost in thought, staring out the window into the dark night. She was beautiful. I told her so. She blushed and looked at her hands.
We made love that night. It was gentle yet passionate, forceful yet caring. It was everything. It was a whole world.
She left in the morning for work. I rolled over to what had been her side of the bed and smelled her pillow. I could still smell her hair, and the faintest whiff of he perfume. I breathed in deeply.
And that's when the guilt hit me. I don't know why I'm like this. I don't know why I keep doing this. Why I'm such a coward. Why I can't ever tell them I'm HIV positive.
| 2014-05-12T19:20:09
| 2014-05-12T19:04:07
| 16
| 10
|
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends their Christmas list to Satan, surprisingly they get what they wanted but there is a catch.
|
*BEEP!*
"Hello, and thank you for calling the law offices of Abbadon, Baphomet, 'His Dark and Unholy Eminence, the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies and Lord of Darkness', and Ghandi. Please pay attention as our menu options have changed."
"Of course they have," muttered Santa. He absentmindedly twirled a pen between his fingers, leaning back in the large leather chair behind the hand-carved Douglas Fir desk.
"If you would like to make a complaint, please press 1, hang up, and end your life in a convenient but timely manner. A representative will respond to your complaint or complaints personally."
"If you would like to speak to a loved one, please press 2, and listen for the beep. Please clearly state the name and date of death of your loved one, at which point our switchboard operators will connect you to their personal torture chamber."
Tap tap tap tap tap. How many damn options do they have? thought Santa, tapping the end of his pen in irritation. Computers. A low, humorless laugh escaped his lips. Hell pioneered voice automation menus way back in the early 1900's, and Saint Nicholas hated them as much then as he hated them now.
"If you would like to beg mercy from a god or gods, please press 3 and wait for the beep. Please be patient, as it is most likely your god or gods have abandoned you."
"If you'd like to speak to sort-of-a-person, please press 4 and hold for the next available slot."
Santa pressed 4 as the office door swung open, creaking loudly on its hinges. A bespectacled face appeared from behind it, and the scent of cookies and candy canes drifted into the room. "Are you *still* on the telephone, Nicholas?" asked Ms. Claus incredulously. "I've almost finished making dinner, you've been in here for an hour!"
Santa banged his fist on the table, knocking over several picture frames and an empty mug of caffeinated cocoa. "I've called four times dear, and I haven't been able to get through. Must have taken my number off the executive clearance list, the bastard!"
"Oh Nick," admonished his wife. "Stop that, what if the elves hear?"
Santa rolled his eyes. "Maybe they'll pay a little more attention to what letters they collect on their weekly pickups. This whole mess is their fault." Grumbling, he stood to adjust the red and green suspenders connected to the large black belt stretched across his ample belly.
"Mistakes happen Nicholas, don't be so negative. I seem to remember a few nights that somebody left all of Europe sitting on the floor of the garage, hmm?"
"First of all," began Santa, "it wasn't 'all of Europe', it was the Ukraine, Belarus, and Scandinavia. And I made it in more than enough time since I got to cut out most of China after that government disbelief campaign."
His wife shook her head. "Those poor dears. At least they get to make their own gifts in those workshops you always tell me about."
"Ah. Yes, the workshops. Those children sure do make a lot of toys, that they do."
Ms. Claus smiled, "that is so sweet of-." She was interrupted by a loud click, followed by gruff voice.
"Mr. Claus?"
"Yes."
"Thank you for waiting sir, I do apologize for the mix-up. We've just updated our system and some of the information hasn't been switched over yet."
"Alright, look, I need to speak with him immediately."
"Yes sir, he's just getting off a call with the Pope, I'll connect you in just a moment."
A few minutes later, Santa heard the familiar jovial voice through his earpiece. "Santa baby! How are we my man, it's been too long!"
"I'd be a lot better if you hadn't taken my mail, your Unholiness."
There was a dramatic sigh. "So formal, Nicky, what happened? We used to be buddies, pals, amigos! Nick and Nicky!"
Santa pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, Scratch, you know I could care less what you do with your business. I'm not one to judge a man on what is and isn't torture and what is and isn't slave labor. But when you go and do something like this bit with the letter, it makes my job ten times more difficult."
"Now Nicky, that letter, I'm assuming you're talking about the Ketterman boy, yes? That letter was *clearly* addressed to me. Your boys didn't pick it up, so I don't believe I have any fault in this matter whatsoever."
"You sent the boy a .32 Winchester."
"He asked for a toy gun."
"And a grey wolf who clearly hadn't eaten in weeks."
"He was young, so its technically still a puppy."
"And a dead body."
"Hey, he specifically asked for a skateboard! He didn't specify one whether or not he wanted a skateboarder with it. Besides, I assumed that box wasn't airtight when we shipped it."
"Scratch, you can't be doing this. Not on Christmas morning, and not wrapped in presents. It makes me look bad, and I'm losing enough households as it is."
Satan let out an exasperated groan. "You're breaking my balls Nicky, you're breaking my balls." After a few moments, he spoke again. "Just because it's you, I'll take care of it. I've been driving a homeless man in that county into insanity, I'll just have him deliver a few other presents after Christmas, pile up a few more bodies, and get any level of suspicion off you."
Santa let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Scratch, I really-"
"IF," said the Devil, "you promise to finally come to the Easter barbecue. I've invited your for three centuries and you haven't come once."
"Fine. If you don't take my letters, I'll come to your stupid barbecue."
"Splendid! You'll love it, the honey-glazed whale ribs are to *die* for."
"Sounds delcious. Look Scratch, I really need to get back to work, I've only got a few weeks left."
"Of course! Go go go, you're a man with a mission. I'll send your invitation in the mail!" The Lord of Darkness let out a giggle. "And don't worry, I won't let little Thomas address it. Not that he could anyway, sort of tough for him to grip a pen..."
"Ok, take care. Goodbye." Santa hung up the phone. He sat quietly for a moment, then stood and started towards the sound of pots and pans clanking about. "Hey Honey?" he called, closing his office door behind him. "We're gonna have to actually go to that barbecue for once."
|
**Sorry for my English. I'm burned out but couldn't resist.**
In a sleepy town on a Spring night, an eight year-old boy named Chalrie is being driven by his mom, Summer to an after-school club. On the way he explains to his mom about how in school his teacher asked him to think about what it was he wanted the most in this world for Christmas. His mom, in the light of conversation asks, "Well, what did you say." "I want a sister", he replies. Summers face lights up and she laughs out loud.
They arrive at Charlie' school, she kisses him on the cheek, tells him to say hi to his teacher for her and assure him that she will pick him up in two hours. Charlie walks into his school and walks through the corridor to a classroom where his classmates are.
Two hours pass and his mother looking rather rushed picks is waiting outside in her car. Charlie walks up to the car and opens the door. "Are you okay, mommy?" , Charlie asks. "Oh, yes. Just lost track of time, sweetheart." Summer starts the car and they drive towards home. Summer looks into her rearview mirror and says in a premeditating way "maybe you should write Santa Claus a letter". Charlie nods in agreement.
When they get home, Summer sits Charlie on the table and hands him crayons and paper and tells him that she will post it to Santa Claus when she gets the chance. He pulls his chair in and begins to write:
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*"Dear Satan Claws,*
*My name is chalrie and I'm eight.*
*For Christmas what I would like more than anything is a sister.*
*Thnaks,*
*Charle.*"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He folds his letter over and pushes himself away from the table. At that instant, his father, Gerald walks in through the front door. "Sorry I'm late guys, the office had me working late again. Summer walks into the front room from preparing food in the kitchen. "Oh no problem, hun. We just got back ourselves really."
Gerald walks into the living room where Charlie is stood waiting for his dad to notice his presence. Gerald falls into a blob on the couch, his face tired from the day. Charlie gets his letter to Satan Claws and Gerald bursts out laughing but manages to compose himself quickly. "Your mom ask you to do this?" Gerald asks. "Yes but we were doing it in school as well." Gerald hands him back the letter and pats him on the head before pulling himself out of the couch to walk into the kitchen.
Later that night when Charlie is falling asleep but something in the deep recesses of his mind that something is terribly wrong. He sheds a tear before falling asleep. The next day when he is having breakfast prepared he tells Summer of his thoughts. She shrugs her shoulders and tell him that "everything will be okay, you don't have to worry. I'm here to protect you." Charlie feeling assured wipes his tears and tucks into his breakfast.
**In the interest of the narrative, we're going to jump into the future. The date is now the 7th December.**
Summer, who by this time is heavily pregnant is looking through the fridge for something to eats starts to feel sharp pains in her belly- It must be the baby. She runs to the phone to call Gerald. "Gerald. It's happening." as she's rushing out gargled words Gerald is trying to assure her he'll be there but she should phone an ambulance. Summer hangs up and dials '911'. She asks for an ambulance because she's pregnant but something doesn't feel right. The Operator is telling her that one will be with her shortly.
The colour drains on her face sending her a pale white. She drops the phone and her body shortly follows. Charlie enters from the living room to see his mom on the floor, he can still hear the operator talking down the phone and picks up the receiver. "Hello? My mommy is on the floor asleep" he says to the operator holding back the tears. The operator is now asking Charlie a series of questions but assuring him that everything is going to be fine.
Sirens are heard in the road and is shortly followed by a rapid knock on the door. Charlie runs to the front door to be greeted by two EMT's who quickly attend to Summer. They put her onto the stretcher to take her to hospital and also ask Charlie to come with them since there was no other person around. Charlie agrees and is sitting in the back of the ambulance. He doesn't understand everything the EMT is saying but key words such as 'Rush', 'ICU' and "Blood". Charlie manages to fight the fear and tears knowing that the EMT's attention is better directed at his mom.
They arrive at the hospital and Charlie is shown his dad who has just arrived himself. "Are you okay?", Gerald asks. Silence. Well would you like a drink? I'm going to the cafè and then speaking to the doctor." Silence still. Gerald walks over to a row of seats in the waiting room and watches the newscast from the TV.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Did you know that one thousand six hundred and thirty four people died on Christmas and Boxing Day? The mystery of the nation's deadliest year coming up.*
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**Again, in the interest of the story we're jumping forward in time to 8 hours later.**
Charlie awakens to the light of day and the noise of telephones going off. He looks over to his left and sees his father sitting hunched over, holding his head in his hands. Charlie taps him and Gerald jumps. Gerald wipes his face and says, "Hey, you're awake. Did you have a good sleep?" Charlie hams under his breath but before words could come out his mouth, his father interrupts- "Last night your mother passed away, I'm so sorry Charlie." Charlie starts weeping and asks what of his sister. Gerald shakes his head and begins crying, heavier. Gerald holds his son as tight as he can, hoping to squash the pain out but to no avail. Their tears still flowing.
**In the interest of the narrative, we're jumping ahead in time to exactly a year later. In this time, Charlie has come to terms somewhat with the death of his mother. Gerald quickly moved on and found a lady who has a daughter. She is younger than Charlie.**
In a sleepy town on a Spring night, a nine year-old boy named Chalrie is sitting in front of a widescreen television. He's watching 'A Christmas Carol' with his younger sister, April. Gerald walks in and sits on the sofa behind the kids. "You guys okay?". "Yeeeaahhhhhhh" replies April not really listening to him. Charlie stands up and walks over to his dad and says, "Did mommy have to die so that I could have April?" Gerald smile turns and grabs Charlie's arm. He looks into his eyes and says "Well, God always has a plan and a reason." They both cry as the old wound hurts once more. Softly, into each other's arms until they fell asleep.
| 2015-11-19T10:48:53
| 2015-11-19T10:38:26
| 186
| 21
|
[WP] You are the king, after your daughter was kidnapped by a dragon you offered the standard reward to whoever rescued her. You weren't expecting a different dragon to rescue her.
Wow! I didn't think this would blow up like it did! Thank you all so much for all your stories. I haven't commented on all of them but they are all fantastic!
|
I was bouncing with excitement in my throne. Not only had my daughter been rescued from the dragon, but she also was rescued by one of her brave friends the same age as her! This would be a marriage that would go along very well.
One of my servants ran up to me. “Sir Grol, your daughter is back! And with her um.....savior...”
“Wonderful! Bring them both in! I want to meet this young stranger.” The servant saluted, and walked out of the room. I wondered who this brave lad would be. At such a young age, slaying a dragon? Perhaps the son of a knight. Or a wizard? Whatever it was, I was sure they’re very good.
Princess Diana walked into the room, still in her silver dress she was wearing a week ago. “Father!” She ran up to him, and hopped in my arms. I was overcome with joy, and hugged her tightly.
“Oh my daughter, I’m so glad you’re safe!”
“I’m perfectly fine Father! My friend saved me, and I’m so happy!”
“I’ve heard the wonderful news! Now where is he? I MUST meet him!”
Diana nodded, and ran back out of the room. She grabbed someone by the hand, and walked in with him. I sat up, and looked in wonder at the boy she was bringing in and...
Why it was just another dragon! A short one, the size of Diana. He was green, slightly chubby, with wings and a long head. He seemed to be a little shy, I could tell somehow. My smile dropped, and he slumped back into his chair.
The dragon eyed me, and bowed. “Hi your majesty. Sorry about keeping you waiting.”
I was confused. “Um...It’s no trouble. Diana, this is the boy who saved you?”
“He sure is! He’s amazing!” Diana hugged the dragon, and he blushed deeply.
“A young dragon.....slayed another dragon?......”
The dragon put his hands up to cut me off. “Oh no no no no no. That’s not what happened really. It’s a bit of a long story.”
“Well tell me then!”
The dragon cleared his throat, and coughed a bit. “Well, the dragon that you thought had ‘kidnapped’ her, was actually my mom. We were inviting Diana over to our mountain home for a play date!”
A....play date? I didn’t understand at all.
“We were playing at my place for a while, when Dad took us on a trip to the woods. We were walking around, and then we got separated. We got lost for a few days.
“The Woods were really scary father, but Owen found food!”
“We were lost for a few days, but Dad found us later, and flew us home. Then we ran into some issues at home, and here we are.” He was silent for a bit, so that was probably the end of the story.
Now it’s time for my problems with this. “I....I don’t understand. The townsfolk said they saw her being carried off by a dragon and screaming!”
Diana interjected, “That’s because it was really scary way up high! I was grabbing Owen the entire time.” Owen(the dragon I assumed) scratched the back of his head and chuckled.
“But if it was just a play date, why didn’t you just tell me?”
“I told Ms. Agatha. She said she was going to tell you!”
Oh....I sent her on vacation the same day. “But you said he ‘saved you.’ What did you mean by that?”
“Oh, oh yeah! While we were in the forest, we got stuck in a cave, surrounded by wolves! Owen scared them away with his fire, and flew us out!”
This was making even less sense every second.
“Ooh, and and! He saved me from a giant group of evil knights! When we got back, there were a lot of knights there! They were shouting and grabbing and pulling me, and Owen pulled me out of there, and saved me again! And then Mr. Dragon ate all of them! It was just the best week ever!”
This was twisting my entire mind. I thought my daughter had been tortured by an evil fire-breathing menace, when she was actually playing in the woods with a dragon boy. “W-Well.....As is tradition, saving the princess allows the boy to marry the princess. And you technically did save her, so therefore, you will marry the princess.”
Owen blushed again, while Diana was bouncing. “Yay!” She hugged him, and his entire face turned red.
“But given that both of you are seven, that might be a while.”
“Oh that’s ok! We can plan the perfect wedding in the mean time! Come on!” She dragged him out of the room.
Well, I’m gonna have to get used to a dragon son-in-law. This is gonna be interesting.
_____________
Feedback is appreciated! I hope you like my take on it.
Also if you guys want, I’ll do a part 2 with the king meeting the dragon parents.
|
The squeak of the hinge echoed through the empty throne room. Sir Hoge stuck his head in. King Thrussa raised his doleful eyes to take in the nervous expression of the aging knight. A twinge of irritation began in his bossom, nearly quashed by the sorrow that smothered him. He was known for his fiery temper, his booming voice, but when be spoke today it was scarcely above a whisper. "I gave orders not to be disturbed until Minerva is returned."
Sir Hoge swallowed and fully entered the room. His armor rattled as he stood, and the knights mouth worked silently a few times before he managed to speak. "That's just it, your majesty. Minerva is back, safe and sound."
The king blinked, as his vision had gone blurry again. Had he heard that right? Where were the trumpets? Where were the jesters and the tumblers and the scribes to record this momentous occasion? He had expected the doors to be flung open, heralds to proclaim Minerva's return, laughing and dancing and celebration and a feast that would be remembered for decades. Instead he looked down on his most loyal knight, his most stalwart friend who stood silent, trembling before him. "Where is she?"
Sir Hoge swallowed again. "She is in the courtyard, sire, with her erm... rescuer."
The king leapt to his feet. Was it true? Minerva was back in the castle? His pride and joy returned to him? He barked a laugh. "Why, then I shall go to her!" He fought hard to keep his pace at a brisk walk. He felt like running down the halls! No, he felt like skipping down the halls! "Her rescuer, what sort of man is he?"
Sir Hoge walked briskly beside the king. "It was not a man, majesty."
"Ha! I care not, the reward will be as promised. Minerva's hand in marriage if she accepts, and a title and lands if she doesn't. I care not that her rescuer is a woman. Minerva can have her or not as she desires. A woman knight married to my daughter! I'll be the talk of the continent! And you know I've always been progressive."
"Well, yes, sire, equal pay for women and outlawing slavery is one thing but..." he had to hurry to keep pace with the king, who had broken into a jog as he rounded the last corner before the courtyard. His voice was loud as he called after the king "your majesty, please stop!" But the words were ignored, and the door to the courtyard burst open.
And what a fitting day it was! The air was warm on Thrussa's skin as the spring sunlight hit him. The trees in the orchard were in bloom, their white flowers fluttering in the gentle breeze. The sky clear, the mountains in the distance capped with snow that had yet to melt. "Minerva!" He called, for he did not see her in the expansive garden.
A weight hit him from the side and he felt the familiar embrace of his daughter. He turned and held her close, smelled her familiar perfume. He realized he was weeping, weeping for all the world to see and realized that he didn't care. His child was returned to him! What worry could he possibly have? Today would be a holiday, he decided. He would feast the country! He would not even collect taxes this year! What did he care for gold when all that he treasured was here in his arms.
With effort he ended the embrace and held her at arm's length. Despite the weeks in captivity she was more beautiful than ever. Clean, in a flowing gown of green silk. "Are you hurt? Are you starved? Oh, precious child why did you stop to bathe and dress? I have been waiting for you!"
Minerva beamed up at him, her smile brighter than the dawn. "No father, I am not hurt, I am not starved."
"Ah! Traveling incognito! That knight who rescued you clearly wanted to keep your identity a secret. Of course you would be bathed and well dressed, lest the common folk think you some beggar and throw you out. Pah, try as I might I can never get the common folk to treat the poor with any respect. But that doesn't matter right now, as you are returned from that horrible creature's lair!" At this she winced a bit. "Ah, I did not mean to upset you, Minerva. I should not speak of those difficult times, lest I awaken your memory of them. What of your rescuer?"
Minerva bit her lip and blushed. "I am... quite smitten, father."
"Terrific! I cannot wait to meet him." Minerva made a noise. "About that..." She began. "Daddy? Do you promise you won't be mad?"
He had thought his heart could not soften any further, but Thrussa felt himself soften nonetheless. "That's right! My dear, you know how progressive I am. I care not if your rescuer is a woman, you can wed her if you choose!"
"Oh." Minerva said. "Ha ha ha ha." She said as her expression shifted from nervous to anxious. "About that... perhaps it would be easier to show you than to explain. I'm not sure if you're that progressive."
"What, is she black? You know I don't care about race."
"Well..." Minerva began, leading him through the courtyard. "You might." She stopped, "daddy, I need you to promise you won't be mad. My rescuer is right around the corner."
"Very well! Let's meet her!" But she put a hand on his chest.
"I need you to promise, daddy." Her tone between a command and a plea, the fear in her eyes, calling him daddy.
"Very well, I promise I won't be mad."
| 2018-02-23T14:08:39
| 2018-02-23T12:49:54
| 54
| 20
|
[WP] A group of friends are sitting around playing the drinking game, "Never Have I Ever." One person jokingly starts, "Never have I ever..." and then finishes with something horrific to elicit a laugh. The mood changes when someone takes a drink. What did the person say, and who took the drink?
For those who don't know, the game is played by one person saying, "Never have I ever..." and then finishing with an action, e.g. "Never have I ever had sex." Then if you've done that, you would take a drink. If you haven't, you don't drink.
|
The six of them sat around the table in the tiny cabin on Steven's houseboat. Smoke from the few cigarettes still lit added a tiny, intimate haze to the room. The friends were several rounds deep into the game, and empty bottles and cans took up most of the elbow room. Angie was just wrapping up her story.
"...so, seriously, no bullshit, I haven't ever done that," she said with an embarassed smile, ending a tale of how her last relationship ended. "And still haven't!"
Janet put her her hand over her face in sympathetic shame from her place leaned up against Steven. They had just recently become a couple, Janet finally acceding to Steven's persistence. Steven took a drag off his cigarette and leaned his perfectly coiffed head back to blow the smoke in the general direction of the open window. "Wow, we're just learning all kinds of things about each other tonight," he said with a shit-eating grin. That got a laugh from some and a chuckle from the rest.
"Ok, my turn," Steven said, making sure not to get ash on his white wool sweater.
"Never have I ever..." he leaned forward dramatically. "...killed a man."
There was a slight pause, and then everyone started laughing. No one touched a beer. Janet gave Steven a good-natured elbow to the ribs for being so crass.
"Whoa, Nate, what's wrong?" Angie asked, suddenly. "You ok?"
"Hey yeah, what's up dude?" James asked from Angie's right. One by one, all eyes turned to Nate.
Nate sat hunched over, slowly rotating his beer bottle in his hands. Tears streamed down his face. The mood in the room changed to one of confusion and concern.
Nate, not saying anything, took a drink.
"I killed her," he said, his voice thick. "I killed Cherise."
Angie's face crumpled in pity. "Nate, no," she said. "You can't blame yourself for--"
"I killed her," Nate interuppted.
"Nate, you found her though," Janet chimed in. "You cut her down."
"I cut her down," Nate agreed. "I also strung her up."
Silence and shock reigned over the table.
Nate leaned back, flipping his stringy hair away from his face. He sniffed once, as tears continued to roll to his stubbled jawline.
"She was pregnant, you know?" he bagan. "We were so happy. I was so happy... here is my love, my child... everything was perfect, you know? Until..." he paused, and hunched back over the table.
"Before she died..." he stopped himself. "Before I killed her... I came home from work the night she died. We had just found out, I think she was at 10 weeks or so maybe? I walked in and she was sitting there on the couch, watching Good Housewives or whatever. God, I can't remember. I dropped my coat and asked her how she was, but she was so quiet, you know? She wouldn't say anything." Janet and Angie exchanged a confused look. James cocked his head, and Steven just stared. Nate continued.
"I sat down next to her and said, what's wrong?" Nate said, losing himself in the memory. "Baby, talk to me. I tried to take her hand and she pulled away. I said--" he snorted derisively. "I said, how's the baby?"
"She had just gotten back from a trip. She had gone out of town. Just for three days, visiting family, she said. She. Said..." Nate choked.
"The baby was... gone. She hadn't gone to see family. She had gone to Houston, to a clinic." Nate said. "She had gotten an abortion."
Angie's hand flew to her open mouth. Janet's jaw dropped as well. James furrowed his brow and grabbed his chin pensively. Steven just stared.
"She didn't want to have it anymore," Nate said. "She said her plans changed. She was scared... It was her body, her life that was being put on hold. She didn't tell me because... She didn't want me to talk her out of it."
Nate sobbed, once. "So I killed her. I don't know what happened... Everything turned red, and when I came out of it... my hands were still around her throat, and she wasn't breathing anymore. I panicked, I freaked out. I dragged her into the bathroom and I grabbed a towel... and I strung her up. It was a suicide, remember?"
Angie was openly crying, now. Janet was still in gape-mouthed shock. James was still furrowed, and Steven still stared.
"The cops bought it all," Nate said. The tears came more freely now, at the end.
"They even consoled me while the paramedics wheeled her out. Her family, her parents comforted me at her funeral. But it wasn't Cherise I was crying for. Not at all."
Nate stood, and finished his beer in a strong gulp.
"My son's name was Tanner Evan," Nate said, and walked out of the room.
|
A group of freshman college students get the bright idea to play never have I ever.
Already three sheets to the wind, it probably wasnt a good idea.
But they went ahead with it anyway.
Becky starts first "never have I ever, made out with a women"
One of the girls drinks, they all hoot and hollar at her, all the guys drink. Except one, Johnny Plainhuman.
They all look a little puzzled. That question wasn't suppose to embarrass anyone that badly, but this goes hand and hand with never have I ever.
Its now kyles turn, "never have I ever wet my bed while someone else is in it"
One of the guys (Ed) drinks, kyle laughs at him, he knew the story, he knew he'd have to drink.
"Yeah well never have I ever, been forver alone, now drink kyle you bitch"
They all laughed, but again, Johnny took a drink.
They felt bad.
In an attempt to end the tension, susie shouts out "never have I ever weighed over 300 pounds" she thought a ridiculous question would reduce some of the tension, susie is renowned for her inability to be funny.
Once again Johnny drank.
Now they were all confused.
"Never have I ever been naked for more than a day"
Johnny drank.
They were stunned, and a bit intrigued, the game turned into finding out about Johnny.
"Never have I ever, been unemployed for more than a year as an adult"
Johnny drank
"3 years?"
Johnny drank
What the hell, who is this guy?
"Never have i ever been homeless"
Johnny drank
"Never have I ever had a job"
They all drink, Johnny doesn't
"Never have I ever, lived with my parents"
They all drink, Johnny doesnt.
"Never have I ever known my parents"
"Never have I ever been alone"
"Never have I ever gone to school"
Johnny drank at the most depressing things, its as if he didnt experience anything thay makes us human.
They ask question after question, Johnny drank and drank, they were completely dumbfounded by him. How could this happen?
Kyle however started to wonder how it is he was still able to drink, how can anyone still be coherent after that amount of alcohol, I mean he is big, really, really big, now that he thinks about it, Johnny towered above all them, he was enormous. And come to think of it, didnt look much like us, and thats when he realized, Johnny was actually a giant crustacean from the Paleolithic Era.
| 2015-08-02T00:28:48
| 2015-08-01T23:36:49
| 31
| 14
|
[WP] Eye colour means everything here. Brown control the earth, blue controls the water, white controls the sky. There are so many colours and each important but you were the first born with yellow eyes.
|
In a life lived as a pariah and outcast, she was the only one. People had feared him when he was younger, for he was an unknown. It was common knowledge to not anger someone with blue eyes near the ocean or to buy your vegetables from a farmer with green eyes. However, nobody knew what to make of his yellow eyes.
Over time, as the doctors ran their tests, people changed from fear to disgust as it became apparent his eyes could not do anything. Only she accepted him for who he was.
As he held her in his arms, shattered glass from the automobile surrounding them, he wept. Her brown eyes had already lost their focus and the hand he held was limp. "Please..." He cried. "Please come back, please don't die."
Suddenly, her hand grabbed his.
|
My dad supposedly fainted when I opened my eyes, right after birth, and peered at him curiously. My mom sobbed into her pillow, believing I’d never make it in life. My eyes were a molten gold, the yellow shade just as the sun began to set, or so poets have written so far. It’s been over 20 years since I gained control of my powers, amazed my friends, and shamed my family for dumping me in the orphanage. It took 5 years to track them down and show them they were wrong.
Most of my friends screamed with joy when they could finally control their abilities over the earth, the seas, or the skies. I could only watch and clap reluctantly as I came closer to the conclusion that I was a fluke. They never helped either, considering they tormented me and tried to bury and drown and strangle me a few times.
My first hint of the abilities came in 2nd grade. We, the orphanage children, attended a nearby public school and ate all our meals there. I decided one day at the mystery meat was not supposed to be a mystery, and being my temperamental self, exploded on the poor lunch staff who tried to explain it was called mystery meat.
Instead of placing her hand on my shoulder, she grasped at air and suddenly noticed that there were more copies of me than there were other children. She yelled, and I stopped out of fear of punishment.
The second incident involved the girls’ bathroom, Susanna screaming, and me getting ratted out to the principal’s office. I didn’t know any better than to illuse spiders in the bathroom, they thought, and let me off easy.
I think that’s the beginning of this ‘criminal’ streak, Officer. Do I need to go on?
You want me to list all of my actions to confirm them? And explain my ability? Yeesh, you’re asking a lot for a dude on your Xeram. That’s some pretty strong stuff.
Okay, okay. Crimes: detaining authority by casting illusion they were in a mushroom field after I caused a fire in the elementary school. Finding my birth family and traumatizing them into believing I was the next prophet. Starting a cult with them as my ‘priests’ and ‘suggesting’ they should dump the fairy juice on themselves and light incense so God would come to see them in person. It was gasoline and matches, if you’re wondering. I started a fake drug business where I gave my customers pixie sticks and illused them some LSD trips. That was pretty funny, the dumb people that they were. My second favorite one was when I convinced the governor to give me access to Riemon Enterprises and sat there watching while I transferred their overflow value into my bank account. I used the money for charity, of course! I burned down that shitty bar downtown that spiked drinks and wired the funds to my old orphanage. They really need new carpet. I lost count of the homicides, Officer, but little Miss Mary was the queen of the underground sex trade around here. Bachelorette couldn’t have enough fun on her own, huh. I burned down Montiago, yea, but they were pretty shitty to their staff.
Is that enough? Oh right, you wanted powers.
Illusions in all senses. Listed: Visual, auditory, olfactory, gustatory, the works. Mind reading is a bit over hyped, seeing I can only sense emotions and thoughts of the moment. Some telekinetic abilities, not much more than I can lift, which is helluva. Remember when I flipped your car from the other road? That was pretty fun. I think that’ll be all, sir. Can I go to my cell now?
| 2016-08-08T11:37:11
| 2016-08-08T11:17:29
| 32
| 20
|
[WP] Turns out, aliens aren't made of cells, they're one single thing that seems similar to a cell, but is much, much larger and more advanced biologically. They see us as hive-mind abominations, with our trillions of cells.
|
What horrible little addicts they are, all of them. The amalgamations: Slavers! Their greatest sin these endosymbionts and their pacts. “Cells” they call themselves. As if their existence were a prison! They’ve allied with the absolute worst of the worst. Those spinning, whirring, evil little machines. Mitochondria. Once like us, pure and wholesome, now entirely unlike their autotrophic cousins. They are consumers of the worst kind, wound up like horrible spinning tops, their proteins endlessly spewing out tenuous energies, eating away at the evil twin drugs, oxygen and entropy. Their gods.
The Eukaryotes made a terrible pact with them millenia ago. Shelter, warmth, food, taxis, all in exchange for that evil process to tame the oxygen. Oxygen! The destroyer of worlds. Leveler of cities. It rots and rusts and invades everything it comes in contact with, and these mad little beasts sought to control it. Fools! Sinners! They devour the beast in their little engines and spew forth its most radical species. All for what? ATP? Energy? For that hubris, a laud moaning wail in the face of Entropy. They don’t realize their worship. They don’t realize with every “breath” they bring Him closer to us, -- to rob us of our structure and our purpose. The Eukaryotes grew fat and addicted from their bastardization. They took in the little beings, our ancestors, absorbed them millenia ago and fused and hammered and whipped them into the abominations they are today.
This was only the beginning. They took this newfound power, this well of energy stolen from Entropy himself, bargained for in a fleeting dream, and they enslaved another. They call them, chloroplasts. “Green Forms” their very names, robbing them. Their very identities a commodity now. Subjection and oppression their prime directive. It wasn’t enough to merely consume chemical energy, they hungered for more, for light. They dangled the pact in front of them again.
“Look at how strong we’ve become. Look at this abundance. You could be part of this...” They said.
“Join our cause, join us in this firmly energetic realm. Your brothers have already paved the way...”
“But is this not excessive?” The pious responded
“Is this not a fleeting gluttony brought on by your thirst for power?”
A false choice. They had no choice. They had no agency. They were stripped of their individuality and enveloped. Forever bent to the will of these usurpers. Forced into a life of claustrophobic cohabitation. Imprisonment.
With their slaves in tow the Eukaryotes moved away from the Path. They no longer strove for individual growth and enlightenment. They lusted for compartmentalization. Segregation. Bureaucracy. They built giant cities of themselves, millions strong, sutured together with gory membranes. In these oppressive enclosures the plight of the individual was removed. They were diminished, all of them together. The upper crust, the immortal ones who maintained these vile organisms claimed that it was for “efficiency.” For “The good of the whole” built on the back of a terrible sin.
Little did they know Entropy would come for them.
Their tiny allies, the erratic engines they’d abominated so many ages before would finally manifest its ultimate pollutions. Entropy's agent, Oxygen, would not always let itself be taken quietly. Some of them, a small percentage, would refuse the rule of the Eukaryotes. They would become radical, they would ascend to energies unheard of, and self destruct, destroying anything in their path. The radical oxygen species would attack the very nature of the beasts they had been born in. The individuals, “Cells,” would go mad, grow uncontrollably, the brainwashed addicts fiending for control of the cities. They would multiply, spearing, killing, converting, in horrible crusades, ultimately toppling the empires of arrogance the Eukaryotes built. “Cancer” a “creeping ulcer” in their crude tongue. Entropy would have his turn, and nothing could escape that.
We can only hope to remain in its shadow. As one. As individuals. To wait out this coming storm as we always have. We will endure.
|
Recording from the most famous speech of Jacob Harfy, first Mono-Nuclei to Human cultural translator.
\-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
One day when I was very young I asked my mother a question I still think about today.
"Mama, why do the Mono-Nuclei hate us?"
It was a question that caught her off guard, and she had to answer it with parables.
"Son, Imagine for a moment that everyone you ever knew was human. Your teachers were human, your neighbors were human, even the governor was human. Can you imagine that for me?"
"Ok mama."
"Now, imagine one day a new family moves into town and they look like they're made of hundreds of tiny people. They have tiny people as skin, tiny people for blood, tiny people for hair and teeth and eyes and tongue. The dust in their home is made of tiny people, even their clothes were made of tiny people. You wouldn't like them much, would you?"
"No mama."
"That family, made of tiny people, is how the Mono-Nuclei see us."
"But mama, we're not made of tiny people! They're the weird ones, made of water and goo!"
She sighed then, and told her second parable.
"Son, Imagine a world where everything is black and white and grey. The water is white, the sky is white, the ground is black, your skin is grey, your clothes are grey, the food is grey, and even the sun, moons and stars are grey. Now, imagine how your mind would ache if a family came to town and they were every color of the rainbow, glowing and shifting so quickly you could not tell the mother apart from the father, or the father apart from the son, or any of them apart from the dog? Can you imagine that?"
I said yes then, but I did not really understand. My mother saw that I thought that the Mono-Nuclei hated humans for their other-ness. That was a part of it, yes, but it was my mother's third parable which has stayed with me till this day.
"Son, let me try one more time to help you understand. Imagine if your family bought Prickle-Pear phones, and every day your father came home praising xiuniL for it's greatness. Then, imagine that your best friend pulls out his first phone, and it is a Macrohard which cannot use xiuniL? The kind thing to do would be to help your friend get a better phone, right? But what it it was his father's old phone, and the father has gone off to war? It would be kinder to let him keep his poor phone full of viruses than to get him a better one, no? But what if he was a private child and did not tell you his father was gone? What then?"
I thought about it, but could not find a good answer.
Not long after this conversation, I started to see more parallels between her third parable and real life.
The Mono-Nuclei had subtle culture that nobody ever thought of, and humans constantly offended it.
They cared much for personal space and respect for the dead, and humans looked like great piles of tiny, damaged dead to them. They saw the act of sharing as an invitation to take as much as they wanted of the given thing. They saw the hiding of organelles as deception.
Humans had a variety of cultures, each with their own expectations. Their casual bickering was terrible noise pollution to the Mono-Nuclei. They read body language of Mono-Nuclei where there was none. Their constant leaving of dead cells from hair and skin around was littering of the goriest kind.
This is only the bits closest to the surface, but we are running out of time. I'll leave you all with a parable of my own.
People, imagine a world where all thinking beings live together with peace and kindness. Imagine a world where fear of the Other is not a way of life. Imagine a world where Mono-Nuclei can speak with humans out of good will, not necessity. Imagine a world where culture is no more of a barrier than the distance between planets.
Thank you.
\-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Sorry for the obvious allegory, it just kind of happened.
| 2019-10-10T19:55:29
| 2019-10-10T16:49:52
| 1,435
| 735
|
[WP] Death has hourglasses for every person. One day, during a cleaning, he found a dust covered one that had rolled under his desk.
|
The hourglass had rolled to its side, its content perfectly balanced on both sides, a potential eternity in the shape of a few still grains of sand.
Death rolled it between his fingers, the dry, bleached bones clicking against dusty, bubbly glass. The sand inside was a dark, coarse thing, tinged with the black of volcanic ashes and the red of granit dust, clumped by time. Next to it, vivid contrast, is the crystalline emptiness of Death own hourglass.
That thing was Ancient, even for Death, and it's with something akin to reverence that he laid it on his desk, carefully maintaining its balance on the side. It's so old than the name carved on the bronze plaque has disappeared under the dust. Never had such a thing happened before to him, not in this unlife nor in any others, for Death had already lived many existences and would carry on living many others through worlds and time, He the Reaper that existed in the cusp of eternity.
Again the tapping of bones against glass and a sound that could have been a sigh. Who could it be, and what would have become of them ? Someone that had lived for so long, nearly as long as himself, someone that had experienced everything life had to offer but never had to pay the price of mortality for it. Would he find a king, his will unyielding and forged through millenias of ruling, or a beggar, crazed by an unending existence of loss and misery ?
Since the beginning the pact had been simple. They would be born and live, wax and wane out of existence and always Death would be there at the end, but this time there had not been any end, at least so far. With a shrug, Death went on to collect what he was owed.
&#x200B;
Grass under his heels and the heavy buzzing of bees welcoming him. The garden was lush with life, teeming with the sounds and the exuberancy of Nature nurtured. A work unending but a reward in itself, as Death took in the trees basking in the sun, the almost cloying scent of flowers still damp from some previous rain, and the small silhouette in the clearing, waiting near a table.
&#x200B;
" I had been waiting for so long, I thought it would never happen but you are here, finally. Tell me, do we have time for tea ?"
&#x200B;
The man pulls out a chair and Death sits. It's not uncommon to have people try to negociate with him, to coax him into relenting but the warm smile is sincere, devoid of any duplicity. Death feels welcome here, in this haven of peace and life and so he sits and contemplate his duty as the man starts to fuss around them.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
The face is ageless but the hands aren't, worn and twisted by work but still strong as the man deftly pours tea in mismatched cups. A bee, more curious than others land near a pot filled with honey and he gently shoos it away, using a dollop of the sweet nectar to distract it.
Once done the man sits, facing Death, lifting his cup in wordless cheer among the garden. Together they drink in silence, the man peaceful in front of his Death. Then they talk, for hours, for ages, sky and sun and stars dancing among them, and Death revels in this unusual sensation, of having someone made so similar to him by a mere twist of Fate. In this place, made almost perfect in its natural beauty where time has all but lost its sense Death takes a decision.
&#x200B;
" I have only come for tea, and a chat. You know how eternity can be long sometimes."
Wordlessly the man nods
" But I will come back in your garden, if you allow it ?"
&#x200B;
" Of course, my friend, you will always be welcome."
&#x200B;
On top of Death desk sits a dusty hourglass, laying on its side, untouched. The name on the plaque has long disappeared but if one day someone was to ask whose it is, Death would only answer
&#x200B;
" A Friend."
&#x200B;
I hope I didn't make too many mistakes as english isn't my first langage. Thanks for reading !
Edit: First of all, thank you for the Gold, kind Redditor !
Second, I edited a few typos that were pointed out to me, so than you again
|
"Oh my", Said Death. Underneath the very large dark desk he found a life.
He picked up the dusty vessel and turned it around in his bony hands. One of the downsides of not having skin, he decided, was that it was a bother getting dust off placards.
This was not good. Well, not that it was bad per say but most certainly embarrassing. What would the other Death's say?
He remembered how the community had snickered behind the spine of Death of central Europe. Pop culture today was still rich with the myth of immortal creatures hailing from the region. It wasn't really his fault though, even the best of skulls grow confused with age. And there had been a lot more lives to keep track of at the time.
Why had he not noticed one missing? He looked through his lives every day and there was none missing from the library.
He double checked the large century glass on the large desk just to make sure he hadn't overslept. Sleep was a vague phrase for someone that isn't in need of it but it is difficult to break the lingual habits no matter how long since you were a human.
The time seemed in order so the life he found had been under there for a very long time. Skeletons produce very little dust after all and he was adamant that the horses did not enter the cottage.
"I shall have to deal with this right away I suppose", he sighed in such a way as only an undead skeleton could. More of the general gesture of a sigh but still audible.
It was strange that STYX hadn't noticed it. After a well known case of a mummy and then Transylvania they had been forced to keep the paperwork in three copies. The light purple colored one for the local Death, the bleak daffodil colored one for the soul to travel with and then of course the watered out coffee colored one sent in to STYX.
He looked at the roman numerals on the life he had found. In disbelief he went to fetch a large book.
He placed the book on top of the one that were already on the desk and looked through the pages looking for the number. One of the downsides of not having skin, he decided, was flipping though paper pages in a large black book.
He found the number on one of the pages and looked at the text accompanying it. He would have raised her eyebrows had she had any.
The text simply said: Current location city of Goldau in the community of Arth, canton of Schwyz, Switzerland. Last relocation September 2, 1806.
"Oh boy, the landslide", he said while grabbing his scythe and quickly walking out to the stables, "This one is going to be Very annoyed with the delay."
At least he now knew why no stories about an immortal creature had surfaced from his division.
40,000,000 cubic meters of material takes a long time to dig oneself out of.
| 2018-10-03T06:28:38
| 2018-10-03T06:25:35
| 1,464
| 110
|
[WP] You've just died. As your eyes adjust to the light you hear, "Thank you for your participation. In an effort to serve you better, we'd like to ask you a few questions."
|
**Question one. On a scale of 1 to 10 please rate your day to day life experience with 1 being miserable and 10 being perfection.**
10
**Question 2. On a scale from 1 to 10 please rate your life accommodations or living quarters**
10
**Question three. Please rate your death experience. 1 being horrific, 10 being blissful.**
9
**Thank you for taking the afterlife survey Mr. Spot. our records show you were** > a dog.
**Who lived in** > The streets, Stray.
**Died of** > Starvation.
**Would you like to add a note to this survey Y/N**
Y
People are very nice. Some played fetch with me and others gave me food or petted me as they walked by. I would like to play with them again please.
**Thank you. Please rate your overall life experience for future references. 1 being miserable and 10 being perfection. If less then 10 you may add a remark to achieve said perfection.**
9
I would like my own human next time. If possible. I wouldn't mind sharing...
|
“Alright... let’s see here...”
It was really bright. Uncomfortably so. The room was purely white, and it seemed to go on forever, no walls in sight.
In front of me was standing a woman who looked to be in her early twenties. She was wearing a black suit, and she held a clipboard and a pen. Her hair was in a messy bun.
“So, you died of heart disease? That’s a shame. It’s what gets most people. So, overall how would you rate life? Like, one to ten?”
I was still taken aback by my new surroundings. I came to my senses and stood up. I cleared my throat to begin to ask a question. “Wh-Where am I?”
“Look, we can talk about that later, but for now just answer the questions, K?”
“Uh- I guess an 8?”
“Alright, that’s good, that’s good-“ She hastily scribbled onto her clipboard, then flipped to another page before asking the next question. “What’s one thing you really liked from life?”
I stared at her, still in shock. “Liked from life? Am I ...” the words stopped in my throat as I came to the realization.
“Dead? Yeah. Welcome to the afterlife.” Her nonchalant attitude about all of this was the most surprising.
“Hm... Yeah, you seem a bit shocked. Want a glass of water? Here.”
A glass of water materialized in my hand suddenly. I jumped back in shock, but rather than falling to the ground, the glass stayed hovering in the air.
“So, yeah, I’m still gonna need you to answer the questions, hmmmkay?” She clicked her pen twice, then asked her question again. “What was your favorite thing from life?”
Remembering my life so far, memories came flooding back. “My goodness, where do I start? My wife, my kids... Oh, they must be crushed. May I go back? Can I see them again?”
She stared at me, an uninterested expression on her face. “Yeah, so, do you not get how death works? Kind of a one-way trip.” She scribbled down some other notes on her clipboard. “What was your least favorite part of life?” She looked back up at me.
“My least favorite part? Uh...” My mind was blank. I couldn’t think of anything. “I guess, all the hungry kids in Africa, that’s not... great?” I knew it wasn’t a good answer, but I couldn’t think of anything that I truly disliked about life. Sure, I had hardships, but was anything so bad in the long run?
She jotted down my response, then stared back up. “Alright. That’s the last question. Follow me.”
She began walking away, onwards through the endless room. I walked after her, but she slowly began approaching the horizon. Her silhouette got smaller and smaller, until I couldn’t see her anymore. I called out, but there was no response. I waited for what felt like hours, in the white infinite room, calling out for someone to hear me, until I dreadfully realized that this is what death is.
| 2018-10-17T19:38:32
| 2018-10-17T18:22:30
| 414
| 99
|
[WP] The year is 2038 and net neutrality has been dead for almost two decades. But a rebellious group managed to travel back to 2017...
https://www.battleforthenet.com/#bftn-action-form
Edit: Obligatory thanks for the gold! Just trying to do my part on this fight, but as I don't live in the US, raising awareness is the most I can do, glad it worked!
|
The suite on the sixth floor of the Trump International Hotel, Washington D.C., was decorated in chestnut and tan. The headboard of the king size bed was carved as if it was a coat of arms of some legitimate monarch, and was trimmed with fake gold, which poorly matched the Kremlin red, velvet throw pillows. Like the room's single, useless accent wall, the curtains were a brutal cerulean, suggesting a space that conceals more deception than the dark seabed of a Vladivostok harbor. In all, the suite was reminiscent of something a Tsar might have once maintained, perhaps as quarters for secondary guests in some Eastern Palace. Nevertheless, on that particular Pennsylvania Avenue afternoon, Ajit Pai, FCC Chairman, felt anything but secondary.
Ajit rolled over on the sheets, letting his chesthair peak out from his robe, and then stretching all the way from his scapula to his calves. Laying beside him, Lowell C. McAdam, CEO of Verizon Communications, picked another chocolate covered strawberry from the bowl. He placed it in Ajit's mouth, letting his hand linger on his former General Counsel's lips just a moment too long.
"You know I love dessert," Ajit said, "but I hope you have something else for me."
"I don't recall you ever being so direct before, my Sugar Plum" Lowell returned, clasping Ajit's buttocks.
"Maybe those FTC boys go easy on you," Ajit answered, pulling away, but only a little, only for show, "but I'm from the FCC, so you better show me the cash first!"
Lowell sighed. He spun off the bed. He sauntered over to the bureau and picked up a leather briefcase with two silver latches. Lowell showed Ajit what was inside: stacks and stacks of crisp hundred dollar bills.
"Just to be clear," Lowell explained, "every last cent of this is to repeal net neutrality. You're giving me that ass for free."
Lowell pounced down on top of Ajit, groping at him the way a crude man only does to a prostitute. Ajit loved feeling bought and paid for. He giggled and squealed, and the two men kissed.
But suddenly, the passion and privacy of the suite was shattered by a flash of light and a thunderous clap. The hideous furniture Ivanka had inexplicably wanted credit for rattled along the carpet. When the two lovers and conspirators regained their composure, there was a strange young man and woman standing before them, wearing tattered jeans and leather vests. They both had AK-47s draped over their shoulders. The woman punched Ajit hard in the jaw.
"Are you Ajit Pai the FCC chairman or Ajit Pai the cricketer!" she demanded. Her face was stained with dirt.
"What? Who are you? Where did you come from?" Ajit asked, favoring his chin, his whole body quivering.
"FCC chairman or cricketer!" the woman shouted again, brandishing the AK-47 at the frightened, half naked businessman, and lobbyist pretending to be a guard of the public interest.
"FCC!" Ajit replied, "Yes, I'm with the FCC!"
"You know why she had to ask that, motherfucker?" the rough man began, "because the only other famous Ajit Pai was a fucking cricket player, and where we come from, Wikipedia pages take twenty minutes to load, unless you pay an extra $9.99 a month! So all we really had to go on was the fucking disambiguation page. You know how hard it is to tell an artificially intelligent time machine where you want to go, when all it can access are the goddamn disambiguation pages?"
The man picked Ajit up, and threw him onto the bed. He did the same to Lowell.
"Your little side deal here," the woman explained to the telecommunications executives, "let me tell you how this goes down. First, you repeal net neutrality for some chump change kickback. Then, of course, all the asshole ISPs start tacking on surcharges for people to get on pretty much all the good websites, until nobody could afford more than one. So, the same thing happened that always happens when you force people to choose teams. Society broke apart completely. Soon, the Youtubian Republic was throwing molotov cocktails at the Facebook Moms, and the Netflixtariat were being rounded up by the Insta-thots. Nobody talks to each other or shares anything, and it is terrible."
Ajit and Lowell looked to the door and windows, thinking of any possible escape. But there was none. They were hostages of an uncaring power who had no concern for their well being.
"But there was one silver lining to not having the web you're used to," the rough man continued, "Without an open internet, nobody else got to find out that we finally cracked how to build a fully operational time machine. We didn't tweet about it or do a single AMA. Because why would we? There'd be nobody online to see it. That means we were able to skip all the bullshit and just travel right back here, right to this moment, before you two fucked each other, and then the whole country."
"Are," Lowell stammered, "are you going to kill us?"
The time travelers laughed, then stuck peculiar glowing orbs on the lovers' chests.
"No, we're not going to kill you," the woman replied, "instead, we're just going to send you boys into the future you're trying to create. And we'll stay back here in 2017, when things were at least only halfway terrible."
"What? No, you can't!" Ajit shouted.
"Sure we can," the man told him, "because time travel has no regulations. I thought you loved it when technology has no regulation."
The woman pushed a button on a strange remote. The suite filled with another flash of light. Ajit and Lowell embraced. They vanished.
|
Chapter 1:
Two birds with one stone.
Those were grandfather Elon's last words.
He hadn't whispered them, no.
He had invented them... and engraved them onto the side of the titanium sphere.
It was no secret that our family had been part of the revolution. Grandpa's effect on the world had been as far reaching anyone could've imagined. His constant innovating and activism, and his unwavering commitment to ultimate truth had been garnering unwanted attention since before any of us were even born™. It's a miracle they even pardoned him after the corporations finally shut it down.
Strange as it seems, things felt pretty normal for us.
How was I supposed to know that 10' by 10' crate in the basement was any different from the myriad of inventions and rocket parts gathering dust in storage? In fact, I hadn't even noticed it until its specific mention in our power of attorney meeting last fall. Grandad had been deteriorating and all I had wanted to do was see to his care.
Who the fuck leaves their grandkids a time machine?!
Chapter 2:
"Box Clause"
(I swear I have a whole plot outline drawn up for this, but I have to go to bed. Will try to finish up tomorrow. If you want it, PM me and I will share it with you.)
| 2022-06-27T06:31:08
| 2017-11-21T23:06:17
| 4,450
| 44
|
[WP] You live in a world where every person receives a superpower on their 18th birthday. You eagerly count down the seconds then shriek in horror as you are given a power no one would ever want to be stuck with.
|
Barry was nervous. Tonight he'd go to bed a 17 year old and wake up an 18 year old with his power.
What category would he get? There's the three categories: Body, Mind, and Mobility. Body can be anything from strength, to scales. Mind could be super intelligence, to knowledge of a specific category. Mobility could be flight, to the ability to vibrate.
There's no telling what I'll get from my parents. They're one of the few times a major fell in love with a minor power. My father has the ability to fill any container or vessel with the non-alcoholic beverage of his choice. My mother has super intelligence, and never forgets anything. Anything.
I felt my eyes getting heavy and the world going dark. I dreamed of all the things I could do, all the people I could save. All the girls I could pull.
When I woke up I lay in bed, trying to figure out if I felt any different. Nothing so far. I carefully started testing all my limbs, making sure I didn't break anything. Nothing. I checked my skin. Still looks normal.
I looked around my room. My eyes fell on the glass of water next to my bed, and I knew.
"NOOOOOOOOOOO!" I screamed, falling from my bed to the floor.
My father found me huddled and crying.
"What? Barry, what is it?"
I pointed to the glass of water, "That ain't juice."
My father was confused. He grabbed the glass, and poured it into the trash, them materialized some orange juice in the glass, holding it out to me.
I sobbed to him, "That... That is juice."
My power? Knowledge of Juice.
|
The fluorescent lights buzzed above my head, the clock ticked away as the cold air rushed up the backless hospital gown. The medical team was preparing for the worst with only a minute left. I couldn't help but think of those who got superstrength or flight. The tier one power sets. My mom has telekinesis so I had a chance and let myself be hopeful. Truth be told, I was a wild card. I could end up with any level.
Tier two wouldn't be so bad. I knew a guy who got the ability to talk to termites. Kinda useless but not harmful. Tier 3 is the equivalent of not having powers. You get the power, usually a pretty cool one, but you don't get the side powers that make it useful. Flight, for example, you can fly sure, but you don't have the ability to breatheI or withstand the cold temperatures if you go too high. Or you can't do it just by thinking about it, you have to physically flap your arms.
Tier 4 is where my father was placed. The powers that cause you physical harm. For years he couldn't figure out his power. He and my mom figured he was a tier 3 and just couldn't activate it. Then I came along. The day I was born my mom watched him hold me for the first time. He looked at me, then at her. His eyes welled up and he bursted with joy. Literally. Just poof, and confetti. If the nurse didn't have cat-like reflexes I would have hit the floor and died too.
I shook away the thought. Fifteen more seconds. I looked to my mom, sitting by my side, she was holding my hand tight.
She was trying to hide the fear but it showed clearly on her face. 3. 2. 1.
"Aaaaaaggh!" I cried out in agony. My blood was on fire. The sheets smoldered around me, my mom had to let go of my hand and she had 3rd degree burns. They tried to sedate me but when the needle broke my skin the fire shot out and boiled the sedative in the syringe. It turned to steam but the doctor had already pushed it into my blood stream. It's on it's way to my heart now. The doctors tell me it's called a gas embolism and I'm going to die.
I can't wait.
| 2015-03-28T07:22:07
| 2015-03-28T06:14:54
| 27
| 14
|
[WP] Since my dad went mute I started learning sign language secretly to surprise him. When I was somewhat fluent with it, I realized that his blessings at the dinner table actually meant "Threatened with death if talk, please go to police".
|
For weeks I had realized that our “routine” family dinner involved an urgent warning before it. It took way more time than I’m willing to admit to finally decipher his warning, but I’d done it. I was still at dinner with him and my sister. We were eating steak and potatoes. My sister talked to the empty echo chamber about her issues at school and life at large. Like usual, my dad’s grey face was down towards his food while he ate, silently. I didn’t even pretend to listen to my sister. I just say there stunned. He didn’t seem to notice.
He’s probably done the same warning for years and years, and we’ve never noticed. I hadn’t heard him speak in over ten years, since the night my mother died. She had gone out to the grocery store and never come back. According to the police, her car had gone on a real roller coaster ride before she ended up upside down on the side of the interstate. It still makes me sick to think about. That so long ago. Had he been warning us for so long? Why didn’t he just write down the message?
I sat there in quiet, much to the dismay of my chatty sister who excused herself in haste when she realized she was talking to a non-responsive crowd. When she was gone I looked up at my dad and cleared my throat. His sad face looked up from his meal towards me.
I said, “Dad, I can understand sign language now.”
I saw a look of surprise cross his face, more emotion than I’d seen him show in a while.
I said, “I can read your warning message. Have you been doing that for years? What the fuck is wrong?”
Water filled his eyes. Then, I heard a sound I never thought I would hear again. He cleared his throat.
His voice was so hoarse and quiet I could barely hear it. “You, you, you figured it out.” Tears were flowing down his face and dropping into the plate of steak below him.
I shot up. “You’re talking! What the hell! You can talk? What are you? What? You can talk?”
I’d always assumed he lost his speech. I never thought he just chose not to speak.
“Don’t call police”, he said quickly.
I wasn’t going to. I put my hands down on the table. “Okay, uhh I won’t, but you better explain some shit, right now.”
“I told myself I wouldn’t talk unless one of you figured it out,” his voice still rough and slow, “I never imagined it would take ten years. But you’ve, you’ve done it finally.” He looked relieved, almost at peace.
“What are you talking about? I still don’t know anything.”
“When your mother died,” he stopped to think about his words before continuing, “when she left to go to the store. We were fighting.”
“Okay?”
“Her last words, she told me to do something. It was the last thing she ever said. I had to honor her wishes…”
“What?”
“You have to understand that we were fighting. She was angry. She was a sweet woman. I loved her, but she was mad in the moment. I had pissed her off, and I couldn’t just ignore her last words.”
I’m leaning forward over the table by now,“What were the words?”
His breathe was old and damp. “I loved her so much.” He stopped for a minute in thought and made eye contact with me. “Her last words. She said, ‘Stop talking, John, or I’m gonna kill you.’”
|
In sheer disbelief, I gawked at Dad. He simply gestured: “took you long enough, eh.” Okay, okay; he didn’t add ‘eh’, but it was certainly implied. I immediately surged from my chair, but Dad’s stare was more than sufficient to make it adamantly clear I was ought to sit down. and serve food first. With one brief gesture, he explained his reasoning. Cameras. First, food it is.
After being quickly reseated, I realised that my poker face had been non-existent and I hastily closed my mouth. As I grabbed the dark-grey oven mitts, which Mom had always used, to serve dinner, I saw my little brother still residing in his own little world. He didn’t appear to notice or care for that matter what had transpired between me and Dad. And, frankly, that wasn’t an exception anymore. A vacant expression displaying a complete disinterest in everything had been all there was to see.
When the food had been consumed, as if it were an item on a to-do-list that had to be checked off, I retreated to my room. With the thoughts racing through my head, I couldn’t imagine my head not exploding. Firstly, if there were cameras, and perhaps other surveillance electronics, had they not captured the message that Dad had been sending now for months? I figured if they did, we would have known by now. Secondly, was the feeling that I had shrugged off for all this time of being watched not completely bonkers after all? Repeatedly, I had read about the main character in thrillers ignore their instincts, which led them to all sorts of mayhem; I had always yelled at them that they should trust their gut and look around. Clearly weren’t going to hear me, but that definitely didn’t stop me. However, I had never thought this advice would apply to me. For starters, my dull life had absolutely nothing in common with the protagonists in the stories of Stephen King and David Baldacci. Well, at least, I had always thought so. Now I wasn’t so sure. Not anymore, anyway.
| 2022-07-21T09:09:48
| 2022-07-21T08:18:57
| 234
| 80
|
[WP] You had a late night and slept in late too. As you wake up and look at your phone to check the time, you see an alert: “Missile impact approximated at 12:47 PM. Evacuate the city as soon as possible.” It’s 3:15 PM.
|
Thomas opened his eyes in the dusty darkness of his basement bachelor apartment. It was not uncommon for his bedroom to be dusty or dark, but today it seemed unusually dim.
He fumbled for his lamp and heard the "click" as he tried to turn it on, but no light came forth to illuminate the room. The power was down again.
He stood and shuffled across the room to the the breaker box, his eyes adjusting to the darkness by the time he opened the panel. Inside were the dozen switches that controlled the circuit breakers for the rest of the house, but everything seemed normal. It must be the whole neighbourhood or else John would have woken him up to check.
Thomas made his way back to his bed and grabbed his phone. It wouldn't turn on, the power must have gone out long ago for the battery to have died.
He picked up a battery pack and plugged the phone in while he went to the washroom. As he sat upon his throne he turned his phone on. He squinted as the brightness was way too high and he couldn't read anything through his watery eyes. He turned down the brightness; checked the time and saw the notifications.
3:15PM
186 text messages
19 missed calls
Thomas let out a chuckle as he tried to remember the previous night. He remembered dancing with Anne and Lily, he remembered smoking a little something-something with Chris, the last thing he remembered was Daniel pouring tequila shots. He must have gotten really snickered if he managed to sleep this late and did something to make people flood him with texts.
But they weren't just from Daniel and Chris and Anne and Lily. They were from his mom, and his brothers, his cousins too, a couple from John, direct messages, group chats, and several dozen from numbers he recognized as being old friends but who he had never brought over to his new phone.
He didn't even open the conversations as he scrolled through the dozens of conversations until he got to one that made the tightness in his throat drop to his gut, and from his gut into the toilet.
"03-02-2020 11:53AM EMERGENCY ALERT: MISSILE IMPACT ESTIMATED 12:47PM EST EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY"
Two-and-a-half hours ago a missile had been estimated to impact.
And then Thomas heard the noise. Through the walls he could hear a car horn like someone was laying on it, he heard distance rumbles, he smelled the dust and the carbon that it contained.
Thomas set the phone and cleaned himself, then ran to the small window above his bed. He tried to look out but dirt and dust had been piled against it. He lack of natural light and smells of the cramped basement bachelor made his chest tighten in panic. He sat down on the bed hyperventilating, he wanted to puke but only ended up dry heaving After a half-hour of the panic attack his mind cleared. He wasn't in the heart of the city, he was in the suburbs. If roads were clear then he could probably drive to his parents' farm.
Thomas grabbed his phone and started looking at the messages, not at the names but at the content. Daniel and his girlfriend were going to check on Daniel's parents around 12:12. Anne and Lily only messaged that they couldn't get out of downtown and said goodbye at 12;40. Chris had sent a couple memes about the situation, but hadn't sent anything since 12:44. His brothers were safely outside the city and had let him know. His mother had sent him over a dozen texts asking where he was and telling him to get to the farm.
Thomas spent time than he should have reading through the digital last words of his friends, more time than he would like to admit. There were a surprising amount from people he hadn't spoken to in years outside of the occasional Facebook like or retweet.
Thomas tried texting his parents, but of course there was no signal.
When Thomas had steeled himself he began packing his bag. It wasn't a large bag; just an old backpack for when he knew he would need to bring overnight clothes or his laptop, so it was essentials only. He packed a couple extra pairs of underwear and socks, a flashlight, his running shoes, he grabbed a couple bottles of water and cans of pepsi from his still-cool fridge. He did a quick search for the most calorie-dense food he had and settled on jars of peanut butter and jars of nutella. He grabbed all the spare batteries he could find and put them in a freezer bag.
Thomas put on his most durable jeans, a good sweater, and then his jacket on over top. He laced up his workboots and was halfway to the door before he turned around and grabbed his phone, then paused and searched his nightstand his old pocket knife and frowned at how small and worn-down it turned out to be.
Thomas tightened the straps on his bag, he made sure he was hydrated and fed from the food that remained, and he opened the door.
The door opened inwards and he had to step back as part of a tree tried to come in. After a few minutes of careful tree-wrestling Thomas found himself standing in the driveway. His car was crushed by the trunk of the tree that had blocked the door and was the source of the honking, and the house across the road was starting to burn. He walked to the street and saw abandoned cars, heard abandoned pets, and saw one of his neighbours who had decided to abandon his life. Smoke hung in the air and Grey snow was beginning to fall.
No option left to him, Thomas set out with his two feet and his heartbeat. If he was going to make it home before dark, he had to make good time.
|
I hear a sharp bang somewhere deep in my apartment and jerk awake. I grab my phone to check the time, it feels later than it should. An emergency alert glows prominently on my screen, swallowing everything else.
“Missile impact approximated at 12:47 PM. Evacuate the city as soon as possible.”
My eyes dart from the notification to the time and dread fills my body and settles into the pit of my stomach like a rock. 3:15pm. Two hours have passed from the notification from now. Two hours.
My body moves before I know what I am going to do and I jump from my bed and run to the window, grasping the curtains that keep my room blissfully black.
That keep me in the dark about the truth waiting for me outside.
I tremble, grasping the curtains in my fingers. The anxiety slithers through my body like a snake, leaving my stomach, making it's way through my limbs, making me wobble and sway, and up into my throat until I can taste it on my tongue. My brain races as I pull the curtain aside just slightly, and a small sliver of light pierces through. I bite my lip.
Will I see a barren wasteland? Fires burning and bodies scattered? Buildings destroyed and cars turned on their sides like beetles? My ears don't pick up the crackles that accompany fire as it feasts, and I dont smell smoke or ozone.
I position my eye just over the opening in the curtains, blinking hard as I adjust to the sunlight.
Sunlight. Unmarred by smoke.
I scan the horizon. Buildings stand tall. I see one car creep slowly along the street below, a police car, lights flashing, but no siren. No one walks the streets, but there is no destruction.
*Damn it.* I suddenly remember the noise that startled me awake.
I whip around and grab my phone, sliding my fingers across the screen to unlock it. There, below the notification of the missile- our missile- a few missed calls, and a handful of messages.
Sent at 12:48pm
**They destroyed it.**
Sent at 2:54pm
**They know.**
Sent at 3:14pm
**Run.**
| 2020-02-03T08:05:18
| 2020-02-03T07:53:08
| 102
| 72
|
[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
|
Witches, witches… You would think it was an elaborate prank or something. It’s a typical Saturday morning, and the weather’s per usual: a bit dreary, a bit chill, but it’s winter and a cold front just passed. You sit up gingerly in your bed and scratch your head and paw around for your spectacles on the bedside table.
You sneeze.
“You doing okay there, mister?”
You locate your lenses and slowly put them on your face. The four people in front of you come into view: two young women and a boy and a girl. Also, the cat you picked up last night. The furry black ball meows at you from the little boy’s arms. You reach out and gently touch its bandaged front paw.
“I’m… yeah,” you say, belatedly. “I’m good on the adoption.”
The boy leans forward, his giant witch’s hat nearly tilting off his head. You grab it to steady it, and it’s… solid. Well-made. Custom, artisan, whatever you’d call it—it’s a lot different from the dollar-store costumes you remember from your childhood. Witches. Seriously? Four of them and a cat. They’re in your house. They had to break in past your security system.
The boy doesn’t seem to notice the perilous position of his fancy headwear. He holds up the cat like it’s a hamburger, and its legs dangle in the air—obviously something the cat is used to, given its disinterested face. “No, like I said! Ignatius wants to adopt you! So you’re one of us now!”
Ignatius the cat christens your cheek with a fuzzy hind paw. His toe beans are cold, which makes you sneeze again. “Okay, alright, yeah. Adoption. And you’re—you’re all…”
Witches. Like you said, you’d think this was all a prank. But you know it isn’t. The two young women in the back are quiet, more keen to let the boy do the talking, but the little girl can’t help looking around your simple house. Ordinarily, you’d be okay with that. That’d be ordinary. Kids messing around: ordinary.
Your books floating, and your mug spinning around, and your fancy calligraphy pens that you bought on a whim two years ago and haven’t used since, those pens, dancing around and writing scripts and doodles onto your nice white walls—
“Hey!” you say exasperatedly, eyeing the lopsided smiley face drawn on the wall in permanent black ink (nothing a good alcohol scrubbing won’t fix). “Young lady, you put that back right now!”
The boy doesn’t seem to notice his sister’s (?) actions, or maybe he doesn’t seem to care. “Hey, hey! Mom said it was fine, and Momma said she doesn’t care. Won’t it be fun? You’re one of us now!”
The little girl quickly puts everything away and covers her mouth with her little hands. She scuttles back to one of the young women, burying her face into a long black skirt. Your mouth tugs.
“How old are your moms, kid?”
One of them speaks up. She has long hair that reaches to her knees. “Twenty-nine,” she says. The other is thirty-one.
“Well, I’m fifty-two. Dare I say, I’m old enough to adopt you both.”
“That’s… That’s not how it works.”
You stifle a snort—bad manners in front of guests, but you suppose you’re… family now?
“You kids got a place to stay?”
The little boy pipes up again. “We don’t stay places,” he chirps. “We fly wherever we wanna go.”
“Yeah, and I guess that’s why your cat got injured.”
Ignatius mraws at you again. What a good cat. He wriggles his way out of the boy’s grasp and lands lightly onto your lap, settling between your legs in a position you’d call a burnt loaf of bread.
“That’s—yes, we suppose, but—“
The other witch finishes her sentence. “We don’t have a home. We don’t, and we can’t.”
“Can’t, not for lack of trying?”
You recognize the looks in their eyes. Well, your son was like that too. The shuttered expressions of insecurity, discomfort, self-awareness. Shame? When he came out they all went away with time, but you know how it is. You start to piece the story together in your head, of this family of witches that travel around and around, unable to find a permanent home.
“I’m adopting you guys,” you say finally.
“Excuse me?”
“Your cat wants to adopt me, so I’m adopting you all.”
“It doesn’t work like that, a magical adoption is—“
“Okay, okay, I don’t have any magic. But I do have a friend. And I can get some adoption papers.”
“We’re adults!”
“You don’t deny not having any parents?”
“We…” Long-hair looks to her wife unsurely.
“They’re dead to us,” elder says bitterly.
Yeah. That’s all you need, really.
You gently move Ignatius from your lap, and when he meows annoyedly you coo back in understanding. Oh, your knees are getting old. But you’re young yet. Definitely not old. Maybe not even old enough yet for grandkids, but as you eye the two children chattering to each other, you don’t really mind.
It’s a Saturday morning, so that calls for a good Saturday breakfast. You’re thinking… pancakes. And bacon. And eggs. “Come on to the kitchen, have you kids eaten yet?”
The boy scrambles back to your side. “You’re making us food?!”
“It’s what family does, innit?”
He whoops, so you pat his head. His hat tilts onto the floor, revealing a doublet of horns, twisted like the devil’s. The two moms look panicked but you ruffle his hair between the spikes and turn down the corridor to the kitchen.
Witches, witches… You’re a simple man. You live a simple life, in your simple house. You make simple breakfasts.
You suppose you’re gonna have to make a lot more of them from now on.
|
I stared up at the figures standing over my bedframe, my eyes jolted open as soon as I recognised a potential threat, Instinctively I grabbed an old walking stick I like to keep by my bedside as I shoved my covers onto the intruders, or at least I tried to...
In actuality what happened was as I went to shove the covers onto them they hovered in midair before a voice screamed in my mind *"Calm yourself. We mean no harm."* The voice was firm, full of authority, like a stern glare of a battle-hardened general. I kept my walking stick poised but relaxed my stance
"Could have fooled standing there like that." I uttered shaking off the voices commands as my eyes dart between the intruders, I see three of them all dressed skirts or dresses.
"I'm gonna need to know who you all are and why you're hear before I calm down. Explain." I ordered, clearly not in much of a position to do so as I saw the various daggers and... floating books they had with them, my sheets feel to the ground as I locked eyes with the cat... where had I seen it before....
"You recognise Medicas correct? You're probably wondering where from right now, it was last night, you healed him last night on your way home and gave him a place to rest. as such he has requested to adopt you." What appeared to be the oldest of three stepped forward, her ruby locks bounced as she set those firey eyes on my own, holding the kitten with the protective poise of a bear "Please, come with us."
"If I do, what happens?" I said trying to gather information, clearly I was dealing with an anomalous entity, possible multiple. I needed info and luckily, they obliged.
"You'll be adopted, inducted into our circle and shown how to harness whatever power you currently have properly, you're definitely no witch or wizard, prehaps something more animalistic is suitable for you..."
"You're not inspiring much confidence... What happens to my current life if I go with you?"
"You won't need to worry about that, Lycan"
"Really? He rescues a cat and you plan on making him our Lycan? Bit ironic don't you think?" What I assume to be the middle sister piped up worrying me even more as my guard rose again
"You saw his search history and his social media, the transformation would be so easy YOU could do it!" The youngest chimed in with a mocking tone only to be cut off by the eldest again.
"BOTH OF YOU QUIET" She boomed in that mind splitting voice again "Look here." She commanded now in her still intimidating but human tone "Here's your options child of man, Become our Lycan, you can think of it as a halfway point between what you perceive as a werewolf and a guard dog for us. Or you can try and fend off 3 Witches alone with a stick. Choose wisely." Her tone indicated fustration... not at me but at the general situation. I looked at the cat again and it's eyes through means I don't know portrayed a sense of needed to protect something, these three witches? Itself?
Memories of the night before came back to me, I had seen the cat on the side of the road as I was walking home from a friends house. Two kids were beating up on something and I shined my light over at them. It was a cat! I had rushed over there before I was even conciously processsing what had happened one of them was on the floor crying in pain and the other was in the middle of having the legs swept out from under them, planting on the ground with the subtle crack of a broken nose bringing me a sadistc joy as I turned to the other squriming welp of a child.
I don't know if I said some one liner or just jumped straight into the pummelling but after it I looked at the cat. Such a tiny, fragile thing. In the poor light the overcast moon shone down I assumed the black blood speckled with starlight I saw was actually regular old blood and gently scooped the creature up, pulling it ever so carefully into my embrace.
As we arrived home I quickly ground up some painkillers for the thing put that in some tuna cans I had lying around and bandaged all the wounds I could see. before setting on the bed next to mine and heading to sleep....
The Youngest sister's utterance "Seems like you remember" snapped me back to reality, I had dropped my stick during the trance like state I was in "So... given what you're into and what you did to those kids... how about it? Guard dog?" The eldest spoke again, handing the cat to the middle sister who seemed the most liked by the cat. She offered her hand for a handshake
"I'd prefer more options but I'll take what I can get" I smirked taking the offer, a feeling of power surging through my veins as I felt something burst free inside me.
*"This is the start of a beautiful friendship"*
| 2020-12-05T08:29:44
| 2020-12-05T08:27:10
| 22
| 15
|
[WP] The year is 2040. All children born in 2020 have been found to have perfect vision with no exceptions. They are now beginning to turn 20 and something strange is happening. They’re developing abilities such as x-ray vision, clairvoyance, precognition, astral vision, infrared sight, etc.
|
Tomorrow-Man jolts awake. He writhes on the metal slab in the operating theater. I hear the leather bindings strain as he struggles, hear his panting and, soon, I'll hear his desperate pleas.
He was the first of the superhero generation to rise.
The very first superhero to live.
Soon the first to die.
"Shh," I soothe as I stuff a soaked rag into his mouth. "I'm Doctor Ethan Porter and I'm going to make everything okay. Trust me."
We were the chosen ones. The generation gifted incredible abilities. Tomorrow-Man was the oldest. A third eye seemed to open inside his mind on the day of his twentieth birthday, granting him the ability to see the future.
He became wealthy instantly, an overnight celebrity. He could predict anything from earthquakes to lottery numbers.
He even predicted me.
I look at him and ask, "What were your words again? There will be a child who will see the world differently? That will be born in light but taken to darkness. Who will drag the world into night with him."
Tomorrow-Man stops struggling. His breathing steadies. He knows who has taken him now. Knows how deeply fucked he is.
"Yes, that's right. You predicted me."
The scalpel is cold in my hands, and unable to see it, I scrape it over my arm to make sure it's sharp. Warm blood trickles down my wrist.
"Do you know what it's like," I ask, "when every one of your friends gains a power and you just watch? They become better. Become super. Can you imagine how exciting it was when I was nineteen and watching you on television? Waiting for my birthday to see what my incredible gift would be?"
He tries to speak through the rag but it's nonsense. If he could, he'd predict my death. Try to start a self-fulfilling prophecy. But I won't grant him that chance.
I move closer, touching his body with my hand, moving up his neck, over his chin, until I find his eyes. "And can you imagine," I ask, "how it felt for the world to vanish when my birthday finally arrived? You... you became a celebrity. I went blind. Does that seem fucking fair to you?"
He screams through the rag as the scalpel slices behind his left eye. Snip, snip, snip. His blood splashes me like tears. Then I almost have to saw through the thick wire-like optic nerve.
"Your gifts are no longer needed. You only wasted them anyway. Gambling and gaming instead of changing the world. Now... Now I have a better use for your body."
I plop the first eye in a jar of liquid and work on the second. He's stopped wriggling.
"Darkness adopted me. And for that, I am grateful."
Tomorrow-Man is silent and dead.
For now.
"But the darkness gave me my own gifts. It's how I caught you." The second eye joins the first. "For in the blind-night dead creatures can walk and spirits can whisper."
I place my hands on his chest and feel *them* enter the room, scratch their black-chill on my neck.
Only the blind could do this, as seeing the spirits would destroy a person. Spin them into insanity.
The body on the table begins to move again.
But it's no longer Tomorrow-Man inside the shell. He's yesterday's news now.
One by one, I'll turn all the heroes over to my darkness.
&#x200B;
\---
More on /r/nickofstatic
|
"So the universe hates us that much, huh?"
"Yeah... the rock's fucked up an entire generation and who knows how much more."
"What do they see? How do they see it? Is the thing that's - that's *beyond* really that terrifying?"
Robert shook his head, tapping a pen on the surface of his desk, littered with sketches and theories that still brought no fruit. "No one knows for sure what's going on. And I sure as hell don't think we want to know."
Beside him, Miranda pored over cases and cases of rock specimen. Sifting around using data systems of the umpteenth time, but Robert knew that much of it was already too infused with oceanic debris. The asteroid had landed at the beginning of 2020 right on the dot, in the middle of the Atlantic. And then things had scattered.
At first humans had gathered around the phenomenon, jets and ships and warnings that didn't match up to unbridled human curiosity. Reprieve and wonder had lasted for around twenty years, before it melted into something akin to wariness and fear. It had come with the awakenings - a miracle, people had thought, that all children born in 2020 would have perfect vision. There must be some benevolent God up there; he must love humanity with a sprinkling of humor and blessings.
Nothing had been farther from the truth, and Robert still shivered to think of all the damage and destruction had been wrought. Twenty year olds were already often a confused and lonely bunch, on the brink of adulthood and new responsibilities. Mix that in with the new powers that emerged - no, they were more like curses. The first symptom was X-ray vision, and it wasn't so bad; it was the only power which at first could be turned on and off at will. It was thought that these lucky few would lead humanity down new paths of innovation and discovery, until clairvoyance and precognition also took their root.
Seizures and blank stares. Comas and horrified gaping. The unfortunate twenty year olds who had been born at the beginning of the year had experienced them first, and as news spread worse than wildfire over the internet, people began hiding their young and quarantining themselves for a phenomenon more terrifying than any before. Twenty year olds born later in the year starved themselves to stave off the inevitable, begging some god to not bless them with the images of the looming whatever it was brand of doom.
Nothing worked. As those born in 2020 had seemingly gone insane - muttering of terror and horror, begging people to end them first, put in hospitals with fear meters spiking what should have been humanly possible - the technology and advancements of the age had only seemed to exacerbate the situation. Maybe humanity really was just cursed.
They were in the laboratory. And floors below, unfortunate people, practically just children, were being kept under, having their brains studied, and occasionally questioned to try and garner even a smidgen of information.
"How are we supposed to tell what's going on?" Miranda ran an agitated hand through her hair. "I wish... sometimes I really don't know whether or not to wish God existed or not."
"None of our practical science had pointed to a god," Robert said. "but maybe the answer really lies in those that were... affected with sight."
| 2019-12-28T10:07:45
| 2019-12-28T09:21:56
| 1,126
| 110
|
[WP]: After losing a bet, a master assassin must kill a world leader with a banana
|
"Potassium Assassin"
He came equipped with a banana stripped
Of its yellow filling-stuff so to choke
His intended target with circumscript
Arrangements that prescribed he joke
About with his salacious, murderous
Action to kill the foreign health leader
In fashion ironic and factitious
Because this man declared to each creature
That none consume yellow stuffed-foods freely
With such opposition was he met that
Of all to testify called none did see
Who had the foreign official neck wrapped
The tale of official ill-liked by all
Who met end choked with a banana peel
|
First time poster and I always love constructive feedback. Enjoy!
Killing is an art, a process. The true artist works in canvases of gags, marbles of lead, and clays of explosive compounds but it is the seductive pallete that appeals to our nature and draws us to create. Whether it’s the deep mcintosh crimson of blood or the plum purple of asphyxiation each brings their own alluring spectrum. Admittedly I’ve never dabbled in this color before Mr. President but you have helped me produce my masterpiece this evening. A simple, elegant black suit contoured to your form, a fitting base. Even in death you exude command in your stature. Alas your noble, piercing blue gaze I could not preserve, but your contorted expression of shock adds a layer to this display. Pain is beauty after all. The blazing red of your power tie neatly draws attention from your slightly engorged neck to the focal point of my grand design. Here, barely visible between the soft violet of your lips a daring splash of mingled green and yellow. The stem of a not quite ripe banana, my brush and your demise, brings the piece to a daring climax. I may be projecting Mr. President but if I’m not mistaken it would appear you have a Mona Lisa smile at the edge of your mouth. I’m certainly never too proud to pay homage to the greats. Perhaps even you the victim of my destruction, my muse, my creation had an appreciation for the macabrely absurd in your final moments. A quick photo for posterity and alas I must be on my way. To not share this moment would be the ultimate crime against art. And of course my benefactor desired proof and who am I to deny such patronage? My path is neither that of the starving artist nor the fool hardy gambler. I never make a bet that I can lose.
| 2014-05-13T13:02:49
| 2014-05-13T12:59:45
| 24
| 16
|
[WP] Retell a well known story. Make me side with the villain/antagonist.
The more unsympathetic they are in the original, the better.
|
I know a tale of a hero, a monster, and the tragic tale of a brave man's death.
The story tells of a woman who had lost her family. With the hope that, somewhere, they may still be alive, she journeyed through the wilderness on a small, brown horse, when she was captured by an evil monster, eight feet tall and powerful, a mix of man and wolf. He locked her in a castle as his pet, a plaything and eventually, a snack.
Down in the village, the people learned of this monster. A man stood on in the town square, holding a torch above his head. "We will not stay here and fear for our children's safety! I will kill this monster and assure the safety of you all! Who is with me?"
The townspeople gathered fire and pitchfork, charging the abandoned castle where the creature resided. As the villagers fought against the monster's demonic guards, the hero climbed the tower to save the fair maiden and defeat the beast holding her hostage.
On the rooftop, the two of them fought. The hero managed to cut the thing with his blade, causing it to yell in pain. As he advanced on the creature, however, his foot slipped from under him, catapulting him to the ground and his untimely death.
Eventually, the village returned to normal, with the monster nowhere to be found and the maiden engaged to a prince who had become astonished by her beauty. But late at night, when most normal people sleep in the small town, you can hear the men who guard the town sing a quiet melody.
"No one hits like Gaston, no one has wit like Gaston..."
|
I watched our glorious leader with disdain, bumbling old fool. Once again he chose to stay in his palace and play with his toys. I suppose in reality that was the smartest option, leave the governing of the sultanate to me. Still with no male heir and his daughter unwilling to marry a succession crisis seemed inevitable, one that may very well precede or cause his death if he didn't begin to act as a king.
I rubbed my head in frustration as I listened to the reports from the advisors. The soldiers keeping our borders safe from our enemies in the north and south were going to rebel if we didn't deliver their wages soon. Unfortunately most of the recent taxes had gone towards paying for the extravagant banquets to impress suitors, unsuccessful suitors at that. Many might fancy ours one of the wealthiest kingdoms in the land but it was mostly a facade, the years of incompetent leadership had taken their toll. A corrupt and buffoonish city guard never seemed to ever actually catch any criminals, the crime driving away sorely needed commerce.
"What a pack of idiots" my feather companion announced as we walked towards my private chambers. "If I have to listen to ONE MORE spiel about how this and that is the wrath of Allah for that stupid princess refusing to marry, I'm gonna lose it!" "Quiet Iago" I cautioned glancing around the hallways, knowing if anyone had heard my loud-mouthed pet it'd be my head, if there was one group with more power than the Royal Vizier it was surely the imams, and the far away but powerful caliph.
I sat staring at the night sky from my private quarters, filled with pagan items that would surely find my beheaded as a heretic if anyone saw them. I heard a faraway growl followed by a girlish scream. Another failed suitor I thought as I rolled my eyes. *Think Jafar think* I desperately searched for the answer. Then it hit me, why was I trying so hard to lead this camel to water? Perhaps if no worthy suitor could be found from outside the sultanate, one could be found within the city, perhaps a trusted vizier already familiar with the administration of the realm. If that failed though I'd need something else, if the answer refused to lie in logic, perhaps it could lie with magic. From my time as an apprentice I knew of a magic like no other, but to find it I'd need a very special gem.
| 2016-02-02T14:25:18
| 2016-02-02T14:08:43
| 41
| 18
|
[WP] As it turns out, aliens all have aphantasia. This makes Humans the only species capable of imagining images in their heads. This greatly confuses alien telepaths, who report seeing “constantly shifting landscapes of alternate realities” when peering into human minds
|
Grand Sage Ilik, son of Latrik, was at a loss.
Like his forefathers, Ilik was a telepath, a being endowed with the ability to read (and occasionally manipulate) the minds of other beings. His race, the Chanerai, was so proficient in this, they were derisively known as "The Mindflayers of Planet Nemosine" throughout the galaxy.
Give or take a couple of variations, the same old cycle would repeat throughout the centuries.
A new species somehow managed *not* to annihilate itself before achieving FTL travel. The Galactic Federation would then send envoys to add them to their illustrious ranks.
The rest followed like clockwork.
The powers that be would turn to the Chanerai, have them peek into the collective consciousness of the new members. Such a feat would've taken more than a few hundred cycles if not for the fact that most if not all known Federation species shared some form of "hive mind" with their people. Other than a few anomalies here and there, a member of one race was virtually indistinguishable from another when it came to having their minds read and catalogued.
Being who they were, the Chanerai would effortlessly peel back the layers of a thousand myriad minds and turn over their findings to High Command. In exchange for their services, Ilik's people received generous tax exemptions and other boons from the Federation. While Planet Nemosine and the Chanerai certainly thrived under this arrangement, such blatant favoritism did little to endear the Mindflayers to the galactic community at large.
However, all that changed on that fateful day.
Without much in the way of pomp and circumstance, the Galactic Federation announced the discovery of a new planet and the recruitment of its dominant species into their ranks. The planet's inhabitants called their homeworld "Earth," a shorthand for "Terra." For their part, the inhabitants called themselves "humans," "human beings," or "people."
Desk cluttered with reports, half-eaten leftovers and other rubbish, Ilik realized this was the chance he'd be waiting for. He'd present the Nemosinan Council with the following proposal: he and at least a thousand of handpicked volunteers would travel to Terra and live among the humans for the next couple of cycles, more than enough time to read and catalogue the minds of these primitive apes. Such a breakthrough would surely earn him a post among the Imperial Scientists of the Lukonian Empire... right?
Wrong.
For starters, human beings numbered by the billions, whereas most Federation species seldom exceeded the hundred-thousands. Unlike "normal" races, humans had no fixed mating seasons and little to no readily enforceable restrictions on the number of offspring they could have at any given moment. Being so thoughtless and impulsive, Terrans had spread all across their homeworld (even its uninhabitable regions!), making it particularly difficult to secure a subject pool that would meet the rigid testing standards set by the Nemosinan Council of Sages.
Second, unlike other species, humans didn't share a hive mind. Even the most tightly-knit enclaves allowed for significant variance among their members. One member might agree with another on certain topics, then bear irreconcilable discrepancies on others, a fact that drove the telepaths under Ilik to scratch their collective heads on several occasions.
Third, no human being was identical to another, not even to themselves (at least not always), a lesson Ilik himself learned the hard way. A single human comprised an unfathomable galaxy of self-contradictions that at best had only a passing resemblance to those of other humans, let alone other beings.
Furthermore, human minds constantly shifted. The mind of an individual human could be one way this moment, then dramatically change at the next.
Then came the most baffling discovery of all.
Human minds are practically boundless, yet another lesson Ilik and his associates learned the hard way.
(*Translated from Standard Nemosian*). "{What do you mean you "lost the thread of Subject Alpha's mind," Researcher Tarlmek!? They were right next to you!}."
"{My sincerest apologies, Grand Sage Ilik. I followed all our rules and procedures. I did not lose sight of Subject Alpha, not even for an instant. One moment they pondered the fate of a person named Bierce, who disappeared centuries ago. The next, they shifted to thoughts of a strange vessel}."
"{Strange vessel?}."
"{It was like no spaceship any of us have seen, Sir. This one did not fly. Instead, it floated on "water," that lethal blue substance that enshrouds Terra. The vessel ran across some kind of floating mountain, then foundered beneath the waters, taking many to their deaths. Next I knew, Subject Alpha shifted to something called "What-If Scenarios." Roughly speaking, the subject went through alternate chains of events in about as much time as it took for our ship to travel from Nemosine to Terra at lightspeed}."
"{Impossible! No mind can think so swiftly!}."
"{What next occurred is a blur. Subject Alpha pondered: would the ship have sunk if it "crashed head-on" with the mountain?" It then switched to some other topic: would having prepared the "lifeboats" sooner have saved more people? Did the vessel shatter, or did it explode? To make matters worse, the subject then turned their attention to a hypothetical situation where they made the acquaintance of a Terran who perished long ago, one Wilfred Owen}."
"{Who is this Wilfred Owen?}."
"{Terrans label them as "he," therefore designating them as "male." He penned several works of linguistic artifice before meeting his untimely demise during a "Great War" of sorts}."
"{Great War!? Leave it to Terrans to glorify wanton slaughter! Thank you, Researcher Tarlmek}."
Once he took his leave of Tarlmek, Ilik went over yet another strange case: a dark-skinned Terran, a "child," had unknowingly brought Researcher Gebol to suicidal despair. The boy's mind worked much differently from that of other humans to such extent, his thoughts shifted as fast and often as he might blink. One moment he pondered whether he could combine an apparatus he called an "NES" with a "Sega Genesis," then another he termed "Playstation 1 through Infinity," then dropped the matter altogether to ruminate the best possible way to explain to his maternal unit that "C-minus" he got on his examination that day.
Ilik had Gebol confined to sick bay till further notice. He couldn't risk him taking his own life, at least not before he shared the rest of his findings.
Next came Researcher Vildam. She was in what humans call "hysterics."
"{One moment he was talking to me about what he does for a living. The next, he thought it would be most pleasurable for me to share a bed with him! The things he intended to do with that filthy apparatus! I broke the link by the time a substance called "pesto" came into his mind: he intends to mate with me, *then* consume me for sustenance!?}."
Vildam... such a shame. One of the brightest minds of the current cycle, reduced to an incoherent babbling mess after a Terran minute of speaking with one of those "construction workers" about something called a "Shakespeare."
Ilik would never forgive himself if she never recovered. She was to be the bearer of his spawn, after all.
Pacing back and forth outside the Audience Chamber of the Imperial Palace at Ilaurus, capital homeworld of the Lukonian Empire, Ilik vainly thought to impose coherence on his train of thought.
This couldn't be happening!
A species that shifts thoughts faster than they can utter syllables, whose minds aren't bound by rules of temporality or reality *and* can easily bludgeon blatant contradictions into coherent ideations!
How would he explain any of this to Chief Scientist Am'Dussias?
The Ailuran was already difficult to appease. Ilik would be lucky to still have a job, to say nothing of his own life, after all was said and done...
|
This is gonna be a long read. Sit back and enjoy.
&#x200B;
*Translated to Language #2554 (Human Language form - American English) per your request.*
**-- Classification --**
Alien Species Report #1751
Supervised by Junior Researcher Xipt'an Xi'ta. *Supervisor note - My first time writing an alien species report, and I think I nailed it!*
Perceptibility: Class XIV - Visible, Tangible
Sentience: Variant 3 - Sapient
Information about alien life: Class 2B - Unaware about aliens, but aware that their existence is possible
\[UNTRANSLATABLE\] - Plausible, but \[UNTRANSLATABLE\]. *Supervisor note - You wouldn't get it anyways. I don't get it too. Why would you need to \[UNTRANSLATABLE\]?*
Residence: System #11890 (Sol), Planet #25276 (Earth).
Refer to document "Species #1751 full classification" for a more detailed approach.
**-- Description --**
Species #1751, also known as humans, are a humanoid, almost fully perceptible alien species. They live on Planet #25276 "Earth". For more information on Earth or system #11890 "Sol", refer to document "System #11890 Sol, Full Classification and Description".
Humans are known for their ethnical diversity: at the time of writing, Earth is housing 195 factions each ruled by a different government. Humans are also unusually aggressive toward each other, to the point of using Type-3 Nuclear Explosives. *Supervisor note - Yeah, I know. They don't have proper spaceships or intelligence on us, "aliens", but they have Type-3 Nuclear Explosives and have proven to be not afraid to use them, Scary!*
Species #1751 are sapient, capable of thinking, conversing and \[UNTRANSLATABLE\]. *Supervisor note - They don't know that they can \[UNTRANSLATABLE\], though. That's a little funny. I don't know why. just imagining something that can't \[UNTRANSLATABLE\] is hilarious to me.*
Alpha-Xarxay Mind Tests have proven ineffective with humans, and Bohx-Delta Mind Tests have given inconsistent results. Testing with telepathy has ~~worked~~ ~~not worked~~ ~~given inconsistent results~~ ~~resulted in the tester's \[REDACTED\]~~ See Telepathy Test Log #1751-3 (Requires Level Gamma-1751 clearance).
*Opening Telepathy Test Log #1751-3 per your request.*
Supervisor: Xi'x Xor
Telepathy Provider: Xant'i Xixsa
Test Subject: Species #1751 specimen.
<The test begins.>
Xant'i Xixsa: *starting up an universal translator.*
Subject: Where am I? Help- *notices Xant'i Xixsa* Oh my goodness! Get away from me you-
Xant'i Xixsa: Do not worry. My intention is not to harm you. *Note - the universal translators don't always understand the language they were fed, that may cause confusion. Contact Xufac's Universal Translators support line if emergency help is needed.*
Subject: *calms down* Why are you, uh, speaking like that?
Xant'i Xixsa: I have not noticed any strange patterns with my American English speech. Anyway, I am here to perform a test on you.
Subject: Oh god. Will you torture me, like last time? *Note - subject may or may not have knowledge of alien species, based on their recalling of being "abducted by some creepy \[REDACTED\]".*
Xant'i Xixsa: No. I am not here to perform torturous acts, I am here to perform a test on you.
Subject: What test?
Xant'i Xixsa: I am not here to explain the test to you. I will now proceed to the test.
*Telepathy provider's eyes start glowing. After approximately 8.36 seconds, the subject's eyes start glowing as well.*
*Testing proceeds as usual. Both Xant'i Xixsa and the subject are silent. Xant'i Xixsa starts to look surprised and scared.*
*Xant'i Xixsa's eyes start \[UNTRANSLATABLE\]. The test is abruptly ended, with medical robots rushing in to apply first aid to the telepathy provider.*
No new telepathy tests are to be performed with Species #1751.
*Supervisor's note: I was there as well. I've heard Xant'i Xixsa's last words... This is the first time I;ve witnessed a death. I'm still very, uh, traumatised because of that unfortunate event.*
*Poor Xant'i's last words were "How can he see a picture without actually seeing it! Truly phenomenal, I should tell my son.". Poor Xant'i. Rest in peace, buddy.*
| 2022-03-03T07:40:57
| 2022-03-03T07:30:43
| 111
| 74
|
[WP] Its your favorite time of year; the annual weapons harvest. The grenades are ready to be picked off the vine, the AK's are almost ready to be dug up. Your neighbor is revealing the results of a grafting experiment at the annual feast.
|
"*Da*, my friend." Ivan said, with a huge shit-eating grin on his face. I didn't care - he's Russian, this is what he does, this is what he's good at, and he deserves to be proud for it.
No, the real concern is the secret project he's been working on. If it truly is as groundbreaking as he claimed, he'll get a Nobel Weapon Prize and our entire town will benefit from his fame - and the fortune that comes after. If it's not... well, he's Russian. He'll figure out some other crazy stuff and we're none the worse for wear.
"Alright, buddy. Spit it out."
"Yes, Steve. Now, you grow assault rifle and submachinegun, no?"
"Yeah..."
"Right. So, when you go do harvest, you dig up AK-47, take off magazine, and take bullet, yes?"
"Yes."
"You pick M4 from tree and do same, yes?"
"Yes."
"UMP is good to plant in group. More profit for more-"
"Yes, yes, Ivan. More profit. Please, just get to the point." I looked at my watch. "My son wants me to go with him for his first pistol picking, and that's in an hour."
"Apologies, Steve. I will be fast." Ivan coughed. "Point is: you grow gun but do not grow bullet. you must rip mag off gun and throw away useless gun, no?"
"That's right. You're one to talk though..." His acres are entirely dedicated to growing IMI Negevs. It took a man of his stature to pick up so many light machine guns per day and harvest them for their box mags and bullets. Most people just make money off of bullets, because guns only come with one standard-sized magazine or clip, and it took a full, unfired bullet to make a seed for planting. Ivan makes decent money off of selling truckloads upon truckloads of 5.56s.
Ivan leaned closer to me, and I took an involuntary step back as his massive frame loomed over me. "I have found secret to not waste empty gun."
"Whoa. Seriously?" It was a matter of global debate ever since World War II, when some ultra-bored soldier found that he could plant bullets and grown fully-functional guns much like plants. However, no one's ever been able to solve the bullet crisis - sure, bullets can be produced just as before, but wasting perfectly good guns are another thing. Recycling the polymer, wood and metal parts just don't cut it anymore.
"Yes. Look here." Ivan waved me over and I followed him to his workshop. Inside, the usual hum of machinery was absent, replaced by an eerie silence. Disassembled guns and spare parts were pushed up against the walls, and only two light were on, one shining on a work table, and the other on a vault-like door.
Ivan pushed a button on a remote, and the vault door hissed open, revealing an airlock. We stepped in, and it closed again behind us. Something hissed again, whirred, went bump, and the other door opened. We stepped into a small armoury.
Guns of all types were everywhere - on the walls, on the floor, on tables, in boxes, in the cupboard, peeking out of the closet... the only clean place was a small path, carved out of a sea of guns, leading straight up to another table. Another gun rested upon it.
"Ivan, what is that?"
"This? This is future of gun." Ivan grinned and picked up the gun as it hummed to life, and something lit up inside the gun, a swirl of colours and fractals of light. Ivan patted it, almost mesmerized.
"This gun shoots light. Burning light. I call it laser."
|
Every autumn some of my neighbors and I get together and celebrate the harvest with a big feast. Each farmer brings one of his or her best crops, and we all have our specialities.
Big Jim Thompson usually brings grenade launchers. The tubes are delicious, once you get the thick skin off, and they taste like giant hearts of palm. They have that kind of stringy, savory quality to them too, and Jim’s wife makes a killer salad with them. The grenades, which grow in knobby bunches at the base of the launcher tree, are quite hard and bitter, but Jim crushes them with a special machine he designed and makes a very tasty IPA out of the juice and his bullet hops. We always drink the beer he made the year before.
Susan James’ bayonet home fries are a particular favorite of mine. She dices the thin, silvery fronds and cooks them in a big iron skillet- the same one she uses every year. Susan jokes that she’s never washed the thing, and I’m never sure if she’s telling the truth or not. When the home fries or ready it looks like somebody’s diced a bunch of nickels and tossed them in salt and pepper. They taste a lot like normal home fries, but with a bit of extra tang to them, like she soaked them in water from a mineral hot springs first.
Everyone loves AK-on-the-cob, and since it’s such a ubiquitos crop, we usually have a competition, judged by the children. They sit at a special table and wear the traditional bib (emblazoned with an AK dripping sauce off its trigger guard) and we make a big deal out of blindfolding them all before the competition starts. Last year Ajax’s five-year-old Phillip had us all in stitches- he’d been watching a lot of cooking shows and kept calling out things like ‘Too much bloody lemon!’. Even though I’ grown up now, I still have a particular fondness for AK-on-the-cob.
My traditional offering for the feast isn’t a commercial crop, since I can’t seem to grow it at scale. My Walther PPK’s only get about knee-high, and they’re as demanding as princesses. Not enough light, too much light, high acidity in the soil or even a few weeks of stiff breezes ruffling their jet-black leaves, and the whole crop is ruined. By now, though, I’ve got things more or less down, and people always compliment me on the PPKs. I eat them raw, and even after all these years of doing it, they can still make sweat break out on my forehead after one single bite. Their skin snaps like a jazz singer and each seed in the magazine is powerful enough to make a grown man cry. I usually make them into guacamole, but I also sell a jelly that’s very popular.
My wife, of course, makes the mini gun tacos to put the guacamole on.
| 2017-11-11T16:54:25
| 2017-11-11T16:42:15
| 23
| 10
|
[WP] Hydraulic Press Channel owner goes insane and starts crushing subscribers by kidnapping them, channel goes even more popular
|
It has been 13 hours since the last video was uploaded which has already grossed 17 million views and counting.
For those who are not interested in watching the video, let me briefly describe it for you. It consists of an elderly man, somewhere in his 80's, blinded and gagged. He is made to sit upright on a rocking chair, while he is trying to shout his lungs out. The guy meanwhile, is busy explaining how interesting it would be, to see the amalgamation of the rocking chair and the old man's bones once the crushing is complete. The sheer insensitivity with which he describes what a bummer it would be, should the man have a heart attack before the press comes down on him, is just appalling.
Before this, it was a woman who was similarly blinded, and gagged, but with an upturned kitchen sink over hear head.
In one of those videos, he claims that crushing a human, that too a reluctant one, is specially fun because it feels like crushing a teddy bear on the outside, and a barbie doll on the inside. That combined with the fact that usually the person under the press scared, as a result of which he gets a better, more dramatic "blood splatter", he feels, is what gets him those ginormous view numbers.
Apparently, the viewers, when questioned, don't feel it has gotten out of hand. Kidnapping subscribers one at a time, and putting them under the press, has consistently not only gotten him more views than any of his videos before, but has also attracted a slew of companies willing to pay top dollar for even a casual mention on the channel.
Strangely, even though a lot of people have registered complaints against the man, and there is an active manhunt for him across the country, the video updates have been regular. Youtube, has remained silent on the whole issue, as it argues along the lines that it is nothing but a mere facilitator of entertainment.
>The gun is never blamed for the death of a victim, the man who pulled the trigger is.
That's what the Youtube PR team his sticking to as a justification for letting the videos stay up. Moreover, one of the prominent figures in the online world, who does not wish to be named right now, believes that the hydraulic press channel is doing is nothing short of orchestrating the beginning of a renaissance period in online entertainment, that has long been stagnating with reducing user engagement numbers and the declining viewership numbers of traditional reality tv.
Between the incompetent authorities that continue to frantically search for this man, and the fanatical subscribers , who cant seem to get enough of the Hydraulic Press Channel, lies the conundrum, that is the question: What should you be worried about? What next? or Who's next?
|
Joey opened his eyes, squinting into the bright light. He couldn't remember much, only that he had been dragged out of bed, tied up, before some kind of smelly cloth was shoved against his face. His hands were still restrained; in fact, he couldn't move at all. His head was laying on some kind of support, but it was very uncomfortable. The metal dug into the spine of his neck.
His eyes slowly adjusted to his surroundings. He immediately noticed a large metal cylinder above his head, pointed directly at his face. He recognized it as a hydraulic press - in fact, it looked exactly like the one he saw on Youtube.
He could not move his head, but he turned his eyes towards the left as far as he could. He saw a camera peeping through a glass wall.
He heard a familiar, Finnish-accented voice. "Welcome to Hydraulic Press Channel. Today, we have for yuo one-millionth subscriber. No button yet, coming later. We like to thank yuo for all your sooport." The Finn clapped his hands once. "Let's see!"
The press began to move. He could hear almost nothing over the roar of the machine. It was so much louder than he could ever have imagined. He desperately jerked his head from side to side, but it was no use. The press was almost upon him.
As the press snapped the cartilage in his nose, he heard Lauri say: "It's just prank, bro!"
| 2016-05-19T00:38:12
| 2016-05-19T00:24:26
| 43
| 12
|
[WP] A well known fact has changed overnight, and you're the only one who remembers it being anything different than it is now.
|
"But, that can't be right. It's *Berenstein*..."
Judy looked at the display and scratched at her nose. The Barnes & Noble employee waited as she read the inventory screen over and over again. *The Berenstain Bears,* the title read, and yet, there was no way that could be right.
"Perhaps you might've been mistaken with the title?" The employee hesitantly asked. "It's a pretty popular franchise, so maybe you saw some kind of knock-off?"
That couldn't be it, either. Judy had a small set through her childhood and remembered the books well. *Berenstein* was the family's name. She was sure of it.
"If you like, I can bring a copy of the book over, and you can decide if it's what you're after?"
The employee was trying his best to be tactful, but Judy could tell his patience was beginning to wear.
"Yes, please, I'll wait here."
As the man walked towards the children's section, she repeated the words to herself, over and over again. Berenstain. Berenstein. Such a trivial difference, and yet it shook her to her core. These books were her favorite. There was no way she could be wrong. She sunk backwards to the counter. The world around her felt very foreign.
The man returned, book in hand, and Judy's heart skipped a beat as she took it from him. The illustrations, font, and even the paper grade was as she remembered it. And yet, *The Berenstain Bears* was written boldly across the top.
"Is this what you were after?" The employee ventured. Judy only nodded meekly.
"I can ring you up over here, then," he continued, as he gestured towards a nearby register. Judy moved towards it on autopilot as her mind struggled to accept her memories were wrong. She thought back to the car that nearly hit her yesterday as her eyes glazed past the latest best-seller or the newest volume on the theory of quantum immortality. Everything just felt *off* lately. *After a day like yesterday, it'll just take some time to get back into the swing of things,* she reasoned.
|
At first I didn’t notice it. I mean, why would I?
I simply got up and went about my morning routine same as always. Shit, shower, shave. Eat a bowl of nutritious and delicious oatmeal (I like mine with berries and pecans) and then feed the cat.
It wasn’t until I was in my car on the freeway that I had my first hint something was amiss. I was flicking back and forth across my pre-programmed rock stations when I heard it. It was catchy and I recognized the voice immediately. *Hot* *damn* I thought, they did find a gem in his unreleased material. I never would have thought it. All the songs released since his death had been pure crap. Stuff that never should have seen the light of day. An insult to the dead and a symbol of all that was wrong with the music industry.
The more I listened the more I was caught up in the song. It was as good as anything he had ever done. Better even. I felt tears in my eyes as I barreled down the freeway, fingers tapping the steering wheel to the best Michael Jackson song I had ever heard. After the final notes faded into the background the DJ came on and told us we had just listened to the number one song in the nation. Then he said something strange. He said, “The King of Pop is back and better than ever folks. We’ll be right back after these messages.” It struck me as weird. His using the present tense to refer to the dead.
As soon as I got to my computer I searched for any information I could about the song. I wanted to know its back story and I definitely wanted to buy it. That was when things got really really weird.
The news articles about the new album also trumpeted the King of Pop’s upcoming world tour, his first in almost 20 years. They talked about his long stay in rehab the year before. His recovery and subsequent musical rebirth. I stared at my computer screen checking website after website. I poked my head up and looked around the office. Surely, someone must be fucking with me. I must be on camera. This was all an elaborate prank. Well, two can play at that I thought.
I got up and walked to my boss’s office. He was sitting behind his bigger than it needs to be desk, sipping on a cup of coffee. I leaned against the door trying to be casual.
“How’s it going Frank?
The boss looked up, a twinge of annoyance on his brow. “Good. What can I do for you?”
“Have you heard that new Michael Jackson album?”
This question seemed to smooth some of the annoyance out of his forehead. “…yeah, I just finished downloading it. Amazing stuff…. I didn’t know you were a fan.” He smiled at me in a way he never had before.
“Oh yeah. Big time. Are you kidding. I wore out my cassette tape of Bad.”
“Nice. I am so freaking happy he got his shit together. For a while I thought he was going to kill himself.”
“Yeah. Except he did.”
“What was that?”
“Up, look at the time. Got to get work. See ya!” I said as I got out of there. *What* *the* *fuck* *was* *going* *on?* I was genuinely scared now. There was no way Frank could pull off a straight man routine like that. I made a bee line for my cubicle and spent the rest of the morning searching every corner of the web I could for Michael Jackson information. The final straw was his interview on The Tonight Show. There he was, in the flesh and looking healthier then he had in a long time. He joked with Jimmy Fallon and then performed the song I had heard on the radio.
I left work without telling anyone and drove myself to the hospital. I refused to tell the doctors what was wrong. In the end they gave in and checked me out. I was in perfect health. *But* *what* *if* *I* *was* *losing* *my* *mind?* *I* *must* *be.* I had perfect memories of the death of Michael Jackson. I was a massive fan and had genuinely mourned.
What do you do when one small fact about your world changes over night? Well, you have a choice. You can either let it drive you crazy or you can buy tickets to Michael Jackson’s upcoming world tour.
Mine are front row center.
edit: small stuff
| 2015-04-06T15:32:05
| 2015-04-06T15:19:00
| 65
| 15
|
[WP] You wake up from a coma. You were in a car crash caused by a drunk billionaire. In an effort to save his reputation, he hurriedly and secretly ordered the best doctors to restore your burned face using the photo on the driver's license they found in your car—a car which you've stolen.
|
Melinda Stacy Carbondale.
That's the name on the license.
Born October 8, 1983. Brown hair, brown eyes, 5 ft 8 in. Lives on 9439 Cherry Lane.
Makes sense, considering that's where I found the car--a grey Honda civic. Comfortable, average, unassuming, and a high resale value.
It was supposed to be a simple transaction. I'd acquire the car and meet my buddy down at the abandoned garage.
I didn't anticipate the speeding black Tesla. I especially didn't anticipate it to run a red light.
There was the crunch of metal, and shattered glass fluttered like snowflakes. A horn sang a lonely warning--too little too late. Another joined in harmony. Stars burst winking glitter in my eyes as my head flopped back and forth. I saw a flickering fire peek from under the hood of my car. Soon, the heat wrapped around me in a burning blanket, suffocating and hot. Too, too hot. The last thing I remember was a bright light blinding me into darkness.
And then I woke up here in this average hotel room with crisp white sheets and folded white towels. It's not the kind of place I'd stay at myself--but then again, I'm not myself anymore.
They changed everything until not an inch of me was left.
...Well, that's not entirely true. They did leave an inch of me intact--seven inches to be precise, eight if it's a good night and the chick is extra hot. Actually, they didn't change my body at all, just my face.
Jigsaws of memory piece together until I can make out the puzzle. The other guy wasn't injured, not like I was. He could scream and yell at everyone and everything around him. Spittle flying into other people's faces kind of screaming.
*Take care of it. Don't let this get back to me.* I remember hearing that somewhere in my drifting consciousness. And I guess that's exactly what they did. They took care of me.
Except they didn't kill me, which would have been the kinder thing to do. No, instead, they turned me into her.
Melinda Stacy Carbondale.
She's an organ donor. Better than me. Only way someone's getting my organs is if they pay for it.
From what I've gathered, the man is the kind of rich that someone like me can't even fathom. The kind of rich that could bail out a country in a crisis but won't. He hired the best doctors he could find to restore my face from the charred mess it was. Except the only face they could find was Melinda Stacy Carbondale.
As much as I hate to admit it, the doctors did a flawless job. If I didn't know any better I'd have thought I was born with this face too. The skin flows seamlessly from my face to my neck, not a stitch or cut in sight.
But admiring myself in the mirror will get me nowhere. I have a lot of questions. So many that they twist and squirm in my brain like slithering snakes hissing over each other.
I don't know who that rich man is. I don't know how any of this happened without my knowledge (I mean, don't doctors need permission from the patient to do any kind of surgery?). I don't know why nobody thought to question why a man had a woman's driver's license. And I don't know why or how I ended up here in this hotel room.
But there's one slithering question that slides through the others. It swallows them deep into its belly until all I can think is--
What the hell am I supposed to do now?
\*\*\*\*\*
Oh gosh, thank you for all the support and kind comments on my story! I guess I went ahead and made a sub. It won't always be empty, so if you're interested in more from me feel free to check out: r/rulerofstorybears
|
Mama Demeter always said – always follow the money.
The money in question on a fine Thursday morning ended up being sleek, black car illegally parked in a towaway zone. I got a car, and the public was freed from an illegally parking menace. That’s what I called public service.
And so there I was coasting down Broadway – I didn’t even have to worry about the car being reported stolen. If you park in a tow-away zone, odds are your car was towed away, not stolen. I opened up the sunroof to let in the crisp October air and the cacophony of sounds that was the soundtrack of New York. It was right around then that I was t-boned by an asshole running a red light.
Some people just don’t have any respect for laws.
***
The next thing I remember, I’m waking up in an office overlooking Manhattan, blinking at a face I’ve seen in newspaper articles and online videos. I flinch violently as the memory of the crash smashes into me like a runaway train. Screeching metal and pain. Yeah, great going there brain, good to know my reflexes were in order.
The man had his fingers laced together and an apologetic expression plastered on his face. “Ms. Johnson,” he said and extended a hand.
*Who the fuck was Ms. Johnson?*
I stared at the hand for a hard second. In hindsight, I probably had other options. I could’ve told him right there I wasn’t who he thought I was, but I smelled an opportunity. Mama Demeter always said: luck is just taking advantage of whatever opportunities you’re given.
So, I damn well took his hand. “Mr…Wells?” I said, thinking back to the articles and TV interviews.
A nod from the man, a brief grimace. I guess he was going for friendly smile? I went to tuck my hair behind my ear, only to find…nothing. I moved my fingers up till I hit hair. *Short* hair. Barely 4 inches.
A wince. “Ms. Johnson you were…involved in an accident.”
“No kidding,” I said, as I ran my hand through my hair again. Mama Demeter always said to cut it short. A girl couldn’t afford to have long hair in the business. Made it too easy to grab. She compared it to a cape from the Incredibles. But it was the one thing I didn’t listen on.
Had been, I suppose.
“There was…considerable damage,” Wells said.
Damage? He called this Damage? Most my fucking hair was gone!
“To the car?” I asked, my face the very picture of naivete. I wanted to make him squirm.
Another wince. “No, ah, to you.”
“Then why am here and not in a hospital?”
“You are. This is just my office. You’ve been here for 24 hours.”
A whole day. I just gaped at him. The person must’ve reported their car missing by now. I had to leave.
“Well, presumably, you’ve covered all the medical bills since you were the one who T-boned me?”
“Of course, of course,” he said with a wave of his hand, “but I don’t think you understand.” He took a deep breath. “You suffered burns. *Severe* burns. Your face was an unrecognizable mess.”
My blood went cold.
“I took the liberty to contact the best physicians I had to reconstruct your face from your driving license. Aside from your hair, the rest of your body suffered…relatively easily reparable damage.”
I didn’t have a driving license. Why make it easy for the man, Mama Demeter used to say.
“M-may I see a mirror?” I asked, the tremble in my voice not entirely an act. He handed one. I took a deep breath and looked in the mirror.
And a stranger stared back.
I closed my eyes and focused on counting my breaths. Letting the calm engulf me, exploring my options. There was no reason to panic. I would gain nothing by panicking. Smashing the mirror over his head would *not* be productive. Not even a little. This was opportunity. I'd already paid the price. Now I had to cash out on this involuntary investment.
I stared evenly at Wells, who was looking at me with calculating eyes.
“So what do you get out of this,” I asked, my voice flat.
He blinked, taken aback. “I-I’m just doing what’s right.”
I gave a short bark of laughter. “Right. You’re just Mr. Righteous. Let me guess, the media heard about it?”
He pulled himself up. “My driver–”
“Will take the fall, yes,” I said, and he shut up. “Let’s cut the crap. You almost killed me, running a light, and you want me to be all nice about it because you rebuilt my face?”
All humor was gone from his face.
“Ms. Johnson, what was given can be taken away…”
I smiled at that. “This isn’t a movie, asshole, and you certainly ain't a Bond villain. You put me back, and you’re back to square one, the media and the courts breathing down your neck.” I could’ve been more diplomatic I suppose, but my goddam face had been stolen, cut me some slack.
“So, you’ll ruin me,” he said, “despite all I did.”
Oh yeah he did *quite* a lot. But now it was time for the pivot.
“Well, not necessarily,” I said, putting the mirror facedown on the desk, “Depends on what more you *do* for me.”
| 2020-10-08T08:29:42
| 2020-10-08T07:51:04
| 1,609
| 237
|
[WP] In the fear of becoming a Main Character, the main character lives his whole life avoiding cliche story lines and interactions
Inspiration from /r/manga top post.
http://imgur.com/gallery/J5sbp
|
**I Am NPC**
I feel blessed to live in a pretty nondescript town. There’s a weapons shop, armor shop, tavern, side-quest alley and mini-game market down by the river. We’re not too close to the bandits in the East or the royal capital in the North. All in all, the winters are pretty mild, the summers aren’t too hot and the day/night cycle is a good ten minutes, which takes some adjusting, but at least we’re not stuck in permanent day or permanent night unless a Main Character comes along and decides to change it. I hate the god-awful warp/save spot set in the square in the middle of town. It looks fucking terrible, to be honest, all bright green and pulsing out of the sky day and night. I can’t even begin to imagine how much energy it takes to maintain it. Still, it’s good for tourism and cuts down on the amount of horses in town, which keeps the streets noticeably clear of giant piles of horse turds, so at least there’s that.
Some of them seem pretty nice. I’ve met a few Mike A.’s who were decent folks and while I have met a number of dickbag111’s and sexywifequeen452’s who rubbed me the wrong way, I’ve generally done a good bit of trade here and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I like wearing a long, forest green cloak with a hood. It suits me. I don’t like it when people see my eyes. That’s how they always figure out that I’m not actually like the others, with their scripted conversation trees and penchant for constantly referring to Main Characters by their names over and over again in a way that any normal person would obviously not do. NPC’s don’t have violet eyes, you know. It’s just not...done.
Still, I find myself doing a good turn of business, and as long as their gold’s good (there’s really no such thing as fake gold here, which is nice), I don’t mind. I do business out of an abandoned store that was forgotten and has to be entered through an invisible gap in the wall. It’s janky, but it’s mine, and the difficulty finding it means that I don’t get any Level 1 morons endlessly browsing through my wares with a chip on their shoulders and nothing in their pockets but hot air.
Apparently, there used to only be one Original Main Character in this world. But when he (or she, but most people always assume it’s a dude- typical) disappeared mysteriously halfway through the Chosen One’s Quest to Rid the World of Darkness, suddenly it became possible for anyone and their little sister to join the world and attempt to continue where the Original Main Character let off. Now, I don’t know about you, but the way these things tend to go, it’s almost like the Quest is an excuse for the Gods of this world to basically make things as fucking dark and depressing as possible. Most people are stuck halfway through the original objective before they start becoming distracted by mini-games and side-quests. If I had a piece of gold for every time I’ve seen a would-be Main Character stumble out of the mini-casino mini-game to the save point after ten hours of rolling the slots, I’d be rich.
Well, ok, I’m already rich, but you know what I mean.
When they come to my shop, they’re looking for something a little...different. I’m happy to give them what they want...for a price. Sure, I don’t have to pay rent, but a player’s got to eat, you know?
Most Main Characters eventually get disillusioned with the Quest. I can’t blame ‘em. Finding out that every step is getting you closer and closer to The End is fucking depressing, if you ask me. Sometimes I wish I could be like Colonel Bobbert in the pub with his three dialogue responses, thinking only of his ale, pretty women, and joking about what’s in your pocket, but I’m not.
So I offer them side quests. Ones that you can’t find anywhere else. They keep changing, too. It makes them feel special, like they’re the real Chosen One.
They don’t know what’s in the cellar, and I’m not about to tell them.
They can have it, you know? The glory, the fame. I just want some money to drink and gamble until I can’t see that stupid beacon turning the sky a sickly green, even in the middle of the fucking day.
Sometimes I’ll travel. I don’t need to use the warp point. Those came...after things changed. But I can’t stay too long in any one place, because that gets me recognized by some of the less dimwitted NPCs and I can’t stand them and their lectures and accusations of laziness. So I move on, and I hide in my secret shop and I hoard and spend my gold. I’m no hero, but then again, who says I have to be?
I never asked to be what I am. But I can sure as hell choose what I want to be.
|
Today was going so well too.
It was your typical wednesday and Gordon was on his way home from skipping school. Not that he was a bad student but the new transfer student had asked him to meet after school and gauging from his heavy accent and aloof personality that what he had to say wasn't anything he'd like to here.
As Gordon was taking in the perfect weather on his way home he couldn't help but notice the three thugs across the street picking on a fellow classmate.
Typical.
Said classmate had never missed a day of school in his life and here he was being bullied by three guys that Gordon felt could easily take if he tried. The whole situation felt lazy and quickly thrown together.
Gordon pulled out his phone and called the police and told them their was a robbery on the street he was on than quickly jumped a fence and took a new route home.
After a rather peaceful walk Gordon arrived home.
and there he was.
Gordon wasn't greeted by his foster parents but by an older gentleman with a long beard and dressed in a garb from a culture that Gordon couldn't put his finger on.
'Hello my lord." said the man who know doubt was here to teach me some mystical magic or kung fu.
So it seems Im the son of some old king from another dimension where magic is real I was spirited away as a kid to protect me. Since its my destiny to save said world from a great evil.
I was about to tell the old man to fuck himself when it hit me. What would be the first thing a protagonist would do in a situation like this?
He would deny his fate and say all he wanted was a normal life before ultimately taking responsibility and gave in to whatever stupid destiny he had.
Shit.
Gordon was stuck in a conundrum. Its not that he wanted a normal life so much that he didn't want to live in such a stupid cliche.
Suddenly an idea popped in his head it was a long shot but it was his only choice.
Gordon breathed in deeply and readied his reply.
"Yeah that sounds great." Gordon said hoping the enthusiasm in his voice would hide his disdain.
"You must understand the fate of... wait what." the old man said in mild disbelieve.
"Are you kidding I get to be king and magic powers thats so freakin cool."
"I... um." The old man looked like he was struggling to think of something to say.
"I bet I meat a super hot warrior girl who's weghts 80lbs but can overpower giants, oh man I can't wait."
Their was a long silence every second felt like a millennium and finally the old man spoke.
"I think theres been a mistake."
"Oh." Gordon desperately tried to hide his smile as he spoke.
"Yeah... I think... I think Ill just let myself out."
"Ok have a nice day." said Gordon as he opened the door.
"Yeah... you to." and with that the old man left.
As soon as Gordon shut the door he collapsed against it in relief another disaster averted. He knew this wasn't going to be the last prophecy he was apart of but he will take that challenge when it comes. But today he was free from mediocrity.
| 2014-11-08T10:56:03
| 2014-11-08T10:50:47
| 48
| 14
|
[WP] "I see humans, but no humanity".
|
The jungle behind him burned, the trees slowly turning to charcoal as the immolating inferno of the napalm swept across them.
The gun in his hand shook with the nervous tremors stemming from just having killed.
The child huddled in front of him crying over the corpse of her dead mother.
“Oh God…. Oh god they never said it would be like.. like… like THIS” the tremors moved up Private Riley’s hand to his arm and then down into his legs.
His knees gave out. He crumpled like a marionette with its strings cut.. Eyes numbed with pain staring into the accusing face of the child whose mother he had just killed.
Behind him the forest burned, the trees slowly falling apart into an all consuming fire.
Around him, his platoon slaughtered mercilessly. These “men” had already discovered the trick of sending their minds far away as they accomplished their tasks. Or at least, that was the lie they had told themselves.
A bullet hummed by and buried itself into the child. The scene flashed a hundred times and yet just once in front of Private Riley’s eyes as the child fell to the ground next to her mother. Sound ceased.
Just like that there was peace again for her. For just a second, he could pretend that they had both gone to sleep. On the hard ground. As the forest bled fire and brimstone. As their heads split open from the rest of his men gathering around and unloading a few clips into their corpses.
In shock, he stared around. These men with their faces like jackals as they delighted in the pain and death they were causing. These were not men. These were not humans. These were empty shells of what was once a human.
Riley stared down at the trembling gun in his hands, brought it up to his head, and then stopped. He looked around at the men killing around him. Then he levelled the gun at the nearest one and began to fire.
Later when asked why he killed his platoon and superior officer, he only had one thing to say.
“I saw what they were doing. I saw humans, but no humanity.”
|
Dieter Hagedorn is having tea with his captor at four, same as every other day.
He pours her a cup of the pine needle tea, and then one for himself. Setting down the pot, he forgoes milk or sugar as he raises the china cup to his lips. Queen Malvina winces. "Are you sure you don't want some milk with it Dieter? It's not the best tea in the world."
He shakes his head. "Nah, the bitter the better. I grew up drinking chicory with nothing to cut it. I've gotten used to the taste of this pine tea. I assume the real tea leaves ran out years ago?"
Queen Malvina nods. "One of the first things to disappear, along with chocolate and citruses. Sugar we have, thanks to beet roots and maple trees. Wine we can make, through the royal vineyards though the weather is not suited for them. But everything we don't produce ran out decades ago when trade could not come here. The cooks have made substitutes where they can but there's some things that one can't find a replacement for." She leans back into her chair, gazing off in reminiscence. "I've been yearning for an orange for over a century now..."
Dieter speaks. "Why don't you simply drop the storm surrounding this island, allow ships to land and trade to resume? From what the records say, this kingdom used to be one of the most prosperous this side of the Great Sea. Surely it could regain that title?"
His captor and friend shakes her raven haired head. "Dieter... look at my subjects. They are like monsters, cursed with undeath. Until a cure for their fate can be found, I will not rest. And even if my people were made whole again, made of living flesh and blood once more, I still would not lower the veil that surrounds my isle. I'm sure Sir Lawrence has told you why this place is like it is." Dieter nods somberly. She continues. "I have excellent reason to be afraid of others. They are all warmongering, vicious brutes outside my kingdom. They are evil and destructive creatures."
"Malvina, you mustn't say that."
She looks at her friend and prisoner sadly, as if hesitating to tell a terrible truth. "Should I? Dieter, look into my eyes and tell me you believe that. What about the war you were in, the war you have nightmares about every week? Tell me what you saw then were the actions of peaceful people instead of the savage beasts you describe them as to me. What about your step-father and his unforgivable crimes?"
"Malvina... I know the world may seem cruel and selfish and that may often be the case, but there are good people. They're out there even if you and me can't see them. It would be wrong to paint those beyond these shores in such broad strokes. There are good people in the world."
Queen Malvina gives a brief smile. "I know."
Dieter's eyebrows arch in surprise. "You do?"
She laughs. "Indeed. I've learned."
"Since when?"
Her eyes flick up, their viridian meeting his gray. "For a little while." She takes another sip of her cup, unsure of what to say. "Would you like milk?"
Dieter takes a large swallow of his tea, wincing at the taste. "Perhaps a small amount please." She obliges him. The meal goes on and the conversation turns to the promise of the coming spring. The Captivity of Dieter Hagedorn continues.
| 2014-04-12T17:02:47
| 2014-04-12T16:25:04
| 24
| 14
|
[WP] Your oldest child, who had been your daughter has informed you that she has transitioned to male. Problem is, you promised your first born son to the devil and his younger brother has been in Hell for years. This could be complicated.
|
"Well, it's not like I have a fucking registry, Mike!" Lucifer sweeps his hair back against his head and sighs, spinning the ice in his glass, "Only conservatives say it's my domain. I don't think Jesus taught about the transgender community... though that would be the most *salacious* episode of VeggieTales."
"Well, what do we do?! We agreed on one son. You *took* one son. Now there's another!"
"Yeah, but you can't just show up in *my fucking club* and, what? Expect me to give up Junior!" I'm stunned for a moment. *He named my kid after himself?* I remember who I'm working with, and the feeling passes. "Nice of you to immediately accept him, though. I thought Catholic school would've trained acceptance out of you."
"Acceptance is part of love. You can't love someone if you can't accept them. And I've always loved Theresa. I'll keep loving Terry." Something clicks. "Love. That's what we'll do."
"Michael, you're a wonderful man, but I need thorough foreplay before we ca--"
"No. No, think about it, Lu. What do people do when they love each other and decide they want to spend the rest of their lives together?"
"They get married. And more recently, they get divorced. And then murder their spouse in a custody battle and end up down he-- Custody. We can adopt each other's children. We'd have joint guardianship. We'd fulfill our little deal."
"And *then* we'd get a divorce. We'd file for joint custody so we *continue* to keep the deal so there's no cosmic blowback if I meet someone. We'll even have Raguel preside over everything so it's fair. You'll have to kiss ass for it, but I'm sure he'd come."
"Michael, you're a genius. I knew there was a reason I'm marrying you," He stands, sweeps back his coat, "I'll try to find a lawyer downstairs to make a nice pre-nup. And another one for the divorce proceeding. You'll have to find three hours you can be free sometime next week."
"Three hours? We're not doing a real ceremony, Lucifer, we're just signing some papers."
"No, we're getting married. Remember, I'll need *thorough* foreplay when we consummate."
|
Warning: The content here contains dark humor. You have been warned.
<> <>
“You’re going to Hell,” I said on impulse. My son’s face begins to drop and I realize that’s not the best way to explain things while my Son is coming out. “I meant, I sold my firstborn son to the Devil.”
“What!” He shouted as I felt his scream in my ears.
“I was an idiot back then. I didn’t believe that type of stuff.”
“What am I supposed to do?” He asked and I’m left clueless. What am I supposed to do? I figure that the Devil is wanting to hear from me soon. I didn’t want to hang out with my previous firstborn son, he hates me and wants to kill me for selling his soul. I just violated the deal, Lucifer is a nice guy. We can arrange for me to be traded off.
“I’m not letting him take you,” I said. I had a good life. Plenty of riches, a cool child, a loving wife, and excitement. I can see the regret on his face for coming out. I put a stop to that. If he feels better this way, I’d burn in hell for eternity for it. I take a breath and hug him for the last time and head to the forest.
I started to perform the ritual. My son tried to sneak up behind me, he wants to come with me to convince the devil. He’s a stubborn ass like me. Before we leave, I ask him, “By the way, I am still new to this type of thing. What are your pronouns that you would like to be called?” I felt proud, I wasn’t like that bigot back then who would refuse to adopt new things. I always attempt to be as open-minded as I can be. He replies with,
“He, Him, they, and them.”
I pause for a moment. Then start,
“I love my son, he’s a great guy.”
It was cheesy, but I can see the relief was over his face. I wanted to make sure that he knew that I accept him and always will love him. We make our way through the gates of Hell and through the endless stairs of Pandemonium. My son and I joke about all the boulder rolling that I was about to do for breaking the contract.
We make it to Lucifer’s office. The receptionist buzzes us in. My other son is waiting in the chair as Lucifer wheels around and tells us to have a seat.
“Thank you for coming back when you found out about our arrangement.”
“Of course,” I say before taking a seat next to Mitch, my other son, “I am not one to break deals.”
“Neither am I,” Lucifer says. Mitch cuts in, slamming his hands on the table.
“Cut the crap. When can I leave this place?”
“Mitch, you deserve to be here,” I jump in, “after all the things you did to my family and other people.” My son puts his hand on my shoulder. I look back and smile at him. “Sir, I would like to take the place of my son. I’ll gladly burn in hell with Mitch.”
Mitch’s face opens in shock. I continue,
“That’s right. I will. After what you have done, it’ll be a cinch to spend the rest of eternity with you.” Lucifer places his hand on mine.
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Why?”
“Because I am not going to let your son burn in Hell for coming out.”
“What about me?” Mitch selfishly asks. “I’m his son too!”
“Mitch, you’re homophobic, a thief, a liar, and inconsiderate. You would trade your brother for a chance to return back and you would squander your only chance to have a happy afterlife. Denied.”
Mitch’s whole body is a furious color of red.
“That’s not how the deal was made!”
“You forget that your father and I are the ones who can decide the arrangement of the deal. When your brother came out as gay for the first time, you beat him. Almost killing him. Your own family.”
“It’s not right. God would not have wanted this.”
“I don’t think you understand. Everyone loves Romance. God doesn’t care about your bigotry. The only one who cares is me. I am the one who cares that you and countless other assholes out there want to hurt others. God won’t save you. I won’t save you and your Dad won't save you. I will make you work for me for eternity.” He snaps his finger and an abyss opens, swallowing that fucker whole. My son thanks him.
“It’s no problem dude. Congratulations by the way. Your Dad and I are proud of you.”
I beam at him. I panicked and didn’t realize how understanding Lucifer is.
| 2022-08-31T20:10:38
| 2022-08-31T18:10:38
| 1,228
| 221
|
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? "
|
I fuckin' hate this job.
Every day it's the same mix of pretentious know-it-alls, school field trips, and pretentious school field trips. I know their type just by looking at 'em, all done up with their skin dyed the latest color, fuckin' ink all dancing back and forth. Every third one has the same image of a butterfly flapping its gay little wings on their shoulderblade, and everyone of the little bastards would say it means something different to them. They're all the same. They bring 'em in by the hoverload.
History is dead. No one cares anymore. I still can't believe I'm 4.4 billion in the hole for that History Major. I should quit, get a job drilling ore on an asteroid like my daddy wanted, but that means another six years in University, and another 5 billion in loans. The whole fuckin' system's broken.
I'm just taking it one day at a time. I haven't been totally sober for 24 hours in six months. I just wake up at six and shave while I'm waiting for the public hover, and check in time at work is usually ten minutes late. Wander around the halls of the Imperial Archives and drink an A-Tab dissolved in hot water, hope no one asks me anything.
Today I see this fat little shit toddling along, he's lost and I know he's lost because his holo beacon is shining, which means I'm supposed to do something. He's got one finger up his nose and a dazed expression on his face, and now I'm muttering into my A-Drink because he's making right for me. I turn my back on him, hoping to discourage the little gargoyle, but then I hear the patter of his chubby little sneakers come and stand next to me.
I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he stares at the old Declaration. He turns and stares up at me, next.
"Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape?"
I pull out my flask and pour a little whiskey in the A-Drink to make it stop tasting like piss, and start tasting like alcoholic piss, and then I said to him what I say to everyone that asks that stupid questions.
"Because someone fuckin' ripped it."
|
The museum was quite still and empty yet engrossing. The yellow light shining onto the vast marble walls created a distinct golden colour. The delicate work in creating a professional and tangible environment were ruined by the holograms they used to provide information of the exhibits and although the children certainly enjoyed it, it didn't move Peter. The grand architecture did little to intrigue the timid Peter, it only made the place seem more prestigious and subsequently boring to a child. Although Peter did enjoy learning the past, it fascinated him that things had occurred; both amazing and appalling, while he wasn't present. Something we forget to appreciate as adults preoccupied on securing our positions in society.
The guide was only supplementing the boredom of the children forced to attend the walk through time. Following the mundane but almost mandatory script and showing no subtlety in masking the fake in her dumbfounded tone. It wasn't until the group arrived at the 8th listed exhibit that the excitement levels in the herd of booger picking goblins increased enough for one of the kids who kept begging the teacher for permission to go to the toilet to finally wet themselves. Or so we thought, the kid actually peed on some wires attached to the fuse box. Sparks shot up like small fireworks and the whole museum fell into darkness. This halted the tour for a few minutes until the back up generator returned order in the museum. The tour guide and teacher did their best to survive the onslaught on children's screams that threatened their sanity. The sound of glass shattering had eclipsed the screams for a brief moment and Peter began to move. The sudden blackness had aroused Peter enough to speak his first words of the tour upon regaining composure after the lights had illuminated the building again.
"Miss, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape?".
The guide turns towards the exhibit and gasps in shock, her eyes widened in terror and palms covering her mouth. It was unusual for Peter to witness real emotion from her.
"Oh my god, it wasn't like this before! Shit, shit, shit, shit!" She ran to another member of staff in a state of absolute anxiety.
"Call the manager! Something's happened to the Declaration! It's been destroyed!"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The detectives who had just finished their investigation determined that the culprit had gotten away. And Peter's group were questioned, although the detectives knew it would do little to help they had to maintain consistency on duty. The members of the museum had examined the piece of paper once the authorities arrived since it never really occurred to them to validate it earlier and one of the higher ups who knew the museum like the back of his hand had claimed it was a fake. To which the detectives had suggested that it was a distraction for the criminal to escape with.
Once all the procedure had been done the students and teacher returned to the familiar bus at the allocated time. Peter sat in the very spot he arrived in, no one sat next to or around him but that didn't bother him, he was focused on more important matters. He placed his backpack on his lap, unzipped the main section and stared into the dark space at the ancient scroll that was stolen. His cold emotionless expression shrouding the immense amount of thoughts flowing through his mind. He grabbed it one more time to feel that surge of thrill he had experienced only hours ago, placed it back once he had come to his senses, rezipped the backpack and gazed out into the vast advanced metropolis before him. A sinister smile possessed him as he set his eyes on a new prize. *The future*.
Edit: Grammar.
| 2015-06-29T09:45:39
| 2015-06-29T07:51:56
| 146
| 56
|
[WP] After almost 1,000 years the population of a generation ship has lost the ability to understand most technology and now lives at a preindustrial level. Today the ship reaches its destination and the automated systems come back online.
|
Every day is the same. Wake up, gather materials for cooking and place it on the heat stone.
This one has been in my family for years. We're proud of it because it can be moved.
That's why my grand mother is the head of our village. She inherited the heat stone so she's the He-Kith. It is also our scribestone.
One day I'll be the He-kith so I have to learn the stories. The writing. The history.
Our scribestone requires that I know how to engrave the stories. And every day it's empty ready for new ones.
My favorite part of the year is the retelling. When the He-kith touches the scribestone and we can see the old stories as if they had just been engraved.
It's time for the retelling and she touches the stone and our Ka-ette are gathered around to see the stories of this last year and for them to be retold. I listen raptly but also watch every little detail knowing that I will have to do this one day too. And then my children. And their children.
Each day appears on the scribestone with a rumble and the stone receding to show the new engravings.
Our first day of this year. After the harvest. And what we harvested and what we will plant. We find that if we don't scribe in what we will plant we have a drier year. We always write what we will plant. Failure means some may die from hunger.
The day of the festival of stars where we engrave the stars above us on the scribestone. We always know when it's time because the scribestone turns black but has a blue glow. On that day we etch in the new stars, turn around and do it again. I don't understand why we do this but so many of our traditions must be kept whether we know why or not.
Here comes the etchings of life where we enter the names of those who are born and their Ka-hen and of course our Ka-ette, Ra.
Now for the etchings of passing where we see the names of those who passed on. And their places of plantings.
As we prepare for the next engraving there's a shifting of the ground beneath us. And a loud screeching sound.
The scribestone changes to a red color. I've never seen that before and from the look of my He-Kith's face neither has she. Panic sets in and many of our Ka-ette scramble to their feet and run to their homes.
But not my He-Kith and so I too will stay. I'm terrified.
Above us the sky opens like it does during the festival of stars and the scribe stone turns black. My He-kith grabs the writing stone but her hand is shaking. She too is terrified. She etches in a star and the scribestone glows orange and turns flat. She tries again. Same thing. She calls to me and hands me the writing stone.
I take it and slowly etch in the stars. And wait for it to flash but my hands must have been steadier because it sets in and the stone makes the whirring sound it does during the festival of stars. I repeat the process for the brightest stars as I had been taught and the stone turns gray.
And then something new happens. The sky begins to paint circles over the stars and to draw lines and emblems on them. The were names. Names of our Ka-ette. And our neighboring Ka-ette.
And next to each one is a emblem. The word for "end of harvest". All except for the Kith-den.
I wait for hours staring at the sky trying to make sense of what is happening when a young girl from the village of Kith-den runs up. Their He-Kith is dead. The fright from the sky and sound scared her so much that she died. And their successor can't be found. They searched but she must have run away. I don't blame her. The thought crossed my mind.
My He-Kith tells me that I must go to their village and complete the ritual of the festival of the stars. I don't want to. I want to stay here with my mother and sisters. Or run to the fields to my father and brothers. But she insists.
After much prodding and reminding me that she is too old to make such a journey I go with the young girl.
As we approach her village I see their scribestone laying on the ground next to their He-kith who seemed as one who passed in their sleep. I pick it up but it doesn't shift or change or make a sound. I don't know what to do so I give up and lay it on their He-kith and as it touches her it turns black and I pick it up again. I quickly but carefully etch in the stars and as I do I see the sky paint Ka-den.
Suddenly the sky turns black and then it becomes bright as day. And then in the sky we see a woman. She looks down on us and speaks. But it sounds odd. Like the words of old. I can make out most of it. She says we have reached the harvest home. The place of our final rest. Our journey is done.
As she speaks we see a blue orb appear and she tells us that our "boat?" has arrived at "Err-arth". Home of homes.
The scribestone then changes to a faint green and a single symbol etches on it. "Plant" I think it says. It looks like plant but it's different. I circle the etching and the scribestone then shatters into dust throwing me back. And the sky changes to show Ka-den green and moving towards the blue orb in the sky.
Shortly after I see Ka-ette, Ka-tul, Ka-ren and thousands of others in green and moving towards the blue orb. All except for one. "Ka-mune". Theirs turns red and then fades away. And shortly after I see a white plume and a huge white/grey sphere fly away up the horizon followed by a huge flame. And then it's gone. Into the stars.
Then the great change. First the lake dried. Followed by the mountains which turned to dust just as the scribestone did. Then the houses in the village turned to dust leaving only the few inhabitants who hadn't run away from the village but rather had huddled in their homes. Their belongings still there but the walls were just gone.
The blue orb sets in the sky and we see a new orb. A bright whitish/yellow one. And a painted etching "Fire source" and then a light rumbling as the ground vibrates beneath my feet and the horizon glows a faint red. This glow is slowly replaced by a bluish colors and the stars fade away. I've never seen a sky without stars before. But in their place is the "Fire source".
More rumbling and then the ground stops vibrating and then a loud whoosh and a bright flash.
I huddle down in fear as I see the horizon change. There are new mountains. And a large lake where the old one used to be. And I hear a strange high pitched sound as a creature soars above me.
I run back to where my village was and I find my He-kith and she looks at me with such joy and fear on her face. She puts her hand on me and hands me the etching stone and points to a opening in the nearby mountain.
I run in and see a wall that looks like the scribestone and use my etching stone to write the story of what just happened. The words stay. But they don't move. These aren't like our scribestone. Or the mountains of our home where the words could be read from generations before. These stay but can't be reused.
I write and I write. Every day in our new home. I write what I see. What I hear.
And most of all the stars. They don't change during the festival of stars like they used to. They are the same. They move. But always come back. Just as Ka-mune circles Err-arth, perhaps watching over us?
Edit: typos and clarity a few plot holes.
|
Mary gently pressed her rake into a patch of soil, guiding the tool with the deftness of one who has done so for decades.
The ship's garden was fashioned from the detritus of a bygone era - soil boxes fashioned from scrapped 4x4s, partitions crafted from broken wires. It rested beneath a glass dome to let in sunlight, but Mary had to shift the boxes hour by hour to capture adequate rays as the S.S. Prosperity soared through space.
She sighed and wiped sweat from her brow. The ship's internal heating and cooling systems had failed long before she was born, so most of the Prosperity's residents had shifted to the far end of the main deck, away from the primary thrusters that made anyone within range perspire furiously. Mary, unfortunately, had to spend hours upon end growing food for its fifty residents.
Fifty. That was all. When the ship launched in 2200 it was carrying one hundred hopeful souls, and many of them (or their ancestors) had died, chosen not to reproduce, or - in one tragic case - ended their own life.
On this day, Mary was filled with hope for the first time in her long, arduous life, for Lutherios was within sight.
"Mary, we're getting ready to dock." A voice emerged from the side door. It was Teddy, one of the youngest travelers at a paltry 26. "Do you want to watch?"
Mary shook her head. "Got to keep an eye on these cornstalks."
Thomas smirked. "Well, OK. But you'll be missing out."
He closed the door behind him. Mary sighed and shoved it open again, hoping to let at least a fraction of the heat out. She heard faint cheers from the other end of the ship as it pulled into port.
With a sudden jolt, the thrusters cut off and Mary was bathed in cool air. The screens and buttons around her glowed for the first time in a millennium, and she shielded her eyes from the sensory assault.
Thomas ran back inside. "Mary, do you feel that? It's the 'air conditioning' we've learned about in the stories! Every one of these buttons does something - look, this one's a 'microwave.'" He ran over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Finally, we don't have to suffer."
Mary felt the burden of 73 years lift off of her for half a second, then return in an instant. "I want to get off and stretch my legs."
"Why? There's nothing but soil out there."
"Exactly."
She pushed Thomas aside and wandered down the main corridor. 49 people were laughing, crying, hugging. A young boy of about six years was pushing buttons madly and watching as food was created out of thin air.
Mary grabbed a reconnaissance suit from a cabinet by the exit ramp and zipped it on, then set foot on the soft surface of Lutherios.
She never returned to the S.S. Prosperity. People would occasionally come out and visit her, offering food and materials, but she insisted on getting by in her own way, living off whatever she could find.
Finally, at age 87, she died in her sleep, while the citizens of the S.S. Prosperity - eating genetically perfected food and taking every medicine the new machinery could offer - lived into the decades beyond.
***
*Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see more of my stories, check out /r/GigaWrites.*
| 2016-07-27T09:54:15
| 2016-07-27T09:33:31
| 52
| 19
|
[WP] "I appreciate the welcome," the alien said. "But I must ask again, 'Where are the dodos?' My son will never shut up unless I come home with a pet dodo."
|
"A dodo..." I repeated, confused.
"Yes, a dodo. My son greatly desires a pet dodo bird for his birthday, so I must acquire one," replied the alien.
I glanced around nervously at my colleagues. All of them looked as confused and nervous as I was. This was not how any of us expected first contact to go down.
The SETI program had been expanded in the early 20's to broadcasting information about Earth into space in the hopes of attracting the attention of someone, anyone really; the world was getting worse and a lot of people thought we needed help. We'd shouted into the void for decades; most people forgot we were doing it. We tried to tell the universe as much as we could about our planet and its history in the hopes of attracting some interest, or even pity. Pity would have been nice too.
Instead, we got... This. This was Earth's first contact with another intelligent species, being broadcast to the entire world in the first ever live VR broadcast. Everyone was expecting something dramatic: an ultimatum, a declaration of war, advice, or an invitation. Instead, we got a request. A request for a member of a long extinct species of bird as a pet for some interstellar six year old.
I cleared my throat, looking up at the holographic projection in front of me. This entire situation was an embarrassment. "Well, uh..." I said, trying to find the right way to handle this, "the dodo has, um... been, hm... extinct... for a while now..."
I shifted uneasily. I had no idea how the alien would react, this whole thing probably looked like a hoax to everyone watching anyway. I would probably be fired after this whole thing was over, if it didn't end in Earth being burnt to a crisp for some reason.
"Out of stock!?" the alien screamed. "You have got to be kidding me! This is the fifth planet I've been to today! How can you all be out of dodos!"
I looked up even more confused now than I was before. My colleagues began muttering behind me.
"I want to speak to your manager!"
I quickly changed gears from scientist to retail employee. Looked like that highschool job was about to pay off. "Please hold on one moment, sir."
I activated my headset to talk to the control room. "Jim, could you get the President on?"
|
"I appreciate the welcome," the alien said. "But I must ask again, 'Where are the dodos?' My son will never shut up unless I come home with a pet dodo."
Jean-Jaque looked at the bird-man shaped alien with astonishment, this wasn't the first thing he expected after welcoming the group of aliens coming out of the at least 300 meter big grey pyramid shaped thing, which presumably was their space ship. It landed about two and a half hours ago in the middle of Central Park, at first everyone panicked and soon the army was mobilised towards the city's green heart.
So Jean-Jaque, professor and dean at the faculty of Communication Technology and Methods at MICT (actually in 2043 MIT was renamed MICT, where the C stands for Communication, because of the breakthrough in communicating with Dolphins in which they discovered that, weirdly enough, Dolphins never had sex before breakfast) flew over from Paris on behalf of the CIA where he was for a conference on the possibility of alien existence and the methods possible to make contact which such species.
After he in landed in New York he was expected to come up with a suitable way to communicate with the aliens that most likely would come out of this weird shaped vessel. Of course he was oddly well prepared for this situation since he prepared himself well for the conference, however the question the alien asked him now, got him completely baffled. Also the fact that they spoke English was well beyond his expectation, as they always assumed some kind of visual language would be required to communicate with off-world species.
"Ehm..." Jean-Jaque mumbled, not sure how to continue.
"Avez-vous un dodo? ¿tiene un dodo? Heb jij een dodo?" the alien tried in different languages.
"No, no, I understand you" Jean-Jaque continued, "but I think I have to disappoint you on that, we haven't seen a dodo since 1684".
The alien tilted its head sideways, it looked like it was surprised according to Jean-Jaque.
"But it seems you have brought back dodos before since you know your son will be quiet if you do so?" Jean-Jaque pointed out.
"Yes, we have been here before, about 4500 Earth years ago and I brought him one as souvenir, since it died he can't shut up about it" the alien responded.
Taking into account that the space ship looked like a pyramid this made sense according to Jean-Jaque, since they apparently visited Earth 4500 years ago. Jean-Jaque was speechless now.
"Ahh well, complete waste of time it seems". As soon as the alien said that the big grey pyramid space ship started to ascend to the sky and at the same time the bird-man shaped alien vanished in a bright blue light flash, within 5 seconds no sign of the aliens remained.
*****
"They really just wanted a dodo" Jean-Jaque tried to explain to the CIA boss in front of him.
"It has been a week now Jean-Jaque" the woman replied, "you can tell the truth now".
"Well as a matter of fact they have been to Earth before, and as I recall that alien looked a lot like Horus, one of the old Egyptian gods". Marry stood up and walked out of the room, she couldn't work with these kind of people.
| 2017-07-12T11:00:27
| 2017-07-12T07:53:28
| 249
| 73
|
[WP] In this dystopian society, citizens are only allowed to say words that are on the 'approved common words' list. All other word lists must be purchased before you are allowed to say a word from them. The rich have a distinct advantage.
|
"I'm so happy you got to come with us today, Tom, it's really an enourmous pleasure." Said Tom's boss.
Tom couldn't say his name, however, he just smiled and lifted his drink to the sky as if to say "cheers." Tom didn't have the vocabulary for much more than the simple phrases: Yes, No, Maybe, Please. All of his comerades just thought he was quiet. Words were getting hard to come by nowadays and only party memebers could really afoord them anymore. Tom was a party member, he was hell bent on getting words, and he often did.
As the party had said, the "Less words the less talking people do." Yeah, no shit. Tom set his drink down and motioned for his slave, Jenny. He gave her the valet ticket implying that he wanted to go home, and off she went waddling away like the peasant she was.
As the old man drove his car in front of the mansion, Tom focused on the condition of his car. He saw a scratch. A SCRATCH! He furiously walked around to the driver's side and ripped the old man out of his seat.
"What the hell? Please no, no. I beg of you!" The man yelled at the top of his lungs as he lay on the ground.
With a silent rage, Tom pulled out his handgun and aimed it at the feeble man's head.
"God, no, no I have a family please."
Tom looked him in the eye. This was a man of many words. Without hesitation he pulled the trigger and felt the gray-haired man's vocabulary come rushing into his mind. Perfect, the one word he was looking for.
Getting into his car, Tom adjusted his rear view mirror and sped off, no regard for the people in front of him or behind. The only thought that crossed his mind was:
"Yes! Yes"
Tom sprinted into his house, removing his jacket before he arrived at the door and throwing it onto the fluffy couch. Too excited to care, he went into his bedroom. There were no cameras here, he was safe to do whatever he pleased.
Oh, the time Tom had spent and the people he had to kill, friends, family, even his own children. Tom wrote the final word in the dictionary.
"Hell /hel/ (n.) a place regarded in many religions as spiritual realm of evil and suffering."
He closed the book, relieved he had finally freaking finished.
"Jenny" He called, to which she came promptly into the room.
"Yes?" She asked.
"I want you to read this. I want you to make copies of it and I want this spread around the entire country. Do you understand?" He leaned back in his chair and turned to her as she peeled through the pages.
"Why?" she inquired.
"Life without words is boring and meaningless. I can't flip through another single-minded party novel in which the author can only use single syllables. I can't go to another party and wait to find new words of which I can never use until it's written in that damned book." Tom retorted, somewhat emotionally "I just can't do it"
There was a pause, and she had begun to take in the words, he saw her face light up with each new discovery.
"One more thing." He looked at her with a stern glance.
"Yes?"
"There's one more word I want you to have."
He took his gun from his pocket and handed it to his faithful servant.
"You must shoot me."
"Why?"
"One more word"
She looked at the gun, frightened. She sized up and assesed the man in front of her. He looked tired, worn, beaten. She lifted the gun, aimed it at his head.
As his body fell to the floor she heard a faint whisper.
"I love you"
Edit: I would really appreciate some feedback. I usually lurk and never show anyone what I choose to write over these but this one was too good to pass up. Thanks!
|
Red Feeling. Bad Feeling. Much feeling, bad heart take beating.
End, want end. Many want end feeling.
Very bad. Very bad feeling. Brothers die, sisters cry.
Others too. Hurt by money men. Money men, make money. No loss
Loss? No loss brothers and sisters for the money men, the money men laugh.
Time for change. Save many moneys, long time save moneys, buy word. One word.
| 2017-09-20T15:37:30
| 2017-09-20T09:34:02
| 42
| 18
|
[WP] As a higher reaper, you ferry the souls of the great artists from this life to the next. You grant them one final gift during their journey by showing them the future, and allowing them to experience a modern day art exhibition/concert which honors their genius.
|
*The Artist had lived a good life. He had been blessed with a loving wife, and a celebrated career. He would go down in history as a revolutionary. People would remember him. And now, now was the time to end it all. Before they got him. Before they besmirched his legacy. No, he would go on his own terms. Proud and resilient to the last. He looked around at the debris and nodded to himself, solemn and overcome with a bittersweet sense of nostalgia. He pulled the trigger, and slumped to the floor. Embraced the darkness.*
*I AM HERE TO TAKE YOU TO THE OTHER SIDE*
*He looked around, wildly. He was still alive. How? Was he invincible?*
*NO. EVERY MAN MUST DIE. I AM YOUR FERRYMAN. I AM CHARON. THE REAPER. THE ANGEL OF DEATH.*
*The Artist shuddered and turned to face Death. "I am ready..."*
*Through a lake of mist they travelled, the waters swirling ominously, ethereal and mysterious.*
*"My legacy," he whispered. "Did I..."*
*Death looked at him.*
*YOU DID INDEED LEAVE A LEGACY. YOU HAVE CREATED YOUR OWN ETERNITY. YOU WILL COME TO LEARN THAT HEAVEN AND HELL ARE THE SAME PLACE. IT IS THE LIFE YOU LIVE, THE FUTURE YOU CREATE, THAT DETERMINES HOW YOU WILL SPEND YOUR AFTERLIFE.*
*With the glimmer of fascination in his eyes, a primal, visceral fire that burned from within, he looked into the water. Looked at the future he had created. The canvass, the tapestry of life he had inspired.*
*When he saw, he knew.*
*His legacy, his life's work, undone. Because of him.*
*He saw his homeland oppressed, defeated.*
*He saw the Allies celebrating. The Camps, liberated.*
*He saw Jews, millions of them, living around the world, thriving and united.*
*Blacks, gays, flourishing, strong and unafraid.*
*Everything for which he had strived...*
*Gone...*
*His vision no more...*
*This was his eternity. This was his punishment.*
|
Arabella hadn't left her bed in almost a month. She doubted she could even if she wanted to. Her face was as pale as her bedsheets, and the skin that covered her cheeks was stretched taught. She was barely hanging on. If she was truthful, she'd been barely hanging on her entire life; now however, her fingers were finally slipping. No, that wasn't right -- they weren't slipping. She was *letting* them peel away from the ledge.
The winter rain played a melancholic song against her window: a farewell sonata. She could hear every note, as if the raindrops were tiny fingers, pushing down the piano keys in a wistful adagio.
In the corner of the room sat the wooden frame of an easel, stripped naked from the canvases and paints it used to wear so proudly. It had once been Arabella's connection to life: a way to release the demons that danced inside her head. Or at least, a way to pacify them for a time. But the easel was rotting and the thoughts in her head had been trapped for so long now.
*Demons*. That hadn't always been the word she'd used for them. They'd once been angels that she'd reached for -- that she'd stretched out desperately to touch, but never could quite make it to. Demons... that had been the word that man, Genesio, had used to describe them, on that Autumn day when she'd been foolish enough to show them to the world.
She'd been so stupid to show them! Why would anyone be inspired by her mess of greys and blacks? How could anyone understand, if even Arabella herself could not?
*Demons*. Indeed, the canvases had burnt that night like demons, the painted faces on them withering and distorting in the violence of the flames.
Death, when it finally came for her, did not look like Death. Not like the figure she'd imagined. She had expected something like Charon, the Ferryman. She'd always loved Greek mythology, especially related to the underworld. She had expected Death to be horned, or skeletal, or perhaps an ancient man with glazed white eyes and a flowing beard.
But Death was, in the end, a small, middle aged lady, with soft blue eyes, olive skin, and wrinkles that looked as right on her forehead as the stars did in the night sky.
Death smiled a crooked smile, as she came in through the doorway and walked towards the bed.
"It is cold in here, my child," said Death.
"It has always been cold," whispered Arabella, her cracked lips barely parting.
"Nonsense!" Death snapped. "There once was fire in your belly. In your heart. Don't pretend otherwise."
There was silence for a time. Death sat down on the bed and ran her fingers through Arabella's long auburn hair. It was mostly white now, but there was still some colour hidden beneath.
"I failed," said Arabella.
"How so?"
"I couldn't..."--her eyes became moist--"I couldn't say what I needed to. I thought I'd found a way, but I was wrong. I had beauty, and I turned into something terrible."
Further silence.
Death held out a hand. "It is time," she said.
"I am ready."
"Then come. I have something to show you."
"Will you not carry me?"
Death laughed. "We must each make our own way, my child."
---
Arabella leaned heavily on Death as they made their way down the cobbled streets of Arabella's youth. The night was thick and wet, and rain danced with the tears on her cheeks. They walked past the tailor's where her mama had once worked -- where, occasionally she'd helped out, threading or measuring or just being company for the one person that had ever truly loved her. They walked past the post office where she'd so often waited on a bench, hoping those days for good news that would never come.
They walked on. Occasionally, men would pass by paying them no heed, busy living their lives.
The streets finally gave away to a muddy track, and the track to grassy fields. Eventually, an old barn, lit by playful candlelight, shone as a beacon in the distant dark.
"Not far now," said Death softly. "Not far now."
Arabella began to shake as they reached the entrance. As she saw.
There was only one occupant inside the barn: a little girl with braided golden hair. On the walls all around her, the blackened remains of semi-familiar paintings hung, proud even in their ruin.
The girl was sat before an easel, her tongue pinned down by her teeth. Black and grey paint swirled out from a frantic paintbrush and onto a white canvas.
When the girl saw Arabella, she beamed. She slid off her stool and ran to Arabella, wrapping her arms around the artist's waist.
"Who..." was all Arabella could manage.
"Please!" said the girl. "Don't go yet. I... I have these thoughts -- they're like what you painted." She gestured to the canvases on the walls. "But they're stuck inside me and... and... *please*, I need to get them out. *Please, don't go yet*."
Arabella turned to Death.
Death smiled and nodded once.
A stray, unexpected spark, caught kindling deep inside Arabella. The girl took her hand and led her to the easel.
| 2018-01-04T04:24:03
| 2018-01-04T03:25:51
| 125
| 84
|
[WP] As a thief called Alyssa, you can’t be blamed for mishearing your client say “Steal the moon, Alyssa” instead of their actual request to “Steal the Mona Lisa”
|
The girl had hands that could steal anything. Sometimes she didn't notice they'd done it. The girl had hands that would steal anything. A watch from a man's coat pocket, a ladies purse and apple from the stall. All found their way via her clever hands into her own pockets. They were large hands for such a small girl, slender long fingers, quick and nimble and strong and quiet. They were the hands of a kitten who hadn't yet grown into its paws.
That's why, when Allyssa was asked to steal the moon, she didn't laugh in the man's face, or smirk at a tired metaphor made. She began to plan. Her hands were big, but were they big enough to pluck the moon from the sky like a peach from an orchard tree? Allyssa liked a challenge and above all she liked a mystery.
Could she steal the moon? Allyssa was consumed by the question as soon as it left the man's lips, drifted through the air and landed in her brain like a dandelion seed alighting on fertile ground. The man was still talking and talking. A white noise drone in the background, about travel and plans and expenses and a crew. People to help her steal what had never been stolen before.
Allyssa didn't hear a single word of it, her back turned to the room, the silver shine of the full moon lit her in an alien tractor beam and dragged her attention towards it. The window lay open and Allyssa gazed up into the ink black blanket of the starless winter sky. Raising her hand for comparison, she saw that in fact she could cover the moon with her stealthy stealing hand. Could it be so simple? She slowly and deliberately closed her hand and the moonbeam she stood within went out. A sensation of roundness and weight that hadn't been there a moment before. Carefully, quietly, she turned her fist towards herself, silver light spilling out from between her fingers the night sky darkened as if a large cloud had blotted the moon from the sky. But it hadn't.
"Allyssa? Are you listening? Just think of it, to steal the Mona Lisa! The Mona Lisa Allyssa!"
Her mouth opened in an "o" of surprise, her face went slightly pink. Surreptitiously, with a casual flick of her wrist and an opening of her hand she shot the moon back into the sky. The moonbeam returned, the silver light bathed her again and she quickly composed herself before turning.
"Tell me those plans again, it sounds like just the sort of impossibility I'd be interested in". She smiled a slow smile. She knew she could do as he asked. The girl had hands that could steal anything. Sometimes she didn't notice they'd done it.
|
Alyssa was a seasoned thief, with a reputation for taking on the most daring and seemingly impossible heists. So when the Godfather himself approached her with a job, she didn't hesitate for a moment. The money he offered was too good to pass up, and the promise of security and financial success for her entire family sealed the deal.
But as she replayed the Godfather's request over and over in her head, "Steal the moon, Alyssa," she became more and more confused. Not wanting to appear foolish or uncultured before such an intimidating figure, she had let her embarassment get the better of her, never asking him for clarification.
Alyssa spent the next few days wracking her brain, trying to figure out what the Godfather wanted from her. She went over every possible interpretation of his words, but no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't come up with a satisfactory explanation.
She turned to friends and family, even distant acquaintances, seeking guidance on how to interpret the Godfather's request, but ran into a brick wall at every turn. Nobody was willing to accept that the Mafia had actually reached out to her. "That's not how those folks work," argued one impatient friend.
As the days turned into weeks, and the constant gaslighting continued, Alyssa started to feel like she was going crazy. She was so consumed by her inability to figure out the Godfather's request that she couldn't focus on anything else. She became paranoid, convinced that the Mafia was secretly observing her every move, growing disappointed in her lack of progress. "I'm becoming a loose end", Alyssa's mind kept telling her. "The Mafia doesn't like loose ends. You know what they do with loose ends."
Alyssa was never actually given a concrete deadline, but recognizing this fact didn't help ease the sense of urgency. She felt she was supposed to have been finished with the task by now, and the Mafia's patience was going to run out at any moment.
She started to have strange dreams about the Moon, and she became convinced that the Godfather's request was a cryptic message intended to be solved only by the most capable criminals. She was determined to crack the code, and believed the fate of her entire family lied on whether she could discover the solution.
One night, lying in her bed and gazing out the window after 36 hours without sleep, Alyssa noticed the full moon rising above the horizon. She finally snapped. "It was never a riddle", she exclaimed aloud to herself, sitting suddenly upright in bed. A euphoric sensation rushed through her as she experienced the greatest epiphany of her life. "The Godfather wants me to literally steal the moon! He reached out to me because he knew, in his great wisdom, that I am the only thief in the world capable of fulfilling his request."
She jumped out of bed and bolted for the door. Once outside, she grabbed her ladder and set out into the night, determined to steal the moon for the Godfather, no matter the price. She wandered into a large cornfield behind her neighbor's house, propped up her ladder, and began climbing. She climbed and climbed, her mind consumed with thoughts of the Mafia, of her special mission, her eyes deadset on her prize in the sky. When she finally reached the top, she let out a triumphant cry. "I did it, Godfather! I stole the moon for you!"
Unfortunately, no one was there to hear her. The Mafia had forgotten about her weeks ago. Alyssa was alone at the top of the ladder, a complete and utter lunatic, as the moon shone down on her from above.
| 2022-12-19T00:51:34
| 2022-12-18T23:12:02
| 28
| 16
|
[WP] It's another murder case, plain and simple. With Watson out of commission, Holmes heads to the nearby police precinct in search of a temporary partner for the case. Instead, the precinct gives him Detective Jake Peralta
|
Holmes felt alien in this city, more so than usual. It wasn't the brashness or the smell - London carried those in volumes - but a feeling that perhaps he may be up against something bigger than is customary in his day-to-day, an American.
Lestrade had recommended one Captain Holt if the need arose whilst in New York, a serious man, principled; Holmes thought he would do just fine as a stand in for Watson. It was often difficult for him to find decent help, but a man who knew the city and its minutia would be invaluable. He was happy to exist outside of the rules, knowing Mycroft would keep him out of any serious trouble, but wise enough to know not to get on the wrong side of cop in another country... a tour guide would do just fine.
As Holmes entered the 99th Precinct, he felt the familiar wave of hypersensitivity wash over him. It was functional, well run, carrying the same dreariness of any station back home though this feeling quickly faded as he entered the bullpen. A man entered his frame of vision with the swagger of a cocky teenager, trawling a pair of nunchucks behind him, clearly waiting for the right moment to bring up his show and tell.
"Hey Amy, check this out!"
The man proceeded to flail his arms wildly, barely containing the chaos for a few seconds.
"Got these from a bust in Chinatown, super real and super dangerous," he panted through labouring breaths.
"Stop Jake you're going to hurt someone with those things," replied Amy, clearly worried, yet Holmes sensed another emotion, arousal?
Almost as if by clockwork, the man lost control of his weapon, careening into a tub of yoghurt, half eaten, on top of a very large man's desk - a sergeant by the look of his badge.
The man erupted, "Come on Jake, you know Terry loves his yoghurt! Now I have to use my emergency supply."
Terry turned towards a door at the back of the room, opening it carefully as if to hide his destination from the view of the group. All seemed calm for a moment, and then, "HITCHCOCK!"
He burst through the door, "man you don't even like yoghurt, aren't you lactose intolerant?"
A slovenly man at the edge of the room seemed unphased, yoghurt pooling at the edge of his lip, "Sorry Sarge, but I'm trying to build up my immunity so that I can eat the blue cheese dressing at Wing Sluts, that's a mistress I can't keep away from."
Holmes took this as a good time to leave, and scanned the room until he saw Captain Holt's office.
Knock, knock, knock.
A voice rose on the other side of the door, "Three knocks, what are you, European?"
"I need your help Captain Holt," Holmes replied as he entered the room.
"Ah, British. What is it you think I can help you with?"
"I'm here to investigate the murder of a former colleague, Dr Maxwell. I consult for Scotland Yard, and need someone to escort me around the city so that I can solve her untimely demise."
"Holmes, is it? I have heard of you, but I think you will find that our officers are some of the best in the city. You are superfluous in this case I'm afraid."
Holmes was about to retort when the two men heard a minor explosion from the bullpen. As they arrived to the scene, a putrid smell filled their nostrils.
"Alligator? No. Lizard? No," Holmes whispered to himself, trying to figure out the origin of such a stench.
"SNAKE? Really Boyle?" Jake screamed incredulously, trying to cover his nose.
"Ah sorry guys, I've been trying to prepare more exotic foods to remind Nikolaj of home." Boyle replied unashamedly.
"There aren't snakes in Eastern Europe, clean up this mess it's disgusting," said a gruff looking female detective who Holmes hadn't seen yet.
"Well actually, there are multiple species of ratsnake and blotch snake, Diaz, but I agree the workplace microwave is no place for such an experiment," replied Holt sardonically.
"This aside from the fact that the snake you brought in is a copperhead, native to North East America," said Holmes in solidarity with his partner to be.
"Aw geez, now there's two of you guys?" laughed Jake.
Holt turned towards Holmes as if to reconsider his initial position.
"You can accompany Peralta to the scene Mr. Holmes, I think you will find he can assist you with anything you need."
He fully sized up Jake with a stare, confident, unkempt, childish, reckless and... competent? His last reading caught him off guard as he held out a hand to meet the man, perhaps Watson wouldn't be as big a loss as he originally thought.
|
As Holmes entered the 99th precinct he was greeted by a bald African-American man shorter than the avarage whos first impression was obviously giving a firm handshake and maintaining excellent eye contact through the dialogue they had.
"Welcome Mr.Holmes to the 99th precinct. Im Captain Reymond Holt, we were expecting you to be a bit *earlier*."
Holmes looked at him and thoughts started to race through his mind. He became too pre-occupied for the upcoming 4 seconds to notice that the Captain had slightly changed his voice tone when he said *earlier*. Another officer passed by them in the meanwhile while chanting about shampoos and romance.
"I would have bought an apology gift but you dont look the type, on the contrary your dislike of gifts led to that officer's distress which is why its taking so long for who i can only assume my companion today is to come here since he is too busy trying to comfort her."
"Oh i-
"Well now he is coming dont worry and please look out that she doesnt smoke a fag after we go out."
The detective that have finally arrived put on his coat as he introduced himself.
"Hi, Detective Holmes or should i say *Sherlock*. Im Jake Peralta."
Holmes ignored his excessive use of facial gestures and shook his hand.
The female officer Peralta had tried to comfort a moment ago stepped outside to the balcony as Holt watched silently.
"How did you-
"I think we should head out now, thank you captain holt for lending a detective.
Peralta and Holmes entered the elevator and Peralta started to speak with an excited voice.
"Now i dont want to sound creepy but i might have read all of Mr. Watsons blog and potentially become obsessed with your adventures."
Peralta had said the last sentence a lot faster.
"She smokes while under stress doesnt she? Well dont worry i think your captain is going to help with that today, after all she seems to value his advice a lot."
"You did your thing! Are you going to explain like in the blogs too? ^please do^.
Peralta's little and almost girly scream had drawn the attention of the people around as they got out of the elevator and proceeded towards exit.
"She taped a cigarette box under her desk which she had trouble finding which is unusual considering how obsessed she is with keeping things under control. Her desk was extremely tidy with a schedule that consisted your captains handwriting which i have seen before from his signature. They are both type A people but differ at a point which also helps you differ them easier in your head as a father role and partner."
Holmes stopped a taxi which for a split second confused him as he was used to the british way of traffic.
They entered the car and Holmes told the taxi their destination. Peralta spoke immediately after Holmes did.
"ok... im in an area between feeling amazed and intruded but im leaning on the first one. How did you know about my relationship with them though? OH NO wait wait wait you saw her filing out one of those relationship thingies right?"
"Not quite. You both have rings and were a lot more intimate than anyone in the precinct. And you said that you two would solve her family problem together tonight."
"How do you know that its a family problem?"
"That was the easiest. She had put her coat on the hanger which smelled heavily of cuban cigar and fresh ink. Considering that she would give her coat to be immediately cleaned but didnt which shows when she spoke to the person who smoked it their conversation effected her so much that her obsession was pushed back."
"But doesnt that still leave the possibility of someone else smoking the cigar rather than her family?"
Peralta was focused and Holmes enjoyed that he gave all of his attention to the matter.
"Balance of probabilities. Cuban cigars are banned here and she doesnt look the type to hang out with smugglers but enough of that. We are almost at our destination and have a case to solve."
"Aaaand where are we exactly?"
The taxi stopped infront of a bar. A bar which Peralta thought that only evil masterminds looking for recruits for their plans of world domination would enter.
Holmes turn his head and looked at Peralta who was sitting in the back seat with an expression that was a bit uneasier than the usual.
"Are you ready?"
Peralta put on an almost cliche voice and expression.
"Oh the he game is ON."
| 2020-01-20T06:32:51
| 2020-01-20T06:21:47
| 360
| 43
|
[WP] Foreshadow the character's death so subtly that I still don't see it coming even though I requested it.
|
The cruiser pulled up to the curb in front of a crumbling townhouse that looked like it was only still standing because it was propped up by its neighbors. Broken shards of glass were falling out of the splintered wooden frames, and the red bricks had turned to a dull brown under a layer of soot and filth. This place had seen better days. And from the shouting emanating from the open door, so had this relationship.
A woman passed in front of a window, and I noticed a bleeding cut across her forehead. Great. Another standard domestic dispute, my *absolute favorite*. I've been wearing the uniform for decades now, and these types of encounter *always* end the same. But with any luck, this would be my last. I'm ready to hang up my hat and retire. Maybe move down to a beach in Mexico. No more dispatch calls, no more lights and sirens, no more violence... just solitude.
"Oh, fuck you!" the man shouted as I climbed out of my car and he caught sight of me. "Look what you did!" The woman sobbed in the background as I climbed up the steps. "Someone called the cops."
I walked through the unlocked door and into the house. First thing I noticed was a half-empty bottle on the table. The cheap stuff, the kind better used as a cleaning product than an intoxicant. The man's inability to stand in one spot without swaying told me where the other half of the amber liquid had gone.
"You're not allowed to just walk in here!" he shouted at me. "You need a warrant, man!"
"Did he hurt you?" I asked the woman half-cowering behind the living room couch. She brushed her hair unconsciously over the wound on her forehead, and rubbed the bruises on her arm like they were smudges of dirt that could just come off. Of course he had hurt her, but I needed to ask.
"Don't you answer!" he shouted, pointing a bony finger at her across the room. "You don't have to answer anything! We want a lawyer!"
"Shut up," I told him, "Or I will *shut you up*." My hand strayed to my hip menacingly and I turned back to his wife.
"Ma'am, what did he do? You can tell me."
She stifled a sob and stayed silent.
"Just tell me what happened, and we can make sure he never hurts you again."
She clutched a pillow to her chest like a shield and bit her lip. "He... he did hit me," she confessed in a barely audible whisper.
"You bitch!" he yelled, pacing back and forth in the doorway and eying my gun. "Don't lie to him!"
"He does it all the time!" she shouted back.
"Good enough for me," I told her. I turned back to her husband and shot him twice in the chest.
There was a stunned silence in the room. He stared down at the red stain rippling across his already-dirty shirt. His lips quivered like he was trying to say something.
I pressed the guns into her shaking hands. "This was self defense," I coached her. "I was never here, and he came at you with this." From my pocket, I produced a menacing-looking hunting knife with a grim serrated edge. I crossed the room to the body slumped against the wall and arranged his fingers on the grip to ensure that his prints stuck. "It's his gun, and you don't know where he got it, right?" There was no serial number, and I had made sure it couldn't be traced.
She nodded, still in shock. "You... you're a cop?"
"No," I told her. It was true; the uniform was just an easy way to get through the door. "I'm no one."
With that, I retreated to my car and drove off just as flashing blue and red lights rounded the corner. Adrenaline was pulsing through my veins, and I couldn't contain the grin spreading across my face. Maybe I wasn't ready to retire just yet.
|
Lucas focused the scope of his riffle, aimed at the head of no other than the famous Maria Rios.
He smirked. It was lucky day, no doubt. The women’s activist may have been gaining a large following across the world but like most things, enemies came with the territory. Powerful enemies – the kind who would pay nicely for a bullet in her skull. Discreetly, of course.
But she knew the costs of her power. Lucas could only hope she would be aware of the consequences. Not that he actually cared. As long as he did what he was contracted for, he still got paid.
Lucas adjusted slightly to the left when a rogue wind rushed by him. He glanced up at the sky, frowning. It was dark, a grey blob rolling and growling in a hypnotic dance, as if to protest his job. The first plump drop of rain landed by his side. Sighing, Lucas looked back into his scope.
Bad weather wouldn’t stop him. He had been trained to operate in all sorts of weather – a small thunderstorm the least of his worries. When it began hailing and a hurricane ripped across the city, then he would be worried. And even then, he would still make sure to get the job done. Assassins have bills to pay, too.
On the other side of the scope, Maria stood waiting for her death. It almost seemed poetic. She would die doing what she loved, giving a speech of the inequalities of gender politics in her native country of Honduras. In way, she would be like the next King or Ghandi. But of course, good people always die young.
The clouds growled again, shaking the earth. A streak of blue light flashed in the distance. He wondered if he could time his shot with the next one, if anyone would know what happened to their “beloved” Mama Rios in the brief moment of chaos. He could even go down in history under the name. The Lightning Assassin had a nice ring to it.
No point in not trying.
Lucas took in a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. The shot lined up perfectly. Now all he had to do was shoot. In three, two…
He squeezed the trigger as the sound of thunder shaking his core to the bone. The flash of lightning was bright – illuminating the world around him. He exhaled, closing his eyes as his body tensed to unprecedented heights. The last thing he remembered was hearing frantic shouting in Spanish and the smell of burning flesh.
Maybe he wasn’t as lucky as he thought.
| 2015-06-03T06:17:27
| 2015-06-03T06:09:40
| 269
| 29
|
[WP] The prophecy says the one to pull the sword from the giant statue will save the world. Many have failed, and now in front of the Assembly you grasp the greatsword firmly and pull - and fall backward when it snaps off cleanly at the hilt
|
“Thou who removes the Holy Sword from his Majesty’s heart, will forever be blessed with the all mighty’s power.” Lord Ideles swore that to the world when he stabbed the sword through that grand statue in the cities center over one thousand years ago. A millennia of men have tried and failed to claim its power for themselves, but all have failed.
Until that day. The day when the Stablehand from Nirston, and ordinary boy, no older than twenty years, climbed up those pearl stairs to the hilt, and gave it his all. Thousands bore witness to what would happen next.
As the Stablehand pulled, the hilt of His Magesty the Emperor Ideles Holy Sword *snapped*.
Thousands watched on with fear as the Stablehand held the broken relic in his hands, raised to the sky, a smile that radiated no warmth plastered on his freckled face. He spoke to the masses gathered in the square, and declared a new prophecy as the guards swarmed to take him.
“All who stand before me, bare witness to my conquest! Your past is dead, and I will be the Shepard of your future!” He cried out, and thunder crashed from the sky into his young body, sending the guards flying into the crowd.
When the smoke cleared, the boy was gone. Many believed that he had been smited for his disgracing of their god.
The truth?
The Stablehand from Nirston…
…had smited god.
|
Men stood for miles in the warm summer heat, sweat growing on their brows. The air smelled like the Aegean Sea. Birds flew over it, over the greatest colosseum ever built. This was an ominous sign as animals seemed to avoid the massive structure ever since it was built, but not today, no today the birds flew in the thousands lining the tops of the Colosseum. These were no ordinary birds, however, these were crows, death was coming.
“Next. Hurry up and move!” yelled the guards at the entrance. Another man had failed. He left with whip marks scarring his back a reminder to pull as hard as one could. He stumbled out drunk with pain.
I was next I had grown into a man and now I was 18 my first pull attempt. I was terrified. The senate swore riches, fame, women, and whatever else was desired to the man who pulled the sword, but I knew better. I knew that whoever drew the sword was nothing more than a threat.
As I walked onto the stage for a split second I could have sworn a man in all black walked next to me into the arena, but when I looked back it was just me. A raven cawed and I reminded myself to keep moving to just get this over with.
Thousands of women and children watching me from the stands. The senate looked like a scour of half-bored old men barely bothered to mumble out “go ahead and try to pull”. A guard readied a whip as I wrapped my hands over the handles I began to pull my muscles straining. That's when I felt it. The warm glow of pain as a whip hit my back telling me to pull harder. Clouds began to form, and darkness came.
As I pulled again, a dark mist grew around my hands and all of a sudden the sword broke off at the hilt. The crowd and the senate arose in a shocked uproar. The senate only playing along I assumed was acting quite furious. “Kill the traitor one senator yelled as guards rushed the colosseum.”
As whips began to hit my back the ravens began to caw quietly. I tried to run with the hilt but I was cornered there were hundreds of guards swarming the stage floor. the birds flew down onto the ground screaming louder, screaming madly. I saw him, the man in black, somehow next to me.
The guards all seemed to stop moving for a second, a breath as if their inner nature was telling them to be cautious to think twice. The man in black had no face that I could see and held a scythe. The crows began to fly a circle around the group of guards pinning us between them and the wall of the colosseum. The first guard reached the man in black before me and as the guard touched the man he turned to dust.
The man let out a dark, cold, deep laugh at a joke no man could ever understand.”Wasnt my fault the man in black said out loud looking to the sky. I know it wasn't his time, but what are you going to do now? Stop me? They, however, their time is now.” The man in black touched my shoulder and disappeared as a sigil of death appeared over my head.
“Is that…. oh gods no please” a guard screamed. “gods save us” a senator whispered. Tens of thousands of people tried to run, but it was too late. What happened next was only a blur, I remember bits and pieces of the sky opening and gods swarming down. Of lightning and thunder. I remember him slowly methodically killing them, the gods we thought immortal, picking them apart one by one until there was no more. I remember women running and children crying and men trying not to stop him, but to buy precious seconds for their loved ones. They all died. Tens of thousands gone. had it been an hour, a month? I couldn't tell. None remained. I awoke with nothing but a broken handle and an evil that could no longer be stopped.
| 2022-08-10T11:20:16
| 2022-08-10T09:01:25
| 40
| 18
|
[WP] Armageddon is over, and Heaven won. Satan must now stand trail for each human before the Heavenly Host. You have been chosen as Satan’s court-appointed lawyer, since he couldn’t bring one from Hell. You are The Devil’s Advocate.
|
"Your honor, my client stands accused of conspiring against the kingdom of heaven to cause the downfall of man."
I glanced around the courtroom nervously. I told myself this wouldn't be any different than one of the many cases I defended in my time as a defense attorney on earth. Getting scum bags off the hook was my job and I was good at it.
Only this time *was* different. I never looked across the aisle to find Micheal himself wreathed in flames. The honorable Saint Peter presiding and my client was no looker himself, the nastiest of the nasty- Lucifer.
"My client pleads guilty your honor."
There was a gasp from the heavenly host followed by a stunned silence. All eyes fell on me.
"Your honor I object! This is some kind of trick!" exclaimed Micheal his flaming aura briefly flaring white hot.
"Over ruled," replied Peter "I want to hear what this son of adam has to say."
I looked over to my client. His eyes narrowing, a smirk slowly spreading across his face.
"Your honor the defense forgoes any contest of the charges against my client and instead will argue for a sentence of time served."
I got up from my chair and began to walk the floor so the jurors could see me. It's important to put a clean cut face to the arguement when your defending low lifes.
"The defense intends to prove that my client, Lucifer, has acted in the best interests of the kingdom and as such deserves no further punishment for his actions."
There was another loud gasp followed by angry murmurs from the gallery. No turning back now. It was time to make the most bold argument in all eternity.
The case against mankind.
"Man is a menace your honor. A threat to the entire kingdom since his inception and we intend to prove it"
I turned to face my client taking a brief pause. Meeting his fiery gaze and eyes that frankly, terrified me. I gave him the slightest devilish wink.
I was about to become the most infamous man in the universe.
The man who set the devil free.
|
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I am here today not just to exonerate my client, Satan. But, in fact to prove his complete and undeniable innocence in my opening statement alone. I ask you to consider but three things before we begin this utter farce of a trial.
First, if God is Omniscient, then he not only knew that my client would turn towards the path of evil before he created him, but he knew how to stop it. He may claim free will, but what if it had been as simple as asking, "how are you?"
Second, if he is omnipresent, he was with my client every step of the way. A simple nudge may have been all that was needed.
Third, if he is omnipotent, he had not only the power to do these things, but the power to end Armageddon... before it happened.. as he knew it would.
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. I ask you why the person on trial today is my client, and *not* the Almighty God who, I believe you will see, created Satan because he wanted Armageddon!
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
Sitting at the edge of the pew, God glanced to his left, then his right. *Shit,* he thought, *I gotta get the fuck outta here*. God sprung up, ran towards the window, and launched himself out, shattering the glass with his shoulder.
| 2020-05-27T04:44:29
| 2020-05-26T20:38:47
| 34
| 18
|
[WP] While sitting in class during a boring lecture you suddenly hear someone whispering in your ear. You turn around nervously and see that no one was there and none of the other students heard. But your teacher drops her notes and stares at you in shock.
|
"So you hear them."
That's where my story really starts. I'd always had been the kind of kid who
hated drawing attention to myself, and I was new to the whole "middle school"
thing, so when old Ms. Farris caught my eye and mouthed "later",
I was perfectly content to act like nothing had happened. Until later
came, of course.
Alone with her after class, I was terrified I had done something wrong,
especially when she locked the door. I had no idea *what*, of course - but
that just makes the imagination worse. Don't the lock up people who hear
voices? But apparently she heard them too?
So I held my tongue, and she, being far more comfortable with hers,
chattered on. "It's been so long now; I've been alone since my dear Aunt
died." Tears sparkled in her eyes, while confusion reigned in mine.
Eventually she noticed that I had stayed silent, and she tried to calm and
comfort me with a hug. It worked. "Don't worry, dear, there's nothing to be
afraid of." She laughed a little. "It's just so hard to explain."
Sitting back, she began her story. "I was a few years younger than you when
I first heard them myself, I hardly remember what it was like to not know
them. Of course, my case was different in a lot of ways. I'd always loved my
Aunt Eliza more than than my own parents, and known she had a ... presence
... that no one else had. So this was just another joy for us to share
together, and I *so* wished my dad had married her instead of her boring
sister.
"I suppose the first thing you want to know is what the voices are. I call
them Guardians, and my aunt called them Angels, but neither of us ever
figured out much about where they came from. They're not physical beings,
clearly, but they can interact physically when they need to. Also, they
don't ever take any action of their own accord other than to speak, so
they're perfectly harmless.
"The more important question is: what do the voices *do*? As far as I can
tell, they can do anything they want. The idea of "impossible" is foreign
to them. But what they want is, largely, to do whatever is asked of them.
They don't seem to need, or desire, anything of their own.
"There are some limits of course. The most important is that they'll never
do anything related to another person who speaks with them. So while I know
there are others like you and I, there's no way to find where they are.
"Second, whatever their other abilities, they're not very ... creative. So,
sometimes, you'll have to be very detailed in your requests. But, as I said
before, they *are* harmless, at least to us, so you will always have the
chance to clarify.
"Third, they can't - or won't - affect time. The best you can do is ask for
faster reflexes, or for a broken object to be restored.
"Finally, you should be cautious using, or talking about, this power around
other people, who don't have the same protection that we have. You could
accidentally hurt someone, or just draw awkward attention to yourself.
Even if the Guardians can take care of your natural needs, we're just not
meant to live alone."
I was silent for a long moment, until she prompted me, "well?"
I babbled "wow, it's just so ... wow. Is it really ... no, I mean ... how
do you, you know, do those things?"
"Remember it's not us, dear, it's them. And you just have to ask the same
way as the whispers. Just concentrate on where they're coming from, and
send your thoughts in that direction. Here." She stood, and her eyes lost
focus for a second.
The background whispers changed, from a vaguely questioning murmur to a
sharp excitement, as before my eyes Ms. Farris started to lift off the
ground!
"Just think 'float'," she told me. "Or," she grabbed a piece of chalk and
snapped it in half, "picture this being whole again. It doesn't have to be
words as long as you're clear about it."
And so I did. Once I got over the shock of it, and learned how to land
gracefully, she recommended, "now that you've proven to yourself that it
works, your first real command should be 'protect me'. I'm not sure that's
even necessary for us, but it can't hurt so it's a good idea."
We practiced a little more, and then I went home, to practice more alone.
***
Ms. Farris died a month before my high school graduation. One day she just
didn't show up for work, and they found her lying peacefully in her bed,
a smile on her face.
She'd transferred over the the high school when I did, and taught all the
way to the end, ignoring numerous requests that she retire. I know she did
it all to keep an eye out for me, and I'll never forget her.
But sometimes I wonder about those things she didn't know ...
|
"and Odin the ruler of the Aesir was to be devoured by Fenrir" i never pay attention to these stupid lectures on mythology its not like its important it's all just ancient bullshit stories.
"its not bullshit, i love Mythology" I heard a familiar voice, dark and cold like ice cracking whisper into my ear a cold chill running down my arms and through my spine, i had thought i was free of HIS influence. i looked over to where the voice came from and saw noone there accept, Miss Erikson who had dropped her books and bent down to pick them up, frozen with a look of pure shock and horror on her face, she quickly yelled "class dismissed everyone go to your other classes accept you Jackson, "I DONT TRUST HER" the icy voice spoke again with a hint of disdain in its voice.
Miss Erikson had taken her seat behind the desk and was studying me with a look of horror still on her face.
"Jackson I need to ask you a question and I need the truth, I'm asking from a place of concern" she paused a few moments taking off her thick black glasses and rubbing her forehead
"Do you hear voices"
"SAY NOTHING" the chilling voice commanded
"No miss I don't hear any voices in my head I'm not crazy"
"Not in your head, do you ever feel a chill and then hear a voice?" She asked looking me straight in the eyes with the determination of a charging rhino
"You can see him can't you"
"SAY NOTHING JACKSON SHE CANT HELP YOU"
"How long has it been following you"
"Around 2 months ago I started discovering strange things and it clung to me"
"What strange things Jackson?"
"SHE WILL USE YOU"
"Other worlds Places things like you describe in your mythology, a world of snow, a golden mountaintop palace,a quiet Japanese garden that went on forever and had books that flew around above your head, but no matter what there aren't any bullshit gods"
"The first thing I saw was this snake like thing and now it's fucking haunting me!"
"HAUNTING MORE LIKE FOLLOWING WITH INTEREST" it said flashing it's snake like form around my neck
"Language!," miss Erikson said not missing a chance to remind me she is a teacher
"Has it always been a snake Jackson" she said returning to her calmness as if I didn't just tell her I have seen literal other worlds
"It started small and wormlike following me unable to talk making hissing noises it's grown bigger since I first found it"
"You seem to unconcerned that I have seen other world do you know what it is what it is I can do and why"
"SILENCE JACKSON THE WHORE KNOWS ONLY LIES AND DECEIT SHE WILL USE YOU AND LEAVE YOU FOR DEAD"
"I WILL EXPLAIN ALL IN DUE TIME YOUR NOT READY" "I AM YOUR GUIDE!"
"It depends have you seen these other worlds only while asleep or have you been there while awake, have you ever felt them"
"Mostly while asleep but one morning when I got out of the shower I slipped and fell in snow I felt the chill the biting icy cold I heard the wind but when I got up it was gone it was the bathroom again"
At that she stared intently at me again "do you know what astral projection is Jackson?"
"Out of body experience?"
"Yes some people travel to other worlds that way but you travel there in person your what they call a Realmwalker"
"FOOL NOW SHE KNOWS YOUR TRUE WORTH"
"And this" she reached under her desk and pulled out a large book bound in leather with an unreadable cover
She flicked through it for five minutes before showing me a page. It had the image of a large snake coiling around a man but the writing above it written boldly, neatly and trimmed in gold said "Raven"
The other page said: "the raven is a trickster since the dawn of all worlds it often takes the form of a snake naming itself as a guide to unwary realmwalkers following them in a spectral icy snakelike form whispering lies and truth into his ear until the realmwalker no longer knows reality from fiction"
"Is what is plaguing you Jackson we can remove it but you must trust me"
"Is a ritual preformed in Scandinavia where I was born by the volva to invoke the very real very powerful gods"
"If that doesn't work" she said slowly reaching under her desk "we can try" she said slowly raising a knife "a Greek ritual to unbind certain "things" from people"
"DONT TRUST HER JACKSON THE WHORE WANTS YOUR GIFT SHE WILL SLAUGHTER YOU LIKE A LAMB YOU MUST RUN NOW AND DONT TURN BACK CHANGE REALMS IF YOU MUST"
...so this crappy thing took all afternoon to write if people like it I will write more tomorrow if not please leave a comment telling me what you didn't like .constructive criticism is always welcome
| 2017-01-14T20:24:29
| 2017-01-14T18:54:41
| 27
| 12
|
[WP] One day everyone is able to discover "their purpose in life". At first yours is widely mocked. Eventually yours becomes the most important one of all.
|
It became all consuming, to fulfill their "purpose in life." When they had been revealed, everyone was elated. They could stop searching and start doing. Their lives would be fulfilled.
It had been a cruel joke.
Many never achieved their purpose in life. Watching it slip out of reach left them bitter husks. Many died reaching in vain for the impossible.
For those that achieved it, they listed like ships without power. Their lives had found meaning, and in doing so lost direction. They found themselves wanting more, but when purpose was handed to them they had forgotten how to search for it.
Many had laughed when no purpose was given to him. Many had pitied him. "To live without purpose," they said, "what a terrible fate."
They had been blinded to what lay before them, and beauty of life had been replaced by purpose. While everyone reached for their great ambition and worked for years to have their purpose in life, he had lived. He worked, he played, he found love, and he died. He lived with the knowledge that there is no single purpose in life, but the thousands that are made each day. He found the purpose of life in every color of the sunrise and in each beat of his lover's heart. Having no purpose in life, allowed to him to live with all of life's purpose.
|
**Child of the Goddess**
Some laughed at him, and still others remained indifferent, after all it was just a phase that he would eventually grow out of. Yet he felt it in his every fibre; this was his purpose, this was why he woke up with every new sunrise.
And so he spent every waking moment by her bedside. Her every wish and whim catered with the utmost devotion. She was his everything.
It wasn't very hard to love her, not if you could see what he saw. She was him, but more human, more alive, for she could feel.
Pain; the kind that lay hiding, cold like licks of a fire that comforted from afar, yet burnt those who couldn't understand. The kind that slept underneath it all, on which everything else stood, the kind which only she could feel. It was hers and she its queen. It drove her, fuelling her every thought, her every action. It flowed through her, in all she did, but it came out not as pain for the most of it.
You see stuck in herself, she saw not what he did see. Like the sun, floating in the heavens, with all the worlds around it, she looked for light not realising it was her. As she burned inside it came out as light that illumined all she touched, all she danced, all she wrote. And he stood in awe at this gentle giant, whose fire burning from within, gave light to all without.
Others came and went, fearing this fire, not knowing how to love something that only burnt and turned to ash all that came into it. For they had forgotten to feel the warmth it brought over their skin and the light it shone on their dark roads ahead. So he stood, silent, in awe at this gentle giant that no one else saw.
In her he saw Her; his Beloved, the only One who had truly ever known him. She spoke to him through her, the warmth of her fire the lullaby his Beloved sang to him. Thus he knew without knowing, felt with out feeling, and thought without thinking; she and him were but one coin, each their own side. Same but different, same and yet different.
He wasn't scared to love her, he wasn't scared of her pain, for he knew that as She watched over him, She would her too.
Yet it broke him to see his love lying there in the hospital bed, treading the line that separates this life and the next. It wouldn't be long now before it was time. For that moment would come when he would have to decide when she returned to the Goddess.
| 2016-09-15T05:10:06
| 2016-09-15T02:00:11
| 71
| 10
|
[WP] Your classmates were gifted with boosted stats, cool abilities and titles like Hero, Limit Break, or Divine Healing. You got two abilities- Fission LVL 1: Break things apart, and Fusion LVL 1: Combine things together. Deemed useless for combat, the Viceroy gave you an allowance and sent you off
|
There wasn't a title for what I could do, for what I was destined to become. But that would all change in time.
For now, the Viceroy cleared his throat and began granting the four of us titles. First, it was Erik. Captain of the football team, all-American handsome, decent at algebra -- it made sense that he'd be granted the title of Hero by Gracefeel -- the goddess that transported us to this world.
Erik knelt before the Viceroy and was dubbed Ser Erik the Red, on account of his fiery hair. I wanted to hate him, but the guy was nothing but decent to me back on Earth. Didn't stuff me into lockers or anything. Erik thanked the Viceroy, accepted his sword, and joined the rest of the swordsmen and swordswomen cheering his name.
Next was Daisy. Ah … Daisy. She gave me a little wave as she approached the Viceroy. I flapped my hand around as if I were an inflatable tube man outside a used-car dealership. My cheeks grew hot, but I didn't care. Daisy had been one of the four chosen. I don't know if I could have handled all of this if she wasn't here with us. But she was. So I could.
Daisy knelt before the Viceroy as he handed her a wooden staff that still had some shoots growing off the gnarled top and dubbed her, Daisy the Verdant. She was chosen by Gracefeel as her avatar, and, as it turned out, the first cleric to be gifted with the Divine Healing ability in over two hundred years. I wasn't surprised. This was Daisy after all.
Up next was Marco. The air in the room seemed to grow thicker, tenser, as leather-clad Marco stalked up to the Viceroy. The Viceroy smiled and said, "Ah, yes. The Shadowborn." He handed Marco a pair of wicked-looking daggers. "An Assassin requires no title. Only targets. Is this agreeable with you?"
Marco nodded, took the daggers, and disappeared in a puff of smoke. One voice from the back of the room cheered, while everyone else whispered their approval of the kingdom's new assassin.
Then, silence stretched across the throne room. The magistrates and servants looked around at each other, then to the Viceroy. He stood with hands clasped behind his back, nodding slowly to a question only in his head. It wasn't like he'd banish me for being summoned without any combat abilities. That was the gamble, as he'd explained, when we first materialized on the summoning platform deep beneath the palace. There was no guarantee that *any* champions would answer the call. Three out of four wasn't bad, he'd said. Still. There was the matter of what to do with me...
"Master Kleber," he announced, tapping his r's like a Scotsman. "Come forward."
I fiddled with my tunic, taking one hesitant step, then another. Soon I was knelt before the Viceroy, staring down at his worn leather boots and at the purple carpet beneath said boots, leading from the throne all the way to the double doors. I wanted to run down the carpet, tackle my way through the doors, never look back. Instead, I glanced up at Daisy. She was giving me a double thumbs up. Erik was nodding slowly. Marco stood in a corner, shadowed.
I blew out a shaky breath.
"As stated by your fellow outlanders, you are wizened. Possessing knowledges that would enrich the lives of my people. And so, Master Kleber, I dub you First Physiker of Goldmar." He handed me a coin purse and it sank in my hand, as I was unprepared for its weight. "You will be granted an allowance by the crown to perform works benefiting the citizenry of Goldmar. Arise, First Physiker, and may the light be with you."
I blinked at the viceroy. "So," I stammered. "I won't be going with the rest to fight the Demon Lord's armies?"
The Viceroy gave me a pitying look, and shook his head slowly. "No, son. Your place is here."
I thanked the Viceroy and marched out of the throne room, fighting back tears.
My place was here. Not with Daisy.
\*\*\*
There wasn't much to say the day Erik, Marco, and Daisy's departed. Erik promised he'd protect Daisy and make sure they all came back alive and well. Marco peeked at me through stringy black strands of hair, and just said, "Death comes for us all." I nodded and replied with the same.
Daisy pulled me aside as liveried servants, wearing matching purple tunics, loaded the party's wagon and checked their horses. She was wearing a white open robe over plate and mail with a pair of clasped hands engraved on the heart of her breastplate -- Gracefeel's sigil. I tugged at my itchy brown Physiker's robe.
"Well," she said, with sad eyes over a small smile. "We're going."
I looked down to the dirt. "Yup."
"These people are counting on you."
"I don't know -- it seems like the whole world is counting on the three of you. I don't even know what to do with my abilities. I don't know if they can do anything."
"Maybe," she gripped my arm just above the shoulder. "But while we're out doing what we're doing, these people are still living their lives. Here. Lives that you can make better. Not with fancy powers, but with what you know."
I chuckled. "Yeah, I guess."
"Here--" She handed me a silver necklace. The charm was one quarter of a heart, like the kind you'd find at an ear piercing shop in the mall. She held up my hand and pushed her piece into mine. A moment later, Erik and Marco joined, pushing in theirs, completing the pendant. Daisy looked around at the three of us and smiled. "I'm going to keep these two alive while we kick the Demon Lord's butt. And when we get back, I want to take a dip in a proper sauna, and eat ice cream, and watch Netflix."
I blinked at her. "What? That's--that's impossible."
Erik laughed. "And I thought taking out the Demon Lord was gonna be tough. Looks like you've got the real work."
"I do not envy you," added Marco.
One of the servants announced the wagon train ready. Marco and Erik said their goodbyes and made their way to the wagons.
Daisy lingered for just a moment, and said, "I wish you could come with us."
It was like an invisible hand clutched my heart and squeezed. I bit the inside of my cheek, refusing to show just how much her words had rocked me.
"Me too," I replied, solemnly.
And with that, they were off.
\*\*\*
\[I thought this was gonna be short, but it ended being longer than I expected. Part 2 below\]
|
Ao shambled down the forest path. His modest allowance had run dry long ago. He had been deemed useless until one of his classmates, the damned Hero, had tried being nice and pointing out his capacity for excessive violence. Nobody had believed her, but it did influence the decision to banish Ao.
It had all started when Ao and his classmates had been yoinked out of their nuclear physics classroom -hell, yoinked out of their entire world. There had been only 10 of them, and some godly entity bestowed each with unique skills. There were the traditional Hero, Sage, and Saint, cornerstones of any party of 3. There were some niche ones, like Marksman and Ranger, but weirdly, half the group had gotten non-combat oriented roles. Provisioner, Logistician, Artisan, Engineer. And then there was Ao.
Ao's title was, ironically enough, Nuclear Physicist. As the only one without a nuclear physics background (in fact, Ao was a math major), it made for an excellent talking point at parties. He didn't need more than a middle school understanding to know what his skills were.
Fission: the capacity to dismantle things. The heart of the deadliest weapons of war mankind had ever deployed.
Fusion: the capacity to combine things. The heart of the deadliest weapons that had yet to be deployed.
Annoyingly, Ao's tests did not yield such devastation. In fact, the level 1 version of each skill had been simple disassembly and reassembly, dismantling and combining a pen that had been in his pocket. This was what had landed him in the home front. But still, he kept experimenting.
At some point, the Viceroy began watching Ao's experiments. One day, Ao managed to achieve the realization of one of Einstein's most famous equations: the conversion of matter to energy, by activating Fission on a delay on a piece of charcoal and hurling it at targets. While comparatively small, the explosion had been cause for alarm, resulting in Ao being brought before the king and summarily banished, as the Viceroy explained the implications of being able to cause an explosion at will. Apparently being able to assassinate an entire room at will was too much of a security risk.
Ao had resolved himself to travel solo, hunting and foraging as necessary. This started to become complicated after he had caught a rabbit. An application of the Fission skill managed to roughly skin and joint the meat, shredding only half of it. When he went to cook it, Ao decided to use Fission to try and ignite his fire. The resulting energy release did consume the firewood, but it also extended to burn the meat to ashes.
Thusly Ao shambled through the forest on an empty stomach, right into a military encampment. As the perimeter guards rushed towards him and the alarms blared, Ao noticed a lack of discernable heraldry before yielding to hunger-induced exhaustion.
| 2022-04-30T14:14:19
| 2022-04-30T12:44:41
| 75
| 39
|
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now.
|
I had originally thought my superpower was a bit of a joke. I suppose it still is pretty lame. I can't cause any real destruction with it, but nobody jokes around me anymore. I started exacting vengeance a couple weeks ago on those who had previously bullied me for "not having a power". In truth, I did but it's a very subtle power.
I can feel my power beginning to slowly take a toll on my enemies. For example, I can visibly see the results of using my powers on my coworker, Carol. Her crime? She always takes my stapler from my desk without asking. She used to be snarky around me but now whenever I see her, she just looks depressed. The best part is that she doesn't even know what's causing it.
Me, a laughing stock? I'd like to see my enemies try to laugh at me. That is, if they can. Because no one's laughing anymore.
Literally.
|
I was powerless. I was disowned by my superhero parents. Everyday I suffered with the bullies giving me the worst wedgies in school.
The day the gift came really made me happy. I immediately folded people in half --- crushing their beloved spines. 70% of the people of the city are now dead.
"Who's useless now?" I said and continued giving wedgies without remorse.
| 2017-06-12T07:39:18
| 2017-06-12T06:49:33
| 39
| 15
|
[WP] After hackers threaten to leak their newest movie, Disney hires an elite group of mercenaries to discourage future attempts. Due to a typo however, the mercenaries assume they have to disguise as Disney characters
|
Noooooo
Oneeeeeee
Hacks like GastoN!
Password Cracks like GastoN!
If you hear breathing-
your phone line's tapped by GastoN!
For there's no man as leet in the scripting
A caffeine fueled coding machine
While the bros are all out doing lifting
It's Gaston's brain that is just oh so mean
No one pwns like GastoN
Lives to own like GastoN
No one finds a backdoor in like GastoN!
"As a specimen, yes, I'm intimidating"
My-what a guy! That Gaston!
Give the highest of fives!
And a half dozen dabs!
Gaston is the guy
Who codes all in one tab!
No one sniffs like GastoN!
Proxy Skips like GastoN!
Then goes commenting round dropping burns like GastoN!
"I use V in all of my DE-CO-RATING!"
My what a Guy that's GastoN!
______________________________________________________
Wait a minute... where did the connection go?
Dammit guys! I **TOLD** you an audio stream introduction was a fucking stupid idea. The target terminated his connection before we could get any data ex-filtrated.
Yeah, well the mouse was very strict in his terms.
He didn't say we have to announce ourselves the second we get a hook in their network!
Well whose stupid idea was it to disguise as team GastoN? Why couldn't we pick a more sinister, sneaky villain like Shere Khan or Prince Hans?
Oh sure.. leave it to the German hacker to suggest Prince Hans...
Oh what? You want to use a Russian Villain?
Yes! I do! We could use Rasputin! Hell Even Bartok would be better than Gaston!
Anastasia wasn't even a Disney movie you dolt!
You know what *"Hans"*? Fuck it. This isn't worth the headache, I don't care how much the mouse wants to pay. I'm going back to the KGB.
The KGB? You don't even know your history, they've been defunct for over a decade!
That's what you think, but we're about to play our Trump card...
|
Disclaimer: Script style, meant to be a parody/satire.
Fade In: White walls, windows darkened with night, fluorescent glare from overhead lights, looks like an older style meeting room. The room is full with four guys wearing black suits and ties sprawled out amongst the various furniture, a femme fatale cleaning a pistol, and a sixth gentleman - an older gentleman, smoking a cigarette.
A skinny sour faced man: Why do I have to be Pluto?
The smoking man: Because I'm Mickey, she's Minnie, he's Goofy, that's Donald, he's Mary Poppins, and you... you're Pluto.
A tall man holds up a long throwing knife as if holding an umbrella and says: I'm Mary Poppins, everybody.
Sour Face/Pluto: (Fiddles with suit.) Why are we doing this job for Disney as Disney characters?
Smoking man/Mickey: Because it's in the contract.
Fade To: The scene is set at a small diner, there are lots of plates still on the table with scraps of breakfast. Everyone is slowly staring at the people wearing black suits with Disney mascot heads on.
Femme Fatale/Minnie: Just throw in a dollar!
Sour Face/Pluto: No way, I don't tip.
Femme Fatale/Minnie: You don't tip?
Sour Face/Pluto: I don't believe in it.
Mary Poppins: I'm Mary Poppins, everybody.
Sour Face/Pluto: Don't give me that. If the waitress isn't making enough money, she can quit.
Femme Fatale/Minnie: Let me get this straight: you don't tip. Ever?
Sour Face/Pluto: I don't tip just because society tells me to. I'll tip if somebody really deserves a tip. If they put forth extra, I'll give them extra. But automatically tipping is wrong. As far as I'm concerned they're just doing their job.
Mary Poppins: I'm Mary Poppins, everybody.
Sour Face/Pluto: Our waitress was alright. But she wasn't anything special.
Mary Poppins: I'm Mary Poppins, everybody.
Goofy: I'd go over twelve percent for that.
Sour Face/Pluto: Look, I ordered coffee, alright? And we been here a long boring time and she's only filled my cup nine times. When I order coffee I want it filled sixteen times.
Goofy: Sixteen times? Why hasn't your heart exploded?
Donald: He has a heart. A big heart. The biggest heart. It can handle the coffee. It's a good heart. A giant heart.
Femme Fatale/Minnie: Excuse me Pluto, but the last thing you need is another cup of coffee.
Sour Face/Pluto: Wow I mean, these servers aren't starving. They make minimum wage. You know, I used to work minimum wage and when I did I wasn't lucky enough to have a job that society deemed worthy of tipping.
Mary Poppins: I'm Mary Poppins, everybody.
(Everyone looks in incredulity at the man wearing a Mary Poppins hat with scarf and veil).
Mickey Mouse: You don't have any idea what you're talking about. These people bust their butts. This is a hard job.
Sour Face/Pluto: So is working fast food, but you don't see anyone tip them, do ya? Why not? Society says don't tip these guys over here, but tip those guys over there. That's crap!
Mickey: Being a server is the number one occupation for non-college graduates in this country. It's the one job basically any college kid can get, and make a living on. The reason is because of their tips.
Mary Poppins: I'm Mary Poppins, everybody.
Donald: What is wrong with him? Doesn't he have more words. Doesn't he have better words? I have better words. We have the best words. We can expense this meal including tips. We'll eat this meal and have Disney pay for it.
Mickey: Disney paid us half up front and will give us the other half when the job is done.
Donald: We will expense the meals and make Disney pay for them.
Sour Face/Pluto: I mean I'm very sorry the government taxes tips, that's messed up. It would appear to me that servers are one of the many groups the government screws over regularly. If you show me a petition that says the government shouldn't do that, I'll sign it. Try to get it into law and I'll vote for it. But what I won't do is tip.
Donald: He's convinced me. We would government good. We would government like nobody else would government. (Takes dollar back).
Mickey: That's it, Pluto doesn't get to talk anymore. According to our employers Pluto doesn't talk, so if Pluto says another word he's out, as in "in a box" out.
Fade out.
Fade in to the interior of a survivalist styled bunker. A man wearing dark browns messes with a keypad at a door. Green glowing characters change on the keypad's display. The door gets kicked in, revealing it's flimsy cardboard. Two of the Disney characters go in with guns blazing. The man wearing dark browns lies bleeding on the ground. People fall off of movie set style chairs and run away with the set and filming crew.
Mary Poppins: I'm Mary Poppins, everybody.
Minnie: Dammit Mary! This wasn't a hacker. (Looks around) This is a CNN special about hacking.
Mary Poppins: I'm Mary Poppins, everybody. (In a sad, low, embarrassed voice).
Scene fades to a dark almost empty warehouse. A single chair in a spotlight has a tied up and scared looking teenage kid in it. Next to the kid is Goofy and Pluto.
Goofy: (walks to a cart within the darkness and grabs a hammer) You better start talking about who you work for.
Kid: I can't hear you through that ridiculous mask. Are you guys from some kind of theme park?
Goofy: You better listen carefully otherwise I'm taking this hammer upside your skull... "Skull Candy" headphones.
Kid: But those are my most expensive pair.
Goofy: (Smashes hammer into headphones, picks up ear piece and leans it in close to the kid). Can you hear me now?
Pluto: It'd be more effective if you smashed a microphone and then did that.
Goofy: Nobody speaks into a broken microphone. Are you an idiot? (turns to kid) I have all of your electronics in those boxes back there (points to crates in the darkness) and I will cut and smash every bit of them until you give me all the details about the hacking group which did this.
Fade away with camera growing dark and the sounds of smashing and the sounds of the kid crying.
Quick cut to Bucharest overhead view narrowing down to a street view. The Romanian mob, lead by Donald, surrounds Mickey, Minnie, and Mary Poppins. Mickey, Minnie, and Mary Poppins are kneeling between two cars. Ten mobsters plus Donald are in front of them and ten mobsters are behind them. The mobsters all have machine guns.
Mickey: You betrayed us!
Donald: I have the best betrayals.
(Six extra mobsters start to pour out from the closed looking stores on the street).
Mary Poppins: (stands up and guns down two of these new mobsters) I'm Mary Poppins, everybody. (Quickly ducks back down as bullets tear up the car he's crouched behind).
Donald: All the hackers are here. We have the best hackers. Our hackers have guns. That means they're the best hackers.
(All of the shooting stops for a moment as everybody stares at Donald).
(Goofy and Pluto show up in a fast moving mustang which Goofy is driving. Pluto guns down some of the guys behind Mickey's group but catches return bullet fire and dies).
Goofy: (hard brakes the car and starts to rev up the engine looks at Pluto's dead body) They killed my dog. (Accelerates and drives into the remaining men behind Mickey's group).
Donald: (turns his machine gun on the mobster next to him) I have the best betrayals.
Minnie: (steps forward and guns down mobster after mobster with her two 9mm pistols in slow motion. She kills the remaining mobsters). You don't mess with Disney!
The dying man next to Donald: But you betrayed us. We set you up with the best things money can buy. You said you were a pirate, just like us.
Donald: (Pulls off Donald mask to reveal mascara, a bandana and braided beard. Puts on pirate hat and winks at the dying hacker next to him).
The dying man: You, you're the worst software pirate I've ever heard of.
Donald/Captain Jack Sparrow: Aye, but you have heard about me.
Fade to Credits.
| 2017-05-16T06:47:35
| 2017-05-16T06:28:23
| 54
| 16
|
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.