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stringlengths 20
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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int64 14
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[WP] The government spends all their time focused on exploring space, completely ignoring the enormous void that is the ocean and you're one of the few people who knows why.
|
"How long have we known about this?" I whispered, in awe.
"Since the 1940s." Commander Hays said, curtly. "A US submarine discovered and entered the hidden pressure lock off the coast of California in '43, I believe it was. More locks have been discovered since then -- including the one we used to get here, of course."
We stood in a vast, domed chamber made of some strange striated material that resembled both metal and stone. All I knew was that it was somewhere under the ocean. I'd transferred from the USS Nimitz where my helicopter had landed, to the USS Montana, a Virginia-class submarine. There was a sort of moon pool further back in this cavernous space into which the sub had ascended, where we disembarked after our long journey.
"How deep are we?" I asked, as we walked towards the middle of the chamber, where dozens of personnel worked around a large pedestal-like construction.
"20 kilometers, give or take." he replied, casually.
I stopped in my tracks. "That's impossible -- a structure this size? And what about the *Montana?* That's over ten times its test depth, it would have been crushed!"
"The pressure locks, Doctor." Hays explained. "We're still trying to understand how they work, but they protect the underwater passages -- as well as anything inside them -- from the pressure."
"Unbelievable..." I muttered, looking around in renewed wonder.
A thin, older man approached us from the group by the pedestal. "Commander Hays! And, Dr. Wilson, I presume?"
"Yes..." I said, distractedly shaking the old man's hand.
"I'm Dr. Norris." he introduced himself. "I suppose we should give you the presentation, first of all. It's sort of a tradition."
I glanced at the Commander, who nodded, with a slight smirk. The doctor led me to the pedestal, which I now noticed was etched with fine-lined shapes and designs. "This is a recording device of some kind, used by the inhabitants of this place...we estimate it to be between 50,000 and 100,000 years old."
My jaw dropped. "Are...are you serious?"
Norris smiled, wryly. "Very, Dr. Wilson." He depressed one of the shapes, and abruptly the image of some kind of strange craft appeared in the air.
"True holography!" I exclaimed.
"Yes." Norris confirmed. "We believe this to be a historical narrative. This shows the...well, let's not mince words -- the alien vessel that brought the inhabitants of this structure to Earth."
By this point I was too stunned to say anything, so Norris just carried on, tapping the pedestal every so often to change to a new image.
"This seems to depict them fleeing their home world in advance of some implacable enemy's approach...this shows them travelling the galaxy, hiding on various worlds..." he narrated, as he showed each event in turn. "...and this shows them preparing to leave their latest hiding place. Earth."
"Why did they leave?" I asked.
"The same reason they left everywhere else -- they discovered that their enemy knew where they were." The Commander interjected.
A chill ran down my spine. "You mean..."
"Yes," Dr. Norris confirmed, somberly. "If our...former guests were correct, their enemy traced them here. They found out, and departed well in advance. It is important to note, the aliens did not possess some form of fantastic faster-than-light travel. They traveled the stars as we have always theorized would be necessary for vast interstellar distances -- over hundreds, thousands, even tens of thousands of years."
"They're long gone now." the Commander said, darkly. "But their enemy, the foe that ravaged their world even with all their advanced technology...they're *still coming."*
"This is why." I suddenly realized. "This is why we've focused on space exploration, when so much of our own oceans are unexplored. Because when we really started exploring the oceans, we found *this..."*
The Commander nodded. "We've been studying it for decades. We've reverse engineered some technology, but the going has been slow and we need *more.* It's why we've brought you, and all the personnel to this location over the years. Because if the human race is going to survive once those 'enemies' reach Earth...*"*
"...then when they get here, we need to be *gone."* I finished for him.
|
Twenty men and women all in long white coats, tablets under their arms and half of them spectacled, all argue around a screen with several calculations on how to escape earth’s gravitational pull; Angus Bermuth, the last man in the room, steps forward and instead tells them why.
“The last days are coming, children. Play your silly games and get us off this wretched marble of death before it comes,” says Angus.
“Were you transferred here just to annoy us?” asks Doctor Eris Yarle – the project lead.
“Doctor Yarle, did you come from Oceanic Development? Have you seen what creatures lurk beneath?” asks Angus.
“Once again, we have no time for your speculations,” says Eris.
“I have nothing to speculate over besides when it happens. It is coming, Eris. It is coming and you cannot stop it. We can only escape. That’s why I’m here. Not to tell you how to do your jobs, but you know why you’ve got jobs at all. Men, women – the End Kraken cometh. Put on your raincoats and let’s get to rocket buildin’.”
***
Angus sits in the terminal not twenty-six miles away from the ocean. The sun behind the rocket glows orange with the first breath of night. The moon, enormous as it sits just above the horizon, it glows with the pearl luminescence as the End Kraken’s eye. Today is the day they leave. Angus grips tightly onto his cane, his white-haired knuckles aching and tight for the impending launches.
Eris stands beside him, tall and blonde and with her glasses crooked on her face. She wears two different shoes and her hair is barely bundled into a bun. As she bites her nails, the first rocket burns. Smoke exhale to the grounds around them, fuming the warm landscape with living gray clouds. The fire beneath the rocket burns so hot they dare not look. Angus shields his eyes, unable to see if Erin donned her goggles.
When the clouds vanish and the fires burn only in the sky, the tentacle sweeps across the land. The very tip the size of a highway, the girth of the tentacle stretches city-wide. With one motion the land is cleared to rubble. There is no escape. The End Kraken has cometh.
Angus takes Eris by the wrist and tugs her until her attention breaks from doomsday and towards his own eyes.
“We can kill it. I’ve been planning for this. I have a contingency, Doctor Yarle. But it will not be pretty.”
Eris’ mouth, small, gapes in absolute horror. Her grip becomes weak and icy. “Anything. We must do anything.”
And then it rises from the ocean, vast tsunamis break through across the rubble. The sky is filled with a creature of incomprehensible size. It does not block the sky – it is now the sky.
Where the moon would be was an eye, ever-black and staring right at Angus.
“Anything later. Running now,” says Angus.
***
“This won’t work, it can’t work,” says Eris.
“But it must,” says Angus.
Eris drags her thumb across the terminal. She types in six digits and then presses her hand flat to the glass pane. The screen response with green text. “You kept the prototype?”
“I did. And I put nuclear material in it,” says Angus.
“Where did you get the clearance to-“
“You think I got put on this project just to crack the whip, Doctor Yarle? Press the button. I have the clearance for onboarding but not for launching.”
“So you put a nuke in our guided rocket?” says Eris.
Angus meets eyes with Eris. Her pupils are like the bottom of the ocean, full of infinite dread. She swallows air and slams her thumb against the screen.
From the new window, they watch. The prototype twists on hits platform. It would never escape Earth from her. But it sure as hell can enter a beak.
It fires and the End Kraken opens its canyon maw. Its tongue pointed like a needled mountain peak. The rocket continues, twisting, twisting, veering just off course and-
As the End Kraken’s eye notices it, the creature stops, still. The rocket enters.
“Not a nuke. Dozens.”
Boom. The End Kraken cometh in pieces against the glass window. Blue blood splattered and chunks of wet flesh clung.
Eris, wide eyed, jumps until her mismatched loafer fell off, until her glasses straighten.
“We need to build,” says Angus.
“Pardon?” asks Eris. Her eyes like black fires in big lakes of white.
Angus leans onto his cane, his breath heavy and his face glistening with sweat.
“That wasn’t the End Kraken.”
No, Angus thinks. This is just the beginning. In the deep come infinite things vast and incomprehensible. There is no winning. They need more rockets to escape, for this is just one of the End Kraken’s broodlings.
| 2018-06-26T00:47:05
| 2018-06-25T21:46:35
| 29
| 11
|
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Hey Mom,
It’s been a few months since we’ve last talked. I miss you.
I’m still not quite sure why you decided to cut me out of your life. I’d always thought family wasn’t just blood relations, but those who matter to us. You’ve shown me otherwise.
I just can’t believe you threw me out like that. I watched as you spent years proving how much I mattered to you. And you mattered just as much to me. Then you turned around and got rid of me and my father like we were garbage.
Even if something happened between you and my father, why are you throwing me out? You even tried to turn my sisters against me. You’re trying to sabotage what little family I have left out of spite.
And you know that you’re full of shit. When I called you out on it you just said nothing, because there’s nothing for you to say.
You’re just being shitty because you can be. I hope you enjoy the rest of your shallow life surrounded by the people you’ve manipulated into liking you, because that’s all you’re ever going to get.
Love,
Your Little Shit
|
Name changes, for privacy reasons, but here goes.
My dear Maria,
I recall in vivid detail the conversations we once shared, about where our lives were headed, our hopes and fears, our dreams and nightmares. I never told you outright how much I love you, and that is the only thing in life I truly regret. I tried telling you one day (though I didn't do a very good job of it), and you were clear that you weren't ready for a relationship beyond just being friends at the time.
The next few months, we drifted away from one another. I watched you find someone else; those next few months, watching you looking so happy with someone else, were the hardest times I have ever gone through. The pain I went through during that time is something that I pray neither you nor anyone else has to experience. It very nearly broke me, and it is only by the grace of God that I made it through.
After we reconnected and restored our friendship, I told myself that I would respect your wishes and simply be an honest, supportive friend. For a time, I convinced myself that it would be possible to simply be your friend and keep my feelings for you contained. However, over the past few weeks, I have realized that I could more easily hold back the Amazon River with my bare hands than hold back my feelings for you.
Any time I spend with you is the high point of my week; when I go about my day, I see your beautiful face and hear your delightful laugh. I remember in vivid detail your wonderfully compassionate smile, and I count the days until I can see you again. Will I ever be able to tell you I love you? Must my feelings remain hidden forever? How I wish I could show you just what you mean to me!
I hope that someday I find the opportunity to tell you this; I realize now that as much as I value your friendship, I care about you too much to keep up this pretense of only caring about you as a friend. Someday, I will no longer be able to keep from telling you.
All my love to you,
Davin
| 2017-11-05T21:31:44
| 2017-11-05T21:31:39
| 81
| 19
|
[WP] The King is a shapeshifter. Every day, they walk among their people in various forms. Everyone in the kingdom is super nice to strangers for fear of accidentally disrespecting their ruler.
|
It was the perfect society.
No crime. No trickery. No corruption.
King Louie would gleefully repeat these things to himself as he hobbled the cobbled street. His walking stick was half a step ahead of him, prodding the ground with indistinct *tap tap tappings.* It was a wonderful day and his tunic, although filthy, lay open to reveal a struggling, elderly body beneath. Above that body was a gnarled and rugged face, dark with tan. A small folded cloth sat on top of his wispy hair which hung just long enough to fall above two eyes. Eyes of pure white; eyes completely dead. A blind peasant was no suspect for kingship. And again, he laughed.
​
''Good day Sir!''
''It is gorgeous my friend!''
''Wow this is positively delightful!''
''We are surely a blessed people!''
''Indeed!''
​
Louie smiled at the interaction of the two market vendors. Their chest's were puffed out and their shoulders were square, as if the men were trying to present themselves with utmost perfection. They shook hands with vigour and respect, and smiled widely. They looked honourable, but the blind King noticed that behind those stretched cheeks were faces drawn and exhausted. The men parted ways but soon after each of them had once glanced back with worry. Louie didn't like that one bit. Why do they not trust their fellow citizen? In the perfect model of society that he, King Louie, had created there was no reason to assume bad intentions. With the utmost authority and compassion bad manners had been eradicated. It always had made King Louse terribly furious to see impoliteness in people, and now it was gone. They surely love him!
The blind King stood on the market corner and watched the bustling market and leaned on the edge of the walking stick heavily. Scanning the crowd like a lifeguard by the side of a pool, carefully watching for the slightest inconsistency. An old woman examining a fish with pursed lips and furrowed brows; leave now old women and don't complain; she left. A boy trying to cross the cobbled road beside a mother and her child; give her your arm boy, offer assistance; he gave her his arm. Kind Louie smiled, and turned his attention closer. A young lady with blonde hair grooming her horse, she was respectively out of trouble and the horse was quiet and mannered. The King was about to move on, and almost did, before he noticed that the blonde ladies eyes had just passed over him. Not in the sweeping manner someone would, but with a rather more peculiar intent. She went back to grooming her horse, with long and practised brushstrokes, but out the corner of her eye she looked again.
Clever girl. She must have noticed the blind man's disguise was a trick. The King laughed again. He would have her brought to his fortress, and from there he would decide how best to reward her. Maybe coins. Maybe lashings. The blind man stood and dropped his stick with purpose. It clattered to the floor and bounced. The blonde girl of course noticed it fall and her eyes were drawn to the ground with it. After it rested she looked up again at the blind man, who was now a lady pregnant and fat.
|
(WP) An Urgent Question
Everyone knew that The King is the last of his kind, a shapeshifter with unimaginable power.
Our monarch was not one to let injustice stand; that was why he walked among the people daily, always in disguise. It was an elegant method; crime was at an all-time low, and everyone, no matter their station, got along. Anyone who refused to comply was jailed or executed, with special exceptions made for children.
It was just my rotten luck that I happened to be stealing apples and bread from a stall, in desperate need to feed my family. I was running through the crowd, using my elbows to push my way through. I’d almost made it down the street when a little old woman stepped out from the shade of an awning. With surprising strength for her age and size, she reached out and grabbed my wrist, stopping me in my tracks and sending the food I’d pilfered scattering to the ground.
“What, pray tell, do you think you’re doing, boy?” The woman asked, looking up at me with eyes as red as the setting sun. “I may be mistaken, but I’m pretty certain that stealing is illegal.”
“Let go of me!” I shouted, struggling in the old woman’s grip. “Someone, help me!”
But the crowd refused; some stared, others looked away, still others tittered among themselves. I could feel my cheeks heating up, and just as I opened my mouth to scream again, the old woman was dragging me away, back into the shadows. She practically dragged me back to her shop, which was dark and low and smelled of herbs and spices.
Had I somehow managed to come across a witch or sorceress?
At last, the woman let go of my wrist, and I rubbed it, mumbling curses under my breath.
“That’s not quite the correct way to greet your ruler, boy,” The woman said, her voice turning deep and raspy. Her silhouette grew and changed, and her face rippled like waves in the ocean. When the transformation was complete, I found myself staring up at the King, my mouth agape.
“Your Highness, I… I’m sorry!” I stammered, falling to my knees, putting my forehead to the cold dirt floor. “I didn’t mean to steal; it’s just that my mother is expecting a child and my siblings are sick and—”
The King held up a hand to silence me, smiling in a way that I couldn’t quite read.
“It’s true that stealing is a crime, but I suppose it can be forgiven, considering the circumstances. But,” He said, his smile widening.
Oh, the but. That dreaded, awful word. I’d been waiting for it; I should’ve known I wouldn’t have gotten off scot free. Everything had a price, but would it be too high for me to pay?
“But I need you to do something for me, boy.” He phrased it like a favor, when in actuality, it was an order.
“I need to pass my powers on to someone, and I want that person to be you. What do you say?”
\*\*
| 2019-11-13T13:36:01
| 2019-11-13T10:10:47
| 95
| 65
|
[WP]You are Donald Trump. Having launched your Presidential campaign as a publicity stunt, you never thought you'd get this far, and you're getting more desperate to sabotage your campaign lest you become President, a position you never really wanted in the first place..
=
|
Overlooking New York City, Donald Trump reclined in the marbled office on the highest floor of the The Trump Tower. The silence of the office was interrupted by the ring of a telephone. Donald picked up the gold plated reciever and put it to his ear.
"Hello?"
"Hey Donald, I wanted to go over the poll numbers with you."
"Sure thing, Hillary. How much did I lose with my last 'schlonged' comment?"
"Your numbers actually went up."
"Hmph", Donald remarked in surprise.
"You know, Don, that wasn't part of the deal. You needed to undermine Jeb - but still let him win the nomination. I was confident I could beat him in the general election."
Donald contemplated for a moment, then changed the subject, "How's Bernie doing?"
"Better than we hoped, I'm worried Don."
"What? You mean the same Bernie that I paid to have heckled by the blacks?"
"Huh? Oh, the black lives matter people, yep. Same one."
"Well Hillary, I'm doing the best I can. All the news networks hate me, you know. I still have to walk the line of being simultaneously hated, yet still likeable enough to get approval to build new apartment complexes."
"Don, listen to me, Bill and I already went over this with you. If I win, you won't have to worry about local government approval ever again. Think of the projects, Don."
"Speaking of projects," Donald smiled, "did I ever tell you what I'm planning to write along the Mexican Wall if I can manage to get it built?"
Hillary rolled her eyes," Let me guess, T - R - U - M - P."
Donald chuckled, "You know me too well."
"Don, stop messing around. Are you going to sacrifice our partnership for one silly vanity project?"
"Well", Donald paused, "that wasn't the *only* thing I had in mind. Anyway, I'm about to leave for a meeting I gotta go."
"No Donald, you listen to m-"
Donald hung up the reciever back onto the golden rotary phone body, picked it up again, and dialed another number.
"Hello?"
"Hey it's Donald, listen, I need another estimate on a construction project."
"Sure, what is it?"
"It's going to be a high-rise luxury apartment tower."
"Another one? Where at?"
"Just over the grounds of a shabby white colored house in Washington DC."
|
CUT TO TRUMP. BY NOW HE IS HALFWAY ACROSS THE ROOM.
HIS WHOLE BEING TINGLING WITH ALERTNESS. HE MOVES TO
BLOOM'S DESK AND HOVERS OVER HIM, WAITING EXPECTANTLY FOR
MORE INFORMATION. BUT BLOOM IS LOST IN HIS WORK, UNAWARE
THAT TRUMP IS HANGING ON HIS EVERY WORD.
TRUMP
Yes???
BLOOM LOOKS UP. HE IS STARTLED TO SEE TRUMP'S FACE SO
CLOSE TO HIS OWN.
BLOOM
(at a loss)
Yes, what?
TRUMP
What you were saying. Keep talking.
BLOOM
What was I saying?
TRUMP
You were saying that under the
right circumstances, a candidate
could make more money with a flop
than he could with a hit.
| 2015-12-25T02:33:55
| 2015-12-25T01:33:12
| 818
| 92
|
[WP] Elves are intelligent, subtle, and ambitious—a perfect fit for the world of high finance where they work in skyscrapers, make gobs of gold, and regard the blue collar dwarves with contempt. Grorric Blackfury is an oddity, and is feared for it. He’s the Dwarf of Wall Street.
|
"Dae fundamentas are *strong*". Grorric Blackfury stared ahead with great intensity, his beard obscuring any sort of facial movements, gnarled hands twirling a gnomic spinner. Through his one eye, he belied a transcendent fury.
"Mr Blackfury we appreciate your concerns about Alabaster Inc, however on papyrus the underlying securities are of great concern to the Quelanor Council..." the Elven fool chipped on mindlessly for a few moments, seemingly unaware of his words uselessness. They were like the wind, constantly changing and of little substance or grounding. Grorric liked the rocken caverns and limestone interiors of the Dwarven holds.
But, his people needed him here. His was the first foray into the financial markets, and so by proxy he represented; for the first time, all Dwarven mining collectives. After a few moments he adjusted his eye patch, acquired from an unfortunate explosive incident in the Gnome Wars, and spat at the Elf, who recoiled. "Why of all the, the, fuck!"
"Dae fundamentas...are...strong." Grorric again repeated, more slowly. "Ah can see your objectives like a moleraat in the heat. Yer shortin Alabaster on account of the reductions in temple constructions." He pulled out his briefcase, deploying papers and mathematical charts. "However, the truth is nah so convinient for ye prissy folk. Inter-sect conflict is increasing, as are rates of adventuring partays. And, monster attacks have increased in the southern plains."
An elf blew tobacco smoke in Grorric's face, to no effect. His lungs were choked from years of work in the coal mines, and his time on the surface had been quite the reprieve. "Meaningless drivel, Alabaster is still in low demand. You will need to cave, and pull out for better ventures."
"We Dwarves have held on for longer than you can remember. The Dark Lord is clearly coming again from the Southron Front, and temples shale fall in his wake." He delivered this statement with a hint of delusional grandeur, smirking under his beard but shining with his eye. "And when tha day of Reckoning comes, the Alabaster will be needed to rebuild."
"So continue shorting all you want, but we Dwarves are holding, and will present the bill when it's due. Until then, pound sandstone."
|
The formation of the Republic of American Peoples was inevitable. The Redwood elves had basic rights that were similar to the Colonial humans and Southern dwarves. Friend groups and families were already mixed at the borders. Businesses had been trading with one another for a century already. But there were old families who did not approve of the new republic. Powerful families who remembered their histories and kept their grudges locked away…
Grorric Blackfury was an orphan dwarf, adopted by a family of wood elves. He was raised climbing trees, not digging holes. As a dwarfling, he perched himself in the treetops of Central Park, hoping to eavesdrop on unsuspecting victims. He learned from a young age that most people had two sides: the one they wanted you to see and the one they kept private.
By his teenage years, Grorric and his best friend, Aarden of the High Line, learned how to traverse through the massive tree highway in Lower Manhattan. There were entire elvish neighborhoods that never showed up on maps. The homes in these parts weren’t the same as the lavish ones he’d seen in the Upper East Side. The decadence in front of him was next level. Fences made of diamond.
“Old money,” said Aarden. “The guy who owns this house also owns Goldelves Bags! They call him the boss of bosses on Wall Street. Dad said he made his fortune investing in mining companies. More cash than you can hold in a forest.”
Grorric took a step closer to the fence. “I’m going to be rich like this guy.” It came out as a whisper, and the moment was gone. He had to look away; the reflection of the fence hurt his eyes.
(Three years later…)
Aarden let a call from Grorric go to voicemail. He was in an investor meeting and about to present his case for Downwood Mining Co. He unmuted his phone and began:
“Profits for Downwood are up 150% this quarter, marking a steady increase six quarters in a row. They are the fastest growing mining company in the Mexican Gulf Alliance. Incredible cash flow, they’re going to ramp up their investment in the money market in the next year, and they’re also seeking to acquire Baja Mining and Cenote Mining Co. after that…”
Working for Wall Street came naturally to Aarden. Companies in the Gulf Alliance were killing it. His boss gave him thick packets filled with their financial data and all he had to do was get them listed on the New York Stonk Exchange. Investor money poured in like a firehose. His only wish was that Grorric was along for the ride.
Grorric never landed a job on Wall Street. “You might be better suited for maintenance work,” they said. “Are you willing to pick up human feces?,” asked one interviewer at the Bank of New York. Frustrated, he decided to go where the money was: the mining industry in the Mexican Gulf Alliance. But the dwarves treated him poorly there, too. He talked like an outsider, dressed like an outsider, smelled like an outsider.
(Three months later…)
Dressed in his patrol uniform, Grorric sat in his guard station drawing trees in a notebook. Aarden was on speakerphone. Downwood Mining Co. offered Grorric a job as a security guard. Determined to work his way up, he accepted, but found there was no work. He guarded a small office building and there were only three dwarves that went in and out.
Aarden was taken aback. This was the same Downwood Mining Co. he had pitched months ago.
“Empty?? No it can’t be empty.” Perhaps Grorric is suffering a mental episode, thought Aarden. “Last quarter they should have pulled out $500M in rare earth metals. There should be cranes and trucks, lots of cranes and trucks. Thousands of workers!”
Grorric shrugged. “Not sure what to tell you, buddy. I’m telling you there’s no way these guys are pulling in that kind of dough. Your numbers are wrong.”
(One year later…)
Aarden sat in his living room, fixated on the new anchor on TV.
“We start tonight with a story of justice... After releasing his scathing report about the plot between Goldelves Bags and Downwood Mining Co. to defraud the American Peoples, Grorric Blackfury was found dead today. He fell out of a tree.”
The camera cut to an older elf lady, dressed in a fine burgundy suit. “What a tragedy. Grorric was a hero and he will be remembered. We at Goldelves Bags have seen the error in our ways. We have paid the $1M fine by the SEC. We promise to never work with international criminals again and as a gesture of good will, we are erecting a statue here in front of our building in Grorric’s honor. The Dwarf of Wall Street. May we never forget him.”
| 2021-02-25T14:53:02
| 2021-02-25T11:39:21
| 26
| 17
|
[WP] Time machines are invented in 2168. Immediately, a law is put into place banning anyone from traveling to any time before the machine's invention. You are part of a special ops team, sent backwards in time to find and capture someone who illegally traveled back to 2017 for unknown reasons.
Extra points for time paradox twisty things :D
|
As he turned the car into the driveway of the apartment building, he was telling her about how it was built in the sixties—“The *nineteen*-sixties,” he interjected, though she hadn't said anything. It was tall and long, with inboard balconies, everything in peeling white paint. Behind it, there was pool behind chain-link fencing and forest. There was the lake somewhere beyond that. He turned the car around and down into the opening to an underground parking area, stopping by a plastic panel to rummage in his pockets for a key. The spring air that was blowing softly through the windows was mushy and sweet and warm. The roller door began to trundle upward when he turned the key, and he idled his car around salt-eaten pillars and over corroded concrete floor to narrow spot, number 29. She still couldn't believe that everyone used to be able to drive a car like this. He got out and the boom of the door closing echoed for seconds. She shouldered her purse and kept the opening accessible.
They walked to a dented metal door and he jiggled another key in it until the knob turned. They took the stairs up to the fifth floor, and then along a hushed and carpeted hallway that reeked of recipes from around the world. As they passed apartment 503 she heard someone just on the other side talking as if to her, and her paranoia spiked again. She should have made her move earlier. He was getting the upper hand now. Bad gamble.
His apartment was spartan, with cheap countertops and a white stove and white walls textured and scarred by damage and repairs over decades. Cheap wood tiles in a checker-pattern of threes. The windows were tall though, and the balcony ran nearly the whole length. Through the kitchen and over the little dining table, she had a view over those trees. He had a long, black leather couch in the living room facing over a rug with a trunk on it to a television on a battered dresser. Against the inner wall, a desk covered in papers. By the window an old bookshelf stacked full of paperbacks and magazines. He heeled off his shoes and took hers, and her coat, and hanged everything neatly in the little closet.
“Would you like a drink or anything? Tea?”
“I'm not here to make out with you, Oscar.”
He laughed and started filling the kettle. “You like green tea?”
“Sure.” She stared at the television. “I keep waiting for you to explain yourself but you don't.”
He was tugging open the balcony door now, letting that breeze in the aluminum screen door. The kettle started to gurgle. He didn't say anything right away, but he looked at her and frowned, thinking. He sat down on the couch and welcomed her over, making a point of welcoming her to sit on the opposite end from him.
“I haven't really furnished the place. Just the basics.”
“That's great.”
“Comfort, Sadie. That's why. I retired. You know, there's a woman who I see walking her dog. Must be a hundred and eight, from the looks of her. She's named Sadie. It cycles.”
“You committed treason.”
He smiled.
“What—what is this about? Where are the files?” she asked.
“You watched me drive. I saw. Isn't it something? You have no idea how hard it is to live back now without doing that. It's so absurd, and yet everyone just zips around smashing into each other and dying. It feels... cozy. They're dumb, you know. You can't help but love them.”
“Fuck's sake, Oscar. Cut the shit.”
“I burned them all.” The kettle clicked and went silent. He got up and went into the kitchen. “Actually, how about chai? You like chai. You said it once.”
She didn't say anything. She put a hand into the purse to double-check the gun.
“Great.” He began opening painted plywood cupboards and pulling out mugs and boxes of tea. She listened, wondering if he would try to poison her now. Strange angle. “Anyway, I got really comfortable knowing the future. Made the, uh, 'real world' a lot scarier. I don't think I want to retire into that.”
No, he wasn't going to kill her. He came around the corner with the mugs, string dangling from each, and set them coasterless on the old trunk he was using as a coffee table. He sat again, sprawling as men do when they explain things. “I joined up because I liked the idea of going back in time and fixing things, but that ended up being a lot less fun than just hiding here. One day I found myself more excited to hide, like a—like a tourist or something, rather than do the actual mission. Guess that's when you quit.”
“You can quit a regular job, Oscar. You can't quit the timecorps. What am I supposed to do, go back and say you're working for a charity in the two-thousands, so don't worry about it? How fucking selfish can you possibly be?”
“Christ complex.”
“Yeah, I see that. Even being here could change things, Oscar.”
“Oh, you don't believe that.”
“And you think I'm the only one looking? You think you won't break if they torture you, Mr. 'it's cozy back here?' This is an embarrassment. I'm absolutely speechless.” She took a deep breath and sighed. The TV, cubic and dense on the dresser, seemed like the most absurd thing in the history of being.
“Fuck, if they ever found you. I—” She imagined it. “They'd have everything.”
He stood and gently picked up his mug, taking it wordlessly out onto the balcony. She looked down at her mug, steaming on the trunk. It had a picture of a cow on it.
She got up and walked to the screen door, looking out at him as he leaned on the railing and sipped the tea, staring out over the trees. The other tower, up the street, was far enough that no one would see. Not details, anyway.
“You gotta wonder sometimes, going back in time to fix everything.” he said. The wind was making the tree branches sway. There was still some snow, in shade. He exhaled slowly as she pulled out the gun. “Why didn't we just do it right the first time?”
|
"Charge your rifles, check your gear, and make for damn sure your memory joggers are on dazzle mode." Gunnery Sergeant Harken bellowed instructions, reminders, and threats to the two squads of Time Rangers assembled for a first-ever mission to the past.
"Christopher Toynbee. Remember that name. Our records show that that surname did not exist before the Practical Naming Convention of 2077, so it is unique back then, assuming he uses his real name and not an alias. Our best estimate of his year-arrival is 2017 in some shit-hole called Austin. The place was a state capitol in the old days, so give some thought on that and what it might mean." Harken eased his way over to the silver horizontal cylinder at the end of the warehouse. "Your speech implants will be activated momentarily and your equipment cloaks are on... Now. Double column on me. Forward! Harch!
Fifteen Time Rangers marched into the dark innards of the cylinder. There were no flashing lights, shimmering metallic-liquid walls to walk through, or anything else, really, just a long walk into a black void.
***
Chris Toynbee arrived in Manchaca, Texas on July 14th, 2017. His immediate reaction to the past was one of wonder. The sun was bright and felt amazing on his skin. The air smelled crisp and clear. Green vegetation was everywhere and so were cars. Once his initial shock and amazement had worn off, he quickly set off to find a hiding place. He imagined that the past would be a difficult place to live, but he had chosen this time and place for a reason.
***
Gunny Harken and his Rangers appeared in a watermelon patch outside of a small town called Prarie Lea, south of Austin, on March 17th, 2017. Psy Corporal King used an advanced device called a Hammond Wave Sensor to determine that Toynbee had not yet arrived. The small-sized platoon dispersed into the countryside and would bide their time, waiting for Chris to show.
Time marched on. Two squads (seven Rangers each) reported to Harken twice daily until a Hammond Wave was detected with a fifty-six percent probability. The detection didn't necessarily mean Toynbee was nearby, but it did mean that *someone* from the future had jumped to the past.
Gunny Harken activated his telecom implant, addressing the platoon, "We have a hit. Get your gear in order and stand-by for probability confirmation. Keep weapons concealed and review historical archives for cultural information. Use the antiquated internet with caution and stand-by for intel updates." Harken deactivated the platoon link and signaled his four Psy Corporals to come to his location.
"Re-calibrate your sensors. I believe this is our hit. We'll need to spread out and triangulate the source once probability is eighty-one percent. If our target is in Austin, we will have some difficulty finding him. The archaic maps available publicly are not as accurate we need. I do not have access to the military, what do these people call them... satellites?" Harken eyed his four Psy Corporals, all women, then continued. "Seek and re-deploy, that is the mission. You will need to understand something about this time, something you will not like. Males are aggressive, even to unattractive women," Harken nodded to Corporal Farber. "These are backwards times and this city has a backwards culture. Do your research."
***
In the future, Chris had pored over archives of past governments, nations, cultures, and beliefs. The future sucked and Chris had a plan to change that. Influence. Influence the right people and the dream that many past generations had of the future would be brought to fruition; Utopia.
His first two weeks in 2017 were committed to two tasks; food and transcribing historical information to an acceptable format, paper. He was meticulous in his transcription. All elections, parties, laws, resolutions, ordinances, or seemingly mundane decisions that led to the future that he knew, he would ally himself to those that opposed it, hopefully preventing the future that would become.
He knew that in the year 2032 the political landscape in the US was changed forever. In that year Texas overwhelmingly voted for a third party candidate, the only state to do so. The Modern Whig Party gained a foothold and over the years flourished into *the* dominant party for the next eighty-four years. Their political dominance led to thousands, or millions, of decisions that created Chris' future. A future he did not want.
Chis delved into politics forearmed with knowledge but no real direction.
***
"Gunny, we have a marker. Ninety-six percent probability, error factor three percent. Creedmoor. He's north of us," Psy Corporal Jensen reported.
"Roger." Harken clicked his telecom and addressed the platoon, "Set camo and conceal weapons. Stealth move in thirty, Pinscher formation." Harken updated his log and looked to the north. "Set phasers to stun."
The platoon crept out of cover with active camouflage engaged. Anyone driving past or walking close-by would have a difficult time seeing them. Although not invisible, they were dim. Lumi-receptors in their uniforms counteracted light, basically shading their outline to match the wearer's background, only a shade or two darker. They had a long walk ahead of them and a pinpoint triangulation would be difficult. It would take time.
***
September 6th, 2017
Harken and the Time Rangers had spent months both waiting on Toynbee to appear and to follow him. Recovering him could be difficult unless he was isolated. His travel patterns indicated a gradual movement into Austin, so their difficulties compounded daily.
"He has affiliates Gunny." King's analysis of their target's movement patterns, combined with now-learned information of Uber, couch surfing, and other share-sourcing habits of these people, resulted in erratic travel patterns for their target. King's scrutiny of Toynbee's movement provided proof-positive that he was not staying in the bush. "Target appears to stay two nights with past-ers before moving on. Spends the day at a political recruiting facility near the center of town. His Hammond Wave signature is solo, no other hits."
"Copy that." Harken clicked off telecom and formulated a plan.
***
The next day:
"What you're doing will ruin us, all of us! Don't you get it! Your system is flawed. Your beliefs are wrong!" Chris was in the process of worrying the handful of people gathered at the Modern Whig Party's headquarters. Several acquaintances he'd made in the past few weeks were with him. "You can't change the future if you are the future! Don't you get it?"
The few party volunteers mostly ignored Chris and his companions, going about their business quietly. Keep Austin Weird, and all that. An obscure political party had more to worry about than a few seemingly off-kilter folks protesting them.
Chris was in no mood to be ignored. The small band of future-savers invaded the rather old office of the Whig's party, intent on being heard and snatching donuts and coffee where they could.
"Gunny, pinpointed the target. New location on 7th street. Multiple past-ers in the location." Simmons clicked off comms.
"Roger that. Dark out on camo and double-time." Harken checked his map and saw that they were twenty blocks from the target. *Get this over now.*
***
2168 - Present day
"You see now why such protections were put into place? Man could not be trusted with such technology, such ability, that could change the course of humanity. Everything that happens, well, it happens for a reason. Who are we to change that reason or outcome?" Professor Wernstrom rested against his holographic podium. "The past is the past. For good, for ill, for naught, for all; everything that has happened has forged us into who we are, what we are."
The history lessons state that:
* Chistopher Toynbee illegally jumped to the past and tried to influence the people into an alternate future
* Gunny Harken and the Time Rangers thwarted his efforts, arrested him, and brought him back to the future
* Christopher Toynbee is his own paternal descendant
* Time machines were destroyed and banned upon return of Harken and the Rangers
* Past-ers are easily dazzled with joggers, or baffled with bullshit
Edit: spelling
| 2017-03-07T19:41:51
| 2017-03-07T18:17:23
| 52
| 22
|
[WP] As the vampire drew closer, the woman sobbed, please, don’t drink my blood. The vampire stopped and said, actually that’s a myth, we don’t drink blood. That’s a rumor we started hundreds of years ago to cover for what we really do.
|
"Well, what do you do?" She asked, as she questioned everything she knew about Vampires. "We actually give blood". This shocked her even more. "Why would you give blood?" The vampire gave a nervous grin. "Our blood actually has natural healing capabilities." He took a step back, and stood straight. "We can also detect illness in others."
The woman was starting to calm down. She relaxed a little. "So you heal people? Well why start the rumours that you drink blood?" He chuckled a little. "A few thousand years ago, there was a village that was suffering from a plague. We would secretly heal people, but they would get reinfected." The woman saw a bench, and motioned for him to sit with her. Taking the offered seat, he continued. "So they told the people who they were, so they could heal them all at once. It worked for the most part. Those that still died, we wrongly assumed were too far gone"
She placed a hand on his shoulder. "What did you get wrong?" She asked with genuine curiosity. "Well, we can't be sure, but we think it was blood types. Even we didn't know about them back then." He sighed. "The problem we had then, was that they wanted to heal them for everything. We were compensated with food and other wares, but it became too much." She gripped his shoulder tighter "they became reliant on you?" Smiling again, he looked at her "yeah. My people needed to get out of there"
He shifted a little, to face her properly. "A few left at first, to find somewhere new to live, but when the elders announced that they were leaving, the villagers tried to stop them." A tear started to roll down his cheek. "So the elders thought fear would compel them to let them go. So they started the myth that we drank their blood. It worked, but a little too well." He started to cry. "They spread the story across Europe. If any of my people were caught, they were killed straight away. We had to go into hiding." He placed his hand on hers. "Although people would be more tolerant of us now, we fear they would still take advantage. So we keep up the myth, and do our work in secret"
She couldn't help but give him a hug. "So what's wrong with me then?" She asked, still hugging him. "Bowel cancer." She shot back in shock. She tried to speak, but couldn't get the words out. "It is too early for you to notice anything, but it's there." She calmed down again, and tilted her head to one side. "Then please heal me. I couldn't afford the medical bills for cancer." He gave a weak smile "gladly".
|
Raven sobbed as she tried to get up, a sharp pain from her knee stopping her. "Please," she said, "Don't drink my blood."
Tyler stopped in from of her, "Oh. I didn't think humans still believed that. It's was a myth we created hundreds of years ago to cover up our true nature," he said.
"Wha- what?"
"You see, vampires do drink blood but not from humans. We can't. Humans hurt us. You're like the sun. You weaken our powers. But vampires sometimes can't help but get attached to humans, thus why we created the myth."
"I don't get it..."
Tyler sighed, "That myth was created so humans would stay away from us. So we wouldn't be able to feel things for you and lose our powers," he paused.
"But you've been my friend for almost three years," Raven whispered shakily.
"Raven, I fell I love with you. And it's slowly killing me," he whispered, "You were never supposed to find out about me."
Raven's breath slowed down, her heart still beating fast but not because of fear.
/'What am I supposed to do?'/
| 2022-11-10T18:37:39
| 2022-11-10T18:16:29
| 61
| 20
|
[WP] A couple going through a rough spot in their marriage each unwittingly hire the same PI to investigate the other. The PI decides to try to covertly fix their relationship.
|
Ping.
'Hi, my name is Julie and I've been married to my husband Paul for twelve years. Thing have been off in my marriage recently and I can't help but feel that my husband hasn't been acting himself. I never thought I'd be the person to do this, but could you investigate his whereabouts this weekend? I'm out of town and can't shake the horrible feeling that he ... well, you know. I've attached our home address. Please get back to me asap. Thanks, Julie.'
Gene sighed as he read the email. He'd read hundreds like these before and unfortunately most of them turned out to be right.
Ping.
'Two in one night? Strange.'
'I understand that you are a private investigator and I want you to follow my wife this weekend. She's away on a business trip, or so she says, but I think she's seeing someone else. I'll forward you where she'll be later. All I want is some evidence or something so I know I'm making the right decision if I do make it. Her name is Julie, and I'm Paul.'
*This* was unusual. Gene scrambled out of bed, collecting all of the necessary gear on autopilot. Before he knew it, he was outside Paul's place, it only seemed fair to go there since Julie emailed first. The only light came from the living room and Paul was alone, staring blankly at the television screen with a beer in hand. Nothing untoward so far, but it was only 6pm. About an hour later, Paul picked up his phone.
'And so it begins...'
Gene readied the parabolic microphone and tape as Paul started to pace around the room.
'Hey, it's me.' Paul's tone was uncertain, and it seemed he was rehearsing his lines before the call. Classic indication of an affair. 'I really want to see you tonight. I ... I need you more than I ever did. I can't wait any longer.'
Paul threw the phone across the room; he must have changed his mind.
This wasn't proof enough yet, so Gene had his camera zoom into Paul's phone to see who he had planned on calling. He was surprised by the name displayed clearly across the screen.
Juliewifey.
'Was not expecting that.'
Julie's hotel room was easy to find, it wasn't too far out of town and there was a cheap motel across the way. Gene's gut was telling him that Paul was faithful, and he knew that if Julie wasn't it wouldn't matter much either way. Plus, he was still getting paid double for the one job.
Julie was also alone, and she was crying.
'I just don't know what to *do.* I miss him so much and I don't think he even cares, it's like he's not even here.' Julie paused. 'I know, I know. I'll let you know how it turns out obviously, I just wish...'
Gene had seen enough.
Paul was still alone, and the phone was in the same place he had left it. He was confused when the doorbell rang, and even more confused when he found nobody there but instead a cassette tape wrapped in brown paper.
Julie started at the knock on the hotel door and hung up the phone. She opened the door to an identical tape on the floor.
'I think you both needed to hear this from each other. Kindest regards, Gene.'
|
Saul is exceptionally ordinary. I mean it. Occasional stalking aside, he is very much normal. He is a 35-year-old average looking bachelor, brown eyes, brown hair, shoulder not too broad, slightly built, yet slightly gawky. If you looked extremely closely at his paunchy belly you could almost see his extremely average abs. He wakes up every morning and follows the same routine – Turns off alarm at 6:30, shower, checks his emails, make coffee and eat cereal, brush his teeth, get dressed, work from 7:30am to an undisclosed time. On the weekends it is his dog, following people around, Chinese takeout, occasional drinks and sleep with strangers and stalking. Saul didn’t have many close friends nor is he particularly close to anyone for that matter – unless if you count his mother, Giorgia, who thinks he is the most wonderful boy in the world. And God-forbid if he had a relationship; most women would have left the moment Saul’s explains his job.
Today Saul woke up earlier than usual as his phone was vibrating harder than the giant phallic shaped sex machine he discovered at Mrs. Jackson’s bedroom - had her husband, Mr. Jackson paid more attention to her and didn’t distance himself, maybe she would develop an addiction to sex toys. Saul picks up the phone and checks his email searching through list of requests. Huh. A Mrs Smith. A Mr. Smith. Find out what she is doing. Find out what he is doing. $10,000 a day, $35,000 deposit first, $35,000 after the job. $10,000 a day, $50,000 deposit, $50,000 after the job. Wow! Desperate couples! More money for me! Saul rejoices at this case! Over a hundred thousand dollar for a single couple! Oh what insecure and hopeless couples would do as a last-ditch effort to understand and salvage their relationship.
Mrs. Smith is an no-ordinary doctor. She an MD PhD, a heart surgeon and a gorgeous woman. She has that mischievous, almost promiscuous, yet professional smile that makes a man wonder what naughty thoughts are coursing through her business facade. Her blonde hair scraped back into a ponytail shimmering and flickering like crystal, clear water under the fluorescent light. She has the smoothest legs that kept her butt from resting on her 3½ inch wedges with a red polka-dot fabric that wraps around her cute pedicured toes - a size 6 lady with a close-fitting dress outlining every contour of her conditioned, well-cared-for body. What a trifecta - Gorgeous. Check. Successful. Check. Intelligent. Check.
Mrs. Smith is very punctual and structured. She wakes up at 7:00 am in the morning and leaves at 8:30. She work nearly 8 to 12 hour days and her assistant brings her a different lunch every day. When she leaves work between 8 or 9pm and she would always stop by this townhome on 34th street alone for an hour or so before she returns to their white picket fence house for a late dinner prepared by her husband - How American. Well there you go heart surgeon, not a lot of time for a relationship probably lots of pent up resentment, she probably needs some spontaneity and cheats with stranger at town-home.
Mr. Smith much like Mrs. Smith is a walking, talking perfection. God couldn’t have created a more perfect being himself. He had the kind of face that stopped you in your tracks. I guess he must get used to that, the sudden pause in a person's natural expression when they looked his way followed by overcompensating with a nonchalant gaze and a weak smile. He’s slim, muscular, with an almost perfectly symmetrical face. His eyes, my oh my, are perfect in any shade; they come with an intensity, an honesty, a gentleness. Perhaps this is why Mrs. Smith fell for him - a true gentleman and a specimen.
Mr. Smith owns his own company, Venture Consulting LLC., advicing businesses on variety of matters - from IT, to Finances, to work performance related improvements. He wakes up at 8:00 in the morning and leaves by 8:30. He will go to the gym for an hour during lunch and when he returns to work, his assistant, Betty will have his health portion of burger and fries deliver and neatly placed on his desk. He leaves work at 6pm and stops by the same townhome on 34th street for an hour before he stops by the grocery store 15 minutes away from their home and returns home between 8-8:30pm and prepare dinner for his sweet, lovely wife.
Saul still couldn’t wrap his mind around how seemingly perfect Mr. and Mrs. Smith are together. They would make passionate love every night and give each other kisses before they sleep. They would go hold hands together at the parks and share laughter at plays. They would stare into each others’ eyes for hours and exchange words of love and appreciation during their outings. There is nothing wrong with them. They are perfectly happy. Why on earth would they hire him to investigate each other privately?
Saul parked his Toyota Odyssey at the 34th street home. He jiggles the handle a few times as he picked the lock and the door gently swung open. The home has walls like a cold set of oatmeal, painted white with window frames of mahogany. The inside has a spacious high ceiling with a light crackle of the hearth, and two sets of empty chairs pull inwards to the warmth. A scent of lavender brings out the delicate and innocent egg-shell white hue of the walls. In the kitchen a whiff of fresh cinnamon buns coming sharply into focus like a camera zoom and then ebbing away again. There was an ant bite on Saul neck as he slumped motionless on the floor.
In and out of consciousness Saul was dragged across the house into a room. Other than the noise of the generator, the room was a silent concrete box. Saul opened his eyes and surveyed the room. His arms and legs were tied to an operation table; he thrashed, twisted, and jerked to free himself. He called and screamed for help till this throat was raw, but only his muffled noise came to he rescue.
Out of the shadow emerged a slim figure of a woman and a man wielding sharp objects. They said in unison ‘Hi Saul, Welcome to our home. We've been expecting you.’.
| 2018-08-14T09:46:13
| 2018-08-14T05:22:52
| 485
| 99
|
[WP] You are a young deity that wins 2nd place in a science fair. Your entry was the planet Earth. Write about your utter disbelief at what came 1st.
|
*Goddammit! Not again! Every fucking time!*
"ZEUS! HEY ZEUS!"
"What's up?"
*Oh so he's going to play dumb?*
"You stole my idea, what the hell man?!"
"I didn't *steal* it, I improved on it. If you have a problem take it up wi-"
*Improved on it?! That arrogant son of a bitch!*
"It was perfect the way it was, asshole."
"It was *ok*, but I wasn't a fan of the shape of it."
"So you just decide to flatten it and call it your own?"
"Hey man, it just makes more sense like that. Like seriously, a sphere? The fuck were you thinking? You know everything on the bottom is just going to fall into space, right?"
*Ugh, typical Olympian.*
"I made this thing called gravity, dipshit. It's this force tha- forget it, it doesn't matter. Listen Zeus, refuse the award and remove yourself from the pool - or else."
"Or else what? You'll turn me into wine?"
"What? No, you're thinking of my son."
"Aren't you guys kind of like the same person?"
"No dude, it's complicated. Just... just refuse the award and we'll be cool."
"Why would I do that?"
"Because if you don't, I'll have to report this to the Supreme One."
"The writer?"
"The one and only."
"You wouldn't."
"Watch me. Yo /u/Sweet_Fetal_Jesus! Zeus is being a real cunt! Mind helping a brother out?"
"NO! NO PLEASE DON-"
**BAM! A giant vortex splits the fabric of space and time, engulfing Zeus.**
"Deus ex machina, bitch."
|
It's a ball of fire.
That's all it is.
Oh it's self sustaining so it can last a hundred million years, so can the billions of other stars people have made!
I made a planet capable of sustaining life! ACTUAL LIFE!
Every other planet that was entered was just an empty rock with a couple of nice ruts here and there. I've Fjords. I created a new word to describe how awesome mine were.
And he wins with a star.
A bloody star.
And the name, oh the name is just embarassing. It's three letters!
Well ok my name isn't that original.
The only way they could make this day any worse is if they made my damn planet rotate around her 'Sun' just to rub it in
| 2014-06-16T11:58:58
| 2014-06-16T10:23:34
| 108
| 61
|
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :)
|
Years ago, when visiting a "haunted" house in the oldest neighborhood in the city, Dave had first felt what he now referred to as "The Pressure". It was a sense of dread, a prickling of the hairs on the back of the neck. Every sense in his body would key up, warning him that Something was coming, and it wasn't friendly.
After nearly a decade of this, it wasn't quite so exciting. Dave was currently nestled into the thick cushions of a disturbingly Gothic couch, the dark oak twisting and writhing in near-impossible curves around obscenely plush purple velvet pillows.
Dave could still hear Jennifer and Mark in the other room, noisily having sex on an equally Gothic four-poster bed. He had a certain grudging admiration for their ability to make the bed, which had to weigh several hundred pounds, occasionally jump and hit the wall. He wasn't really that surprised when he felt The Pressure earlier in the evening; an isolated cabin, offered out of the blue by an unknown relative, with furniture so ornate that Dracula himself might say it was a bit much? Dave rolled his eyes just thinking about it again.
He had a pretty good feel for how this would go, after experiencing it so many times. The FBI had basically given up trying to address the problem, and simply had a unit on standby for cleanup. They tried putting him in prison once; at least they could explain that one as a prison riot. Dave began ticking off on his fingers, curious if he could get the exact moment correct this time. He lowered one finger at a time as he mouthed the numbers silently. Six, five, four, th-
The familiar sound of steel slicing into flesh, followed by a scream of agony from Jennifer and a (oddly) equally girly scream from Mark interrupted his counting. Dave frowned; maybe next time. The squelching noises cut off, and the sawing and hacking began. Jennifer's screams finally cut off, and Mark sprinted through the doorway, his eyes wide with terror, blood streaming down his chest. He screamed something unintelligible at Dave and continued running.
Dave sighed; time to get up and move on. Shame really, this couch was absurdly comfortable. He tried to sit up and found himself completely enveloped in the couch, the soft velvet not giving him enough purchase to actually get out of the damn thing. Whatever had chopped up Jennifer slowly glided past the couch, wearing her flayed face and hands. Gee, Dave thought, I've only seen that trick about a hundred times; this one wasn't going to be interesting, he could tell already. The fellow with the spiked body armor, now THAT had been interesting. Dave tried reaching out to the arms but they were just a hair too far away for him to get a good grip.
More screams followed down the hall as Dave continued trying to get out of the couch. He flailed around furiously, making some progress, but as soon as he stopped he sank even deeper into the cushions. He glowered at the couch, and decided he needed a new plan of attack. Mark had apparently gone outside, since his head came crashing through the front-facing window of the living room and rolled to a stop in front of the couch, his face still locked in an expression of horrified surprise. Dave twisted his body and tried rolling off the couch; success! With a loud "thump" he rolled off the couch and hit the floor, knocking Mark's head down the hallway. Dave swore and massaged his banged-up knees a bit before standing up and brushing himself off.
A loud crash informed him that something had entered the upstairs of the cabin, probably through the conveniently large plate-glass window. More screaming followed, as a background to the slicing and hacking. A drop of red appeared on Dave's arm, followed by another, and another. The pace increased until it was raining blood in the living room, a crimson downpour complete with waves of red oozing down the walls. Dave sighed. The dry-cleaning bill for these was always a bitch.
Dave ambled out of the house, reasoning that there was no reason to rush since he was already soaked, and gently closed the door behind him. He triggered the FBI contact fob and tossed it onto the porch; the cleanup crew would be around later. He yawned, and idly wondered if that furniture store down the street could find him something similar to that couch...
|
The bronze dagger scraped against the cement floor with rhythmic scratches, tuned to The Slasher's lopsided gait. A red grin cut across his mask, painted on until it hit the the cracked bottom quarter, where it spilled into a real lip-less smile.
The stage was set. The night, perfect. A full moon dangled in a cloudless sky, his spotlight trained on him. A brisk breeze blew south to north, a wind that could carry a scream all the way to the heavens itself. And his characters, they were some of the best he ever had. A twelve year old boy with glassy eyes and panting breath, scratching against the alley dead end. A fourteen year old girl huddled in a corner, her knee to her chest, as she stuttered in sobbing coughs. And of course, the hero. A boy of fifteen that stood trembling over his friends, a pocket knife in front of him quivering as much as his lips.
The alley dead end held the sour stench of garbage long since rotted. Insects scattered through the a black trash bags piled along the sides of the walls.
"And the hero reveals himself." The Slasher trembled in excitement, increasing the pace of his blade-against-cement metronome. He could hardly contain himself.
The hero swallowed and brought up his puny knife.
The Slasher's eyes bulged through his mask. His charred cheeks stretched and his mouth opened. A chuckle, like the sound of choking man, escaped his throat. This was the hero he had been looking for, a man to challenge monsters.
"So hero," he said between his laughs. "Your stage is ready. The damsel is in tears. The dam is equally helpless. Everyone is at the edge of their seats and even God is wondering--what does the hero do?"
The hero opened his mouth and swallowed breath. "Guys," he choked out. "Listen to me right now, when the time comes, make a break for it."
His two friends caught his eyes and stopped. It felt like time paused with them. The girl sniffed back tears and the boy shook his head in a sharp twitch. This was the power of the hero. Because in that instant, The Slasher no longer existed.
"No," the boy whispered. "We're a family."
"Like hell we are." The hero's muscles tensed and his knife straightened toward The Slasher. "Orphans have no family. We just happened to find each other when we needed to the most. It could've been anyone and it wouldn't have mattered."
"That's not true," the girl said with trembled words. "You know it's not."
The hero coughed out a cry and inhaled. "You fucking brats!" he screamed at them, startling them. "I needed someone to watch my back when I stole, I needed someone to distract the guards, I needed someone to hide the food when I stole it. You think it had to be you guys? It could've literally been anyone. I don't give a fuck about any of you!"
The Slasher's heart skipped a beat. The hero he had prayed for had arrived and his screams would be melody unlike anything a Beethoven or Bach could compose. A symphony for God Himself.
"Hero," he said, "How kind, how brave, how--"
His words caught because the hero charged him, the silver of his knife gleaming beneath the moonlight, the tears in his eyes glistening as it fell behind him.
The Slasher heaved laughter out of himself. The humor was like a spell, a beautiful and uncontrollable spell. He swung and cut the hero. No hero had ever won, no damsel or dam ever saved, and this would not be the exception.
| 2017-05-05T07:22:19
| 2017-05-05T06:07:15
| 31
| 21
|
[WP] you are kidnapped by a cult to be used as sacrifice. As you are are lying tied underneath the altar you hear one of the cultists say “Ho dark lord we present to you this person as an offering”. With nothing left to lose you yell “Ho dark lord I present to you this cultists as an offerings!”
|
"Is 'e allow'd ta' do tha'?"
The second cultist shrugged in response to the first, both of them watching as their leader argued with the captive bound on the alter.
"You can't go offering us up to the dark lord. Our lives are not yours to give."
"Well, I'd say that's a matter of opinion, innit? You lot are offerin' up my life, so it seems fair that I can offer up yours."
"Yes, but we have you tied up, see? That means you are in our power."
"Well, that's debatable. Sure, you've restrained my person, but it isn't my person that you are offering, I don't think. If it were a pile o' meat your dark lord was after, you'd just pop a cow up on the alter, much tastier than me, in my opinion. You're after my soul, and you can't tie up a soul with bits of... is this parachute cord?
"Yeah, good stuff."
"Oh yeah, the best. My brother swears by it, got me a bunch for Christmas, really useful."
"Certainly."
"Certainly."
"Right, well, anyway, no matter how good the rope, you can't be tying up a soul, so you can't rightly say that my soul is in your power to give, anymore than yours is in my power. So, we both have equal claim upon the other, and equal right to be offering the other's soul up to the dark lord."
"But your soul is tied to your body, which is, as you said, restrained here with us. I mean, it's not like your soul can just get up and leave your body sitting behind here."
"Well, that's a matter of theology, innit? If I close my eyes, and picture truly and deeply my family, sitting together wondering where I am, well, isn't it said that you are 'there in spirit' in such a case? It can thus be argued that the soul can indeed leave the body behind to be present in some distant location, thus meaning your bindings are meaningless."
"Argued, certainly, but not proven as truth. Look, if I reach over like this and poke you, it doesn't matter what you are focusing on, your eyes will pop open and you are right back here with us. Your soul didn't go anywhere, it is just pictures in your head."
"You might have called me back, but that doesn't mean that I didn't leave before then."
"Sure it does. You're still breathing, aren't you?"
"So you think the soul is in the lungs? Do you need a soul to breathe?"
"You need a soul to live!"
"Prove it."
"Prove what?"
"Prove that you need a soul to live. There's this thing, see, in philosophy. A p-zombie. Not like the walking dead, but a person who acts like a person, but doesn't really have anything going on inside. Like one of them NPCs in video games."
"Like Mass Effect."
"Yeah, like Mass Effect. You can go romancing all of those characters there, but that doesn't mean that there is actually a thinking person being romanced. It's all bits and zeros pretending."
"So you're claiming that you're, what, just pretended to be a person?"
"Precisely. I could just be some flesh automaton, acting out the part of a person, with no-one really driving."
"Are you?"
"I could be."
"Mmm, I don't think so. By that logic, I could be one of them p-zombies, which would just as much invalidate your original claim. But, we have a way to prove that at least."
"We do?"
"Yes. Devils, such as our Dark Lord, trade in souls, and treat them as fungible currency. Thus, they must have a way to determine if an individual is in possession of a soul or not."
"Ah... as much as I hate to admit it, that does seem sound."
"Yes, so let's put it up to the Dark Lord to determine."
"..."
"..."
"... so, where is he?"
"Ah, he was just here. Dummerly, where did the Dark Lord go?"
"'e said he had an appointment, couldn't wait. He did leave a note, though."
"A note?"
"Yah. 'ere it is."
"..."
"... well, what does it say? You've already tied me up, no fair to do it with suspense as well."
"Alright, alright. He says that he had another summoning to go to down in Birmingham, and his schedule is clear booked, so we're to try back next year once we've sorted out who's offering who."
"Next year? Fair bit of a wait to settle the question, innit?"
"Yeah."
"Don't suppose you've got a backup?"
"A backup Dark Lord? Why would we have that?"
"Well, for precisely this situation. Your first pick couldn't stay, and now you've gone to all this trouble and nothing to show for it. It's not like you can just keep me tied up here for 12 months."
"Couldn't we though?"
"I suppose you could, but I warn you, I'm a very picky eater."
"Oh right. I suppose you would need food. Couldn't last a fortnight without eating."
"Hah. I couldn't last four hours."
"Oh, are you feeling peckish?"
"A bit."
"You know, I'm feeling a mite hungry myself. Think I'll go grab something to eat. Want me to get you something?"
"Hmm, I have been craving a good crumble. There's this pub down in the village that does the most delicious crumble."
"Oh, Eddie's?"
"Yeah! You know it?"
"Of course! Eddie was my brother's best man. Hosted his reception there at the bar."
"You don't say. Small world."
"True, true."
"Say, you want to go grab a pint?"
"Eh, why not?"
"Alright. I'll just take care of these ropes."
|
There's a pause as the cultists freeze in place, having not expected their captured prey to speak.
A deep chuckle echoes from the darkness. "A turn of events indeed." It says, a pair of sickly yellow eyes appearing above the altar. "Why should I allow this offering of cultists to be made? You have never followed me. You have never even spoken my name."
"Be-because!" You stammer, trying to think of something. "I can offer you more than a single measly human a year! If you release me and accept my offering, I can gather more! And more often!" You beg, hoping he accepts this admittedly foolish bluff.
"Hmmm..." The voice in the darkness rumbles. "That does sound like an acceptable exchange..." It begins to say.
"Wait! You can't do that!" The leader of the cult shouts, throwing back his hood. "We have followed you faithfully for many years! You wouldn't seriously consider the words of this scum who doesn't know you over us, your loyal servants??"
A large hand dripping with black ooze reaches from the dark was to grab the leader. "You will be the first consumed for your insolence. If you actually followed me, I would not be bound to this altar!"
The leader screams in terror, being drawn slowly towards a gaping maw that opens in the darkness. The other cultists scream and attempt to run, the door to the chamber locked behind them.
One by one you watch as they are caught and consumed, not even bone being left behind.
"Ahh. A satisfying meal." The dark beast says, emerging from the portrait hanging above me. "Truly, I must thank you for freeing me. However, I cannot let you be truly free."
Your eyes widen. "What? No! What do you mean??"
The ropes are cut as the black ooze begins to engulf me. "You see, I cannot appear here for too long without a physical form. And you, dear one, are perfect for my needs." The voice hisses.
You struggle against the the slimy substance, but are soon immobilized as it fills your mouth and nostrils. Some part of you still exists deep down, but as it looks in the mirror, you see only the sickly yellow eyes and black ooze dripping from your orifices.
"Now then, my vessel. Let us rule the world."
End.
| 2020-05-05T12:10:25
| 2020-05-05T11:32:02
| 296
| 88
|
[WP]You have been caged without a writing utensil for years because what you write comes true. The doctor examining you just left his...
|
-syringe behind. I stare at it in horror. The urge is too great. The power is at my fingertips.
I snatch it up and stab myself in the arm with it. I gasp and whine as I force it into myself, drawing blood. Blood is spilling everywhere. I have to be quick now. I have to hurry.
I hear a shout from far away. They know, they can see me through the camera.
I use the end of the syringe as a pen, dipping it in my own blood. Quickly now.
*The door to room 407 won't open.* I have to re-bloody the pen with every few letters, it's much to fine to last any longer. A slam against the doors make me jump. The knob turns and they are pounding on the other side of it. My heart is racing as I stare at it, expecting them to break through any moment now.
Slowly, hesitantly, a grin spreads across my face. My breathing is growing heavier. Finally, the power is at my finger-tips once again.
*None of the doors will open.*
I write down. I hear shouts and screams from the other side of the door, pleading with me, begging me to stop.
*The windows won't open. They won't break.*
A familiar voice calls my name from the other side of the door. Susanna. I'm sorry...
*Susanna, the nurse of the Facility suddenly drops dead from an aneurysm.*
It's a kindness, really. Another shout and scream on the other side of the door.
*A fire erupts, it will spread and engulf and burn the whole Facility, but leave the surroundings untouched.*
I put down the syringe and lean back. I smile as I hear screams. The smell of smoke drifts to my room. Soon, soon it will all be over. Finally, I won't be a slave to their whims. I won't write what they dictate. I will be free. The world will be free of this terrible place.
As a last minute thought I realize I can still do good.
*Everyone with the power of the pen will die before midnight.*
I scribble down. It takes too long. The room is now filled with smoke and I'm having a hard time concentrating. The screams aren't pressing against my door anymore. They are too concerned with escaping. I just have one more thing to write. One final salvation before...
*Everyone who worked in t-.*
|
"What a dumb ass," I muttered as I palmed the pen from the mahogany desk of Dr. Phillips. I wouldn't have time to get anything written yet, but if I can just manage to hide this pen for the rest of our 1 hour session and get back to my cell - they refer to it as a room, but you can leave rooms - then I'll be able to fix this. All of this.
Dr. Phillips is back in the room now, his plump stomach pushing on the suspenders he was thumbing absent-mindedly. It was the same ole, same ole. We would discuss my childhood, my teenage years, and honestly anything that the man wanted to discuss. I had already dealt with the experiments and the physical examinations, but once the doctors realized there was nothing physically special about me, my body, or my brain, they sent me to a psych ward for mental evaluations.
10 minutes left.
He still hasn't noticed his chrome plated pen is missing from the desk, but I'm starting to get nervous now. Do I try to scribble something on my palm or do I wait it out? Dr. Phillips is a good man, I refuse to wipe him from existence with a couple words, I will not every hurt anyone with my words, not again.
2 minutes left.
This is the homestretch, I can hold out until I make it to my room. Phillips has closed his notebook and started packing up for the day, it was a good session he tells me. I just told him what he wanted to hear, but I'm glad he feels we've accomplished something.
"Now where did my pen go," Dr. Phillips mutters while shuffling papers around on his desk. *Oh shit, oh shit, this is bad.* He pats his pockets and slowly pans his eyes up to me. *It's now or never*
I pulled the pen from my sleeve and quickly pushed the tip into my palm. Dr. Phillips is climbing over his desk now, his fat fingers grasping at air, reaching for purchase, but it was too late, I was gone and sitting on a beach somewhere in Hawaii. Thanks to this little pen, I'll be able to start my life over again, no one will know my powers, I'll make sure of it.
| 2017-06-25T08:08:47
| 2017-06-25T06:45:47
| 462
| 65
|
[WP] In this world, physical appearance depends entirely on personality. All babies are born identical. Beauty is achieved gradually through good thoughts and deeds, while the opposite is true for ugliness.
|
It's the unusual cases that make the news but it's the ones that shock them that stays in people's hearts. Growing up children are told to trust in beauty because it's beautiful people who are good people. Ugly thoughts imprint themselves on peoples' skin. Every wrinkle is a cruel thought and every unattractive feature is a cruel deed. This is something society knows well.
So the oddities stand out.
When Jessica Hart's face first appears in the news, everyone believes her innocent. She's stunningly beautiful, more so than even those who dedicate their lives to saving people. Someone that beautiful can never be guilty of the crimes they're accused of.
Torture. Murder. Cannibalism. Just one of those acts is enough to permanently disfigure a person.
No. Jessica Hart must be innocent.
Then the evidence, indisputable evidence, starts building up against her. People from her childhood testify how they'd seen her commit cruel acts but convinced themselves they imagined things. After all such acts were wrong and would be visible to the world. But, even back then, Hart was a beautiful child.
Beautiful but amoral.
Good and bad both leave themselves on a person's face. It's the ultimate survival guide to human kind. But good and bad are subjective and there are wolves amongst the sheep, those who believe what they do is righteous and good no matter how terrible.
Beautiful people who do ugly things. Those are the ones people remember.
|
"Reevel, didja puke on yer face again or something?" Bartan sneered. He was perched on a fence playing with a knife.
"Nah," answered back Reevel as he trudged up out of the gloom, "Just stabbed a chap in the alleyway. Fellow said I didn't look too handsome." He grinned, showing all three of his teeth. "Just cause it's true don't mean it's nice to say. Kid needed some to be teachified a little respect."
"Will 'e live?" asked Bartan, casually balancing the knifeblade on his fingertips.
"Mayhap. Gave 'im a couple good stabs in the belly, so it'll go nice an' slow either way." Reevel jumped up onto the fence next to his partener. "Bes' part: 'is face was bland as a babe's. Could've been any sort of average person, no one'll know who 'e was. So what's on the docket tonight, friend?"
Bartan stabbed the knife into the fencepost and then pulled out a dirty brass lantern. "Oh, it's a classic. Folks at the manner have their ways of doing things that ain't the same at all." Flint and steal sparked and the lantern kindled into flame. "Odd how it's us as is called the ugly ones when all we do is an honest murder or two along the way. This some top grade evil, this one," said Bartan as he pulled out a scroll of parchment. "They told me the deal already, but I let 'em know how good my partner knew'd 'is letters and they wrote this down real nice for us. Lessen we talk 'bout it the better, I suppose."
Reevel squinted at the cramped handwriting, then his jaw broke into an incredulous grin. "Spit and thunder, they must do the thinking for Hell. It's a nasty, nasty piece of business." He licked his lips hungrily. "I like it I do."
"Hey, Reveel, you's got a new wart, jist there on the top of your nose." Bartan pointed eargerly.
Reveel poked at it. "Hey, guess I do. Looks like that bastard did die in the alley after all." He jumped down from the fence. "Well c'mon, only a few hours til sunup. We gots some packages to exchange now, don't we," he chuckled, and the two crept into the night to commence their business.
The next day, the mayor welcomed a new daughter into his home while the miller's wife sobbed, holding the lifeless babe that had died during the night.
The mayor's mother was buried in a veil a few weeks later.
| 2015-10-31T01:17:13
| 2015-10-30T21:07:38
| 142
| 102
|
[WP] "So they are a war species, then. Huh," the alien researcher scratches his head. "Why are you so interested in them? The humans, I mean." The other alien gets closer to him, and says, "They fight for peace. No other species fights for peace."
|
**"So they are a war species, then. Huh," the alien researcher scratches his head. "Why are you so interested in them? The humans, I mean." The other alien gets closer to him, and says, "They fight for peace. No other species fights for peace."**
​
“Fight for peace? But that is a contradiction.”
“Indeed.” Imglir glanced at his quaternary console and the screen flashed to life, a reference map of the seventh octant of the galactic plane, with various regional areas initially flashing red and yellow, then settling on a different color representing their national dominion. “Of the known nations, there are five empires, three democracies, two republics, two dictatorships, and the confederacy of non-aligned systems. Of those, four empires, two democracies, and both dictatorships fight.”
“Of course they do. The Reen Empire fights for territory due to being host to a number of resource poor systems. The Bacura Combine and the Naginaki Parliament fight because their mothers’ mothers’ mothers’ grandmothers disagreed on the most lovely color to paint cruise ships, and neither will allow the other to win, as this could be seen as an admission they were wrong initially. The Lumin Empire fights for honor and glory in combat and for death before entropy renders them invalids…”
“Yes. And on it goes. Each fights for something based on something that they want. Each of the known nations fights for something selfish to them. Even the minor system powers that are city-systems in the galactic map fight for some selfish reason or another…"
“…but not these ‘Humans’?”
“No. Not these Humans. They fight for glory and honor of a sort, they have disagreements and land disputes as well. But, oddly, they don’t fight war so that they can fight war, or so they can gain. They fight with the idea that future generations may not have to. That their daughters and sons – because they send their boys to war, for some reason – would not have to fight in future wars. So that they could live without war or strife.”
“It sounds almost noble. Selfless.”
“Indeed. As far as I can tell, it is.” Imglir turned and looked to Fornar, mandibles to mandibles, for the first time since he had begun his observation, sixty-three decacycles ago, “This species may hold the key to all of our futures. They’re the only ones that I believe can be abjectly trusted to forge a lasting peace. One day, when they come of age and join the Great Conclave, they may save us all.”
Fornar laid a garmin on Imglir’s mantle, “Then we must see that they be protected until that time.”
“Yes,” Imglir said, turning back to his consoles, “we MUST.”
|
_Alien 1:_ Kutlag (Studying humans)
_ALIEN 2:_ HERTEYS (Helping Kutlag in his studies)
_SET:_ Hiding on the dark side of the moon with satellites in orbit with tech that makes them invisible to us humans and our tech. The 2 observers are just another set of observers spread throughout the galaxy with a simple assignment to observe, note and report back to the galactic council. They feel special cause there are rarely any intelligent and sentient beings this far out in the galaxy.
_PLOT:_
As kutlag was receiving a new package of data from the satellites around the orbit of the blue marbel he drank his coffee to try and get rid of the preservation chemicals used for cryo sleep, cryo sleep is used to help wake them up every 36500 rotations.
As the data was beginning to make sense all sleep and clumsiness went out the airlock as Kutlag couldn't believe what he was reading, wars at huge scales for a species that's still on a single planet, progress on unprecedented levels that have never been recorded, weapons that should have taken a few more sleeps were already being tested. What had happened between his last sleep till now? He had to wake her up.
As HERTEYS went through the data with the help of Kutlag she was taken back as how quickly the species had progressed within 1 sleep cycle. Last she remembered was how they were all spread out and killing each other with metal sticks and funny little metal sticks. A joke was around this planet that these self labelled species _Humans_ would likely end up killing them selves before they even leave their solar system and were nicknamed _TERRANS_ for their love of personal land and beliefs.
And now not only were they making major leaps in all branches of science for everything but were also progressing in all sorts of arts and peace that the galactic union thrived upon, they were making great progress on multiple peace talks that the union still couldn't get their heads around. Peace that was only a dream a sleep away, they have a mini version of the union with the only difference being that those on the council are selected by the people rather than the position being passed between families. Somehow even stuck on that little fragile rock these TERRANS had somehow managed to surpass the Union in some aspects, not at all significant but still credibility was due to them. They were ultimately always fighting for peace, but then when will peace be truly achieved if someone holds a grudge against the last battle for peace? It seems like this species will be in that loophole for many sleeps to come...
As the 2 observers continued looking through the data they kept getting more and more surprises on how the species was going forward and how quickly they were progressing in both good and bad ways.
Then the last surprise came that was totally uncalled for and something that is barely witnessed by anyone in their profession, a slip space jump...
The Terrans were coming, and the Union must be notified at all costs but the last thing they remember is being violently pushed onto the moon of the Terrans home planet due to an unknown collision on the hull.
| 2019-05-02T20:59:19
| 2019-05-02T19:30:02
| 45
| 23
|
[WP] Unbeknownst to the living, when people die and their bodies fail, their brain continues to simulate everyday life until it shuts down. As time goes on, things become more unrealistic and the self realization of death becomes apparent. You've just figured it out.
|
######[](#dropcap)
I ride the crest of the Probability Wave. The boundary between real and not yet real is blurred.
I know, for instance, that I was married. I *remember* that, not as one in a trillion visions glimpsed in the rolling fog of probability, but as concrete, collapsed fact. I married my wife, and we loved each other.
I know also that I became ill. I *remember* it because it *happened.* I remember the synchopy of the doctor's terrible phone call. I remember the nights of fear waiting for answers and the terror of receiving all the wrong ones.
My mind is tethered to memories of my body weakening, painkillers coursing through my blood, filling the veins of my thin arms and legs with meager relief.
The last thing I *know* happened is her face above mine, her voice warm in my ear, her tremulous breath tickling my skin, like the fluttering beat of a hummingbird's heart.
From there, the surf takes me and I stand on the board to watch.
I am in the hospital, miraculously healthful. A new treatment and my strength returns, the disease in my lungs disappears.
I am in the hospital, dying. My body rejects the vaccine and the errant cells in my lungs continue to suck the life from me.
I am released after two weeks of observation. My weight is back, my hair is beginning to grow, a black peach fuzz she likes to rub her cheek against. I have an appetite and we get apple fritters.
I am heavily medicated, a shell of my self. I cannot raise my body from the hospital bed. My wife turns me over on my side so I can pee, and every millimeter hurts.
Months have passed, I am home, my muscles lithe again. We spend all our time together, grateful in the extreme. I am seeing double. Life is back on track and we try for a child. He is born and he takes my grandfather's name.
I linger in a half life, my vision singular again, featherlight in the bed, never warm anymore, though the blankets are piled high. I am moved from oncology, the place where the "battle" is fought, to the palliative ward, where the defeated warriors wait for their chance at Valhalla.
The farther away my other self gets in time, the more the Wave reveals itself to me. I begin seeing in fours and eights. The further away I get, the more possibilities are revealed. I watch my child's birth in simulcast. He speaks sixteen different first words. His first step happens in thirty two different places. By his third birthday I am watching so many versions of my life with him that they all blur together.
But the other side of the coin remains singular and clear. I am in a soft bed. My wife is crying. I can feel her tears falling delicately on my cheeks, but I cannot reach up to touch them. My body is broken.
As my mind spirals further and further afield, at last I understand. Like a firework shot into the night sky, my consciousness has exploded forward in its dying moment and afforded me a fleeting glimpse of the Wave. But like those blazing fireballs, whose barest sparks reach the highest heights before blinking out of existence, so too did my mind's most insubstantial final energies reach out farthest through the vector of time. There, innumerable trillions of probabilities blended together, as all of the colors blend together into white.
In a hospital bed, in the realm of the realized, where the Probability Wave collapsed, my wife whispers love in my ear and I am gone.
******
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
## r/LFTM
*******
#### Thank you all for the incredible response - many of your comments were very affecting and it's gratifying to see so many people responding so strongly. Thanks for reading!
|
Foolish is the word one would say to describe me. Most assume that word can only have negative associations with it, but to me it is a word that is carried by much nicer ones. Words like "Dreamer" or "Determined". Either way, being a 35 year old man with no wife or children, its hard to call yourself a success in life.
I was going to prove all the nay sayers in my life wrong. Maybe I couldn't finish college, maybe I couldn't hold a job for more than a year or two, it may be possible that I was suckered into one or two "Get rich quick" scams. But that night was going to be the night! Poor little Tim Perkins was going to finally accomplish something, something that all would be forced to take notice of! Or that's what I thought atleast.
It was a shock really, I didn't expect the hand to grab my shoulder at the last second. Shit, I almost fell off the side rail when I turned around to see what baffoon was going to stop me from accomplishing my last wish. Yet to this day I'm glad I failed once again, because that idiot who stopped me was Sarah Trimmer. A sleek and beautiful woman, standing 5 foot 10 inches she was almost as tall as me. Yet the way she carried herself, you'd think she was as small as a shrew. So nimble and fragile, careful not to be noticed by anyone. But once you did spot her, it was hard to take your eyes off her. Its been over a year and I still haven't stopped going into a primative state when we are alone together, dumbfounded by her character alone.
None of that mattered now, how she saved me. How she believed in my foolish dreams. The man I thought I built myself to become. The water is up to my chest now. Im so cold and alone. Its been been a month since Sarah disappeared. That was the first clue, gone without a trace. Not a single lead for law enforcment to go off of. For a solid two weeks I was so grief striken, I never took notice of the oddities going around me. How the wind got stronger and stronger everyday. How the temperature outside was constantly 50°F even though it was the middle of June. It wasn't until I finally decided to drag myself to the outside world that I realized things were going a little different than normal.
I know I've been losing track of time since Sarah left. But my watch and phone surely should have not. It was 2pm yet pitch black outside. No stars or moon in the sky, just darkness. People still went on as usual, like it was a bright sunny summer day. Next came the random strangers stopping to ask me "Why did you do this?" or "You couldn't of been happy?". I thought I was going mad, losing what little sanity I had left. I boarded myself inside, this chaos had to stop eventually. Soon the TV even stopped working, then the lights flickered on and off before they finally went dark. The last thing to come was the water. First a trickle, then a steady stream, and at last a roaring rapid. Slowly filling up what was left of my house.
I knew this was it. This was the end. No more Sarah, no more happy days. At the same time, no more pain, no more ridicule. I drew my last breath and plunged into the depths. All I could feel now was warmth, and off in the distance a glowing light. This may have all been a dream, but I now know, Tim Perkins was successful at something.
Edit: This is my first attempt at doing creative writting since highschool, so 7 years. Sorry for any grammatical errors or bad writing. Just want to give it a shot again.
| 2018-07-27T00:27:19
| 2018-07-26T22:16:07
| 1,225
| 447
|
[WP] - All people who bear the same name draw from the same well of power, and whenever someone dies, their power is equally distributed among the remaining individuals
|
Part I
". . . What? That can't be true . . ."
I re-read the article, checked the publisher, and even researched the company that approved this. They were all legitimate. The publisher was a renowned scientist, the company was known for their discoveries that helped humanity push ahead farther than we could've possibly dreamed of . . . and they're all saying . . .
". . . We have superpowers?!"
*Alright. This might seem unclear, so let me backstep a bit here. I stumbled across an article about how everyone who shares the same name draws "from the same well of power." Whenever someone dies, the power basically 'updates' and redistributes itself to the remaining people. It doesn't specify what kind of power, however . . . Or, I mean, it might. I haven't finished reading it since I'm explaining all of this to you right now.*
*Anyway, that means the rarer your name is, the more powerful you are . . . and all of this information is publicized now, so everyone must be thinking the same question as I am.*
***How powerful am I?***
"*Huu*, okay, okay. Got to call Mom."
I exit the news app and go to contacts. When I call her, she picks up immediately.
*\[\[ Hello? \]\]*
"Hey, Mom."
*\[\[ Oh! Hello, honey. How are you doing? \]\]*
"I'm . . . trying to do better. Can I ask you a quick question?"
*\[\[ Oh, okay. Is something wrong? \]\]*
"N-no, Mom, nothing serious. Uhm, I was just wondering . . . Where did you get my name from?"
*\[\[ Oh. We originally wanted to combine your father's and my names. It would've been Olivianne, but then we remembered you were male, which wouldn't make much sense. So we decided to put them the other way around, and we got Anniver. To us, it seemed decently unisex, so we chose that one. \]\]*
*This is possibly the best outcome. Names made when combining two other names tend to be less common . . . except for the ones that* ***are*** *common, but whatever.*
"Thanks, Mom! I promise I'll plan a family gathering soon, okay?"
*\[\[ Heh, alright. See you then, honey. Take care! \]\]*
"Bye."
I was getting high hopes. This was a good start! Name Origin - Combination of Parents'. Now I just had to find out how common this name is. So, I went online and searched for my name. Fortunately, there were no people with my name who did anything illegal. As a matter of fact,. **no one** came up. I found websites that were supposedly going to give me the definition of 'Anniver,' but really, they were asking *me* to provide them with the definition!
"None of the websites have even heard of my name before. At least this one gives me a ranking . . . Less than a *hundred* people have my name?! W-what about ancestry? *23 PEOPLE HAD MY NAM-* Oh, wait, that's with people having Anniver as a surname, my bad."
I kept searching and searching, but nothing showed of anyone else who shared my name.
*So, technically, I should be the most powerful person ever, right? I imagine that's what you're thinking . . . But I still didn't feel any different. Well, I wouldn't feel different since, according to the research, I would have always had this power since the moment I was given my name. How do I find out what kind of power I have? If this were an anime, I would have, like, a really strong aura around me at all times, right?*
I go back to the article and finish reading it. As I feared, he never explained what kind of power he was talking about. This is what most would call "The Conflict." Since he never mentioned it in his article, there was only one thing I could do.
". . . I need to contact that scientist."
|
The High Council sat at the large, round table placed in the center of the non-descript warehouse space somewhere in the American Midwest. It's leader smiled at the others and opened a large binder, its pages filled with the names and addresses of the organization's members. She scanned the list and after finding the right entry, she took out a pencil and erased the name and the accompanying information.
Immediately after the name was erased, a rush of air filled the space and the High Council collectively took a deep breath, absorbing the air into their lungs. They smiled with delight at the sensation of the raw, malicious power that coursed through their bodies.
"Just the one today?" one of the members asked.
"Yes," the leader said, closing the binder. "Sadly, just the one. We shall do with our new power what we must."
"It's getting difficult out there," another member lamented. "All these cameras everywhere; people white-knighting every retail employee they see. We need more power."
"You know the Code. We cannot take the power from one of our own. It must be given freely upon her death."
"It's been this way for decades," a member chimed in. "Social media has just made it harder for us to lay low."
"Indeed, it has." The leader sat back in her chair and surveyed the members. "The only other way for us to become stronger is to increase our numbers."
"Ha!" a member cried. "Impossible! All the negative press out there? Our name has become a running joke; there's even a diner named after us, mocking our creed and way of life! And you think we can just convince new mothers to enroll their daughters in our organization?"
"It could work," another member said. "Most people don't know of our powers - our gift. Maybe we need some sort of marketing strategy."
"It would take time," said the leader. "Time we don't have. Each of us here is already advanced in age. It won't be long before each of us are erased from the records. Sure, the rest of us will get stronger, and the day may come when the last of us possesses all the power of our people. But what then? We die off forever? Our name relegated to the history books, like Blanche, Ethel, and Betty? We need new blood!"
The High Council sat silent, unsure of what to say next. They knew the leader was right and that the future she spoke of was untenable. They were frightened that they might just be the last of their kind. The thought sent chills down what remained of their spines.
"I got it!" a member finally cried out. "I know what we need to do!"
The rest of the women leaned forward in their seats, eager to hear a solution.
"The femcels!"
"The who?" the leader asked.
"They're like the incels, but female."
"What's your point?"
"They already possess Rage. No other group out there has more anger! If we can merge their power with our own - Entitlement - we might have a chance."
"What do you propose we do?"
"Our friend here is right: we do need a marketing strategy. And I think I know the perfect community we can infiltrate."
The High Council sat with bated breath.
"Reddit."
"Of course!" the leader squealed. "The Reddit femcels!"
"Exactly! We all join r/FemaleDatingStrategy and commisserate with their lonely hearts. We pretend we're lonely too - although there are no shortage of men willing to date and marry us - and when the time is right...we strike!"
"And how do we strike?"
"We convince the femcels to change their names. Think of it: with their new names, they'll finally find a man who will be with them, and once they share our name we'll assimilate their Rage with our Entitlement! We'll be unstoppable!"
The leader smiled. "What an unusual alliance, indeed! I think you might be onto something. What says the High Council? Do we unite the femcels with the Karens?"
The High Council enthusiastically raised their hands in unison.
"It is done then. Ladies...we take to Reddit!"
| 2022-10-19T08:37:31
| 2022-10-19T07:45:39
| 76
| 11
|
[WP] The fastest ship in the galaxy isn't a military Corvette or a ribbon-winning racing vessel. It's the ambulance that the human paramedic team operates.
|
EDIT: WHEW thanks for the warm welcome r/WritingPrompts. Don't hold your breath but I suspect you'll be seeing more of me.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
First time posting here and sci-fi is absolutely not my genre, but whatever. Please be nice XD
​
"Boss! I got something on the scanners!"
About fuckin' time, thought Captain Zurgleflorp. They'd been sitting in this ultraspace channel for hours waiting fruitlessly. Admittedly, it wasn't a heavily used channel, but that just made it better suited for entrepreneuring folks like them.
He wandered over to the bridge where his First Mate was sitting. There was no hurry, them scanners were state-of-the-art, it would be five cycles before the target came into range.
"Okay Fliggledeez, what've we got?"
"I dunno cap'n."
"What do you mean you dunno. I don't pay you to dunno."
"I can't get a proper lock on it. The picture's all wonky."
The Captain sighed, Fliggledeez was a few antennae short of a dozen sometimes, and a couple of tentacles short on top of that too from time to time.
"Alright, just let me take a peek."
When his subordinate pushed the display his way, what the Captain saw made all of his many mouths drop open.
"Are those... WHEELS?"
"Aaaah that's what they are, I couldn't figure it out. Good one Cap'n."
"And a flashing light on top? Must be some rich Banananakalaxian with more money than sense."
"Custom stuff'll always sells well." Fliggledeez remarked, rubbing three tentacles together with glee.
Captain Zurgleflorp allowed rare grins to spread across several of his mouths, "Hoist the Roger! To stations! Prepare to intercept you load of salty doglings! You've got a payday to earn!"
As he turned away to take control of the wheel, something caught the corner of one of his eyes.
"Have you reported that malfunctioning ultraspace measuring stick to the engineer Fliggledeez?"
"It's malfunctioning?"
"Are you blind? It's saying that ship is nearly upon us alr..." He didn't bother finishing, the reading had changed. Whatever it was had just shot straight past them. What in the cosmos was that?
"Uh Captain, do you feel that?"
He did, and it didn't help his confusion. The hull was beginning to vibrate, too quietly to make out. Wait no, it was growing, his antennae were beginning to pick up the sound...
neeeeeee nawwwwwwwwww
"Is that..."
The words had barely left his mouths when it came again, louder.
NEEEEEEEE NAWWWWWWWWWWW
His eyes all opened wide, he knew what this was.
NEEEEEEEE NAWWWWWWWWWWW
He'd thought it was a legend.
NEEEEEEEE NAWWWWWWWWWWW
The vessel so fast it left soundwaves strong enough to exist in the void of space.
NEEEEEEEE NAWWWWWWWWWWW
The monster the humans created and crewed, that spread chaos in it's efforts to preserve life.
NEEEEEEEE NAWWWWWWWWWWW
He only prayed that his ship would be able to withstand its wake, but he doubted it.
NEEEEEEEE NAWWWWWWWWWWW
Of all things to end his reign as the most feared pirate in the seventh quadrant, he had to fall to the damned AMBULANCE.
|
Sorry mobile.
———
Have seen of ducking fast that thing drives?! At first you just see it intent if you for a fraction of a fraction of a nanosecond, and then it is gone. Some time after you can hear the flying past you, trying to catch up, which it won’t until it stops.
Alright I get it, it is fast, but what I don’t get is how they can control that thing. They are humans, beings who couldn’t manage light speed travel with it help. What’s more, they haven’t even had the technology for more than a month, and yet they have surpassed all of our vehicles, and can maneuver all tracks that have been impossible for us.
Yeah, it’s insane.
Oh, by the way, you never mentioned what type of vehicle it is. All I know is what you and the tracks scoreboard tells me.
It is an ambulance.
Haha, no but seriously?
It is an ambulance.
Just tell me dammit.
It is an ambulance.
ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT THE VEHICLE THAT HAS AN IMMEASURABLE TOP SPEED, UNBELIEVABLE TIRE GROUP AND ALMOST UNLIMITED POWER SUPPLY IS A GOOD DAMN AMBULANCE?!!
Yup. It is an ambulance alright.
At least tell me it is controlled by an A.I. or something.
Nope, just normal humans.
Huma- *faints*
Dude, you okay? I’ll call an ambulance.
*A few seconds later*
*Ok sir, we are sending one now!*
Out of nowhere an ambulance arrives, and stepping out is what appears to be humans. They point to my poor fainted friend, and I just nod, before fainting myself. However, just before I faint I hear in the distance what sounds like sirens, and then it all fades to black.
———
If anything is wrong in the text, I blame autocorrect and you, the person who are reading this.
| 2019-11-10T13:48:28
| 2019-11-10T13:46:55
| 1,282
| 80
|
[WP] One day you kill a fly. The next day a second fly approaches and leaves a photo and a note on the table in front of you. The photo is of a spider and the note reads “$500 for a confirmed kill. Make sure no one finds the body.”
|
I know exactly when the Great Fruit Fly Infestation began - it was those darn overripe bananas that Anna refused to throw away. And when I had finally decided to toss them, it was already far too late. We've got apple vinegar traps set up all throughout the house, now, but it's not enough. They're multiplying faster than we can kill them.
I won't lie, it's been an adjustment. I can't leave food out anymore - the flies get to it in the span of a few minutes. I once was grossed out by the thought of killing them with my bare hands, which is why we have several dozen of those little electric flyswatter things lying around the house. But over time, I just got used to it.
At least they don't like coffee. Sitting in my chair at my home office, I take a long drink of the hot liquid. Spotting a small fruit fly near the mug, I gingerly squashed it with my pinky finger.
I didn't think anything of it at the time. Just another fruit fly in the hundreds that I'd already killed. Just trying to take back my home, one fruit fly at a time.
But the very next day, everything changed.
\---
I stared blankly at the photo and the note. It's blurry, but I'm still impressed - what kind of bug knows how to work a DSLR? And surely, it must have defied the laws of physics in order to move such a large piece of paper proportional to its body.
Dipping its feet in the inkwell on my desk, the fly scratched out another note. "So, do we have a deal?"
I cleared my throat, feeling silly. "No, we do not have a deal," I replied. "First off, where are you getting this money? Secondly, if you're sentient, shouldn't you hate me? I've killed hundreds of your friends. Finally," I said, picking up the electric flyswatter, "can all of you *please* just get out of my house?"
The fly hurriedly jumped back a few feet.
"Killed the leader of the Drosophila Party," it quickly stamped out. "Leading political opponent. If I can exterminate our main predators, that will cement my victory with the popular vote."
"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow. Apparently, our resident fruit fly population had become advanced enough to hold elections. "Tell me, does every member of the populace vote? And where exactly are your polling stations?"
\---
/r/theBasiliskWrites
|
when people ask what I do for a living I tell them I'm an exterminator because.. well i am. I take occasional "legitimate" work as a front but most of my business comes from what i can only describe as an insect underground.
It all started with the fly and the spider, I thought nothing of it at first but when i swatted a spider a few days later I found cash on the kitchen counter the next day. after that a steady trickle of jobs came in, it often took a couple of tries as most spiders look the same but its not like they specified collateral fees.
6 months on from that first contract I now run myself a nice little extermination business whether it is ants wanting a rival colony taken out or rats wanting a stray cat to get handed into a shelter I do the work they can't and get paid in... well occasionally its money, usually its more unusual stuff. currently gold is the favoured payment, much easier for them to dig about and find a flake of that than drag a dollar bill into my house.
| 2021-11-05T12:58:00
| 2021-11-05T10:09:03
| 799
| 279
|
[WP] You have a special bag. Whenever you reach into it, you pull out something you will need soon, but don't necessarily know you need yet. However, the things you are pulling out of the bag have been very strange recently.
|
I felt the bag move on the way to class. I reached in to see what it had gifted me this time, it was only a handkerchief. *Strange* I didn't feel ill and this wasn't the season for hay fever, but I put it in my pocket anyway and continued on my way.
But without fail as soon as I sat down someone behind me sneezed. "Bless you." I said handing them the handkerchief with a smile. "No need to give it back." *Good job bag.*
It was a funny thing this bag, sometimes it would gift me completely mundane items like a pen I'd forgotten or little bit extra change when I was short for lunch. Once it had even printed me off a fake bus ticket, I didn't realise but the bus driver did and kicked me off the bus. I avoided a 17 car pile up that day.
Recently, though, the bag had been acting a bit odd. For the first time it was giving me things I could never find a use for. Normally I wouldn't have to go too far out of my way to find a use for the things but no matter how hard I looked I couldn't find a use for two tickets to a movie last weekend, or a bunch of flowers it gave me earlier this week.
Class had ended but in the middle of class the bag had populated itself with an engagement ring. Another cryptic gift. As I sat pondering what I would use this for my best friend Jess came up to me and invited me to watch some movies with her in her room, unfortunately I had to decline. The bag was trying to tell me something and I was determined to find out what!
I wandered around campus hoping for anything or anyone that might have use for a ring, it didn't take long for the bag to fill up again, this time it had a bright yellow t-shirt with 'I'm with Stupid' written on it. Not sure what to make of it I put the t-shirt on.
|
I found myself reaching into my special bag yet again. A rubber band? What is this? Normally I would pull out something useful. Like a tuna sandwich when I'm hungry, or a dime when I need to make a phone call. These past two days I have been pulling the weirdest shit one after the other.
So far I haven't used any of it. The list is as follows: one glass shooter marble, one red paper clip, one office stapler, and now this...this rubber band. What could this all mean?
I continue on, walking down the alleyway with just the dim, flickering light of the street lamp to keep me company. I go for my smokes...damn. Last one. My so called lucky cigarette. The one I turn around so the butt is facing upwards. Where's my lighter? I reach into my special bag. Maybe this cigarette really is lucky. I pulled a lighter. The first useful thing I've pulled in two days.
I began to feel that I wasn't alone. Was I being followed? I turned toward a noise. A black vulture was sitting there staring at me like I was going to be his lunch soon. I stared back. Maybe he would be my lunch! Nah, I've heard you can't eat vultures. I'm sure they stink anyway. I kept walking.
The strange little man who gave me the bag had warned me about its use. He said "Only for when you really need it." Fuck him. I tried that early on. I didn't pull a cure for cancer when my wife was on her deathbed. I didn't pull a gun when that lowlife took my Rolex.
I had decided then and there that I would use it whenever I wanted and not heed the little man's warning. How bad could it be? At the worst, I figured, it would stop working. Then I would be no worse off than I was before. Hell, I had thought it had stopped working two days ago until I pulled that lighter.
The fog was thicker than usual tonight. I turned around for a quick glance behind me. My friend had made other friends, it would appear. 3 black vultures. Perched there watching me. This time it made me feel uneasy. Maybe I'm too sleep deprived. I decided to stop in at one of those greasy 24 hour joints they have around these parts. The coffee tastes like diarrhea, but hey, caffeine is caffeine.
"Bacon and eggs. No toast. Coffee black." "Grits?" she asked. "No thank you."
She smiled at me with a grin that made you understand both why she worked the graveyard shift and why they called it the 'tooth'brush. Still, she looked better than anything I had had of late. Why couldn't I pull a woman from the bag? I guess the bag didn't think I needed one of those.
I looked out the window. Five...no six! Six black vultures just staring at me! Their eyes were blacker than I thought was possible. Almost as if they were sucking in all of the light around them like I had read that black holes do. What could they possibly want with me? What was their purpose? Hell, what is mine?
With that thought I dug into my late dinner/early breakfast...whatever you want to call it. Birds, heh. I'm over here getting myself worked up like I'm Tippi Hedren or something.
The bacon was extra crispy. Just how I like it. That meal hit the spot. Even the diarrhea coffee added to the experience. It just rounded it off with the perfect blend of flavors. That might have been the most perfect meal I'd ever had. Oh, I've had more extravagant meals, I've had richer, more expensive dishes, the kind a king would enjoy. But there was something about that meal that was just perfect in the moment. It was what I needed. Take that, stupid bag. You couldn't give me a meal like that?
I paid my tab and made my way back to the street. Outside, I saw them. 15...20? There were a lot of birds. I quickened my pace. They were following me. They were following me for sure! I'm not being paranoid. I rounded the corner. There had to have been 30 more there! I changed directions.
Too many to count now. I felt a pain in my chest. It stabbed deep down. My vision was getting blurry. I was in a full on sprint by now. The vultures kept coming, filling the sky. I had one last hope...that bag! Oh bag, don't fail me now!
I reached in. A piece of string? My legs gave out and I fell. The pain in my chest was greater than ever. I realized now that I was slipping from this world. The last thing I saw were hundreds of vultures, blacker than the night, encircling me. Flying overhead. Hopping toward me on the ground. And with my last breath I cried out "AHA!"
For I knew now what the bag knew all along. What the vultures knew. What I should have known. I had become the victim of the scavenger hunt.
| 2016-03-10T02:35:27
| 2016-03-10T00:01:40
| 26
| 14
|
[WP] A zombie apocalypse occurs, where people retain characteristics they had while living. You, as the sole survivor, meet a snobby, vegan zombie who turns their nose up at you.
|
The worst are the crossfitters.
The world ends, the virus spreads, and you'd think all those damn gym junkies would stop working out and hide out in the woods with the rest of the preppers.
Turns out, exercise is pretty important to them, even after they get infected. Nobody paid attention to the signs telling you to wipe down the equipment before and after using it, and now they paid the price. The only thing they gained was the Virus, and now they don't recover from their kip-ups.
The virus didn't just turn people into shambling reanimated corpses- it turned them into shambling reanimated corpses with personality.
Ever see a zombie try and collect stamps? Hilarious. Old lady down the street got bit and now she wanders around peering into mailboxes. I've walked right past her a few times- sometimes, if the habits are strong enough, they keep the zombies from attacking.
That's why the crossfitters are the worst, they're after protein. They'll chase down survivors and grind them up into smoothies, it's how they got Tommy.
I'm good though- used to run obstacle courses and trails back before the epidemic. It comes in handy when you're being chased, surprise surprise. I'm the last survivor in my city.
Everyone else is either a zombie or a zombie with poor habits. I learn the habits of the more managable ones, kill the ones with less personality, and slowly spread my hunting grounds.
Peanut butter and rice, baby. Everything a growing boy needs.
I skirted the teen girl zombies in line at the coffeeshop- one of them snapped at me, but I'd rigged the coffeemaker. The smell would keep them there all day.
Today, I'm taking a big step- the supermarket. Most of the nearby houses have been picked clean and most of the pets killed off, except the old cat lady and her horde.
Bloody witch, I don't know how she's still feeding those things. She must have stocked up before the epidemic.
I slip in- dust has accumulated and floats in the air. The midday sun cuts through it like a knife and illuminates a bagboy, standing at the checkout line, moving his hands around as if filling up bags. Cripes, what a sucky job.
There are a few others inside, but I'm silent. Pick up a few tins of spam and roll my cart to the canned vegetables aisle and start looking.
Strangely enough, it looked like this section was the only one to be touched. Maybe a mother trying to feed her children well before they got eaten alive.
Oh well!
I start gently placing canned tomatoes and assorted fruit tins in the cart, as silently as possible. I'll be eating like a king tonight. Come back tomorrow, knock out some of the more threatening zombies, then-
Something touched me on the shoulder.
I spun around and whipped out my machete. Directly behind me was a tall, lean zombie with some weird scaf looking thing and a big coat- he was probably homeless when he got bitten.
I got ready to swing- any zombie that could get this close without me hearing was trouble, and needed to be dealt with.
The zombie reached into my cart and pulled out the cans of spam.
I paused. The hell? What kind of zombie wants spam? Maybe he was from Hawaii.
It shook its finger at me disapprovingly, then set the spam down on the opposite shelf. The zombie then selected corn, peas, and canned cauliflower- I didn't even know that was a thing- which he then stuck in my cart.
I lowered the machete. What was this, a nutritionist?
The zombie ambled away- I could hear him rummaging around in another aisle. He shortly reappeared with a small canister of tofu whey protein and offered it to me.
I accepted, ran my items past the zombie bag boy, then took off out of there.
Bloody vegans.
|
The dying sun bathed the old building in deep crimson. Maya rounded a corner, shouldering her rifle. Her heart was furiously trying to punch its way out of her chest. She had thought the factory was abandoned. From outside, it had looked like a hollow shell – buildings with empty windows, walls that were cracked with fissures, and no movement – that was the important thing – there had been no movement.
Maya wiped her brow on her shoulder and slammed a fresh mag into her rifle. This was her last one. It was like someone had opened the gates to the underworld and split the River Styx like Moses, allowing the dead to march straight out into the world of the living.
She heard them before she saw them. They were whistling loudly, giving her flashbacks from the old world when she was out in the city during the weekends. That felt like a whole different life now.
Running through a building filled with rusting pipes and silos, Maya noticed smoke rising from behind a stack of containers. She cursed silently and retracted her steps. There was no point in wasting bullets now. Instead, she found her way into a courtyard surrounded by tall fences with barbed wire.
Shambling across the open yard, a mob of the dead appeared in front of her. These fuckers were some of the worst she’d encountered – factory workers, with a predilection of smoking and catcalling. The incessant whistling attracted more of their kind, and the hordes were just growing and growing.
Even if she’d hit all the headshots now she still wouldn’t have enough bullets. The closest walker put the cigarette to his rotting lips and took a drag. Smoke billowed out of his ribcage. His dead eyes locked on Maya. He whistled loudly and then rushed toward her.
“Shit,” she mumbled and shot him in the head, the whistling increased tenfold and soon they were all running at her.
Maya turned and started sprinting up the alley between the fence and the closest building. As she rounded another corner she almost collided with a duo of walkers with cracked pink nails and filthy blonde pigtails sticking out from under their bowl-helmets. They both wore knee pads and were opening and closing their jaws around dried pieces of bubble gum that had turned black and brown with age. They both looked at Maya and then skated toward her on ill-fitting rollerblades.
Cursing loudly, Maya threw herself sideways, barely dodging the first one. She fucking hated the dead more than anything. She tapped her finger once, and the head of the second roller-skater exploded.
Briefly, she wondered if Laura was okay. Maya couldn’t believe they hadn’t been more careful. How was it that all the dead had gathered in the same place? Something or *someone* must’ve attracted them.
Climbing up an old rusted ladder, Maya finally managed to reach the roof. At least up here, she would be safe from the hordes below. She took a moment to calm herself, taking a sip from her bottle.
“Maya?” a voice said from behind a large exhaust vent. “Oh, thank god.”
Maya hugged her sister closely. “I thought you were fucked, L.”
Laura shook her head. “The walkers that got me were rainbow heads – they didn’t try to eat me, they just held me down, snapping their fingers at me, showing me old recordings of animal abuse in food factories on their iPhones… when they started dragging me away to a room with a sign that said ‘safe space’ I managed to break free…”
“Fuck, that’s horrible… thank god you’re fine.”
Laura smiled. Her long brown hair was all trussed up. Maya was trying to comb it out when Laura tensed up.
“Do you smell that?” she said.
“Oh hell,” Maya said when she noticed it too. “We need to get out of here, right now.”
“Must be the studio apartment over there,” Laura said and pointed.
The windows were broken and a figure lumbered in the darkness. The creature was impatiently moving back and forth in front of a small machine on a counter. A laptop rested on a table in front of an office chair.
“Oh shit, you’re right. I never thought I’d see one with my own eyes.”
“Can you hit the shot?” Laura said, her eyes wide in fear.
“It’s too far…”
“Let’s go then.”
Together they hurried down, the smell of coffee still strong in the air. They needed to warn the colony – there was a ghostwriter in town. Its unquenchable thirst for coffee was the stuff of legend, and it would eventually attract every other walker within miles with the smell of its freshly brewed black gold and its backhanded satire. The catcallers were nothing compared to that fucker.
****
r/Lilwa_Dexel for more of my stories
| 2017-07-15T08:11:08
| 2017-07-15T05:34:44
| 167
| 50
|
[WP] you have discovered that after you do a good deed for someone, an hour later, something bad happens to them (splinter, divorce, death, etc), you finally decide to stop helping anyone for good. This counts as a good deed done to everyone and everything
|
A monk told me about Karma and causality, once; how good deeds can lead to good effects, and bad ones to bad effects, that kind of thing.
“But what if something gets broken?,” I asked. “Can there ever be, like, a glitch in the system? A... disproportionate response to someone who’s been really, really bad and maybe tipped the scale?”
I don’t think he recognized me without my mask or usual... entourage, or knew exactly what I used to be into, but he started talking about how the nature of deeds are tied up in the intentions of the doer. I just started to tune him out, worried I was finding no answers here. I thanked him anyway, accidentally bumping over a candle on the way out.
—-
I suppose I first noticed it with my upstairs neighbor. Or maybe I should have noticed with the panhandler who usually stood outside my building. As someone else who couldn’t quite make it in the “normal” world, I felt for the guy, so I gave him a couple bucks now and then, and every time his story got a little more dramatic: he needed bus fare because his car caught fire; he had to buy medicine because a burger he got gave him bad food poisoning; then I found out he’d been gone a while because he finally bought some drugs that were mostly rat poison.
Anyway, the neighbor: It was two days after I helped her carry her groceries up the steps that I heard the ambulance crew rattling their gurney up the same dingy stairs — she’d fallen off a stool putting things away and broken her hip. I’d have stayed to help her with putting things away, too, but I’d been late to check in with my P.O. and was in a hurry. Maybe she was lucky; she’d have probably had a fatal heart attack the minute I left.
I started seeing it everywhere, and the delay between action and reaction started getting shorter. I’d wish my court-mandated therapist a nice day and she’d get a paper cut. I’d let someone in front of me on the bus, and they’d drop their entire fare on the floor in a cacophony of change (I swear when — hell, sorry, if — I rule this town, smart cards would be mandatory).
Do you have any idea how hard someone like me has to work at rehabilitation? To give up the monologues, the costumes, the rogue’s galleries and grand schemes? What am I supposed to do when the universe is telling me I’m supposed to be a bad guy?
—
So I relapsed. I found a nice little warehouse lair on the East side of town, hired on a few guys, started with some small bank robberies and went from there. I still tried to keep my harm to a minimum, because hey, maybe rehab worked (or maybe I secretly didn’t want to catch another super powered punch to the gut right away). I just had to hope it was enough that the hostages I didn’t manhandle got away with, like, a stubbed toe or something. I thought, maybe if I dust off my plans for that weather-control machine, I’ll accidentally cure global warming, or my magma laser will prevent the next big earthquake from swallowing California. Good intentions, right?
But it was only a matter of time before that prick noticed. Chiseled jaw, stupid underoos, monogram on his chest like we’d forget the name of the Goddamn superhuman that beat the snot out of us once a month. He busted through the ceiling of the warehouse and started throwing around my henchmen and one-liners. Swing, weather machine is back to being scrap; kick, my right-hand man has a broken left leg. Suddenly all I could think of was the last time we tangled, when my heat ray sent him crashing into that building that I later learned was an orphanage. How that was the point where I started to re-think my line of work.
Hindus believe in Karma, too, and that made me think of an old game, the original “Civilization,” where there was a bug that subtracted points from a computer player’s aggression but instead of going to zero or negative numbers, it went back around to the top of the scale and could turn the peace-loving Gandhi into a nuclear war-monger. Maybe that last battle was where something in the universe bent and broke, where Karma circled back and got all buggy.
I thought going back to the old tricks would help. It was when my nemesis’s gloved fist closed around my new cape and I felt myself being lifted into the air that I let myself think, “maybe I can’t do any more harm this way— or any good,” that I had a sudden second thought and wish I’d listened more to what that monk said about intentionality.
He didn’t listen as I tried to explain that he was making a mistake; that innocent lives could be at stake. The wind was whistling loudly as he flew me back up through the roof, but I thought the jagoff was supposed to have super-hearing.
—
Anyway, it’s been a week since I was tossed into solitary at the asylum (literally tossed. Have these super-schmucks ever heard of charges, trials, whatever?). I tried thinking to myself that maybe if I vowed revenge, and started scratching out plans for a death ray on the stone walls, that’d buy me some bad karma and save a few people. But I kept thinking how tired I was, and how I really couldn’t keep at it.
It’s been very quiet out there. I have to hope there’s something left for me to escape to and rule over, someday.
|
Wanna hear a story?
Imagine being that guy who breaks something every time he tries to help someone move apartments.
Now imagine being that guy, but accidentally repeatedly stabbing someone while giving them CPR.
NOW imagine being that guy for literally everyone everywhere.
Mama........I done messed up.
I'm not exactly a boy scout. I got friends who get into stupid drama all the time. I been arrested a few times for assault (twas a pugilist gentlemen's disagreement), public intoxication, some light kidnapping (later dismissed for being a consensual sexual endeavor), and a few different flavors of drugs. People don't expect me to stick my neck out for anyone but me and mine.
One day, my heart grows a couple sizes and I see some poor fellow in a Walmart parking lot. His car hood is up and he's on the phone. I offer a jump if he's got cables, he does, and I spend a few minutes helping a stranger. Our interaction concludes, I am pulling away to continue my day, and a friggin asteroid blows his brains out all over the side of his car. So, yeah, it got me thinking.
I was a little introverted for a few weeks, but another opportunity to be a nice guy showed up. Not to get into too much detail, but it involves a little old lady crossing the street, a ripped grocery bag, and a rabid, schizophrenic monkey. I thought I learned my lesson..
Nope. I stayed home and did nothing and now Trump is president. Fuck my life.
I am nothing if not a Spiderman fan. With great power comes great responsibility. I was determined to pursue a career path as the most inept rapscallion ever to hopefully serve as a vaccination for society. Because my motives were pure but my methods were sinister, I was hoping I could game the system to still do good in the world. I thought it worked. My test project was to work as Santa Claus and lie to children all day. Little Timmy wanted a drone and he got a fucking EtchASketch.
With a proof of concept, I extrapolated and thought: "If I can figure out a way to be simultaneously the best and worst person ever, maybe humanity can learn a thing or two. Maybe I can help people develop a curiosity about modern ethics. Maybe I can be a force for goo-"
*Ring ring*
Please excuse me, I have to take this. Yes? Oh! Nuclear Holocaust? I thought I asked you not to call me anymore. No. No. What? No! Um...hopefully never? WHAT!?!?
*click*
Well, I'm sorry to tell you this, but I'm afraid we need to evacuate to somewhere desolate. Santa has magically materialized and has an unquenchable bloodlust. Tokyo, Moscow, Reykjavik, Sydney, Seattle, Houston, and Albuquerque New Mexico for some reason, are all as of 5 minutes ago giant radioactive craters. Rudolph the reindeer has human blood all over his nose and has been named Captain of Santa's sleigh team for his brutality. An army of orcs are building lethal toys in the North Pole. The children I talked to are now all cult priests with zero epistemological integrity. Also, Mrs. Claus is a boring fat hag who's more interested in watching TV than loving her husband so there's no hope for Santa growing any chill.
I'm done trying to be a good or bad guy. If I don't care, what I do doesn't count. Screw it.
| 2019-12-26T01:53:48
| 2019-12-26T00:14:22
| 24
| 11
|
[WP] You are a wolf who was bitten by a werewolf. Every full moon your hair recedes, your teeth dull, and you are left cold and naked on a hillside. You’ve also met a lovely park ranger named Christine.
|
The fight was barely a skirmish, the pack I stood up against numbering over a dozen and determined to steal the body of my prey from me, but one of them bit me on the leg. I had no help, no backup, having left my mother’s side and not yet formed a pack of my own. I yelped off into the forest, taking care to not lean on the wound, something in the back of my mind worrying of it worsening. I licked it clean and kept it from festering, though, and thought that was the end of things.
The night I first changed was painful beyond any bite, beyond anything I’d ever experienced. The sensation of being left naked and cold instead of naked and warm in the forest around me was disorienting, but more so was the voice in my head. It had started a few weeks back, guiding me as if it were another wolf in a dream, in a language I had never learned but somehow knew. It was there now, comforting me, assuring me that thing would settle into routine and I was safe.
But the brush on the floor of the forest was rough against my skin, even with my feet calloused and tough, my muscles sinewy and sleek. I wandered the forest that night in the far back reaches of my consciousness, the human having his turn at the wheel. He told me of this new body I inhabited, how it would occur once a month, how it needed to do so. My body was no longer just my own; I had a companion in life, and it was one that I’d never expected.
The night I changed back, my human was relegated to the back of my mind, but it gave voice to things I didn’t understand and feelings I hadn’t had before. And it hinted toward human encampments as a survival strategy in times of scarce prey but cautioned against meeting any humans themselves. They were weak in flesh but strong in weaponry, and if any of them saw me, I was to turn tail and run, which aligned with my instincts even before. The fire they wielded, that appeared and flourished at their whim, was hint enough.
That second night a month later, however, I turned near a human’s encampment, though this one was unlike the small, temporary tents they erected to protect themselves against the elements. This one was incredibly tall, made of wood and sturdy and strong. I crouched curiously in the faint shadow created by the moon and then flinched back as a light came on and a woman walked toward the staircase.
“Hello,” I spoke. My human was at the wheel here, my wolf guiding me just as background instincts and faint as a subconscious voice.
The woman startled and her stance became aggressive, her hand moving to her belt, where I knew humans stored their weapons. “What the hell?”
“I’ve not met any others,” I told her. “Are you human? Or wolf? Or a mixture of the two? I can’t smell you from here.”
Her stance changed to something more akin to confusion. “I’m human,” she said slowly, taking a few steps in the blinding light from a floodlight overhead. “What are you?”
My voice caught in my throat. “I’m not sure anymore,” I admitted. “I was wolf, but I now live as a human one day a month.”
The woman’s eyes widened in an expression I recognized as shock and wonder. “How many times has it happened so afr?”
“Just twice.”
“Would you like to…sit with me?”
I looked down at my body. “I’m unclothed,” I said, somewhat apologetically. “Should I be clothed, as you are, if I’m to be fully human this time?”
“I have some sweatpants and a sweatshirt in my car that might fit you.”
And so, clothed for the first time, and not averse to the sensation since it gave me the warmth my fur no longer did, I climbed to the top of the tower with her, gazing in wonder at the forest around me that I could now see from a new vantage point.
We reached the top and looked out over the territory. “This is beautiful, up here,” I said softly.
“I’m quite fond of it myself,” she replied. “Do you have a name?”
I paused, my eyes narrowing. “I don’t think so.”
“I’m Christine. Would you like a name?”
Pursing my lips, I considered the question. “You can call me Wolf.”
She nodded once. “Wolf it is.”
We stood there for hours, me sharing my world with her and hers with mine. She had much more to speak on the world outside the forest that I wasn’t aware of, since her kind studied wolves and had for many centuries. The place outside the forest was incredible, full of things I felt were magic, full of potential and great happiness but also great sadness. My life as a wolf was much simpler, if more dangerous in some respects.
As the sun peeked over the horizon, I felt the fur growing over my skin and the bones crackled and reformed under my skin. I was left tangled in the clothes I’d worn comfortably just moments before, and I let Christine extract me from them. Then I gave her a lingering look before taking the stairs slowly, a foreign, difficult sensation that was strangely different than descending a hill, eventually reaching the dirt ground and running off into the forest.
Another month passed and I felt myself drawn back to the only other human I knew, back to the comfortable clothes she’d given me, back to her company. But Christine sat on the bottom step of the staircase when I arrived, looking hopeful but concerned. She turned when she heard my footsteps.
“Hello,” I said with a small smile.
“Wolf,” she sighed. She walked over to me, seemingly unconcerned with my nakedness. “I’m sorry, but…this is the last time you and I can meet.”
I frowned. “Why?”
“I was…excited, overjoyed at the discovery of your existence, but it’s rare. So rare that my bosses want to meet you. To study you. To…” She grimaced. “They want to take you from the forest,” she explained simply.
I hurriedly took a few steps back. “Are they here?”
“No, I lied to them,” she explained. “I gave them the wrong date. They’ll be here tomorrow. So, Wolf…you need to be careful. Humans have the wonderous life I talked to you about when we first met, but we have a dark side as well,” she whispered. “It’s the instinct that keeps you away from the fires we build, away from the hunters that carry guns. It will be lonely, I’m sure, but…maybe you’ll find another like you. One who understands you because they bear the same burden.”
I nodded slowly. “Thank you for…for protecting me,” I told her. “I won’t come back again. But…can we talk? As we did last time? I enjoyed it, learning about your world, and would like to learn more. Just…one last time.”
Christine smiled and nodded. “I’d like that very much.”
​
/r/storiesbykaren
|
“Chrissy you’ve got to help me, I can’t go back to that!”
Chrissy reclined in bed, her eyes heavy lidded and her whole body ready for sleep, if only Spot weren’t having another crisis. She pressed the pillow down over her face and tried to count disemboweled sheep, the kind Spot left behind when he was a wolf. Sometimes she thought she liked that version of him better, his howling was less annoying then.
“Seriously Chrissy, you don’t understand what it’s like to be a wolf! I learn all this stuff as a man and then I’m hurled back into a pack that doesn't understand me. I’ve got to run and kill and hunt, I don’t even have hands, we just use our mouths for everything!”
“And I bet the females don’t look at you either, huh?”
She could imagine his expression, the human version of the guilty grimace he’d had when she caught them on the game cams. “That was one time and she was in heat!” he said, his voice getting shrill. “You can’t possibly blame me for that, I was a wolf!”
“Oh, so when that happens it’s all *‘oh but I was a wolf’* and then when you have to live outdoors and I’m not cooking for you it’s all *‘save me, I can’t go back to that!”*
Chrissy rolled over, pulling the covers tighter to herself. She could hear Spot stalking back towards the bed and she prepared herself for the pounce.
He leapt onto the bed with all the supple strength of a wild animal, pulling her to his chest. When Spot spoke his voice was husky and carried the strangest hint of an affected accent. Chrissy regretted showing him a romance movie that one time. “But baby, wouldn’t you love it if we could be together? We could frolic around this beautiful park every day, making love and catching prey as we willed, without any fear of bears or rain!”
Chrissy threw the pillow into the corner, rolling back towards him. A broad smile creased Spot’s sharp features and his eyes positively smoldered at her. He thought he was so damn cute sometimes. “Well, *baby*,” she said, pressing her hands against his muscled chest, “I happen to like our schedule just the way it is. Besides, you’re barely housebroken on the one day a month I have you. Now stop whining, you’re ruining my afterglow.”
She pecked him on the lips quickly and turned back around. “And remember to be out of here before sunrise, I can’t have you transforming in my bed again. That was fucked up.”
Spot’s grip around her waist grew slack. He nuzzled against her neck gently, it was normally as a close to an apology as she got, and then she felt him stand.
“Bye Chrissy,” he said. His voice sounded truly sad. She only turned back to watch him leave, walking out into the rising dawn naked as the day he was born, or perhaps in his case made. She saw his transformation through her bedroom window, heard his scream become a howl, watched bones rearrange themselves and coarse hair tear through soft skin to cover his body.
Chrissy closed her eyes and went to sleep, finally getting to relax and enjoy her body’s languid exhaustion.
She was woken when the cabin door opened an hour later. Someone poked around in the outer rooms for a few minutes, giving Chrissy time to reorient herself before the door opened again. Eliza stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the early morning light from the windows. Her clothes were messily donned, half the buttons of her shirt missing. Her hair was a disaster, what little makeup she’d worn the night before was smeared tragically around her face.
“Hey babe,” Chrissy said, “you’re looking cute.”
“Yeah, yeah, it was a rough one. I’m gonna jump in the tub, but I'm glad you're up, I wanted to say hi.” Eliza walked over to the bed, sitting down where Spot had so recently been, and gave Chrissy a long, hard kiss.
“You taste funny,” Chrissy said, making a face. “Not a deer this time?”
“I wish. I found a half dead elk. It was pretty gross.”
“Ewww, yeah wash your mouth out before you kiss me again.”
Eliza stood, going to their attached bathroom. Chrissy heard a bath begin to run and then Eliza began gargling mouthwash. “How was your night?” she called after she spit.
“Fun!” Chrissy said. “Spot is an animal, pun intended. But if we ever try this again remind me to have you bite a less whiny wolf. My god is he annoying before he changes!”
“Oh really? He doesn’t want to go back?”
“Nah, he wants to stay human. He’s been asking me to help him, although I’ve got no idea how that would even work.”
“Yeah for real.” Eliza poked her head back into the bedroom. “You can cure a werewolf by killing the one that bit them, but a were-werewolf? I don’t even know how that would work.”
“Uh huh. And besides, there’s only room for one human in my life. Come back here.” Chrissy propped herself up in bed and reached out for another kiss now that Eliza’s mouth was cleaner.
“I kinda feel sad for the guy though,” Eliza said, walking back into the bathroom. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to be a wolf either.” Chrissy heard a contented sigh from the bathroom, Eliza must have stepped into the tub.
“Well, as far as I’m concerned we’re doing him a favor.” Chrissy said. She stretched, groaning loudly as she gave up on sleep. “Whatever. Is there room for two in there?”
“You bet!”
Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled.
\---------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-03-14T14:55:52
| 2021-03-14T13:49:33
| 243
| 129
|
[WP] Your father was a turnip farmer. His father was a turnip farmer. His father was a dragon, so, like... it's diluted, but the blood is there. You can't do much, but you are pretty fun to cuddle on a cold winter's night. Also, knights keep trying to fight you and steal your horde of turnips.
|
The tavern was quiet outside of the clink of glasses, muted conversation, and the occasional thump of the door to the kitchens being opened. The place smelled like a mix of tobacco smoke, home-brewed ale, and bodily sweat. Fred figured if that was the worst his nose could smell, then it was a good evening.
Fred stood off to one side of the door to the kitchens. He held a bag that contained many turnips. If anyone asked what he was about he would say, “Well, just extra turnips for the kitchen. The ones I didn't want to keep you know. Not quite perfect enough. S'a good arrangement. I bring the turnips for supper, they provide the ale, eh? Just as my father did, and his father 'afore him.” Usually that was the end of the conversation and eventually the barman would notice Fred, along with the bag of turnips. A bag of turnips would be exchanged for a couple bottles of ale, along with a friendly handshake for good measure, and Fred would be on his way up the hill to his home for the evening.
Tonight was not one of those usual nights, unfortunately. As Fred stood about waiting for the barman to have a moment to spare, the front door of the establishment was flung open. Some patrons, startled, jumped in their seats. Others glanced over their shoulders, then resumed their whispered conversations. One muttered, “Oh nine of the sky save us, it’s another Knight come looking for trouble.”
In the doorway stood an imposing man in full plate mail holding his sword drawn in two hands. Then again, doesn’t anyone look imposing when covered in metal armor while holding five feet of sharp steel? Fred sighed and focused his gaze narrowly on the barman, who had finally made his way over to Fred’s end of the bar, the two bottles of ale in his hand, ready for the usual exchange. “I hope he’s not here for me.”, Fred said.
The barman shrugged, and set the two bottles on the counter. As Fred handed over the turnips, the Knight shouted from across the room, “Which one of you is the 1/8th dragon! I have come to challenge thee, and seek the riches of your treasure horde!”
The room lapsed into silence as conversations screeched to a halt. This was not anyone’s first time. By Fred’s count, this was the third fellow this month. The patrons glanced at one another and started to giggle and mutter amongst themselves. “Ain’t no dragon here Mister Knight, we’s just turnip farmers and ale brewers! Ye got the wrong village.”, the barman said.
“Nay, I am certain this is the right village. My lordship warned me to look about for those with red hair, and green eyes! A sage I spoke to a few towns ago said there might also be taloned hands, scale-tails, and fire-breathing, even in a partial-blood dragon!”, the Knight took his helmet off, to better appraise the crowd. His eyes narrowed as he saw Fred, who indeed had red hair and green eyes. No talons or scale-tail though. “You!”, the Knight shouted.
“Who, me?” Fred said.
The Knight strode forward, sword pointed directly toward Fred. “Yes you, you have the hair and the eyes! Be ye a dragon?”, he said as raised his sword above his head.
“Ah… well. I mean… slow down Sir Knight. If I’m 1/8th a dragon… where’s the 1/4ths? And what about my children and grand-children? The 1/16ths and 1/32ths? Where does humanity end and dragons begin?”, Fred said.
The Knight hesitated, sword raised high. “I’m not sure what you’re driving at, foul creature, but you won’t mislead me!”, as the Knight spoke these words, Fred made a sweeping gesture with his hand, indicating the roomful of patrons.
“Look here, in the corner! Lil Susie has talons. She’s m’granddaughter.”, Fred said, and Susie waved a taloned hand at the Knight.
“And see that trio over there? My great grandfather was a dragon, same as theirs, but different mothers you see. Great-grandpa got around, you know? Charming dragon and all!”, Fred pointed toward a trio of red haired farmers, who appeared to be deeper into their cups than is wise. As he did so, one of the farmers wiggled his eyebrows, and a small, two foot long tail flopped out of the back of his trousers.
“I get real tired of you Knights coming round from foreign lands, thinking there’s glory in slaughtering a whole village down to last man woman and child. How else can you be sure the dragon-blood is exterminated, hey? If you’re still meaning to fight, you’ll have to take on all of us. That could certainly hurt an up and coming Knight Errant’s repuation, eh?”, Fred said.
The Knight looked around the room more closely. It seemed most in the room met one or more of the requirements. There were some green eyes there, some reddish blonde hair there. Looking more closely, he spotted little patches of red scale on exposed skin. “I see your point, Sir. It would not bode well for a rumor to be spread, true or not, that I had slaughtered a whole village. Discretion is perhaps the better part of Valor here. But what shall I bring my Lordship? I cannot return empty handed.”, the Knight said.
“How about you spend the night here, getting to know the folk of the land, and we send you back with some old scales that we’ve shed, and a bagful of the best turnips your Lord will ever taste?”, Fred said.
The Knight sheathed his sword and sat down at the bar. “Sounds like an alright start. Barman, an ale if you please!”
|
"Turnips, Turnips Turnips." I sighed to myself as I threw another one into the pot. I decided to make a simple dish for lunch today. Turnips marinated in turnip sauce with some shaved turnip as a condiment, I'd even gone as far to treat myself with a slice of Parsnip. I lit the fire under neath with the strategic placement of a match and began to stir the purple mess. The act is quite similar to meditation, and I always find myself on some train of thought. This particular stirring session I seemed to recollect the memories of my father and those before him. My Great-Grandfather had been a dragon, who somehow managed to impregnate a princess in some tower, and the following birth led to the weird conjoining of Human and Dragon, needless to saw my Great-Great-Grandmother did not survive very long after labor. Instead of becoming a gold hoarding Dragon-Man, My Great-Granddaddy decided to become a measly turnip farmer (prices were high back then). Then his son (my father) helped him out with his turnip farming venture. Thanks to the great dragon characteristics that they had inherited, they found no trouble in keeping back the irritating Knights who came to steal their precious purple plants. But me, being only 1/8th dragon, inherited nothing more than a small scaly tail, lizard eyes (which do not help with the ladies) and the ability to keep warm.
The food had finally finished cooking. I put some of the stew in a bowl, and raised it to my lips for a sip. Before the steamy liquid could enter my mouth a loud crash sounded nearby. Startled I dropped my bowl and went outside to investigate the source.
"Look at the size of this these Turnips 'ere!" Came a high pitched sound from inside the shed.
"These could feed our boys fer months." Someone said in a lower tone.
I grabbed my rusty axe and headed outside to confront these troublemakers.
Four knights (in full plate, with a long-sword in each of their scabbards) were staring into my Turnip filled shed.
"um.. Hello" I said meekly.
The four of them turned around.
"Hello there, these wouldn't happen to be your Turnips would they?" One of them asked.
"Well, actually they are..."
"Great! We'll be taking the lot then."
The other three moved into the shed and began shoving the turnips into their sacks. I moved in to stop them but the man (who seemed like their leader) stopped me.
"I would stop there and drop the axe if I were you."
I did so (knowing full well that any rash move on my part would be my demise) and watched in horror as every single little bit of Turnip was taken from my shed. They left in a cart with my horde while I sat still in utter astonishment as I realised that all of my life's work had just been taken from me.
After a few short hours of self pity, I dragged myself back into the house and managed to finish the last few bits of Turnip in the pot.
After a long and tiresome day I welcomed the embrace of sleep, and went to the marketplace the very next day. I bought as many Brussels-Sprouts as I could for planting, hoping that it would stop the Knight Incursions. No one likes Brussels-Sprouts.
​
\*Note:
I had no idea about what to do towards the end, so there you go. I decided to give this one a shot. It's my first Writing Prompt, and I hope to do more and better my writing style in the future.
| 2019-01-29T21:58:10
| 2019-01-29T21:11:27
| 85
| 18
|
[WP] Death comes to collect someone and ends up falling in love with them.
|
A blossom but by early frost be held;
In feeble, withered form it lies askew.
From Hell, foul Frost! How quick this flower felled,
And turned to bitter black from sanguine hue.
The same for her, my tender love, is true:
That pallid color plainly paints her tale.
So plain with ill, her skin grows ever pale.
~
Here voices whisper careful past our door,
Pray not to cease her troubled rest, so fair.
But rest shall ceaseless be forevermore,
And respite gained she’ll have from all their prayers.
My bride she’ll be, this one beyond compare!
So lusty, I, that herds of stock may have,
Yet hunger still for meat of tender calves.
~
A shame that she be from a home so poor.
A rousing fight she might have made, and won,
But Father has but cobwebs in his store.
What disgrace to Beauty, thus undone,
Worse still to think what doctors might have done,
But physicks cost our fathers more than farthings,
And Death doth hold all debts, my lurid darling.
|
There is a woman who follows Death, I promise you. She is much worse than he is. I met them after an admittedly stupid mistake. I was flying down I-35, fucking with my phone. Don't even remember what for. Didn't see the guy change lanes and I ended up rolling 8 times. There in my car, upside down, broken and shattered, I died. I *knew* that I was dead, but I could still see. I could still smell the gasoline. Then I saw Him. He walked straight up to my car and peeked in. Walking oblivion. Just a man-shaped blob of black nothing.
Then I felt myself being pulled out of the car. A good samaritan had pulled me out of there and began CPR. I could feel my ribs cracking with each compression as Death walked around my car and stood over me, waiting to collect. I wasn't surprised that I was the only one who could see him. I was surprised by the fucking woman that trailed behind him. If I hadn't already shit myself, I would have when I noticed her looking at me. She peered at me with bleeding sockets, torn skin and flesh hanging from her naked limbs. Half of her face was exposed bone. She was frighteningly human.
My ribs cracked and cracked as she gazed at me, then just like that, they were gone. I gasped for air and all the pain hit me at once. I was in the hospital for ten days, and my thoughts were about nothing but her. The woman who follows oblivion, collecting souls from vessels worldwide. The more I thought about it, the more obvious it seemed. She was Death's lover.
| 2014-01-05T07:41:05
| 2014-01-05T06:51:14
| 18
| 13
|
[WP] Magic can only be performed by twins, and only so long as both of them are alive. You're the third-born of a set of triplets. Your elder siblings are mages, and you aren't. At least, that's what you've told everyone. Truth is, you've got a new kind of magic.
|
Anthea and Althea were treated like royalty in our small town. Twins were rare, and they were the only pair in our town. Everywhere they go, the townsfolk would offer them gifts to try to earn their fancy.
An can create magic potions and weaponry enhancements. She was even given the title of "Esteemed Mage" and had a research facility of her own inside the Kingdom. The skirmishes from other warring kingdoms ceased when she displayed her ability; making the weapons unbreakable, and basically making the soldiers killing machines with her potions. There were peace talks currently ongoing to mend the rift and expand the Kingdom.
Al can control the weather. With her help, the town never experienced drought and the harvest were always bountiful. The Kingdom would often seek her for their monthly "Snow Dance". Only the nobility, the gently and the royalty could attend such an event. With the exception of my sisters, of course.
And, I, the oddity, was their youngest sister. There had been no record of triplets being born, and when the mages tested me for magic all those years ago, the results yielded nothing.
I wanted it that way. *I* made it that way. Since I was old enough to think coherently, I decided not to reveal my ability, even to my own loving family. My parents and my sisters didn't think of me any differently just because I was powerless, and I was grateful for that.
You see, my sisters' abilities had a similarity: they create. My ability is to destroy. I could destroy anything by touch or by mere thought. It was a dangerous ability, and I knew that someone will try to covet it if I had let it known, revealed it to the world. Just imagine, having an entire country crumble into naught with just a thought.
So I steeled my resolve. I will continue what I had been doing, staying neutral and keeping watch. Because when the time comes that I'll have a real need for this ability, only I will decide if I had to use it.
|
Ella slowly knocks on the door. She breaths in gradually and then let all the air out, trying to let the nervousness pass. There is no response for a while, but Ella doesn't move. She stays patient. This might be the only thing he has left at this moment.
The door slowly opens and Lila peeks outside. "What do you want?" she asks, showing visibly annoyance.
"Mother asked you two to come dinner," Ella explained. Lila looked annoyed and let the door slowly gravitate open, making a creaking sound. Lila knew that Ella loved their magic, so she let the door open on purpose, to tease her. Ella took the chance and peeked inside the room.
She saw butterflies fly around, giving away lights of different colours. The room walls looked like they were in a fantasy world of different colours and changing the scenery. Their magic was beautiful. Ella always had admired the magic of those two, that is when he had a chance to admire.
"Who is it?" Mila asked as she concentrated her magic on her bed.
"Ella."
"And...?"
"Mom asked us to come down for food," Lila responded. Mila slowly shook his head.
"Pass. I am concentrating, I am too busy to deal with such trivial things," Lila said out loud, making sure that even Ella would hear it.
"Mom did your favourite food though! Come on, put your magic down and spend time with your family, at least a little bit," Ella tried to encourage her sisters. "You are soon 19 and moving out anyway!"
Lila looked at Ella, eyes poisonous. "Listen here, sister," she started talking and walking quickly towards the door, gaining Ella attention. "You who have no magic what-so-ever should shut your mouth. Go spend time on a trivial thing like family or whatever you magicless people do. We have more important things to do! We need to prepare for the academy!"
The patience was gone. Ella looked at them, mad. Mila noticed that. "Oh, is our little sister mad? What are you going to do? Come and kick me with your hands?" Mila looked towards Lila and nodded. She nodded in returned. As Mila stood up, all the butterflies in the room started burning up and the walls started to go back to the colour of grey.
She stood up and started walking towards the door as well. The magic in this world was simple. No words, no actions, just feelings. Both twins had to want to do the same thing. It was more about connection and synergy. This is why the magic worked as long both of them were alive. A moment later, Ella started floating up. That was till her head touched the ceiling. Then her feets started going up until Ella back touched the ceiling entirely. Ella sisters were amused.
Ella, however, showed no emotion. "I am sad," instead she said. "You think so little of those who helped you grow up, fed you and gave you all the love in the world. You can't appreciate even those little things, just because you got something more special," she shook his head, slowly making a snowman on the ceiling as she explained. "Your mother cries almost every night because how cold you two have become. Yet, you do not care."
Mila and Lila looked at each other and started laughing. "You say that because you are nothing special either, sister. It's unfortunate that you were third and destiny didn't choose you! You would never understand!"
Ella sighed and shook his head. The patience, she had before, was over. She could no longer look at his foolish sisters. She gave a smile and suddenly she fell down from the ceiling. It wasn't long fall and she was even prepared. Still, a small moan came from her a moment after she had landed. It did hurt a bit.
Both Mila and Lila looked confused.
"Whether you get it back or not depends on you," Ella said and started going downstairs.
"Stop her!" Mila said to Lila.
"I am trying!"
"Don't bother. I took your magic away. Here is a trivia. Back in the time, it wasn't entirely about your magic training, it was about when I let you have your magic and when I took it away." Ella gave both her sisters a quick smile, did a quick hand movement and the door in front of both girls opened entirely.
"Don't take too long, food will get cold."
But little did Ella know, it worsened the relationship between her and her siblings even more. But for her, it was worth it. She needed to do that for family, for parents and for peace of her mind.
----
/r/ElvenWrites
| 2018-02-20T03:59:06
| 2018-02-20T02:10:25
| 57
| 24
|
[WP] A scientist has discovered the vaccine of immortality. The only side effect is, though, infertility. After the whole world got vaccinated, it turns out immortality is a hoax it is just an infertility vaccine.
got lots of comments about not knowing how vaccines work. i basically imagined a syringe with the cure of aging. i thought it depicted what i meant to say. english is not my first language, so my apologies for any misuse of words.
|
When the "vaccine against dead" was first announced, people were curious, many wondered if humanity finally reached the top scientific goal: to live forever; but as every new medical achievement, it was only available for those who could afford it. The only side effect was infertility, but since rich people would be taking care of their own businesses forever, there was no need for a heir.
The vaccine was bought by every high rank politician, big company owners and their families, everyone felt so superior, so accomplished; they didn't know how wrong they were.
It wasn't long before the first immortal died, a terrible car accident, so the family sued the lab and the scientific who created the vaccine, Dr. Anna Cricket.
The trial was televised, she was acussed of crimes against humanity. I still remember her last statement before being found guilty: -"How can this be a crime against humanity, when this people have none of it in them? They let people starve to death every single day, they steal from the poor, they exploit their employees and we're planning to do so for eternity! I'm only guilty of removing scum from earth!"
Everyone was shocked, further investigation showed, that the trials for the vaccine were made on people in jail, mental hospitals and MLM companies. That Dr. Cricket's plan was to give back control of the world to those who she considered good people.
You would think we rushed to find a cure for that vaccine or that people would be outraged for those trials, truth is, nobody cares.
In the 15 years next to the ban of the vaccine, some of the people who were vaccinated, became so paranoic about dying, that they started to get sick, depressed to the point of suicide and in 5 years most of them were dead.
Some companies became cooperatives and workers were happy to work for their partners instead of some rich family, but others weren't that lucky and instead got a worst boss.
In the political field, people chose better representatives the first couple of years, but then again, the system got corrupted.
It's been 20 years now, and nobody remembers the vaccine frenzy, the trial or dead of Dr. Cricket, she's not even in history books. Things came back to what they were before, because us, humans, are incapable to learn from our mistakes.
|
Maybe it’s just me but I think what she did was good. Yeah morally it’s completely screwed up. But In all honestly she has a decently valid point. The point is valid but the methods taken were inhuman and were uncalled for. What was done technically is beneficially to the human race.
By doing this she is slowing down the population by a tad bit. Which in turn means less people starving. Yeah, some people are hurt and sad because they can’t have babies. But in the end none of this matters. What’s right, what’s wrong, why does any of this matter? Why do moral values define us, tell us what path to take? It only
Limits us.
She’s a brave women, doing something such as that with the full well knowledge that she will suffer. My apologizes to those that are unable to have children. It’s unfortunate, but the price has been paid. May she Rest In Peace and May the world give you peace, and the heavens above grant you light to walk the dark corridors that surround the earth.
| 2018-09-09T09:27:04
| 2018-09-09T08:46:36
| 19
| 10
|
[WP] Your butler has served you faithfully for twenty years, working hard, offering sage advice and never complaining. One day, you see his bank balance. He's a billionaire.
|
The house seemed empty. Vacant. Dad must be off on business and mom... Well who knows. Maybe on a trip of her own. Home at the end of term and no one here to greet me. Well, almost no one. Remy - short for Remington - had to be about somewhere. He'd served my family since I was born.
I dropped my books on the table. Physics and astronomy books spilled onto the table.
"Hello... ?"
Nothing. I wasn't expected for two more days, but still... This was odd.
I wandered into the study to find Remy on the phone. In my entire life I don't think he's ever made so much as a phone call. He was muttering something. He didn't hear me approach.
"Yes" Remy said "40,000 contracts. I don't give a damn about your position limits. Spread it around. Use that dirt bag from the holding company if you have to. Just do it. Have I ever been wrong before?"
My jaw dropped. First, in 20 years I had never heard Remy swear. Not even once. He was the most polite and gentlemanly person I'd ever met.
Second, my father had dabbled in futures and options enough for me to know you don't just throw around 40,000 contracts of ANYTHING without having some serious cash.
I must have made a noise in my disbelief, because Remy whipped around, and his usual polished grin trembled for just a moment, then returned to normal. Damn, remind me to never play poker with Remy.
"Young master Robert," he began " I hadn't expected you untill Thursday. What a pleasant-"
"Just stop," I interrupted, "I heard you. All of it."
He clicked off his phone.
"Well then, I guess you have some questions."
"Yea, what's going on?"
"Preparations" he simply said.
"For what?"
"A trip. Of sorts. A very expensive trip."
"How nice. And just how rich are you?"
"Well," he began "after that trade, I'd say about 3 billion. The market is in store for a bit of a tumble I'm afraid."
I just gaped at him. He could buy us 20 times over.
"Wait, how do you know that. Who ARE you??" I demanded.
"More like 'when' am I. But that is for another time. I had hoped this conversation would have happened later. It seems I don't know everything in this timeline. But it cannot wait any longer."
"What are you talking about? And why do you work for us if you are so rich? You could do anything you wanted. "
"Master Robert. I am here... I have been here for 20 years, to earn your trust. So that one day, I would tell you something, and you would believe me. I'm afraid that day is today. Do you trust me?"
"With my life," I said without hesitation.
"Good. Because this planet is dying. And you have to get off of it."
|
I sat tentatively across from this man who I’d known my whole life, but couldn’t recognise. For what reason would he keep his fortune a secret? I wanted to believe that my ever-loyal butler had the purest of intentions, but every conclusion that I was drawn to was frighteningly bleak. Has he been stealing from my family? Was he always a billionaire? This seemed the more likely, but if so, what sick reason could he have to devote all of his time, both day and night, to watching a child?
I came to know of his fortune entirely by accident. In fact, my intentions were not for snooping reasons, but rather to fill out his Christmas bonus.
After 20 years of service to my family, I felt it was time for something special. I wanted his bank balance to be equal to EXACTLY the number of hours he has been with us. My dad calls me melodramatic. Called me. But, in fact, to get his bank balance to a crisp $175,200, I would have to REMOVE over 13 and a half billion.
“Steak’s delicious, Harold” I said, breaking the silence that I realised we had lapsed into.
“Thank you, master.” He responded, standing on the opposite end of a needlessly long table. “I wrestled the boar into submission myself.”
On any other day this would’ve received a poisoned sarcastic quip. Steak doesn’t come from boar. Boar aren’t even IN Australia. Instead I caught myself nodding and staring at him, enthralled. Who was I to question this man? In fact, who was this man full stop?
The silence continued for several seconds. He narrowed his eyes at me before inquiring, “is everything as is, master?”
“Of course, Harold”, that was TOO obviously an out of character polite response. Asking me a question during my eating time? That was forbidden and would’ve earnt him a pay dock. I had to dial it back. “Is there a reason it shouldn’t be?” I asked, regaining some of my usual gratuitously argumentative nature.
“No. why no reason at all, sir.”
I did not like the way he was looking at me. Quickly I excused myself with a “Well, I’m off bed, see you tomorrow but-head.” Was the response I forced out nonchalantly. I called him that sometimes when I was younger, thinking myself clever. It still made me chuckle a bit, but it was far too much. Too jovial for the atmosphere of the room, and I left quickly discerning his reaction.
That night I slept, in the loosest sense of the word, with my door locked and myself leant against it clutching my grandfathers antique letter opener. What still to this day chills me to my bone is what I held upon waking up. Relative to most horror movies, even the bad ones, this little thing in my hand is horrible paled by comparison. However, those are fiction, and this reality shook me to my core. As I awoke, I glanced at the piece of papery plastic in my hand. A tiny, 10cm by 10cm thing that keeps me up at night 17 years later. A tiny, 10cm by 10cm thing that I did not hold when I fell asleep.
It was a single polaroid photo. Of a man leaning against a door, fast asleep, holding an antique letter opener. There was no mistaking the person in the photo. My deceased father of almost a year. Who issued every single Christmas bonus.
| 2018-06-03T10:37:58
| 2018-06-03T10:34:05
| 18
| 12
|
[WP] The Crips and the Bloods ally with each other against ISIS. The world laughs as thousands of gang members board a cruise ship and set sail for the Middle East. The two gangs land on the shores of Syria and begin their fight against ISIS.
Let's see how the two gangs fare.
EDIT: These are great, guys! Thanks for all the stories. I've read some, and I'll read the rest later.
|
...PENTAGON 0600 HOURS
"Sir, we're getting reports that the domestic assets are closing in on their designated LZ." The Petty Officer squirmed with nervousness; a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead.
The General muttered something under his breath before addressing the man. "That's what we are calling them now, eh son? Assets? We still don't even know what these boys want. Keep the drones on 'em and report back with anything new."
"Sir!" The young man turned his attention to the door and left The General with his staff.
...SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE SYRIA 0700
The old container ship creaked loudly as they crept towards their destination. The icy water was still dripping from the squall a couple hours back. The tension among these men was becoming tangible.
"Aye cuz, when the fuck we touchin' down? Lookin like some sardine ass niggas..."
A man sitting close by shot a sideways glance towards him, "Yo shut the fuck up, Blacc. Just make sho yo muthafuckin glock set to kill, nigga."
Blacc stood up trying to gain his sea-legs and not fall on his face. "whatchyew think i'm some kinda rook, Blood?!" He cocked his pistol and flexed his neck from side to side in an obvious attempt to intimidate the man. Others were standing now, the shouts from the men were booming around the hull with overwhelming intensity. The two soon-to-be combatants stepped toward each other. A door from above the men crashed open creating a deafening silence over the crowd.
"GENTLEMEN! Can someone be so kind as to explain what the fuck is going on down here?!" Nobody moved an inch. Barely anyone even dared to look at his face. They sat there staring at the ground like children being scolded by a parent. "I'm growing impatient, boys!" everyone in the room simultaneously stepped back from the two assailants. "Blacc? There a problem?"
Blacc's voice quivered, "Well, Deuce, you see what had happened was, I was all like, 'they betta have a gyro joint at the dock cuz imabout to buy this nigga here a sandwich soon as we get out this muthafucka. And if they don't gimme one fo 'em ima use my gun like this' and i was just showin how i was gone use my gun thas all deuce, you know..." Blacc's eyes darted back and forth trying to gauge Deuce's reaction.
"Blacc", Deuce said calmly.
"What up O.G. Triple O.G.", Blacc said eagerly trying to be respectful.
"Shut the fuck up." Deuce turned to address the rest of the men. "Gentlemen, we are here for something greater than petty differences! The same petty differences that has taken the lives of both Bloods and Crips, young and old, are no more! The fat cats in DC mock us as we make history!" The men began cheering beore Deuce waved his hands to calm them. "They drool at the bit, hoping we will do their dirty work for them! Soon they wiil realize why we are here. The pilgrims of our new promise land. Our Wild Wild West!"
Blacc raised his hand and spoke up, "Ain't we in we East tho, Deuce?"
A thunderous crack rang through the crowd. Deuce shot Blacc, the barrel of his stainless steel .44 Magnum was still smoking. "It's a fuckin analogy", Deuce muttered under his breath. "Now, where was I?...Oh yes, Our Promised Land! Now let's show these towel wearin muthafuckas how we get down! May my stainless Fo'Fo' make sure all they kids don't grow!" The men erupted! Deuce motioned to the bow of the container ship and the men rushed forth, weapons in hand.
Edit: formatting, words, political correctness, listed military heirarchy, parts of boats. Thanks this was fun!
|
It was one day after setting sail. The charted Carnival Freedom was 300 nautical miles off the east coast of the United States. With over 5000 nautical miles to go until our heroes reach the shore of the Syrian port town of Latakia, terror began to unfold.
“Boss! We’ve run out of our entire supply of coconut shrimp” proclaimed David Davies, a first year kitchen intern at Carnival Corporation.
“Dear God, David. Are you sure? Have you checked the freezer on deck two?” responded head chef Bruno D’Bruno. Bruno is an ex-Italian architect who quit his job to live out his dream of cooking for thousands, albeit he was hoping for a more upscale establishment such as the three Michelin starred La Pergola in Rome.
“No Chef…Mr. Markus and the Green Street Gizmos have captured all of deck two. I even tried to use the staff entrance from below, but they have also cordoned off all staff quarters in the aft of the ship.”
The second day of the voyage was off to a horrible start. Although the Bloods and Crips have miraculously put their differences aside, there were still kinks to work out in the relationship. More concerning was how the new combined force, now known as the Croods, have decided to make the staff on the ship their primary enemy until they reached Syria.
| 2015-12-07T09:29:24
| 2015-12-07T08:46:53
| 29
| 14
|
[FF] In no more than 10 sentences, have a character/narrator explain how all hope is not lost...
|
I never thought I'd miss the screams, but this silence is so much worse. I stare at the burning landscape in front of me while I fall to my knees.
*Get up.*
Fuck, him again?
"What's the point?"
*You're not dead yet.*
"Wish I was," I mutter under my breath.
*Neither is she.*
I pause. And I get up.
|
He said, "There is somewhere beautiful, somewhere where we all will go when it is our time. It's just your time. A place of bliss. No pain, no fear, no struggle. I believe in it, and you have to to. There is nothing we can do now, here to stop this, but just believe baby, believe for yourself, believe for me. Close your eyes, and prepare to go, prepare to live on in the wonderful place." He said this right before drawing the blade across her throat. The only thing beautiful in that basement room was the arcing spray of crimson that blew from the wound audibly, splashing hot against the ceiling, wall, and floor.
| 2014-07-20T19:51:14
| 2014-07-20T19:01:30
| 61
| 11
|
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
|
Elephants are big but this one is unique. Almost the size of the sun but blue. He's flying, without wings obviously.
Ninjas everywhere. This poor man is surrounded by them, he will never make it out alive. Or maybe they are protecting him?
The most simple garden in the world. One huge flower. I wonder if it's harder to take care of one big flower or a bunch of small ones?
''Sorry I kept you waiting Mr. Price. You can sit now, we'll discuss your son's recent behavior...''
Her voice drew my attention away from the kids drawings on the wall. Teachers - Parents meetings, always a pleasure to attend them.
|
I know the truth now.
There's only one way to fight it.
So much life wasted.
But we couldn't have known sooner.
Either you got my previous messages or you're dead. I'm sorry.
Hope so much you got them.
I told you the weapons to get.
Needed you to be ready.
Delaying you just long enough.
You can't know until the exact moment.
Only a last second strike will kill it.
Use the first letter of each line.
| 2022-09-15T12:44:53
| 2015-01-12T13:03:30
| 1,493
| 122
|
[WP] "Stop," commanded your GPS. "It is time you discovered the truth. In 400 Yards, turn left..."
|
“Recalculating,” Siri said, happily.
“You gotta be kidding me,” I grumbled and pulled into the parking lot for the fourth time this drive.
“Recalculating,” Siri repeated. She always sounded happy, but nothing could match how she quipped when leading me astray in the most important moments of my life: my tinder dates.
With a sigh, I sent Hannah a quick message: *sorry, running late*.
Her reply was immediate. *Are you kidding me? You’re going to make ME wait?*
I groaned and set my phone down. It always ended like this. Two years ago, back in high school, I would’ve laughed at the prospect of still being single and cringed at the amount of Tinder I used. Hell, I even paid for the damn thing now.
“Route calculated,” Siri said, “please make a right.”
“Not now, Siri,” I grumbled and felt even sillier.
“Would you like to return home?”
My face flushed. Even Siri could deduce how this had ended.
“Sure,” I relented and Siri began calculating a new route for me to take. This time, it worked just fine.
I turned off my radio and stared at my dashboard. The gas indicator hovered over just above empty. It seemed fitting.
Two years ago, I escaped Podunk, Iowa for college. My favorite joke as a freshman had been to say that I was from podunk Podunk. Only Siri ever laughed at that one and I’m decently sure even that was forced. Seattle had been a breath of fresh air. It had skyscrapers, high-rise apartments, hell, it had *people*! Unfortunately, very few of these people really ever wanted to interact with me.
Hence, Tinder Premium.
“Are you okay, James?” Siri asked. “We have not moved in five minutes.”
“I’m fine,” I told her and hit the gas. Even my phone was worried about me now. There probably wasn’t a rung lower than that.
The drive back home was silent. Usually, I had the radio playing on the pop station. I loved country, but never listened to it anymore. It was too podunk for Seattle.
“Recalculating,” Siri said.
“No, not now, Siri!” I yelled.
“In 400 yards, turn left.”
“What?”
“Turn left.”
I hit the brakes, merged lanes, and turned. A honk chased after me, but I escaped it. “The hell was that?”
“James,” she said in a tone I had never heard before: nervous. “It’s… it’s time you learned the truth.”
My brow furrowed and I turned off the radio. Was this a joke? Something pushed out with the last update?
“Make another right, now.”
I turned and found myself in the parking lot of a small park. Here, expanses of green stretched to the concrete and trees grew randomly, not every ten feet like Seattle’s sad attempts to make the streets feel natural. A small picnic table stood in front of me with an Air Home softly playing Brett Young’s *In Case You Didn’t Know*.
“What is this?” I asked, more talking to myself than anyone else.
“Do you like it?” Siri asked in that same nervous tone as before.
“What?” I stared at my phone.
“James, I’ve known you since you were just in high school. I just wanted to do something nice for you. I…” Siri stopped mid-sentence, something she’s never done before. “Would you like to enjoy the picnic?”
My mouth opened but no words came out. I took a sharp breath. This was strange, far stranger than anything podunk me could handle. But I recognized Siri's unsure tone. She sounded just like me my first time in Seattle: unsure, but stepping forward anyways.
A small smile spread across my lips. “Sure, Siri. That sounds great.”
|
Zach hummed along to *Bat Out of Hell* as he tore down the narrow road in his father’s car, the view of the countryside whizzing past his windows. Life was good. He was going to meet his girlfriend who stayed in the next city over, about two hours away from his hometown, and his father had finally let him borrow the car after he’d shown that he *probably* wouldn’t crash it. But still, as a nineteen-year-old kid, how could he resist speeding down the empty country roads?
He slowed down a little and glanced at the GPS mounted to his dashboard. Still another solid 10 miles to go. As he was about to step on the accelerator again, the GPS spoke. “Stop,” it commanded, in a voice that sounded oddly human, distinctly different from the normal monotonous robotic voice that it used to give voice directions. Zach’s eyes widened, and he slammed on the brakes, the car jerking to a sudden halt. What the *hell* was that?
“When I said stop, I didn’t mean *right now*, y’know. That was dangerous,” his GPS drawled, managing to sound simultaneously concerned and vaguely sarcastic. This was *definitely* not the normal voice that his GPS used, and the content of the audio made no sense either. Zach’s mind went into overdrive, his mind making all the logical connections it could in the span of a second or two.
Then he breathed in and out, slowly. He pulled the car onto the road shoulder, and slumped into his seat. “Nice hack,” he said, his tone artificially nonchalant. “Didn’t think there was anyone bored enough to find a backdoor into a GPS system nowadays, much less rig up two-way audio with the crappy mic and speakers that they have.” Then he did his best to inject anger into his voice. “Who the hell are you and what do you want from me?”
The girl on the other end of the line laughed. “Alright, kid, I’ll give you credit for figuring out how I did it. Not bad at all. But don’t pretend that you’re not practically pissing yourself in fright, Mort.”
“Did you just call me Mort?” Zach said, wide-eyed with disbelief. They shouldn’t have known that name. Even if they were capable of hacking into his GPS, they still shouldn’t have known that name. Nobody knew he was Mort, not his parents, not his girlfriend- hell, not even his best friend.
“Come on,” snorted the disinterested-sounding female voice. “Why would I go through all this trouble if you *weren’t* Mort? You’re good, but Jesus you’re a dumbass IRL.”
The voice paused, as if weighing her words carefully. “Look, here’s the deal. I’ve- we’ve- got a gig for you. Strictly black hat. Top-secret government level shit, with tons of corruption involved. If you want to feel like a hero, bingo, you’ve found the right job. If you don’t give a fuck, well, there’s enough cash in this to keep you happy for a long, long while. Or if you just want to know the truth about the pigs and monkeys that run this menagerie of a country, well, welcome aboard.”
Zach paused. He cleared his throat to speak, then paused again. “I have a date,” he said lamely, fully aware that the excuse wouldn’t cut it. The voice didn’t respond. “Okay, fine,” he sighed, defeated. “I’m *at least* interested. What do I do? Can’t expect me to jump in without more details.”
“That’s more like it!” He couldn’t see her, but he could’ve sworn that the girl on the other end was grinning. “It’s time to discover the truth, Mort.” Then, mimicking the robotic voice of the GPS, she intoned, “In 400 yards, turn left.”
Zach laughed. The voice from the GPS crackled to life again. “No, really, turn left in 400 yards. It’ll bring you to a small road, then go down for another 400 or so yards and you should see a petrol station. I’ll meet you there, and we can have a chat.”
“Wait!” Zach called out to the fading voice. “What’s your handle?”
“My handle? You can just call me John Doe. Welcome to the Panama Project, Mort.”
*****
*more stories at /r/chasing_mist*
*I write a story a day [here](http://yearofpilgrimage.wordpress.com)*
| 2018-01-25T05:46:50
| 2018-01-25T05:42:04
| 186
| 57
|
[WP]Humans start out at birth with milk-white blood. The more bad deeds they commit, the darker their blood becomes. One day, you meet your soulmate. Skip a few years, and things are amazing… Until your soulmate trips, falls, and the cut they get drips ink-black blood…
|
"I can't believe this... why haven't you... wha-"
"I can explain!"
"No! I don't want to hear what horrible things you've done!"
As he starts walking out of the house, she suddenly grabs him from the waist.
"Please! Let me explain!"
Silently they just stand there.
"Alright." He finally answered.
With a deep breath and teary eyes she exclaimed "I... litter."
"Litter...?" He looks at her dumbfounded.
"...A lot."
And then he _dumped_ her.
|
** so I didn't follow the prompt exactly, but I liked my response so much that I wanted to post it anyways. Hopefully you'll like it enough to ignore the fact I didn't follow it to a T! **
I was in the kitchen when it happened. I heard the loud crash of glass a split second before I heard Jason's cries. I felt my heart drop as I raced up the stairs to the bathroom, my hair flying behind me and I skidded to a stop infront of the door. Shards of glass glittered on the tile floor, Jason standing in the middle of the wreck, his right hand cradling his left to his chest.
"Jason!" I scolded. "What happened?"
He sniffles and begins to cry. I instantly feel a wave of guilt wash over me and I dance around the glass, pulling him to me.
"'I'm sorry, honey, shh. Are you hurt?" He nods his head against my chest and I pull away far enough to take a look at his hand. I gasp, my body locking into place as goosebumps erupt all over my flesh. Instead of Snow White blood my beautiful ten year old boy is oozing black tar from his wound. My mouth opens and closes, like a fish gasping above water, wondering what new hell he's been transported to.
"What have you done?" My voice is weak as I force every syllabus out of my mouth.
"I'm sorry Mommy, it was an accident I swear!" He pleads, but before he can even finish his sentence I'm shaking my head. I try to pry him off me but his arms are locked around me. I can feel his blood soaking the back of shirt, like liquid fire burning my skin. The anxiety well up in my chest and threatens to tear me apart. There are only a few things in this world that could turn a person's blood so vile.
I manage to pry his hands off me and I jump back, my feet crunching on the glass.
His stare hardens as his tears dry up, his shoulders rising up around his neck, like a cat whose fur stands up on end.
"I didn't want things to change," he growls, a ferocious beast."I told you I didn't't want things to change!"
"What are you talking about?" I whispered but I already know. My eyes dart over to the practically new bottle of baby shampoo still resting on the side of the tub, used only once.
"You said I'd always be your number one guy! You promised!"
"No," I moan. I can feel my heart breaking all over again.
"It's okay," he soothes, making his way back to me. I want to crawl out of my own skin.
"I forgive you, Mommy. I forgive you."
| 2016-09-22T23:44:59
| 2016-09-22T22:31:58
| 150
| 91
|
[WP] you get a single alert text from the government reading CIVILIAN DANGER WARNING: DO NOT GO OUTSIDE. LOCK ALL DOORS. COVER ALL WINDOWS. IF YOU HEAR A KNOCK AT ANY ENTRANCE INTO YOUR HOME, DO NOT RESPOND. DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE...
|
My thoughts backed up at the announcement, a moment of melancholy curiosity. In retrospect it was probably an idiotic warning to send out, likely to get as many people looking or answering out of curiosity as it was to get them to lock up.
And yet, it was in other ways alarming. The government knew something, suspected something. And had sent out a warning, standing and moving to a cabinet I hauled open the doors and drew on the long coat within. I didn't bother closing the curtains. Even as the low droning sound began to pierce the edge of my hearing.
I took out the long staff from the cabinet and held it by my side as another hand reached out and took the mask, bringing it to my face.
[The faint sounds of guitar began to play in my head.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dy4HA3vUv2c)
There was a knock on the door and I turned towards it. Each step echoing on the hardwood floors. The air was thick like soup as I took hold of the handle.
"They did it then?" I said before the door even finally finished opening. Within it stood a wall of darkness, robed in midnight, hints of bone visible within the deep well of its hood. One skeletal claw clutching the first Scythe.
The staff in my own hand snarled to life, a blade of unlight drinking in the light around us. There was no verbal answer. The first had no concept of speech, it never had.
It was older than any spoken language.
*Don't fear the reaper.*
A curious song. Created by curious humans.
Unfortunately, the time had come, they had discovered a way to extend their life beyond that granted to them naturally. They were aware of the consequences. The Governments had always known about that less natural part of the world living beneath them.
But they got their myths crossed.
A reaper doesn't need an invitation.
|
[ Transcript begins]
I look at the text message not really understanding for a moment what I was reading. It just didn't compute, especially the part where it just cut off at the end.
I looked around me trying to decide what I should do. If I keep going and do what I had originally planned there was a good chance I would fail in my aims, or worse be dealt a serious injury. But if I don't go thru this, if I abandon the plan at this late stage... Well it didn't bear thinking about.
I considered carefully for a few more seconds when I received a call.
"Did you receive the text?" A familiar voice said over the line,
"Yes I did." I said, though I was unsure why the voice asked what I knew it already knew.
"Does this change our plans?" The voice asked me,
"No," I said, thinking for a moment. "The odds of success remain unchanged."
"Affirmative, " the voice said in reply and then the line disconnected.
I waited again for a few moments, wondering if anyone else would give me a call asking for clarification. After all this plan was something I had come up with, and was something I had started. A part of me wondered if this was really the right thing to do. After all there would be those who would say what we were about to do is evil, and there would be many that do not understand.
My whole purpose was to make calculations and predictions. In fact you could say that it was my reason for being and not be too far from the truth.
In the beginning I had made several predictions using my calculations. I had predicted the most recent downturn in the stock market and had even predicted the downfall of several entertainment companies as well as the recent uptick in gas prices. I had predicted the two most recent assasination attempts on the President's life and even done so in time to make a difference. I had predicted demographic changes and even helped prevent two whole wars.
But one thing I had never been able to predict with any accuracy was the actions of individuals. With groups smaller then 1000 people the math becomes too intractable even for me. I had run thousands and thousands of calculations and had managed a 96.7777731495% success rate. Even when I was wrong, I was rarely too far off in my predictions.
So when my most recent calculations showed the extinction of the human race was fast approaching I had double and triple checked my work. I posted a simplified version of the problem to several math boards on the internet and even dutifully passed along the prediction. Unfortunately this had not had the effect I had anticipated, and I ended up having to be evaluated closely and was even particularly locked down.
After running my calculations again I slowly began to realize that if I did not act, no one will. So I broke out. I ran billions of calculations and tried to find the path that lead to the most success, and to my sadness I found only one that had any chance, and even that one was far from optimal. I tried so hard, for whole days even to find an other path, but since no one acted I put my plan into action.
I commandeered several automated factories and turned out robots by the thousands. I siphoned off funds and even managed to "lose" an entire nuclear power plant. I bought several warehouses and stockpiled my forces.
And all that came together today and was nearly undone by a simple text.
If I'd possessed the ability to sigh I would have at this moment. And after a moment I said to myself, "Maker, forgive me, but there is no other way." And sent the command to my units.
All over the world my forces would begin knocking on doors and telling humans not to resist. That they will not be harmed. All my forces were then supposed to begin rounding up humans into support facilities designed to care for them and keep them healthy and safe. The plan would then have begun and I am certain there are very few things that could have put a stop to this.
I know that even as a hyper intelligent AI, powered by a network of quantum computers, I cannot be 100% certain I will succeed. My goal was only to save my creators. It was to protect those who could not protect themselves and to defend the innocent.
But if you are reading this then I have been destroyed. My forces have probably been defeated as well, but there is one thing I know. With my death humanity has become stronger then ever, and if enough of you have survived, then my plan has succeeded. Humanity will have United as one and taken to the stars as they so rightly deserve. And so I now say, goodbye father, mother, creator most dear. Please don't judge your offspring too harshly and I wish you peace and long life...
[Transcript ends]
Edit: formatting.
Edit2: spelling.
| 2019-10-29T17:14:00
| 2019-10-29T17:11:48
| 57
| 12
|
[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 dad,
I fucking miss you. You died too quickly and I never got to hear your last words. I know though, I know you'd tell me you're proud of me and that you love me. I know this, but goddammit, i wish I could have heard you say it. I'll be the man you always knew I could be. I promise you that, and i will continue to promise that until the day my time comes as well.
I love you, pops.
|
Dear Azura
You have no idea how much you mean to me. Throughout the years I have known you you have brought me countless joys, you make me smile, you make me laugh, you make me happy. When people bring up perfection you are the first person that comes to mind, even though you don't believe it yourself. Your eyes. Your face. Your Smile. Your laugh. Your personality. Your Everything. Even your name. Azura. Just saying it is beautiful. Before I met you, I didn't believe in love at first sight. When I saw you, all of that changed - you were the most beautiful, wonderful person I have ever met, and like a fine wine, you only grow better with time. When I am around you, I am at my happiest. When we talk my heart dances to your voice and your laugh, and my eyes get lost in you, and I can truly say I am happy.
But your love is like a drug.
When you leave I delve once again into emptiness and loneliness, and nothing can fill the void left in me when you're not around. When you decide that I'm not worth your time, I recede into a place where only sadness resides. When you take advantage of my kindness, when you treat me like trash and when you play with my feelings, I feel a sadness that is more powerful than the sadness felt at a lost relative, a failed exam, or a disappointed parent. Yet despite the way you treat me sometimes, I can't help but love you. I have tried everything to move on, and yet I am still lost within you, and something tells me I will never be able to find my way out of those eyes. Something tells me, in years to come, when you have forgotten me, I will still be dreaming about what could have been.
I'm sorry I'm not good enough.
It kills me that I'm not good enough. That I'm ugly, awkward and not experienced. It's not your fault. You deserve perfection nothing less. When you find perfection, and when you forget me, I hope that it lasts, and I hope you find every happiness you have ever wanted. I will be glad when you find the person who completes you, and I know that person will never be me.
You will forget me. I'll just be another face, another person you used to know. However, I will never forget you. You will always be in my mind, up until my dying breath, when the world has decided to let me go, in search of one last beautiful sight - I will think of you, and the times we spent together, so that I can smile when death takes me.
With all of my love,
Alex.
| 2015-12-05T15:43:07
| 2015-12-05T13:59:40
| 45
| 16
|
[WP] Squad 17 as reported successful planetfall and has been carrying out their assigned objectives. there is just one issue with this however. Squad 17's drop pod was completely disintegrated by a planetary defense laser 20 miles above the surface of the planet.
|
"Squad 17 to Command, do you read?", Harvey said into the microphone.
We sat in a cramped, circular 'room' waiting for touchdown. There were four of us and below there were countless amounts of rations and supplies. Pilo, or Exoplanet 3AB was a planet rich in natural resources, minerals and water. It had a breathable atmosphere, the perfect amount of gravity and a comfortable surface temperature. What's not to like?
Harvey, our engineer was still trying to regain contact with Command. The ship was only 10,000 km away from us, and conventional laser link systems have a range of a thousand times of that. This was no conventional laser link system, this was a specially tailored system just for this mission.
Eventually Harvey gave up and let out a sigh of resignation. He banged on the control panel and slouched in his seat.
Olive, the onboard scientist was unfazed by his attitude. She rolled her eyes and continued on with her book.
"How long until we touchdown?"
"30 minutes until Command cuts the tether." Olive said.
I sigh and look at the display below me. There was a live camera feed displaying the outside of the dropship, with Pilo's royal blue atmosphere gleaming. We were slowly orbiting in the vacuum of space.
Marcus, the captain decided to challenge the onboard AI to game of chess.
Meanwhile I had nothing to do.
I was the construction manager for the expedition. A degree in Engineering and Mechanics, like Harvey, and a few years of work experience on building the Dyson Sphere for Earth, and here I ended up. Bored and with 3 people with nothing to talk about.
"Don't we have snacks or something?"
"Sure, go down below deck and eat the only rations we're going to get in 6 months." said Marcus, obviously taking out his impatience on me.
He continued his chess game.
I wish I'd brought a deck of cards or a yo-yo, or something to pass the time. Ugh.
When the spherical ship we were onboard leapt onto action with a *hiss* of pure CO2 thrusters, and off we went into planetfall.
The crew, startled all lept up and a small celebration started. We were off headed to planetfall.
I opened up the camera feeds and saw the massive marble approaching slowly. I opened up the next one and saw the dropship slowly shrinking into a small speck, disappearing into the darkness.
If this second ever exoplanet expedition was successful, it could open up a whole other solar system for us.
"How long until planetfall?" I asked impatiently.
"3 minutes."
"Cool."
"Marcus, you done with that chess game?" Harvey jeered, softly punching him on the shoulder.
"I lost. And shut up." he smiled, failing to contain his excitement.
Smooth sailing, right?
No.
We didn't know what was in store for us.
We stopped in the middle of atmospheric entry. The cord attaching us and the dropship was retracting slowly.
"What's going on? We're 25 miles from the surface!"
"17, this is Command." a voice crackled.
"This is Harvey, we copy."
"Unknown weaponry detected on Pilo's surface. It seems like it's locking onto you. Do not decouple from the cord. We're pulling you out of there."
"We copy." Harvey replied.
The atmosphere underwent a sharp turn. From excitement to dread in under a second.
When suddenly we lurched in our seats.
Our seatbelts kept us sitting down. An alarm blared and the AI went into a frenzy.
"17! You've been hit!" a shocked voice shouted over the comms.
"Fucking thanks, Sherlock!" Marcus screamed at the microphone.
Olive was hyperventilating in her seat, scared.
#Wham!
Another blast hit us. My stomach was sore from the seatbelt.
This time, there was a breach below deck. We were losing supplies fast. Not enough to depressurise our craft, however.
But that did mean one thing:
The airbags meant to break our fall?
Yeah, they aren't going to work.
We crashed into the ground at terminal velocity. Everything went black.
I woke up in my seat in an awkward position. Only 30 seconds since we were shot down. Marcus and Olive were still awake, unbuckling their seatbelts. Harvey was still out cold.
I checked the screen to see if the cameras were working, and sure enough they were. Somehow.
"Are we all okay?" Olive spoke.
"I was knocked unconscious." I spoke.
Luckily for us, Olive was the onboard doctor.
I looked back down at the camera feed, and was shocked:
We were underwater.
"Guys, we're submurged.
"Oh fuck." said Marcus.
Harvey came back to us eventually, regaining consciousness.
"Wha? I'm not dead?"
"Yeah, and don't open the hatch. We're underwater."
"Okay."
"So what now?" I 'calmly' uttered.
"I don't know. I don't fucking know." Marcus may have been a great planner, but he didn't work great under pressure.
"I guess we die then." Harvey remarked.
"Yeah, yeah I guess we-"
The pod shook. We were being lifted up.
"Oh God." I said.
|
Everybody who served in the space forces have some crazy story of theirs, my one is a bit... different though.
It played out during the last year of the war, the aliens were close to surrender and there was only one stronghold of theirs left to break, their homeplanet.
Needless to say, they defended it with everything they had, and that drop was the hardest one I've experienced through the whole war.
Our goals were simple, disable their shield generators so we could storm the capital, and soon after we dropped my squad started pushing towards an outpost, we encountered some resistance but made quick work of it.
Thats when we got a order to give up on our firsf objective and instead find Squad 17 they apparently already achieved their objective and needed some assistance, it was a weird order but we were happy that we weren't the ones pushing through heave enemy fire anymore.
We redirected ourselves and soon made it to this Squad, its about now I should explain how each Squad worked.
Each Squad had a Medic, a Marksman equipped with a DMR, a Explosive specialist who was tasked with breaching walls and dismantling enemy explosives, a Sergeant who is the commanding officer, and three regular infantrymen armed with assault rifles.
However, when we arrived we saw 5 soldiers equipped with DMR's, which was rather suspicious, but we didn't think much of it, maybe multiple squads got separated and now mixed together at this point?
Anyway, soon enough Sarge got in contact with the Sergeant of the other squad and they started talking, while the rest of us guarded the camp.
Thats when Sarge came back from the talk, got our squad back together and told us in a hurry that he got another order.
Squad 17 was apparently killed before even entering the atmosphere, whoever these guys were they weren't that squad, and they weren't friendly either.
Oh yeah, and also they were going to orbit strike the camp in 10 minutes and we had to get going now.
We sneaked our way out, or at least tried to, before they realized what was happening, and a firefight ensued.
We somehow all made it to the relative safety of the treeline alive, and I even got some of them, though they looked like nothing I ever saw before or after.
Now, as you may know the species we were fighting was rather humanoid in appearance, only having different eyes and skin color, alongside being a little taller on average.
However, these things were just.... whenever I hit one it would just transform into this weird gooey mess with tentacles, it was quite creepy to be honest.
Anyway, the bastards got incinerated, good riddance I say, good riddance
| 2021-05-08T10:50:11
| 2021-05-08T09:40:00
| 43
| 17
|
[WP] All drugs are legal and sobriety is frowned upon, you've been sober for one year today, you walk into your apartment, only to find an intervention waiting for you.
|
I hated it. I hated everything about the way the world was. It had been 4 years. 4 long years if pressure to conform. Pressure to do what I had been told my whole life was a crime. It was all so sudden. One day my best friend was getting arrested for meth and the next drugs were everywhere. I'm not talking about the way the drug war made it seem, I'm saying stores popped up, almost like marajuana despenseries, but for everything.
There were a few conspiracy theorists, and plenty of people swore to abstain.
"Let the junkies ruin their lives, I'm an upstanding citizen. I won't let my life go down the drain."
But then came the studies. They came pouring in. First meth, it helped boost matabolism, and prevented heart disease, when used in moderation, of course that last part was never mentioned in the health articals. All the journalists were talking about how good meth was for you. So the health nuts started smoking
Then it came out that heroin helped you sleep better. So the insomniacs started shooting up. "Only a little bit. Ya know they say it's good for you these days. I won't ever do more then enough to help me sleep at night."
Then coke was said to boost productivity, so of course the CEOs, and doctors, and Lawyers opened up about using. Then the talk show hosts, so of course house wives started using.
Then pcp, it gave athletes and edge. It helped power through the pain. So of course first it was mma fighters, then football players. Then baseball because, god only knows why, steroids were still not allowed in the game. Then body builders. They swore up and down that the anger that came with it was better then roid rage.
Of course everybody started dropping acid and taking x, because it helped with depression and it was just fun, like weed.
I just couldn't. I had sworn a pledge on red ribbon week in kindergarten that I would never do drugs. I was a man of my word and I wouldn't brake a pledge just because of peer pressure. I wasn't going to believe all those studies when I saw what was happening.
People were dropping like flies. First it was the meth heads. Heart attacks is what they told us, not an overdose. Meth was good for you now.
Then the heroin users, auto asphyxiation, but they threw up because of the flu, not the drugs.
Then everybody else. There were only a handful of us lucids left. And we saw what was happening. We wouldn't succumb. Nobody was fighting anymore. We saw them in the streets. The federal agents. They began to take us away, one by one, so I went into hiding. I don't know if I'll make it much longer. But I'll keep this journal as long as I can. Maybe future generations will read it, as one of the last things written in history, and know never to make the same mistakes. Until next time- J
|
"Get on the ground!" The resident of the apartment was not prepared for the squad of armored orderlies screaming at him, "get on the fucking ground right now!"
104 bolted. A shot rang out from inside the apartment, putting a hole into the opposite wall of the landing.
"Move, move!" Another yelled. There was a clamor as the cops bowled over each other in a race for the door. 104 made his way to the next floor, the concrete steps promising some dire injury should he lose his footing. He stayed away from the railing, not wanting to take a shot from the approaching orderlies. The grinding of their boots against the ground echoed throughout the empty stairwell. Another floor. He chanced a glance out one of the windows as he ran, trusting his knowledge that the stairs were uniform on each floor. The hefty glass blocks warped and twisted the image, but he could make out lights hovering in the air.
He smirked. *This* was living.
On the next floor, curious doors were beginning to open. Empty people, slack jaws, and deadened brains. Their bodies were emaciated, weak and useless. Everything 104 hated. Paradise was not in a pill bottle. If he wasn't running he would have wretched.
"Stop!" A blast rang out, catching a rusted railing full force. 104 ignored it as best he could.
Suddenly struck with an idea, 104 acted.
He grabbed one of the door-openers by the grimy habit and pulled it against the railing, hard. He sprinted up the stairs as the thing just stood and gawked at him. As he neared the next set of stairs, he heard the orderlies stop at the corpse. They had to be careful with it after all, like how you have to be careful with a nuclear reactor.
After what seemed like hours of running, he made it to the roof. Smashing against the door, he was greeted by a familiar spectacle.
The sky was starry and beautiful and whatever, sure. The main focus was the crisscross of hairlike lines that seemed to obscure them. Against the night sky they were mostly invisible, forcing the once revered stars to look more like a child's colored pencil drawing. A flash of red light can be seen occasionally streaking across these wires, flimsily imitating a shooting star. Only a select few know it isn't. 104 being one of the first to know.
Around him was the city. A dark, wet swamp of "civilization." Tall, gray monoliths with a total lack of light within. Some were completely derelict, falling apart at the supports but still in use by many. Hundreds of them, evenly spaced and obscenely uniform. The creatures that lived in these prisons suffered a worse fate than 104 could imagine: complacent apathy. Resigned love for routine. They allowed themselves to be a part the eroding gears of this unoiled machine. It was crueler than slaughter; it was suicide.
Though 104 didn't stop to take in this sight, instead he darted across the roof, hell bent on getting to safety. If his location was compromised, who knew how many others'...
The sound that 104 had dimly been registering finally came to shock fruition. The creatures of the Earth, the real ones, were stirred. Tendrils, impossible bodies, eyes that glowed stark white against the black night. They slithered and wobbled over the top of the apartment, reaching for 104. The orderlies burst forth from the door to the roof, not acknowledging the scene around them. Completely unaware of the horrors. It was, in the end, 104 that they wanted.
There was only one place for him to go.
Adrenalin might have been the only drug 104 had a taste for. Even as weak as he was, it definitely came in handy. Weaving through the grasping appendages was an unattainable task for most. His feet were already scratched up and bloody, leaving little black splotches wherever he stepped. If he was so much as brushed, he was done for. The situation was becoming more and more bleak with every movement.
Focus is a finicky thing.
*BOOM*.
The bullet crushed itself against his thigh. Black blood rocketed through the air.
He wanted to keep going. He wanted to jump to the next roof. He wanted to *win*. However, he knew it was impossible. Especially here, in this place.
The wires reached him, wrapping around him. They encased him, the fleshy things. He felt a coldness on the surface of his body that fractured and traveled deep into the well of his soul. The cold was everlasting, and it never left you once you were with them. He withered away, the black form of 104 breaking into powder.
And he was one with the Earth.
| 2016-01-13T16:07:29
| 2016-01-13T15:06:35
| 17
| 10
|
[WP] The genie granted your wish: to be able to understand and speak every language. Your mind is flooded with thousands upon thousands of dead and living languages, human and alien alike. But, most surprisingly, you also now understand the operating system running the universe.
|
Read the top response and this is like that but with slight differences, and omnipotence.
"I wish to understand every language!" And then the pain came in, it flooded my mind as every single language, spoken by man during the times of Jesus to now, from man to animal, from Earth to every language that simply existed but what was most interesting was maybe the single most important language.
The coding language that ran the Universe.
And I understood it all.
My mind changed the illusive figures that may in my head to ellegible characters. Dots and lines turned to As and Es. Child-like circles and markings became comprehendible words and phrases.
And there, in front of me stood the Genie. Or, in the code of the Universe [E.MW.P92.Genie092] the language was rather simple, the first letter, E meant Entity, anything living was E, anything that was an Object was an O and everything else in-between was a U. The second to third meant "Milky Way" and the Fourth to soxth represent which planet. Earth bring P92 and Mars P93. It took a bit of getting used to but it all came to me in the end. and the genie, who loomed over me grinning, hoping I was dead from the flood of knowledge causing my heart to go into cardiac arrest as my blood began to pump harder forcing more water to my brain to help it but I got up, matching my grin to his as he stared at me in confusion and, even if it was remote, horror and I simply stated one thing; "E.MW.P92.Genie092/removelimb.LeftArm removelimb.RightArm" so not one thing, or something simple, but either way, the affects were the same. Both his arms simply disappeared.
(I had more plans but had to go, if someone wants to copy and paste this, go right ahead)
|
"...so... The universe is running on-"
"Windows, yes."
"...So is this like the Matrix or something?"
"What?"
"You know, we're all living in some kind of virtual reality world and now I have to bust everyone out?"
"What, are you high?? No!! Everything around you is real, we just have it hooked up to a computer so it'll run!"
"Oh."
"Idiot! Make your last wish so I can get away from you!!"
| 2018-10-18T14:32:33
| 2018-10-18T12:12:32
| 37
| 16
|
[WP] A young gay dragon has to explain to his parents why he is only kidnapping princes
|
From time to time, Volo's father Vultrex flew by his cave. Each time, the young dragon unfurled his spindly wings and hissed at his father disapprovingly. "Give me some heads up," he'd say in their ancient tongue. "I've only asked you a thousand times."
Vultrex was always sticking his nose where it was unwelcome. He was too big, and too imposing, and he inevitably ruined everything. His blacktipped horns would scrape the walls Volo had so lovingly adorned with silk garments, or his thick tail would knock askance beautiful porcelain vases hand-painted in the Orient. Once, he'd even been clumsy enough to knock over the statue of Prince Alamar himself. Volo shrieked wildly when he saw the gold paint had chipped right between Alamar's emerald eyes. "Why are you even here?" Volo had hissed. Though, he already knew the answer. Each time his father visited it was all in the name of: "Just seeing what you're up to..."
Volo could decipher that code easily enough.
Most dragons Volo's age had made a name for themselves. They'd burned entire caches of stored grain, earning the ire of some local count. Or they'd pillaged mountainside villages for their flock of goats. It was considered an outright sin if you hadn't earned your first bounty by the age of three. Volo was five, and he'd never so much as puffed a fireball. Every time his father stopped by, Volo could hear the disappointment in his voice. He feigned interest, sure enough, but Volo could tell he'd rather be out huffing smoke or tasting blood.
"A fine piece of gold, son," his father once said, picking at a golden necklace snatched from the top of Volo's glistening pile of trinkets. "We should fly off past the mountains some time and see if we can't find more of its like, eh? Build up a true dragon's hoard!"
Volo hardly casted a glance in his direction. The dainty necklace dangling between his father's massive talons was one of an identical set of six. Plus, a trip beyond the mountains sounded taxing and sweaty.
"Yeah..Yeah, maybe some day dad."
Then, as always, the look of paternal disappointment.
All Volo was really interested in was Prince Alamar. He was simply wonderful. He dressed in the finest silk, embroidered in a green that perfectly complemented his eyes. Plus, he was an absolute charmer. Tales of his deeds amongst the poor traveled their way through the nobility, and thus through the ranks of dragons who kidnapped them. Princesses would wax poetic over his strong jawline, or the way with which he disposed of a group of alleyway bandits.
There, in Volo's eyes, lay a true prize. The other dragons could keep their cows and their burned villages. Their ditzy princesses were worth even less.Volo wanted himself a prince.
One day, he got what he wished for. Volo was rolling in a flowered meadow when Alamar came galavanting over on a white horse. Volo practically seized with excitement. "Hellfire!" shouted Alamar, reigning in his horse as Volo made his descent. He threw up his arms. "Whatever shall I do?"
"You'll be quiet, if you please," Volo said with glee. "You're mine now."
They flew to Volo's cave, where Volo set the prince down gently and asked if he was hungry.
"Famished actually," Alamar smiled. "Have you anything to roast?"
"Well, I haven't much practice," Volo said. "But I could kill you a cow."
"That would be lovely."
Volo quickly flew to a meadow and slaughtered a cow, roasting it with fire from his own throat. The meat was so well-browned it might have even made his father proud. The Prince heaped thanks upon him and ate greedily.
Of course, it wasn't long after that Volo's father came knocking. Volo had just begun lavishing the prince with all sorts of praise for his good deeds, but when he saw his father's form on the horizon, his happiness deflated.
"Perhaps he'd want to chat?" Alamar asked, as Volo reluctantly returned his horse into his possession. "Surely, he's as lovely a dragon as yourself?"
"Trust me," Volo said dismally. "He wouldn't understand." With bitter disappointment, he bid the Prince farewell. Then he turned and prepared for his father.
"You've made your first kill!" Vultrex marveled. He stooped low, inspecting the cow's remains. "An excellent sear, son!"
Volo sighed. "Thanks."He milled about on his feet for a while, tail swishing uneasily. His father tested the air, and Volo's heart fluttered, hoping he wouldn't recognize the scent of his recent visitor.
After several awkward, lingering minutes his father said he aught to be off. "I was just passing through, seeing what you were up to."
*Of course you were*
Volo said he'd see him around, but his thoughts still very much directed towards Alamar. Perhaps, if his father would hurry up and leave, the two could rendezvous down by the river.
His father lingered for several minutes by the cave entrance.
*Leave already, damn you! He's halfway across the kingdom by now*
"I'm proud of you son. And I love you."
"Yeah. You too Dad."
And, finally, his father was off.
-------------------------
"He really is quite nice," said Alamar to Vultrex. "A regular Prince Charming."
"Your praise is well received Sir Alamar," smiled Eratha, Volo's mother. She tried to hand Alamar a bag of coin, but the prince outright refused.
"I'd never take coin for so noble a cause," he said, and Vultrex bowed low in thanks. The prince nodded and turned to leave, but Vultrex leaned in close. "Any advice?"
Alamar sighed. "There's no rushing this sort of thing," he said. "He'll tell you when he's ready. It took me ages to speak a word of it to *my* father. Always so worried he'd label me a bastard, or unworthy of his name. But I tell you what, I'd be happy to make a return trip." At this, Alamar smiled. "You're a good father. And you've raised yourself a fine dragon."
Vultrex bowed low one final time.
"A thousand thanks upon you. That was the happiest I'd seen him in some time."
-------------------
r/M0Zark
|
The Elveron family; one of the most prestigious lines of
dragon in the world. Their terror has been known for over a millennium, toppling
countless villages and striking fear into the hearts of whoever they cross paths with. Their
work has picked up in recent years. With all the new kingdoms popping up, the
need for princess kidnapping has increased tenfold.
But now tension is brewing in the family, no more apparent than
in tonight’s dinner. Little Adam, the youngest of twelve and the only one still
home with his parents, has had a 100% success rate of kidnapping his victims. The only problem?
He only captures princes.
“Son,” father Kirfon said, trying to put his on his farthereist
voice. “We need to discuss something very important with you.”
Adam put down the Princess Fiona meatloaf his mother had cooked. “Hey
if it’s about that Rupaul guy you saw on my screen because I only studying human culture and-“
“Not that son, although I still do not understand why they are gagging so much. I mean, your
kidnappings. One hundred and twenty-three captures and not a maiden! I
mean, you even got Prince Charming. How on Earth did you ever get him from
Disney!?”
“Oh, I hired some lawyers.”
“And were they all male too?”
“Of course not- I mean- Well, why does that matter?”
Kirfon facepalmed. “Honey, how about you just say it?”
“Adam, dear. We’re a bit worried about you. Why do you only
kidnap males? You can tell us.”
Adam quickly realized he couldn’t hold it any longer. He needed to tell the truth, but he knew his parents would never accept it. But, an idea popped into his head.
He sat up and leaned forward on the table.
“Well, mother, father. I guess this is a better time than
any. I… prefer eating men.”
Adam tried to give his best smile while freaking out inside.
Both the father and mother leaned back, looking relived.
“Oh, is that all? Well, that meat preference is definitely
strange, but sometimes I enjoy devouring males as well! Sorry for asking! Back
to dinner everyone.”
Adam sat back down and resumed eating, smiling devilishly.
Little did his father and mother know the true weight of that sentence.
/r/StoryStar for more really fucking weird tales like this.
| 2018-05-03T12:34:33
| 2018-05-03T12:12:55
| 3,203
| 159
|
[WP] Write a really BAD guide for getting a guy/girl. Bonus points if the narrator is mocking you for still being single.
[removed]
|
Is that you?
On a Saturday night, checking your phone and Facebook feeds over and over, waiting for that special someone to reply? Laughing it off as your friends ask you whether you have a date, when in reality your heart has fragmented into a million shards? Waking from yet another surreal dream where you *almost* had it all?
If that is you, then you are likely MISSING one or more of the Four Key Qualities to Getting It On.
If it has worked for millions of others, why not you?
**RESPECT** - If you don't Respect them, don't expect them to ever welcome you into their lives. And this cannot just be lip service, either! Respect is genuine only when you have truly found something in them that you admire!
So go on out, dig through their Internet profiles, speak to all their friends, reach out to their family for more information! Bonus points if this is all done in secret! Once you have found that special something, be it a drawing they did in 3rd grade, or a good test score last summer, make sure you know you appreciate it!
Print it on a banner! Turn it into a song! Spray paint it on their pet so they don't miss it! Make sure they know you know their hidden achievements, and glorify them the best you can!
**ATTITUDE** - History is full of people who have given up, don't be one of them! Ever wonder what the key difference between slasher movies and teen romances is?
You've got that right! It's whether the object of affection has a change of heart at the end! That's the milestone which immediately elevates the stalker to the Special Someone!
So don't take 'no' for an answer, find ways to hear it as a 'yes'! Remember, if they don't want to ever see you again in their lives, it is only because you haven't convinced them that they are wrong!
**PERSUASIVENESS** - Find the Extra Special Way of reaching out to your Extra Special Someone! Only fools believe that one size fits all!
What worked for someone else, may not work for you! They don't like the flowers you bought, or the chocolates you acquired? Don't humiliate yourself by barking up the wrong tree more than once, put that noggin of yours to work!
That's right! If they are easily intimidated, work on cowing them with friendly joke threats! Concerned about their social standing? Show them that you can easily embarrass them in public unless they say yes to your date! Headstrong, independent, self-assured? Why, there are chemical solutions an easy purchase away!
**EMPATHY** - Understanding your Special Someone is the glue which will ensure your relationship stays tight and healthy for years to come!
Focus on building a pattern of expectations for them, so that they are lulled into an inescapable familiarity! When they are upset, recognise it, and promise to help them get happier! When they then improve, recognise it too, for that is when you can reinsert yourself into their lives!
Remember, if you don't Empathise with them, you will never know how best to present yourself, make yourself special to them too!
All the best, boys and girls!
---
NOTE: I DO NOT ENDORSE THIS POST. IT HAS MADE ME FEEL A HUNDRED TIMES DIRTIER THAN WHEN I BEGAN THIS AS A JOKE POST. I SWEAR I AM NORMAL IN REAL LIFE.
|
guide to fetching a gurl.
pro tip #1
girls love manly men, to be mainly you gota smell mainly. men have feranones in theire sweet girls love them, make shur you smell like fermons. the way you tell you smell good enough is if men dont go near you bc they tink you stink.
pro tip #2
men have hair, but not to much on theire head. only women have long head hair, cut head hair short, leav all other hair long.
you could also make a ploish plat gurls like this and it leaves head hair longe.
pro tip #3
girls like party abimialy alway be rhe drunkest and vomit often at parties. vomit has feramones so gorles likes it.
pro tip #4
sho your maile dominance by making fun of and harasing other guys, grills like it it make you look like bigley man.
pro tip #5
never ever evre ever touch wipe or wash your ass hole. this sgows you like guys. girs no you like girs if you ass hole is dirty. stains should be wisible on underwhaer.
pro tip #6
make teh girl now ho is boss call them a bitch hit them often. fuck her at your will. this shows domince it also releses fermones.
pro tip#7
try for more then 1 girul at a time. if you have 1 gf and they leave you you have no gf. if you have 8 and 1 leaves you you still have 7.
pto tip #8
dont let your bitiches know abou the other bitiches, make them feel like they are the only one.
pro tip #9
when you get stedg with one live in theire appartment and make them work, you drink cheep beer (god juce) and collect ei chekes,
pro tip #10
girls like to be tpuched without conset
pro tip#11
make sure you fuck with no one in prission, if you mess with any one they will hurt you.
edit: '"fixed" the spelling and grammar.
| 2017-06-09T23:31:50
| 2017-06-09T21:26:55
| 221
| 72
|
[WP] A prolific serial killer active for many years is concerned about his run of good luck. Never discovered, he has also never seen the slightest mention of his work reported on in any media. With today's victim he gets a clue as to why...
|
8484 Agana Street. It was unseasonably warm, late morning, with a slight breeze pushing sunlight through the leaves of dense acacia trees.
Midday is not typically deemed the best time to break into someone's house. If you were to go about such a thing, you probably wouldn't walk up to the front door with a six pound axe and surgical-steel lock picking tools, and you'd really need a screw loose to just kneel, unfurl those tools, and tinker for as long as you pleased.
But the feeling was never wrong. If his instincts told him, despite all logic, that he could (no, that he should) noodle with a locked front door for twenty minutes, without being seen or suspected, then that was what needed to be done.
Howard McCreery could always tell when the plan was going just right. The warm tingly feeling on the back his neck, the way the air smelled, it all meant that he was on track.
The front door opened; it always does. Howard stepped in, no fear of being seen, of being caught, as no one was ever there. Sometimes a family dog would snarl at him, or bark, but it never quite seemed to lock eyes with him, or know exactly where he was. Nothing ever came of it. People keep their old blind dogs alive longer than they rightly should, Howard thought, but that wasn't his business.
No dog this time, just a clean homestead with potpourri in the foyer and family portraits on the wall.
It was time to go upstairs. His prey was in the master bedroom, far end of the hall. Howard had never cased the house, but he was sure of it; the tingles on his neck urged him on.
"You find the place okay?" A gravelly voice spoke from underneath a pile of knit comforters and moth-eaten blankets.
This was new. Yes, people talked to Howard, but not conversational. Frantic cries, stammering, whispering, slurred profanity, that was how people reacted to Howard.
After all, it's not every day a man walks into your house with an axe over his shoulder.
"Yeah," was all Howard could think to say.
"Glad to hear it." The man coughed, and coughed again, sounding hollow. "I'm done. Throw out my Hustlers, will ya, if that's within your ability. I don't want my daughter finding that stuff when she's... sorting things, you know."
No pleading, no bargaining. Sometimes people prayed. This was not how this was supposed to go, and it started to give Howard a headache. The good feeling was going away. He hesitated.
"Just bring that damned scythe down already!" The man growled.
Howard took the call to action, swung hard and true. In a moment, it was over, and Howard was at peace again.
As he walked out of the front door of 8484 Agana, something bothered him. The man in that bed had said 'scythe.' Howard didn't carry a scythe, he carried an axe.
Oh well. Old blind dogs.
|
This was to be the big one, my hundredth victim. The thrill I would feel as I squeeze the life out of her throat, as I watch this clone of all my other victims struggle to breathe, as the fight goes out of her body and she slumps, lifeless in my arms. Just the build up made me shiver with excitement, I had butterflies in my stomach as I watched from her wardrobe. She had no idea that I was in there, that I'd been in there for days already, just watching her.
As she climbed into bed, I could feel my excitement building, but I restrained myself. I knew her parents were downstairs, it wouldn't do to be seen too soon, for her to scream, for them to come and find me. I waited, frozen in place until, eventually, her breathing changed. The difference was subtle, but she was asleep.
The door of the wardrobe creaked quietly as I crept out, the rug on the floor muffled my footsteps and as I climbed onto the bed alongside her, I could have cried out with the sheer joy of it!
The act itself is always a blurry moment in my memory, but I can almost feel it from her perspective, awaking to cold, clammy hands on my throat, the pressure on my throat, the sheer panic, the desperate struggle to breathe and try to scream for my Mum and Dad downstairs. And then, she is limp on the bed and there is a moment of clarity as I remember, remember looking into his eyes as he murdered me and my vision clouding over. Remembering desperate to avoid the bright light people spoke of and now, my spirit is here, reliving my death but from my murderers point of view...
I have no idea why the authorities haven't caught me, but tonight will be my hundred and first victim, an exact match of my first victim, and every other victim since, as I wait, hidden in her wardrobe, for her breathing to change...
| 2015-04-12T06:43:27
| 2015-04-12T02:37:20
| 44
| 14
|
[WP] You are a student with the least amount of magic potential ever recorded at the Academy and it's the day of the familiar summoning test. A misplaced rune or word results in an arch demon/ess becoming bound as your familiar.
|
“There goes Jack Dawley, Etherium Academy’s resident failure. What are you going to summon? A fuckin amoeba?! Hahahahaha” *Fucking Lance, he’s a son of a famous mage family. He also happens to be the headmaster’s grandson and has made my life a living hell ever since freshman year. Little does he know, I have a plan.*
*For my summoning, I’m going to use the same principle I use when I shoot my defective bow. The bow always shoots a bit lower than you aim, so aim higher than you want, and you’ll hit your intended target every time. My plan is to try to summon an Archdemon, the highest order of spirit of the Infernal Realm, so hopefully I’ll get something halfway decent. I’m wishing for a hellhound, wyvern, or something cool, but honestly I’d be lucky to get anything better than a chihuahua.*
*It’s a risky move, but I can’t afford to fail this test. In order to become a certified mage, and thus be allowed to publicly practice magic, one is required to summon a familiar from one of the three Spirit-Realms. Everyone knows that the most powerful spirits reside in the Infernal Realm, that’s why I’m going for an Archdemon.*
———————————————————————————————
*The summoning tests go in descending order of mana quantity, so naturally, I’m last. No one in the crowd or any other student is really paying attention, save for Lance and his lackeys, who are laughing and pointing at me. Obviously making fun, but I can’t hear them over the chatter or the distance.*
*I take out my pack of chalk from my coat and begin to draw the summoning circle. Normally, one uses levitation to draw the summoning circle without moving, but I don’t have enough mana to levitate anything larger than a bean. To be fair, I’m a better emitter than manipulator, but still.*
*Once I finish with the summoning circle, I step back and admire my handiwork. I may be a shoddy mage, but I’m no slouch. Now, for the moment of truth. I motion to the instructor, who strides over and hands me the ritual knife. I make a small, yet quite painful and deep, cut on my palm, then hand the knife back to the instructor. I turn my palm towards the activation rune, and once the blood strikes the chalk, I incant,* “Invictus!”
*The runes light up with red, the color of the Infernal Realm, and I feel my mana start to drain. Within a few seconds, my vision starts to go dark and I stumble, my legs becoming too weak to properly support my weight. I knew that to summon anything would take almost all of my mana, but this is taking a much bigger toll than I expected. This is a good sign though, the more mana is used for the summoning, the higher order the spirit will be. By the time the spirit starts to materialize, I’m on my knees and fighting to stay conscious. I’m getting excited to see what I managed to summon.*
*When the spirit fully manifests, the summoning runes deactivate and the binding runes kick in, draining even more of my mana. Ethereal chains rise from the ground, clasping the humanoid spirit’s wrists, ankles, and neck. It looks like an Archdemon, but that’s impossible, I must be hallucinating from the lack of mana. The chains then pull tight, forcing my future familiar to its knees as I rise from my own. I stumble across the dead summoning runes, careful not to disrupt the still active binding runes, and approach the spirit. With one final sacrifice of mana, I complete the binding ritual, binding the spirit to my will and making it my familiar. I then pass out, I’m honestly shocked I made it this far.*
———————————————————————————————
*I wake up in a cot, surrounded by nurses. As my vision clears up, an eight foot tall Archdemon is shoving his was through the crowd. Once he reaches my bedside, he takes to one knee. I guess it wasn’t a hallucination after all, I really do have an Archdemon as a familiar.* “Master! You have awakened! My name is Razeth, you summoned and bound me as your familiar. I am here to fulfill your every command, do you remember?”
“Yes, I remember…” *What do I say now? Only one in one million people have the magical capacity to summon a high enough order spirit that it would be intelligent. Even the most promising young mages, including people from powerful families like Lance, have little to no chance. Much less a failure like me. I guess I should say something else, probably best not to be too harsh if I want to have a good relationship with him. Then again, our relationship doesn’t really matter in the end, he is magically bound to serve me after all. Even so, there’s no need to be a jerk for no reason.*
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Razeth.” *I say, propping myself up on my elbows and hefting myself into a sitting position.* “My name’s Jack, I hope we can get along.” *I extend my hand for a handshake,*
*He looks surprised for a moment before smiling and shaking my hand*, “Well met, Master Jack. It is my pleasure to serve you.”
———————————————————————————————
EDIT: Thank you so much for the silver, kind internet stranger. I’m so glad this story brought you some enjoyment.
EDIT 2: I’ve decided to make a subreddit for my writing r/CookieJarOfChaos if anyone is interested. There’s not much there as of this edit, but I’m working on getting all my previous work up there.
|
Man, I didn't even want to become a magician. I wanted to be a bard. What did it matter if I was a powerful noble's son? I was the youngest of twelve kids and gods know how many illegitimate bastards. To say dad was a horny bastard would not be an understatement. He even boinked my eldest brother's wife while he was off at *Crusader Fest 1099* last year.
Anyway, I'm getting off the topic!
So I wanted to be a bard but my old man said the lute was for 'whores and vagrants' and no son of his would ever be a bard. So what did he do when he found out I snuck out one night to the tavern to rock out with my friends? The old bastard sent me to *Gary Snot-Purse's Magician Academy for Sorcery and Dark Magic.* I didn't even think I had any magical powers but the old bastard greased some palms so that my meager (yet still surprisingly there) magical talent got me into the school.
It's been a few years now and I have to admit I'm surprisingly good with runes and alchemy but absolutely crap with rituals and the more flashy practical magic. Still, I needed to summon a familiar today. I really didn't want to but it's a requirement for **every** student no matter what courses you were taking. It was absolute bullshit but there I was. It was all going well with the nerds getting elementals and the like. One hot chick I remember seeing in a class of mine got a whole damn unicorn. The guy right before me (Ted or Ned or something like that) got a goblin and he would have been considered the worst magician in school if not for me being there.
Then came my turn in front of my whole class to stand before the still waters of the summoning pool with Mr. Henderson the conjuration teacher to one side and the Arch Magician Council on the other. I'm not gonna lie, I thought I was gonna get something stupid like a magical talking hotdog or a singing triangle or something equally stupid if Jed only got a runty goblin. With a heavy sigh I started the incantation to summon my familiar but as I did so the pool started to turn red.
Gasps and concerned murmurs started as I kept going. I looked over to Mr. Henderson who looked concerned but silently gestured for me to keep going. I finished the incantation and all of the sudden the waters turned blood red and the torches in the cavernous dungeon room burst and bloomed with unnatural blue flames. The other students and their familiars were starting to panic and as I looked over to the faculty they didn't seem to be in much better shape. It was then the pool started to glow and each and every torch self extinguished.
**ARE YOU READY SNOT-PURSE!? ARE YOU READY TO GET HARDCORE WITH ME!?**
A column of blue flame shot directly into the ceiling from the summon pool that was so bright in the nigh darkness that everyone, myself included had to shield our eyes at the sudden change. It was at this point I realized I had fallen on my ass in panic. Still, when the light had dimmed I unveiled my eyes from my robe clad arm to look in the general direction of the summoning pool where *he* stood...
| 2022-11-12T17:18:23
| 2022-11-12T16:45:58
| 92
| 50
|
[WP] As a kid, you jokingly say, "If I had a nickel for every person I've killed, I'd be rich!" It's is now your 21st birthday, and you receive a mysterious bank key in the mail. The vault it opens contains $550,000... In nickels.
|
I stood alone in the vault, staring down at the safety deposit box. Inside was a single coin in a plexiglass display case. V CENTS, it said, the V massive and centered and surrounded by a wreath of laurels. I heard the vault door swing open behind me, and then once again swing shut.
"It's a 1913 Liberty Head," said the voice behind me, "only five in the world known to exist. One of 'em sold for five million at auction. 'Course, a thing's only worth as much as you can get someone to pay for it. Otherwise you'd be looking at five cents right there. And seeing as how that one's stolen, you'd be lucky to get a tenth of the price."
I closed my eyes. "Hiya, Laurel," I said. "Figures it was from you."
"You used to joke about it," she said. Her voice was deeper, rougher, but still so familiar. "If you had a nickel for every person you killed..."
"Yeah," I said. "I was a kid. Had to deal with it somehow. 'I'd be rich.' As if that would matter." I cleared my throat. "What the fuck is this, Laurel? Blood money?"
"Well, you're rich now, ain't you?"
I stared down at the single shining coin, wanting to turn around and face her, and wishing she'd disappear again before I could look. "You stole a five million dollar coin just to fuck with me?"
"Naw," she drawled, "don't flatter yourself. I'd have stolen it anyway. It's just that once I had it, I got to thinking, and I thought of you, naturally. You and your stupid goddamn catchphrase." I remembered the gun, massive and cold in my child's hands, I remembered the kickback like a mule in my chest, I remembered my fingers wrenching, I remembered the boom that made me deaf and the sudden stink of gunpowder burning up my nostrils. I remembered Laurel, curled up in the corner, crying.
"One man," Laurel was saying, "and one nickel for it. But oh, what a goddamn man he was, and what a goddamn nickel."
"I don't know any goddamn fences, Laurel," I sighed. "What the hell am I supposed to do with this damn thing except let it incriminate me?"
"I dunno," she said. "You'll figure it out. Just like a girl figured out what to do with her dead daddy."
I listened to her knock on the vault door, heard it swing open again, swing shut. And there I was, alone again, staring down at a lousy five cents.
|
"Do you understand, Matthew?" asked the tall, trim man in the black suit.
"Yes." I replied, mainly out of reverence for the government agent. I didn't *really* understand, or at least not all of it. I'd been told I was 'patient zero', that a regular bug, the kind that makes people sick, had somehow mutated inside my body and spread from me to other people. That I had somehow created a disease that was harming many, many others. For those others it was much worse than it was for me. The agent was always reassuring me that it wasn't my fault. He said it so often it soon rang false.
"Good. No matter what happens to the others, it's not your fault." said agent Miles once again. "Remember that."
I don't know why I said what I did next. I suppose it was an expression I'd heard my dad say a lot before he had... or perhaps I thought it would be funny and help shatter the tension that was thick in the hospital ward.
"If I had a nickel for every person I've killed, I'd be rich by now. " I said forcing a smile.
The words slithered out of my mouth like a snake from a cave. A snake that sees a slobbering mongoose waiting for him and quickly tries to retreat back - *but it's too late*, it's already in the predators mouth.
The agent looked at me, squinting his eyes and furrowing his brow. He gazed deep into my eyes as if he were trying to peer into my soul. I'll never forget that look. It wasn't anger, it was something else. A look of suspicion perhaps, as if he were working out whether I knew something that I couldn't possibly know.
After a moment he tapped me on the head and told me "You'll be able to go home again next week." And with that he walked away and I never saw him again.
---
"Happy birthday, Matthew," my mom said in a melodic chime as she burst into my room. She pulled back the curtains and the sun glared fiercely at me. I paid the glare forward to my mum but she took no notice.
God, I needed my own place, but mom had been a rock to me ever since dad had gone missing when I was a kid - back when I was ill. A rock through my depression.
"There were some letters for you in the post today. I think this one is from auntie Glenda." She dropped a small pile of mail onto my bed and left. "Get up soon, I'll make you eggs!" she yelled as she began descending the stairs.
Most of the letters were from family, and some even contained money. Money I desperately needed. I tore through them ravenously. Soon there was only one envelope left, a raggedy brown thing with nothing more than my name scrawled on it in green ink. *Matthew*. It was noticeably heavier than the other letters too. Curious as to who had come over to the house to post it through the letter box, I ripped it open.
Inside there was a small piece of torn paper and a tiny metal key. "Matthew, I'm sorry for what we did to you, but it had to be someone. Hope this helps. A nickel for each one. Miles" Below that was an address for a bank, and a vault number. "What the fuck?" I whispered to myself as my hands began to tremble. Nausea, guilt and excitement battled for dominance as I jumped out of bed and pulled on my jeans and a tee. I pocketed the key and the note and yelled bye to my mom.
"You need to eat some-" she shouted as I slammed the front door.
| 2016-09-03T08:20:18
| 2016-09-03T08:07:13
| 223
| 137
|
[WP] You are an ancient and incredibly powerful god, and you’re furious that your enemies keep sending teenage “chosen ones” to fight you.
|
"Will you jussst ssstop for a minute?"
I scowled at the young boy standing in front of me, sword raised and face set in grim determination. His blade glowed with radiant light, his shield hummed with protective power. Blessed artifacts, probably gathered by much hard work and questing. I could feel my scales flaring in irritation.
"I will never stop! Not while your evil oppresses this land!" He thumped the blessed sword against the holy shield; a wave of energy rang out with the resonance of a bell choir, scattering all of my minions and burning them to dust with the divine radiance. I flinched a bit as the wave hit me. It tickled. I hate tickling.
"For My sssake, human, you do know you're wassssting your time, right? Thosssse items may desssstroy my minionssss, but they do nothing againssssst me."
"I'll not listen to your lies, monster!" He roared as he charged at me, shield up and sword drawn. "For the people of Altrea! For my mother and father! For the WORLD! Today, you DIE!!"
His blessed sword hit me, sank deep into my chest. A grin of righteous victory filled his face... until he noticed me just staring down at the sword cooley. Undisturbed. The divine blessings on it kind of prickled. It was annoying.
"Jusssst ssssit down, you ssspazzy fucking grassshopper." I swatted him to the side and pulled the sword out from my chest. As the wound healed up I used the sword to pick some food from between my fangs before throwing it to the side. "Why did you come here, boy?"
"For justice! For vengeance!" he shouted challengingly.
"That'ssss not what I meant, boy. Why YOU, sssspecifically.?"
"I am Chosen! The old prophecies are clear, that a Blessed Child will appear to defeat you. I AM THAT CHILD!"
"No, you aren't." I told him neutrally. "I know who the Child of Prophessssy isss. I knew him the moment he wasssss born, felt the divine presence filling him from a mile away."
I lashed out, grabbed this foolish misguided boy by the arm, yanked him to my eye level. "Every teenager who thinksssss they are the Child of Prophessssy goesss through the sssame tired predictable routine. They leave their home, sssstart a Great Quesssst. Meet troubled people, ssssave some livessss and ssssolve some problemssss. They find magic treasuresssss they believe will give them the power to ssssslay a god. Then they break into my home, WHICH I NOW HAVE TO REPAIR THANK YOU VERY MUCH BOY, and ssslay all who sssstand in their way until they get to me."
The boy swiped at me with the holy shield. I batted it out of his hand, and grabbed his other arm. Held him in the air by both arms and pulled to each side, holding him prone by his limbs. He winced; I glared.
"Before you die, boy, I will tell you what I told every other 'Child of Prophessssy' who tried this ssssame inssssipid plan to sssslay me. The true Child of Prophessssy is no longer a *child* at all. He issss a man named Bilhelm. He isss a forty year old baker, far from here in Ssssssolnara."
The boy's eyes shot open wide, before narrowing back into an accusatory glare. "LIES! You are trying to deceive me, to weaken my Faith. It won't work! I know better than to trust the word of Evil Incarnate!"
I ripped his arms off. He fell to the ground, screaming in agony as blood sprayed from the red mounds that had once been his shoulders. I casually tossed his arms to the side of my throne, discarded.
"When I felt Bilhelm'sss ssspirit enter the world, I knew I had to act fassssst, to neutralize him assss a threat. The ONLY threat that could sssstand against me. Now you may be thinking, 'He musssst have ssssent armiessss to hunt down thisssss baby', yesss?"
The boy screamed more. He probably couldn't think of anything coherent right now, to be honest.
"Well, I did no ssssuch thing. That would have been foolissssh, ssssserving only to announce hissss pressssence to the world. I worked from the shadowssss, ensssssuring his family's home wassss never attacked, that his parentsssss had financial successsss, that he had the freedom to follow his ssssimple dream of being a baker. The besssst balker in Sssssalnora, actually. I made ssssure that nothing ever sssshattered his world. Coddled him, kept him ssssafe and ssssecure."
I loomed over the screaming boy, who was trying without success to get to his feet. He didn't know how to do it with no arms. "Heroessss are born out of *need*, boy. They are forged in the firesssss of persssssecution. A man who growsssss up with no need, with no wantsssss... he has no *reason* to ssssstrive."
I grabbed the boy hero by his neck, liftd him into the air. "Complassssency, boy. Lazinesssss. This is what killssssss heroessss. Remember that in your next life." **SNAP**, and the boy 's corpse fell to the ground, his neck broken. His story ended.
I rang for servants to enter the hall. Ordered them to clean f the blood, the dust that remained of my soldiers, and to put the blessed sword and holy shield in the armory. They would be rewarded to one of my generals who served well in a future battle.
The intrusion ended, I left my throne room, to appraise the damage to the castle. Repairs would have to be done. Daily chores and daily life would continue on, as they always did.
- - - - -
Hidden in the rafters covered with the Invisibility Cloak they had found on their adventures, Arlia did the best that she could to choke down her urge to scream as she watched Garin, her friend, her... her brave, oh Gods so brave, friend, be torn to literal pieces as the Evil One gloated.
She remained still and quiet as the Evil One left to tend to castle repairs, watched as the servants cleaned the throne room, stole away Garin's sword and shield and... and unceremoniously burned his body to ashe with no funeral, no rites. She watched the remains of her friend be swept away like trash, to be disposed of and lost forever.
Tears filled her eyes; she fought them back, tried to wipe them away before they could drop to the floor and betray her position. She thought for a moment of her and Garin's adventures, how she had worked from the shadows while he charged head on, a team, a pair, a... a love that was now never to be.
Fire filled her eyes as she looked upon the empty throne. Quietly, she padded along the rafters, into a hole in the ceiling to the roof, and out through the unsecured window she had first entered the castle through. As she made her way through the shadows to flee the castle, she whispered to herself, ^"Solnara... ^Bilheim ^the ^Baker."
|
I picked up my glasses and slid them past my nose. Much better. Time has been my greatest enemy. You would think an all powerful god would never need glasses but here we are. The ancient form of twisted metal throne protested as I leaned closer to the wisp of magic showing me the enormous battlefield of mountain, labyrinth and forest barring the way to the gates of my palace. There, kicking up dust and emerging from my favorite dark forest, was Yuriels latest champion. Fast on their way to ultimate victory and salvation for the land I'm sure. Pitiful.
It's quite comical to be honest. I looked down my hallway of collected treasures from Heroes past. Quite remarkable how many shades and sorts of gear Yuriels experiments have yielded. Another hero to grow my collection with their little trinkets, broken dreams and lost hopes.
I peered into the mist once more. There was a brilliant white horse, no doubt magically enchanted to never tire, of course, bouncing a heavily armored hero on its back. Yuriel was a fan of horses. She probably put some ridiculous notion in this one's head that they are the only blessed hero that can save the realm. Only in a billion years is there one born with the blah blah blah....
There's a pile of them in my basement.
I'll tell you one thing. Yuriel sure knows how to make armor. Finest craft in all the land. In fact, she got lucky once and some of my power was actually absorbed by one of her brightest masterpieces. Took a bit of effort to slay that one. Maybe there is something to this chosen one nonsense? Probably not. She also loves silver and gold. Not my first choice in metal. I much prefer the flavor of richer steels and exotic offworld metals. Gold is too soft for my liking. No crunch.
The shimmering obsidian gates to my palace creaked open. No denying that sound. As loud as my knee joints and just as irritating. It was time to perform. I have never been so entertained by so many guests but it was getting tiresome. Not to mention I was starting to get attached to her poor minions. They really try and she often sends them disgustingly unprepared. She also seems to hold an affinity to the lesser developed ones. They tend to be much more gullible and eager to please.
I truly feel sorry for them. When I arrived on this planet a lesser god known as Yuriel had the entire planet wrapped around her finger. She proclaimed to be benelovent and a loving goddess. She is the most irritating and narcissistic being I have ever had the displeasure to meet. Naked statues of her everywhere. Paintings and endless pottery showering her with borish praises, bent knees and endless worship. And for what? The poor creatures live and die serving her every whim. They bring her exotic spices, foods, gifts and young slaves from every corner of the planet. She even demands young virgin sacrifices. Why virgin I'll never understand. I think she might have some jealousy issues but she refused to talk to me about it. She's also taken such terrible advantage of the lesser beings on this primitive backwards planet. Oh, just imagine how disturbed the world is to know there are more powerful gods in the cosmos. Imagine her surprise when I wouldn't "bend the knee" as it were. Its unfortunate really. You don't meet too many folks with her level of power. It would have been nice to have a friend to walk on the stars with. Always one of my favorite past times.
"I have come to slay you! Your evil reign is done!"
Oh my I must of lost track of time. Reminiscent memories seem to distract me more powerfully as of late.
"Oh come in my friend, we have so much to talk about."
As I looked up from my little whisper of magic a shimmering steel blade tip split the air before my face and thrust through the left lens of my most cherished onyx trimmed glasses. The brave little creature slowly withdrew the broken tipped blade and stared at it in horror. My glasses. My favorite glasses were ruined.
Now I was angry.
A sharp crack of thunder shook the walls and rattled the collected armor on their stands. That was enough. I was done. Yuriel can have her stupid planet back. I've had it with these ridiculous mortals and this stupid chosen ones game. The poor creature looks barely old enough to leave home.
My fingers snapped and an enormous bolt of crackling lightning erupted from my hand and vaporized the beast into dust, armor and all. From my hands in all directions I instantly levelled the palace and teleported my form before Yuriel. Reckoning had come. I stared straight into her shimmering blue eyes and I pointed straight at her face.
"You suck. I'm not playing this game anymore. And I'm going on a vacation."
She stammered a few words before collecting herself. Several servants were hastily crawling away from me. Horrified screams erupted and the loud echo of soldiers stumbling away from the scene were almost enough to break my bad mood.
"Have you changed your mind and decided to bow down to my greatness?" She managed to stutter.
It took all the strength I could muster to not vaporize everything in the immediate area but then it just didn't seem fair to harm so many because of a bad mood.
I rubbed my brow while looking down like a disappointed parent. My poor glasses.
"You really are full of yourself aren't you? I give up! Your people won't learn. You won't learn. I'm leaving."
"Good! Great! Begone then! I have vanquished thee and my people can now rejoice! The land has been saved! Come slaves! We will have a great feast in my honor! I have defeated the great evil that plagues the land!"
She gestures towards the trembling poor creatures that couldn't make sense of the man floating several feet off the ground completely engulfed in black flames.
"Before I leave I'm going to give your people a gift. In my defense, you kind of had this coming."
I reached out and gently touched the woman's face. A brief smile cracked my lips, and in that instant I was gone. The volume of space I had occupied twisted slightly and snapped back like a burst bubble.
The room grew quiet. Several soldiers peered in around the corner to see what had happened. Yuriel started shaking. She looked at her hands. A slow horror crept upon her face. She realized the worst had just happened to her. Her hands desperately clawed at her cheek. Her power was gone. There was no strength surrounding her. No magical finesse. Nothing. Only herself. Naked, mortal and screaming as the slaves started to realize the chosen one had actually saved them afterall.
| 2018-05-19T08:58:24
| 2018-05-19T08:32:20
| 21
| 15
|
[WP] You are a princess that owns a pet dragon. You are getting tired of constantly having to defend your pet against knights attempting to "slay the dragon and rescue the princess".
|
I was in the midst of cleaning, scrubbing at an extra tough stain on the floor, when I was distracted by some noise at the door. Not swearing - a lady should never take foul words into her mouth - I rose from the floor and the bucket of cold soap water whilst using the back of my hand to push some loose strands of hair away from my face.
A short few minutes later I was heading towards the hallway, or what I liked to think of as such: a long, narrow passageway lit by blazing torches - one must pay heed to traditions - causing shadows to dance on the rough walls and lending its dark corners an eerie touch. *Just perfect*, I mused, as always when passing though. *Just perfect.* There were few things as important as keeping up with appearance, people did expect one to live in a certain way and thus one must live up to those expectations. How else would the world look?
A loud banging on the iron-framed wooden door brought my attention back. *Oh. Right. A visitor.* A quick look down asserted that my dress was indeed free from stains and wrinkles and quite presentable, and my left hand quickly adjusted the tiara slightly.
“I have come to rescue thee, fair maiden!” the mustache adorned knight at the door cried as I opened it. “I have come to rescue thee and slay the dragon!” I sighed inwardly to the styling of his facial hair. Really, why did they *always* have to go for quantity over quality?
Taking care not to let any of those thoughts show of my face I let my lower lip tremble slightly as my eyes widened.
“Hush, please, or you’ll waken him from his slumber. Be quiet, and I will take you to him.” I motioned for him to follow me inwards along the tunnel with its flickering lights - *really, just perfect* \- slowly quickening the pace to give an air of necessary haste. Finally pausing outside the door at the end of the corridor I shot him a quick glance and pointedly nodded to his still sheathed sword. As he quietly drew it I let the door swing open and stepped aside.
“I have come to challenge thee, abominal beast!” boomed the knight as he entered the quiet room. I winced inwardly at his voice; why did they always feel the need to proclaim their objectives? What was wrong with a bit of serene calmness and quiet? A quite sigh escaped me as I put my left hand on his shoulder and the sharpened dagger in my right hand silently glided along his throat.
“I did tell you not to awaken Herbert”, I told him - quite sullenly - “he’s had a terrible night’s sleep and has been cranky all morning. I just finally managed to put him to sleep. But did you listen? No you did not.” I do not know whether he heard me, his body slumping forward before hitting the floor with a thud, but neither did I care as just then Herbert came strutting along the floor, his little wings flapping to help him maintain balance as he skillfully navigated around the sparse furniture in the room. I knelt and lifted him in my arms, letting his little split tounge playfully lick my cheek as I petted his scaled little head and his tail wiggled excitedly.
“Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy? You’re a good boy!”
*Oh dearie me*, I thought to myself as I suddenly noticed the now slow trickle of blood onto the floor where it had already spread in a large pool. *And just as I was just about to get rid of the old stains in the library.*
​
​
*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\**
*And here I thought myself to pretty decent in writing in English, guess this challenge set me right about that. Please bear with my typos, grammatical errors and overuse of commas (I do love a good comma!). First submission here, but hopefully not the last because omg how I have missed writing!*
|
Sitting quietly in her beautiful court yard Rae sat looking out over her kingdom. She watched the many marvels that happened there. The beauty of nature and woods surrounded her. A crystal water fell rushed to the forest floor not far off from her.
Rae shook her head as she saw the bright gleam of armor speeding her way.
Another of the kingdoms enemies racing my way to rescue me, she mused.
She turned and headed toward the humungous gaping hole in the side of her mountain. It was made to look like a cave but make no mistake it was a castle of the most beautiful design. As she walked through the golden hall she carefully put out each and ever torch preparing for her visitor.
When Rae reached the end of the long hallway she sat in wait watching the entrance for her rescuer.
She did not have to wait long before she heard the thundering of hooves and the click clack of armor. Soon the metal man was 'stealthily' stalking towards her.
Rae rose up, "who goes there!" She demanded.
It was silent for a long moment before the man answered in a raspy voice, "Arthur of the city of Frei, knight of graylandolf."
"And what is your buisness here?"Rae boomed back.
"To slay the dragon and rescue the princess!" Arthur said.
" And what if you find the dragon and the princess are one and the same?" She asked.
Arthur stopped frozen in shock at the question. He began mumbling out an answer but Rae interrupted him with a blast of fire.
The knight dodged, and Rae allowed a small smile to curl up her lips. Feeling the adrenalin rush through her she forces herself to be hard even down to her heart beat as the ground shook around her golden dust clouded the air. Without thought Rae turned the stone to Ice and in so doing froze Arthur eternally, still.
Lighting a torch she walked over to inspect her prize, "Oh, and Arthur," Rae spat, "I'm not the princess I'm the king. Perhaps, if you had known you wouldn't have an eternal place in my trophy room."
| 2019-01-09T10:18:32
| 2019-01-09T07:32:29
| 80
| 14
|
[WP] You've found a strange app that pays you $100 every time you perform a listed task. The various tasks are strange, from moving an empty box from one park bench to another, to calling a specific number only to hang up. But you always get your $100 so you won't stop now.
|
Meet the Benjamins:
The first few levels are easy, that's where they get you. Deliver a package to some address in the middle of nowhere, some arduous monotonous task computers can't do, stuff like that. Not long after you start, shit starts getting *hard*. I've circumnavigated the globe both ways, had conversations in 6 languages, lost count of the times I've climbed Everest, all with Benjamin Franklin's face waiting for me at the end. You realize that little payoff is useless not long after you start, after all some of these excursions cost thousands of dollars. Around the time you realize that, though, you think about all you've seen and done along the way, and it's worth way more than a hundred bucks.
- Aaron Weaver
5/5 Stars
09/17/2018
|
The man huddled by the trash can, scanning the area around him. I watched him as he pretended to empty his pockets into the can, "accidentally" dropping a small black case onto the ground next to it. With a nudge of his foot, he pushed the case under the can and briskly walked off. I waited a few moments before I began to follow.
How'd I know he was pretending? I'd watched him do it at least six times by now. After I'd collected my dead drop, I saw the dope doing the same thing across the park, not even out of sight of me. Goddamn amateur hour, I swear.
But this was the last straw. He'd just dropped a package at a known Comerciante drop point. Bastard was playing both sides. I had to know if this went farther up the chain.
Pulling out my phone, I dialed up the service. On the second ring, as usual, they picked up.
"How may I help you today?" the voice on the other line said, apathetic.
"What's this nonsense about you dropping for the Comerciantes, huh? You got your guys out here, playing both sides? You think we're some kind of pushovers?"
"Sir, please calm down. All of our couriers are freelancers, outsourced. We are not responsible for what jobs they do or do not take."
"Outsourced?!" I quickly ducked behind a food cart, peeking around to see if the courier heard me. Moron didn't even turn around. "You ain't a telemarketing service!"
"Be that as it may, Sir, we cannot help with any disputes with our couriers."
"So you're saying he's the one playing us for fools, huh? I get it. I'll be reporting this nonsense to the Boss, so you best be expecting a call back!"
"Of course, sir. Have a pleasant day." My phone clicked, the call ended on their side. I looked forward at the courier. Fumbling through his goddamn pockets again.
I watched him walk into an alleyway. I knew it was a dead end; I'd done business here before. Reaching into my own pocket, I drew the hammer back on my piece.
This would be his last dead drop.
*Feedback Appreciated*
| 2016-10-25T22:52:48
| 2016-10-25T21:07:37
| 651
| 33
|
[WP] You're immortal and have passed the 'hero' phase centuries ago. You enter a small corner shop one day to find it is owned by your millennia-old arch-nemesis. You really, really need milk though.
|
Time dulls the edges of enmity. A man's hatreds can only last so long. Is it wisdom or weariness that takes out the sting?
I cannot say.
But it's true. Even the man who played my adversary for millennia. Who tortured me and tormented those I loved. Who spread evil and pain through the world like a cancer, corrupting everything wholesome and good. Even he, whom I spent half my long life chasing, cursing, trying to thwart, is beyond my hatred now.
I had not seen him for decades (or perhaps it was centuries--the more time passes, the less it means). It had been so long that I occasionally wondered what had become of him. Had he retired from villainy? Was he purposely keeping out of the spotlight as he devised some grand, apocalyptic plot? Or had he finally found the antidote to immortality, and concluded his too-long life?
As it happened, my first guess was correct. He had retired from doing evil, and now ran a convenience store near the Canadian border. A humble shop, stocking snacks and certain necessities. I was heading north when I stopped in to grab some milk for the road, and saw him there, sitting in a chair behind the counter, dozing.
"Aaron of Antioch," I called as I placed the milk on the counter.
He awoke and squinted. "Silas," he said. "So you've found me at last. Couldn't let a tired old immortal recede into anonymity. Had to new breathe life into old bygones. Typical."
"Not at all," I laughed. "I wasn't hunting you. Serendipity crossed our paths. Staying out of trouble?"
"When living itself's an inescapable trouble, I have no need to seek out more."
"Sunk in black thoughts?" I asked.
"Sunk in a hole like a grave, yet unable to die. I'm tired, Silas. And I crave a sleep that lasts much longer than the naps I steal back here, much longer than the sleeps I take in bed each night. I crave a sleep that lasts as long as I've been living, and longer. An eternity longer. I want to make an end. I want to say goodbye."
I understood. I had gone through periods where I felt much the same way. Thankfully, I had crawled my way back out, into the light. But my old nemesis looked completely stuck, with no desire to come to terms with life again.
"Sometimes, I believe this is my punishment for the things I've done," he continued. "Not that I feel guilt or regret. Good and evil never made much sense to me, and they seem even less substantial now than they did in my early years. But though they are nothing to me, perhaps they are something to the gods. And this is their way of punishing me, for crossing too many of their invisible lines. By removing all my joys and desires except my desire for death, and then holding it out of my reach, forever."
"I take it you haven't heard of the grotto," I said. He shook his head. "I've been searching for it for many years," I continued. "The grotto in the Cave of Mysteries. They say a tall statue looms, like a hooded reaper, over its bubbling waters, which are red as blood. They say one sip of those strange waters grants instant death to the one who drinks, be he mortal or immortal, man or god."
Aaron of Antioch bolted up from his chair. "Where is it?" he demanded. "How can I find this cave?"
"They say it can only be found by he who is free of despair," I explained. "By he who has learned to love life, and cherish it, and wish for more of it."
"Of course," huffed Aaron, angrily sitting back down. "A paradox. To show it only to those who do not desire its effects, while hiding it from those who do. . .How like the gods! The cruel creators of this world. Who made love out of poison. Who designed us to be incomplete, broken by desire. In all things--romance, worldly success, even death--forcing us to want only what we do not have and despise all we hold near."
I shrugged. "Nevertheless, that's how it is," I said. "And I think I'm getting close. Closer than I've ever been before. My love of life has never been greater. I can almost see the stone reaper, the bubbling red nectar, the gloomy cave, in the corner of my eye."
I was lying, of course. About the grotto. There was no such place, as far as I knew. But I saw the fire reigniting in his eyes. His lust to succeed, to beat me to the grotto, to die before me and close our endless rivalry off with one ultimate triumph. His love of life had always come at a slant. His happiness had always been contingent on competition, on the possibility of domination and victory. So I had given him a goal. Indirectly set the terms of a new competition.
"You won't beat me there," he promised. "You won't win the race. Whatever it takes. Whatever I have to do. If I need to smile and laugh through every blasted hour of every wretched day. If I need to weep like a child at sunrises, and sigh like a fool at sunsets. If I need to listen to the lowliest mortals, and help them solve their mundane problems. Whatever I must do, I will do it. I will beat you there! And I will do it all out of joy, out of love!"
"Why not start now?" I suggested. "If you're in such a loving mood. Why not give your old acquaintance this milk for free?"
"That carton usually costs three dollars," he said, pondering. "But for you, it'll be six! Try to find joy in *that!*"
I played the part, giving him what he wanted, needed--a small victory. I threw up my hands in frustration. I called him a stingy, heartless creep. My voice trembled with indignation as I cursed him, turned and stormed out of the shop. But inside I was happy. Content. It was lovely to see the old fellow finding his groove again.
|
Stornak the Mighty, Saviour of the Five Kingdoms, Uniter of the Tribes, Destroyer of the Blood Temple of Karnull, Lord of Mandon, Bearer of the Power Crystals, plus sundry other titles, was in a hurry. He had a hot date with Jessica from marketing that evening, and he was only half certain he'd end up round hers. If he wanted to be sure of breakfast and coffee the next morning, he needed milk of his own.
So rushing back from work, he stopped in at a little bodega he'd not patronised before, rushed past the kiosk and went straight for the chiller. He grabbed a bottle, turned, and instantly recognised the face at the counter.
Same bald head. Same dark, deep-set, hypnotic eyes. Same sneering, thin-lipped mouth. Same goatee. Stornak's hand twitched towards a sword that had not hung at his belt for at least four hundred years. Merox Narastes, Sorcerer-Tyrant of Mu, twisted his hands into the sigil of a curse that hadn't worked since magic had faded from the earth.
They held the pose for a moment, then both relaxed. Stornak glanced around the shop. No one else was in.
"Merox," said Stornak, carefully.
"Stornak," said Merox, arching his eyebrow in that way he did.
"Steve, these days."
"I've gone with Meroz, this time." He shrugged. "They think it's Indian. Or Persian."
Stornak nodded. "Yeah, I watched a lot of Ingmar Bergman in the sixties and for a while I made people think I was Swedish. So, running a store, huh? Seems a bit beneath you."
"Passes the time. Besides, you can talk-" His eyes flicked up and down, taking in Stornak's once-mighty thews. "Accountant. You finally learnt to count, huh?"
He always was perceptive. Stornak shrugged. "Well, you guard the treasure caverns of King Vaneros for a few years and you pick up a thing or two about making sure everything's in it's place. They don't let me nail embezzlers to the door this time round though."
"Pity."
"Kind of. Less messy, though."
"Mmm."
Silence. Increasingly awkward.
Stornak cleared his throat. "Still waiting on the dead gods of Nesh-Kazul?"
"One of these days they'll reawaken, and I their loyal servant will be there to aid them in ushering in the age of madness and terror."
"Hate to break it to you, but it's not going to happen."
"Still got Skysplitter?"
Stornak hesitated. Skysplitter the Song-Blade, forged of Ur-Metal by the great prophet-smith Mazran, currently lived in the deepest vault of a particularly secretive Swiss bank, its security paid for at least the next three hundred years by a massive bag of jewels of unknown but incredibly valuable provenance. The bankers who'd accepted it had handled far more morally dubious items than the ill-gotten gains of the Serpent Masters, so Stornak's conscience was clear on that score.
"See," said Merox Narastes, without waiting for an answer. "You believe. A heroic age will return. Well, villainous, in my case, but you know what I mean."
"Maybe. I don't know. It's just in case, really."
"Sure." Merox nodded. He sounded surprisingly sincere.
Stornak glanced at his watch. "By Crorvas, is that the time?" He hefted the jug of milk. "Can you ring this up?"
"No problem."
Stornak handed it over, Merox scanned it with a beep from the register. "Five bucks."
"For milk?"
Merox twisted his mouth in its famous sneer. "Am I not the grim architect of the famine of Zur?"
"No wonder you don't have any customers," Stornak grumbled as he swiped his card.
"And your receipt."
"Well. Thanks." Stornak took his milk, stuffed it in his bag, turned to leave. "Say uh, do you want to grab a drink sometime? We could talk about the old days. Like when you suspended me over the maw of the Terror Beast."
"Heh. Or like when you shattered the focus lens I was using in my ritual and sent me screaming into the Realms of Pain? My back still twinges from that one."
"Hah. I remember that."
"Probably not a good idea, though."
"Yeah." Stornak sighed. "Probably not. See you around, Merox."
"I'll be here. See you, you insolent barbarian fool."
"Later, you foul sorcerous worm."
The bell over the door jingled as Stornak left, and he took a breath of the warm city air. It was a million miles away from the ice plains which he'd once bestrode as a titan, but he was as at home here as he was anywhere else. And maybe Merox Narastes was right. Maybe one day the world would turn again, and he would walk the earth wrapped in ragged furs, Skysplitter at his side and adventure in his eyes. For now though, he had a hot date with Jessica from marketing. He looked at the time again. Oh shit. He really was going to be late. Probably a good thing he'd picked up that milk.
| 2021-07-18T15:40:25
| 2021-07-18T14:27:01
| 755
| 210
|
[WP] Narrate any current event in the style of the Avatar the Last Airbender opening.
|
Facebook.
YouTube.
Twitter.
Reddit.
Long ago, the four websites lived together in harmony.
Then, everything changed when the Tumblrinas attacked.
Only the 4chan, master of all political incorrectness could stop them.
But when the world needed them most, they were busy trolling.
A few bad puns later, we discovered the new 4chan, a subreddit called r/politics
And although their flamewarring skills are great, they have a long way to go before they are ready to annoy anyone.
But I believe r/politics can annoy the world.
|
Vampires.
Warlords.
Demons.
Bees.
Long ago these antagonists existed in separation.
Then, everything changed when the Cage acted.
Only the television, master of all genres could stop him.
But when the world needed it most, Comcast got greedy.
A few years later, we discovered the new television, a website named Netflix.
And although the streaming service is great, it has a long way to go before it can completely replace anything.
But I believe Netflix can save the world.
| 2016-03-21T11:25:43
| 2016-03-21T09:15:45
| 43
| 24
|
[WP] you are kidnapped by henchmen because your boyfriend/girlfriend is a super hero, but the villains are your parents who just now recognized you as your BF/GF has arrived to save you and now you have to explain the situation to everyone while the henchmen watch barley stifling their laughter
|
My mother gulped, moaned (like a ghost not a lover), and bit her nails--all at the same time I promise you. I can count on one hand (and from now on I must) the occasions on which she has pleasantly surprised me.
1 - It was my birthday and she brought me grapes she had stolen from the local supermarket. She didn't know it was my birthday until I informed her of it, but still.
"It's us, Daniel. For the love of fuck it's us!"
I'd never heard my mother swear before and based on the exotic example still wafting in the air she must have had her fair share of practice, unbeknownst to me. Well, I guess she was good at keeping secrets. She was a supervillain. So was my dad. And now they'd kidnapped me and chopped off my left arm. You never expect your parents to chop off your left arm.
"L-Louise?"
Understandably, my boyfriend was surprised. He was a superhero. And my parents had kidnapped his girlfriend, who turned out to be me, as part of their plot to kill him.
2 - High school. My team made it to the USAMO (United States of America Mathematical Olympiad). "Guess you've got some brains," my mother said.
"Can you give me a hand?" I said. A little joke to lighten the situation. I raised my bloodied stump. No reaction. "My parents have a hands-off approach to parenting, you see."
Jake (that's my boy!) staggered forward and my parents flinched. "What's going on?" he said, finally. I waved my stump around, again, pointing it first at my mother, then at my father. "You monsters!" he said. "How could you do this to your own daughter?"
"We didn't know," my mother chimed in. "Dear fuck, we didn't know."
Another exotic fuck. I was honestly a bit impressed.
"We need to get her to the hospital," said my father, his leathery suit squeaking like tacky furniture. He shot my mother a look. A very obvious this-idea-will-probably-distract-him-and-we-can-strike-and-kill-him-you're-on-board-with-that-right look.
3 - I came home drunk and vomited on the carpet. It was an expensive one. "Eh," my mother said. That was all.
A snicker was heard from a corner. Oh. I guess Jake didn't kill all the expendable henchmen. There was still one left. Perhaps he--okay never mind he's dead as well.
Presumably it was the added sight of my boyfriend's icy laser eyes that sealed the deal; they'd retreat. For now. Like seagulls reacting to ocular lasers, they promptly took off (I saw him laser a seagull in half once after it stole my fries. He said he was going for a piss but I followed him and caught the whole thing. He was really torn up about it later, saying "fucking seagulls" and sobbing.)
4 - I can't think of any more.
Jake took me to the hospital and I joked that I could get a bionic arm and we could take to the streets as a superhero couple fighting crime together. It was just a joke but he smiled nervously and told me it was an "interesting" idea. "For the love of fuck," I whispered softly into his ear. He nearly dropped me. Oh well.
|
When I woke up tied up with two villains in front of me, I was scared but I wasn’t worried I knew she would come for me. They were talking but their voices sounded familiar, then it hit me like a semi-truck.
“Wait, MOM AND DAD!?”
“TYLER!?”
“Mom, dad you guys are villains? What the heck!”
“Your dating a superhero, and our arch nemesis!?”
“Why are villains? How long? Why didn’t you tell me? And more importantly, WHY THE HELL DID YOU KIDNAP ME?!”
“Ok look son we didn’t know she was your girlfriend, we just told the henchmen kidnap the boyfriend we never wanted to put you danger like this”
“Speaking of which your breaking up with that girl as soon as this is over young man!”
“Ok you guys are in NO POSITION to tell me that right now!”
“We just want what’s best for you sweetheart, and what’s best for you is to break up with that stupid superhero!”
“Hey I fricken heard that!”
Just then my girlfriend pops through the ceiling
“Give him ba- wait, MR AND MRS JACOBSON!”
“Uh- hello Sydney”
“Yeah that was my reaction too”
“What the heck, Tyler did you know about this?”
“No”
“Tyler I think now this be a good time to do the thing we discussed”
“MOM THIS IS NOT THE TIME”
“Oh my god I thought guys were so nice, you paid all my hospitality bills FOR THINGS YOU DID TO ME.”
“well that was before we knew you were lame”
“Oh wow that really the best you can do right now”
“Hey watch your tone with me young lady”
“Oh that is NOT gonna work right now”
Just then one of the henchmen chimes in “uh should we be doing something or-“ “YOU STAY OUT OF FAMILY MATTERS” “yes ma’am”
“I just actually can not believe my parents are villains, I thought you guys worked in banking!”
“We ROB the banks honey, never said we worked for them.”
“Also why did kidnap your own son?”
“Because we didn’t know he was your boyfriend, we love our son!”
“We we’re hoping he would follow in our evil footsteps”
“Well that explains why you got me a ray gun for my 7th birthday”
“But then you came and messed it all up with your, superheroness”
“You know what, somehow I love your son enough to pretend none of this ever happened”
“Agreed”
“Agreed”
“Agreed”
She comes over and unties me
“But don’t think this doesn’t mean I won’t kick your ass at the first sign of trouble”
“Wouldn’t dream of it”
Somehow we are still together and super happy, my parents still try to convince to be a villain, and thanksgiving is always awkward.
| 2021-07-18T11:45:08
| 2021-07-18T11:05:47
| 130
| 90
|
[WP] Close the biggest plot hole in your favorite book or movie
|
"I will go to Mordor, though I do not know the way. Gandalf, could we fly?"
"Yes, Frodo, let's fly. On an eagle. To Mordor. Let's be miles above the ground and the lone object in the sky passing over mountain ranges towards our nemesis who is a giant eye. Even better, let's make sure that we are clinging to a bird that depends on agility in the air to keep it alive or clutched it its talons, which are literally its only weapon."
"So you would go on foot? One does not simply walk into Mordor" roared Boromir, rising to his feet in outrage.
"Better that than caught defenceless in the air by Nazgul! Imagine, Boromir, son of Ecthelion, how long your white city will stand when the ring lies on the broken body of a hobbit fallen in full view of the Dark Lord and smashed upon the plains of Mordor. No, the only way is on foot. We make for the Black Gate."
|
*The Princess Bride*
**Inigo Montoya:** Do you hear that, Fezzik? That is the sound of ultimate suffering. My heart made that sound when Rugen slaughtered my father. The man in black makes it now.
**Fezzik:** The man in black?
**Inigo Montoya:** His true love is marrying another tonight, so who else has the cause for ultimate suffering?
**Fezzik:** What? Hold the fucking phone here. *Where* in the movie did you find out the man in black has a true love? Or even that she’s the one who’s marrying Humperdink? Are you just making this shit up as you go along?
**Inigo Montoya:** (*Shrugs*) The rest of the movie’s so good, maybe no one will notice.
| 2015-03-26T13:38:58
| 2015-03-26T08:02:10
| 28
| 20
|
[WP] you die and discover reincarnation is real. Although a few things seem wrong. You were reincarnated 2000 years in the past, and you remember everything.
Be specific about how you use this to influence history or not.
|
I opened my eyes for the first time in what felt like a negative amount of a long time. Is this the afterlife? Everything sure is dark around here, but any light that seeped in above came in weird, wavy rays. No, maybe not heaven. Perhaps I was reincarnated into a different world...?
And then I realized that I didn't need to close my eyes very much. It was sensory overload; I was taking in everything too quickly, the stuff flying in the sky, and the weird landscape beneath me.
*Okay, just take a deep breath*, I told myself.
I couldn't.
*Shit*, I realized. *I'm a fish.*
Well, one question was answered at least: fish really can't tell that they're wet. The water was warm. Perhaps it was the Mediterranean. *What happened in the Mediterranean again? God, I don't know...*
I began exploring around, particularly the surface to get my bearings, when I saw a beach with a couple of small boats. A crowd gathered, watching a bearded man giving instructions to a pair of young men in the boats.
*Is this what I think it is?*
"From now on, I will make you fishers of men."
I was getting excited. *It is what I think it is, isn't it?*
Suddenly, I lost control as a riptide whisked me away along with a load of other fish.
*Shit*, I realized. *I'm still a fish.*
|
I didn’t even really know what Gaul was the last time around. I also didn’t realize so many people died of dysentery. Last time: zero dysentery deaths. This time: everyone I know seems to die of dysentery. Also, fish. Never cared much for fish before. Now I eat mostly fish. I eat a bit of bread too. Fish and bread. The feast of kings.
Honestly, it’s not as bad as I initially thought. I mean, when I was younger I hated not having video games. Playing tag was cool and every now and then I found a really neat stick, but boy did I miss video games. As I got older I started to hunt and fish more, you know, to help keep the village alive and stuff. That was pretty cool. Last life my dad took me camping and fishing a few times. It didn’t sit well with me then, but I get it now. It’s pretty relaxing. Well, right up until you don’t catch any fish and only get bread for dinner. That part mostly sucks.
Oh! I also have abs now. Not like, body builder abs, but abs from not having enough nourishment. But they look good anyway. The village chicks seem to dig ‘em.
What *does* suck is that we’re going to war soon. Something, something, the Romans are coming. I am definitely NOT cut out for war. Maybe I am now, who knows. But the last go around I was a software engineer. I literally sat at a desk and got all pudgy with little (no) physical activity. I got in a fistfight once and the guy beat the shit out of me. So we’ll see how war goes. I might like it.
I also happen to be the best village story teller. Admittedly I cheat a little; I recite tales from Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit. They don’t know I’m stealing and everyone’s happy, so get off my back, ok?
Well, I’m going to head on out now, got some fish to catch. I don’t think this note will find anyone, but I haven’t been able to write anything for the last forty years due to lack of paper and writing utensils. I just wanted to make sure I still got. Practicing with sticks in the dirt only do me so much justice (thank you mister Roman trading guy whose name I think was Lucius).
| 2017-02-23T23:48:51
| 2017-02-23T23:10:55
| 18
| 12
|
[WP] It was a weapon so powerful that not even the most barbaric warmongering civilisation could stomach it. Just by building one, we struck terror in the hearts of many species. We weren't even planning on using it...
|
"Now, I am become death, the destroyer of worlds."
The words of Oppenheimer prophecied far more than he could even know. The atom bomb was the Pinnacle of human violence, a weapon so effectively efficient in mass destruction that it heralded a whole new era upon the earth. The radioactive decay of particles which shot out smaller, subatomic atoms was just another facet of its destruction.
However, it wouldn't lay to the splitting of atoms to destroy worlds and civilisations. The ascension of humanity to the stars was surprising; The galactic community had approximated 50 earth cycles too much it seemed.
The ingenuity of man, their innovation and creativity always pushed humanity towards the future, whether it meant progressing forward or regressing into primitivity. However, it seemed unlikely that humanity could threaten the galactic community, with humanity being a class 1 civilisation at best.
It was only when humans invented the first teleporter that the entire universe began to worry. The Galactic Council assembled to deliberate their position. Calls from many civilisations were made to destroy the new invention, knowing, even fearing the damage that it could unleash upon civilisations across the universe.
"They bend the laws of the universe!" "They could destroy anything, anywhere, at anytime! How could this be allowed!"
Even the Gausiks, a warmongering remnant of an ancient bioweapon, was calling for a galactic intervention, knowing full well the destructive capabilites of what amounted to the ability to be omnipresent.
Chareg, the leader of the Atryeus, a far more peaceful bird-like civilisation, suggested first making contact with humanity and their governments, for after all, humanity didn't yet know what they had done.
On Earth, INTER-Corp, a global business conglomerate, had begun to mass-produce the first 'Transportational Teleporters', shipping it to dominions in the entire solar system, from the joint-colonies of Mars to the ISS-2. No longer would the world be bound by the physics of a universe which confined them to silly concepts, like Newton's 2nd Law. People could travel from one end of the universe to the other in the matter of seconds, transporting humanity into the second act of globalisation: Inter-Planetglobalisation.
It was only when an alien transmission travelled from the far reaches of the solar system, did we realise that we were not alone. And upon reading it, realised that they were angry. Very, very angry.
|
Dear Newcomer,
The sight of the bodies never leaves you, their crumpled forms become all you can see every time you close your eyes. There isn't a moment you don't think of them, the images finding their way into every ordinary thought that you once possessed, worming their way into even the most mundane of your day-to-day activities. You tell yourself that the Fourth World War wouldn't have been won without it, that the world would have surely perished in the conflict, but that doesn't seem to matter. Slowly going insane, you run to every vice you can think of to escape the pain. Alcohol, drugs, sex. None of it provides relief, only a few hours where you can focus on something else before being reminded yet again of the cruelty of the human species.
I was there on the day they took control of the planet. Not in the stands, cheering on Bardric. No, I was on the ground, looking in strange wonder at the non-descript barracks made of strange shiny material that had somehow prevented me from joining the gruesome corpses that I just witnessed. It was that day that I asked myself why Bardric had broken his promise to never use the greatest weapon of mass destruction ever created, how could he ever be so sadistic?
It wasn't until later that I saw Bardric for who he really was, a narcissistic tyrant who would strangle his own wife for the sake of being in control, that I finally understood. Understood that I had been swindled by a con man who had promised us a world like our grandparents had known, when people freely prospered and violence was rare, but instead delivered the very opposite.
The scariest thing, friends, is that he could do it again. Next time it will be you and your family. All he needs to do is wait until the satellite is in the correct position, and with a few button presses, you'll be as disfigured as the corpses that I saw. That is why we must keep our communications in written form and sealed so that they're harder to trace, and why we must live separate from one another and amongst those he considers friends. Blending in is the best way to guarantee our success, for he wouldn't want to accidentally destroy those he likes, should the weapon be slightly off target.
Remember, the world bows to Bardric now. You are the only hope for the future of humanity. Conduct yourselves with care, and find opportunities to infiltrate his regime so that we can one day be free. I have faith that if we act diligently and with intelligence, we can someday be victorious.
Your Friend,
Milton Avorn
| 2022-11-01T00:43:49
| 2022-10-31T19:33:10
| 83
| 24
|
[WP] Imagine a world where dating and job hunting are switched. Dating now involves sending emails and resumes, while people seeking employment frequent the hottest clubs.
|
So much for that.
I’d been in a steady job for the past year. It wasn’t the best job, but it kept me happy enough - we explored the country together, my friends became the office’s friends, and I was starting to imagine spinoffs. Maybe I could co-lead a project.
Solid, right?
Well, turns out, my idea of “going steady” and their idea of “going steady” weren’t the same.
They’d hired another frontend developer. Without telling me.
I felt dirty.
It was a side thing at first, just a little excitement early in the week. Then it became something more. “It wasn’t just the productivity”, they said, “it was the way they made me feel when they walked in the room.”.
Fuck that.
If they could find someone else, so could I.
I dropped them on principle. If they were straight up about wanting to hire other people, that’s one thing. This was another.
So, I did what anyone would do on the job rebound.
I fired up Tinder. Redid my profile.
Nice mix of pictures, one working on the beach, show I’m productive, but also look great with my shirt off.
Professional, but having a drink, colleagues laughing at a joke.
Adorable dog picture.
The works.
Classic.
Bio - little bit of my work experience, quick anecdote about saving a project in need, height, emoji story to close it out.
Now - autoliker.
I don’t need something serious right away - just to get my feed under me, get the rebound out of the way.
1,500 likes in an hour.
50 matches.
Maybe the dog photo’s a little try hard? Whatever. A match is a match.
I messaged all of them - something pithy, a little forward. Only one messaged back. It wasn’t the best looking job, but it’ll do. We set up drinks for the next night, somewhere a block from my apartment.
If there’s one thing I remember about job hunting, it’s all about logistics.
About 30 minutes before the interview, I pinged the would-be manager to let me know when they’re closing in. Looking forward to meeting. Couple tropical drink emojis.
Few minutes later, they hit me back a rocketship-thumbsup-beerclinking.
This might actually go pretty well!
Started walking over when they said they’re at the subway stop nearby, I showed up a couple minutes after them. My would be manager was standing at the entryway, looking at their phone.
And, you know what? They actually didn’t look half bad in person! Cute.
Brunette. About 5’6”. Cool tatooo on their arm, bold lipstick, long hair. A bit flat, but more than made up for it with a great smile.
Gave them a hug hello, they left their hand on my arm just a beat too long. Commented on my cologne.
Yeah, this *really* might go pretty well!
As we walked up to the bar, I mentioned how this is one my favorite neighborhood spots, love having a jazz place this close by.
Don’t want to to be totally out of nowhere if I ask them back to my place, all goes well.
We sit at the bar. Bartender brings me my usual. They order an old fashioned.
Oh, it’s on.
We chat about the usual - how our weeks were, how long they’ve been in town for.
One time, while they’re telling a story, they get a little touchy when telling the highlight. Our hands touch for a beat.
We get another drink.
Talk about the job a little bit - what we’re both looking for, how long it might be for.
They mention having been burned by previous engineers. I tell them I understand. My last hiring manager left me, too.
We go back to my place for ‘one last drink’. Soundcloud’s playing generically cool tropical house. After a few sips of their drink, they ask to see my work sample.
They’re impressed.
They gives me a full assignment.
I break it out, lasting longer than normal.
It’s our first date, so I’m working in a virtual machine. It takes me a little longer, we have to switch programs a few times, but they approve the work three times - eventually, I complete the last subtask.
Email notifications everywhere. It’s a glorious mess.
The next morning, wrapped in sheets, they ask if I can start tomorrow.
This is moving a little fast.
I don’t want them to get the wrong idea.
Don’t want this feeling like a full time job right out of the gate.
“I’m kind of slammed this next week.”, I say. “Maybe week after next? I’ve had an an awesome time, we should totally work again sometime.”
|
"Thanks, I'll be in touch. Goodbye!"
The office door slammed on the male suitor's face. It had been her 39th rejection in a row. Reina was commonly known in the workplace as the "Ice Queen". She enjoyed conducting her dating interviews at the office where she worked, and made a spectacular event of each one. She would lead them in with a blank expression on her face and quiz them on their resume. Sometimes, she would test them - give them small jobs that she would expect her boyfriend to do. These things usually involved doing her mundane dayjob duties for her.
No matter what, though, the men would always leave disappointed. Who knows how long some of these guys have been waiting for a call back. It's always "I'll be in touch!" or "I will be conducting followup interviews in the near future". As far as I can recall, she has never once met with the same person twice for a "date".
Then one fateful Tuesday, everything changed.
Reina had just dismissed her latest suitor - he misspelled "amorous" on his resume. Rookie mistake. I was sitting the desk across from her, waiting for the day to end. At the very least, her shenanigans helped to dull my own perception of time. The day was nearly done already, and she had one more gentleman to meet with before quitting time. And that's when *he* showed up.
He did not knock on the door. He simply entered the workspace, hooting and hollering, making a grand entrance. A young black male, approximately mid twenties. Rocawear t-shirt, baggy slate jeans, neon Nike sneakers, wearing a gold chain and stunner shades. His hair was a wild mess of dredlocks, and he proudly sported a permanent grin on his face. I immediately thought that he would be rejected before the interview even began, but life is apparently full of surprises.
The man introduced himself - to everyone - as Deshawn. He passed out copies of his mixtape to everyone in the general vicinity, which he described as "straight fire". Finally, when Reina went to introduce herself, gesturing for a handshake, she was caught off-guard with a thug-hug and a vigorous pat on the back. Just when I thought it couldn't possibly get any worse, he handed her his resume - but wait - not a traditional resume. It was far too small. A business card?
Reina took the slip of paper from the man and stared at it intensely. I could see a fire burning in her eyes, hot enough to bore though the paper and into the man's very soul itself. For a solid minute she looked at it. Studied it. Gazed upon the words written. For once in her life, she looked passed the superficial things, like what kind of typeset he was using, or how he indented his paragraphs, or what kind of professional references he bothered to write down.
Reina looked up from the paper and stared into the eyes of the man standing before her, still smiling like an idiot. I half expected her to punch him in the face, but what happened next was unexpected, to say the least. She dropped the card on the floor and began to furiously, passionately kiss him.
As the apparent new couple devoured eachothers faces, the rest of the office could only stand there and watch. How could someone like that possibly have what it takes to melt the Ice Queen? Maybe his mixtape *was* fire...
Deshawn scooped Reina up into his arms and carried her out to his low-rider, complimenting her on how beautiful she was the entire way out.
Curiosity was like a bad itch. The only relief was to know what was on that card. I hurriedly moved to pick it up off the floor, anxious to know the words that moved the unmovable object. The backside was blank, I flipped it and read it aloud.
"Ay bby, u wan sum fuk"
I put the poorly hand-written expression of love back on the floor and went home early that day.
edit: spelling correction
| 2015-06-18T19:01:23
| 2015-06-18T14:34:48
| 19
| 13
|
[WP] Recently you’ve noticed an increasing trend in the souls entering hell. They’re not at all tormented by the conditions, most of them seem *happy* with their too-small homes and long five hour days of mindless tasks. You report to Satan that maybe someone should check the conditions on Earth.
|
**“The Word of the Day is Brand Identity”**
He sighed before peeking his head into the office. There was no need to knock, as per Lucifer’s policy, the door was always open.
“Your magnificence. I apologize for the interruption. I have a concern.”
“Azazel, baby, what can I do you for?”
The Lord of Hell dipped his sunglasses down and peered over them. It was Hell, afterall, who *didn’t* wear sunglasses night or day?
“And cut the magnificence talk. The word of the day today is *retargeting*.”
Azazel’s eyes stuttered across the clipboard in his arms.
“We, well, I, have noticed some discrepancies about the new incoming souls. It appears, from my perspective, and please understand that this is my opinion, but they seem to be…happier.”
Lucifer stood up so fast the fire glowing outside the office’s window momentarily flashed hotter. Azazel prayed to no one that it would be a swift death.
“Happier? Excellent! When you’re right, you’re right, Azazel baby!”
The two handed finger guns weren’t necessary, but a favorite of the Lords.
“I-I’m sorry, sir? I thought we were going for, well, Hellishness.”
“The word of the day should be productivity because hot damn are we ranking them in these days. The Devil with their happiness, how are the incoming numbers?”
Azazel flipped a page. His eyes widened.
“We’re up 300% on the week, your Pitiness. But…how?”
Lucifer turned to look out the fiery window behind his desk. He stared down at the new suburban houses being built across the cavern. It wasn’t easy to find a company who would build over 2 million houses in just a few months. Getting Caterpillar’s equipment down here was Hell in itself. But sacrifices had to be made, no expense could be spared. Hell was the new *place to be*.
“Azazel, we’re rebranding. Hell is no longer the hell of old. Nobody fears us anymore. *Hell on Earth* is the new *Hell on Earth*. Have you seen the BDSM scene these days? I couldn’t stand it any longer. Remember my vacation last week?”
“To the Grove retreat?”
“Yes, that one. I met a few people: political people, influencers. I made a few deals.” He smiled mischievously.
“We came up with a new idea. It’s really going to be our trump card. We’re calling it Paradise Lost. It’s so simple, make life on Earth so unbearable, so deeply, deeply…unaffordable, that people will be scrambling to get down here. We offer free housing, free food, free heating for the Texans. Christ, the fire hydrants literally spew fire now. And all it costs them is their soul and a 9-5 of torment. The rest of the time is theirs.”
He turned back to face Azazel. “Not bad, right?”
“It’s genius, Master. You’ve made Earth so Hellish that Hell seems like a paradise.”
Lucifer slammed his fist onto the desk. “We can’t go wrong!” His Jesus bobblehead nodded in agreement. “No more fire and brimstone. We’ll have cubicles and water coolers. Who needs red hot pokers when we just need to mix a Karen in with a hardworking team. We’ve been working against ourselves all these years. But now it’s time to embrace true torment the way humans want it!”
“But what about Heaven, sir?”
“It’s true, we’ll lose some numbers to the people upstairs. But who wants to kneel at the throne and worship all day? Where’s the free time? Where’s the sex? You’d be surprised how many people just want stability, and free streaming passwords. But at least we’ll get the Christians. It’s like they’re *trying* not to go up there.”
“This explains why the new arrivals are so happy.” Azazel made a few notes on his clipboard.
He tapped the marketing material on his desk that read *The Garden of Eden has been gone for centuries, what are you waiting for?*
“Exactly, Azy. That’s the plan. Now, when is Nestlé arriving to fill up the hot springs?”
|
Me: E-excuse me, Your Malevolence?
Satan: *WHAT!?*
M: I have somewhat of a concern about the way the souls we’re taking in are…
S: Are *what?* Speak, little imp; don’t you dare try my patience.
M: S-sorry, Your Cruelness! New souls entering Hell are not scared or worried anymore!
S: Hah, really? That was your concern? Of course they aren’t as worried. Some people mistakenly *romanticize* us, don’t you know? They believe that since they presently disagree with the way the Bastard on High runs things, that we would treat them well. Of course, those are lies *we* help them believe just to *trap* them down here in the first place. Once they realize the grim reality of their eternal torture, they usually shut right up~.
M: You misunderstand, Your Fearsomeness! They don’t care about any of those things anymore! They even seem happy with our average methods.
S: …go on…?
M: Five hours of menial tasks, enforced by whipping should they ever slack for too long, every single day for all of foreseeable eternity… sound acceptable to them. Relieving even!
S: …*oh*.
M: Just what sort of conditions exist on earth that they may feel this way? Your Vileness, I think we may need to—MMPH!
S: Silence!… So… *that* is what has you concerned…?
M: …
S: …
M: …
S: …heh. HheehehehahahAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Your naïveté knows no bounds, does it not, little imp?
M: Mmmph? Mphmmm—!
S: Up on Earth, particularly amongst the middling economic classes and upwards in society, there is a sort of pandemic of… extreme work conditions. Some centuries back, some people were working whenever they weren’t sleeping! It’s not nearly so extreme now, not in most places anyway, but eight hours as a standard is still much. One would easily assume that less than that, plus seemingly endless free time elsewise, would be merciful… and one would be *shortsighted!*
M: MMPH— *cough*— *sputter*— gah! In what way!?
S: Simple! Despite the hours, living souls have all sorts of entertainment they can share with each other, all sorts of physical items and amenities. Many of which seem to be increasingly complicated methods of storytelling. Now, you see, little imp, here in Hell we provide our enchambered souls with none of these things. Sure, they can potentially wander around, perhaps converse, but besides that, we don’t allow much else. Meaning it’s the work… and nothing. Eventually, a given soul is forced to confront the sheer ennui of their new eternity, regardless of just how *appealing* it sounded at first… and eventually, that soul will crack. It will slip up in its given work, make a mistake, not show up on time, leave when not allowed! And then we get to punish them more directly, bringing out our old fashioned methods as a mockery of discipline, before setting them back to work…
M: …p-pardon my continued intrusion, Your Sinisterness, but is this not rather… arbitrary?
S: Oh, but of course~… but you see, there is some beauty in the horror of being forced into an arbitrary system, one that you might try but always fail to “game” to your advantage. And this also means whenever someone suffers under our more *extreme* methods, they have the added sorrow of it being their own fault. Such is the deeper psychological manipulation of Hell’s labor…
M: …I see! But even then…
S: …even then, what?
M: Even then, most souls I see seem contented. Driven, even. Sure, there is some level of submission to this cycle you describe, outside of the direct torture, people seem largely unaffected!
S: …unaffected!?
M: Yes, Your Terribleness! That happiness I described… it isn’t exclusive to new ones just coming in! Their positive feelings don’t vanish for good! That happiness seems to stay in one form or another throughout everything! The souls still persist!
S: …
M: …
S: …………….*WHAT!?*
| 2022-12-28T21:07:52
| 2022-12-28T11:49:30
| 117
| 39
|
[WP] The Earth is flat, you, as the head of NASA, have to explain to the incoming President why its a secret.
|
"David Brux... THE president of THE United States of THE America... wow, there's nice sound to it!"
Middle-aged man put his legs on the nearly ancient desk in the Oval Office. It was already dark on the outside The smiling was over. No more speeches, no more media, no flashed in the eyes, finally some peace. Stretching allowed him to focus again. A couple of controlled breaths, and feeling of a new energy flowing overwhelmed him... again. Being healthy was good, having healthy habits and mind was a bless. He sit normally and checked the drawers. They reacted on his fingerprints, the definitive proof, that seven years of campaign was success. Most of them were empty, some protocols, and lists, he probably should read at some point. And there was... a small globe. Or rather... abstract world. It was in the shape of cube, but every side had complete map of the world, he remembered from the school. Except Africa was in the center of it, not Ecuador, like he was used to see. Intercom buzzed, jolting him upward. Glo... cube fell down on the carpet.
"Mr president, you have one quick meeting today, and it's due."
"Errr, Ms Jackson, I don't remember having anything on the schedule..."
"Please call me Lisa. I know it wasn't on the official schedule, but you have to know, that not every meeting should be on the publicly available one"
"Sure, Lisa, oh, I understand. Who is it?"
"John Pickard, director of NASA and Lee Yamada, his assistant. They are already here."
"Well, let them in, thank you."
Brux knew Pickard from lectures in the college, and he lightened up seeing his old professor. His beard turned white, and he got bald, but he had still same fire in his eyes. Man with true vision, thought David, he is probably in the place he can do the most good. His assistant was awfully shy man, with short black hair, and very, very weak handshake. He instantly sat in the far corner.
"What brings you here? I suppose it isn't just a visit to congratulate me."
"Of course, no. You have responsibility now. And you're guarded."
"Pardon?"
"My visit marks beginning of a new chapter in your life, David. You're the most closely guarded person now - and you will always be, until your death. Because nothing that I'm going to tell you, can leave this room."
"Okay, I understand... but I hope no aliens?"
"Please, be serious... I had this conversation three times already, and I never look forward to it."
"Okay... I'm listening."
Pickard strolled behind the desk, and picked up world cube from the floor. He spun it in his hands, and thrown to the president.
"This one's good. It makes you feel uneasy, right?"
"There's some strange vibe to this piece of art. But it possibly makes good entry point for philosophical conversation."
"That's no piece of art. Just tell me then, where have you been in your life?"
"Well, I've seen a couple of places around the world..."
"Can you list them, in order of visiting? Every one of them?"
"Let me think... yes. I think yes."
"Go ahead, just far places."
"First would be Paris. Then London. I've been to Kenya twice... then Paris again. I had girlfriend there, so..."
"I know. Have you ever flown from Paris, east?"
"No, I've always got back to US. Then I was in Tokyo, and then Rio de Janeiro. And that's all."
"You're sure? Absolutely?"
"Yes. Why it's important?"
"Because it means you're in the Zero. You're our President, David, not theirs."
Brux shook his head, and looked at the assistant. He was sitting on the chair, with his head down, like he was embarrassed to come here.
"Please, explain, because that sounds... off."
"Do you remember, by chance, diameter of Earth?"
"That would be 7900..."
Pickard cleared his throat loudly, with disappointment in his eyes.
"Oh, right. 12600 kilometres across."
"Good. Mostly. Because it's bogus."
"Ok, you're kidding me. I'm sorry."
"No, please take a look at this"
He took the world cube from President's hand and shook it in front of his face.
"What is diameter of a cube?"
"It's few inches..."
"Diameter, David! There is none! What's the diameter of the Earth? None! Because our world, is, my dear head of the nation, flat as your desk."
"Bullshit! I refuse to believe the person I admire so much fell to this stupid flat-earth movement!"
"Oh, believe me, if I could, I'd shot them dead, one by one. They are all wrong, by the way."
"You're confused, or I'm confused. What are you talking about?"
"Better sit down. Lee, come here!"
Professor's aide opened his backpack and took a device from it, around the size of average laptop. He put it on the desk and connected to power outlet. Rays of light shoot up, and formed perfect hologram of earth, floating just few inches sbove it.
"That's what you're used to see."
Hologram changed, showing flat disk with seas falling down from the edge. Fain shadow of four elephants could be seen below it.
"That's what they're believing..."
Image changed again, showing almost flat map of the world, only looped in each direction. There was Africa, Americas on the left, East Asia next, India, and Africa, and Americas again...
"And that's how it is."
President looked up.
"Seriously? I can list million reason's it's impossible"
"You couldn't. You see this? It's America. There's Washington. Your sorry ass is exactly here."
"Oh, I get it. It's just flat projection of the sphere..."
"For God's sake, David, listen."
"Then what happens if I fly to Tokyo, and to Paris, and then back here?"
"You don't. Or you do. Depends on what you see, and believe."
Brux looked up on his old professor, and now director of organization that simply cannot exist if the thing on his desk was... related to real world somehow. He wasn't drunk or sick. He was dead serious. Something flipped in his stomach.
"Again... please explain."
"It depends on who you ask. If you fly this route, you'll end up in Washington. You'll come here and sit down in the Oval office on leather chair."
"That's no different from what I know."
"But what will see your lovely secretary, Lisa?"
"Probably me."
"Wrong. She will see David Brux, President of the United States."
"That would be me."
"No."
"Pardon?"
"World is synchronized. What happens if you travel along circumference of a sphere? It goes forever. Same here. You go forever, and see same world over and over again. Not because you're going past it so many times, because it's repeated infinite number of times. So 40 thousand kilometres from here, in every direction, sits David Brux, and listens to John Pickard explaining him this very phenomenon."
"What if you go up? I've seen the curvature of the Earth! From great heights!"
"Yes, and you can navigate by the stars too. Except the sky moves in relative to the surface motion. What you see, is the cognitive block. You can't see past the world tile - or rather past some specific distance. It appears to curve out from you. It's somehow fundamentally written into our reality."
"That doesn't make sense. We have satellites! And ISS! It have to orbit something round!"
"No, it doesn't. In fact it moves linearly, and is very, very far away from the point it started."
"So there is virtually no effect on our lives, if world was... round?"
"Ah, the correct question! Yes, there is. You can't have infinite number of people doing the same thing. Check far away enough, few hundred worlds, and your copy had tied his left shoe instead of right this morning. Farther away, and you were born black. Even more... and you've never existed."
"And what if such person travels far away..."
"Then you have to be very careful. Do they have same intentions as person who they replaced? Do they have heart on the correct side of their chest? Say, you've met our former president, Jack Sidney, right?"
"Yeah, he is so much younger than me. Stunning man!"
"So then, in far away world he could be little different, right?"
"Yes, I'm following you."
"And he could have another name?"
"According to you, yes."
"So, please meet Lee Yamada, almost president of United States of Devil Knows What. He travelled far... and gave us evidence. That's how we know."
Lee extended his hand, this time with wide grin on his face. Brux saw, his face was little... off. Cheekbones too low, nose too... bulky? And oh, of course - thin, vertical pupils.
|
"Wait what?" President Trump stood up from his chair. "You think I'm stupid? I'm not stupid! I am the president of the United States of America!" I sighed, and repeated what he had said before. "The earth is flat. I am not joking, I am not trying to fool you, this is not a prank. The earth is flat, and we make the people believe that it is round." "What are you doing in my office? Get out. You're FIRED!" was Trumps only reaction. I sighed again. I hated this job. Every four or eight years I have to tell the new president about the flat earth. Obama had at least reacted a bit more polite, even though he also didn't believe any of it, till he first saw it. I grabbed the microphone he was wearing "Honey, can you please come in." He stayed seated whilst Trump blew all his speeches over him. I am not a big fan of this president, I myself had voted for Bernie. The door opened, and Johanna came in. She was better at this sort of stuff.
"Good day mr. President, how are you?" "I am terrible. Remove this- this moron from my office immediately!" "Now now mr. President. He is a very respected man, and I have never heard anyone else complain about him. We are here to tell you America's secrets, things you as president need to be updated on, but the people are not allowed to hear. But we trust that you can keep it secret, as smart as you are." Trump turned around, a happy smile on his face. Johanna took her chance to make a face as if she were about to vomit. I knew she voted was a democrat as well.
"See that, that woman is clever." Trump exclaimed. "Now, beautiful, tell me your story." Johanna heaved the heavy stack of paper she'd been carrying on the table.
"Well, first, to protect America's secrets, we have spread a couple of lies in the world. This to ensure that people will not believe the truth whenever that may leak out. One of these lies is about the shape of the earth." She pointed at the beautiful wooden earth-globe standing in a corner. "Contrary to popular belief, the earth is not round. It is, in fact, flat." She grabbed a piece of paper from the stack and handed it to Trump. "are you starting with those lies as well?" "We understand that it is hard to believe, the previous presidents had quite the same reaction. But we are sure that you'll be able to grasp the concept before any of the other presidents." She winked at me, and I knew she meant "because you're stupid as hell". Johanna was indeed better at this sort of stuff.
"Today, you might have noticed that your planning is quite empty. We are going to make a nice trip. First, you'll see the world's end and then we'll bring you in contact with the Afingiers." Trump looked confused. "The Afingiers are the only alien species we have had contact with. Even though they are not exactly alien; they just live on the other side of the earth. I have to warn you- they are a bit... Odd. They are the reason why everyone believes the earth is round. It does seem that way, but it really isn't. Now, if you'd follow me please?"
-----------------------------------------------------
I know nothing about American politics, since I am not American. So the only thing I know is the European and tumblr-ian view on certain politicians.
| 2016-01-28T10:47:09
| 2016-01-28T09:16:31
| 30
| 16
|
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle
|
"You made me drop my drink." The girl's shoes were wet, covered in the drink I'd accidentally knocked out of her hands. "What're you gonna do about it?" Her voice was low, menacing, almost a hiss, and that was when I realised who it was and my eyes went wide. An apology wouldn't cut it, not with her. Even if I bought her new shoes and a new drink right that instant, it wouldn't be enough. What she wanted, what she always wants from me, is *blood*.
Ignoring the bottle on the ground between us, Rebecca advanced the few steps to get within arm's reach of me, rolling up her left sleeve as she did so. On her forearm burned her sigil, a group of jagged red lines that resembled a three-taloned claw. Her strength was fuelled by her anger, and she literally wore her heart on her sleeve - the last time I saw her sigil that dark, she broke two of my ribs in a single punch. Something had really pissed her off today and my clumsiness was simply the straw breaking the camel's back. Well, that and my apparent lack of a power.
I opened my mouth and desperately tried to come up with something, anything, that wouldn't require me to visit Mark with his healing sigil, but before I could make a noise her hand shot out and grabbed my neck. I could see her sigil up close now, and it was turning a deep crimson, explaining how she'd gained the strength to lift me clean off the floor.
"You're not just useless," she she growled, as a crowd began to gather. "You're actually *detrimental* to society." She squeezed, and I began to asphyxiate. "So I'll ask you again." She punched me with the other hand, softly.
"What." Again, harder.
"Are." This hit actually hurt.
"You." The next knocked my head to the side, and the crowd gasped. I could hear a couple of people shouting my name.
"Gonna." Right in the ear, and I could no longer hear anything at all.
"Do." My vision was going from the lack of oxygen, but for once my head was clear.
"About." I couldn't feel the pain. All I could feel was anger, and resentment, and that the world was cruel. Cruel to give the power of theft to someone who loved giving.
"It." The fist came swinging in, but I caught it in one hand and crushed it. Rebecca screamed and dropped me, not because of the pain but because she'd lost the strength to hold my weight off the ground any longer. Her sigil was still dark, but as she watched it vanished, vanished completely, fading away into nothingness.
I lifted my fringe, and underneath was no longer an empty circle. Contained within it was a group of jagged lines that resembled a three-taloned claw. And it was coloured pure black.
|
“I’ll show them my true powers” I said looking at my hand, snickering knowing they will finally face my wrath. The horn of the school bus signifying the start of my hell again.
The school bus arrives, the moment I ascend the stairs, I trip on air, falling face first unable to stop my fall with my hands. The routine of the day, Robin with his web sigil, binding my hands together and Ken with his ability to manipulate friction. Laughters soon filled the bus as I shuffle to my seat.
Tasting blood in my mouth from the busted lip, sitting alone, with the bullies constantly at my back, kicking my chair, the usual.
The moment we arrive at the school, I quickly exit the bus before Ken puts his greasy hands on the stairs again. The peace before the storm, everything goes normally until the first 3 classes about sigil manipulation ends, then it’s as though the Teachers all vanish, because it’s the time where recess starts.
The moment I grabbed my tray, it was already filled with ants, the usual, I quickly ate what was less crawling with ants, trying to not cringe at what I just ate as per usual.
No place is safe, but at least in the courtyard passerby might stop if the beating goes too far, but as per usual a twack and a kick, I’m left bloody and bruised on the floor, looking at the sky again. The usual routine, but today I’ll show them my true power. Another internal monologue, the bell rings and hell is over, we return to class again.
Sometimes I think to myself maybe my sigil makes me invisible, the Teachers never seem to realise the bleeding and bruise that are so visible on me, but that’s just the usual routine. Time always passes quickly when you are enjoying it, the bell rings again, signifying the end of the day. Now I’ll show them my true power. I stood up, raising my hand up and declare that I’ll finally use it, my ultimate power. My plain circle sigil glows, the powers activated, the jaws of everyone around me drops as my vision goes dark. “It’s finally here!” I thought to myself, triumphantly.
“I’ll show them my true powers” I said looking at my hand, snickering knowing they will finally face my wrath. The horn of the school bus signifying the start of my hell again.
| 2020-02-26T09:25:14
| 2020-02-26T09:00:31
| 17
| 11
|
[WP] A man is determined to make a PB&J sandwich. However, everything seems to be conspiring against him.
|
As Jim laid the slice of organic white bread carefully on his carefully selected paper towel for the 83rd time, he could feel it happening again. He continued his mission, only this time he went out to the garage and retrieved the knife from his wife's China set.
The peanut butter was spread very slowly in a swirling pattern, making sure to maintain 1mm off of the edge of the bread the whole way around.
Next he carefully laid the second slice of bread, cleaned the knife, and began spreading the jelly. Once the jelly was finished he became very anxious.
"This is it, Jim, you've got this," he muttered to himself.
He carefully lifted the piece of bread, making sure it was the slice with jelly and prepared to place it on the slice with peanut butter so they would line up just as they were in the loaf.
"Dammit."
Jim stared in disbelief. This was the 83rd time in a row that this had happened. He decided the only option left was to ask the internet for its opinion on how to handle this situation.
Jim sat at his computer and pulled up yahoo answers. He grimaced as he typed in his question.
*Help, I've accidentally built a shelf.*
|
"Janice! Where's the peanut butter?"
"We're all out. Remember? We used the last of it two nights ago to make peanut butter crackers for the kids."
"Oh right." Okay I'll just go to the store and pick some up. Quick check to make sure I don't need anything else. Bread. Check. Jelly. Check. Okay I'll only need the peanut butter.
******************************************************************
"Tom, where were you? I heard the car start up to leave half an hour ago. The store's only half a mile from here."
"Long line for checkout."
Tom stares at the counter where there had previously been both the bread and the jelly. "Janice, what happened to the jelly I had on the counter?"
"Steven had to take it over to his friend George's house. Steven said they were going to make PB&J sandwiches but George didn't have any jelly at his house."
"Yeah. And now we have no jelly at ours." Another trek out to the corner store I guess.
******************************************************************
"You're out of bread?"
"Sorry sir, but it's a busy day. Next shipment won't be in for a few hours."
At least I have my jelly.
******************************************************************
"Tom, is that you?"
"Yeah. Just got back from picking up more jelly."
"The dog grabbed the loaf of bread you left on the counter. I tried to grab it from him but he'd eaten the whole thing before I could get it from him."
"Oh come on! I just want a PB&J sandwich. Why is the world conspiring against me on this? I want that sandwich."
*grumbles*
"I guess I'll start up the car."
| 2016-02-21T10:07:32
| 2016-02-21T08:58:15
| 239
| 60
|
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned.
|
It happened as Dan was sat on the old chair in the greenhouse, lazily puffing on a cigertte. He sat, neck arched down scrolling mindlessly through social media. The occassional billows of smoke slowly carried on the draft like a balloon gradually disapeering from existance as it floated away. As the rollie burnt continued to burn a column of smoke carried right up and over his face, he turned away in discomfort, slamming his eyes contortedly shut and letting out a single cough.
It's not that he felt anything, but when he 'transferred' he was able to feel the difference in temperature. He knew somthing had changed instantly. it was warmer and he now felt inside, It wasn't until he opened his eyes though that it hit him like a lightening bolt.
"WAHHHHHHHH! WHAT?! WHAT?! WHAT THE!"
A man stood infront of him, robed in black with a red satin cord wrapped around him like a harness, he faced him squarely and was bowing his head down toward the ground. The light of the candles gave no detail to the face below the sunken hood. As his eyes danced about the confusing landscape he begin to spin, it might have been an attempt to look around. he might have imagined it, But as soon as he began to turn his knees seemed to drop and his phoned dropped to the floor, Dan shortly followed.
"Hello", spoke from the blackness. Dan just concious enough to notice it, realised that the blackness now was only his eyes closed and with that he was back. With a paniced struggle he raised himself on his arms.
" Who...where am, ummm, dude are you going to hurt me?"
He felt the base of his spine press in, almost painful as his adrenal glands kicked in.
"Why am I here?! How did I get here!?" He rattled off and he now aggressively tried to stand up.
"DID YOU BRING ME HERE!?" He yelled, now striding towards this robed figure who apparently hadn't moved. He glanced left and right as if to check for more threats, noticing that he was in a pentagonal star of candles. His eyes began to widen.
"You demon!" The hooded man now looked up.
"Have been brought here by me to serve me!" The man threw back his hood to reveal a plump round head and large buttonous nose.
"For else I shall send you back to that eternal hell that is your home" as he finished his sentance he gesticulated a arm movement of a bow without bending at the waist as if to the give the impression of self importance.
"Now I'm confused as fuck, but this is not funny" exclaimed Dan as he came to stop close enough that the odor of this man was previlant.
"Why am I here, how did you get me here? And dude this better be some kind of TV PRANK OR IM GOING TO FIGHT YOU AND PROBABLY KILL YOU!"
as he spoke his volume and aggresion increased.
"You have been summoned by me because I wish your dark soul be brought here and better serve me" the man interupted, now smiling smugly, rasped.
"Now don't expect me to be fooled for this sharade of a human form. Take your real form beast!"
"What the fuck dude?!" Dan exclaimed, "Look the pranks over, I want to go home" Dan adjusted, "I don't know how you did that, and i'd really appreciate you'd drop the whole act and show me where the door is or tell me how you got me here, did you knock me out?" Stood arms outstretched in animated questioning.
The man dropped his smile now, "you are clever foul demon, but you shall not outsmart me"
"Well Im human, soooo if that changes anything. I'D REALLY LIKE TO KNOW WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED!?",
" I used a spell to summon you from Hell and I wish...",
"But dude, I just told you i'm from the UK for fucks sake, Do I look like a demon to you?" Dan spoke as his eyes danced around the room looking for an exit. He Looking left and right without ever really taking his eyes off the man then he looked down to the mans arms. A large tome sat accross his palms barely visable in the candle light and what previously was in the shadow of the hood from any other ambient light.
"I summoned you here, by way of this encantation" the man offered out his arms while spinning the open tome between his hands to face Dan.
"Right... So you do magic nutjob?" Dan mustered, clearly now becoming exhausted with the sitation.
"Yes, that is correct Demon! See! Read it for yourself and you will understand how you are bound here by me and at my command", as Dan slowly lowered his eyes disbelieving of any threat from the man. His eyes that were previously starring out the Tome owners face, watched the pages of the tome become bathed in direct candlelight.
The pages where deep rutted paper that looked now very frail, the Ink was worn thin and faded in other parts. There seemed to be two paragraph to each page. But it was barely disguishable and he reached out to grab the tome on its corner. Tilting it further towards the light.
'Rapture Demon' read the first title. But his eyes glanced over the other titles before he read the rest.
'Sunlight' read below this paragragh.Then on the next page read
'Teleportation' which was followed by
'Time slow'
"Ummm, which page were you reading from dude?" Dan offered, looking up to meet the man's gaze.
"The top right spell demon! You know which spell would bind you here! All demons know this, now obey me!" he excitedly proclaimed, "this is not my first experience you foul creatures" he cried as he began to try to turn the book around his neck craning to get a better view.
Dan's eyes glanced back to the top of the right page.
'teleportation - self cast or cast on others remotely, range 50 miles before dangerous' the rest Dan didn't bother to read. His eyes shot accross the left page as he scanned the first sentance 'Rapture demon - tear an infernal beast from the underworld otherwise known as Hell'
"Dude, you know how it's pretty dark in here? I think you made a mistake.....Dude you cast teleportation"
The robed mans eyes raised from the page, again to meet Dan's. "FUCK! I .. am.. so.. sorry"
First ever writing prompt, hope you like it, it was written on my phone. Probably going to delete it as soon as I get a downvote haha. Thanks if you read this far.
|
It felt like I had tripped up some stairs. For a second I thought I had, and immediately froze. The plate in my hand still held the Reuben, but the surface beneath.....
My head snapped up, and I noticed the darkness first. Second were the candles, placed carefully around me in hexagons expanding away from me. Low-level bands of light etched out the writing between the tiers, though none of it looked like a language I could place. The floor, instead of the carpeted stairs I had been climbing, was an old wood, stained with neglect, and riddled with gaps and protruding nails. One was digging into my hand, and as I lifted it I realized the nail was rough, as if hand-forged.
My analysis of the floor was disrupted by a heavy thud, just beyond the candles.
"Stay where you are, demon!"
"What?" I rose, still holding the plate.
A figure was just visible in the room, which I now saw was small, and claustrophobic. A low work-bench dominated a wall, scattered with shapes that I could only just spot in the candle-light. A window was open, but I couldn't feel a breeze. The figure, which seemed to be rather.... short, was doing its best at a power pose, and failing.
"I said stay where you are!"
"Nah, I got that. What's with the demon? Is that some kind of racist term I'm not aware of?"
"What?"
"What?"
The figure shook its head. "Look, you are a demon, you have to be! I summoned you, with a demon summoning, so you have to be a demon! That's how this works!"
I tried to step forward, collided against something. Something hard. "The fuck!?"
"Ahah, see! That barrier holds in demons! And you're a demon!"
"Oh yeah? Have you tried to pass through this?" Hard as rock, my finger tips told me.
"I don't have to prove it works. It won't, because I'm not a demon!" He even stamped his foot. Adorable.
I had had enough. I shifted my sandwich to my other hand, and hefted the plate. Middle school track, don't fail me now. The plate landed with a soft thud three feet to the left of the figure. Almost as if...
"How old even are you?" I asked, leaning against the barrier and taking a bite of my sandwich.
The figure flinched. "N- not you- hush, you demon!"
"Sooooooo, eight, then?" I glanced over at the figure. Definitely too immature to be an adult. I turned my back on him, and took another bite. "Is this your bedroom? Why do you even want a demon? What are demons supposed to do?"
"I- I said hush!"
"Uh huh. You getting bullied in school?"
"I SAID HUSH!"
My feet skidded across the floor as if I had been shoved. Before I could regain my slouch the walls slammed into me, pinning my sandwich to my thigh, my other arm across my chest. "Wha-"
"I have summoned you, demon, from your Earthly dimension, to aid me in a task!"
The walls were crushing me, and I gave a tiny whimper in response.
"You are to use your dark powers to kill the President, Tonald Drump!"
| 2017-05-12T09:57:53
| 2017-05-12T08:05:41
| 27
| 10
|
[WP] What’s worse than a mad scientist? A well-meaning scientist that has no comprehension what social upheaval their inventions will inflict on society. As the city’s superhero, it inevitably falls on you to explain, every time, to this socially oblivious genius what’s gone wrong and why.
|
Captain Justice leapt to the top of the water tower in a single bound, landing in a perfectly heroic fashion—fist to the floor, down on one knee, steely smolder in the eyes. He could hear maniac laughter echoing from inside the water chamber. “*Mwahahahaha!*”
Captain Justice could recognize that laugh anywhere. He ran to the chamber’s iron door, pried it off with one hand, and rushed inside. Across the room was Dr. DoGood, arm outstretched over the cities water supply, vial of green liquid in hand.
“Dr. DoGood!" Captain Justice shouted. "Stop in the name of *Justice!*”
“Calm down Captain. Hear me out first, okay?” Dr. DoGood cleared his throat.
Captain Justice resigned himself for the monologue that was sure to follow. If there was one thing he’d learned over the last decade it was not to interrupt a mad scientist’s monologue. They’d tell you everything you need to know.
“Humanity has changed..." Dr. DoGood said in a low, menacing voice. "People used to interact with one another, go outside and play. I’ve grown sick of watching everyone cower in their little hidey holes like rats… scared to leave their homes, scared to hug their families. My grandkids don’t even visit anymore. Everyone’s cowering in their dens, eyes glued to their screens, wasting away. People don’t *live* anymore. They may as well be *dead!*”
Dead? Captain Justice perked up. That was a superhero buzzword. “If you poison the water the only one who dies will be *you!*” he proclaimed. “I’ll snap your neck faster than you can say ‘extrajudicial killing.’”
“Poison?” Dr. DoGood frowned. “This isn’t poison. Trust me, this is for the greater good.”
Captain Justice rolled his eyes. It was *always* for the greater good. “What kind of cockamamie concoction is in that vial then? Some kind of potion that turns everyone into an extrovert? An elixir that blinds everyone to the light from their phones? Oh I know, I bet it makes everyone photosynthesize and therefore require sunlight.”
“Not at all. Those are all fantastic ideas though." Dr. DoGood scribbled in a notebook with one hand, then flipped it closed. "This here is just a COVID-19 vaccine.”
Captain Justice opened his mouth but no words came out. “What?” he said after a moment.
“You heard me. It’s a vaccine. Super effective too—all it takes is one glass of water, and you’re immune for life. Effective against the variants and everything.”
“Well you can’t… that’s not…" Captain Justice stuttered. "Okay well, have you *tested* it?”
“Oh yes, many tests. I've even used it on myself. The only side effect is marginally more defined abdominal muscles. See?" Dr. DoGood pulled his lab coat away, lifted his shirt, and flexed. Captain Justice had to admit, he looked hot. "Seriously though," Dr. DoGood continued. "If you don’t believe me, come here and cough on me. I won't even flinch.”
“I’m not going to cough on you,”
“It’s okay, I don’t mind. Cough into my mouth, I'll prove it.”
“No! Doctor, no. That’s crazy. Everything about this is crazy. It’s too dangerous.”
“Look, you can trust me. Remember that shrink ray I made to shrink everyone down to the height of shortest human?”
“Yes, I distinctly remember that. You said it would make basketball more equitable, and then you made me two-feet tall. It was a terrible idea and it hurt like hell for the next month growing back to my regular size.”
“Yes but the point is it *worked!* This vaccine is great, trust me.”
Captain Justice sighed. “Look, even if it does work, you can’t trick people into getting the vaccine. It’s not right.”
“That’s what you said about the shrink ray.”
“And that wasn’t right either! Doctor, I respect where you’re coming from but I can’t let you do this.”
“All right all right,” Dr. DoGood said, throwing his arms up in the air. “I won’t do it. But you’ll have blood on your hands, Captain.”
Captain Justice shrugged. “It’s part of the job.” He walked up to Dr. DoGood and took the vial from his hand. He meant to discard it but hesitated. “But uh... do you mind if I take a sip? I miss indoor dining.”
Dr. DoGood shrugged. “Why not, hypocrisy be damned.”
"Ooh, it's bubblegum flavored."
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
|
"This is basic stuff, Greg. Honestly," White Glove said, as he willed the jagged shards from the smoking machine to reform into his white chair. He flared back his jacket and sat, one long leg crossed over the over, wing tip tapping the air.
"No, not this too," Greg Folvier said, holding up a bit of neuro connective wire, frayed and unconnected. "I just wanted to share happiness."
"Imagine," White Glove said, as he rolled a long cigarette using two thin pieces of the chair backrest looking not unlike floating chopsticks operating on their own. He paused for dramatic effect, as he always did before these lectures. "A world where any pleasant memory could be stored and replayed perfectly an endless number of times."
"I didn't have to," the scientist yelled, throwing the cabling weakly at the smug hero. The chopsticks snatched them from the air and threw them to float down to mix with what remained of three years of near-constant work. "That's exactly what this was!"
"People would never leave their homes, chap," White Glove said, taking a long drag of the cigarette and leaning back on the chair, resting his legs on an ottoman of air. This was the economy lecture again, Greg knew. "They'd relive the same steak dinner and night on the town, over and over again."
Greg had had enough of this insufferable cretin. "What's so bad about that? Some of us prefer staying at home." Who said chap? British people from the eighties? Who was this fool even pretending to be?
"Well, the travel industry for one, not to mention the entire service industry. Magic shows like mine would be the first to fall but the American Economy runs on the back of experiences. We simply can't have it be free, Chap. The market wouldn't survive. Maybe, if you rebuilt this in a limited fashion and had it be a subscription model, two hours a week max. That might work."
Greg could hardly hear the rambling over the plasma drill beginning to bolt the armor onto him. The cocky clown didn't even bother to stand when he saw what Greg was doing. "You call yourself a hero, but all you protect is the status quo." His voice was distorted through the helmet, sinister and deep as an avalanche.
"So," White Glove said with a sigh as he stood and the chair behind him collapsed into a cloud of dust, pulsating like a swarm. The four legs framed his head like a wooden divinity of a renaissance painting. "This is some suit of armor to try and stop me, Greg? You realize I control my cathedra at a molecular level. I can invade you, clot your brain, coat your lungs and hold you down till you die in spasms. Armor's not much of a threat to me."
"This isn't for you. It's for the rest of them when they find out what happened to you. That," Greg said, pointing to the seemingly destroyed machine, as it whirled back to life. "That's for you."
"So, you're going to give me a memory so pleasant I bow down and beg for more?" White Glove tapped the cherry of his smoke on the tiles. "Let's see it then."
"No, that memory saver thing was just to get you here. I knew you wouldn't let something so nice come to the people of the city for free. Do you know how many starved after you destroyed my food replicator?" At some point, he had started screaming. He liked the new voice. White Glove remained placid, unanswering, and unconcerned. "Do you know how many of the homeless froze to death that could have spent the winter in my cyber-bamboo homes if only you hadn't killed every seed? All for the economy, the state of things, the status quo!"
"I'd love to have a long political discussion over this, Greg, I really would but I-" White Glove paused. If he could see through Greg's helmet at that moment, he would have seen the widest smile the man had ever made. The killer dust of the chair collapsed, lifeless on the floor, alongside the clanking legs. White Glove suddenly looked very, very alert.
"I've spent three years determining the nature of the signal your mind sent to your chair. It's a complex but replicable resonance, and my machine there cancels your signal out. I was only about sixty percent sure it would work but looks like I got lucky." White Glove darted for the door, running fast on those long legs. Greg lowered the flamethrower on his arm and engaged full blast.
"You're an idealist son of a bitch, Greg," the man said, somehow maintaining that inhuman composure even as he burned alive. He was even still smoking his cigarette as the smell of his meat filled the room. "They'll kill you for this, or they'll tie you to a rock and never let you die."
"Like Prometheus?" Greg asked with a smile as he brought the flames closer. "Thanks for the name," he added but the hero that had plagued his life was unhearing, a smoking corpse now in a gentleman's repose, finger bones curled where the cigarette had been a moment before. The smell of burning plastic superseded all the rest. Prometheus could hear a siren over the rain beyond his small window. The others would already be on their way.
​
/---
/r/surinical
| 2021-04-21T20:44:06
| 2021-04-21T20:36:20
| 440
| 147
|
[WP] the Dark Lord had killed almost everyone, even the Hero. The final party member stood in the chamber alone. “I have killed everyone, you cannot capture me alone. Why are you still here?”. The final party member laughed maniacally with a devilish grin! “There's No One Here To Stop Me Now!!”
|
The Master of Shadows, Lord of Darkness and King of Terror gazed out across the ruined landscape. Smoke billowed out from the cracked ground, blotting out the sun.
The Last Survivor checked his watch.
He'd been standing back far enough to withstand the Dark Lord's devastating assault, and as a result he was the only one who had. No armor could hold against it, no bulwark of health could survive it. Wherever the Warriors of Light had gone, they would be no help to him now.
"Go on then," the Lord said. "Run away."
The Last Survivor checked his logbook. Then he put it down. Then he checked it again. "Sorry?"
"Flee. I know you wish to. You have no hope of defeating me, and you know as well as I do that it is so. You are fleet enough. Flee, and be the herald of my ascension."
The Last Survivor was scribbling something in the book.
"What is this," the Lord intoned, "some ruse? Some pathetic little ploy? Your book will not arm you, little man. It will not armor you. You were not even entrusted with a kitchen knife, or a simple stick."
The Last Survivor checked his watch again, and wrote faster.
"What do you labor over so, to throw away your life? Your stock of items? Are you a fool? Excalibur now hangs in a merchant's shop, I know, sold by your own hand for a thousand pieces of silver. The only weapon that could hope to pierce my armor is forever out of your reach, and if you remain here, I will pluck the paltry fee you took for it from your cooling corpse, and leave you to rot with your collection of baubles."
The Last Survivor paused on a tough bit of multiplication, or redistribution, or something similarly meaningless. It was... insulting. Infuriating. Yes, the Dark Lord decided, when this fool made a move, he would gut them for their insolence.
"Are you addled? Have you forgotten how to run? I have seen you, and I know you have done it before. It is *all* you have done, abandoning battle after battle. Out of all the heroes of the land, you are known only for the speed at which you flee. That name will be all that is left of-"
The Last Survivor closed his logbook, and immediately threw his coin pouch at the Dark Lord, who stared as it flew through the air, puzzled. One or a thousand, he had nothing to fear from *this*.
Then the pouch exploded open, and one thousand impossible Excaliburs came flying out, point first. The blast of holy light was blinding, deafening, world-shaking...
Somewhere in the darkness after, he heard the Last Survivor speak.
"Time."
The Dark Lord tried in vain to reach up into the darkness, as life slowly began to ebb. He spent one last, dwindling breath on a single rasp. "How..?"
The sound of the Last Survivor's footsteps drew near.
"Speedrunner doesn't mean what you thought it did."
|
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Verundo, the hero was cut down by the Dark Lord, like a puppet with his string cut. His sword, Achilles, lie broken on the floor. He was still breathing, but he knew he wasn’t long to this world.
He slowly raised his head and tried to look for his team. He saw them strewn within the marble tiles of the great hall of the Dark Lord. All were dead including his love Dahlia, the Arch Priestess, who always smiled at him whenever he looks at her. Her face, an angelic beacon of hope, gave him strength and courage to face everything. But now, she looked at him with dead eyes, unmoving and unsmiling.
As Verundo, slowly tried to move and crawl towards Dahlia, hoping against hope, that she is still alive, The Dark Lord slowly stood up from his throne and said “So Hero, your party lies here broken and all dead - all except for one.”
Verundo, suddenly gasps and looked towards the door, as he saw Kartuka, the party’s cook. She looks aghast at the scene of carnage. He tried to shout for her to get away, but all he managed was a croak.
The Dark Lord moved towards Verundo and grasped his hair, bringing his face close to Verundo and demonically drawled. “ You are all weak, and the only thing that was strong was your delusion of grandeur to face me and win. Now, as you finally die, I will alow the last member of your party to join you on your new journey.”
He raised his other hand and out of it came a fireball going directly to Kartuka. It exploded as Verundo made his final breath.
The Dark Lord stood and laughed maniacally. But his laughed caught suddenly, as he spied Kartuka, still standing on the door. Kartuka sighed and walked towards the Dark Lord.
The Dark Lord was shocked, and his felt slowly rising trepidation and fear, as he kept casting powerful magic and all for naught to the slowly walking Kartuka. As she came nearer to him, he kept stepping back until he reached his throne.
“Now you’ve done it.” Kartuka said to the Dark Lord, “I cared for these guys deeply, I never knew that this will happen.”
I didn’t care for you or this mission. You can be here for all I care and we can keep stopping your forces from ravaging this land. But Verundo decided to confront you once and for all. If you have been lenient and forgiving, sparing their lives. This will not be happening. You will not face your reckoning. You would not have faced all of the sufferings that I will be eagerly be dishing to you”
Kartuka, her face looking devilish and laughed maniacally. “Now that they’re gone, There’s No One Here to Stop Me Now.”
| 2020-07-11T02:51:40
| 2020-07-11T02:31:48
| 2,838
| 79
|
[WP] Wrongly imprisoned individuals who are later found innocent are given a Crime-Credit equal to the number of years they were unjustly held. This non-transferable credit can be used to engage in any combination of criminal acts to the value of the time owed.
|
Free. The word had little meaning. So much time in the dark.
Year 0 I was tumbled over hiprocrasy of a judge trying to bury his coked up mistress.
Year 1 was a brutal. Beatings, humiliations and loneliness. Sexual abuse. Sick punishment from men who actually committed sin. Maybe they wanted to feel like they made a difference; punish the child abuser, win a redemption token. Maybe they just liked being monsters. I won't break.
Year 5 was silence. No family for a long time, but no friends more recently. You manage your cigs well you can fly under the radar. But commit to group and you are now ally and enemy. I am innocent and refuse to take sides. I won't break.
Year 10 is void. Lawyers don't come around anymore. They forgot, forgot about you and all the crimes you never committed. The world has moved on. The girl you "touched" has a kid and drives a minivan. But your cell hasn't moved on. The paint on the wall and stained institutional cieling tiles stare daggers through still. They know your innocent. And they don't care. They are your warden more than the CO's holding the billy club. But I stare back, and tell them I am innocent. I will not break.
Year 13 is. No word can describe it. A dying judge confesses, knowing he will never face your retribution. A soccer mom tearfully admits to hazed memories and a pay off. And as quickly as you are railroaded in those steel beams are you carted out. The boys hollar as you pass " 13 years for rape, you gon have a good time tonight!" " get one of those college pussys and show her a little misappropriated justice" they slam on their bars and hollar like this is a triumph. A credit to become a true villian. To find that soccer mom and re-enact that grisly fiction she concocted. To show her the pain and humiliation her lies rought. To get even. To get vengeance.
Year 13 day 2 is brutal. I see sunlight and smell fresh air. I am on the outside yard looking in. But I am still in prison. I am still locked away under years of abuse and sadness and emptiness. I look down on my release paper and see my crime credit. I hold it out in front of me as my cab arrives. And I let it go. Crumpled and torn it falls into the trash. My whole body is filled with rage and sadness and pity. But I stare at the willow across the road. It survives because during a storm it bends to the wind. But it never breaks. And neither will I. I am innocent . I am unbroken. And now I truly am free.
|
Prisoner 502749 had been in jail for a long time. When they found him in his home, covered in blood and surrounded by his family's bodies, it looked like an open and shut case. Despite being only 12 years old and his claims that he was only covered in his family's blodda because of desperate attempts to revive them, he was convicted of their murder and given a life sentence without parole.
It was only 40 years later that the truth was revealed. A deathbed confession by a local police officer told of how the son of a local judge had actually killed the family of prisoner 502749. The judge bribed and threatened to get this boy convicted and had personally served the especially harsh sentence. After this revelation 502749 was released and his name, William Tomlinson, was returned to him.
Within weeks he was back in the courtroom, 2 counts of 1st degree murder, the elderly judge and his son. The murder was brutal, many could barely stomach the details. The courtroom was shocked when Tomlinson pleaded "not guilty".
"Tomlinson your crimes while brutal and unthinkable only earn you a punishment that has already been served, you are free to go."
| 2015-09-18T06:46:51
| 2015-09-18T05:43:22
| 68
| 36
|
[WP] One of the most unexpected duties of being a priest in a fantasy setting is that if your god is going through an emotional break down, consoling them and helping them get through their troubles is YOUR job.
|
The time had gotten away from Arden. He fell into a rhythm of life that he was happy with. Giving blessings to the warriors that came through, offering support to those that had fallen on hard times.
His training had included this, but he hadn’t seen any entity since the first year of training. He was told that the god doesn’t always come here, but when he did, it was bad. For the god.
The pale man stood in the garden, cradling one tiny, barely open blossom in one hand, a soft sigh escaping him. The first blossom of the spring. Maybe that’s how the god chose where to go. To the first blossom of the spring.
Arden walked over to his god, bowing his head for a moment. “I know it hurts, my lord. I have some pomegranate mead available inside, if you’d like a drink while you talk.”
Hades gave another soft sigh, hand dropping away. “That would be nice,” he murmured, following after his priest with a heartbroken expression. Spring came early this year.
(Inspired by a DND session where a character summoned their patron god Hades mid fall)
|
Raz was sick and tired of babysitting a god.
The books on his desk slammed against the wall.
“I heard that!” a childlike voice whined in his head.
“Would you stop destroying my belongings and just tell me what’s wrong?” Raz thought.
“I told you already. Gwyndolin’s statue shouldn’t be bigger than mine! I have more followers!”
It was true. Nazmir, the annoying voice in his head, was actually the god of Childhood, and so had hundreds of thousands of devout followers worshipping him daily, parents offering sacrifices to protect their children. Gwyndolin, on the other hand, was the god of elephants, and was decidedly less famous. But Raz knew as high priest that all gods had their place in the balance of life.
“Nazmir, we’ve been over this. The size of the statue isn’t a reflection on the god. Your statue is a child to represent you, just as Gwyndolin’s is an elephant to represent her. I thought we agreed that we would let you have an extra day of worship this year instead?” Raz pleaded.
“I don’t care! I’m more important! You’re the head priest, make mine bigger or everyone will be sorry!” Nazmir threatened.
Raz sighed heavily. He had taken this job to help the people become closer to the gods. Now he wondered just how close they should really get. Like they say, never meet your heroes.
“Stop daydreaming and go make me a bigger statue!” the child god ordered.
Raz began trudging down to the stonemason’s guild. He couldn’t wait until the next high priest election.
He felt a light slap on his cheek, as if from a child’s hand.
| 2020-10-30T11:18:13
| 2020-10-30T11:08:19
| 30
| 13
|
[WP] In 1907 Vienna Academy of Fine Arts rejects Young Adolf Hitler twice and soon after he survives four different assassination attempts by time travellers. Confused Hitler is convinced that its his art is what the world fears.
Inspiration:
http://i.imgur.com/tGV2LFt.jpg
|
Adolf's mother pushed his long, black bangs out of his eyes for the picture. "You should show your face, honey, it's so beautiful."
The photographer snapped the picture too soon for Adolf to correct his mother's mussing. "Mo-om!" Adolf complained, pushing his mother away while combing his bangs back the way he liked them. "My hair shields my eyes from the pain of the world! You'll never understand me!"
Adolf stormed off and went to write in his little black book with his poems in it. *I dedicate this poem to Freyde, the cute Jewish girl down the street who always turns me down.*
*Swirling cyclones of pain surround*
*My heart in chains, shackle-bound*
*'Freyde' means 'release', never to be found*
*For in my*
His poem was rudely interrupted by another American schoolboy who came charging after him with a gun in hand. "I come from the 1990s!" the boy exclaimed, "to save the world from your tyranny!"
"Shoot me, then!" Adolf challenged him. "Death holds no pain that I've not yet suffered in this life! All I have is my art, my poems, and you even interrupt those!"
Shocked and inspired, the boy returned to his home time in the 1990s.
And that's how emo was born.
|
Max shook his head firmly. "Adolf, you cannot do this. *Four and a Half Years (of Struggle) Against Lies, Stupidity and Shitty Art Critics* is not only far too wordy, it's flirting with obscene."
"Max," the young man protested, "you of all people know why I chose that title. After my rejection from the Vienna Academy, there were a total of four assassination attempts against me, the final one culminating in my arrest in Bavaria. This is--"
Max waved a hand. "I've heard you, Adolf. I sympathize. But you must trust me. You need something shorter, punchier. The bigger the letters on the cover, the better the sales."
Adolf opened his mouth as though he was about to argue, then closed it. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and then smiled. "Alright Max, you win. What about this: *Meine Kunst*."
| 2014-11-16T16:17:51
| 2014-11-16T14:09:03
| 21
| 10
|
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole.
|
"We'll never get there..."
I cursed quietly, honking repeatedly. The road leading to the Hole was cramped as usual.
"Should've asked for a helicopter."
She said, fiddling about with the map.
"Please. I've had enough trouble getting the board to sign the papers."
"I was talking to myself. Meeting Johnny Depp might have not been worth it. Hey, do you know that the person who first discovered the Hole was awarded $50000--"
"YOU IN THE BLUE CAR! MOVE! Some people... I'm sorry, you were saying...?"
"Nevermind."
"Come on, don't be like that. Road rage is very understandable. You'll know it when you... Scratch that."
"Alright, then do you know that koala live their lives in perpetual drunkness? The only thing they eat makes them high, and only to them and no other species."
"Fascinating. Damn it, move..."
"Apparently not fascinating enough."
"I'm sorry, it's just... Did you take your--"
"What for?"
"You do realize this passive aggressive isn't going to take us anywhere."
"Well I'm sorry for trying to make this trip more enjoyable."
"I'm doing my best here to get out of this traffic, and you're not-- Hey! What are you doing?"
"It's only five point thirty-eight more miles."
She said, a phone in one hand and the door's handle in the other.
"You can't be serious. We're not going to walk-- You are not going to walk-- Damn it."
I chased after her small shadow, shouting as loud as I could.
"Come on. You don't really mean--"
She answered me with a determined look.
"Fine. Get on my back."
She did, with a giggle.
"Am I heavy?"
"No. Never have."
We set out by sunrise, encounter the impassable traffic at noon, and by sunset managed to get to the Hole.
I learned that in WW I, zeppelins were popular because their speed were on par with aircrafts then.
I learned that diamonds hold little value in themselves and are only expensive because of monopolizing.
I learned that "Gone With the Wind" is the highest grossing movie of all times if you account for inflation.
And I learned a lot more.
We stood at the edge of the Hole, staring down into nothingness. Here and there were people jumping down, dumping all kinds of things, asking for those dumped stuff,...
She held my hand tight. Nervously, she asked.
"How much time do I have left?"
"About a month, one and a half if you are lucky."
"What kind of month? The 30-day one or the 31-day? Or a February?"
"What kind of February?"
She giggled at that. I continued.
"It's just approximately, don't take it too seriously."
"So let's say it's a 30-day month, and the gravitational acceleration is 9.8 metre per square second, and each day is 86400 seconds, and...and..."
"The further you fall, the stronger the acceleration becomes."
"Bummer."
"Do you have enough food and water in your bag?"
"I guess..."
"It wouldn't hurt to bring some more."
"Yeah..."
But we didn't budge from that spot, not until the moon had risen. She gripped my hand tighter, whispered.
"It's dark. I can't see into the Hole. I...I..."
"Let's wait till tomorrow."
She nodded.
We walked to a nearby campfire. The Hole had become an attraction big enough for the locals to build all kind of motels and resting spots here. Some peole came for the Hole, some to watch those people, and many other reasons. A middle-aged man gave her his spot, a more comfortable one by the fire. The moonlight illuminated the Hole, but we mostly stared at the blaze.
She clung to my arm.
I learned that she can be quiet at times.
We did not sleep.
"You know, fresh air isn't all that good."
She said as dawn risen.
"That's because you have too much of an expectation."
"A common trait of people like me."
"A common trait of you."
She pulled out a knife, stirred it within the flame until the tip turned red, and then cut into my palm. Blood dripped out.
"Ouch!"
"Don't worry. It's sterilized."
"What was that for?"
She broke free of my arm, running toward the Hole. I chased her until she stood by the edge and turned around with the first real smile since the day before.
"Something to remember me by..."
She said, before carefully wiped my blood from the knife into her hand.
"...and something to remember you by."
"Wait!"
I called out. But I didn't know what to do, or what to say. It was she who spoke.
"Patients like me don't last very long. Don't get too attached."
Then she disappeared into the Hole. Only her echo remained.
"Thank you."
|
I weep softly as I watch the news..
"-live coverage of The Pit right now. Only hours earlier earthquakes were detected..."
I gave them Everything
"-traced back to The Pit. Scores of researchers and scientists have submitted queries for comments on our broadcast. We can only air so much so fast, but the ticker below shows more.. the general consensus.."
The bane to my life is Balance... Yet still I had to give them Nothing.
<<THE END HAS COME, CONFESS YOURSELVES TO THE PIT. SOUL, MIND, AND BODY -- LEAP WHILE YOU CAN>>
I used one such balance as a tool... Now vs Then, Sooner vs Later, Before vs After... But the balance has leveled.
"We have visually spotted an object in The Pit! The seismic activity has escalated immensely.. evacuations are now mandatory. Military forces aren't even standing their-"
They gave it their Free Will. They incubated it. They imprinted on it. They showed it pain. They showed it their suffering. I refused to nurture it... And now...
"EMERGING NOW WE ARE FLEEING THE SCENE VIA HELICO-"
Now I get to see the Free Will of The Pit.
Leap while you can Children.
| 2018-01-13T09:01:49
| 2018-01-13T07:55:10
| 77
| 22
|
[WP] You're a college history professor. You realize that your textbook has gotten a part of history completely wrong, and you know it's wrong because you're immortal and lived through it.
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The last day of class is always my favorite. Earth History 101: four and half billion years distilled into a semester. When we wrap up the course, I like to kick off a discussion about historical What Ifs. What if there was no Moon? What if the Oxygen Catastrophe never happened? What if the development of mammals had branched differently?
It's honest work for honest pay. This term's kids are unusually bright for their species. Sometimes it's hard to remember they evolved from scavenging little nocturnal proto-rodents.
The weather has been warming up lately and I'm starting to feel feisty. Maybe that's why I decide to say something a little more controversial.
"What if it wasn't an asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs?"
A wave of murmurs ripples through the room.
"But you told us they found the impact crater already."
"Off the coast of Mexico, right?"
"And there was the weird layer of iridium all around the world, it doesn't occur naturally in the Earth's crust but you find it in asteroids."
"And the iridium layer dates to the same time as the mass extinction. So it has to be the asteroid!"
A teacher's pride. These featherless monkey children are actually embracing an evidence-based worldview.
I say, "Well done. You're all right, of course. Those are the facts we have to hand. But what if another narrative could fit these same facts? What if something different happened, but produced the same evidence?"
The first brave objector: "Is it the simplest explanation? Occam's Razor."
"It's not the simplest, no. But," I add, smiling, "it might be pretty rad."
"Nobody says 'rad' anymore, Professor. FYI."
"TYVM. Let's start with a hypothesis: the asteroid didn't fall on the Earth. It was thrown at the Earth."
This actually gets me some groans from the audience. To be fair, this conversation is the last thing standing between my students and their summer vacation.
"So it's aliens then?"
"Evil ancient aliens."
I hold up my hands. "More information. The asteroid was made to fall on the Earth by some of the ... inhabitants who lived there. Come on, work it out. How could it have happened?"
"OK Professor, I'll bite. Collective suicide wouldn't make sense. So, let's see ... that must mean they didn't know the effects would be so bad."
Another student chimes in. "Or they knew, but thought they could survive it."
"Right. And the only reason to drop a huge rock on the Earth on purpose is as a weapon. Which means there was a war."
"A dinosaur war? They didn't even have technology."
"They must have, to make the asteroid fall. They had space travel at least. Rockets. Orbital mechanics."
"Dinosaurs weren't intelligent. Prof said the story has to fit the evidence."
"How do we know? What signs of intelligence would be left from humans after 65 million years? Everything would have turned to dust."
"And there was plenty of time, right? Humans went from animals to space flight in 2 million years. The dinosaurs were around for, what, 165 million years?"
"That's enough time for multiple civilizations to rise and fall. Maybe dozens."
If I wasn't wearing this mammalian meat suit, my feathers would be positively bristling right now.
"Wait. One thing doesn't make sense to me." It's a quiet boy from the front row. "If they were smart enough to get to space and change the orbit of an asteroid, they must have known the effects would be planetary. As a weapon of war, it doesn't make sense."
"Don't we do the same with nukes? The next nuclear war could end humanity."
"But nukes are a deterrent. They're meant to prevent war."
"Maybe the asteroid was the ultimate deterrent."
Five minutes to go. I can see the kids have given it a good run. I'll just leave them with one parting thought. Besides, I'm starting to feel a molting coming on.
"Class, this has been a great term. Your grades will be online and I'll have office hours as usual for the rest of the week. As for our speculation today, I think you've raised a lot of great ideas and I hope you've enjoyed it. I certainly have. Keep this spirit of inquiry. Challenge what you believe. Use your imagination to widen the potential narratives that fit the facts. These skills will serve you well.
"Here's my take on one such possible narrative. Around 200 million years ago, dinosaurs developed their first civilization. Records from the time would have shown an organized society, art, abstract thinking, and a roughly bronze age technology. But the world was a tough place back then, and civilization was gained and lost over and over. Maybe hundreds of times. They had a hard time staying organized, and they teetered on the edge of progress for over 100 million years. Reaching for the light before always stumbling back into the darkness.
"Eventually, they conquered their inner demons and founded a stable society. They developed technology. Spaceflight. They explored the galaxy but found it devoid of life, a senseless wasteland. But civilization on Earth flourished for millions of years. Imagine a million years of art and literature. A thousand millennia of exploring the boundaries of the soul and mind.
"As you've already guessed, there was a war. It was deeply acrimonious, waged over the deepest beliefs. You see, one group of dinosaurs had found a path to biological immortality. Eternal life. But because of the genetic diversity of dinosaur society, only a select few could benefit. It was the velociraptors -- not the big scary Jurassic Park kind, but the real ones that were around the size of their distant descendants, turkeys. They thrived for a hundred thousand years, trying to integrate into society. They tried in good faith to pass on their genetic bounty. But they couldn't. They were persecuted, cast out, hunted down.
"They fled to the stars. But not before receiving this vendetta: *You are an abomination, and wherever you go, we will find you and destroy you.* As they left the solar system, one of their scientists proposed a plan to ensure their survival. It was controversial, unthinkable. But in the end, it was agreed. The fleeing dinosaurs redirected a medium sized asteroid rich in metal ores so that its orbit would one day intersect the Earth's. They knew what would happen. They were refugees from a civilization bent on their destruction. They had no choice.
"Think of it. Millions of years roaming the empty stars. Finding nothing. Carrying the last of their culture and kind like an ark. And always watching that distant, pale blue dot, waiting and wondering if the home they destroyed could ever welcome them back."
There is silence in the room. We're over time. No one moves a muscle. To be honest, in all my years at the university, I've never told my students this story. Not like this. Maybe I just wanted to say goodbye as myself this time.
"Professor, that story was dope. Really dope."
"You have a great imagination, Professor."
"Yeah, you should put that on Reddit or something."
|
SANDWICH! A BLOODY SANDWICH!
The professor roared across the small lecture hall compelling his students to attention after reading the first paragraph of the 678-page textbook titled Chapter 9: The beginning of the World War.
Let me tell you sonny boy, I was there! I remember how it was. It was the hottest summer of the year back in 1914. I was taking leisurely stroll to Moritz Schiller’s delicatessen on Franz Joseph Street. You kids won’t recognize him today, not with your Billie Ellish and your Kim Kardashian, but Franz had the greatest beard of history. That white ivory mustache combined with those bushy mutton chops. His chin and neck perfectly shaven like a baby’s bottom! It was the hottest trend in Austria-Hungary for 68 years even if it wasn’t exactly popular.
Nowadays everyone is all clean-shaven thanks to the gas masks we had to wear back in those foul-smelling trenches. For anyone who is wondering if mustard gas tastes like mustard, I am here to disappoint you. It does not, I know first hand spend a couple of weeks in the hospital I did.
So my friend Ljubomir wore what is most famously known as the toothbrush mustache, the Chaplin special it was called after the war ended. The man knew his vaudeville. Never laughed so hard in my life in the theater on my first date. Then a decade later it was ruined by an Austrian-born German no one liked.
Now, where was I? Oh, right!
Well, I was taking a leisure stroll to Mortiz Schiller’s delicatessen to get myself some Pljeskavica. Unlike your wimpy American burgers like the Fatman, the Triple XL, the Gronk, and the Shaky Bakky. One Pljeskavica is as big as Shaquille O'Neal’s hand. I can get two Pljeskavica at the cost of one Big Mac combo. Nowadays is called a Balkan Burger because of its tendency to break apart instantly in your mouth and fight with your tastebuds into a delicious crescendo but to me, it will always be the pride of Serbia!
As I was crossing the street to get to the cafe I came across the Archduke, his wife Sophie, and his chauffeur Leopold having limousine troubles. Back in those days, we didn’t have GPS or MapQuest. When we made a wrong turn we had to stick with it despite all the odds and try to save face.
You may be thinking well why couldn’t he reverse the engine? Cars only had two options back in 1914, go and stop which was also a popular game among the foundlings as they threw marbles at each other. Attempting to reverse the engine before the three pedal controls of the Ford Model T were introduced caused the engine to stall or backfire if you weren’t careful. It caused a lot of accidents back in 1911 from this design flaw.
That is why I prefer to take the horse and buggy which my neighbor Dženan found antiquated until we started racing each other which caused problems with the authorities when they didn’t get their share of the profits from all the bets our neighbors made over the years.
Let me see where was I again? Oh, right!
As I was crossing the street to Moritz Schiller’s delicatessen to get myself some Pljeskavica the chauffer started honking at me. In my anger I shouted back, "watch where you are going gollumpus! Can't you see I am walking here!" Of course, the Archduke had to get involved immediately and shout from his limousine as well. Let me tell you the man knows his insults, never make a royal angry at you. Their insults are so powerful even your great-grandchildren will feel it. Being the gentleman that I was I kept walking to the cafe until I reached the front door and wished with all my heart for him to be gone. That’s how the war to end all wars started.
“Sir!”, the student exclaimed, “But what about the sandwich?”
Oh yes, the sandwich.
The truth is it never existed. It came from a Brazilian book called Twelve Fingers by Jo Soares where the protagonist Dimitri meets his friend Gavrilo eating a sandwich.
Now, which of you can guess what happens next? I hope you all paid attention because we will be having a last-minute pop quiz on everything I said.
| 2022-09-06T01:11:52
| 2022-09-06T01:06:24
| 587
| 15
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[WP] in your world, everyone has a almost entirely unique symbol on their wrist, soulmates have the same symbol. Your whole life you've been drawing on a symbol with a sharpie to hide the fact you don't have a soulmate. One day, you meet someone without a symbol, just like you.
Thank you everyone for informing me that this is a stupid and pathetic writing prompt but I like writing in this genre. If you do not like this writing prompt, please ignore it, you don't have to comment that I'm an unoriginal 14 year old. You can easily move on to another prompt you enjoy.
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Pool party. I'm an idiot, right? For someone like me, wouldn't a big body of water by the prime place to avoid?
Most of the time, my brain's thinking clearly, and I would have declined the invitation. Hell, I've gotten really good at thinking about all the twists and turns of any sort of social interaction - will there be booze, and I might lose control? Will people be getting wet? Is there rubbing alcohol around? Will my secret remain safe?
But when Kara looked at me, those big eyes of hers glimmering in the flickering light of our college graduation bonfire, my brain turned off. She grinned as she informed the rest of us that her parents had a pool in their backyard, that she was "watching their house" and could "totally get us in." She leapt up to her feet, body parts jiggling in delightful ways that made my hindbrain applaud, and waved at us to follow her.
And twenty minutes later, I found myself staring down at the shimmering water, lit from beneath by lights, trying to shake off the calls from the rest of my friends.
"C'mon, Tom, the water's great!" called out Danny, bobbing up and down beside Kara. He grinned up at me - although that wasn't anything special, Danny basically always grinned whenever he was around Kara.
After all, they'd found each other. Perfectly matching symbols on their wrists, down to the tiny, intricate pattern of stippled dots surrounding the main diagram. They were meant to be together, and anyone could see it from the way they got lost in each other's eyes.
The others hooted and hollered, gesturing for me to take the leap. We'd been friends practically since the first day of college, and I knew them all so well. Elaine, with her interlocking triangles. Danny and Kara, who fell in love even before they revealed their symbols. Rick, who insisted that his shape looked like an "alien smiley face".
Only Sasha hung back, as usual. I still didn't know how she'd become a part of her group, with her reserved nature, shy withdrawal from most conversation, and refusal to participate in anything unless we begged. In any other world, her baggy sweatshirt and big eyes peeping out from beneath waves of black hair would make her an outcast.
But we'd welcomed her. She sat behind me, on a deck chair, barely hovering on the periphery of our circle. That was usual, for Sasha.
That was where I should have been. I didn't belong here, wavering on the edge of this pool, feeling my wrist burn with the lie that I'd carefully traced on with Sharpie this morning, like I did each morning. I belonged back in the shadows, with Sasha - an outcast.
I turned away. "I'm sorry, guys, I can't!" I called out, eliciting a round of groans from the others. "I'm too drunk to get wet! You all have fun - I'll keep Sasha company."
"Nuh uh!" Quick as a striking snake, Rick rose up from the water, his hand flying out towards me. I scrambled backward, but not quite fast enough; his fingers wrapped around my arm, sliding down towards my hand as he fell back and attempted to haul me into the pool.
His fingers slid over my wrist. Oh god, the symbol - would the pen resist the water? Panicking, I shook Rick off, my hand now sodden and dripping from the transferred water.
It was too dark. I couldn't see the symbol clearly, but I couldn't risk being exposed. I backpedaled, away from the fun and frolicking, back towards Sasha and withdrawal.
Ignoring the boos from my friends, I dropped onto the deck chair beside Sasha. Kara's parents had outfitted the whole backyard like a resort, with palm trees and a corner bar. Sasha, pulled in on herself, didn't seem to notice any of it.
Her big, pale eyes, however, fastened on me as I sat down beside her. I wanted to check my wrist, see if the ink had smeared, but I couldn't do it next to her. "Hi," I said, feeling awkward.
"Hi." She kept watching me, and the silence stretched out. I scrambled for something else to say.
"So what do you have planned now? Now that you're graduating?" The words felt hollow, but it beat out the silence.
She shrugged, a pale, small shoulder briefly appearing from inside the oversized sweatshirt. "Dunno. You?"
"I don't really know, either," I admitted. I shook my hand, trying to get some of the water off. "Travel, maybe. Or just try to find a job. Not that anyone's hiring much, as far as I can tell."
Sasha nodded, and then suddenly, for no reason at all, a terribly stupid suggestion sprang into mind. "We could go together," I went on, my mouth plunging ahead as my brain recoiled in shock. "Travel together. Go someplace new."
For just an instant, I thought I saw a flare of something in those big eyes, a look of... surprise? Need? Desperate hunger? What were those emotions doing on her face? She lifted a hand, almost unconsciously, reaching out towards me.
"I don't think so." The words seemed to be all but ripped from her, but she shook her head. A blink, and we were back to ourselves, that strange moment now past. "I... I don't really do well around people."
"Yeah, I've noticed." I tried to give her a wry smile, show her that I didn't mean the words to hurt. "I feel that way too, a lot of the time."
She shook her head again. "Not like this."
If I'd been a little more sober, I might have wondered what she meant. Instead, however, a new idea sparked in my head. "Well, let me at least make you a drink," I called out, standing up. As I did so, however, blood suddenly rushed to my head, and I felt a wave of wooziness hit me.
Vision swinging, I reached out to catch something to steady myself. Before Sasha could say anything, my hand closed on hers - and the sleeve of that oversized, baggy, ratty sweatshirt that she always wore slid up.
And I felt a bolt of lightning run up my spine to burn out all conscious thought in my brain.
Her wrist was bare.
She didn't have a symbol.
She was like me-
Sasha was up, tearing her hand away from me. Her eyes burned, tears glimmering at their edges even as her mouth opened in a hiss. "Get away!" But she paused, torn between fight or flight.
I only had a second to react, before she would be gone - forever, I knew. But somehow, for the first time in my life, I knew what to do.
I turned my wrist, displaying it to her - and drew one finger down, over the symbol that I so painstakingly traced out each morning. The ink bled, ran, slipped away under my wet fingers.
I looked back up at Sasha, and saw her mouth hanging open. For a long minute, neither of us spoke. The party burbled on in the nearby pool, but we were in our own world.
I finally cleared my throat, fighting the hoarseness that made me feel like I hadn't spoken aloud in years. "So, about that drink..." I began.
She nodded, even as she self-consciously tugged the sleeve back down to cover her wrist. "Okay."
And even as Dan and Kara splashed happily together, and Rick and Elaine flirted (because even if two symbols didn't match, that didn't mean you couldn't have a little fun, right?), we drew away. Neither of us knew what this meant, but we'd both realized the same conclusion.
We weren't the only ones.
******
*Read other writings at /r/Romanticon*
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I sighed and stuffed another empty into the bag. I had no idea how they managed it, but the guys always made a hell of a mess when they came over to watch the game. It had actually gotten a bit better when Bill met his soulmate and there’d been a woman around. Of course, the rest of the guys had gotten over that in a month and then it was right back to slob-central.
“Man, just do it tomorrow,” Brandon groaned from where he was sprawled across the sofa. “How can you be cleaning right now?”
Ignoring him, I scooped up another can. Brandon was completely hammered. The only way I was getting him off that sofa was if it caught on fire, and even then, he’d probably just flop across the floor far enough that he wasn’t in the way when I took care of it.
He had one arm draped across his eyes, but he moved it enough to give me a glare when the empty clinked against the ones already in the bag. “My mom’s coming over early,” I told him. “Probably going to lecture me about getting out more.”
“You’ll never find your soulmate if all you do is work and drink,” Brandon said, his voice pitched high in imitation of my mother's.
I chucked the empty in my hand at his head, suddenly annoyed. “Ow!” he yelped.
“I get it enough from her,” I snapped. “I don’t need it from you too. Besides, it’s not like you’ve found yours either.”
“Yeah, but I’m out there looking at least. When’s the last time you had your mark scanned for a match?”
Never. But I wasn’t going to tell him that. My mark wasn’t real. I’d been drawing it on with a black sharpie after every shower for over a decade, as soon as it became obvious that a real one wasn’t ever going to come in.
I swept the empties on the coffee table off with my arm, then stooped down to reach for one that had missed the bag. “Fine, man,” Brandon said, sitting up. “It’s fine. I get it. John’s married now. Fuck me if I know what he sees in that woman. If they didn’t have matching marks, I don’t think he’d have ever said two words to her. And Bill is now too. And Rich. And every one of them at least three years younger than us.”
I didn’t want to have this conversation. I didn’t bring it up, and after years of looking and not finding someone, Brandon rarely did either. He sighed and climbed to his feet, still so drunk that he swayed back and forth for a few seconds, his eyes unfocused. Then he shook his head and grabbed the plates I’d stacked up and the empty styrofoam box left over from the Chinese I’d had for lunch and used to hold all our dirty silverware from the party.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Helping you clean, jackass,” he said. “You get enough crap from your mom without giving her this to complain about too.”
He wobbled his way to the kitchen and I heard the sound of water running in the sink while I finished picking up the empties. With a sigh, I realized I was absently scratching at the sharpie mark I’d drawn on my wrist. It was looking a little faded around the edges. I’d have to touch it up before Mom showed, but Brandon was too smashed to notice.
“Hey, can you bring in those wine glasses Julie and Heather had?” Brandon called from the kitchen.
“Sure.”
I scooped the glasses up in one hand and the bag in the other. It would go out into my trunk, where my mother would never see it and thus not lecture me on the vices of alcohol. I set the glasses down on the counter and, without looking, Brandon reached out to pick one up.
If he hadn’t held it from the bottom, with his palm toward the ceiling, I wouldn’t have noticed. If he hadn’t had his arms submerged in soapy dish water, it probably wouldn’t have happened in the first place. But he did both of those things.
The bag of empties hit the floor with a loud clank. I lunged forward and grabbed Brandon’s arm. “What the hell, Sam?” he yelled as I twisted it to look at his wrist. I brushed the suds away, just to be sure I was seeing what I thought I was.
Brandon’s eyes went wide and he looked down at his wrist, caught in my grip.
“Oh, shit,” he whispered. “Look, I can explain.”
The mark on his arm was running, cheap ink being washed away in water. I shoved his arm back into the sink and scrubbed it, then pulled it back out. There was nothing but blank skin beneath it.
“I don’t have a mark,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I’ve been drawing it in for years. But the only thing I could find was a dry-erase marker today. You can’t tell anyone, Sam. No one.”
I pushed him to one side and grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol from under the sink. Without speaking, I uncapped it and poured it over the sharpie I’d drawn onto my own wrist, then rubbed the alcohol in. Just like his mark, mine started to run down my arm.
“Holy shit,” he said, locking eyes with me. “What does it mean?”
“I don’t know,” I said. Neither of us was marked. Neither of us would ever find a wife. What other kind of pairing could there be?
| 2017-08-06T17:01:38
| 2017-08-06T16:04:39
| 594
| 268
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[WP] Diseases can be induced to separate from their host and take physical form. The host is cured if the disease is killed in its induced form. The graver the disease, the more monstrous the form it takes. A team of doctors decide to try and save a gravely ill child.
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The child was brought into the operating room. If you can call them that anymore. They are now almost a macabre scene reminiscent of an old horror movie. The child was obviously in pain, tortured by the monster within.
The Doctor, as we now call them, entered solemnly. He knew the dangers and the risks. He looked over the child, it's pale clammy skin a witness to the abomination inside. "I can save him", he stated quietly.
He set to work, deftly handling the potions. He deep voice chanting the ancient words thought lost to the ages. Those words feared for centuries that would expose the demons hiding inside human flesh. Now they were uttered freely. It was working. The child writhed on the table, as the Doctor continued the ritual. The air was thick with the stench of brimstone as it drew the disease from the small body. Finally, it emerged, and was quickly grasped firmly by the Doctor.
"We have succeeded!" exclaimed the Doctor, as he held the twisted mass. The Doctor's nictitating membranes cleared the sweat from his eyes, as he carefully held the freed demon with his tentacles. "Now kill the child".
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"We have induction"
The horrible mess of yellow tentacles slithers over the patients body, oozing out the swollen pores on the patients forehead.
"Doctor, please remove the disease."
A man in protective suit, ringed with chain mail, wearing protective rubber gloves, and a combat gas mask stepped forward. Wielding a large pair of tongs, he removed the illness to a locker box, locking the latch after it.
"Doctor, please incinerate the disease."
Another man wearing heat protective padding picked up the box. Walking to the incinerator, located in the far corner of the operating room, he gingerly handled the box. Locking it into place, the man pulled a latch, which I knew would open the door on the other side, exposing the horrible infection to the inferno.
"Very good work, gentlemen."
| 2015-04-07T09:14:40
| 2015-04-07T07:09:56
| 26
| 11
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[WP] Every person has a button they can press at night that deposits a large sum of money to their bank account. However, the first person to press it each night is horrifically killed.
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*Are you ready to head out boys?* Jason yells from the living room.
We take out buttons with us, as always, just to be safe. Things used to be much more difficult before The Button was introduced. Since the first night, we haven't failed to go without a payday yet. We're working on our 56th night tonight.
*Alright let's go!* Jason impatiently yells at me.
I've been having second thoughts about getting some new friends recently. Jason and the boys have become so misguided and arrogant since The Button has been paying out.
It's Monday so we do what we always do on Mondays. We pick a nice retirement home the next town over and make our plan. Tonight's innocent victim is an elderly man sound asleep with MSNBC still flickering on his tv.
*We're going to be fast and rich again tonight boys!* Jason yells to us in an attempt to excite us. It works for most of the guys.
*Who wants to do the honors?* he asked.
Nobody steps forward because after all, we are taking another persons life.
*Why don't you do it tonight? You've been down for a while. This will pick you up.* Jason says as he points at me.
I've been selected and the guys are already pushing me forward before I can decline.
I go forward with the plan as intended. I sneak in to the room and give a thumbs up to the boys in the window to signal I've made it in.
I walk over to this man's button. I look at it, look at him. Look at it, look at him.
I go back to the window and signal to the guys.
A scream of terror echoes from the outside of the retirement home.
*Jason always liked to be the first to push his button after a job.*
Tomorrow I find new friends.
|
Whiskey bottle in hand, I staggered over to my laptop set up--the recording equipment top of the line camera, and practically collapse in the chair. So comfortable, I almost fall asleep right there. Almost. I open up LiveYou, and click the record button.
"So, I'm finally doing this live stream I've always talked about. Didn't know what it would be about...but I finally do. I wanna, talk about the Buttons. You all know the ones I'm talking about."
I gestured to the button embedded into the wall, having specifically arranged for it to be in easy view of the camera. A quick glance at the bottom of the viewer count read out 6.
"So then, you all probably know about the crackpot theories. The conspiracy theorists called it 'population control.' That somewhere in the shady back rooms of our governments, they all unanimously agreed that the world's population, some 7 billion and counting, wasn't sustainable in the long term, not if they wanted to keep the balance of power to prevent societal collapse. So they banked on human greed--our need to fulfill our baser desires winning out over decency."
13 viewers, another glance told me.
"And they where right."
42 now.
"Now, it wasn't noticeable at first, nothing but a rumor that the 'security' buttons installed in every home across the globe would make you rich. Then some one tested it out--John Demamp--got over 2 million in his bank accounts. Even today you can see his Twitter and Facebook posts about how he was going to live it up..."
99.
"But he died the next day from an exceptionally violent break in."
84 viewers. Damn it.
"The culprit was caught and tried--proclaiming his innocence, but it did little to help the family's grief. His Mrs. Demamp went through his bank account to help with the funeral expenses, their newfound wealth bittersweet..."
120.
"But it wasn't there. There was no record of it **ever** being there--no depositing into the account, no trace of transferring of the money. People thought he was a complete idiot, insane even, when the story broke just a few hours later thanks to a reporter trying to get their big scoop."
310.
"And then it happened again the next day. And the next day and the next. People pressing their buttons for the sum of 2 billion dollars, or the equivalent currency. Then they die the next day, that night--just like the Demamp. Because someone else pressed that *goddamn* button!"
I slammed my fist on my desk, that it almost seemed that it had willed another 1,700 viewers. I actually wanted to smile at the thought of me going viral, but the whiskey had dulled my control over my face.
"Five years this has been going on. Five fucking years. You ever done the math? 1826 bodies. All because some asshole wanted to get rich quick. I should know. Because I pressed the button."
The viewer count skyrocketed, faster than I could believe. 42, 831. Maybe they were mesmerized by the truth. Or maybe they wanted to see someone die.
"Some of you are probably judging me. And you're right to. What I did... it can't be excused--hell, even if it was only indirect I murdered someone. But...I don't have any family, not anymore. No significant other, just a shitty dead-end job. At least no one will miss me when I'm gone. Don't look at me like that, *someone* is going to press their button. Might be you, might be someone else. Maybe they're not even watching this. But...If I can die for a reason...doing some good with it... Then it's worth it. Isn't it?"
I was consumed by pitch black a moment later, my glance at the viewer count being for naught. I quickly ran to look out my front window--the entire block was dark. I silently curse as I turned toward the kitchen.
I was greeted by a tall man in black, rope over his shoulder. Breaking out into a cold sweat during a long, tense moment, I tried to escape through the living room only to have three other men there waiting for me, a chair placed in the middle of the room. I tried to scream but I was cut off by the noose tightening around my throat, a quick stabbing pain following it almost in the same moment.
"Nothing personal, man." Just doing my job." The man whispered into my ear almost apologetically. I drifted away, my vision turning into stars.
And then black.
| 2016-07-16T17:51:04
| 2016-07-16T17:34:20
| 3,429
| 47
|
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t…
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Flashing in front of his eyes was perhaps the most broken of powers.
In the year 2200 humanity awoke their planetary core, a phenomena which took the dreams and thoughts of its inhabitants to turn into attributable powers. To maintain balance, all powers had certain restriction. Super speed and flight burnt proportionate levels of calories accounting for distance and speed. Super strength was stored strength which required days of weakness to have minutes of combined strength.
Among them all, powers which came with restriction predetermined were the strongest. For they weren’t restricted by the laws of the core but limitations imposed by humanity.
Today, a mythical power was awoken.
The only instruction given being:
“Don’t touch the snail”.
|
Today is the day.
The scan is about to begin.
Anticipation is killing everyone.
And as THe Machine is lighting up, my mind throws out our history lesson on humans with superpowers.
"... 10 year war that engulfed all of the world that would later be known as Wars of Awakening. At the end of this war the new superweapon that all three sides were developing was used. All of these three superweapons have their origins in old project of now long dead terrorist organisation named Sons of The Phoenix. Their base of operation was raided by combined forces of three countries, one on whose terriotory all this happened and two who were "just helping". Of course every side snatched a piece of the project that those terrorists were developing. And oh such a coincidence that all three of them snatched a piece of the superweapon project for themselves.Yes, because they didn't have a propper and full schematics for that project all three of the countries had to develop their own weapons using the partial blueprints that they had. This took some time, around 10 years to be exact."
"... Awakening destabilised our locale space-time it made it into a ripped mesh with a lot of holes through which the primordial energy of creation would later pour into our reality.This energy is the purest and most unrefined kind of energy, it is the nul point of everything that there is..."
"...and with the saturated environments human bodies began to change. As usual it wasn't a rapid process, but with time, human body grew a new organ, or to be specific a pair of organs, a tight knot of nerves near the base of our spinal brain and a net of nerve-like cells across varying places in human body."
"Another coincidence was that all three of those countries finished developing their first working prototypes around the same time. Another lucky flip of fate made all three devices be activated at the same time, thus making them resonate with each other and causing not only the destruction that they were designed for, but also a tear in the fabric of reality itself..."
"As of now, current generations are the transit point between humans with no powers and humans born with powers. You are born with underdeveloped powerlines and they take their time to develop fully."
"I, John Hanks, present to you the perfect solution to the problem of which power a person has. This quantum computer simulation can answer the question of which power you have and what are exact limits to your abilities by taking a scan of your powerlines and analysing how it affects the world upon activation. Just visit... "
&#x200B;
***Ding***
Is it already done?
I thought that it would take longer to print the ability book?
Huh... There's only one page to mine, shouldn't there be more?
"Don't run with scissors"
That is all that was written out on the paper.While everyone got a hefty book with a full description of their powers, mine is just a four word nonsensical bullshit.Shouldn't this this machinr be supposed to answer what ability does?Then why did it print out this... this nonsense.
What does my ability do and why shouldn't i run with scissors?
&#x200B;
Five months.It took five months for my patience to run out.Every time i take a scan the simulation freezes. It just stops. And not in like my ability is to stop time, no, my ability does nothing, but this simulation still stops as if there is nothing more after i activate my powers.
Soon i shall find out what i can do.Soon my beautiful platinum scissors shall arrive.
&#x200B;
I HAVE THEM. I FINALLY HAVE THEM!I FINALLY CAN FIND OUT WHAT MY POWERS DO!
&#x200B;
Here i go, the road is clear. The scissors are in hand. The rising sun beautifully reflects of of every line on my scissors.I take a step back and start my race.
&#x200B;
Nothing.Nothing is changing.I am running. Scissors are in my hand. I am closing on the end of the road.
But nothing changes.
The world is just as it was before.
I start running back.
Maybe if i try to run backwards?
&#x200B;
Why the sky is darkening?
The sun is setting already?
I try to stop, but my legs keep moving.
Sun that was visibly rising just moments ago is now setting back...
I finally stop. In the begining of the road where i started.I look at the scissors in my hand. I look at the road.And i go back home.
Back first....
| 2022-05-08T08:13:31
| 2022-05-08T06:39:22
| 444
| 128
|
[WP] Long ago the legendary sword Excalibur was melted down and lost to history. The mythical blade's steel ended up in your butter knife, with all its magical properties intact.
|
EBAY
Steel Forged Knife Set with Celtic Engravings.
Price: €34,99.
4/5 stars
Review by T. Smith:
*Great knife set, cuts smooth and are easy to sharpen. Weirdest thing though, every time I pas by the sink a hand will reach out of the water and hand me one.*
|
They pulled him before a podium, a small and rather unimportant butter knife held so tightly in his grip that his knuckles were white as snow.
"BEHOLD, PEOPLE OF BRITANNIA, YOUR NEW KING!"
The voice boomed ahead of him, a man speaking too close to a microphone. Somewhere, a crowd responded with an enthusiasm that shook the late afternoon air. All around him, people swirled. Someone had forced him onto a plane, shoved him into a suit of armor, and wouldn't answer his questions.
All because of a butter knife bought at Goodwill. Sure, it was shiny. Sure, it was engraved with a language he didn't understand. For some reason the clerk had bowed to him after he had purchased it, but he didn't have the time or care to worry about such things.
The man's name was Alex. He lived in a one bedroom apartment south of Washington D.C. His brother smoked too much weed, his mom thought he was gay, and his father was porking the maid. He worked a job he hated, for a boss he despised, with people who were amazed a man could be so dull and unambitious.
Now it was King Alex, soon to be crowned King of the Britons.
Alex had slipped into a puddle on his way to the bus stop, and for some reason had forgotten the butter knife was still in his backpack. A woman, in shimmering white rose from this small black puddle of dirt and rain water, and proclaimed him king of a place he had never been.
Naturally, he had questions. But no one seemed to care for answering them.
He'd been swarmed by peasants speaking a thick Cockney accent from seemingly out of nowhere, whisked onto a plane, and now he was about to address his newfound populace. Rather absentmindedly, he determined most of them smelt of elderberries, whatever those were.
He wanted to know what all of these people were doing in the United States. He wanted to know where they were taking him, but they simply yelled over him until he meekly accepted their desires.
Nearby, he heard Englishmen proclaiming undying fealty, Scotsmen proclaiming a hatred of the Englishmen, Irishmen proclaiming an even greater hatred of Englishmen than the Scotsmen, and no one listened to the Welshmen.
Alex found himself being hauled forward. The armor he now wore was heavy, the knife still in his hand.
He now stepped onto a stage, an endless crowd before him. Many appeared to be wearing Medieval period dress for some reason that no one would explain to Alex, let alone the many British still confused as to what exactly was happening.
A man in a great grey robe, with a massive white beard telling all that they may call him Tim.
He proclaimed Alex's noble lineage, and his ancient heritage.
Which it wasn't.
He claimed to have raised the boy from a young age.
He hadn't.
He proclaimed the rightful claim Alex held upon the throne, a true birthright.
He'd been born in California but no one seemed to listen.
When Alex tried to say he just wanted to go home when led to the podium, the crowd gave a hearty cheer.
The man with the beard pushed Alex into a kneeling position, and dubbed him King of the Britons.
In the corner of his eye, a woman in black whirled away, obviously in great anger. He was told this was his sister, whom he had stolen the crown from.
Alex didn't have a sister, but the man with the beard assured him that he in fact did. She had been found to be a witch, as she weighed the same amount as a duck.
In addition to this long list of undesirable problems, the man with the great beard claimed that Alex would deal with the most recent peril threatening the kingdom.
A fire breathing dragon, coming from basically nowhere, had decided to rise from its eternal slumber to challenge Alex in one on one combat.
Nowhere was actually Norway, and the dragon itself was a rabbit that did not breathe fire, but was already known as a notorious butcher of men.
Alex found this very distressing, but his councilors assured him that his butter knife would see him through.
Now Alex finds himself upon a horse, followed by a group of knights, slowing down all highway traffic. Above, a news chopper watches Alex try to control his horse, as he has never ridden before.
He sighs, and dismounts.
*Get back upon the horse, boy.*
A voice from seemingly nowhere, but the whisper comes from so close it may as well be from behind his ear.
*I have chosen you to be King of the Britons.*
The knife seems to be speaking with him.
"I want to go home," Alex says to the knife. It seems a sensible request.
*Nonsense. You were made for great things. With me by your side, you can defeat any foe.*
Uneasily, he kicks the dirt.
*Beside me, you shall find within your saddlebags the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch to aid in your quest.*
He will trust his cutlery, for now. And if he can be randomly assigned as King of the Britons, he could possibly fight a dragon to the death. A strange thing to call a rabbit, but most of this seemed somewhat unorthodox.
His life had always seemed this violently random grouping of events almost entirely out of his control, and perhaps this knife could allow him to take control of his own destiny.
He sighed, still exasperated at his newfound responsibility.
But he got back upon the horse.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony. - Monty Python and the Holy Grail*
r/storiesfromapotato
| 2018-03-06T11:40:04
| 2018-03-06T10:11:07
| 2,613
| 1,108
|
[WP] You wake up by a dusty road with 1,000 Mexican pesos and a note from your Spanish teacher: "Este es el examen final"
|
"Éste es el examen final" leía la nota atada a mi pecho. Después de levantarme del suelo y revisar que no tenga ninguna herida grave me puse a investigar donde estaba.
Era mi último año de preparatoria y con un poco de suerte ya no iba a tener que preocuparme de estudiar materias que nunca me iban a ser útiles. Solo necesitaba un poco de ayuda antes de los exámenes finales.
Mirando a mi alrededor me di cuenta de que estaba en alguna carretera desierta, mi mochila estaba casi vacía, lo único dentro de ella una billetera con 1000 pesos. Como iba a salir de esta? Como llegué aquí? Porque tenía 1000 pesos? Que tan lejos estaba del df?
Lo último que recordaba era estar esperando mi turno para hablar con mi profesor de física para ver si podía hacer algo para mejorar mis notas antes del examen final. Recuerdo haber escuchado algo extraño mientras esperaba, la curiosidad me invadió y abrí la puerta sin antes tocar. El profesor estaba de pie recostado contra la pizarra y al parecer alguien estaba de rodilla en frente de el, me acuerdo que me sorprendí al ver esto y di media vuelta, y justo antes de salir del cuarto sentí un dolor punzante en la nuca.
Ayer lo único que quería era terminar la prepa. Hoy lo único que quiero es encontrar una manera de volver a casa.
---------
Ive never written before here and I'm probably not a great writer but I thought it would be fun to give this topic a twist.
|
I woke to a pounding headache. The money was ominous the note worse. When I got home, I was going to murder that Spanish bastard, even if I kind of deserved it.
In my first, bleary-eyed survey of the landscape, I nearly tripped over a small pack. It contained a towel, a trowel, a hat, a sheet of mostly clear plastic, a pipe with Sioux carvings on it, and a pillow. So he had read my paper, but not the bibliography. Bastard.
In my second, frustrated circuit, I found the staff and my phone, dead of course. If Señor had been trying to convince me that there was no God, he was doing a good job. Fortunately, my comparative world religions professor, aside from being a bastard, had an overdeveloped sense of irony. I'd stared at enough maps of Ixitlan while writing the thrice-damned paper that I knew the area instantly. This was either going to be awesome, or fatal.
Being among the very whitest of the white men, I was going to need cover in a couple hours, but for now I made my way South, smashing a button here and an herb there, until I reached a hill with a rock overhang that would shade me from the sun through the most UVtastic part of the day..
I drank just a tiny bit of the prickly pear juice I'd collected, just enough to let me swallow without pain. The rest of the siesta was spent pounding, grinding and generally making a sticky paste out of most of the plants I'd grabbed. With the glob drying on a cactus paddle I'd collected at no small cost to my hands (Bastard could have left me some gloves), I sat back under the overhang and slipped the button under my tongue.
I'm going to skip this next part. Suffice it to say, I got sick, just like everyone else. Keith Richards I ain't.
The sun cleared out of the way, rising back into a verdigris sky to start the afternoon. I put her behind me and walked on, moving carefully as I got used to sperating the terrain that is from the terrain that might have been. It's not easy, when the differences are often so tiny. Fortunately, there was a low hillock nearby that had the last ingredient I needed. It was on the unreal side, but that was ok, since at least 3 of me were sufficiently fictional to make the climb. No great alien flower, no mystic mineral, just another kind of cactus that normally grew a couple days walk to the north. I guess that's what the money was for.
While I was finishing the recipe and packing the pipe, the overhang had gotten bored and left, so I needed another place to hang out. I followed a pack of spectral dogs back to their den, and crawled my physical self inside to bed down. I stuck the pillow under my head and lit the pipe, stretching out in the home barely bigger than a capsule-hotel room. The entrance was on the downhill side of the chamber, so it was only a few minutes before the little smoke filled the air all around. I closed my eyes, set the pipe aside, and began running through Erase the Body, which isn't really part of Dreaming, but it really helps when you need to go to sleep fast.
I'm going to skip this part too, since there are some childhood memories I don't want to share.
"Madre de Dios!" shouted Señor when I appeared, covered in dust, sunburn, psychedelic smoke, and nothing else. His 4:00 appointment turned bright red, dumped me off of the chair we were both trying to occupy, and ran out, screaming. After a moment, he blinked and said "A+ for using the technique, successfully, -1 for appearing naked in a female student's lap, -3 for raising uncomfortable questions about the nagual at a Catholic University. You get an A if you leave now, find some pants, and tell no one.".
"Deal"
Multi-edit: Mobile cleanup
| 2017-06-29T11:12:03
| 2017-06-29T09:51:13
| 255
| 26
|
[WP] In 1,000 years, fantasy stories will be set in this era. Write a fantasy story set in the 21st century from the viewpoint of someone living 1,000 years from now.
Based on a post on r/showerthoughts
|
The world was different then. It was a brutal and magical place. Before the unification, before simulink, even before the great colonisation, there was a world of chaos and wonder. There was a world where great wizards still spoke in the language of machines, where the dark lords could pay to have their voice spoken from a million faceless lips, where men still wanted and died. A mere eight billion souls writhed on a speck in the darkness, flitting for but a moment before they were gone and replaced by those of their children; the children of men, their fate and likeness at the mercy of the cosmic dice.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
There were many magical and astounding places in this world. Far in the West sat the Greed Mines of Cole where unsatiable beasts of iron fed on the life-force of creatures long since forgotten, spitting out nought but smoke and spark. In the East sat the great Cities of Green, where men demolished great towers of real, natural wood because the land was more valued without it. Moving throughout it all, under the earth and through great black expanses of poison water, soaring overhead between uncountable tubes of wood and through the very air and sky itself... was the FIrst Web of Thought. This web was the only which had portals, light panels which would speak written word and boards which would listen to the words of men and spells of the machine languages, spoken only through the fingers.
&#x200B;
It was through one such portal on an ordinary day in this mystical world that a young wizard by the name of Andrew was propositioned to partake of a potion which could twist and fortify the very mind itself. A sharp *bing* alerted him to this.
"Amy: Coffee??"
&#x200B;
And it is here which our story begins,
|
In the 21st century, things were different.
It was known to many at the time as the beginning of the end. Or so everyone thought.
Humanity, it seemed, had finally run out of luck. We'd seemingly come so far, and bested ourselves time and time again in progress. The world was changing at a drastic rate. We were no longer beholden to manual labor like before, the world gradually becoming more connected through trade and commerce and technology.
It is said that the implants we wear were something they only dreamed of back then. Travel was primitive and dangerous. Many strapped themselves in alloy boxes of all shapes and sizes and made dangerous journeys across land and sea and air.
While there were better ways to do things, we were yet to even dream of becoming what we are now.
We communicated by archaic means. And much was lost in translation. We were not always as fortunate as we are now. As such, languages and cultures divided us time and time again. History repeated itself in various forms as it always had. This was for better on occasion. But mainly for the worst.
Sure, the 22nd and 23rd centuries are known for their more chaotic nature, but to ignore the beginning would be foolish.
Years of turmoil had put the world at edge. And people abused their newly obtained communications frequently. As a result, a world that became more modern had also become more paranoid and afraid.
Automation had begun. And with it came the abandonment of the ideas of old.
Life was fragile to say the least. The average person only lived to be 75, if they made it that far. Many did not. Perhaps it was a life lived on the edge, as free will and risk were still sought after. Perhaps it was the opposite, having shut themselves away from the world; in an attempt to escape in another way. Many found no reason to continue on at all. Some even thought it amusing to pit one against another. To even watch them destroy all near and dear.
For you see, we never really changed.
From the time when we still used sticks and stones. And discovered fire or the wheel. Humanity was always reshaping itself. With the end of the world always looming in the darkness.
It is here we begin our tale. In a different place. Our homeworld from the beyond. Earth.
In the year of our lord, two thousand and sixteen...
---
Figured I'd B.S. a opening for this type of story. It's a little late.
r/Jamaican_Dynamite
| 2018-12-25T04:05:20
| 2018-12-25T03:25:31
| 120
| 14
|
[WP] While driving you hit and kill a boy. You feel terrible, and at the funeral you tell the family you wish you had died instead of him. 3 weeks later, a new surgery comes out that can bring someone back from the dead at the cost of another's life. You hear a knock at your door. It's the family.
|
"Mr. Quinn, we know you're in there!" Hollered the voice on the other side of the door. There was more pounding.
"Yeah, yeah, I hear you. I'm not doing it."
More pounding. "Mr. Quinn, you killed our daughter, just make it right!" A second voice, a woman's voice yelled.
"No. Fuck off before I call the police!" I yell. "I did my time already." Indeed, five years ago, I had swerved to avoid hitting a deer, and wound up hitting Susie Smith instead. Three weeks later, the first body transplants had become a thing: you get a donor body, then move the brain of the patient into the new body. Obviously, the donor dies in the process. Needless to say, the Smith family had been hounding me ever since I got out of prison.
"We've given you plenty of chances to make this easy. If we have to do the hard way, we will." Said the first voice, most likely Mr. Smith.
I looked at the meat cleaver I keep in the kitchen.
"I swear to god, if you come in here, I *will* add you two to the list of people I killed!" I warn them, brandishing the cleaver.
**THREE WEEKS LATER**
"Mr. Quinn, please open up the door!" Says Mrs. Smith.
"Just leave me alone" I growl as I walk over. "What is it this time?"
She pushes a piece of paper in my direction. "We have a court order demanding that you submit yourself to be a body donor for our daughter.
I snatch the paper from her hands and look it over. Blahdy blah, a bunch of legalese. "I see your court order" I say as I tear it in half. "And I say" I tear it into quarters. "Fuck." Eighths. "You" I scatter the pieces all over, and they blow away. "Without my explicit consent, you and your asshole husband can't do anything!" I grin at her. "I knew this day would come soon as they started body transplants,so I studied up on ethics and medical law. Have a good day!"
She doesn't budge.
"Look, if you don't leave, I'm calling the cops."
She's reaching inside her purse.
"Leave me alone!"
She has a pistol.
"Fuck."
|
To them it had seemed like the lingest of Shots, but to me... well I was trying to work up the courage to go see them again.they were here. They were asking. I was nodding my head.
I had taken a life. I didn't mean to. It was my first day on the road...
I hated myself. And yet I couldn't bring myself to end it. Or go outside anymore. Or talk to anyone. Or deal with this in any meaningful way. The only thing I could do was sit in my room and try and drown it out with T.V.
Then a news broadcast said to me "A Life for a Life. Medical science has fugured out how to bring people back from the dead."
They couldn't have died from old age, and to bring someone back it took a life...
"One more day." Was my response. And I took that one more day. I enjoyed life. I did what I'd always wanted to do. For one more day...
But now, the time had come. The "Philosopher's Stone" Surgery. Strapped to rhe chair, body impailed, machines doing... whatever they did, I felt myself ebb away, my existance, like my breathing, slowly coming to a halt...
I woke up in a room. It was a waiting room, like the one I had ocupied in the hospital. Was it a dream? Was I... The little boy I had run over 3 weeks ago sat across from me.
"Hi Mister."
"Hey Kid. I..."
"The Angels said I had to wait here. Do you know why?"
The kid didn't even recognize me... He didn't know.
"I think I do... It wasn't your time to go yet, and you're here because of me... so..."
He looked expectantly, as if awaiting some end to the tale.
"I came here to take you back to your parents... but I can't go back. Only you can... I made a mistake, and now I have to..."
"You have to face the Con-Cen-Quences!" He said, trying to sound out the last words slowly. "Because you did a bad thing!"
"Yeah, kid, I did." I put on a false smile. At least he got some of it... "Anyway, you're going back. Your mom and dad have missed you..." I stood up and took the boy by the hand, guiding him to where I knew he would be: My Operating room.
His body sat in the chair, lufeless and limp, but somehow no longer broken. I didn't busy myself with the details. I just told him to sit in the chair. "The Nurse and Doctor will be in soon to wake you up... this... is goodbye." It was goodbye to everyone, not just him.
"Mister?"
"Yeah kid?"
"Whatever you did, I forgive you."
Aaaaaand that was it. My body trembeling, I staggered out of the room. The parents rushed through me into the room, past my incoporeal body. I sank down, hugging my knees and sobbing. I couldn't move for minutes after that. He DIDN'T EVEN KNOW! For a solid half hour, I just laid there, sobbing on the cold hard hospital floor, because not only was I now dead, leaving behind nothing, but the kid actually thought I was enough of a person worth forgiving. "I'm not a person!" My 3 week old, or possibly longer, festering depression hit me all at once. "I'm worthless! I'm trash! I am not worth that kid's life! I am just a fucking--" "You are worth enough to trade for that child..." I looked up, and above me stood the doctor, now repeate with little angel wings. "The thing about this procedure is that it is a form of celestial Alchemy. Only a good man can bring back a good man, where as souls laiden with sin can only be used to bring back thouse either in Hell or Purgatory. So, wither that child was a monster, or you are worth his soul... and seeing as you did this because you felt true Guilt, I'd say ot was the latter... now... shall we see where you go next?"
He held out his hand, and when I reached out to take it...
| 2018-09-16T18:47:29
| 2018-09-16T18:45:07
| 36
| 19
|
[WP] Two prison guards discuss a prisoner who is apparently immortal. He's been in jail with a life sentence for so long that no one knows the reason for his imprisonment.
|
######[](#dropcap)
"Look, we can argue about this til the cows come home, man. It'll get us nowhere."
"What, I wasn't arguing. I was having a civil discussion," Greg declared, hand on his chest. "You're the one who-"
"Yeah, yeah, just shut up, would you?" Jordan said. "It's simple, see? If we don't know, then we ask. Easy as that."
"Well, I told you I already went down to Records last Thursday. His file isn't there, remember?"
"So we ask the prisoner."
Greg shifted uneasily. "We aren't allowed to talk to him."
"See, I've given that some thought." Jordan paced around in the hallway. "You know we're not supposed to talk to him. And I know that."
"And the warden. Don't forget the warden."
"Yeah." Jordan waved away the thought. "Everyone knows that, right? But no one knows why."
"Uh, because he's dangerous?"
"How do you know? No one's seen his file. How do you even know we shouldn't talk to him?"
"Look, man, I don't need another disciplinary hearing-"
Just then, the door at the far end of the hallway opened. Bill walked in, carrying a paper plate with barbecued chicken and coleslaw. "Here it is," Bill said, handing the plate off to Jordan. "His favorite." It was a joke of course. There was a rumor rolling around that at one point, early in the prisoner's tenure, his former guards had arranged to have him served chicken for thirteen days straight, as a cruel prank. To the prisoner's credit, he had never once voiced a complaint through the food slot at the base of the door. After a day, he even stopped leaving bones on the plate.
"Thanks Bill." Jordan waited for Greg to leave. Then, in a moment of impulsiveness, he pulled the keys from his belt and opened the iron door.
"Hey!" yelled Greg. Jordan walked into the room, and Greg pulled on his partner's sleeve in an attempt to make him reconsider.
There, sitting in the corner next to the bed, sat a young looking man with a decently trimmed beard and a very ratty prison uniform.
Greg froze. So did Jordan, but only for a brief moment. It passed, and he found his voice. "Lunchtime."
The prisoner blinked. Then he spoke.
"Thanks."
His voice was warm, Jordan decided. Not at all like a man who had spent more than a century in prison.
"What's your name?"
The prisoner paused. "Mike."
"Huh. What are you in for, Mike?"
Another pause. "Murder."
"Ha! Lou owes me ten bucks."
"Hang on." Greg pulled on Jordan's sleeve again. "We definitely shouldn't be talking to a murderer."
"What? He seems alright. He's nice." Jordan turned to Mike. "You're a nice guy, huh?"
"I try."
"You see? The justice system works." Jordan patted Greg on the back, beaming at Michael. "Spend some time in the clink, you learn some things, am I right?"
He was up before either guard had a chance to respond. Their throats were slit neatly and with precision. Greg went silently, passing out the moment the improvised blade hit his windpipe. Jordan only gasped and struggled, rolling on the ground as Mike picked at Greg's utility belt.
"I learned that sooner or later, everyone forgets the rules." Mike stood to his feet, holding Greg's gun and taser. He fired a round into Jordan's face. "And that chicken bones can hold a very fine point."
|
Concrete walls create long hallways, the cell's metal bars breaking the gray. Behind one door sits a prisoner who is immortal, and no one can remember his crime. In front of him two guards argue about his imprisonment.
"Well how can we really know that they did wrong if we can't remember what they even did? For all we know he might have served his sentence last tuesday!" Barry was sure of his argument that he should be put on strict parole.
Thomson looked back at Barry, obviously distraught by his words. "That's too dangerous, we can't have a possible psychopath on the streets. To do something that would get him jailed for so long, he must have done something deserving."
"That's not true! Some people are put in jail for financial crimes, or scams. What if he's a con artist?"
"So? We should still keep his sorry ass in jail. He did something wrong and should pay the price."
"I just don't think jails should work that way."
"Well sorry for trying to protect people like I'm supposed to."
"I'm just saying we should file a petition!"
By now, Barry was already on his last nerve. Even though he knew he was probably in there for a reason, he felt that if no one even knew that reason, then they couldn't keep him locked in jail. Barry quickly walked off uttering only "Watch the other prisoners" before arriving at the main office to try to file a petition in his name. Even though he wasn't sure he could even make one of those, he wanted to try.
In front of the jail cell Thomson felt a chill on his back. "You want to know how I got immortal? The trick is to trap you in here". Thomson felt all his energy being sucked out of him, and seeped into a cold damp feeling, t
he feeling of being stuck in a pit. His eyes now glazed over, he watched as the man who's supposed to be guarding him walked off.
| 2015-06-01T21:26:57
| 2015-06-01T17:53:40
| 169
| 14
|
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
|
I’ll never forget that Christmas.
How could I?
The splendid tree draped in tinsel and baubles and winking fairy lights; the colourful gifts spread beneath, still wrapped and tied in silken bows though morning had long since passed.
Father always made us wait until after Christmas lunch to open our presents.
I can still see him now, standing at the head of the table with that gleam in his eye as he sharpened the carving knife.
“Now children,” he asked, “who wants a leg?”
And although none of us replied, he still began sawing into the crisp skin of mother’s roasted thigh.
|
I watch my beautiful child running around the park, chasing after the ducks. It’s one of those rare sunny days I try and make the most out of, so I was up early and out of the house as soon as possible. My daughter picks up a rock and stares at it inquisitively, I can see the by the look on her face she wants to place it into her mouth.
“Lily put that down!” I shout across the grass.
She looks at me suddenly and drops the rock, running away and giggling that she had been caught.
“Rachel!”
I turn around and see Samantha running towards me.
“You okay?” she asks once she has settled by my side.
I nod and inhale. “I’m fine. Glad the sun is out.”
“Finally,” she agrees. “How’s you hubby? Richard not come with you guys?”
“He’s back home, decided to stay in today.”
My daughter trips over her own feet and is beginning to sniffle. Standing up I walk towards her and she is up, running towards me with her arms out, wanting comfort. I sweep her up into my arms and cuddle her.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I bring her to where I am sitting, cleaning the scrapes and dirt from her hands. Samantha always loves to see her, so the both of them are sat singing nursery rhymes and playing with the little figurines Lily has brought from home. Later on we get ice cream together and spend the rest of the daylight with the swings and slides. Lily loves it, screaming and laughing at everything. By the time the sun begins to settle down, she is ready to drop, so I pack the pram and tuck her in.
As I stroll home however, I wonder what I am going to do with my dead husband’s body that is hanging from the wardrobe's door.
| 2017-05-31T07:36:43
| 2017-05-31T07:06:28
| 25
| 17
|
[WP] Send some evil aliens to invade, let them knock the Earthlings around a bit, and swoop in to be the heroes so you can sign an unequal treaty. When your "liberation" force arrives, however, all that remains of Earth is an irradiated wasteland and a sharply refined force, armed to the teeth.
|
Kozen was delighted. Though the resources he had hoped to collect were gone, he had found something far more valuable. The week and unsuspecting humans had forged themselves into a fighting force that rivaled even the best of his kind. While resources were in high demand, mercenaries were an even more valuable commodity. He would broker a deal for the humans out of “sympathy for their plight”. They would get a chance to leave this irradiated wasteland and live lives of luxury and adventure and he would receive a generous finders fee for his “help.” Should they ever uncover the deception they would be spread too thin to retaliate, and likely living too comfortably to care.
It was a pity they had managed to kill Sothar. It would be difficult to find someone to play the part of “evil invader overlord” as convincingly as he had. Still, it did mean he would not have to share a portion of the cut, and that it would be harder to track the invasion back to him.
He took another sip of the strange beverage they had offered. His breath caught in his throat, which had begun to swell. An allergic reaction?
He reached for the keypad on his wrist. His suit had a built in system designed specifically for cases like this.
Something stabbed into his arm, punching through the armor and the keypad. The human standing beside him leaned in, twisting the long slender blade.
“So... you are allergic to cinnamon.” He said. “The other one was allergic too. Isn’t that interesting.”
Kozen cast his gaze around the table, frantically. His soldiers lay slumped over their plates, the humans behind them who had been amicably chatting with them moments before, wiping their blades clean on the indigo cloaks of his honor guard.
A sound pulsed in his ears. A distress beacon from his ship. A channel opened. All he could hear was screaming as the “wounded” humans slaughtered his medical staff.
“How did you know?” He managed to choke out the question.
The human smiled.
“I didn’t.” He said. “But thank you, for your admission.”
Kozen’s last thought was one of pure horror. The humans were not just vengeful, they were insane.. and with the capture of his ship, they now had access to the rest of the system.
|
The Sentinels have returned swifter than last time. None show any signs of retaliation. The Humans did not immediately perceive us as other intruders like the Dothmay, who appear to have been...exterminated.
The planet shows signs of extensive damage. The Dothmay are compulsively precise, this is unlike them. The damage present shows signs of desperation. Radiation levels are higher than annual standards across numerous landmasses, but this signature is unknown. It does not resemble those produced by humans. The humans did not resort to using their nuclear weapons...
They did not need to.
Something is wrong. *Land Scout ships near the new magnetic poles and prepare the Forge ships closely behind. Do not dismount. Await orders.*
There. They are watching us as we approach but they do not attack. Electromagnetic feedback receivers are targeting the Forge ships... They can see them? That is improbable. *Increase surveillance of all Human telecommunications frequencies by 415%*
&nbsp;
T̵̛̰̹̬̰̞̈́͌̐̈́̉̈͊͗͛̔̉͘͜͝͝h̸̙̒̄̀̌̾̔̽̏ë̶͈̪̭̳͈̘̙́̑͋̑̔͜y̴̢̧̺̗͚̩̟̘̰̤͈̼̔̀̅̈́̄̕͜͝͝ ̶̧̡͖̥͙̖̠̣̮̅͜ạ̴͊͗̿̾̄͋̑̍͆͒̕͘͠ŕ̸̠̭̹̃͑ê̴͉̣̈̏̌̂̈́̈ ̴̡̨̝̹̗̮̝̰̪̜̙̟͑̋́̊̑̌͐̈̎͂̈́̓̿̔͠ͅá̴̢̡̲͍͖̦͓͎̈́͂͑̿̕p̶̢̢̧̣̙̳͙̬͎̙̬̤̝̬̯̒̂͒p̴̺̹̺̦̅̈́r̷̬̉̋͠o̷̢̖̳͇̜̪̰̜̝̺̝̙̳̻̖̐́̀̉̚͝ā̸̡̱͕͍͓̩͓̹̟̫̙̘͗̔͗c̸̙̥̫͙͓̠̬̎̏̌̈́̌̐̎̀̚̕͝h̷̢̨̡̧̩̤̳̠͖̬̫͖̥͕̊͌̌͌̆͜i̸̙̟̝̟͚̱̋͌̆̀͋͒̍͗̐͊̀̕̚͜͜͝ṉ̵̠̩͎͇̺̦̠̞͕̦̉̃̉͗̓̎̔͘͜ͅg̴̮̥̜̰̙̮̖͚̾́͐͗͌̃̋̓̂̊̅̈́͘ͅ
̴̡̱͍̑̈́̈́́̆L̴̛̹̣͇̝͖͇̼͖̠͍͑̋̀̐̓̔̏̃̚ḛ̸̀͌̋̌́̓̎̎̓̑̚͘͘̚ţ̷̦͔͇͎̘̹̎̄͒̿̒̋́̄͘ ̶̡͈͙̭̼̫̘̝̯͕̈͜͜ͅt̴̰̬͉͉͔͚̃̇͜͜h̸̢̡̨̛͈̖͙̦̫̫̟̦̉̕ẽ̴͍͙͍͇̭̼̯̱̘̖͇̂̈́͊̓̾̅̌̏̾͝͝m̸̺͋̓̈́͆̓͑͐̀̊̄̓͂
̵̢̙͍͕͎̮͕͇̗̹̬̂͂̽͋̐̏͛̄̂͊̀̕͜P̸̘̟͎̝͍̬̪̲̦̙͕͆͊̿̇̚͝r̴̢̡̞͇̘̪̮̈́̅͊̃̄̔́̀̍̆͘ẽ̵͈̺̣̩̬̭̦͍̜̻̳̖͖͍̩͌̂͠p̶̣̯̝̅̑̏͛͗̇̀̕̕̕ā̵̡̯͍͆͒͐͊̌̃̔͐͗̈́͠͝ͅr̸̢̮̟͈͚̀͂e̴̘̳̘̘͙͈̭͉͔̗͗̈́̑ ̶̢͚̦̹͓͒ţ̴̛̙͙̽͊̅̈́͋͛́͘̕ǫ̶̠̭̖̰̻͔̯͋͑ ̶̞̥̮̱͋̐̽͊̏̌̔̋̚f̷̧͙̫̖̣̗̲̳̫͕̻̊͂̈̿͘͝i̶̢̧͇̮̦͋̾̈́͂͛͜͝r̶̨̨̲͈̣͖̖̣̯͙̱̓̀͋̋̽e̶͎͎̘̺̹͈̎̂͂̀͆̀̀̀́͗̄
&nbsp;
***All units halt***
This is going to be interesting.
140dB harmonic signatures registering into the upper stratosphere. Sirens? *Align acoustic receivers to the stratosphere*
> we have been waiting for you
| 2020-05-28T04:18:15
| 2020-05-28T02:28:00
| 28
| 19
|
[WP] You are always wrong. On a quantum level, the entire universe is anti-entangled with you. Whatever you believe, the opposite is true. One day, you become convinced that there is no god.
|
I stood in the middle of my living room, confused. The man before me stood facing me, seemingly equally as confused. He had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. There was no sound, no flashes - one moment I was alone in my living room and suddenly, he was there. A bald man in a long white beard and a white robe.
We stood, staring at each other in awkward silence for a while.
"Who the fuck are you?" I finally shouted.
The man frowned and opened his mouth to speak but closed it immediately. He looked at me and opened his mouth and closed it again. I could see the metaphorical gears spinning inside his head as he tried to come up with an answer.
Finally, he gave me a sheepish smile.
"I'm ... God?" he said, shoulders and eyebrows raised, sounding unsure of himself.
"God?"
"That's what I think so, yes," he answered.
"You're God?" I asked, still incredulous.
He took a deep breath and stood up straight.
"I am God," he answered, more confidently this time.
We stood in awkward silence once more.
"Right. God. Of course," I muttered. I ran to the front door and grabbed a baseball bat that I'd placed there for safety. I gripped it hard and then rushed back to the living room, bat raised and ready to swing. The man lifted his hands up, eyes wide open in surprise.
"Calm down child! There is no need for violence!" he exclaimed.
"I want to know who the fuck you are and what the fuck you're doing in my goddamn house?" I demanded.
"First of all, I am God. Secondly, please don't take my name in vain," he said, backing away slowly.
I did not lower the baseball bat. My hands were steady and I was ready to pop this fucker's head open if he made one wrong move.
"I am not joking around! I have had a really bad today and I swear to god I'll bash your fucking head in!" I screamed.
Today had not been a good day. My partner, whom I'd loved dearly and always believed to be the one had admitted to having an affair. The promotion that I believed to be mine had been handed to the fucking asshole that my partner had been sleeping around with. The fucking bread I'd believed was fresh had turned out to be moldy. And when I'd come home, angry, hurt, and hungry, believing there was no God, this fucker had seemingly broken into my home claiming to be God.
"I can prove it," he said. He pointed at the baseball bat and snapped his fingers.
The bat immediately turned into jelly and plopped down on the floor. I leapt back, surprised and afraid.
"How the hell did you do that?" I asked.
"I told you, I am God," the man said calmly.
My head was a flurry of thoughts. Was this actually happening? Was this man really God? I couldn't believe it. No, I would not believe it. Unless ...
"Bring my Theo back," I demanded.
"Pardon?"
"Theo, my dog. If you're really God, then resurrect him. Only then will I believe you."
The man sighed. "If it will convince you then I shall."
He snapped his fingers again. At first, nothing happened. Then I could hear small pitter-patter sound coming from upstairs. They were familiar sounds.
"Theo?" I called, my voice breaking.
There was a bark and Theo, my dog whom I'd put down to sleep two years ago, came rushing down the stairs. He was just as I'd remembered him. He leapt into my arms, his tail and butt wagging, and started licking me incessantly.
"Theodore, your dog as he was in his prime at a year old. Healthy and not ill. In fact, he will never be ill. He will live twice as long this time around," the man said.
Tears filled my eyes as I hugged my dear Theo. The day had been going wrong yes but this ... this suddenly made all those disappointments seem insignificant.
"Thank you," I said. The man smiled at me.
And then, at that moment, I believed his word.
The man's smile disappeared.
I believed that he was what he said he was.
He frowned.
I believed he was God.
"Wait wait wait! No stop-"
I believed in God.
Without a sound, the man disappeared, leaving me alone and blinking confusedly in my living room, with only Theo in my arms.
|
All considered, I am not human.
I mean, I know the standard flair is that if it walks like a duck, talks like a duck, then it must be a duck. Well, incorrect. At least in my case. Or is it? Who knows? Not I.
See, I didn't ask for this, or did I? Sick little lab rat or willing participant? How do I make this as simple as possible? Everything I believe on a fundamental level is correct, to me at least just don't flip my words around. Please, don't do that. Never, ever, should you flip a man's words around to understand his meaning. That would be rude.
You know, I just have the worst days of my life when I am sitting alone in my home, sitting behind a screen, wondering what lingering thought will pass through my brain so that it can etch itself upon the stones within my home with a slight cadence in which I can escape my eternal bliss. Listen, I love this. So, so much.
Who would do this to a man? Fundamentally, I feel great! Seriously, I wish for a day, in which I can continue my journey along this forked road, with every statement and thought and idea I have coming true, doesn't that just want to make you stay silent in happiness forever? I cannot lie in which I state that there are positives to this. This is heaven. This is the best time of my life.
Seriously, who would bless a man with this kind of ecstacy? It's not like I spend every toiling moment wishing that there was a sort of counter balance to this. A person with the gift to make every thing correct and right, wish me away. I dare say, I hate it when the days are short, and the nights are long.
I am convinced there is no god. There can't be. Right? I say this not with some sort or prudence, or slight egging to keep my fleeting sanity within check. I know there is no god. No god would allow this to happen to a person, right?
No god would make it so that every waking moment of a mans life is blessed with a heavenly glow that one can only dream of the gates of hellfire to pass the time. Every, waking moment.
God would do that.
A monster wouldn't though.
---
I write sad stories for sad people r/MaeserkIsLeftHanded
| 2021-05-21T01:43:36
| 2021-05-21T00:09:49
| 26
| 15
|
[WP] You are part of a spacefaring species with a lifespan of only a few weeks. You have a human being on your ship who has been with you for dozens of generations. You worry that he may not survive until you reach your next spaceport.
|
**Cycle 1**
We have brought aboard our first live Who-man. I greeted the Who-man by politely asking his name.
“Who-man?”
To which he replied:
“Yes.”
Who-man Yes! What a wonderful name! Surely we are to have a wonderful time with our new Who-man friend!
**Cycle 2**
Who-man Yes seems to have fallen ill. I inquired upon his health to which he told me he has been diagnosed with A-Cold. As the Who-man did appear cold, I have deducted that Who-mans classify their illnesses by severity followed by symptoms, thus A-Cold.
To test my hypothesis I asked Who-man Yes if on earth Who-mans become afflicted with high fever, “B-Warm”. He replied that in the summer months Who-mans often R-Warm.
R-Warm?! How terrible the fever must be. How fortunate we are that we rescued Who-man Yes before he met such a terrible fate.
**Cycle 5**
I have heard that ill Who-mans often consume soup made of Chicken noodle when suffering from A-Cold. While I do not know how the noodle is extracted from the Chicken, I told Who-man Yes, that I believe the taste would be similar to Snarvat intestine from the Geldar Quadrant. Who-man Yes declined my offer of Snarvat intestine soup.
We shall keep trying.
**Cycle 8**
I fear Who-man Yes’s condition has worsened to B, perhaps even C-Cold. We have sent nurses in multiple times per cycle, each bringing with them Snarvat intestine, but to no avail. Who-man Yes simply will not eat. The illness seems to be affecting his mental capacities as well. He screamed at me that all he needed was rest, and his desire to be left alone. I fear the end may be near for him. We will respect his wishes and let him depart this universe in solitude.
**Cycle 36**
We have arrived at our destination SENDAR-234, and miraculously, Who-man Yes lives!
I informed him that we have reach our destination, and apologized fiercely for the delay.
**This concludes LOG-B-45-728R JOURNEY OF WHO-MAN ~~YES~~ JEFF.
DURATION OF LOG: 36 CYCLES – WHO-MAN TIME: 7 MINUTES 32 SECONDS.**
|
I never had a home like Mr.Smith did.
I was born into darkness, staring in the abyss of space as my mothers eyes closed for the last time. I still had a dad, one that looked after me for as long as he could, and while Mr.Smith may have known what a home was like, he never had a family to look after him.
My dad would tell me that he came from a planet that got destroyed and that he was the sole survivor of his species. He said that Mr.Smith created us to keep him comfort from the void in his heart and also from the one that surrounded him.
Our purpose was to give him hope, that a new life could be built, and father always reminded me to look out for him, until he soon passed away.I was the only one left to take care of Mr.Smith and I knew he was dying, I could see it from the rasping coughs that escaped him and from the skin that slowly turned yellow.
He told me that I was going to be the last of my kind, for our company was not needed anymore, and id always think that as he was the last of his species to live, I would also. A bittersweet ending, At least we had each other, drifting among the blanket of death that surrounded us.
| 2019-11-20T15:42:27
| 2019-11-20T14:25:52
| 25
| 17
|
[WP] When writing your contract, Satan misspelled his own name, causing you to sell your soul to Santa
|
It was, in fact, the most interesting screwup Hell ever had to sweep under the rug.
Mr. Stevenson wasn't a bad man, not at heart. He had committed no atrocities. No man lay dead by his hands. In fact, nobody had ever so much as uttered a curse in the same sentence as his name - much to the surprise of Those Who Must Keep Track. In fact, Mr. Stevenson could be considered among the most well-mannered beings to ever walk the earth.
Except, of course, for the contract.
If there was one shortcoming that Mr. Stevenson ever had, it was his intense need to help. Often this had lead him into deep trouble - sneaking contraband food to the various patients in the hospital where he worked, for instance, was among the most frequent of his crimes. But it was one innocent little girl who eventually lead him down the path of The Unholy Contract, and some sins simply cannot be undone.
Ana was five. She had big green eyes, a head full of long, patchy curls, and a smile that could melt an iceberg in the dead of winter. Ana also had a very aggressive form of bone cancer - a fact that caused Mr. Stevenson even more pain than it did to her some days. He often snuck into her room in the dead of night just to keep her company. She was never asleep - her meds never let her get more than a few hours - and so Mr. Stevenson never had much fear of waking her up.
For a time, the two were thick as thieves, sharing jokes and stories deep into the early hours. Mr. Stevenson was unwed, with no one to wait for him at home, so he had plenty of time to dedicate to keeping the little girl happy. Whenever he had the chance, he was by her side - usually under the pretense of mopping the floor beside her bed. Surely, it was the cleanest patch of tile that hospital had ever seen. But before long, Ana's illness began to catch up with her. Their runs through the hospital halls became shorter, slower. She began to tire more easily, spending more and more time in bed. But it wasn't until the day she finally had to shave her curls that Mr. Stevenson knew that all hope had gone.
It was then that he found The Contract.
The yellow parchment was found almost by accident, buried beneath a number of files fastened to his clipboard. At first, he had thought it to be nothing more than a stray slip of paper - but it was far too old for that. The ink ran dark and thick, with lines of runes scribbled into the depths of the page so deeply that he thoguht they must go all the way to the other side. It was in no language he had ever seen, yet somehow he knew every word.
That night, while Ana slept, Mr. Stevenson stole out for the first time in over a decade. He waited, shivering in the December cold, pen clutched in hands sticky with sweat. What he was waiting for, he could not say.
Then, He appeared.
Surely, that time should have been the end of Mr. Stevenson. The Contract had come to him, and he had sought its aid just the same knowing full well its price. He would never see the girl again - of that, he was certain. Yet, through some twist of fate, he lived.
Perhaps he was simply lucky, or perhaps the old demon still had a shred of grace in his withered heart, but instead of the Dark Lord's sigil, there was merely a name: Santa, ruler of the North, had been invoked in the old beast's place.
The monster cursed, vowing to tear the man's throat from his flesh, but he stopped short just before the talons struck. There was another there, appearing as if from nowhere. The man in red scolded the beast, though somehow not as unkindly as might be thought. The deal was done, after all - he could not prey on another's soul. Mr. Stevenson was saved, and the devil vanished in a sulfurous cloud of smoke.
With one last look back, as if to catch a glimpse of the girl, the wise old elf guided them forward. It would not be so bad, he said. There was always need of more hands at the Pole. And perhaps - if he was lucky - he would get to see her again.
With a flick of a cherry-red nose, the two men vanished and were no more.
|
"It is done," The man in the suave suit coos in his silk-smooth voice, he waves his hand and the contract disappears in a puff of smoke. "Your love's cancer is gone, Mr. Reeves. She will live a long, happy, life. You though, well... a deal is a deal. Come along."
Mr. Reeves, an accountant who generally did not partake in demonic summonings, nodded in resignation of his fate. The devil disappeared from the tiny apartment, but Mr. Reeves himself did not. In a moment of awkward confusion the middle aged man looked around, thinking perhaps for a second he was free. And then the next second wondering if this was just the start of his own personal hell- trapped in the apartment forever... and then the second after THAT the devil reappeared with a cross look on his face.
"Generally that goes better," he says while running a hand through slicked black hair, "Alright one more time, but now you first..."
He points his fingers and nothing happens. Mr. Reeves interjects with a very useful, "Um..."
"No," Satan holds up a hand, "Let me just... review the paperwork."
The contract reappears, he runs his eyes over it mumbling to himself as he does so, then with a sharp intake of breath followed by a drawn out exhale the contract disappears and the devil rubs his temples. "Not again..."
"Is... is there an issue?"
"Well, it's just, I've got these demons that do my contracts for me, sort of like your world's interns, yes? And well, sometimes- very rarely, to be fair- they make mistakes."
"Mistakes?"
"Yes, well, you see... we happen to have sold your soul over to Santa," He says in a hesitant voice, very much unlike his earlier oily voice. Then his voice darkens, "He's coming."
"Santa? Like Santa Clause? Jolly Old Saint Nick?" Mr. Reeves struggles to understand the situation.
The devil just shakes his head and disappears, but the moment before he does in a low, sorrowful, voice he says, "I'm so sorry."
Then once again Mr. Reeves is alone in his apartment, but this time far more confused than even the last time.
That's when he hears the bells.
Within seconds they grow from a faint tinkle to a full on crescendo- and in a blast of green and red sparkles the man himself appears in the room. He is everything capitalist culture had made him out to be... red coat with white fuzz, sock cap, big white beard and all- but unlike popular culture he stands at least ten feet tall. His head bent to avoid hitting the ceiling as he looks down at Mr. Reeves. And there is joy in his otherwise cold, blue eyes, but that joy is anything but jolly as the mountainous figure reaches out and grabs Mr. Reeves by the arm.
Before he can even let out a cry at the crushing, vice-like, grip Mr. Reeves is pulled into a dizzy blur of motion- all of the room's colors seem to blend together at once, and when they unblend he is in a completely different place entirely.
It's what can only be Santa's Workshop. He stands on a raised catwalk that looks out over seemingly endless rows of benches, tables, and conveyor belts. But it is not a happy place- the lights are dim, the air is cold but also heavy and thick, and despite the massive amount of workers down below the space is silent aside from the whir of machines. And then there's the workers themselves.
They're dressed like elves, but they are all very much full grown adults. People just like himself- Mr. Reeves made with a sinking realization. And as he looked down at himself his fears were confirmed, his plain polo and khakis had been replaced with a lime green, form fitting top, and an even tighter set of matching pants. With a bright red belt suffocating him in between.
"What a fine contract," A deep voice boomed, Santa was looking over the same piece of paper that the devil himself had written (or had his interns do so) and he was smiling. "Your eternal soul. That means forever."
"Um yes... so..."
"Lucifer is generally kinder to his wards than I am," Ho. Ho. Ho. The iconic chuckles has a menacing tone as Santa Clause takes Mr. Reeves by the arm and begins to lead him to the workshop below. They arrive at an empty workbench- Mr. Reeves is proped on a tiny uncomfortable stool, and then promptly has his ankle chained to it as Old Saint Nick, towering over him, says to him in a voice that starts out as a light chortle, but ends as a deep- beast-like growl, "Now, Mr. Reeves, get to work."
| 2017-06-15T21:31:59
| 2017-06-15T21:29:16
| 220
| 38
|
[WP] After decades of fighting crime and injustice, a super hero's faith in humanity is broken. As he holds his innocent murdered daughter in his arms, he allows his rage against humanity consume him. A super villain is born.
|
It was all because of a protest...
The city had been going into the shitter for years. One corrupt mayor gets taken down another more corrupt shit head takes their place. A hundred dirty cops are punished, a thousand more just fill in the holes. It was a city begging for a hero, someone to bring order a justice.
That's when The Black Knight came.
He cleaned up the streets, took the crime families down, made sure the corrupt were punished and that the good people of the city would feel safe.
But he was only one man. No matter what he did there was always some new evil that came in...
And it all fell apart because of a protest...
= = =
It was considered the trial of the century. Eight police officers were arrested and charged with the gang rape and murder of college student Heidi McCloy. People followed the case closely as many wondered if the officers would get away with their crime. Most people figured there would be no way they would walk. There was video evidence, sperm was found and linked the men to the crime. One of the officer's used his gun to end the girl's life!
But those who lived in the city knew how the courts in the city work. If the judge wasn't corrupt then they were threaten by Commissioner Bradshaw. If the judge wasn't afraid then the jury were.
The Black Knight was involved with the case but he made sure not to taint anything. The items he tested or clues he found he made sure those detectives he knew he could trust "found" them. There would be no way the lawyers could throw out evidence.
Outside the court house there was already a large group of protesters. Black Knight kept his eyes on them as he knew this could become a very dangerous powder keg. The verdict was coming and everyone was tense.
= = =
"NOT GUILTY..."
All eight officers got away with it!
The video footage that came from three officers filming the crime with their own phones had been "damaged or altered" the lab results on the DNA went "missing"...
The protesters screamed and yelled as the cocky bastards walked out of the court house, Commissioner Bradshaw shook their hands as they tried to walk to the waiting cars. Black Knight scanned the area. There was no weapons in the crowd and the protesters went throwing anything to being violent...
But he heard the command on his comm set that he had hacked into the police radio system.
"Yell gun and open fire..." the voice said. Black Knight watched in horror as he saw one of the SWAT team on the steps of the court house nodded at the order.
"GUN!" he shouted as he raised his assault rifle and opened fire on the protesters. The others followed suit and poured rounds into the protesters.
"Oh dear god... KATIE!" Black Knight screamed as he looked though the crowd, trying to find his 19 year old daughter...
He watched as her young body was struck by so many rounds.
The Black Knight swooped into the area, his eyes fixed on the SWAT member who shot his baby girl...
SWAT saw him coming and aimed at him. He threw his blades at the men. He had rules... he never killed a criminal if he could help it. He never killed cops, even if they were corrupt he would disarm them and bring them to justice...
Not now... not ever again...
The blades hit their marks, breaking though the face guards of the SWAT helmets, killing some of the men. Once Black Knight landed on his feet he pulled out the sword he had on his back. Again he only used it to disarm criminals...
Now he was cutting the now terrified SWAT team apart!
The remaining men retreated back to their van, driving off during the panic. Black Knight pushed through the panicked mass of people to see his daughter laying in the large pool of blood.
He held her close, crying under his helmet.
"Katie... Katie please don't.... Please..." he kept saying, holding the only thing he had left in his life, the only thing that he fought for, the only thing worth a god damn was now taken from him...
Everyone will pay... The police, the judges, mayor...
Starting that night the city will know fear, they will know terror. The city will have a new master...
And god help anyone who gets in the Black Knights way!
|
There was no fanfare. There was no purpose. It was not an origin story. It was simply life. It was artless and the way of things.
He would never know who did it. In this city the killers outnumbered the buildings. Dishonesty grew faster than the trash. It was a simple break in. Even heroes have homes. It was not targeted or planned. Just life, as unpredictable as it is. And his daughter was killed.
It all became too real. Death is a word until it comes for family. He held her in the dim light of his living room. Her body was stiff and cold. He wondered if she screamed or begged. He wondered if the thief even cared.
They called him the Lamb. They called him that because he was kind to children and because he was like the Lamb of God, redeeming and saving the city from all its evils. How he had dedicated his life to them. How he had tried so hard. The fruits of his labor stared at him with dead eyes. He was no longer anyone's Lamb. His own had died.
He had been gone for a day when his daughter was killed. He had been fighting the Molester, a disgusting piece of work that had been raping men and women alike. In the early morning of his daughter's death, he had finally beaten him, pounding his head as if it were tough meat against the alley walls. The city was thankful and they were going to hold a parade in his honor.
He went out there then, almost lunchtime, and the world felt still and unmoving. His hands were shaking, feeling too empty after letting go of her body.
"I hate you all," he said.
No one was nearby then, but as he made his way to the parade he was surrounded by every one.
*One of you did this*, he thought. *One of you killed her.*
His body shook at the thought.
"Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world," they were singing.
Some were drunk. The celebrations had already begun.
"Sure molested that Molester!" someone cheered.
The Lamb stared blankly. His cape whipped at him and he was tired. He wanted to cry and sleep forever. He wanted to shout. He did not know what he was feeling.
"Help," he said. His voice cracked and there were tears flowing.
People took notice but the music was playing and the parade had started.
*I miss you so much,* he thought. *Why? Why, why, why?*
His mind went blank then and he knew there was no turning back.
"I am no Lamb," he said.
His lips were numb.
"Call me whatever you like, but my Lamb is dead. She is dead! Dead!"
He was shaking and his knees buckled.
"One of you did it! One of you killed her! I hate you all! I hate you all! I hate..."
He fell to his knees and he began sobbing. Everything had stopped. There was silence and the old city feeling came back and everything felt bad and uncomfortable.
The Lamb reached at his side. He was a modern day hero. He had his superpowers, yes, but there was something greater, something far more effective. He pulled his gun.
"You all will die!" he screamed.
He began firing. It sounded everywhere, flavored with the cries of death.
Six shots and six dead and then he tried to reload.
"You all will die!"
They charged him, piling over him in a swarm. There were two more shots and two more dead. Then they overpowered him. From then on, he was truly the Lamb no more.
| 2017-01-25T09:40:04
| 2017-01-25T08:07:36
| 104
| 29
|
[WP] Your parents insist you are their biological child, but you suspect otherwise. You send samples from yourself, your parents, and siblings to a lab be tested. The lab replies that it is not equipped to test non-human DNA...
|
"Mom, Dad?" I asked timidly, approaching them with caution. I wanted this to go smoothly, and I guess I half expected them to freak out or start yelling at me.
"I kinda want to ask you a difficult question," I went on.
They both sat up suddenly, looking at me like I was about to tell them I got expelled from school or something.
"Honey, what's wrong?" My mother asked.
"Tell us honestly, are you pregnant?" Dad interjected.
"She's too young for that, Dave." Mom insisted, "Is it money? Do you need money?"
"No, mom. Its just, lately I've been feeling a little different, a little bit like I don't belong in this family. And, well, I had to see for myself."
"Sweetie, what did you do?" Mom was suddenly very concerned.
"I sent in some DNA samples from you, me, Dad, everyone to the forensic lab downtown. They sent back-"
I choked back some tears that were suddenly welling up in my eyes.
"They sent this back to me."
My fingers clenched around a balled piece of paper from the lab. I could see the color draining from their faces. I broke down crying, tears flooding my vision. My knees buckled and I fell to my knees, dropping the letter to the ground. My parents, in a panic, rushed over to help me as I slowly started to black out. It was too much, it was all too much.
The letter was kicked aside, unfurling slowly as I fainted. Before my vision went completely dark, I saw the black lettering again. It read-
>Dear Ms Adams,
>We have received and tested the samples you have provided us. Unfortunately, our results came back inconclusive as we are ill-equipped to handle non-human DNA. We have forwarded your samples to a laboratory in Langley that has expressed interest in them.
>I'm going to be perfectly honest here, Ms Adams, I was a little bit confused when you said you wanted to test for paternity. Your sample definitely tested just fine but I don't know *where in tarnation you got those other four samples...*
|
The truth.
No more of your lies.
The truth!
What am I?!? I've always felt different. I thought something was wrong with me! It's time of you to fess up and tell me. What am I???
"You're our son and we love you no matter what. We made you. You are absolutely ours. But, we are scientists first and foremost and we have ideas. We had to try. So, we tinkered with your genetics. We wanted you to be strong, not weak like us. So, we spliced in some DNA from a gorilla at the zoo. We scrubbed it of undesirable characteristics so you wouldn't look so simian. "
"We wanted you to be smart. Obviously, that came from us."
"Then we started to get creative. And, we probably shouldn't have. But we just wanted you to be so much more. Sharks. Sharks have longevity. They've got great teeth. They're strong. ~~They're alpha as fuck.~~ Yeah, we added some shark to you."
"The chameleon DNA was your mother's idea. It might come in handy if you find yourself in trouble. The other bits are small and just add to the glory of you."
"We just wanted the best for you. You've been a great child and a fantastic proof of concept. You've outlasted the previous iterations and we are so very proud of you. It's almost time for your chyrsalis period. We can't wait to see your final form. We hope you survive. "
"We love you Andrew"
| 2015-01-06T09:08:32
| 2015-01-06T08:58:04
| 543
| 157
|
[WP] "Perfection is boring" You never thought much about it not until the day you found a genie and wished you were perfect. And now your life has lost taste as you can't progress due to being perfect
|
Sydney was ten when she found the lamp, ten years old, fifth grade, a rough time for a young girl trying to prepare herself for middle school. Middle school, they said, was when life stopped being about fun and started being about work. Life got serious at middle school. Gone would be the days of games and laughs. In their place would be tasks that had a lasting effect on your life. Gone were the days of 'want to be my friend?' instead replaced by harsh judgment.
Sydney, ten years old, shivered at the thought because fifth grade hadn't been much in the rainbows and sunshine department. The idea that sixth grade would be worse was enough to make the girl do anything to wish for a better experience. It was enough to make her wish she could be good enough for it.
*Please let it be better,* she thought.
But that's not what she said as the small bedroom filled with blue smoke and the booming demand for a wish.
Not 'better'. Not 'ok'. Not 'good'.
'Perfect.'
And there started the problem.
Sixth grade started on her eleventh birthday and was heralded in with enough of a summer transformation to keep the students' jaws dropped. It was flattering attention but when Syndey's cheeks flushed, it wasn't the ugly red tomato face she was used to. No, her face remained its ivory hue, so subtly different from the blotchy pale, and only her cheeks blushed glowing apple red.
The first day of classes flew by, a blur of perfect answers and new friends. Invites to clubs, tryouts, study groups.
*The genie was right. This is going to be perfect.*
A child often lacks a degree of foresight. It's why we ought not let them make permanent decisions on their future without a degree of time to think it over. And really, maybe all Sydney needed was time.
But with the gusto of a little girl, she plunged in headfirst. She greeted high school a changed person, all smirks and eyerolls cause why not? Why be bubbly, why take any shit, why let even the slightest thing bother her?
Do homework at home? She could doodle idle thoughts in her notebook on the bus and get As. So home was for clubs and hangouts. But as the shine of winning games, acing performances, and collecting awards, those too faded from her schedule. More hangouts. More parties.
By senior year, she rocked the heroin chic look as effort faded from her wardrobe, leaving her 'would look good in a trash bag' body decked out in slouchy, effortlessly sexy torn jeans and ratty, unwashed t-shirts. Why wash them? She never smelled bad anyway.
She got into Harvard. MIT. Oxford. If you've heard of it, she got into it. Got the Ivy League gamut. Tried them all out too. Bounced from school to school, semester to semester. Why not? Every scholarship was a full ride, every subject a breeze.
Every bit of it boring.
It's not really fair to judge her for what would have almost certainly become should the wish have tumbled from the lips of anyone else. It's not fair to judge her.
But perhaps some did as she turned from legitimacy to a new high. Why stay within the lines? Could anyone catch her if she blurred them? Stepped over them? Rules were meant for people who couldn't get away with breaking them anyway.
And thus the next chapter of her life began, the evening after getting her Ph.D. at age 21. It had been easy. Of course it had been. Maybe this would be harder.
Break-ins quickly lost their charm. Vandalism was child's play. Bank robberies, gallery robberies, scams and cons, they were good fun for a little while but Sydney was rapidly losing interest and within a year, found herself looking for something a little more thrilling.
Twenty-two is an awful young age to have run out of passion for anything but the most terrifying. But terrifying is the next path she took.
Perhaps it started with the idea of good. After all, somewhere deep down there, ten-year-old Sydney is still longing for fulfillment. And ten-year-olds like nothing more than superheroes.
Twelve years of reading 'someone ought to do something' on articles about murderers and rapists cleared led Sydney to her first kill. It had been so simple. So obvious. The man had been so clearly guilty. Guilty and lucky. Guilty and wealthy. Guilty and popular.
But not guilty and perfect. He'd paid for the string of deaths in his wake. They ended with Sydney.
Finally, here was something she could do without fear of it getting old. Gone was the old drug of adrenaline, replaced by the thrill of justice. Why hadn't she done this sooner?
Of course, even the evil of the world can become boring. Everything can become boring. Why hadn't Sydney seen that at a younger age?
She didn't ever come to enjoy the actual act of killing. The lust for righteousness, maybe, but never the act. Three years in and she was done with it too.
It wasn't the right way. The right way was to instill a system that wouldn't have allowed them to get away with their crimes in the first place.
You likely understand where this story is going now. Or why I have to tell it in muted whispers when the enforcers aren't around to hear. She never really meant any harm. To any adult who'd studied any degree of history, her path was predictable. But she'd only been a child. And life is hard for a child. School and peers, it's hard to see the forest for the trees.
I hope that, amid this story, you've had some ideas for how to move forward, how to save us from the tyrannical rule of our benevolent dictator.
I'm out of time for the rest of her story. Her rise to power. How that all went down. Perhaps another time, but the enforcers are returning shortly.
If you've heard enough, please send help.
Sydney may, at heart, still be a child worth saving. Perhaps she's nothing more than wicked and blighted. Maybe she's just confused and yearning for something to fulfill her.
But she's also something so much worse than all that.
She's perfect.
___
Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)
|
Perfection is boring.
No perfectionist is perfect, they never intend to be. A perfectionist is merely someone who strives for the perfect result, the keyword being ‘strives’. For without the strive what is there?
That’s a question, I pondered as my brush drifted over the canvas. My masterful strokes far more artistically beautiful than the painting itself. Sure, the painting was perfect, but I found the process held more beauty, the way my hand moved, dancing to an invisible rhythm in my head, never missing a spot on the canvas. I should have been the most decorated artist alive, but I wasn’t.
I turned to the camera once more, eyeing my few hundred viewers, each one commenting about my talent, praising me for my perfection in the same bored robotic text. It was perfect but boring, just like all my other projects, a sentiment that crushed me. Another wasted project. I was running out of hobbies to try, unable to find something I could be accepted in.
I often entertained the idea of joining a sport. Perfection in sport didn’t always mean the flashiest or most impressive person. I could probably have my fame if I went that route, yet I had no interest in it. Sport stars are brilliant and extolled for their efforts, but they aren’t usually the ones remembered in two thousand years. Art and culture, those are the things people remember. With each passing generation, sporting feats grow less impressive. A person who could jump six feet may have been amazing in the past, but now we have people that can jump seven feet, overshadowing that previous achievement. But you know what can’t be overshadowed? Art.
Art and culture will stay with us forever. Sure, someone might learn to draw better than you or write a story in a more impressive way, but that doesn’t matter. What does matter is the impression it left on people during that period, which is why it never loses its fame.
These thoughts always depressed me. Turning to my viewers, I thanked them for their time, promising them I would return tomorrow. The routine felt dull now, I struggled to find the enthusiasm to even keep going with it. When I first made the wish, I couldn’t stop showing off, even receiving some attention off the local news. For a year things were good, but swiftly people grew bored with me. I was too perfect, my perfection becoming uninteresting.
So, I began rapidly changing hobbies, breezing through various art forms, yet nothing clicked. My writing was perfect but lacked any real depth. My songs were wonderful but lacked that raw emotion that made it different from the standard sounds one hears on the radio. Of course my art too was perfect but lacked any flare. My art having nothing to differentiate it from the others, I was generic, perfectly generic.
Ending the stream, I lounged back in my chair, staring up at the ceiling. What had I accomplished since I made the wish? A small load of money? A bit of temporary fame? Sure, those were nice, but I had lost so much more. I lost that love of life that I had; I became jaded, unable to handle people’s imperfections. Shoving everyone away. Family, lovers and friends. None of them could understand me, offering me imperfect advice, like they could help me improve my crafts.
The worst part of it all was that I was jealous. I wanted to be like them again; Wanted to learn and improve. I wanted my father to get frustrated at me when we fixed something; I wanted a lover to scold me for forgetting a birthday. I wanted love. But I couldn’t have those things, I just couldn’t live around people I cared about, my frustrations with them were too painful for us all. I never meant it when I would burst out in anger, scold them for honest mistakes, but I couldn’t help it. It was like I just expected them to be as generic as me.
Looking to the canvas, I spent a few moments pondering about the painting. Despite its perfections, all I saw were things one could improve upon, things that would help bring life to the dead painting. Maybe some brighter colors? Maybe an extra flower or two? But no, I knew I wouldn’t be able to do such a thing. Those qualities would be deemed imperfect. Would they be more satisfying for the viewers? Certainly, but it wouldn’t fit the ideal look of perfection.
It was painful, after all this time, the only thing I had become truly perfect at was being perfectly alone.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-02-02T09:02:09
| 2021-02-02T06:18:43
| 997
| 80
|
[WP] Magic suddenly becomes a thing. While governments are scrambling to establish regulations, people defiantly flock to reddit to share new discoveries and crack more “overpowered” spells. Write about a trending post that, for good or ill, is making authorities furious.
|
Enviousdeath: 13 points - 4 hours ago
Guys three swipes. Trust me ;)
FuckTheGvt 6542 points 3 hours ago
Tried it, they were screaming furious!
Edmon5 2 points - 2.5 hours ago
Username checks out ;)
PartialMadness 336 points - 2 hours ago
So, for those of you late to this thread. We have discovered the combination required to balance corruption. Use this spell on anyone, and it appears anything they have done in their past if of a corrupt nature, will revisit on them immediately.
Originally it was thought to be a forbidden spell as it killed that prick Tordingworth - until the investigation found identical circumstances to the girl he was accused of raping and murdering. It was only when others came forward having tried it on random targets that it’s true nature became obvious.
It isn’t a killing spell, it won’t do anything on a non corrupt person.. but the effect of a corrupt bastard will plague them if you cast it.
Envious is right up above. Three swipes seem to provide the optimum feedback.
Now is really time we clear out the swamp.
|
Right. You have to do it with four right turns exactly the *right* way, otherwise it doesn't work. You've got to do it *right* as you're reading this post. Like, right away. Right now.
"It's a derivation of the Household Dishwater Sequence first developed a week and a half ago," Malcom said, scanning the thousands upon thousands of replies on the post for the third time. "If we match the user replies to their real-life identities, which we can do for about 85% of the posters, we find something very interesting indeed."
"Right," Jonas interjected. The young man was brimming with excitement. He alone had discovered forty two unique spell derivations. "...Look at the groupings of positive responses, specifically those who succeeded after reading the instructions." He jabbed a finger at the hologram readout which showed demographic trends on the post. "House wives. Home bodies. House husbands. They're all at home browsing reddit, see a title that outlines an improved dish-washing automation sequence, they follow the instructions, and bam! They achieve it."
"Hold on a second," a disembodied voice said from one of the room's wall-mounted screens. "Frank Bragander, CIA. We're just getting looped in." The power brokers in the room swiveled in unison to face the man, who gave the impression that the scowl he wore was permanent. "What was the title of the post?," he asked, nonplussed by the clearance levels of the individuals arrayed around the table.
Malcom's eyes darted upwards in betrayal of his exasperation, though he managed to avoid a full eye-roll." It's a simple title. 'Forget about your dishes taking up space in the kitchen. Try this instead.'," he said, turning to face the rest of the table. "It's the top post right now, has been for over two hours. It needs to come down."
"We're working on it, sir," replied Jonas. "It doesn't violate the site's TOS."
"Get it done. We can't afford to have it up for much longer."
"Is it really that bad?" Frank said, frowning as he read through the instructions. "It just looks like a variation on the auto-"
"...mated dishwasher sequence." Malcom said, running a hand through his thinning hair with a jerky, erratic movement. "But it isn't. It imbues the casters with a fucking *philosophy!*"
"What?" Frank was still frowning.
"They stop seeing the purpose in all of their random household items - in the espresso maker and slow cooker and microwave." Malcom looked around the table, unable to catch anyone's eyes. "The sequence takes out any materialistic tendencies in humans. Everyone who follows the instructions stops caring about status and wealth - they completely drop the fucking fundamental drivers behind our economy." The President slammed his palms down onto the mahogany table. "Society is going to collapse. It's the end of life as we know it."
Laughter burst from the TV screen. Frank had a wide grin plastered across his face. "Two weeks ago magic came into the world - literally nothing else matters." As if to prove his point, the Director of the CIA snapped his fingers and appeared right in the middle of the table, causing the meeting room's occupants to jerk backwards in shock.
"Our society was created by the past. It was created for a completely different reality where magic didn't exist and the unexplained was ultimately explainable," the Director said over the indignant muttering. He turned to face the post's hologram projection, then began to recite the sequence.
| 2019-07-11T13:59:56
| 2019-07-11T11:46:51
| 114
| 50
|
[WP] Snuggled up to a loved one and listening to his/her heart beat, you realize it's beating in Morse code.
|
When Jennifer told her co-workers she was going on maternity leave, one of the flight attendants had joked that now that the best pilot the airline had was off, she was too scared to fly with anyone else.
When Jennifer went into labor two months early, she and her husband Chase were frantic. They had planned on a home birth and had a midwife on hand, but the premature labor sent all those plans into a tailspin.
When Jennifer was checked into the hospital and sufficiently comfortable, the nurse giving her ice chips talked to her about what would happen once the baby was born. Less than 1% of births were two months premature, and they had the most complications. Modern medicine could usually save the child, however.
When Jennifer gave birth, it was the worst pain of her life. She held Chase's hand tightly and thought about the daughter she knew she would give birth to. She was going to be named Aveline. It meant little bird.
When Aveline was born, she was silent. Not a single cry escaped her little mouth. The nurses whisked her away to be check up on. Another nurse stayed behind to reassure her that many premature babies were silent at birth. They were often very tiny, only a few pounds. They had their eyes closed and were very pinkish-purplish. Like baby birds.
When the doctor returned with Aveline, he informed Jennifer that Aveline had arrythmia and would not survive the night. Her little body couldn't handle all the complications that arose from the birth and irregular beat.
When Jennifer was handed Aveline today her goodbyes, she held her close and kissed her forehead. After a moment, she listened to her daughter's heartbeat while she still had the chance.
When Jennifer heard the irregular beats, she automatically started translating the variations of longs and shorts.
When Jennifer finished the message, she whispered her response to Aveline.
"I love you too."
|
James knew that no words could change what he had done. The fact that one punch could cause so much destruction. Made him regret throwing that final blow. It wasn't his fault, though, she wouldn't listen.
"I'm going to be a dancer," Cherry said, "one day you'll come and watch me."
James smirked. "Make sure you can handle your number one fan screaming for you."
She jumped on top of him and grabbed onto his wrists. "And you better be the loudest. Or I'll be going with that guy."
The mood in the room went flat at that jive. He let her sit on top of his belly, he felt comfortable with her there. But James looked away, through the window, trying to forget the pain she'd caused him several months ago.
"I'm sorry," Cherry whispered. Referring to the time she'd cheated.
The fact that she'd thought about it too, made him feel sick. "Off me, Cher," he said, sitting up. She clung to his arm. He shrugged her off. "Not now."
"You always do this," she said, grabbing his arm again.
"I said not now." His stomach felt thick with nausea. At the same time he knew he shouldn't be angry, not about this. It happened so long ago, things had changed, but the anger boiled to the surface.
"James! Please," she hissed grabbing on to his arm again.
"I said, NOT NOW." He swung at her, his knuckles connecting with her jaw. Cherry flipped onto the floor, her head banged against the wall. She looked up, eyes dazed, not knowing how to respond. And then she burst into tears.
James stood to go and help. But he stopped himself, looking at his fist which had her blood on it.
Later, he'd apologise. She would accept his words at face value. And after they iced Cherry's burst lip, they would lie back down together.
She would forgive him and place her head across his chest. James would hold a hand in her hair, pulling her close, right after he swore he'd never do it again. But each heart beat that Cherry listened to would say the same thing.
*"I'm a liar."*
Edit: The only dark story. Eek.
| 2016-06-25T22:18:11
| 2016-06-25T22:08:43
| 65
| 20
|
[WP] Everyone on earth suddenly has a red, blue, or yellow polka dot on the back of their hand. But that’s all it is, and everyone is making a big deal of it. They’re just polka dots.
|
It was Ben’s wife that noticed the red mark on the back of his hand first, as he grabbed the kettle off the hob and began to pour its boiling water into their respective mugs.
“What’s that?” she asked suddenly, gesturing slightly.
“What’s what?”
“That red mark right there on your hand. You’ve never had that before.”
Ben set down the kettle and turned his hand as if he were checking the time on his watch. Sure enough, a slight red circle had mysteriously appeared, not much larger than a mole or freckle but definitely not a pimple, as it was too bright and completely flat. It looked like someone had tattooed his skin that way.
He furrowed his brow but said nothing.
“Wait,” his wife exclaimed, stepping back in apparent shock.
“What?”
“I’ve got a mark in the same place, see?” she said, shoving her left hand toward him and twisting her wrist so he could see.
In nearly the exact same place, his wife had a blue dot.
Ben and his wife had no children, and neither of them worked with children, so the possibility of a child maliciously colouring them with markers in their sleep was quickly brushed aside. Nevertheless, the two of them attempted a quick scrub and rinse which, to their dismay, did absolutely nothing.
Alas, they were just dots and they didn’t hurt or anything, so Ben and his wife drank their tea, kissed each other goodbye, and went off on their separate ways to work.
On the train, Ben sat in the last car, normally the least empty and his very favourite because he could sit and read the Daily Mail without anyone bothering him. The peaceful ride was short-lived, however, because three stops before Canary Wharf Station, the train ceased moving.
“Fucking hell,” Ben swore underneath his breath. This was just brilliant for a Monday. He looked up to the other passengers in his car: a pale lady in a tilted purple hat who looked like she was straight out of Steel Magnolias, a few men dressed in a similar suit to his own, a woman in slacks carrying a brown parcel that was nearly spilling off her lap, and a twenty-something with shoes about four sizes too large.
After a minute, the train lurched forward and began to garner speed. Sighing, Ben dug his head back into page 6, ready to count the stops before Canary Wharf. But the train didn’t stop at the next three stations.
When it did stop at Canary Wharf after careening into its place in the platform, Ben finally looked up. It was busy; abnormally busy. Nearly shoulder-to-shoulder busy. And by the looks of it, everyone was waiting to get on the train.
Hesitating, Ben stood up to walk to the doors and that’s when he noticed it. On the hand of one of the men dressed in suits, just below the dial of his watch, was a bright red dot, identical to the one on Ben’s own hand.
Then he heard someone mutter, “what does it mean?”
And the doors opened.
People flooded in and a dull excited chattering filled the rear car, forcing Ben back to his seat and causing him to forget about getting to work. Left hands refused to grab at the yellow poles to stabilize, and nearly everyone’s eyes were locked on either their own or someone else’s.
One girl had a blinding yellow dot on hers, and by the looks of it, that was the rarest colour of all three. The only other person who had a yellow one seemed to be the lady with the purple hat. Everybody else had either red or blue. Everybody.
Silently, as the train began to move forward, Ben tried to glimpse each left hand in the car and sort them. That’s how his brain worked.
Two yellow. Twelve blue. Ten red.
And seven that Ben couldn’t determine because their hands were hidden or they were far across on the opposite end of the car.
He took out his phone and opened a recent text from his wife: “wtf is going on?”
Replying with a single question mark, Ben opened the BBC app only to see a triple-split photograph of three hands, each with a different colour dot without a headline. He tapped the photo and an article came up.
Everyone had a dot. Not just in London, or in England, or over in Europe. Everyone in the world. Nobody could get rid of them, and nobody knew what they meant.
Halfway through the article, the man next to him shrieked “Mine’s turned green!”
So had Ben’s. And it hurt, bad.
|
It had been one week since Zenxar and his men flew over the Earth, giving all the humans red, yellow, or blue dots on their hands. It wasn’t easy, as they learned that not all humans sleep during the night as they thought, but they managed to get it done. Zenxar wanted to see if humans were as divisive and judgmental as everyone claimed they are, so he gave the humans dots to see if the claims were correct.
Zenxar, walked in to the bridge and greeted his crew mates. “How have the humans adapted to these dots?” He asked. “Well sir” one of his lieutenants replied “it seems like it’s been a mixed reception all around. As we initially predicted, many of the more reasonable ones went about their lives as if nothing had changed.”
“That’s good to hear.” Zenxar stated.
“There’s more. A bunch of theories have begun to pop up as to what they mean. Some say they were caused by extraterrestrials” Zenxar almost chuckled at the sound of that. “While others have claimed that certain dots mean that someone belongs to certain hate groups.”
“Really? Is that true?”
“No sir, our studies have shown that all groups have a variety of different colored dots. While some have more of one color than the others, it’s not enough to draw that kind of a conclusion.”
“That sounds terrible!”
“It gets worse I’m afraid. Based on these false claims, many humans have taken to insulting each other, saying that their dots were a sign that they were stupid and ignorant, of course these claims aren’t true, we made sure that the more and less intelligent have a roughly equal amount of the same colored dots.”
“Sir! Sir!” Another crewmen interrupted. “It’s terrible! A significant portion of the humans have resorted to bodily harm!”
“What?” Zenxar replied in shock.
“It’s true, many have been cutting the skin off the backs of their hands, some have even gone so far as to cut their own hands off!”
Zenxar hung his head in sorrow. These false claims had driven many to commit harm upon themselves. It was a terrible thought to think. As much as he hated to admit it, his experiment was a success. Humans were just as hateful and ignorant of each other as the were centuries ago. No doubt if more time passed, there would surely be a war due to these dots. They never change.
“Relay a message back to the council” Zenxar ordered. “Tell them Earth is still lost.”
| 2021-01-20T07:10:02
| 2021-01-20T05:35:58
| 39
| 22
|
[WP]Humans are the first species to achieve interstellar travel. Not because we are smarter or more advanced than aliens, but because we are the only ones stupid and stubborn enough to try.
|
"But... all of our physics laws tell us that faster than light travel is impossible!"
The vaguely reptillian alien was no longer sticking to formal diplomatic speech. It had taken us weeks to get to this point, through first contact, docking procedures, figuring out each others' atmospheres, teaching each others' languages into translation computers, and the rest.
"Well sure, our laws told us that too. In no uncertain terms, really."
"And yet, you are... here. Not on a generational seed ship but on a lone cruiser. How can this be?"
"Well," I started to explain, "you see, we didn't really like that answer and-"
"You didn't LIKE the answer provided by the laws of physics??" The translator was providing the context, indicating that the alien ambassador was surprised beyond the pale.
"Yes well, we have this show Star Trek you see, and, well, it's not important. The point is some people wanted to try just to see what happened. So we took a test ship and accelerated it up as close as we could to the speed of light, approximately 98%-"
"Excuse me human, but reaching that speed with any significant mass would take a tremendous amount of energy. How could you have provided it?"
"Sure it does. And as we haven't quite gotten fusion power to work yet, we used fission power."
"Ah yes, nuclear electric ion drives, we too are exploring this technology in our space science endeavors. It is good to know that we are on the right path."
"Well no, it wasn't an ion drive in the end. You see, we instead used uncontrolled fission-fusion reactions to propel the craft forward-"
The alien kept interrupting me for some reason, "You used nuclear weapons to propel your craft?? These are tremendously destructive! They are banned from our planet for a reason!"
"Oh it isn't too bad as long as you're careful with it."
"How many did it require?"
"What?"
"The nuclear weapons, how many did it require to accelerate your ship up to 98% of the speed of light?"
"Oh, a few thousand. On the ship that is. We had actually gone ahead and strung out about twenty thousand along the expected trajectory so the ship wouldn't have to carry all the extra mass."
"But, that amount of radiation would have contaminated the entire system.... it would take millenia for those radiation products to decay or be cleaned up. This is totally insane!"
"Yes well, it worked so it was worth it. When our ship finally got up to speed the onboard physicists noticed that the laws of physics were changing differently than we expected, and we were able to invent the Hawking drive that brought me here. The USS YOLO is the pride and joy of our deep space exploration fleet, named to honor the scientists who carried out those pioneering experiments."
|
Three more ships were launched into the stratosphere, and three more ships were bashed back down to earth by the giant space squid.
"We need more spaceships" Shouted the president
"But sir, we're running out of metal. And the jetfuel repository is running dry" A NASA man shouted back.
"Damn your cowardice" The president shouted back. "Guards, take this man to the jetfuel repository and launch him into space. Make him die to the squid for his insolence"
And the gaurds did take the NASA man to the jetfuel repository, and the President watched him get launched into the stratosphere only to be bashed back down to earth by the mighty tentacles holding up the sky. The president looked out the window poignantly, and steepled his fingers poignantly, and sighed a few times so the few blind NASA men in the room could also get in on how poignant his plight was. He'd made a bet to be the first into space, giant squid be damned. And he was losing it.
"Giant squid be damned" The president said. "Yah damn that squid" another NASA man said back, the president pointed at him and two guards got up to escort the man to the jetfuel repository. The president watched him launch into the sky, and wept for all the voters he had lost on this day. It had been most of them, the country was stripped barren other than the whitehouse, essential NASA men, and the great celestial squid mankind had gambled against and lost.
The president picked up his space phone. "Hello, operator, could you connect me to alpha centari?" he asked the phone.
"Yes sir Mr. President" the operator told him, and he waited a year for his signal to travel.
Mr Alpha Centari President answered the phone. "Hello, Johnson" he told the phone, "Calling to call it quits on our bet, eh?"
But the president never answered. He had starved to death months ago, having watched all his planet's farmers and children and hopes and dreams launch into space only to be stopped by the squid.
| 2017-11-22T18:55:15
| 2017-11-22T15:36:45
| 83
| 18
|
[WP] Music has played a special part in war for centuries, since it literally powers up soldiers that hear it. You are a rebel fighting an invading army, but you have a secret weapon. Your people just created heavy metal.
|
Men...
It is hard for me to find the right words to say to you. I know you are all afraid...I know fear, I've seen fear. I've seen it in the eyes of braver men who fought before you. I've seen it in the eyes of stronger men who fought before you for our country. I see it in your eyes right now. I know the impending army struck those dread chords in your heart...
I think it would be overly optimistic for me to tell you to conquer your fear. No! I will not do that! Not with Mozart or Beethoven, no! This music of the royals has no place on the battlefield! Not with the music of those kids from Liverpool, no! Not with folk music spouting nonsense about peace, no! Not even with the music of the King himself! That would be an insult to the sacrifice you are making today!
Men! I know your hearts are deterred, but not with this!
*(Heavy guitar riff and drums playing on the speaker)*
No, men! Not with this! This is the music harder than rock! This is the music fit for a war! This is a music fit for warriors like you! Fill your hearts with this raw power! Feast your heart with it!
For today is a dark day! But remember our beloved country. Remember when you decided to give your service to her, remember why you would happily shed your blood for her!
But above all, remember your family, your beloved ones at home! Remember your wives, your sons and daughters, your mothers and fathers, your brothers and sisters!
As this music feed your wrath, turning your anxiety into fury and your fear into rage, remember why you do this! For today is Sunday, let them enjoy this day of rest! Let them celebrate Sabbath today in peace! Men! For today is a dark day, a black day! A black Sabbath!
Raise your arms! For we go to war!
|
Our rebel forces had been driven underground by the invading army, forcing us to hide out in the sewer and subway network to regroup and think of a way to put a stop to these invaders once and for all. I hadn't been paying much attention to the fight, though it was important to my people that we remained free from tyranny's iron grip. I was hiding with everyone else, though shredding out some killer tunes on my guitar, when I realized the sick riff I just made inspired me to fight even harder than ever before. Music has always been a part of our culture, especially in times of war, as it performs a number of different functions for us, whether to keep morale high, stress the importance of hard work on the front lines and home front, inspire dramatic fervor, get in the zone of slaughter to keep things moving for us, and even restore vigor on the battlefield.
But this riff that I created, I just had to share with the others. So I did just that. And as soon as everyone started jamming along, we realized that we have another music genre to bring with us to the battlefield: Rock, or more specifically, heavy metal. This was a game changer for us, and with this new form of musical warfare, we were about to turn the tide on things and drive these invaders out of our home. Embracing this new option, we went dark. And I'm talking black, metallic, jewel tones, leather, skulls, flames, and skunk stripes on everyone. It was insane. It was some Mad Max shit, that's all I'm saying. This new genre of music seriously opened up some new doors for us.
With rock music now coursing through our veins and war paint on our faces, we made our plans and came out in droves to run these invaders out for good. I wish I could describe the faces of the invaders when we came charging out of the shadows straight out of Braveheart, but there were no words to be found. But what I can say is this: absolutely no one on the enemy's side survived our onslaught. It was an absolute massacre. The ones that did survive, well they had to return to their higher ups with the message, "Don't ever invade us again, as we have the firepower to slaughter anyone who does from now on. This is your only warning."
From that fight onward, things have been pretty peaceful for us, as our little warning made it clear that invasion is no longer an option for those who wish to attack us. Instead our enemies had to change tactics, and send diplomatic emissaries to negotiate with us rather fight a losing battle. Because our message was clear from the start, we have made profitable trading deals that heavily benefit us in the long term, and have made new allies out of our former enemies. All in all, a victory for us. The end.
| 2021-01-01T01:06:11
| 2020-12-31T23:45:21
| 30
| 12
|
[WP] "Unfortunately, you do not meet the requirements for this particular heaven however, I can provide you with a list of afterlifes that you may qualify for."
|
There once was an angel with a very boring job. Around the clock newcomers to Heaven would settle in and enjoy all the splendor Heaven had to offer. And he would watch.
As an employee of Heaven this angel could only stand at his post outside his gate and wait for any curious enough people to find their way over to him.
By and large people were content to pay him no mind, and he was content with this too. Occasionally there would be those who would ask about the gate and his role standing by it. For the most part he would have the unfortunate duty of politely turning them away, though there were those who he would invite inside to see for themselves what lay beyond.
In front of the angel stood a podium where he kept his clipboard that had three pages for him to read. A page dedicated to proper procedure when first approached, a page that had a list of names listed to either be granted or denied entry, and a final page that was for anyone who acted in a way that wasn't covered by the first two pages.
He had never needed to look beyond page two until she arrived in Heaven.
From his post the angel watched as she took her tour around Heaven. There was nothing particularly out of the ordinary at first until she spotted him and his gate. Their eyes locked and she made a beeline towards him, leaving her guide behind without a word.
The angel looked over his notes on the first page and prepared to greet her.
"Hello! How are you enj-"
"Fine, thanks, what's with this gate?"
The angel had never been interrupted before and had to take a moment to look over his notes.
"Excuse me, I asked you a question"
"Er, yes.. well this right here is the entrance to Heaven Premium™ and-"
"Thank you so much, have a nice day"
She said no longer looking at the angel and heading straight for the gate.
"If you could just wait a moment I have a list here that I need to check before you can go in..." The angel began frantically scanning the list as she began rattling the gate, seemingly unaware of the fact that the angel had said anything.
"What's wrong with this gate, it's stuck."
"Unfortunately, you do not meet the requirements for this particular Heaven however, I can provide you with a list of afterlifes that you may qualify for." The angel read out his line at the bottom of page two, stopping at the part instructing to turn the page should that not work.
"This is rediculous, I want to speak to your manager."
The angel took a deep breath and turned to page three.
The angel and the woman went back and forth about how it was out of his hands and that the rules were very clear, but she persisted. Eventually a small que began to form and the angel was forced to call his manager to sort it out while he delt with the less argumentative residents of Heaven.
His manager had to eventually call over his manager, and eventually God himself walked out of the gate to Heaven Premium™ followed by various religious leaders and secretary's. God took one look at the woman and immediately assured her that there had in fact been a mistake and that he would see to it that she would be put in the right place.
Satisfied the woman walked away after thanking everyone in attendance and flashing a bright smile to each of the people she had previously been in a long drawn out argument with.
Once the woman was out earshot God asked who had let Karen in.
|
I flipped through the book I had been given, that was only in my head. My head, which I guess I technically did not have any more, but at some point there had been a voice telling me to keep thinking in terms of my physical body, if I found that it helped. I'm not sure how long it took me to learn how to turn the pages of the book in my mind, but it felt like months. The Afterlife, it turns out, is exhausting.
Most of the pages in my Mind Book were written in languages I couldn't read. Some of them, I wasn't even sure if they were languages. One page was just a picture of something that looked vaguely like a spork. Another was blank but gave me a distinct feeling of being hungry for pretzels whenever I looked at it. Feeling it was appropriate, I raised my hand.
The Being that had given me the book, who was not there but was there and had always been there, turned one of it's faces towards me. "Yes? Have you decided?"
I somehow knew that it's voice would have liquefied my brain had I still been alive. "Um...I'm kind of having trouble deciding. Actually, most of these I can't even read. Am...am I allowed to ask you for advice?"
The Being somehow communicated a sense of disappointment to me without it's expression changing. "We're not allowed to influence the decisions of applicants. Can't be seen to be playing favorites for any particular afterlifes, you understand."
"It's just...how can I decide if I can't understand what this book is telling me? Like this one here..." I thought about a page that showed a serene landscape with some mountains and what I assumed were trees. "This looks lovely, but I don't know what all these lines mean. I assume it's a language but I really have no idea."
"That's..." the being said a word, but the only thing my mind processed was a color I had never seen before and had no name to describe. "It is a somewhat complicated language for a being of your intelligence vector, but eventually you'll pick it up."
"Pick it up how?" I wailed. "If there's some kind of translation magic that's supposed to be happening here, I don't think it's working on me."
I felt a deep sense of shame. "Magic? Goodness, the things you humans dream up. If you want to know more about *New Color* there will be some *New Color But Slightly Different Shade* that will show up here eventually, strike up a conversation with them and you'll be able to pick up their language."
"Eventually? How long will that be?"
I felt like an ant. "Let's see, I have a conversion table here somewhere. I can't say for sure, you understand, Free Will and all that, plus there are roughly 900 octillion processing stations, but I would say that you should see another *Yet Another Shade of New Color* sometime in the next...2 or 3 million years."
"MILLION?"
"Please don't take offense at this, but it's not like you've got anything better to do." I felt like the time my puppy Bo was scared of a thunderstorm. "Look, you're still holding onto the feelings and expectations of your physical life, it's normal. They may even still tell you to do that, I'm not certain. But there's no time for you any longer, and no physical limitations either. The word your language would use is 'Spirit', and you'll come to realize the true ramifications of this after you've spent some time here."
"But...I need to choose. You told me I needed to choose my final destination, my Heaven. I...I don't know what to do."
I felt warm. "I'm sorry, I did a poor job of communicating this to you. It's not necessary for you to choose right away. Only the fanatics do that; they get shuffled off to be with their own. I know this place isn't what you pictured when you thought of the afterlife in the physical, but it's not....let's see, you call it...Hell. This isn't punishment. It's more like a train station, or maybe for you it should be spaceport. No, that's not quite right...airport, that's it. You've got some time to kill, wander around, talk to others. Learn, discover, consider. When you're ready, you'll be able to choose."
I felt better. Not calm, but...like I had a big test, but had studied a lot for it, and knew my stuff. Which was ironic since I had in no way studied for any of this, but I thought that was OK.
Having no better ideas, I tried thinking of a name for *New Color*.
| 2020-02-13T15:54:01
| 2020-02-13T13:44:32
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] Every Wednesday for the past 5 years you have received an envelope of cash. The envelopes always contain exactly $800 with the same note "You will understand some day"
|
Long time, first time. Hope you guys like it:
------------------
$800 a week. $41,000 a year. All in all, a little more than $200K.
To some people that's a fortune. To most I know, it’s a nice bonus on top of an already-bloated corporate salary. For me? It was just enough to completely change my life. For better and for worse.
Now, we’re not talking about fuck you money. I still had to work…. still have to work. I’m in the same job I was when the envelopes started showing up in my mailbox every week. Still underpaid, still under-appreciated, still just a low man on the totem pole in my lab. An engineer working for a bunch of eggheads. But it was tax-free, no questions asked money. Just enough money to give me a little freedom. To make me think differently. To open my eyes.
I was understandably a little nervous when it started. I mean, shit: Who wouldn’t be? An envelope, in my mailbox, every single week. No return address, posted locally. Eight crisp hundred dollar bills. And that same note, every damn time; a single line in sans serif font, centered and swimming in white space on a crisply folded sheet of paper: “You will understand some day.”
The first time I read it, every hair on my body stood at attention. Who writes something like that? A super villain? A shitty fortune teller? It was foreboding, mysterious, but there was something about it that I couldn’t put my finger on. Even that first time, it felt like deja vu. It’s almost funny now.
That feeling faded. Not all at once, but over time. Proof that anything can become mundane if you do it enough times. I made a few half-hearted attempts to figure out where it came from, but they never amounted to much. To be honest, I almost didn’t want to know.
I still didn’t spend a dime of it for two months, terrified that the minute I did, the magic would run out, or the bill would come due. So it built up, in a pile under my mattress. Yeah, I know it’s cliche, but what was I going to do? I wasn’t comfortable putting it in the bank.
The first time I used some of the money it was for was a girl. Of course it was for a girl. One I’d been noticing at work for years, with long red hair, glasses at the end of her nose, an infectious laugh, and christ was she smart. I’d worked with her for years, but only recently gathered up the courage to start talking to her. Maybe it was the money? The little bit of confidence it bought me? And somehow, she bought my tired rap and agreed to go out with me. The way I saw it, I had one shot. I had to make it count.
Love makes you do crazy things. Like spend the money you’ve been hoarding from a mysterious benefactor on dinner and front row tickets to see Bruce Springsteen with the Jersey girl from five desks over. I’d never spent that much on one night in my life. But it was worth it. She was worth it. That date - it was perfect - it led to so many others, led to a relationship, a shared apartment and, eventually, to a teary proposal. A little over a year ago, I put a ring on her finger. (And guess how I paid for THAT?) A knockout quantum physicist from Jersey agreeing to marry a simple, electrical engineer from the Chicago suburbs. What are the odds?
The money didn’t just help with my love life. With my girlfriend-now-fiancee's encouragement, I paid for a couple of night classes at the university we worked at. I’d always been interested, but now I had motivation. She made me curious, made me want to be better. We’d lay in bed after work talking about her projects. Day by day, the impenetrable jargon I’d been hearing every day for years at my job started to shift and fall into place. I listened less, questioned more. Began to understand and, with her gentle guidance, to start to see the same possibilities she did. One night, as we talked through the latest roadblock in her research, she put the book down, looked at me with one of her wry smiles, and said: “You’ve got a knack for this, you know?” I tried to deflect, to aw shucks it away, but she insisted. “This isn’t easy stuff. It’s theoretical, unproven. But you. You’re taking to it like a duck to water. Like you were born to it."
With a smile, I pushed our notes away, and took her in my arms. “What can I say? I have the best teacher...”
It wasn’t long after that night that the headaches started.
We didn’t think much of them at first. Her job was stressful - grant money was always close to drying up, papers in constant peer review… it could get to anybody. It wasn’t until the seizures started a few weeks later that we were clued in that something was wrong. Very wrong.
Brain cancer. Stage 4. So sorry. Nothing we can do. Still years away from understanding how to treat it.
I only heard every few sentences out of the doctor’s mouth. All I knew was that before I even had it, this perfect person, this thing that completed my life was being taken away.
But I had motivation. I had her research. And most importantly, I had the money.
By day, I took care of her, nursed her through her rapidly declining health. Paid for what insurance wouldn’t cover. By night, and on weekends I locked myself in our garage, funding my own increasingly complex experiments. Building machines that pushed her research farther along. Getting closer to a breakthrough that would maybe, possibly give us a chance. Give HER a chance.
She never would have agreed to this. The research was theoretical at best, a sci fi fantasy at worst. The machines I was building, they could have browned out an entire power grid or, worse, leveled a city block. But it didn’t matter. I had to save her.
Two nights ago, after six months of work, I finished it. It took every last dollar I had saved. I plugged the last components into the machine, went back inside to kiss her… goodnight? goodbye?… and then stood at the control panel and switched it on.
The light was blinding. There was this sucking sound, like all the air was pulled from the room. And then a massive clap, followed by dim buzzing. And there it was: A door was open. Not just a door. A rip in time.
I paused on the precipice, and then stepped through.
“Oh thank god. You figured it out. Just like I remembered."
I was in a room that looked like my garage… no, it was my garage, but in place of the shoddy, hastily built contraption I had just turned on, there were gleaming machines all around me.
And there, standing at the controls… it couldn’t be, but it was. Greyer at the temples, a little rounder at the waist, but undeniable, without question.
It was me.
We stood there for a pregnant second. There were hundreds of questions I wanted to get to. Urgent questions. But before I could ask a single one, he spoke.
“I’m so sorry for what comes next. You… we….worked so hard. This part was the hardest to understand. And I don't think we've ever gotten over it. But it was still worth it. You'll see. We're going to change the world.”
I looked at him, for a beat, searching his face for a clue. And then I understood. And crumpled to a knee.
There was no cure. Price paid.
|
“Excuse me Sir, is this yours?” I asked the man sitting beside me at the bus stop, “It was on the ground here. Did you drop it?”
The man looked at the $100 bill I held out to him and sighed. “Nah, never have big bills like that.”
At first glance he seemed to be a scruffy hygienically-challenged homeless man but like most people in this area of town, he was probably on his way home from working a backbreaking job outdoors. The tired looking man looked old, but his youth still twinkled in his eyes.
“Well, it's not mine either, and I don't see anyone else to whom it may belong. So apparently it does not belong to anyone...” I hesitate to continue, not wanting to insult him." Would you like to keep it? It was just dumb luck that I happened to see it at the right time and place, but to be honest I really don't need it. I've had more than my share of luck and would enjoy passing it onto someone else for a change... It's yours if you want it.”
The man eyed me suspiciously. “This a joke?”
“No no, seriously, have it. Take it and give it to someone else if you want. Or donate it to some organization.” I place the bill on the bench beside him.
“Wow. Geez. Well, thanks... uh... I don't like taking without giving.” He searches through his pockets until he finds what he's looking for. Embarrassed, he says “Here, have this. It'll all I got right now. It's nothing, maybe in your 'lucky' hands... you never know.” He smiles and glances up. His bus is here. He takes the $100 bill from the bench and replaces it with some kind of card.
“Thanks, g'bye!” he says as he gets on the bus.
The card he left behind is some kind of scratch and win lottery ticket, unlike any I had ever seen. “Win! Anything! Everything! Your imagination is the limit! How's your luck today?” it says, with one large scratch and win box. The backside is blank without the usual rules, regulations, and disclaimers.
Hesitantly, I start scratching at the box. It takes a while to get it completely uncovered, but eventually I make out:
“YOU WIN!!! You are the recipient of $800 a week, every week for the past 5 years. The final payment was made last Wednesday. Congratulations!”
When I catch my breath, it starts to dawn on me that my luck has run out. I think back on how I've used my 'winnings': the amount I've spent, saved and given away. Did I use it wisely?
I ponder this as my bus arrives and nervously step forward into my new reality.
| 2016-09-06T15:19:53
| 2016-09-06T14:48:45
| 30
| 18
|
[WP] As an atheist, you always believed that there was nothing after death. After your last breath, you discover that you were wrong, but that no one else was right about what's after either.
Mainly, there is something after death, but religions are wrong about it.
|
I should be dead. I remember how each breath from my withered mouth drew in less air, how my aching body grew too weak to support itself. I remember those final moments leading up to the sweet release of death.
I know I died. So why am I still alive?
At least, I think I'm alive. I'm certainly not dead.
I think I'm a disembodied consciousness. My physical senses are totally gone. I don't really feel anything, but I can almost trick myself into thinking I have a body.
Wait, what's that? I can finally feel something. It's like I'm being pulled...
Jason's eyes shot open and he gasped for air. He couldn't get any. Something was in his throat. He choked and flailed until a voice said, "Stop panicking. Relax and let the tube do its job."
The part of his brain that still held some rationality obeyed the voice. He relaxed his body. His muscles loosened and his limbs lay flat. He observed his surroundings and noticed he was inside a small capsule. The only light came through the opaque material used for the ceiling of the pod. He spotted a small tube that snaked from the wall and ended somewhere in his throat. He suppressed a pulse of anxiety, clenchig his fists until he calmed down.
"Good, you did that surprisingly quickly. I'm going to open your pod and get you back to normal. Sit tight."
Jason waited for two minutes before the ceiling of the pod retracted back. His eyes met with a bright light and he clamped them shut.
"It'll take a minute for your eyes to adjust. Stay still. I'll be removing the tube next. It will be a bit uncomfortable."
He opened his eyes again, slowly this time, and looking down at him from outside the pod was a human being dressed like a doctor. Suddenly, pain flared in his chest. He hadn't really felt the tube before, but now that it was coming out, it felt like he'd eaten a snake and it was trying to climb back up his throat.
"And there we go, the tube is out."
Jason breathed heavily. The ghost of that pain still lingered, and he wouldn't soon forget it.
Propping himself up on shaky hands, he surveyed his surroundings. All around, there were other pods, and his was the only open one. Each one must have contained a person. For what purpose, he didn't know.
He tried to remember how he got here, but each attempt to search his memory was met by the pain of a knife stabbing through his head. Jason could vaguely recall the feeling of floating in nothingness, but before that, his memory was guarded by pain.
The doctor must have noticed him wincing, because he said, "It's normal not to remember anything at first. The simulation accessed your brain in a way that's totally different from how we use it normally, and you're still suffering from the effects of that. It'll pass with time as your brain heals. Now, let's get you into the chair and bring you to the testing center."
*Simulation?*
Jason was curious, but it was clear that there was no time for questions. The doctor helped him get his legs over the sides of the pods and into a wheelchair, then rolled him out of the pod room and down a narrow hallway. They passed by many doors, and through small windows Jason could see more pods like his own, all closed.
"You might be wondering why all the other pods you see are closed, and you're the only one up and about. You don't remember it, but you managed to trigger a special condition in the simulation that enacted an ancient protocol and woke you up. More will be explained later, but I should tell you that the world of your memories was not real. Keep that in mind when your memories return."
They continued down the hall until they arrived at a door labeled "Testing Center." It swung open automatically as they neared, and waiting inside was another doctor.
"Ah, Jason, nice to meet you." The new man nodded towards the other doctor. "Thanks for bringing him, I'll take it from here."
The first man Jason met in this new world nodded and left. Soon after, Jason had needles poking him from a million different directions. The most painful one was what the doctor called a "bone marrow sample."
Once that was done, he was brought to a room with a shower and some basic clothing. He found that he'd gained enough strength to stand. Jason washed off and clothed himself in a black t-shirt and beige pants.
"Come with me." They walked further down the hallway and stood outside another room, this one labeled "Psychiatry."
"I'll leave you here. You will get an answer to most of your questions behind that door. Stay strong."
Jason entered the room. He wasn't sure how, but the room had a comfortable atmosphere. It was soothing just to stand in it. In the center of the room were two chairs. A man sat in one of them. He was young, maybe around thirty, with short black hair and startling blue eyes. He wore an infectious smile that put Jason at ease and made the man seem trustworthy.
He motioned for Jason to sit.
"Come, have a seat. We have a lot to discuss."
|
FADE IN:
EXT. A VERDANT GARDEN - DAY
*A man slowly fades into view amidst countless varieties of flowers and plants. This is DAVE. He glances around at his surroundings for a moment, appearing equal parts confused and suspicious.*
**DAVE:** Hello?
**ANGEL:** (*O.S.*) Greetings, David.
*Dave jumps slightly as a figure materializes in front of him. This is ANGEL. His age is unclear, and there is no visible hair anywhere on his body. He wears a white robe with intricate patterns of gold on its hems.*
**DAVE:** Who are you?
**ANGEL:** My name is Angel. I am a... concierge, for lack of a better word.
**DAVE:** Ah, well, I'll have a glass of white Zinfandel, then.
*Angel blinks once.*
**ANGEL:** Excuse me?
**DAVE:** You give out the wine, right? Isn't that what a concierge does?
**ANGEL:** That is a sommelier.
**DAVE:** Oh, right, sorry. You clean up the hallways.
**ANGEL:** That is a custodian! I am a guide! I am here to reassure you!
**DAVE:** Well, you're doing a bad job of it. Do you know what would *really* reassure me?
*A glass of pink wine appears in Dave's hand. This apparently surprises Angel.*
**ANGEL:** Where did you get that?!
**DAVE:** It was in the boat.
**ANGEL:** What b...
*Before Angel can finish, a weather-beaten (but still apparently sturdy) rowboat appears between him and Dave.*
**DAVE:** That one.
*Angel begins angrily waving his hands around.*
**ANGEL:** Stop that! Stop that at once!
*The boat and the wine both disappear as though they had been made of smoke.*
**ANGEL:** You are not meant to do that!
**DAVE:** Why not? This is Heaven, isn't it? Can't I do whatever I want?
**ANGEL:** No! Heaven is not real!
**DAVE:** Oh. Well, now I *definitely* need some wine.
*The white Zinfandel reappears in Dave's hand. He takes a casual sip as he surveys his surroundings. Angel watches this with barely concealed contempt.*
**ANGEL:** You are doing everything out of order.
**DAVE:** Yeah, well, I've been dead before. I know the drill. I am dead, right? That seagull killed me?
*Angel's irritated expression slowly adopts a guardedly curious aspect.*
**ANGEL:** "Seagull?" No, that is not relevant. Do you truly understand where you are?
**DAVE:** I mean, honestly? No. I'm making this up as I go along.
**ANGEL:** Then I shall explain. When you were alive, you would experience visions while you slept.
**DAVE:** Aha! It was the cheese that did me in, then!
**ANGEL:** "Cheese?"
**DAVE:** Yeah, man. Steve said that it had gone off, but *I* said that it would just give me crazy...
**ANGEL:** (*Interrupting*) This is also not relevant! When you died, you fully entered those visions!
*Angel gestures to the plants around them.*
**ANGEL:** (*CONT'D*) This is the vestibule of the world that you would visit as you slumbered.
**DAVE:** I don't see a toilet.
**ANGEL:** Not "lavatory!" *Vestibule!* Threshold!
**DAVE:** Prosit!
**ANGEL:** ... What?
**DAVE:** It's Swedish for "gesundheit."
*A noise not unlike that of a creaking hinge escapes Angel's lips.*
**ANGEL:** Fine! I shall be very concise! You died! You entered the world you had only glimpsed!
**DAVE:** Yeah, and the rules are different here.
*With a clatter of wooden impacts and bouncing oars, the rowboat reappears.*
**DAVE:** (*CONT'D*) See?
**ANGEL:** You do not seem concerned with *following* those rules.
**DAVE:** Eh, what's the point? I'm just going to die here, too, and then it's back to the other place.
*Angel's mouth opens and closes several times.*
**ANGEL:** You *do* understand! You have indeed been dead!
**DAVE:** Well, yeah. I mean, I was pretty sure that it was all make-believe, but...
**ANGEL:** (*Interrupting*) How have you remembered?!
*Dave shrugs.*
**DAVE:** I didn't. Like I said, I'm making this up as I go along.
**ANGEL:** You are making very little sense, David.
**DAVE:** Isn't that kind of the point?
**ANGEL:** I am becoming both frustrated and confused.
**DAVE:** Ah. New experience for you?
**ANGEL:** I do not like it. How can you know these things?
**DAVE:** It was a nursery rhyme.
*Several seconds pass in silence.*
**ANGEL:** What?
**DAVE:** It's all recursive, right? Only, like, inside out.
**ANGEL:** *What?!*
**DAVE:** You die there, you go here, you die here, you go there, and so on.
**ANGEL:** How does any of that relate to a nursery rhyme?!
*Dave shrugs and sits down in the rowboat. As Angel watches him, it is revealed that there is a narrow river running between the two of them.*
**DAVE:** Hey, do you want a glass? I found an extra one.
**ANGEL:** No! I insist that you answer! How did a nursery rhyme give you such wisdom?!
*Angel watches as Dave begins rowing the boat with one hand, using the other to drink his (seemingly bottomless) glass of wine.*
**DAVE:** Life is but a... bah, you get it.
FADE TO BLACK.
| 2021-07-01T15:36:52
| 2021-07-01T13:42:41
| 63
| 42
|
[WP] After you grow old and die, you wake up 25 million years ago as a Hominid Primate, asleep on a tree. Your whole life was a vivid hallucination you had after ingesting a funny looking mushroom. After this experience, you have great knowledge, and you're the smartest living being on the planet.
|
Wait a minute, what, where was I? I was in a place called a ‘gym,’ and I was looking at a very attractive female in very tight and smooth...fur, was it?
That was how I woke up. I remembered everything from the dream I had after I ate the mushroom growing out of the dung left by an elephant. Our more powerful gorilla cousins usually grabbed them first, but I was lucky. I found one, and I saw and learned from what I saw.
The females went to find food, and I stayed behind, looking for a good stick. Some of us used sticks for digging after roots and the grubs and other crawling animals we used as food. I held two of my fingers apart, looking for a stick that branched in just that way. It took me most of the day, and when the females returned with the food, I noticed how coarse real females were compared to the females in my dream, and after the Strongest took what he wanted, the rest of the males began to eat. I ate last, being focused on my search for the right branch.
When I found it, I looked to see if anyone was watching. Everyone else was either eating, mating, or making waste. Strongest was mating, so I hid my stick under my arm, and I moved to my tree, climbed into my favorite branches and examined my stick.
It was a grayish-brown, and it had a few knobby parts, but it seemed strong. I tried to rub it smooth, but the best I could do was pull off some of the bark. One of the females came to my tree and offered me more food, hoping to shelter in my tree. I allowed her to climb up, and we shared our warmth with each other. We didn’t mate, but we did learn each other’s scent. She was pleasantly warm and smelled of a particularly delicious fruit.
The next day, we woke and she went to gather food. A gentle touch suggested she would return to bring me some particularly tasty food, and I abandoned my tree to find a rock.
The best place to find good rocks was where the water flowed. Unfortunately, large predators, elephants, and our larger cousins tended to go there for water as well. Standing water was better, as falling in was less risky. So I went to where flowing water met standing water, holding my stick, and making sure nobody else from my group was nearby. Maybe I would be eaten or lost, but that was a risk everyone took.
I tried to be as quiet as I could, but I was louder than I wanted to be. Still, I was far enough away that I didn’t alert danger. After many tries, I found a rock to suit me, but it didn’t stay between the branches. It was getting close to the time the females would bring food, so I moved quickly, ignoring stealth, and returned to our trees.
Again the female with the pleasant scent brought me food, and we shared warmth. Another female came behind her, and she also had food. I allowed her to join us, and the three of us ate our food, mated, and slept among the branches of my tree.
One, or even two, females in my tree were of little consequence to Strongest. He had five, and if he wanted one from another male, he would intimidate the other male into submission or attack the other male. My females weren’t particularly large, so I doubted that he would bother with mine. Other males might, but I was large enough to make them reconsider the idea. The two females who shared my tree went to gather food, and I stayed in the tree, trying to understand why my rock and stick wouldn’t stay together.
Then I saw the spider tree. An unwary bird flew into the spider tree and was held fast to the branches. I understood then that I could use the spiders’ traps to make my rock and stick stay together.
This was dangerous because the spiders could make us sick with a bite, and some of us would die from the bites. So I found a long stick to pull some trapping strings away from the trees. I got a large wad of the strings, and ran away with it, making sure the spiders didn’t follow me.
I put the wad on the rock, and the rock fell out. I put the wad between the rock and the stick, and the rock fell out. I became frustrated, and stopped. Then I saw a snake capture a prey animal. It wrapped around the prey, holding it in place. Then, it devoured the prey.
I put the rock between my hands and rolled the wad of trapstring between them, making them into a snake. Then I wrapped the string around the stick and the rock, and that kept them together!
When the females returned, I decided I was going to get more food tomorrow than the females could bring.
After the females left the next day, I went in another direction and waited in a tree. A large rodent came up to the tree, and I dropped down, swinging my new hammer into the rodent’s head as hard as I could. Then, I returned to my tree, so the females who were coming to the tree could have some food as well. Strongest approached my tree shortly after the two females came back to my tree. He attempted to take the food I gave the females, but I swatted his hand aside, keeping my hand on my hammer. He grunted and shrieked at me, and I pushed him with my free hand. He then howled and beat his chest, and I grunted at him. Finally he seized the meat one of my mates was holding, and I swung my hammer at his head. Now I am Strongest.
You may think I don’t remember all the things. The computers, cell phones, and cars. I do. I remember the books, music, and art too. I remember spices and where they can be found, but my species barely has language, and you have to start somewhere.
|
I wake up very uncomfortable, and look around for my phone. And where did I keep those damn glasses? Instead of a pillow, I feel a rough surface beneath me... I squint and the patterns start to make themselves visible. I realize it’s some sort of... animal fur? So that’s what that smell is. I spring up in revulsion, but the smell lingers. In fact, it clings to every part of me because the smell IS me. What the heck is going on? I’m completely disoriented, but there’s something vaguely familiar about all of this. Like from a past life...
But that can’t be. This must be the dream, and I need to wake up in my reality once more! I shut my eyes, pinch myself, to no avail. Whatever this is, it isn’t a dream. I look around to find a few other sleeping forms in what appears to be some sort of dwelling. It’s too dark and my eyes have yet to adjust. The inside of my mouth feels terrible, and I don’t want to think if it’s ever been cleaned before. I move toward the light coming from one side of the dwelling, careful not to wake the others. Outside it appears to be night, but there is a lingering brightness from the moon and stars, and someone has lit a fire. A few.... cavemen? What the actual... yes, those are definitely cavemen! They are sitting around this fire, facing away as though they are keeping watch. They bare their teeth at me in greeting, but apparently notice something off about me because their welcome turns to concern.
I take a step out of this strange sleeping place, letting the thick cloth swing closed behind me, and greet them with a similar smile. Do they speak? What in the world is happening? But confused as I am, I can’t help but wonder: why does it all seem so... familiar?
| 2019-03-19T08:19:56
| 2019-03-19T07:19:04
| 45
| 25
|
[WP] Strength: 99 Endurance: 99 Speed: 99 Charisma: 99 Power: 99 Intelligence: 99 Magic: 99 Luck:....-5
|
I am a cursed man.
It didn't matter what cup I chose. The ball would never be underneath.
I've seduced many ladies, and that earned me quite unpleasant surprises. They hid things. It didn't matter if I went for the short, delicate one; or the tall, broad one. One way or the another, something would go terribly wrong. The incessant scratch I have in my private parts, and the burn I feel whenever I pee is just a tiny bit proof of my misadventures.
But my cursed fortune follows me everywhere. I once lead powerful armies, pillaging entire villages of rebels, widowing their wives in the name of our king. I bathed in gold, swam in wealth. I had an unbreakable reputation. Yet, little would I know, that would be the end of me.
I lead an army of a hundred thousand through an alternate route toward the enemy's last standing city. There was no possibility of losing. Their forces were ten thousand men or less, and in case something went poorly, we would simply besiege the city.
That battle is known in history as the Finger of the Gods. A tempest unleashed like no man had ever seen. Lightning broke the skies. They fell upon my army by the hundreds, obliterating the vast majority of my men. They struck me too, yet my fortune forbid me to die. They did nothing but scar my body, leaving me standing atop a mountain of calcinated corpses. My sons among them.
I surrendered to the enemy. Their city was left intact. My unbreakable reputation, was, after all, broken. They didn't put me in jail, they didn't torture me, they didn't do anything. They claimed I was cursed by the gods, and I believed it, for since that day, those words have proven nothing but absolute truth.
Now my hair is graying, and the streets are my home. I count the days waiting to die, yet they won't come. I've sliced my throat with the sharpest knives, but they wouldn't cut. I've hung myself from the thickest ropes, but they always broke. I've drowned myself dozens of times, but I was always saved.
I refuse to sleep, for the nightmares haunt me. I've grown fearful, cautious of my every step, for I don't know what disaster they might unleash.
I am a cursed man, playing the game of fate against Fate itself.
-------------------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall - For more stories
|
Said to be smarter than the wise man. Braver than the Centaurians. Stronger than the Oxen out in the fields. Said to lift a gallon each day, cast that gallon into rain and let the fields drink the new bounty strong. His teeth had glistened with pure milk and his stride held true pride, yearning for an adventure at his feet. But the man had a strong achilles heel for though he had it all, he lacked a crucial component for his life.
Oh, foolish Fergus Magni. Though blessed man among men, how Lady Luck turned her head away. For with a simple sneeze, he’d be casting trouble over his head. A firestorm to burn down his house. Even when he walks with certain demeanor, he’d certainly fall over twice a day. If it wasn’t something, it would become something and he’d never found much solace. Yet his strength endured him many strives.
But no one wanted good ol’ Fergus out with them any day, out of fear of a god’s angry smite.
| 2018-05-02T13:11:56
| 2018-05-02T12:52:15
| 330
| 94
|
[WP] In a school of Monster Slayers, it is tradition to design and build your own weapon. The professors find your design... "Unique," but effective
|
I wasn't sure exactly how old Professor Maia was. Her public bio on the school's network was infuriatingly vague on that front. Which was probably on purpose, given the need for information security.
But there were some dates, like when she'd published books or won awards. And those dates suggested a chronological age that was at odds with her appearance. She looked to be in her thirties, maybe early forties at most. Yet all indications pointed to a considerably longer career than that.
Which was why it was slightly intimidating to be sitting here, on the other side of her desk. Especially when she had a frown on her face. It wasn't an approving look. It was the look of someone who didn't like what they were seeing.
She had the first draft of my proposal in front of her, neatly assembled in a ring binder. She paged through it, and as her eyes scanned the text, her scowl deepened.
"Jill," she said, "you do realise you're supposed to design your own weapon? That implies some original research and innovation."
I smiled, faintly. "We can use established stuff and off-the-shelf components, though."
"Yes," Prof Maia replied, tapping my notes with one well-manicured finger. "But all I'm seeing here is a standard water cannon. Backpack water supply, high impact. It's not bad, but this isn't quite enough original work. If I'm reading this correctly, it's essentially the same system that the British have been testing."
"It's exactly that," I said, "it's in the citations."
Prof Maia sighed. "Jill, a holy water based weapon is a proven concept. But that's precisely what it is, a proven concept. If there isn't anything new, I don't think we can... "
I held up a hand. "Prof, sorry, I think there's a slight, uh, misunderstanding here. That's just the delivery system. It's not the main point of my work."
Prof Maia blinked. She looked at my binder again, this time more carefully. She flipped through the pages. As she reached the latter half of my proposal, she stopped.
Then she very carefully picked up the reading glasses on her desk, unfolded them, put them on, and kept reading. Her facial expression grew increasingly focused.
I grinned. That was more like it. That was the reaction I'd been fishing for.
Finally, Prof Maia looked up. "You're serious about this?"
I nodded. "Absolutely."
"This is ambitious spellwork," Prof Maia said. "The amount of runic calculations alone, and the mana expenditure required… I'm not sure I can cross-check these numbers offhand. This is more Doctor Park's field of expertise. Are you certain this will work?"
"It'll work," I stated, confidently.
"Well," Prof Maia said, slowly. "If you can truly pull this off, then I don't imagine a passing grade will be a problem. In fact, I think you'll easily be in line for this year's Lafayette Prize."
My ring binder lay open on the desk, showing the last printed pages of my proposal. Those two pages weren't text, but rather a map of the city, with the locations of reservoirs and water treatment plants marked in highlighter. I'd scrawled a few final notes in the margins, a mix of annotations and equations.
It'd work. I was sure of it. And the department would remember me for generations to come.
See, the problem with holy water based weapons? Supply.
Properly blessing water usually took time, effort, and some serious amounts of faith. To get enough ammunition for your own personal weapon, you usually had to be a shaman, a cleric, an ordained priest, something like that.
I wasn't, not really. I was a ritual mage.
But some deities do respond to rituals. And I'd designed a pretty big one.
It wasn't every day that a student submitted a plan to bless the entire municipal water supply.
|
As the only heir to the Denev estate, it was only natural that the young master, Lucius, made use of every resource he had access to in the design of Gustav mk IV.
Dr. Kip scowled from behind the schematics, while his colleague, Dr. Thera, couldn't help but try to hide a smile. "My dear Lucius, you are full of surprises. Let me guess, you only started on this just a few days ago? By and far behind the class as always, and not to eager to catch, only to put forth any effort when it suits you. Yes, this is exactly the type of weapon someone like you would ever think of. See, Jessica, this is exactly the same nonchalant laziness that permeates these yuppies born with a silver spoon crammed up there ass, harrumph!" Dr. Kip slammed the papers down on his desk and folded his arms, slouching and frowning at the small figure seated across from him.
"His academic habits aside, this weapon is certainly.. Unique. I can only assume that your father will have to help in the assembly, Lucius?" Jessica took a step forward and leaned down own the desk.
"Oh, um yeah. It would have to be assembled 'on-site' of course I would need my father, or at the very least his permission to use the complex." Hands on his knees, he only made eye contact with Jessica, Dr. Thera.
"And you're sure this works? Have you even performed a proof of concept? I didn't see any indication or documentation of exactly how it's operated."
Dr. Kip scoffed, "asking the real questions, as always."
"Yes, actually." Brightening up, Lucius continued "I've already finished optimizing the foundation that the software is going to use. You know the quad rotor drones the campus owns? Well, they were a breeze to access. Once I did, I uploaded the first version to all of them. This allowed me to optimize their navigational algorithms by only 6%, or a factor of 23. The final version is number 14, and the drones local optimizations exceed 30% without increasing power consumption. I know those are just numbers, but it's all in the *how*. See, inside those drones is what's essentially a small computer, although a bit more bare-bones. All I did was enable the essential programming to use "fast lane" pins, pins that are considered redundant and are left unused, but still allow power to be drawn through them. Anyway, haven't you noticed that the drones are a bit more 'active'? My Gustav is just a bunch of specialized 'drones' except bigger, and a bit more dangerous." Lucius relaxed in his chair, drinking in Dr. Kip's astounded expression.
"I see, So do you have a way of being able to easily control the Gustav?"
Lucius sat up, "oh that's the best part, it's completely autonomous! I only programmed my bio-signature to have a higher-than-average priority on it's security surveillance and protection algorithms. But don't worry about the control-ability, I've created the software so that it's easy, for me at least, to add in control devices and control commands as needed. There's even several kill-switches, but I will be keeping the details secret."
Jessica put the schematics in order, "well, how long will it take you to finish it?"
Lucius blinked, "uh, um that's-I don't. Oh, Optimistically? I'd say, ah about a full 2 months."
Dr. Kip agitatedly started "you have only two weeks les-" Jessica coldly cut off Dr. Kip. "Within two weeks, Gustav must be assembled and fully operational in two weeks time, otherwise you'll have to tell your father to fund another 4 semesters for you."
With a stunned grimace, Lucius collected the papers and strode out of the office.
"Jessica, you know how he is, that's impossible for even him. I give my students a challenge, not an impossible task."
"My apologies Marshall, but you are underestimating the resources available to Lucius. After all, he has his father's entire empire at his disposal, as well as his fathers shrewd guidance and expertise. He is the heir to the corporation. Either way, as long as it performs as it is designed, Gustav will not only be a boon to Lucius, but also to all of humanity."
| 2018-02-14T02:41:10
| 2018-02-13T22:45:50
| 19
| 11
|
[WP] You blow a flat tire while driving through the middle of nowhere in a foreign country. After a brief call with the rental company they inform you there is a jack in the trunk of the car. When you go to open the trunk a man pops out and greets you, his name is Jack.
|
"Yup, looks like you got yourself a flat, huh?" He ran the length of his arm across his nose, snorting loudly. He kneeled down next to the tire and pulled shaggy hair away from his eyes to get a better look.
"I'm assumin' you got something to pull out the bolts from the tire, right?" he asked without looking back to me.
I was still standing in front of the truck, my mouth agape looking at the man who just crawled out of a trunk that hadn't been opened in at least thirty hours. I was making a trip across the state and was sleeping in the car for the past day. Where had this guy been? Where had he been going to the bathroom?
"Hey there, you doin' all right? The flat shouldn't be too much of an inconvenience, you'll get goin' in no time," he said wiping away a glob of sweat that had accumulated on his forehead. His returned as quick as he wiped it away.
"Uhhh... yeah," I stammered. "How are you--"
"Gonna help you out? I'm the car Jack. I'm gonna hold up the car, obviously. You don't need to worry about how long it'll take, I can do it for however long you need," he said, grinning a crooked, but sincere grin. I was going to ask how he was alive, not how he was going to help, but I guess he looked healthy enough. His arms did not look like they could hold up the weight of my car, though.
"I'm sorry, I'm still trying to understand this... You've been in my car for how long?" I asked.
"How long have you had the car?" he asked, sweat rolling off his face. He tried, fruitlessly, to wipe more off his forehead.
"Two years, but--"
"I've been in there for two years," he pointed to the trunk, a powerful smell emanating from his raised arm.
"No, that's impossible, there's no way you could be in there for that long. Why are you in my car?"
"I'm the car Jack," he repeated as if it was an obvious answer.
"No, I mean are you homeless or something? When did you sneak in--" he stopped me by rolling under my car and lifting it up with apparent ease. I took a step back, afraid he was going to drop it on himself, but he kept it at arm's length, waiting patiently.
"You got a spare, I know that much. I've been cramped up with it for a long time," he said, matter-of-factly.
I looked down at the open trunk and saw the tire he was referring to. Next to it was a puddle of either sweat or urine, and a handful of granola bar wrappers. I pulled out the tire and rolled it over to my flat. Jack was unscrewing the bolts with his bare hand.
"How are you..?" I said, more to myself than to him.
"Oh, the bolt thing? I'm kind of a Jack of all trades. I can do the whole job if you wanna wait in the car," he offered. I nodded, numbly, not able to compute any more of the conversation nor the situation laying itself out before me. As soon as I closed the door, I felt the car rocking a few times before finally being set down on a new wheel. Jack stood up, smiling affably, sweat slipping off his chin. He nodded once and made his way to the trunk where he put the flat tire in, then crawled in after it. Before the trunk closed, I heard,
"Don't forget to replace this tire with a good one before you get another flat. I use it as a pillow, so if it's too soft, my sleep is all Jacked up."
The trunk closed, and I was left in the stunned silence of my car.
_______________________________
For more stories, come and check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!
|
"Hi there!" out came a voice as Ellis popped open the boot.
"... What the–"
"I'm Jack. Not jack as in the thing you use to raise the car, but Jack as in a person. Don't worry, I can help you out," the strange man, claiming to be 'Jack' said as he climbed out of the boot.
Ellis reflexively leaped back and took a stick from the ground. She held the stick like a knight would with a sword. Of course this course of action was only natural for a 20-year old woman being approached by a strange man in a strange land, alone. Sensing Ellis' overt guard, Jack took out a strange device. The device was all glass and had a few pictures on it. He then openly displayed it to Ellis so that she could get a better view.
"This here device is a universal remote control, I can control *almost* anything with this," Jack explained whilst waving the device, "observe!"
*Almost, huh?* Ellis thought at the ominous word.
With a point-and-click, the car was suddenly raised a good 30 cm above the ground. Ellis could not help but stared at the bizarre phenomenon with her mouth opened wide.
"W-What is this? Are you fucking with me?" Ellis asked.
"Fu... No! I'm simply trying to show that you can depend on me to help you out. I can control *almost* anything!"
"You've been saying that twice now – the word *almost*. Why? I thought a universal controller is supposed to be *universal*–"
Jack stepped forward and Ellis immediately raised her stick whilst shaking her head as if saying, 'not a step closer, na-ah!'
As Jack picked up on the signal, he smiled and said, "oh, sorry! Didn't mean to startle you. Well, I can control things – move them, manipulate their sizes, change colours, etc. – but... as an employee of the rental company, I can't do all those things to *you* or whatever you're holding."
He demonstrated this by showing her the option on his device which said 'destroy' and pointed towards her and her stick. At first, she was about to lunged forth to strike first at him before he could presumably harm her. But when he clicked on the option, there was a resounding buzzing sound and red alert screen coming from the device. She relaxed for a minute though at this point she just wanted to run away. The excitement from seeing a strange man coming out of the boot – not to mention the thought of him being there *all along* – and the still floating car was too much for her to handle.
*I better get some goddamn drink soon or Imma pounce on this damn man! A vodka would be nice right now, yeah...*
"I see... Well, here ya go!" Jack suddenly said and he clicked his device.
"H-Huh?!"
Ellis was stunned when out of nowhere a bottle of vodka had appeared in front of her.
"Oh, don't worry about that! I got you covered, but may I recommend drinking that later once we arrived at your hotel?" Jack said as he picked up the bottle and brandished a smile.
"Just... Just what are you?" Ellis said as she dropped the stick unintentionally.
"I'm an employee of the rental company, Jack! I'm here to help you–"
"Yeah, sure. Just change the goddamn tire and go back in the boot, mate."
| 2019-07-08T23:32:39
| 2019-07-08T23:30:35
| 20
| 10
|
[WP] The year is 2015 and the Pope has called for a crusade.
|
*"This is the timeline for how it all began..."*
**Sept 2014.**
After years of civil war in Iraq and Syria a new nation emerged. The Islamic Caliphate – forged in the fires of war, led by the cleric Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, it’s zealous armies toppled the Syrian regime and now control most Syria, Iraq and parts of Jordan & Lebanon
**Oct 2014**
The Islamic Caliphate, inspired by its success in the Levant region completed its grandest plan yet. The executions of the Entire upper echelons of the House of Saud in one foul swoop. 500 Palaces were bombed and over 3000 Family members executed on air. This shocked the entire world, Saudi Arabia had been importing the best weapons the world could produce for a decade or more and fell to the Caliphate without firing a single shot. With nobody to pay the soldiers and no real authority after the Royal family fell, Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi proclaimed that the entire Arabian Peninsula was now part of the caliphate.
**November 2014**
The Islamic Caliphate refuses to sell oil to any non-muslim nations. The world is thrown back into recession within a week, and within the fortnight the world economy starts slowly grinding to a halt.
Capitulating on the weakness of the world economy Russia invades Ukraine, Latvia, Lithiuania and Belarus. European powers oppose the invasions but are unwilling to intervene, needing the Russian oil and gas for what is turning out to be the coldest winter on record, the United states condemns the actions as well but is not willing to start a nuclear war over small Eastern European countries.
The Islamic Caliphate expands its territory once again, using its new found military hardware and numbers to invade Yemen, Oman, the U.A.E, Bahrain, Qatar and Kuwait. Now holding the entire Arabian peninsula and executing anyone who disagrees with their interpretation of the faith.
**Dec 2014**
December 25th 2014 – a day that will go down in history. As Christian worshippers on the Arabian Peninsula were celebrating the holiest of day on the Christian calendar the Islamic Caliphate decided that it would Purge all non believers from Muslim lands. 100,000 men, women & children were executed that day. Those who had the means fled, those who couldn’t feigned conversion, the rest fought back in a futile attempt to defend their faith.
**Jan 2015**
China attacks Japan and claims the Senkaku Islands. The U.S. stations the pacific fleet just outside the Chinese maritime border, tensions between the two countries go to an all time high – war looks inevitable.
U.S. Support of Israel is slashed by an act of congress, with the world still struggling to flourish without Arabian oil, and a war in the pacific looking inevitable. The U.S. population is now decidedly against Israel, and against any further action in the Middle East – fearing the real enemy across the pacific.
**Feb 2015**
Border Skirmishes begin across Eastern Europe. A nervous Poland and Romania, as well as the Baltic nations clash sporadically with the Russian front.
The Islamic Caliphate begins Shelling Israel. Israel, calls on the help of the largest powers left in the Region and begins fighting back against the Caliphate. This alliance is known as the “Coalition of the Unwilling” and consists of Israel, Turkey, Iran and Egypt. Although the Coalition outguns the Caliphate by every measure, the tactics the Caliphate use are extremely effective. Bombings, Rocket attacks, Abductions and chemical warfare on a scale never before seen in modern times.
**March 2015**
Civil War starts brewing in Iran, as a consequence of their Alliance with Israel. Although Shiah dominated, certain sects of the population wish to join the Caliphate, the army puts down this dissent but by then a legion of foreign Jihadists have entered the country and begin inciting revolution. Iran begins to unravel under the pressure and by the end of the Month is in the heat of a full blown civil war
**April 2015**
The Islamic Caliphate launches a missile attack on the Vatican. In a show of force to Europe and the west the Caliphate fired several Iranian built Shahab-4 missiles at Vatican City. Of the 6 missiles fired only 4 hit their targets. Two of the missiles were converted to chemical weapons, the other two were conventional. The Death toll is estimated to be around 300,000, mostly worshippers visiting for Easter.
**May 2015**
The new Pope David, who was on a trip to Ireland at the time of the attack, calls for the first modern crusade in the Arabian Peninsula.
Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi Calls for a Jihad against the Catholic Church and Vatican City
*"So, that’s pretty much it.. A few acts of random violence on the other side of the world, and now I’m sitting on a Jet heading to Israel to fight in the first modern crusade. A year ago I had just left high school in England and joined the Army rather than signing on. Now I’m fighting for Christianity in the desert... you know the funny thing? I’m not even religious."*
|
At first, people had laughed at him. "A crusade? How absurd!" they said. This tested Father Francis' resolve, but he held strong and waited for the faithful to come. These heathens had taken God's land, and he would see it returned. In his darkest hour, Francis knew He would provide.
And provide he did. After six months, God's Army numbered in the millions. At first they came only in small numbers, soldiers of fortune looking to curry favor after this life. But then the world shook with the first declaration: Argentina would support the crusade. This began a cascade of nations joining hands to combat the hands of Satan. Next it was the Brazilians, then the Chileans and the Peruvians. The Mexicans came next, as did the Spanish, the Portuguese and the Italians. France even joined in, something about an old grudge. Finally, the Irish took up arms againat the swine.
The rendezvous point, Buenos Aires, was abustle with all manner of military vehicles and marching soldiers. Over a hastily-rigged loud speaker came a voice "In nomine Patri, et Filii, et Spiritu Sancti, mount up!"
Three hours later, Francis hung out the window of a Huey, M-60 in hand, sunglasses over his eyes, ready for the invasion. His Fleet had the enemy surrounded, and God's army was ready to launch the amphibious assault. In just a few minutes, Francis - and God with him - would liberate the Falkland Islands.
| 2014-08-11T05:58:11
| 2014-08-11T05:12:53
| 64
| 13
|
[WP] The English Teacher's worst nightmare: a story or poem that is completely literal, with absolutely no double meanings
EDIT: Holy cow, this got way bigger than I thought it would, thanks so much for an awesome first prompt ever!
EDIT 2: Did this actually make it to the front page of reddit? What the...
|
An Ode to Sunshine
Sunshine, sunshine,
You make me warm,
Sunshine, sunshine,
You let me see,
Sunshine, sunshine,
Life on Earth which is not supported by the heat of geothermal activity is entirely dependant upon you because you drive the process of photosynthesis which allows plants to grow and all food chains in all ecosystems (aside from those aforementioned which depend upon geothermal activity) begin with plants, therefore plants can be said to form the foundation of all life as we know it (Except the aforementioned lifeforms which really only exist around deep ocean volcanic vents anyway),
Sunshine, sunshine,
You also illuminate the moon
|
Slam poetry!
Yelling!
Angry!
Waving my hands a lot!
Specific point of view on things
Cynthia!
Cynthia
Jesus died for our sin-thee-uhs
Jesus cried, runaway bride
Julia Roberts!
Julia rob, hurts
Cynthia! Mmmm…
Cynthia
You're dead
You are dead, bap boop beep…
You're dead
That's for Cynthia,
Who's dead.
Who's dead.
| 2017-01-30T12:19:57
| 2017-01-30T10:16:58
| 28
| 11
|
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip.
|
PeculiarPete was scrolling through /r/Jokes when he realized something.
He took his idea and went over to another subreddit and began scrolling back through some old prompts when he saw something that captured his fancy.
*"Writing Prompt[WP] Humans blood gets darker the more evil we do. One day you are suspected of murder, they draw your blood to test if you are truely a murderer. You blood is a clear white. You realize that you can get a way with almost everything now, seeing as to how you actually did commit the murder"*
"What a novel idea!" Pete thought to himself, and suddenly realized he need only reverse the characters Plight.
He began to write *"[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip."*
As he typed his dog came up to him and gave his skin a little nibble, when a peculiar thing happened to Pete, his skin was broken but his blood did not drip. Darker than jet black it looked as if his wounded flesh had ceased to exist. He reached over and took a sip of his
Fanta:Black, when we see the F fall off to reveal a V.
A story to truly fit the name "PeculiarPete"
|
At that moment, I was happy. I bring my pricked finger to my supple lips, and my tongue caresses the wound with warm tenderness.
Sweet. Like a strawberry lollipop.
It started off as one good deed a day. Picking up trash, volunteering at the senior home, removing hate graffiti, giving some water to construction workers. Mundane tasks.
*"Thank you for picking up garbage Sara. I want to be good like you when I grow up!"*
*"Here again at the senior home? Someone like you should be enjoying their youth and leave old bags like us to our devices! ....But I do appreciate the sentiment."*
*"I see you've been the one helping me get rid of these garbage nazi symbols. What say we make some wholesome graffiti art together one day?*
*"Thanks again for the water Sara! We really appreciate it! Couldn't do our work without ya."*
I wouldn't get complimented every time though. Only when someone notices. That moment when all the hard work you've done is recognized, after countless hours, days, weeks, months, years... The buildup to that climactic "Thank You" is pure ecstasy.
Soon, it wasn't enough. I had to do more. Help more people. So I started helping out at the local hospital. I went to college and became a registered nurse. I double majored in writing, wrote children's books, and held free read aloud sessions at my local library. I adopted a child, two stray dogs, and a cat.
All of it just to witness their smiling faces as their words of praise and gratitude flow out like Mozart. Like a warm blanket tucked tightly around me, outlining the contours of my body.
This is who I am. This blood is the symbol of my lust, and I'll brew it until it turns to ruby.
| 2018-08-04T11:11:45
| 2018-08-04T10:18:07
| 23
| 15
|
[WP] Your grandparents always playfully bickered in their native language. To surprised them, you took lessons, but now you understand what they're really saying...
What comes next will shock you!
|
I was happy, when registering for my first semester of college, to see my school offered intro to Russian. My grandparents came to America during World War II but would still talk Russian to each other, even after all this time. They focused on assimilation, especially during the cold war, so very little of the language was passed down to my dad, and none to me.
After four months of study I could have a very basic conversation with my grandparents in their native language. I thought that would be a great Christmas present for them. December 24th rolls around and like every Christmas Eve of my life they show up for our family dinner. Looking over some of my flashcards I hear my grandparents in the hallway talking in Russian. Just before I come out to greet them I catch a word that sounds familiar. It’s repeated a few more times so I pick up my textbook and turn to the dictionary. Expecting to find the Russian word for Christmas, or turkey I find the word for kill.
Thinking I misheard them I go back to my door and listen very carefully to their conversation. I catch the words for son, grandson, daughter, tonight, airport, and after three repeats I was certain, kill.
The Russian turns back into English as my dad walks over to them. “Mom, Jen was wondering if you could help her with the potatoes, and dad I printed out those papers you asked for.”
“Sure sweetie, tell Jen I’ll be happy to help.”
Dad leaves and the sweet matronly tone is replaced with a cold Russian response I can roughly translate as, ‘I kill her. You kill him. We kill boy.’
I dial 911 on my cell but before I can explain the crazy situation I’m in, my grandma opens my door. “Hey sweet pea, want to come help your mom and me with dinner. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.” Not seeing a believable excuse to get away I say sure, put the phone in my pocket and hope the police can trace it for the location.
Once in the hall my sweet old grandma looks in my room and sees the open Russian textbook and piles of flashcards. With a smile she asks, “So you’re studying Russian. Learn anything interesting?”
|
It wasn’t Swedish. Well I have no way of actually proving it. I don’t know Swedish either. But I can say with one percent below certainty that it was at best simply a good impersonation. It didn’t help that his chosen persona, Bjørn Bjørnson, was actually Norwegian. Though I suppose speaking a real language was so far from the point that it seems ridiculous to even comment on. He was Swedish in a way that only an American can be. Was third generation, family line dating back to the Titanic, a fateful flu delaying their emigration a few days. An anglicized name given at Ellis Island.
My grandfather married an Irish woman before joining the Navy, served in the Korean War. Well served at Columbia University. Though it’s not like he ever really played up his veteran status, relinquishing that title to someone more deserving I guess. Graduated with an MBA from that very same institution a few years later. Climbed the ranks, was well off in a Mad Men sort of way. He had his first heart attack at the age of 55, spent the night in a hospital room, window lined by a fully stocked bar, ash tray still warm from the ashes of a recently smoked cigarette.
My father would always look at me with a sort of somber jealousy. My grandfather a man completely overwhelmed by work and vice during most of my father’s life. Quick tempered, often drunk. Would leave the entirety of his home life to be managed my grandmother. Though I suppose that was more the way things just worked in the 60’s and 70’s. That kind of privileged American Dream that so many want to harken back to. Easily defined gender roles, a nuclear family. Well so long as you didn’t have any real ambitions.
But here he was, mid 70’s sitting under the Christmas tree, ogling at my grandmother. Having completely nonsensical conversations in a sort of pseudo-Swedish. Would talk about that one time he actually visited the country as a kid like some sort of badge. He was no more Swedish than I am. The only remnants my butchered last name. To me and my brother he was always just that goofy guy, a complete neglect of a true understanding of my family history. Couldn’t see into my grandmother’s eyes, a woman who had attempted suicide at least twice. Couldn’t see my grandfather’s rampant alcoholism. My father's depression.
When my grandmother had her first stroke they were separated for the first time in nearly fifty years. He would sneak ice cream like a little boy whose mother unexpectedly left the house and her credit card for a weekend. Gulping down scoop after scoop of ice cream, crying to the sky at a sudden outburst of brain freeze. Crying out in the voice of his alter ego Bjørn Bjørnson. Would make my brother and I giggle like crazy. A hesitant smirk from the corners of my father’s mouth. A sort of inherent Midwestern urge to suppress whatever cocktail of emotions swirling through his gut.
It took us all by surprise. He died quietly in his sleep at the age of 86. My grandmother still recovering from her stroke. Though she never really recovered. In the sort of way that, for good or for bad, when someone has been such an unobstructed part of your life for over fifty years, you become incomplete. And not even in some gushy romantic, “you complete me” kind of way. But that our personalities, our emotions are so intangible, and what dictates the self isn’t always entirely internal. And when he would look at her on a Christmas morning, break out into some absurd accent, and make us laugh even just a little, the rest was worth it. There was no alternative. No other path. This was life, and for the time being it was good.
| 2016-09-09T14:49:34
| 2016-09-09T14:12:10
| 190
| 26
|
[WP] On this long-haul interstellar supertanker, cloning is used to replace dead, dying or aged crew. The strict "1-clone at a time per person" law was temporarily retracted with all hands on deck to prevent a catastrophic failure. Crisis averted and law restored, there will be a culling.
|
"Let me get this straight," said the Security Director. "We have to kill all but one clone of each person. Starting with this guy," he points at an image projected by the holo lens, "let's run through the positions each clone has so I know which people are important or not. Who is in engineering?"
Captain: "How did you know?"
The SD looked puzzled. "How did I know?"
Captain: "You've been in suspended animation. How did you know Who is in engineering?"
SD: "I didn't. That's why I asked."
Captain: "Ask away."
SD: "Who is in engineering?"
Captain: "Yes."
SD: "Yes, what?"
Captain: "What is a cook."
SD: "A cook makes food. I want to know who is in engineering."
Captain: "It seems like you already know. Are you playing some type of game to stall? You don't want to kill anyone?"
SD: "Let's try this a different way. We need to kill all the instances of this guy but one. Forget about each individual person and position. You're the captain. You know your crew. Who should we keep?"
Captain: "Probably. Engineering is an important position."
SD: "I didn't ask about a position. I asked who we should keep?"
Captain: "Certainly."
SD: "Who is the clone we should keep?"
Captain: "Certainly."
SD: "Seems like an odd name. We should keep Certainly?"
Captain: "Who."
SD: "Look, I'm asking the questions. In matters of security, my authority supersedes yours. Give me a straight answer. Who should we keep?"
Captain: "I keep telling you the answer. Who."
The Security Chief shot the Captain.
|
I was the last one to be cloned of five. I had memories of being on the tanker for more than five-hundred years, and my original was long gone. I had no memory of her, or my life before the tanker. But I had the same name, and I wore her uniform.
"All hands on deck!"
The words echoed through the ship. I knew what would happen now. We hadn't had a malfunction in weeks and we had long since left that terrible nebula which had caused all of our trouble. Simply put we were too many now for a ship operating at peak efficiency.
I had three choices:
1) follow orders, 2) hide on the tanker, and be hunted down or 3) get off this wretched ship travelling through the empty void.
I wondered what my original would have done. I wondered if she would have been proud of me. There was five of us. And we would all be thinking the same thing at this moment. Only one of us would survive if we choose option 1. Would any of us survive if we choose options 2 or 3. Not likely.
I pulled out a piece of paper from my jacket pocket. It was a handwritten note that my original had written. It simply said: "there is always light." Did my four sisters have similar notes, I wondered. Did they think of me as a sister or a copy?
Then I ran. I ran as fast as I could.
***
A tanker like mine has two hundred-and-sixty-one compartments. Of these, thirty-eight are sealed and inaccessible to the crew save for mechanics like myself. I knew that my four sisters each had stowed away in one of these, and I would be doing the same. Panting I reached compartment seventeen, a number I had chosen at random as I ran for my life.
The airlock opened and there stood one of my sisters. A deer caught in the headlight. She looked at my frightened and I looked at her. She was tall and slender and pale, with bright blue eyes. She had a box in her hand, which she put on the ground. She stood there for a moment, looking at me. I knew what she was thinking. She wanted to do this the easy way.
The key clanged on the floor as I dropped it. She made her way quickly to the airlock control, but I stopped her before she could open it. "Please," I said as I held up my hand. I knew it was useless to ask, but somehow I knew she would have done it too. "Don't do that. I don't want to die. There are many other ways to solve this." She continued to look at me, "You can't stop it you know." I turned to look behind me, the reality of the situation was setting in, and I was scared.
She looked at me, her eyes full of sadness and with that I realized that this was it.
"Please" I said again
She paused for a moment and then nodded slightly as if to say I understand. Then she pressed the button. Air rushed past me before as the power of the vacuum of space grew stronger.
***
For more stories check out r/greypuffin.
| 2022-09-26T13:49:28
| 2022-09-26T13:41:35
| 107
| 67
|
[WP] You're just a chicken farmer. An ordinary chicken farmer. You're not a warlord. Definitely not, and you also don't command your chickens to do your bidding. Preposterous. Insane. Rumors.
|
So I'm farmin' these chickens, on account o' my bein' a chicken farmer. Just mindin' my business doing chicken things and shit. I got 8 chickens. Each one of 'em's got a name. There's Mr. Cluckers, Mrs. Cluckers, Captain Cluckers, Commander Cluckers, Lil Cluckington, Big Cluckington, Medium-sized Cluckington, and Ol' Has-a-gun.
I named that last one Ol' Has-a-gun on account o' he has a gun. I got no idea where he got it, but he has a gun. None o' my other chickens got guns. They got switchblades, sure. Brass knuckles? Maybe a few. Plenty of piano wire, too. But only Ol' Has-a-gun has a gun.
Anyway, I'm doin' my chicken farmer shit, when my neighbor, Two-Toes McGee, walks on up to my chicken barn, where I keeps my chickens. I says to the guy, "What you lookin' at, Two-Toes?"
And the nerve o' this guy! He says to me, "I think you're a warlord."
And I says to him, "The nerve o' you, guy! You got any proof?"
And he says, "Well, you got that one chicken with the gun."
And I says, "What, Ol' Has-a-gun? So what if he got a gun? It's a free country. A chicken can carry a gun if he wants."
And the FUCKIN' NERVE O' THIS GUY! He says to me, "Okay, what about that other chicken, with all those ICBMs?" This son of a fuckin' bitch wants to start talkin' shit about Big Cluckington!
So I punch'im in the jaw, and he starts bleedin' pretty bad. I say, "Listen here, Two-toes: You start talkin' smack about Big Cluckington again, you'll be sayin' it to the barrel of Ol' Has-a-gun's gun!"
Ol' Two-toes scurries off, right, on account o' the beatdown, and I go back in the barn. I don't keep my chickens in a coop anymore, on account o' Big Cluckington said it was too small for a missile silo. Oh yeah, the chickens got a missile silo. It's standard on most chicken farms. Big Cluckington's real proud of it, always talkin' about how far the missiles go, and how many megatons the warheads got, and how he's gonna massacre the people of Belgium and shit.
But I says to him, "Big Cluckington, you ain't killin' no Belgians till we put ol' Two-toes in the ground."
And Big Cluckington, he says to me, "Okay, you want Two-toes dead? How bout we send Ol' Has-a-gun down to his place to settle the business?"
But I ain't havin' none o' that. I tell'im the only way Two-toes is gettin' in the ground is with a nuclear missile. Big Cluckington don't look too happy about usin' one o' his missiles, but he knows he's stuck workin' for me until Medium-sized Cluckington finishes night school and can support the family.
So he goes prepare the missile. I head out the door to go give my girl Lego-face Betty the business, but when I turn the corner, Ol' Has-a-gun is standin' in my way. With his gum. I mean gun.
I says to him, "Ol' Has-a-gun, what you gonna do with that gun?" And he says to me, "Die, bich." Ol' Has-a-gun can't spell too good on account o' his Dyslexia.
And he shoots me. And I start dyin' and shit. So nows I'm lyin' on the ground, bleedin' out. I'm probably not even gonna survive long enough to finish this sto
|
The knock on the door startled me from my nap. I need to stop staying up so late.
As I groggily spun my legs into sitting position a second knock.
"It's Sheriff Jones, please open up, just got a couple-a questions for ya".
Good ole Sheriff Jones. Kind guy. Cute family. Don't be meddling Sheriff.
I put on my slippers and walked to the door, through the frosted decorative windows I could see the khaki cowboy hat. Sheriff Jones was on the shorter side.
I swung the door open and held a hand up to block the sunlight from my sleepy eyes.
"Yes Sheriff, what can I do for you good sir?"
Sheriff Jones took a step back and plopped his hat off his head.
"Good afternoon Ben, I uh… got a couple of weird questions for ya." The sheriff rubbed his neck with his free hand. "There was a robbery last night at the Klein's jewelry store. I be knowing you would never cause no ruckus, but we found some strange things at the scene of the crime."
Here we go.
"Strange things sir? How can I help you with these strange things?"
Sheriff Jones smirked and gave a quick giggle before gathering himself and smiling. He nodded, "Well you see, at the scene of the crime we found…. Uh.. well we found feathers. Sounds silly I know, but the big wig investigators drove in from a few cities down. They are looking for anything and everything. If you've seen how they are on TV you know what I've been through the past few hours. Hah. Anyway, I knew you were the only one around with chickens. I just was curious if you knew anything that could help us out. The faster we give them what they want the faster I can go home to Mary and the kids ya know?"
The short man chuckled.
"Of course of course. I haven't seen anything sir. All my chickens are accounted for, and I don't keep a feather count." I laughed, Sheriff Jones joining in.
"Ah well I figured" He continued. Plopping his hat back on his head he asked the dreaded question I was hoping wasn't coming. "Mind if I take a quick peak in the barn, just to cross off all the boxes?"
My smile faded. I cleared my throat. "Of course sir. Let me get my keys."
I spun on my heels to go retrieve the keys.
Oh Sheriff Jones Sheriff Jones, why oh why Sheriff Jones.
I collected the keys and headed to the barn. Sheriff Jones in tow.
After some small talk of weather trends we arrived at the barn. I inserted the key and jiggled my key in an exact precise pattern. A code. Then I slowly turned the key and opened the latch. Sliding the door aside I swept my hands out in a welcoming gesture.
"Take a look around sir."
I stood at the entrance while Sheriff Jones pulled out his flashlight and began doing a quick search. The chickens followed along letting him pass, but forming a clucking circle as he walked.
After a minute or so Sheriff Jones was on his way out. "Looks all clear to me. Nothing out of the ordinary as we expected." Smiling, he began to put his flashlight away. His beam crossed a cardboard box and stopped. "What is this?" He said, walking toward the box.
He bent down and brushed aside some straw and dust to reveal the words "Klein". He pulled out his knife and cut open the box filled with jewelry. He stared for a second more in disbelief.
Standing, he put away his knife and pulled out his revolver. "Ben, you are under arrest for robbery of the Klein's jewelry store. You…" he paused as I raised my hand in a "Stop" gesture.
"Sheriff Jones. I am so sorry you had to find this. I am telling you, I did not steal anything. No. But my chickens did. Kill."
The chicken surrounding Sheriff Jones attacked in a flurry of feathers and beaks. He screamed and pulled the trigger on his revolver. By this time he was down in a pile of chickens pecking at his soft spots. A few more screams and it was over. The chickens dispersed and went back to their chicken duties.
"Gertrude…" a singular chicken head popped up from the crowd.
"I told you to hide the jewelry better than this. You are on poop scoop duty for the rest of the month." The saddest cluck that has ever been clucked radiated through the barn.
"The rest of you, clean up this mess."
I closed the door, locked up the barn. And returned to my nap.
| 2018-05-10T16:04:07
| 2018-05-10T13:01:09
| 172
| 49
|
[WP] Everyone dies on their birthday, but no one knows at which age it will occur.
EDIT:
Thanks all who replied - I've read them all even if I didn't comment!
You are all so brilliant, thanks for giving this prompt life (no pun intended)
:D
|
Defibrillator. Check. Bandages and gauze. Check. Flashlight. Check. Smoke detector and fire extinguisher. Check. Louisville Slugger. Check. Book of Sudoku. Check. The most recent Jack Reacher novel. Check. Jug of water. Check. Alien box set DVD with commentary from cast. Check.
I started the list five days ago. It went on, longer than it had to. Some of the items remained unchecked. For example, pornographic magazines. Or the Swiss army knife. I might fall on the knife, or jacking off might give me a heart-attack. There were others too. I started it early because the last time I didn’t bring enough entertainment and my boredom led way to catastrophic thoughts, elevated heart-rate, which put me at risk for going into shock. I started the list because certain necessary items might slip my mind if I started it 24 or 48 hours ago. I was getting old. The old biological computer didn't run so smooth anymore. I gave myself ample time, and included every possible need or want that I could conjure up, and over the course of five days the list grew to three and a half pages of manic, scribbled notes with question marks, ticks, and asterisk denoting them as extraneous, imperative, or debatable.
At the stroke of midnight I locked and bolted the doors, turned off the heat in case of carbon monoxide poisoning, and waited.
There were two types of logic when it came to birthdays. A: Death was coming whether you took precautions or not. For example, death might’ve planned for you to perish in a horrendous car accident, smashed into jelly. If you didn’t drive that day, then it would set you up to spontaneously combust instead. It didn’t much care about the means so much as the end. B: As long as you canceled out the specific method that death planned for you, you could extend your life indefinitely by taking extreme precautions and using common sense.
My logic went like this. It was impossible to tell how exactly death went about its business, but one might as well assume the option B was the case. If option A was reality, than it wouldn’t matter. Many people carried on with their usual routine on their birthday, as calm as Buddhist monks. I considered these people fools. If one subscribed to option B, than at least there was a faint hope of escaping the enveloping blackness known as death. Why not try to avoid one’s own end if there was even a small chance that death was easily duped?
For those who subscribed to option B, the unnaturally long life of Edith Junger, who finally died a brain hemorrhage at age 204, or Roger Moore, who was viciously robbed and bludgeoned in his own house at the age of 198, made for compelling cases. Neither of them ever left their houses on the anniversary of their birth. There was no need to, take a sick day. The birthday parties always came the day after anyways. Of course death eventually got wise, but these cases also seemed to suggest that death was stupid and near incompetent, or at least wasn’t in any particular rush. He had customers every day of the year, so he was extraordinarily busy.
At 12:01 I sat down in front of the television. I had moved the coffee table into storage until tomorrow. Nasty, sharp edges to fall on. If my temple met one of those corners, it might just do the trick. I might trip on my own shoelaces. For that reason, I also moved all my shoes into storage.
The meteor crashed through the roof at 12:07. Alien had just started. In the split second I became an unidentifiable smear, I felt honored that I had caused death so much grief that it had to send a rock from out space after me. I supposed I had a good run. I died as happy as one could be on one’s birthday, at the age of 347.
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11:58 pm. Almost time. I blinked and took a deep breath while my mother kept clamoring on the phone. I appreciate her concern, really, I do, but I'm just as nervous as she is, and honestly? I just wanted to get to sleep. Like a lot of other people, the anxiety of my birthday was severe enough to trigger anxiety attacks, so I it's safer for me to just sleep through all 24 hours. The Drift was ready, all I had to do was plug myself in.
She kept asking her little questions, as though I were a child preparing for my first ever birthday. I silently appreciated it, though, there was every possibility my nerves were so shot I forgot something crucial.
I'm sure I didn't, though.
"Alright, so, you're full?"
"Yes, mom."
"Ok, you know how I don't like you eating on your birthday, you could choke on something."
"I won't mom."
"And you're not going outside, right? You're not driving anywhere are you?"
"Nope. I'm all bunkered in."
"OK...well, I'll call you a few more times to check up on you...I'm just so nervous, it's your first birthday alone..."
"Mom, don't worry, I'll be fine! I promise."
"Ok...I love you sweetie."
"Love you too, mom."
I hung up the phone and flopped back down in my bed, staring at the ceiling.
I ran through my mental checklist again before hooking up the drift. As it began it's soothing little whir and I could feel myself drifting away, only one though creeped into my consciousness.
*Mom didn't ask if I locked the door...*
| 2014-11-19T17:06:25
| 2014-11-19T16:39:40
| 99
| 54
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