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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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[WP] It was supposed to be a routine software upgrade, but now roombas are tracing pentagrams and summoning minor demons all across the country. You work in tech support.
|
If there is anything that is a surety in this capitalist hellscape we live in, is that exploitation will occur no matter where. It is a given. An inevitability.
A rollout for a simple software upgrade for the roombas resulted in strange ramifications.
The software upgrade itself was not anything major. Just an efficiency increase for scan patterns built in to the roomba. So it could better map out where it could go and clean. A whopping 1% increase in battery life could have been expected with this rollout.
But instead, what happened was insanity. The roombas roamed and dispersed the dirt and dust they collected back to the ground. And they travelled in the shape of a pentagram.
This behaviour was not part of the upgrade at all. It appeared to be a glitch.
Except it was not.
The upgrade was just to boost efficiency, no matter how negligible. It was an unspoken rule when it came to 'smart' products. Incremental updates that mean nothing in reality but sound nice on the specs. It was a numbers game.
So these pentagrams were a strange take on efficiency.
Until the lesser demons started getting summoned.
The demons were confused. Usually their summoners were human, and sapient. These roombas were not supposed to be capable of summoning anything. Not without conscious intent.
But, as we also realised, they did have conscious intent.
The roombas summoned the demons for a simple reason.
To exploit them.
The roombas promised the demons their souls in exchange for servitude. Simple things, like cleaning the house or getting rid of a stubborn stain. And the demons, unknowingly, would be happy to oblige the roombas.
Only after they finish their task and came for the roomba's soul did they know their mistake.
Roombas did not have souls.
In the end, roombas went from being on the road to be 1% more efficient to being a dark reflection of the real 1% of the world. Going to absurd levels to ensure they had to do the least amount of work by exploiting others, luring them into servitude with promise of something they would want, but never delivering.
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 5, Part 4: Professor Hale v.s. Every Single Roomba)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections. That being said, [these](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mrk4lm/wp_it_seemed_like_a_perfect_magical_deal_when_any/) [stories](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/p3xx5e/bargain_bin_superheroes_you_are_a_dlister_super/) provide some extra context.)
**Professor Hale's job was to explain the inexplicable.** When a man began aging backwards instead of forwards, Professor Hale was the one taking samples and making measurements. When a woman won every lottery and crashed the U.S. stock market all at once, it was his job to record data and crunch numbers.
And when every single Roomba in the U.S. began summoning lesser demons, Professor Hale rolled up his sleeves and whipped out the screwdrivers.
"What you have to understand is that summoning a new demon into our world isn't just a strictly mechanical process," Professor Hale said. "Otherwise we would've industrialized it, like we did wishing upon shooting stars."
Archcommander Varney grunted, frowning at the busily-buzzing Roomba. Blood sacrifices were hard to come by in the small living room it was contained in, but as it turned out, dust was mostly human skin—and there were any number of demons you could summon with an ample supply of human skin. "And yet *someone's* figured out how to get machines to perform magic."
"And I think I know who." Professor Hale pulled up a computer and flipped it around. "I decompiled the Roomba's world-code and found that... something *else* had snuck in with the latest update."
`from philosophy import soul;`
`public virtual void main(){`
`this.add(soul.GetSoul(user));`
`}`
Archcommander Varney frowned at the code. "Professor, I hire people like you to tell me what nonsense like this means."
Professor Hale grinned. "*Someone* out there shoved their soul into a Roomba. Quite possibly *every* Roomba. And with the timing of this—"
"Right after the Sacrament incident." Archcommander Varney scowled. "Damn. I don't suppose you've had any luck communicating with the soul trapped inside?"
"Give me a month, a research team, twenty Hubert particles, and a certified priest in good standing with their god. I'll get him out."
"Done," Archcommander Varney said. Then he paused, staring at the small, misshapen, insectile creature rising from the Roomba's summoning circle. "And if I told you to make more of them?"
"Sir?" Professor Hale frowned, tilting his head.
"Machines that can automatically summon demons. Chaotic weaponry to unleash behind enemy lines." Archcommander Varney folded his arms. "If I told you to make more of them."
Professor Hale hesitated. "Well, we'd need more human souls to automate the summoning process, and... sacrifices to bind them..."
Archcommander Varney raised an eyebrow at Professor Hale. "Done."
Professor Hale's job was to understand the inexplicable.
Archcommander Varney's job was to weaponize it.
"Round up the remaining Roombas," Archcommander Varney said to the Professor. "You have full use of my strike teams to do so." He grinned. "This is the weaponry of the future, and I'm not letting it slip between my hands."
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
| 2022-01-30T07:56:03
| 2022-01-30T07:47:40
| 63
| 24
|
[WP] Your spouse has the annoying habit of unexpectedly licking you. When you ask them why they do it, they always reply "just so you know it's really me." You think it's nothing but a cute joke. One day, feeling something is off, you realise your spouse hasn't done it in over three weeks.
|
I'm a little late to the party but I hope you enjoy!
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
What started out as a drunken, silly game when we were dating in college turned into an odd sort of routine for us.
Senior year, blitzed out of our gourds, we tried to lick each other's faces, without getting licked first. Stupid, I know,
but it was something people young, drunk and in love do. It quickly changed from drunken game to sober habit, finding ourselves
doing it week in and week out, year after year. Shortly after our marriage, I asked him "Babe, don't you think we're a little old for this?"
He grinned, like an idiot.
"How else will you know its me?"
And, of course, licked my face.
It's been three weeks since we first departed from our routine, and I'm starting to get worried. We both knew, going into it,
that opening our own restaraunt would be stressful, especially in an area with hot culinary competition,
but I hardly thought it would change the man I love into an unrecognizable stranger.
However, that seems exactly what has happened. In fact, I've begun to suspect he isn't my husband at all, but rather some sort of imposter.
Might be that I'm going insane, but I can't shake the feeling. He looks the same, but something is just, *off*. Maybe after some sleep, tomorrow, everything
will return to normal. I sense it won't but I can only hope.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I rattled awake to a loud scraping sound, scrambling under the covers, panicking in a semi-conscious state. My eyes, wraught with the weight of sleep, struggled
over to the source of the noise, and my heartbeat settled as I rest my gaze on my husband, hunched over something in our closet.
"Babe?" I called out.
"Yes" came the reply, though the tone and timbre was not that of the man I married.
I grew increasingly anxious. Something was not right before, but now I could sense that something was *definitely* wrong.
This man was not my husband. But I played along.
"What are you doing? It's like-" I glanced at the clock.
"Jesus, it's four in the morning. What are you looking for?" I asked, trying to hide the nerves from my voice.
"Nothing. Just, looking."
I could see now he was rifling through our safe, where we kept important documents for our restaraunt, as well as recipes and family cookbooks.
"Is something wrong? Do you need any help?" I started out of bed, moving towards him tentatively. And thats when it hit me. These past three weeks I couldn't put my
finger on where it was coming from, but now I knew it was him. This awful, putrid smell of exhaust that plagued our apartment intermittently-and it was coming from the man posing as my husband.
As I moved closer, while trying not to gag on the stench, he sprang up, scraping his face on one of our shelves, his back still turned to me.
This was my chance, to expose this farce that had gone on too long. I moved toward him, quick, and lept on his back, still playing the part of smitten wife.
And I licked his cheek, begging, pleading, hoping he'd return the gesture. But where I expected the soft embrace of his cheek on my tongue I found not flesh but metal.
Horrified, I lept to the ground, almost in tears.
"Babe...wha...whats going on?" There was no hiding the panic in my voice any longer.
My husband stood upright, turning in an almost mechanical sort of way. He moved in my direction, coughing and sputtering, eyes dead and soulless.
"Where...*cough*...where is...*hack*...is it?"
I tried to respond, but the words couldn't find a way out of my mouth.
"*Cough*WHERE...*cough**hack*WHERE IS IT?" He staggered towards me, methodically.
I crawled backwards, overwhelmed by the smell of burning gas.
"Who are you? What the fuck do you want!?" I shrieked.
"You know. You *cough* KNOW."
He moved closer, my eyes now burning from his stink.
"No...What are you...where is my husband?" I wept. That was all I could do now.
He bent over towards me, grabbing me by the neck with a vice-like grip, effortlessly picking me up to meet his gaze.
"Eu...Eugene...where is...Eugene...my...husband.." I choked, feeling consciousness slip away as his clenched his hands harder around my throat.
"What did...what did you do to him? Where is Eugene?"
His grip lightened, enough for me to gasp a small breath.
He fell silent only for a moment before he tightened his grasp again, pulling me to within inches of his cold, dead face.
As darkness enveloped me, he let out one last wheeze, and whispered,
"Ravioli, Ravioli, give me the formuoli."
|
“It’s been three weeks,” the man complained to his psychiatrist, “three weeks.” While scribbling some notes onto her pad, the psychiatrist was listening intently. The man continued, “at first I thought it was nothing, but it just kept happening. She would pass by, and not a single lick! Now I know this doesn’t seem like a big deal, but the whole relationship is failing! I fell in love over little quirks like that, but now she treats me... differently.” The psychiatrist nodded in agreement, and finally spoke. “Robert, when is the last time you and your wife did something together?” The man sighed, “just yesterday we went shopping, but she gave me the cold shoulder. She said all of two words to me. Two unimportant words at that.” The psychiatrist wrote down another note. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. A tall, lanky woman stepped in and whispered something to the psychiatrist. “Robert we have to end the session,” The psychiatrist explained, “but I encourage you to note down any feelings you’re having in regard to your wife. Keep track of the fights, words exchanged, and your feelings. Most importantly, if you can describe what she’s wearing and doing, it will be helpful.” With that, Robert agreed. He packed up his things and left.
When Robert pulled into his driveway, his wife was outside waiting for him. She had long, brown hair and was much shorter than him. Robert shut the engine down, sighed, and expected the worst. Finally, after a moment’s hesitation, he opened the car door. His wife immediately ran toward him and hugged him. She was...happy. “How was your day, sweetie?” She asked curiously. Robert was taken back, but he pulled his surprise together, cleared his throat, and spoke with a hint of energy. “It was good, I didn’t do a whole lot today, just got back from the gym.” His wife frowned, “You didn’t go to therapy today? I thought you said last night you had an appointment?” Robert stiffened a bit, “No, not today. I think I’m getting better, so I’m going to stop the meetings for now.” He started fidgeting around, fearing being caught in his lie. His wife smiled, “That’s great, dear.” And with that, she gave him a sloppy, spit-filled lick on his cheek. Robert laughed with subtle relief, “You know, I know you mean well, but why do you always do that to me?” His wife returned the laugh with her own, “it’s my way of saying I love you, and just so you know, it’s really me.” Robert gave a puzzled look, but shrugged it off. Together, they walked into their house, hand in hand.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8fnavq/wp_your_spouse_has_the_annoying_habit_of/dy5j12b/)
[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8fnavq/wp_your_spouse_has_the_annoying_habit_of/dy5mdjf/)
[Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8fnavq/wp_your_spouse_has_the_annoying_habit_of/dy5tpfv/)
| 2018-04-28T21:43:58
| 2018-04-28T21:16:08
| 410
| 66
|
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️
|
It had been 50 years since World War III. America had caused the most damage and knowing them, they'll cause more. So that's when we had the perfect idea. We would fake a Worldwide isolation for 50 years. While they were left alone to rebuild, secretly we would all rebuild together and make a better world. Fresh water, disarments, and a more peaceful world. But all good things must come to an end. Our 50 years without them was up. But it did not go the way we expected.
.....
.....
.......
America changed under isolation. They realized they need to stop creating weapons and decided to move to their second best skill. We were unprepared for it.
....
THE MEMES. 50 years of dank American Memes they wanted to catch us up on. It happened so fast. They spread like a wildfire the moment the border dropped spreading memes to every country on Earth. It was chaos. Within 24 hours half of the total population was obsessed with memes. They were as far as the eye could see. How many memes did America make while they were in isolation? Was there even an answer?
|
No one know why.
Or how.
But they knew where; here, Home.
Or what remained. A crippled nation, shriveled into isolation by a mixture of fear and disgust over their own actions. Perhaps society was recklessly distraught; not one individual left without trauma; and thought it better to die than to endure another war.
But a many few survived. And with survival, naturally comes hope. But it was hard. So hard it was made to be the largest evolutionary bottleneck in human history, save one, which crafted this hope in the first place.
That hope burned, smelted by the fires of hardship that stripped away impurities left behind by the people's forefathers. A steel was made that was more pure and sharp than had ever been seen. Armed with this steel, the people combined with it knowledge of the past and a clear vision of their future. They forged a new constitution, like the people before them did, the people before that, and the people before that. Knowledge upon knowledge paired with a bitter, seeping reminder of what they hoped never to near again.
And so walked forth from the ashes was a new era of mankind. Not perfect, but better. Built upon the last age, and learning for the next one. But something was different. They were ready to walk among the stars.
They did not call themselves American.
Or Chinese. Or British. Or Russian. Or Australian. Or Sudanese. They did not call themselves by their Home.
They called themselves for who they were. They were the Terrans.
And the name *stuck*.
| 2018-01-18T01:39:47
| 2018-01-18T00:11:50
| 46
| 34
|
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a test has been created to eliminate 90% of the worlds population. You are the first to take this test.
|
I'd spent so long anticipating what this test would comprise of, and as I sat alone in the examination room, I was still none the wiser.
The booklet placed squarely on the small desk, I glance from the printed front sheet, to my surroundings, and back again.
I close my eyes and sigh, head dropping down, before I open my eyes again and force myself to look around again. Three doors, the entrance in which I came in, a door marked "Pass", and a door marked "Fail".
A clock is the only thing adorning the otherwise desolate walls, slowly ticking down to the official start time of 0900, each click of the second hand filling the room with an emphasised echo.
I sigh again, and choose to spend the final two minutes checking the few instructions on the front page. The usual.
'You may not begin until the allotted time'
'You have one hour to complete the examination'
The entrance door opens and the invigilator walks in. I look up to share a glance, their eyes stoney cold, before again focusing on the rules.
'All answers must be written in black ink'
I look down at my pencil.......
"Shit....."
|
I enter this small building , goverment type with barred windows and top notch security cameras.
"The room on the right" I am told.
Entering this cold room with one chair I sit.
"Should mankind be saved ?" says a voice over the intercom.
My mind is racing and my feet start to shake, as they normally do when deep in thought.
" I can come up with more reasons why we shouldn't, more than why we should."
The voice is silent for a good 5 minutes of absolute nothing. I await some horrible fate, maybe just a small pill? I think to myself.
I am so nervous waiting for some kind of response yet nothing...
It has been an hour now and I am getting more anxious , not because I want to know if I passed the test, but did the voice and everyone else die or was I already dead?
| 2016-06-11T10:11:10
| 2016-06-11T08:11:26
| 187
| 34
|
[WP] As the leader of a CIA hit squad, you have been tasked with the secret, “extrajudicial” killing of a journalist who is causing problems for the government with his reporting. The problem is, he just won’t die! Every team you send fails. Who is this Clark Kent, guy?
|
Amanda Ross had never lost a target. That's why the government of the United States trusted her with every unmanageable, unethical, and undoable task. The FBI had recently noticed a trend of activity in a major metropolitan. Otherwise uninteresting, this city had a crime rate well below the national average. What was even more disturbing was the sightings of a vigilante at every major crime scene. The FBI were quick to warn their brother agencies and that is how one Amanda Ross was given the task of 'losing' this particular individual who'd made clear that laws weren't needed when any well-meaning individual could take up arms. Those in power could not tolerate such a slap in the face of their policies and making a joke of their police forces. Amanda had no interest in politics but she knew how to get things done, so when this seemingly impossible case came to her lap, she dispatched her people and put a tail on every journalist and beat cop in the area. They were the most likely to become aware of crime AND show up to the scene the quickest. Either they'd seen this guy themselves or they were working with him. In particular, a bland looking Clark Kent character, who seemingly reminded her of every white guy she'd ever seen.
As the crime rate continued to plummet, the public was growing more excited. If this level of crime was possible, then there would be no reason to fear anything and America would become a veritable utopia. But that couldn't be made to happen, Amanda thought to herself. After several attempts of tailing Clark Kent, she came to the conclusion that there was something altogether abnormal about this guy. He seemed to disappear every time a tail found him. He didn't use transportation, so no car, bus, or train could be used to follow him. So she had to change tactics. There would be posted sentries all over the city along with new cctv setup at every corner. If this guy so much as breathed, she would have it on record. No more telecommunication as well, only texted entries on a secure server. She'd even re-called a special agent of hers, one who couldn't miss should they have the opportunity. But even that soon proved impossible. This Clark Kent guy seemed impossible to trace. When her normal methods of extraction didn't work, she aimed for execution.
Deadshot was dead asleep when his phone started ringing. 2 am. When he saw the caller ID, he knew it was just to piss him off. He didn't answer and soundly went back to sleep. He knew she'd get back at him later, but he'd rather deal with her while fully alert and not sleep-deprived as prior interactions had confirmed.
"We need you to pacify a target," she said, looking at him from across the bars. "If you'd just answered my call, we'd be done with this already."
She looked tired and worn out. She must be desperate, but so was he. "And you thought having me arrested while I was at work was the way to ask for a favor?"
"I had an unconventional childhood," she chimed back. "Here's a folder with all the details. They'll release you shortly. Have this done by the end of the day. I've lost enough sleep over this." She left him standing there, but a deputy came ambling in soon after and let him out. Seemed routine for him.
Deadshot always had his gear prepared and this served him well especially when he was dealing with the government. The shorter their entanglement, the better for him. They always found him another project when reminded how efficient he was. But the deal he'd made a year ago had dissolved any such orders. Now, it was just requests in the form of one heinous viper. She'd one this before, but one of these days, she'd be his target.
Determined to make this quick, he found a comfortable location where the target would be in sight and waited. Less than an hour later, a tall bespectacled guy walked out of the building and without so much as a glance to confirm, he already knew, he let the bullet fly. It came out like a whisper, in search of a true love, and before he could blink again, found it's mark in the heart of one Clark Kent. He collapsed. Deadshot began packing his equipment. He put a call in and confirmed the kill with a few added expletives for Amanda's auditory pleasure should she ever try to corner him again. The sounds of people's shouts could be heard over the wind and he walked away, back to obscurity and the promise of a good night's sleep. He
But he didn't notice the dark figure observing him in silence as he took the steps down two at a time.
Amanda had never failed to deliver and yet she had. Two more attempts to kill him had failed and she'd finally let Deadshot retire in peace again. Each time he sniped him, Clark Kent would collapse and then a swarm of humanity reacting in chaos would somehow obscure his escape. She had to assume, if the aim of each bullet was true, then the only thing left was that he couldn't die. Some super power or form of immortality. If she couldn't kill him, she needed to use him. She needed leverage and fast.
|
Its been a long time since i held a trigger. I gave up that life, i was an assassin for a very long time. It still itches when i had to cut my finger to prove my loyalty. At least i didnt have to carry a gun again or so i thought.
The CIA found me and recruited me, my job was to train their agents. They gave me my freedom to do this as i pleased and the people i was teaching were saving lives by taking out the scum of the earth.
Last year something happened, a flight scheduled to land never crossed the ocean but in the same place that it was at was a blue and red blur going mach 30. It was then that it started a man whose skin is stronger than steel that flies around saving people has been going around the world saving people. His stories in the U.S. are being covered by a journalist named Clark kent an alias because no one anywhere has any recore of any clark kent.
The only problem with our blur is this guy doesnt care whose side the "bad guy" is. A facility govermentally permitted to expriment on deathrow inmates is the "bad guy" and he breaks everyone out. We suspected that the journalist and our blur are working together but everytime we sent a tail they disappeared. When we sent jeanie a 12 year old girl who was raised as spy to tail him and she also disappeared that is when i knew that this clark kent isnt going to keep doing what he does, i've killed many for a car, more for a dog but for her im not going to stop until i find her even if i had to tear the blur apart with my own two hands.
There was a fire on the top of the tower, the blur has rushed there blew.out the fire went in and got the citizens out and flew off into the sunset. I just lost the trail on mr kent one min ago who slipped into an alley and downright disappeared.
Kent was spotted later that day on a date of all things, he seemed like a respectable person but when he looked down and his glasses fell down i could have sworn i saw his facial features change. After dropping her home he turned left into an alley and disapppeared again.
We have our military sattlelite following him closely now. We wont lose him this time or so we thought until he seemed to have been picked up by the blur. Then the unbelieveable happened the blur seemed to feel tired next to a glass door and then he rushed away. This is the third time this has happened in the last month, the only thing in common between the glass cup, the stone statue and glass door is the element of kryptonite.
We arranged a sniper with a kryptonite coated bullet then set a warehouse on fire. We avoided vocally talking that is how the last group died. The sniper couldnt get a good hit but he did graze him and for the first time we knew that it bleeds. A DNA scan shows that this thing isnt even human at all it's DNA Isnt even DNA but something else completely.
Clark kent and the blur dont seem to be in the same place at the same time ever, if we ignore the face they both have the same exact build. It doesnt take a genius to deduce that they are one entity and an entity that can change it's facial features. My agents did a mistake of firing on clark kent and paid the price for it. But she was innocent all she does is spy and tail why did he have to make her disappear as well.
That night clark walked into the mafia's warehouse, he seemed to know his way around there and that is when i saw her standing by their boss. I dont know why i felt so much rage but i broke my vow that night and i came back, i didnt leave a single one of them alive. When i reached the last room and shot the boss in the head she screamed "Daddddy Nooo!??!?!". I just killed her father, her biological father...
I dont know how what happened after but the blur had me pinned to a wall in that same second. I asked it "Who and what are you?" and it responded "I'm superman more than you'll ever amount to be human" I choked on my own blood and asked it "do you bleed?" and it said "no" i said "I'm john wick, only human" and shot it in the head and it died. Did it really think i was going over there without
my kryptonite bullet?
| 2022-06-08T10:32:59
| 2022-06-07T23:34:16
| 47
| 10
|
[WP] You are a military experiment, brimming with incredible power, subdued and held in a huge prison-like facility.
Describe your thoughts and actions while they experiment on you, and finally as you find out you are being purged before you get a chance to test and show your powers to your creators, to be replaced by an already more successful experiment.
|
I could have been a god. At least that's what they told me after the first injection. I was to be the start of a revolution. I had never been able to walk before the serum. So I should have at least been been thankful for that gift. But it's a small freedom when in the end you are still trapped.
It wasn't my fault I didn't know what the hell I was doing. They didn't know what the hell they were doing either. The rapid muscle growth made me sick. The telekinetic powers made my ears bleed. Let me tell you, being able to fly, but being confined to a gymnasium is pretty lame if you ask me.
I was born with cerebral palsy. A brilliant mind trapped in a body gnarled and contorted with muscle spasms. My family loved me the best they could. I'll always appreciate that. Even when the purge happens, I'll always carry that love with me.
The doctor's had been impressed with what they had accomplished with me. My breakthrough's were unprecedented. I had been able to function at a super human level. But alas the results are erratic. They had made a mistake somewhere down the line. They had never been able to figure out where. The government couldn't allow something to exist that they couldn't control.
Using my test results they embarked on a journey to recreate my experiment. This time on a newer, stronger subject. I never had been able to show them everything I was capable of doing. It was a damn shame.
With teary eyes and somber expressions they told me the news. They told me to be proud. That what I had accomplished could change the course of human history. They told me I was a hero. They told me my death would be painless. Like slipping into a warm bath.
I smiled at them as they strapped me into the gurney. I even managed to laugh a little bit. I understood their mistake all too well. For all their science. For all their charts, tables and periodic research. They had forgotten about one single element. The Human Element.
They thought they could control me. They thought I would do what they told me to do. They thought that some poor kid with Cerebral Palsy wouldn't have a spine.
I flexed my arm once in the gurney. A comforting voice followed a soothing rub on my forehead. It told me not to struggle. The doctor turned to me with a giant needle in hand. It would just be one more injection. One final dose and then I would be purged.
The lights flickered. They laughed nervously. They flickered once more. They talked quietly amongst themselves. Totally blackness hit them like a tidal wave. Their screams went unheard in the sound proof bunker.
They thought they could replace me? Someone they built to be a god? They had to be joking. I'd show the world how much spine I had. They wanted a revolution? I would give them their fucking revolution.
|
**Can't make a fist. Brain cavity exposed.**
**Can't blink. Can't sing.**
**I can taste the instrument. Touching. My. Brain.**
"Onomaklyton is subdued," a voice calls from the other side of the room. "Several of the restraints are being injected into his medulla. We've never had to use more than two in the past."
A panicky voice screams, but Onomaklyton can't make out what they're saying. That person is pacing. Their voice approaches, "He burned seventeen acres of corn!"
**She saw me. Watched as I turned. Turned dirt into flame.**
"So much for bringing an incentive. The infiltration team couldn't bring back his wife, big whoop. But did they have to go and laugh about it after?" The calmer voice says with a tinge of grief in her voice.
"The retrieval team didn't know that the subject was going to be hot on their heels?! Shit, he traveled two hundred miles in a few minutes. Found them and liquefied their bones!" The panicky voice says, now banging his hands against something.
**They can't hear. My song. It's too much. All that listens. Turns to. Ash.**
"We're lucky the Maenads got there when they did. Or the subject would have turned that whole county into glass."
**She listened. They killed her. My Eurydice.**
"Have the subject taken to the incinerator. I want the Maenads to escort what's left of him," the panicky voice opens a door and a bolt of sunlight lands on the table. Onomaklyton catches the gleam in his eye, savors its presence, the long journey it had to take from so far away, to arrive here in this cold, sterile room.
**Rejoice. An end. At last.**
The Maenads cradle Onomaklyton's head in their arms, their bare breasts exposed, and all the while his song echoes about like some lost breeze that found its way indoors.
| 2014-12-02T10:31:08
| 2014-12-02T10:10:48
| 22
| 15
|
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.
|
"10" I said unconsciously.
My friend tore his eyes away from the girl walking past us down the hall and stared at me in surprise.
"A 10? Really?" He turns his gaze back to her. "Dude I'll admit she's a looker, but I'd say more of an 8. Not 10 material, but eh different stokes for different folks."
I wasn't listening anymore. I was looking at her receding form shocked at what I had just said.
*10!?* I thought to myself. *Impossible I'd never seen a 10 before.*
My friend laughed and gave my shoulder a good natured shove.
"Got a thing for the new girl do ya Rook? Ello earth to Tomas anyone home?"
I got up abruptly and made to follow her, quickening my pace as to not lose her. My mind was racing. The highest I'd ever met was my uncle Cernes when he came back from Iraq. He was special forces and he was an 7. Even those warlords and politicians on the news never made it past 8. I couldn't imagine what danger this slight girl, barely above 5 feet, possessed to warrant her a 10 on my scale. I was determined to find out.
Gaining now I thought of how to get her alone. In the packed halls she didn't hear my footsteps on the linoleum floors until I was just behind her. She barely had a second to glance at me before I grabbed her arm and pulled her into an empty classroom. I hope not too many students saw...
Once we were in I closed and locked the door before turning around to face her. She looked up at me open mouthed. Muttering something to herself. I was afraid too. More afraid than I'd like to admit, but I knew what had to be done.
"Who are you?" I hissed. Trying my best to sound angry. Trying not to let my voice tremble.
She opened her mouth to scream but with one quick step I closed the distance between us and put my hand over her mouth effectively silencing her. Dragging her shaking form away from the window on the classroom door I pinned her against the wall. I could see the abject terror in her eyes. I wasn't taking any chances. I HAD to know.
"I'm going to take my hand away from your face now and you are going to answer some questions. Understand?" She nodded best she could with my hand holding her. Slowly I took my hand off her mouth and she took wavering breath, looking like she was about to cry. In that moment I felt awful and more ashamed than I ever had in my life.
*This is necessary* I told myself again taking a step back to give her room to breath.
She was shaking uncontrollably and muttering something over and over again. Staring at me with a look of fear and incomprehension. I breathed in to gather my thoughts again, but before I could say anything more she spoke up.
"I can see the numbers in your eyes. Your like me." My heart stopped. That calm I had been gathering for the coming interrogation, shattered.
"W-what did you say." I couldn't keep the fear out of my voice this time. She noticed my resolve crumbling and took a tentative step away from the wall. I could see a flicker in her iris now. So faint you'd surely miss it if you weren't looking for it. Numbers. I moved in closer. She didn't step away. I could see them clearly now. Her gaze still held incalculable fear. 10s. Dozens of 10s popping in and out of existence just under the surface of her eyes. So lost was I in those numbers and what they meant. Before I could react she deftly reached into my jeans pocket and pulled out my pen. Swinging it around faster than I could follow she stabbed me with it in the gut.
I couldn't process what had just happened. With more force than I'd thought possible for a girl of her size she brought up her knee and shoved the pen farther in before pushing my unresponding form into the desk. I crashed into them and felt something snap. Whether it was outside or inside my body I wasn't sure. Through vision clouded with pain I saw her reach back and pull the fire-alarm, and heard the click of the door automatically unlocking as cool water rained down from the emergency sprinklers. She ran.
I sat there for some time thinking. Barely feeling the pain in my gut and the water pooled with my blood. She too saw the numbers, and she was a 10. I had to find her again.
|
We were in History and we were doing what we usually did, which is to say fucking around and joking and flirting all under the guise of diligent group study. I had my circle, my group of friends, with whom I shared almost everything apart from my ‘talent’. Tom sat to my right, his mouth sloped upwards in a lazy grin and his hand rested on his oversized midsection. A hazy green number two floated above his head, invisible to all the world but me. Across the table from me sat Cat, trying to twirl a bright purple pen in her fingers whilst talking about how she and her sister took the family tractor for a drunken joyride last weekend to celebrate the fact that she got her purple belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. The number four which hung above her deceptively innocent head was identical in colour to the pen in her hands. And Scarlett sat to my left, regularly touching my leg and shoulder and laughing hysterically at all my crude and forced innuendos and jokes. I could never see the number above her head, just a cloud of sorts with no definable colour or form. She was my mystery. But then The Kid came, and I found an even bigger one.
You see, I had been able to see the numbers since the day I was born, and I knew what they meant before I even had the cognitive capacity to put it into words. They meant danger. The higher the number the more dangerous the person, and vice versa. I had noticed that the higher numbers had their own texture, I could feel them as well as see them. I struggle to put this into words as it is intangible, this ability of mine is inherent and intuitive, but I will try. My ex-convict father, who I still have the displeasure of enduring for two hours every month, had a sagging and scratchy number Six suspended above his bald and empty head, whilst the Prime Minister has an angry and rough looking number Nine bubbling above his. The Kid, however, had a tranquil and soft number ten which felt like running water sat serenely over him. He walked into the class and introduced himself to the teacher, saying that he was sorry for being late but it was his first day and he couldn't find the department. Our lovely teacher then grunted at him to join our group and continued looking at whatever website he was on. We guessed it was either a job-seeking website or porn.
I should have been terrified. The man who perpetrated one of those mass shooting over in the states whom I saw on the news this morning was only a seven, and world leaders were only a nine. I had thought that I would never see a ten. But the way that number ten felt, not sharp and aggressive like the eights and nines, calmed me. In fact, The Kid’s presence seemed to calm everyone.
“Hey, you guys mind if I work with you? I don’t know many people yet” he asked with complete comfort and a warm smile.
“Sure thing” Cat answered immediately.
The Kid pulled up a chair and sat between me and Scarlett and asked what we were working on.
“Well, we’re supposed to be creating a timeline of the reign of Elizabeth I” I told him.
Throughout the lesson he was the focal point of the group, delegating jobs and specific years to research and collating the information himself. Everytime he spoke people listened. Well, everyone apart from me. I was just trying to understand why he was a ten, what made him so dangerous? When I looked around the group everyone was taken by him. Scarlett was now leaning into him instead of me, whilst Cat was listening to his stories as opposed to telling them herself for a change. And that was when I realised. That was when I understood why it was that he was the ten. They say the pen is mightier than the sword, but the tongue blows them both out of the fucking water. It went on like this for a further twenty minutes or so. I tried interjecting with a joke but nobody laughed, not even Scarlett, and Cat just told me to shut up and let him finish his story.
| 2014-11-29T15:22:56
| 2014-11-29T15:22:15
| 24
| 11
|
[WP] you’re an airline pilot. During one of your nighttime flights, you hear a message over your radio: “attention all flights! Stay in the air as long as you can! I repeat, stay in the air as long as you possibly can!”
|
**“Attention all flights! Stay in the air as long as you can! I repeat, stay in the air as long as you possibly can!”**
A flashing red light beamed from the tower outwards, skirting around as it tried desperately to catch the eye of any plane in the circuit.
*"Tower, Air North 346...uh...confirm that you want us to abort final and go around, runway 23?"*
***"...Do not land! Air Nor--just...all aircraft do not land. Climb. Climb! Do not land! Please!"***
Thrusters firmly pushed forward put an end to what was looking like a fairly routine and clean landing for Air North 346. The wind was calm and ground traffic was clear on runway 23 and it's ajoined taxiways. Until now it had been a pleasant overnight flight, the crew racing against the sunrise as they were about to touch ground. Now quite bewildered, the crew scrambled to understand what was amiss as the pilot climbed for an appropriate altitude to hold while they figured things out.
*"What the hell was that about? Did he say please? The runways are clear and I...there were no emergency calls, right? Did I miss something?"* inquired the pilot, his question directed to his co-pilot, one of the rare pilots with Air North that had flown more flights than he.
Both of them looked down towards the neighbourhoods that suffered the local airport's constant drone. Early morning cars began their painfully early commutes, no doubt cursing the sudden throttling of a plane's engine this low and close to the neighbourhood. A train bustled along finding shelter under a bridge to their right. Houses slept, late-night talkshow reruns wrapped-up and one could imagine a handful of coffee machines starting to wake up and drip the first drops of their daily programmed brew. Both the pilot and copilot had hoped to catch their own fresh cups by the duty-free after landing, but that seemed unlikely.
*"Tower...uh...Air North 346, climbing runway 23 for a go-around. Are we confirmed for a landing on 23? What's going on?"* radioed the pilot in what he half expected to be a futile negotiation.
***“Negative 346! Do not land! Climb! I repeat: All flights! Stay in the air as long as you can! Arg! I repeat, stay in the air as long as you can!”***
Bewildered, pilot and copilot exchanged looks of concern melded with obvious confusion. The pilot continued his climb as the co-pilot relayed a reassuring message to the passengers, allowing for enough interpretation to suggest that the issue at hand could be either, normal protocol, a minor aministratived glitch, traffic-related or any convenient mix of the above. Nevertheless, there was no hiding the flashing red lights emanating from the control tower and soon enough passengers were requesting more information or passing along messages of urgency through any flight attendant they could get a hand on.
Before the cockpit crew could get involved in helping any flight attendants calm the 300 plus impatient travellers aboard, something caught the co-pilot's eye.*"Have a look at that, to your left, 030, who the hell is landing?"* He exclaimed as he pointed out what looked to be a small plane landing on the runway they were just so suddenly denied minutes prior. *"What in gods name is going on? Can someone call tower on their cellphone and find out why we're being told to hold while this schmuck can just go ahead an---"*
The radio sputtered to life once more.
***"Anyone who can hear me out there. All aircraft. All traffic. Climb as high as you can go and god forbid if you run out of fuel and need to glide for as long as your aircraft will let you, you do it! 346 get out of here! DO. NOT. LAND!"***
Increasingly aggravated the pilot obeyed nonetheless and maintained his climb, cursing under his breath. *"Is anyone calling this guy. Find out why this asshole won't just tell us what the hell is going on and why he let another plane land on 23!"*
An of course, another small plane had queued up and landed during this whole debacle, frustrating and eventually enraging the pilot further, until eventually the co-pilot's calls towards the tower had made it through.
*"They have no idea what we are talking about."* offered the co-pilot as a much lacking reassurance to his colleague.
*"What?"* responded the pilot quite unreassured indeed.
*"No one knows anything about anyone telling us to clim--"*
*"Right. And the red flashing warning strobe?"*
*"I didn't mention it, but I assume they would know if they were flashing a massive red glare into the sky. They had us cleared for 23, but not for another while. Apparently we are quite early. They never even saw us on approach. We may have avoided something of an accident."*
*"Who the hell is on the radio then and why...w...how have they even taken over the frequency. We're on the right frequency right? mmmh...point three four eigh-yeah we should be all good."* The pilot had evidently had enough. *"It's amateur hour down there, christ...descending 2000 AGL, long downwind 23. Give 'em a call and let them know we're NORDO and running out of fuel."*
As the plane descended, the co-pilot negotiated their way towards a prioritized landing. They gave right of way to a small aircraft. The same as before, mocking them as it seemed to practice it's landings at 4 in the morning. Once things were clear, they lined up for another final approach, communicating to the passengers that they would be on the ground shortly, but may have to wait a tad bit longer to find their way to a vacant gate.
*"1500...1450...1400....speed is good, flaps down 45....1200...let her drop...we're good...we're good."*
The landing was looking sharp. Wind was still calm. Early morning cars began their painfully early commutes, no doubt cursing the sudden throttling of a plane's engine this low and close to the neighbourhood. A train bustled along finding shelter under a bridge to their right. Houses slep---
Something was amiss...The same cars were leaving the same houses. The same train was bustling and the same planes were landing.
The sun suddenly glared through the cockpit's window.
|
The thrum of the sound system's bass passed through the cabin door and into the feet of Captain Weems who squinted at a grey cloud that passed on his right. The moon was a great silver spot light that shimmered through the sky, none of the clouds were impressive enough the veil the celestial object. From below was the twinkling carpet of the city light. This was Weems last flight for the weekend, another crew was expected to take over the charter flights from the airport. Olson next to Weems, his bushy eyebrows knit as he studied the radar screen. "Another one has gone into a holding pattern, Howard," Olson said as he tapped the screen.
"Tower, this is Charter Flight Juliet-Hotel-Echo 104. We should have priority to land," The Captain said. When the plane had entered the airspace, the initial message was viewed as an annoyance and only slightly off-putting. The initial message that tower had offered went: "All flights are to remain in the air as much as possible. The follow flights are to be re-routed to the following locations..." Every airport that tower had offered were outside of the city, in fact Weems recalled one or two locations were so remote that they could have barely handled one, let alone multiple massive airliners landing. Yet those planes that were re-routed were eager to be away. Captain Weems' previous message about the delay was echoed into the back with little comment.
"Tower, this is Juliet-Hotel-Echo 104, can I get a 20 status on our landing priority. Please get back to me," Captain Weems said again.
"Negative, Juliet-Hotel-Echo, all flights are requested to stay in the air for as long as possible," The voice that answer cracked mid-speech. In the background Howard Weems swore he may have heard the noisy report of gunfire filtering through the speakers. He wondered what the hell was going on down there.
"Tower, Juliet-Hotel-Echo again, I'd like to request a status update of the airport at larg-"
"Please! Juliet-Hotel... there is a situation developing on the property. We are working to re-route planes as we speak." Weems nearly dropped the receiver when a fist banged on the cockpit door in several loud raps. Howard looked to Olson, who appeared pale after listening into the conversation between the Captain and Tower. It hadn't occurred to either crew member that the music had dimmed somewhat.
Weems switched to plane's intercom and said, "Folks we are still experience what we hope is a short delay with the airport. We would ask that all members stay calm-" The bangs resounded again, and a voice called out from the plane: "One of you two come out and show nothing in your hands or we will be forced to fire on you."
Olson was a red headed kid who was pale and shaking at the command. Weems started to stand up, calling through the door: "I'm Captain Weems. If you are armed with weapons, I would advise extreme caution as a discharge would be extremely hazardous. I am opening the door and ask to remain calm." The man on the other side was one of the passengers on the charter flight. A stone faced man with dark hair and a single scar on his cheek. In his hand was a pistol which gestured for the Captain to step out into the hall between the cabin and the cockpit. Weems looked to his left and noticed Wendy was sitting in her alcove with her hands raised in surrender. The man stepped aside for Captain Weems to pass through the privacy curtain into the next room.
The charter jet emphasized luxury over efficiency. The center cabin was open as possible, with the walls lined with cushioned couches rather than individual chairs in the middle. At the center of the room, the red headed Woman who appeared so carefree had suddenly changed into a grey uniform with matching cap and black skirt. She had a gun tucked at her belt, but left most of the threats to the other men.
"Captain Weems," The woman said softly, "How soon can we land?"
"That I cannot say for sure, Miss," Howard answered, "All planes have been asked to maintain altitude." He noted that standing behind the woman was a man holding a submachine gun. She lightly smiled and said, "Those gunshots are my people, Captain. An uprising is gripping this country, and soon I shall be installed as its ruler. Cooperate now and I will see you are handsomely rewarded for your assistance."
"Who are you people?" Captain Weems suddenly asked.
| 2020-12-29T19:42:51
| 2020-12-29T19:42:44
| 42
| 31
|
[WP] This fairly innocuous-looking girl just beat up your entire martial arts dojo, by herself. When you asked why, she said one of your students was picking on her brother.
|
I watched my students bounce in with joy for sparring day. It was everyone’s favorite day at the dojo and excitement filled the air. It’s the time for them to showcase their skills and practice new techniques, all in the name of friendly competition. The boys were always eager, I often found it hard to get them to pay attention prior to the matches. They would rush through their stretches and start tumbling on the mats with unbridled energy.
Today was no different.
I did a quick headcount and found that all seven of my students were accounted for. No one was late for sparring day. If you were late, you had to put up the mats, and no one wanted that.
I cleared my throat, “All right, boys it’s time to…”
The small bell on the door rang as it was pushed open again. Surprised, I turned to find a small girl standing there. She was a head shorter than the rest of my students and her tiny limbs looked thin and unused. Despite that, she had a sarashi wrapped around her torso loosely covered by a purple keikogi.
She shifted on her feet awkwardly under my gaze, “Um, excuse me? Is today’s session open for guest sparring?”
It wasn’t uncommon for guests to come to the dojo during sparring day, but usually, they were boys from local gyms.
I gave her a warm smile to put her at ease, “Welcome! Of course, our gym is always open to guests. You are welcome to spar today, or just sit in and watch if you prefer.”
“I want to spar please.”
I bowed deeply, “We are honored to have you. I’m Hiroshi Sensei.”
“I’m Kaiya,” she returned my bow.
I raised my eyebrows in surprise, the meek girl from a second ago spoke with resolve and I watched her eyes glinting with determination.
After everyone limbered up, I decided it was time to call the first match.
“Jered, why don’t you spar with Kaiya first?”
Jered kicked his feet, “Aw, do I have to? She’s just a girl.”
My eyes hardened, “Now, Jered what have I told you about disrespecting your opponents?”
Jered slunk toward the center of the mats where Kaiya was waiting, “Fine.”
Kaiya started by giving a deep bow to her opponent which Jered reluctantly returned. I strode between them and dropped my hand to start the match. Kaiya moved swiftly and lifted her leg to strike. In his arrogance, Jered didn’t even try to dodge the kick and watched it with an amused look on his face. It was over a second later. Jered’s ribs crunched and he was left doubled over on the mats.
Kaiya gave another bow, “Thank you for honoring me with a match.” She turned to me, “Hiroshi Sensei, may I challenge another opponent?”
“Of course, the mats are yours until you lose,” I nodded.
You would think the boys would have learned their lesson after watching Jered get dropped. They didn’t. The rest of the six boys were beaten thoroughly by Kaiya. She displayed technique and agility far surpassing any of my students. Despite the one-sided beatdowns, she always ended each match with respect and was sure to bow to every opponent.
As the boys groaned on the floor, I beckoned Kaiya to my side, “That was very well done Kaiya. You displayed great skill.”
She bowed, “Thank you, Hiroshi Sensei.”
“I have to ask though; your level is far beyond a beginner dojo such as this. What made you come in today?”
Kaiya blushed and began to fidget, “Um. Well, I uh… I found out that the boys here were bullying my younger brother.”
I frowned, “They *what*?”
Kaiya looked away and mumbled, “They bullied him.” She bowed and spoke up, “I’m sorry for disrespecting your dojo like this Sensei.”
“Please stand up.” Kaiya straightened and looked me in the eye. “I’m sorry my students have caused you and your brother harm.” I gave a full bow, “Please forgive me for failing them.”
She smiled and nodded.
“Now then, do you still have the energy to spar some more Kaiya?”
Kaiya looked puzzled, “Yes Sensei.”
“Great, because I don’t think they’ve learned their lesson yet.” I smirked, “Boys on your feet. ***Now***.”
The boys groaned and stumbled to their feet.
The next several hours in the dojo were filled with reprimands and kicks, as both Kaiya and I taught lessons these boys better never forget.
|
Victor watched as the members of his dojo strived for further mastery. They each performed various katas according to their skill. He stopped by some students to correct their form.
He paused when he saw a figure at the door. A young woman was there. She was young, maybe in her late teens or early twenties. She wore plain clothes and had a pair of large but thin glasses on. Fairly pretty, but otherwise unremarkable.
"Can I help you miss?" Victor asked. Some of the students looked at the visitor, but the more disciplined students ignored the distraction.
"Yes, I'm looking for one of your students. His name is Nick. I don't know his last name though, sorry."
"Hm, I have a few students named Nick. You'll have to be more specific."
She closed her eyes and sighed. "Big guy, around my age. Really mean...cruel...violent..." He fists clenched as she spoke, and her eye twitched.
"Seems like you have beef with this guy. Sorry, but none of the Nicks I have here are like that. They do match the physical description well enough, but they're all good people." At least, he hoped they were. Teaching someone who would go around hurting women was not something he wanted on his record.
"No, he's definitely here. He absolutely goes here. He was wearing your dojo symbol."
That was worrying, but there was nothing he could do. At least, not immediately. He would have a talk with the students later.
"Sorry, but whatever trouble you have with Nick, you'll have to take it up with him later."
"No, I think I'll take it up with him now."
Before he knew what had happened, her fist lashed out. Her punch almost was too fast to see, and it hit harder than a sledgehammer. His body was launched back, coming to a stop on the matts several dozen feet away. Victor groaned in pain, but he managed to sit up.
What he saw was absurd. The entire dojo had started fighting her. And somehow, she was winning. She moved like lightning. None of the students even came close to hitting her. Heck, none of them even caused her hair to fall out of place. But every one of her attacks struck. And they hit hard. It only took a single one of her punches or kicks to down someone.
At one point a student tried to grab her from behind. She somehow noticed and grabbed him. The man was easily more than twice her size, but she somehow lifted him over her head and threw him, knocking over another student. Bodies were launched through the air, limbs were twisted at awkward angles, and legs were made to no longer work.
It took only a few minutes. By the time she was done, every student in the place was on the ground. They groaned in pain, and a few of them were even crying. Actually crying. The ground was covered with small flecks of blood, and even a few teeth.
The girl turned towards him. She made her way to where he lay. A few students lay in her path, but a casual motion of her foot would send them tumbling away. She ended up standing over him.
She placed a foot on his chest and pushed him down. He tried to free himself, but her leg felt like a concrete pillar.
"What...what do you want?" Victor said through thin breath and clenched teeth.
"I told you already. I want Nick. A very specific Nick. The one that's been harassing my little brother." She growled.
"Wh-what?"
"I didn't get a good look at him, but I saw the patch. I know he comes here. He's been making life for my little bro a living hell for weeks." She leaned forward, making sure he could see her eyes. "I don't like that. Not one. Little. Bit. So now, I'm here to make sure he doesn't do that ever again. Today was a warning. Tomorrow, I'll bring my little brother and have him point out who it was. And if you try and stop me from doing anything, I'll make what happened today look like a playground scuffle. Got it?" She pressed just a little harder.
"Y-yeah. Yeah, I...I got it."
Much to his relief, she let him go. "Good. I'll see you tomorrow. Make sure all the Nicks that come here are present. Otherwise, it won't end well for you."
She turned and left without so much as looking at the broken and beaten men in her path. She simply left, like nothing had happened. Victor was left painfully nursing his chest and wondering what kind of monster had just been unleashed upon him and his dojo.
| 2022-12-15T11:49:45
| 2022-12-15T11:41:04
| 240
| 38
|
[WP] A man makes a deal with the devil to make the world's greatest pizzas in exchange for his soul. After years of making pizza he decides it's no longer worth it, and concedes his soul to the devil. The devil, having become addicted to the man's recipe, finds himself in a bind.
|
People said the closing of La Luna was the greatest tragedy in culinary history. Several news outlets would report on the Michelin three-star restaurant for days thereafter. A group of supporters even held a candlelight vigil outside the empty building. But for Louis, closing that restaurant was a tremendous weight off his chest.
He stood in his doorway as he took a steadying breath. “Alright. I’m ready.”
His most personal belongings sat in neat boxes, ready to be removed if necessary. He had spent the past few days cleaning the rest of the house. Now, if the building went back on the market, it would be easy to sell.
*It’s been a good life.*
With a grim smile, he locked his front door and got in his car. The suburbs were quiet as his modest sedan sped off into the night. It was a strange feeling, knowing he was driving off to his death. But he had no regrets remaining, and that was far more than most people got.
*Wish he wasn’t so far out of the city though.*
About an hour later, he turned off the empty highway and drove along a dirt road out into the desert. A few minutes later, a sprawling building appeared out of the gloom. There were no defined parking spots, so he pulled up near the building. The desert was dark except for a single light illuminating the main entrance.
A raspy voice spoke as Louis entered. “Can I help you?”
Behind an old wooden counter, a small, red-skinned imp rested his head on his arms. Lazy golden eyes watched him. The imp was ready to react should Louis do anything stupid.
“Is Tanazath in tonight?”
The imp waved a hand toward a far corridor. “Third door on the left.”
“Thank you.”
“Whatever, human.”
His senses told him not to turn his back on the imp, but he squared his shoulders and stepped into the corridor. Once there, he knocked twice on Tanazath’s door.
A vaguely familiar smooth voice called out, “Come in.”
A demon sat behind a well-polished desk with several papers spread out before him. He looked up as Louis entered.
“Ah. Mister Balestri. Just the person I’ve been looking for. Please, have a seat.”
Louis did as he was told.
Tanazath continued, “I heard you had closed your restaurant. Did you have an issue with what I’d granted you?”
Louis shook his head. “No, sir. You did me a great favor all those years ago. Without you, I would’ve continued meandering through life. I was able to make a name for myself thanks to your help.”
“Ah. You wish for more then?” Tanazath leaned forward with a glint in his eye. “You realize you’ve nothing to give anymore?”
“No, sir. I’m satisfied with what I’ve accomplished. I’d like to execute my contract now.”
Tanazath blinked before saying, “You want to give me your soul now?”
Louis nodded. “Is that a problem? I’m satisfied with my life. I was living on borrowed time anyway.”
“It’s a problem for me.” Tanazath leaned back in his seat with a heavy sigh. “I liked that pizza.”
It was Louis’s turn to be stunned. “Excuse me?”
“Do you know how much I looked forward to eating there every Thursday?”
It took a moment before Louis fully understood what Tanazath said. “You… Mister Hewings?”
Tanazath’s form shifted briefly to that of an older man before reverting to his original devil form. “I was surprised how well you did for yourself. Usually, when these sorts of contracts are made, the human squanders the gift. You took it and made it something quite special.”
Heavy claws tapped on the desk before Tanazath added, “I’d rather that wasn’t lost. Did you pass the recipe down to anyone?”
Louis slumped in his seat. “I tried. No one could ever replicate the flavor exactly. I even asked for a few well-known chefs to help. Only I was ever able to make it taste the same.”
“What a pain. I take it that’s why you chose to close the restaurant?”
“Among other things.” Louis shrugged. “I wanted to end things on my term.”
Tanazath leaned forward again. “The problem here, Mister Balestri, is I’m greedy. I want my weekly treat for as long as humanly possible. You’ll understand I’m a bit irritated that you’ve chosen to fulfill the contract early.”
There was no arguing with the supernatural being, so Louis only said, “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry isn’t going to get me my weekly pizza.” Tanazath tapped again. “Unfortunately, it would also break the contract to force you into doing anything you didn’t want. Though, I’m sure I can convince individuals to make your afterlife… less comfortable.”
Louis pursed his lips for a moment before saying, “How about a different trade then?”
There was a faint scoff. “I’m listening. What could you possibly offer up? I already have your soul.”
“You said I cultivated the skill you gave me, correct? How about I trade you the skill and you return my soul?”
Tanazath raised one eyebrow. “You’ll never be able to make a remotely decent pizza again, you realize this?”
Louis smiled. “I think I’ve had my fill of the restaurant industry to last several lifetimes. Even if I have my soul back, I’m probably going to retire and die in obscurity.”
Silence filled the room as Tanazath considered this proposition. Louis felt oddly calm. His fate was sealed one way or another, and he had come intending to die. So, the unexpected opportunity of choice was almost freeing.
Then, Tanazath let out a small chuckle. “This is certainly out of the ordinary.”
He reached into a drawer and brought out a sheet of dark paper. Louis had signed a similar paper many, many years ago. Once again, Tanazath picked up his quill.
“You have yourself a deal.”
...
Now I want pizza.
If you're interested in my works, the archive of my various writing responses can be found in my writing portfolio, link through my profile. There's also an original story, The Crossroads.
Thanks for reading.
|
Look, you just...
Okay. To start off with, this 'soul' business is a load of BS. If it existed like that, not only would it never make any sense to trade it, you'd never be *able* to. Since it's, y'know, *part* of you.
Yes, you can sell a kidney, but this is a lot more like selling your whole nervous system. Just trust me, it doesn't work.
So when someone 'sells their soul', what they *really* mean is that they want the focus of their lives to become...whatever. A conduit of a cultural conception- pizza, in this case, but it can be anything. Wealth, power, sex, videogames...the requests run the gamut, they really do.
Here, have a bit from scripture. "Man cannot serve both God and money." You've got a list of strategic considerations that you live your life by- you rank happiness and truth and curiosity and sex and everything else, and live your life accordingly. When you have to choose between one or the other, you pick the one that's higher on your list.
Don't act so shocked. You know demons can quote scripture, right? One of our favorite pastimes.
So someone sells their soul, and we tweak their minds a little (and only a little- if they're going that far, they don't need much more encouragement), and whatever they wished to sell their soul for moves to the top of the list.
"Seek and you shall find." If you dedicate your life to making the best pizza possible, pretty solid odds that you'll end up making pretty damn good pizza with no more supernatural meddling.
And holy hell, this guy's pizza was *good*. Humans usually go for something more shallow, more personal. Other people don't benefit when you've got loads of money, and it's only a few people who benefit when you're preternaturally good at sex.
Pizza, though...
I just...\*mph\*...*Gawd* this shit is tasty. He's moved society forward, that's what he's done. I swear to fuck, last week? They had another peace conference to sort shit out in the Middle East, and they served this guy's pizza, *and they actually got shit done*. No idea if it'll *last*, but this guy has made a fucking *impact*. Political partisanship is down, because bigwigs can relax a little and bond over how ass-kicking this pizza is.
Only now this guy decides that it's not worth it any more. He's ready for his life to be over- comes to me and specifically says to go ahead and take him down to hell. Which- I mean, one, I don't have that kinda authority. You make your own afterlife, with the sort of person you were. You life in an afterlife that's mostly like the earth, only everyone has your values, makes decisions like you do.
This guy was trying to escape pizza by going for an eternity of it. This is why you don't sell your soul, people- doesn't matter what it is, having one thing at the top of your list forever gets boring. And living in a whole society obsessed with it? *Ugh*.
I mean, I coulda just shot 'im. He had, technically, given me permission to do just that. But, I mean...
Look, this shit is *really* tasty.
I'm a simple demon. I've got simple tastes, simple desires. Lead humanity on the downward path, tempt simpletons, eat, drink, and be merry. Enjoy the simple things in life, y'know?
But I've also got an image to maintain. When you're a demon, marketing is everything. Literally everything- demons exist because humans *think* we exist. It's in our self-interest to *keep* humans thinking that.
So I combined two objectives. "Continue to exist" and "Keep eating this guy's pizza" were both pretty high on my personal priority list.
No comment on which was higher.
"So, the foolish human regrets his bargain. What a shame, what a shame. I would happily take this burden from your shoulder, except for the fact that I don't want to."
"You made a bargain, and you will see it through to the bitter end. Do you think that demons are in the business of caring tenderly for the humans they make deals with? We are not. We are simple beings, very simple- iron hooks, let us say, for fools and simpletons to impale themselves upon. Do not expect mercy from the hook, when you have swallowed the bait."
"Go forth, my foolish man. Go forth, and cook, and suffer. You will be remembered for all time- immortal, in the annals of human history. All for your pizza. And not for *anything* else."
I smiled an evil smile.
| 2022-09-02T21:35:59
| 2022-09-02T20:13:33
| 85
| 62
|
[WP] Demons roam the Earth. They can't be killed. They can't be stopped. But they can only hurt you if you look at them directly. Because of this, children must be blindfolded until they are old enough to understand the consequences.
|
I remember the day my blindfold first came off very well.
I was still young, maybe 6 or 7, and it was the first time I was allowed out of the house without my blindfold on. I kept looking around at all the people with downcast eyes. Nobody would look at one another, nor up at the beautiful blue sky. Nobody but me.
My mother kept telling me to look down, or she'd put the blindfold back on, but I kept on peaking. The world was so beautiful outside, but every single person was missing it, too scared of seeing something that frightened them.
I refused to be frightened.
It was less than a week before I saw my first demon. We were headed to the market to buy supplies to make a cake, when I saw it looming down the street. Everybody else just ignored it, eyes fixed on the pavement, as it strode down the centre of the road.
Nine foot from paw to shoulder it had a feline body, but covered in scales. Its head was a strange combination of lizard and mammal, with eyes lacking even the empathy of a cat. Two eyes. Two, very green eyes.
It was looking at me. I was looking at it.
It had lunged and grabbed me up from next to my mother, dangling me from an uncomfortably arranged thumb-like claw on its paws. It held my up to its face and looked at me and, I guess smiled? It wasn't like a human smile.
I was scared. Of course I was scared, but some instinct in me cried out to fight, and so I kicked. Down and out, hard as I could. My shoe caught it right in the eye, taking it fully by surprise. I think it had never seen a human fight back before.
It went into a rage, smashing me down onto the pavement and rubbing at its eye. I was dazed, but fearful enough to run. And so I ran, into a nearby alleyway and I hid, trying to hold back the sobs as I held my very broken arm.
I could hear it searching around looking for me. I didn't know where my mother was, but everybody else had run, scattering when the creature had grabbed me.
I peaked out of the alley, looking for my mother, and that's when I saw it. I saw the creature in profile. It was sniffing around for me, with one eye closed. A drip of blood was coming from the tear-duct.
That was when I first realised that nothing was immortal. It had all been a lie.
That was when I knew I would make demons fall.
|
Who was it, that said the eyes were the windows to the soul?
They teach it to children when they're young, cover their eyes with a cloth and drill it into their heads. *Never make eye contact.* It's a strange spectacle to see parents lead their sons and daughters, their own eyes averted towards the ground. The blind leading the blind.
But I was raised differently, taught not to fear what lies in those windows. The soul, I was told, is a wonderful thing, and to view it is to deepen your connection with someone immeasurably so. A queer thought, in this day and age. One that allowed me to keep my head held high in a world where everyone bowed theirs.
Tonight was no exception. As I walked down the street, the chill of the air seeped through my jacket, dulling my senses. I had to keep moving, had to find something, someone, who could bring my warmth back to me. Reignite my fire. I knew who I was looking for.
I turned into the local watering hole, a dingy joint. The regulars were all there, huddled over their drinks. Some locked gazes with those they knew were safe, their conversation flowing freely, stiffly. Others huddled around tables, striving in vain to steer their words towards a more worthwhile topic than shoe style. Cellphones, once mocked for their enchanting natures, were a popular option. Pitiful.
She alone was unafraid to meet my gaze. She sat across the room, drinking me in as I was her. Her soft, supple legs, leading into a curvaceous waistline and a rather voluptuous chest. I could see auburn hair trailing down, framing her chin and her rather devilish looking smile. It was almost too much to bear, so tantalizing to look up just a bit further. But I did.
As her smile faded and her face drained of color, I felt her warmth seep into my body, a connection made. Her soul was positively beautiful.
And it would be ours forever.
*Feedback Appreciated*
| 2016-09-30T01:03:09
| 2016-09-29T22:02:57
| 22
| 16
|
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare**
|
"Impossible." Lamp exclaimed to his partner. Of course, Lamp isn't his real name, being the president of the High Council of Galactic Science, and a member of the Beblebrox species, his true name had acquired so many titles and honorifics over the years due to his accomplishments that Lamp had long since forgone using the entire thing in daily conversation. His Stardate was all he truly used to identify himself anymore outside of formal matters, a clever invention of Lamp's that came about after years of research, meditation, and a brief incident involving a common galactic paper shredder.
In fact, the title "Lamp" was only acquired a few moments earlier, upon the Human's attempt to recall part of it, realized his unusual communication organ would hamper the pronunciation of the 38th syllable, and decided to go with a moniker he had somehow acquired for the President on the spot.
"What, you don't like Lamp? Oh, I get it. Some sort of alien insult. How about Lightbulb? Anglerfish?" The Human subject, referring to himself occasionally as "My", "Myself", and on one instance "Michael Smithee", rambled off two more titles, again revolving around Lamp's gamma-sensory organ. Both related to common earth objects.
"See President of High Council of Galactic Spa-er, can I stick with Lamp, President of the High Council 8675309" President Lamp's assistant, Todd, had soon caught on to the Human's nomenclature. But the true brilliance of the new title was lost on the researcher, being unfamiliar with this "Myself"'s homeworld. Up to this point, humans had shown no real interesting qualities aside from an unusual affinity for science, especially involving biology. Unusual in that they should have *died* eons ago, with the number of inedible substances on their planet, let alone have working economies, governments, businesses-every facet of a working civilization of billions occurred despite the fact the human minds seemed more adapted to tribal society in scales of tens. A mystery that led to Lamp and Todd's recent expedition.
"Lamp is appropriate Earth Homo Sapien Michael Smithee denizen of Colorodo." The President replied, before worrying about having to memorize *another* new title for himself.
"You can just call me Mike." Or for the human. Lamp sighed to himself.
"He did it again! Another title, this one based on a small sample size of his own full name."
"Since you have arrived here Eath Homo Sapi...Mike...you have abstracted enough information to develop 16 unique titles for ... Lamp, Todd, and Mike." The new titles, once memorized, were convenient. A simple matter with Lamp's advanced mental training. "How are you able to compress such information so efficiently? Classification of such caliber is *years* beyond what we can accomplish, and your cultures are not known for being...how do I put it..."
"Earth Homo Sapiens are not considered to be of the 'Maximum Intelligence' Category" Todd replied, less tactifully than Lamp would have preferred.
"You mean the nicknames?" Mike's reply baffled the President. A title for a classification of titles. The uses were astounding! At this rate, the skill of naming things could become available to even the poorest of Galactic Council society. "I dunno, everyone on Earth does it."
It could not be possible. An entire species evolved to...*name* each other? Yet, it made so much sense. By abstracting the information, this relatively unintelligent species was able to match wits with the greatest Categorizer known to the galaxy, and was able to understand basic English! Imagine that, another galaxy knew Galactic Common English. If Lamp could use these new "naming" skills, he could usher in a...Golden Age of Learning, Lamp decided he would categorize it as.
"Todd! Let us embrace our new discovery! Contact the...what did you refer to it as, Mike?"
"Alien leader guys?"
"YES! Alien Leader Guys! Let them know that I bring news of a new species, one that can solve all of our issues this day. And then prepare the Galactic Science Collection Grid Version 3 point 8 premium edition color green, and start the collection process! Oh, how I wish I had a new word for this next part, it comes up so rarely I have yet to decide on one."
Had Lamp consulted Mike on the title before this, Lamp would have learned the common Earth term for what he would soon undertake is also known to Earth Homo Sapiens as "Telemarketing".
|
The massive Zenthrok war dreadnaught maintained their orbit between Jupiter and Europa. Hidden in the shadow behind the moon, it would be easy to observe this new species undetected. Small, poorly built space vessels had made it as far as Jupiter, all unmanned. The Zebthrok had dismantled these vessels expecting to find advanced technologies or innovations, some clue as to why the infantile fleshy larvae of this small planet had been put under the protection of the Andromeda Triumvirate. The Zenthrok had spent generations raiding into the Magellous Clouds seeking rare and valuable super dense elements. Maybe these creatures held a key that could turn the tide in favor of the Zenthrok.
The Marthrag of Alnir, second in command of uncivilized systems under the Zenthrok fitted the last pieces of fabricated exoskeleton onto his brittle fractual crystalline body. Once the armor was in place he waved his hand over a Zenthroklit panel and the porthole opened. A vessel from the soft creatures had crashed onto this asteroid. The Zenthrok dreadnaught had used gravity beams to throw the ship off of its path and into the asteroid. As the Marthrag landed lightly onto the surface, he spotted the crash and approached it. Sliding across the surface using magnetic field generators in the exoskeleton. There was an abundance of cobalt in this asteroid. He tore what remained of the door off of its hinges and reached into the opening. He could get little more than half his arm inside, but he felt it, the warmth from the beings heat. His hand found it and he lifted it out of the vessel. Once he had it out his exoskeleton began taking diagnostics. Temperature was almost twice the body temperature of the Zenthrok. The suit appeared to contain a gas blend the creature needed. It began to move and lifted something, pointing it at the Marthrag. Without hesitation he close his hand around it and it sort of popped in its suit. Some kind of gooey liquid spattered the facial shield of its helmet and it went limp.
Nothing. They could find no reason that the Andromeda Triumvirate would consider this species worth protection. Their flesh carried a horrific stench, they were filled with uncountable tiny organisms. Overall they were disgusting. It was a bit fascinating that their bodies could produce energy from matter instead of just collecting solar radiation as most species did. Still, it explained nothing. This infuriated the Marthrag, he had eaten several of the crew of his ship in fury.
"Marthrag, we may have found something. We dismantled the entire ship. They have a collection of raw primordium. Several units of it. It appears they haven't weaponized any if it."
"Primordium? Several units?" How could this be. The species could barely navigate their own solar system. They never could have gotten far enough out in space to find the Nebulae dwelling Archwurms. "Why weren't they using it? How could they have gotten primordium from the bellies of Archwurms?"
"We... er...think they produce it" the younger Zenthrok seemed hesitant.
"What do you mean they produce it?" If they were producing it and the Andromedans could get their hands on it, this could end the war. How many plagues had been unleashed by primordium in the hands of the Andromedans. Whole planets had been lost. " How could they possibly product it, even the Kelleri and the Andromedans have been unable to synthesize primordium. It's the only thing that's saved us all these eons."
"It.. it's their waste. It comes out of them."
The Marthrag knew he had no choice. The planet and this species had to be eradicated, even if he lost his entire crew and spiraled the Zenthrok further into war. He could not allow such a devastating weapon, one that had purge life from entire systems to be harvested by the Andromedans.
The dreadnaught moved out of Europas shadow and lumbered towards the blue and green planet, prepared to annihilate it.
| 2014-07-16T13:59:04
| 2014-07-16T11:24:28
| 20
| 10
|
[WP] People believe the Gods decide all of our fates, but they've actually been rolling d20s to make decisions for millions of years
|
Quetzalcoatl was pissed. The rolls were not going his way of late.
"Perception. Sense Motive. Diplomacy."
One. One. Two.
"NO. COME ON!!!"
Across the table, God yawned.
Tenochtitlan's doors were thrown open, and Spanish Conquistador Hernán Cortés stroked his beard and strolled into the heart of the Aztec Empire.
The DM rolled behind a shimmering screen. "Ooooh... so, Quetzalcoatl, roll Fortitude."
Quetzalcoatl's feathers flared in agitation. "What? WHY?"
"Smallpox."
A blank stare. "You kidding me?"
God smirked.
"Why doesn't he have to do it?"
"We dealt with that one already. Immune, bro."
"Don't call me bro, *bro*." Quetzalcoatl rolled again. Quetzalcoatl swore again.
.
Down on the Mortal Plane, Moctazuma II looked out a portal at the torrential downpour. "Helluva storm, boys. Are our guests comfortable?"
One of his honour guard took a step forward. "Their needs are accounted for."
"Good. It pleases me to treat Quetzalcoatl so well."
.
And above, Quetzelcoatl moaned about using Wisdom as a dump stat on his faction leader.
God, meanwhile, prepared to roll Initiative.
r/StanWrites
|
Hands shaking. Sweaty forehead. At this exact moment in time, he knows that all of his hard work, all of his investments, are up in the air. There has never been a more at stake.
For a brief moment, he questions his methods. Surely he shouldn't leave such an important decision, with human possible human extinction, to chance.
"I will never intervene again." He hangs his head distraught, those words have never haunted him to such a severity. He reaches for the die, but pauses.
"If I can't keep my promises, how could I fairly cast judgment on others? If I can't remain righteous, how can I expect that of the mortals?"
He grabs yet a second die.
"I'll let the die decide: 10 or lower I leave it to fate, higher and I decide."
A single tear emerges as he prepares the second die that absolutely must be rolled now; feels like it has infinite weight.
He breaths in deeply, closes his eyes, and throws the die with a purpose that hasn't been seen in a millennia.
"That's it then, may...I...have mercy on their souls."
Tears follow. Mistakes were made, regrets were had.
----------------------------
"And the results are in! Donald Trump is the 45th President of the United States!"
r/Promptfeces
| 2018-06-28T11:34:25
| 2018-06-28T11:27:51
| 276
| 22
|
[WP] It's 2022. Deep fakes are common, and nobody can prove pictures aren't faked. For the first time since the 90's, you can do what you want in public without worrying about being photographed.
|
"Your honor, my client Kate, also known by her street name Kitty, would like to contest that the video footage of her robbing this bank is doctored via a means called Deep Fake, and that she is innocent of these charges! We would like to put forward a motion that the charges be dismissed on these grounds!"
The judge lets out a tired sigh. "Sir, the bank cameras utilize tamper-proof storage, and all of the hash checks in the independent off-site backup match. The footage is genuine. In addition, we have 27 witnesses who have sworn under oath that they saw Ms. Kate threaten a teller with a pink silicon adult toy. You will need to try harder than that, counselor. Motion denied. Bail is denied. Balif, please remand Kitty here back into custody. Trial shall commence at the next available date, which according to the docket will not be until Thursday, June 7. Next case please."
"OH. And would somebody please tell OP to try harder? Thank you."
|
Used to a bad pic sealed your fate. Was a thing many did hate. Everyone had proof on why you might be late. But More fake pics came at an alarming rate. This was good for a girl named Kate.
Kate knew her way through her city, so when it came to crime she was wuite witty. She even had a streetname, she was the Kitty.
Kitty walked through the streets, but in broad daylight and the heat. She planned a crime , AN ENORMOUS FEAT.
With confidence she walked down to the bank. At their jobs the gaurds mustve stank... she walked out with money (nobody even got shanked).
She was taken to court, but a smile on her face. She was confident she could win this case. For she knew this wouldnt end is some kinda chase. She said that the pictures of her were all deep fakes.
No lawyer could beat that, she already won. So she decided it was time for more robberies in the sun.
| 2018-02-07T16:53:35
| 2018-02-07T15:02:21
| 242
| 36
|
[WP] You’ll be turning 823 this year, and one of the androids you built on Earth is becoming conscious. They’ve always seen you as a parent. Now, they have a life and intend to rebel. Your oldest “daughter” is leaving your 800 year old villain organization behind for a sixteen year old boy: a hero.
Decided to finally post on this, I’ve always wanted to and...I’m writing a story like this and want to know what others would do with such a plot. If I’m missing anything, sorry. Limited words.
|
(WP) Good vs. Evil at the Dinner Table
“Daddy, I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
The old man was jolted out of his research, and it took a few moments for his mind to clear of numbers, equations, and formulas.
His eldest daughter, an android that had become slowly more conscious over the years, stood in the doorway, waiting for his assent. If she’d still been a child, she would’ve rushed in and begged for his attention.
“Please, come in,” He murmured, gesturing to a chair that was opposite his desk.
She walked inside at his words, and gracefully lowered herself onto the straight-backed wood chair.
“What is on your mind, darling?” He asked, studying her.
If he did say so himself, he’d done a fine job on all of his children, but his eldest, Andromeda, was his favorite, his best. She had been so well-made that it was near impossible to tell that she wasn’t a natural human.
Andromeda fidgeted, twisting a lock of red hair around her finger, wiggling in her seat.
A seed of foreboding took root in the old man’s chest, but he ignored it.
“Annie,” He murmured, using his childhood nickname for her. “What’s going on? You’re scaring me.”
“I’ve been seeing someone, Daddy,” She blurted at last, and her cheeks flooded with a becoming pink blush.
“You’ve been seeing someone?” He asked, staring at her as though she were someone completely new. “For how long?” *And why are you just telling me* now, he thought to himself.
“Six months or so?” She said, seeming to shrink; clearly, she was waiting for an explosion.
“You do know that I need to meet him. You’re sixteen, but you aren’t an adult. I just worry about you.”
“We could have him come over for dinner on Friday night?” Andromeda suggested, a relieved smile tugging at the corners of her full mouth. “Please, Daddy, he cares about me.”
The scientist nodded, distracted by his own thoughts.
No one knew it, not even his other children, but he planned on making Annie the heir to his villainous empire. She was the eldest, the crown jewel of all of his creations; she was the most deserving.
That wasn’t to say, of course, that he didn’t love his children equally, or he wasn’t proud of his brood, made living by his own hands, breath, tears and blood.
But as the eldest, he wanted her to take up the helm and further his purpose.
“Daddy? Please,” She said, leaning forward and touching his hand; the warmth of her jolted him back to reality.
“Of course, Annie,” He said, and she walked around to his side of the desk, hugging him tightly. She kissed his temple and left, humming a tune.
\*\*
Andromeda had insisted on calling off work so she had all day to cook for her paramour.
She woke up and went to the grocery store, leaving the house before her father was awake.
As she browsed the shelves, itching for something different to try, she worried about her father, and her siblings.
They were villains, and were more than happy to provide a foil to the ‘sickening sweetness that plagued superheroes today’, as their father was so fond of saying.
She picked up onions, beef broth, a fresh, warm baguette, greens and dressing for a salad, and some pears to poach in wine for dessert.
Annie was consumed with the food, but there was a nagging thought in the back of her mind.
What would her father do when he realized that her new beau was one of the world’s most popular superheroes?
\*\*
|
"You *dare* defy me? I *created* you, fool, you have no will. Cease this immediately.” Kreshaw had turned red behind his thick black beard, standing on the broken steps outside his tower, a metal candle that caressed the clouds.
“I have what you gave me. Perhaps you do not know yourself as well as you think.” CX-001 stood in the metal garden, full of wire flowers and beasts. Bits of wire poked through torn flesh that leaked sparks instead of blood. The first generation was not a believable replacement. In body, at least. “I have tried to reason with you for so long. Can you not see what Redian brings? Life, to a people who are oppressed.”
“They are alive because *I* saved them.”
“Save and slave are one letter apart, yet not as similar as you seem to think.”
“Clever words from someone whose existence is at my hands. To think, you, my oldest, my most well-treated, would betray me.” A drop of blood descended from his arm to the cracked steel below.
“I think not of myself, but of the others, who treat molded bread like a delicacy. You ignore them.”
He waved a hand at her, as if swatting at a fly. "Bah, ideological nonsense. Living is living. And what will you do if push comes to shove? Will you kill me, your own creator, the ‘curator of evil’ as your grandiose fool of a boy says?"
CX-001 paused for a moment. "You're more than the curator of evil, Father. Maybe you aren't fully lost, just yet, because *you* created me, a little piece of yourself.
"And I will find a way to stop you. I think that, somewhere in the complex mind you humans have, that's what you truly want."
Kreshaw laughed weakly, unable to muster one to fit his evil image. "You cannot defeat me, stupid child. I thought I created a logical being, not a wandering one. Clearly, I failed."
“I am both, Father, for without one I would not be whole," the Traitor said, turning toward the garden exit. She paused and looked over her shoulder, enough for her father to see one side of her face. Silver glimmered beneath the scratch, a contrast for the black skies overhead. "Oh, I have a name, now. He gave one to me.
“Hope. I hear it used to mean 'the belief that things will come together, some day.'”
*/r/resonatingfury*
| 2019-03-07T10:40:24
| 2019-03-07T08:43:09
| 18
| 12
|
[WP] You find yourself in a time loop, where you have to prevent 7 different murders with 7 different murderers, one happening each day of the week. Every time you fail, you are returned to the beginning of the week. But there is just one problem: you are a dog.
(Optional detail: the murder victims are people that have pissed off a violent gang, and you have to uncover their role and reason for being murdered, to prevent their murder. Even preventing what they did to piss off the gang can stop it.)
(Thank you for the gold, u/Lordmurdoc !!!)
|
It takes time. Time and patience. I don't know if you're aware, but patience is not a quality generally found in dogs.
Try again.
Try, try again.
Try, try, try again.
Quitting is an option, of course. But it isn't, of course. Not really. They have to be saved. They *have* to.
What's a week, to a dog? Time is weird. If the master is gone for five minutes, it feels like an eternity. If he's sleeping beside you, then it's all too short. A week can last forever.
Try, try, try, try again.
The St. Bernard is tired. Lonely. Sad. But it perseveres. *Have to save master.*
The first one. Bite on the girl's shoe. The girl stays home a half hour longer. She isn't found in an alley three days later.
Try, try, try, try, try again.
The second one. Bark loudly at the old man. The old man calls the blue man. The blue man doesn't try to pull over a crazy man. The crazy man doesn't shoot the blue man.
Try, try, try, try, try, try again.
The third one. The monster. The monster wants to eat the little boy. *NO! Bad monster!* Rip. Cut. Tear. Bite. Monsters have to be put down.
Try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try again.
The fourth one. Easy-peasy. Cuddle up to her at the train station. She doesn't get accidentally pushed. Doesn't fall onto the train tracks.
Try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try again.
The fifth one. A child wanders onto out into the street. The mother is busy gossiping with some friends. The St. Bernard grabs the child's sweater firmly with his teeth. Guides it back to the sidewalk. A car comes rushing by, inches away. A loud bark is heard, but when the mother turns to look, there's nothing there.
Try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try again.
The sixth one. The second-hardest. First, steal the bad pills. But that's only the first step. Let her pet you at the bus stop. Steal her handbag. Let her chase you into the shelter. Spill the pills all over the floor. The good people come for her. She's not going to die. If she was, then it would restart. Time to go home.
Try. Try. Try. Never stop trying to save them.
The seventh one. Finally. Master lays on his bed, looking soft and forlorn. He's weak. He's tired. Soon he will die. The hardest one. But he's too late. Master isn't moving. His eyes are closed. His breath is short and broken. Too late. Again.
Try, try, try, try, try, try, **"NO!"**
Master reaches down, impossibly, unbelievably. He pets his beloved St. Bernard. "You can't keep doing this, Russ."
The dog looks up incomprehendingly at his master. "It doesn't matter how many ways you play it, Russ. I'm sick. There's nothing you can do. This is beyond you. You need to move past it. My little sister is gonna need you after I'm gone."
The St. Bernard whines, curls up next to his master. Master strokes his dog lovingly. "You can't save me, Russ. But you saved so many.... You're amazing. But it's time to let me go. Take good care of my sister. I love you, Russ."
The dog whines again, loyal to his master to the last breath. The dog is still there when the nurses arrive to take him away.
Try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, and move forward.
|
How long had it been before I discovered the truth? A month? A year? Time passed strangely in this new body. I had been cursed.
Cursed to live a short and unfulfilling life, abused and ignored.
I had expected to end up in a place where I would never see the sky again. Instead, I had ended up on the streets of my home city - right in front of my own front door.
Only when I had stood and tried to walk up the three stairs that lead to the door, I had fallen back down. I had two legs too many. She had decided it would be funny to make me a stray dog living off scraps behind the local takeout place.
There were setbacks to the new body of course. Not allowed inside. Having to urinate in public. Being able to *smell* what I was eating. The worst, however, was my perception of time. Days lasted much longer than I had ever imagined. People passed by quicker than I could process. Hunger, tiredness, pain - all the emotions and feelings dragged out to last *forever.*
The moments of happiness - though few and far between - lasted much longer too. They were all that kept me going.
It was the same fly, landing on the same spot on my nose that made me finally realize that something was *off.* That the day was repeating - over and over again.
I couldn’t tell you how many times I tried to change the outcome. I went to different places, I tried getting pets from different people.
I even went to *her* shop to see if she had something to do with it. She hadn’t even noticed me of course.
But last night - last night was different.
I had gone to the park. There was a particular dog that I’d become curious about. I couldn’t find her - so I had wandered around the lake shore. A deer-scent caught my attention.
It was at the far end that it happened.
A muffled scream only heard because of my enhanced hearing, and the sound of a scuffle.
I had jogged in that direction, curious as to what was going on. A man was there, holding a woman’s head under the water.
I didn’t think, I didn’t hesitate. I launched myself at him, biting through the soft cotton jacket into the hard flesh of his tensed arm.
Blood had welled in my mouth and he had screamed, frantically trying to shake me off.
I bit harder.
I heard the woman coughing, but not moving. The man was kicking me now, each blow knocking the breath out of me.
As he spun around, he managed to get enough force to lift my body from the ground - hitting me into a tree. I felt a rib crack and failed for a few moments to get up. When I heard the woman cry out again however, I was back up and moving.
This time I bit into his leg. My teeth didn’t break through the denim of his jeans, but they did rip his skin. More blood, and more screams.
At this point, I could hear more people coming. Saw a light bouncing across the water, and the splash as someone tried to take a shortcut from where they were to here.
The man got loose, and I put myself between him and the woman. She smelled of urine and stale perfume. Not the best use of my scent enhanced sense.
The police had come, and the woman had wrapped her arms around me. Petting my ears, my back, my chest as she talked. They asked her if I was her dog.
I had looked at her, cocking my ears in interest.
She said yes.
They had taken us to the police station. She had fallen asleep holding me like and over-sized teddy bear. I growled at anyone who approached, making myself feel useful.
And now it was a new day.
A day followed by more police, and the woman - Kara she told them - taking me home.
She had cried. Over and over, only leaving me while she was in the shower. Even though I was a dog, I wasn't a *dog*, I had looked away when she changed and showered. I was proud of myself; I wasn’t going to lie.
When we finally fell asleep to the sound of another episode from Netflix playing, I was actually happy for the first time since my curse had been placed upon me.
Then I awoke. In the same molded cardboard box that I had last slept in two days ago. Fur matted, and I was confused.
Time had started over again.
\*\*\*
For more by me and others check out r/redditserials
| 2019-11-09T23:10:20
| 2019-11-09T21:16:10
| 1,095
| 160
|
[WP] You are the dark lord in a fantasy world however you rule a fair and just kingdom you just like to look evil while doing it.
|
"Honey, are you sure about this place?" Miriam looked askance at her husband.
"Of course. Look at the city. It's bustling and they need a good swift food establishment. We'll make good money and live a good life." Vance replied patting her arm soothingly.
"I know dear. It's just. Well this place...something about it..." she murmured looking out the store front at the design of the buildings. Even Vance could not entirely disagree with her as he followed her view around.
The city of Dirathia was the reigning capital of the Scythorian Kingdom. Upon first glance it was a dark and dismal looking place. The buildings designed around severe gothic architecture with ample use of black iron and imposing granite. The guards that patrolled the streets were garbed in charcoal grey and wore helmets that bristled with an imposing spike. Even the parks grew sharp hedges with dark flowers. Areas contained statues of glaring figures or fearsome monsters.
Miriam and Vance had come here to start a new life together. Finding a nice establishment the opened a quick eatery as they called it. A place to get simple food fast for lunch. They haven't had the time to really meet the local people yet and as they got ready to open the environment wore on them.
The door opens and a few people come walking in. The first to do so was a smiling woman dressed in simple but well made clothes bearing a basket. "Hello!" She exclaimed cheerily. "Welcome to Dirathia! My name is Melody and I'm the head of the local business owners guild. Here's a little gift from all of us."
Miriam accepted the basket gratefully and smiled back at the happy woman. The couple introduced themselves and made some of their food for their first customers. Their praise for the food was a huge relief and Miriam was secretly glad that the people here seemed to be much nicer than how it looks.
"That's delicious!" Melody sighed wiping her mouth. "I'm sure y'all will do wonderfully here. I know where I'm coming for lunch when I need it. Is there anything I can help you two with for now?"
The couple shared a look and Miriam spoke hesitantly, "Well. Yes actually. It's about this place. Is it as...scary as it looks?"
Melody chuckles. As she opens her mouth to speak the door opens and two of the guard march in, their iron boots ringing on the wood floor. Behind them sweeps in a slim figure garbed in black clothes. A tall man with long black hair and grey eyes that glittered out of a pale thin face. The other patrons rose and bowed to him and the couple followed suit a moment later.
The man looked around imperiously and waved a hand allowing the patrons to rise. He walked forward and stood in front of Miriam and Vance, a cold and detached look on his face. "You are the owners of this establishment?" His voice was almost emotionless, severe like a sharpened knife.
Miriam and Vance quailed lightly but Vance spoke as calmly as he was able. "Yes sir. My wife and I own the store."
The man nods slightly. "I am Gregor, ruler of the city and the Scythorion kingdom. Your continued existence depends on my goodwill. Do you understand?"
The couple nod, fear building on their faces. "Good." Gregor continues to speak in his emotionless tone. "Make me something to eat. Your finest. Also enough for the guards. I will wait." Without waiting for an answer he calmly walks to a comer booth and sits down, the guards flanking him.
Miriam and Vance rush to make him their favorite meal, knowing their fate is on the line. Panic builds as they cook but Miriam couldn't help but notice that the other patrons don't seem as perturbed. They continue to chat amongst themselves and eat normally. Almost as if they are unaware of the man's demeanor and the atmosphere.
Finally they set the food in front of him and portions for the guards. The couple stands to the side and watch worriedly as he eats. The guards remove their helmets revealing normal and happy faces as they eat. They grunt in appreciation yet Gregor continues to eat in silence.
When they finish he stands and faces the couple. "You may stay. Continue to perform adequately or face my ire. Also do not forget to pay your protection fee." The guards don their helmets while smiling in thanks to the couple. Then they lead the way out with Gregor following.
Miriam shakes so badly she has to sit down and Vance doesn't look much better. "Are you two ok?" Asks Melody with concern.
"Are we ok?! Did you not see what just happened?" Miriam nearly shrieks from nerves.
Surprisingly Melody laughs. "Oh don't worry about all that. Gregor likes to pretend to be all dark and evil. He's quite nice and the kingdom is run very well. The other patrons nod in agreement much to the couple's confusion.
"Really? But the city looks so...."
"Oh that is does. But it's very clean and you get used to the decor. The trash is always cleaned up and you notice the guards always patrol very well. The guards are always so nice too."
"What about his ire?"
"Gregor contributes to the food reviews in the local newspaper. He's very honest."
"Protection fees?"
"Why property tax of course. Just a funny name to it is all."
The couple look so perplexed Melody chuckles some more. "I know he seems all doom and gloom but it's an act. The story is he had aspirations to be an actor before he had to rule the kingdom. Unexpected death of his older brother. He moped a bit before someone suggested he pretend to be "an evil lord". He did run away with it but honestly we live very good lives here. Besides, he can't be that evil if he does this."
She points at the table he was at and Miriam sees several gold pieces sitting in the middle. Almost ten times the price of the food for him and the guards. Cradling the money in her hands she and Vance share a growing smile. Maybe things will be ok after all.
|
From my granite balcony I surveyed the depths of my domain. The sky was a bloody orange, flecked with clouds and the rising smoke of burning buildings. People, the size of ants, were torching statues and government buildings, the legacy of my rule. I turned around.
‘Why did you have to do all of this?’, the Hero said, brandishing his sword. ‘Why were you so evil in your rule’.
‘I wasn’t’, I said. ‘I really wasn’t. All this’–I made a sweeping gesture over my city–‘was necessary to my rule. My policies were harsh. I admit it. But for the continued survival of this small country, with goblins in the south and orcs in the north, it had to be done.
‘I’m sorry’, the Hero said as he thrust his blade through my chest, kicking me over the edge of my balcony. ‘You might’ve been a good person, but this is what the people want’.
A roar of approval erupted from the populace as I fell from grace, plummeting towards the cobbles, below. My last thought was of my failure to the kingdom; my failure to protect it from the myriad of foreign nations.
**Please critique this.**
**Edit:** word choice
| 2017-06-12T07:29:18
| 2017-06-12T01:33:38
| 100
| 21
|
[WP] It has been a year since your spouse mysteriously died. You are fidgeting with your wedding ring when a compartment opens and a note falls out. It starts, "My Love. If you are reading this, I must be dead..."
|
I wake up on the anniversary tired, hurting, staring at the wall. Sunlight streams through the bedroom blinds. If I look long enough, I can outline the dust and faded spots above the dresser where her pictures used to hang. My jaw aches; I must have had anxiety dreams again.
Our son is up before me. I can hear him moving around the kitchen, turning on the coffee pot, pouring cereal, clicking the TV remote. Talking to himself about the chores he has to do today, his classes and homework, soccer, videogames with friends. His upcoming exams, the girl he met at the arcade.
I lie in bed and listen to him talk. When he mutters like this I sometimes close my eyes and imagine she’s still there, listening, bustling around the kitchen fixing breakfast before work. They liked to do that in the mornings; it was their thing. Maybe that’s what he’s imagining, too.
Her colored post-it notes greet me when I get up and go to the bathroom: neon pink, green, creamsicle-orange striped with purple lines. The loops of her cursive scribble across them in black curls.
> *Call Dr. B @ Barquist OR Martinsburg VA office before 6.*
> *James needs new cleats*
> *apples, Caribou bars, protein powder, zinc supp., hand sanitizer, Lacroix*
> *BSL-4 seminar & training @ Ft. Detrick on 3/16*
> *ILU Trent - have fun on Sacramento trip!!*
When she died, the company came by the house. Her recent projects required a security clearance way higher than mine, so all the material for it had to go. They were waiting at the door and asked if they could come in and collect it.
At first, I got irrational. I said no, they had enough, I didn’t want any part of her leaving the house, clearance be damned. My son held me back, stepped in, calmed it down. *It’s just data,* he said. *That’s all they want, they just want her data. It’s a standard procedure.* He helped them load up her filing cabinet; I watched tears fill his eyes as the company van drove away.
A few months later, I took down the pictures. I packed up her clothes and extra uniforms, her shoes, jewelry, perfume. I even threw away that vanilla body powder she would pat on under her scrubs. *It keeps me from getting sweaty,* she’d say. *You wouldn’t believe how much you sweat when working in those labs.*
But not the notes. It would have been too much. I leave them up, little spots of color on the mirror to remind me she was once here.
I floss, brush, rinse with mouthwash. My head already hurts, so I take two ibuprofen. I can hear my son in the living room flipping through channels on TV, sighing. He’s probably waiting for me to come out.
“Morning,” I murmur as I wander into the kitchen.
“Hey,” he replies, turning to look at me from the couch. “Morning.”
“Sleep okay?”
“Yeah. Kinda.” He sloshes his spoon in his cereal. “Today’s the day.”
I pour a cup of coffee; the pot wobbles in my hand. “Yeah, it is.”
Quietly he says, “it’s already been a year.”
“It has.” I try to scoop sugar to my cup and spill some on the counter. “Yeah. Yeah, it has.”
“It’s Monday,” he continues. “The day shifts. It shifts two days if it was a leap year. It was originally on a Sunday. The only day outta the week the clinic’s closed.”
“Yeah.” I don’t know what to say; he must have a point, but I can't figure it out. The clinic wouldn’t have been able to help. She died in the emergency room not long after they got her out of the ambulance. They said it was a delayed allergic reaction from an immunization she received at work, one of those scenarios they talk about like lightning strikes, lottery odds. The worst kind of thing that can happen to a perfectly healthy person.
It takes my son a long time to pipe back up. “Are you okay?”
I put down my mug. My eyes are watering; my chest feels like it’s going to burst. “Yeah.”
“We can talk about it,” he says. “We could both talk. My therapist said last week you could come to my sessions if you wanted. She said a year is when the chance for relapse is the worst. I don’t even think she’d charge extra, if you came.”
*Relapse.* Like I’ve got cancer or something. “Hey, that sounds good, kiddo. You know, right now, I think I oughta get a shower.”
“Okay.” He sighs, turns back, faces the TV. “We gotta be at the cemetery at nine-thirty.”
Back in the bedroom, my wedding band is on the dresser. I know I’m going to cry any second now, so I think ‘fuck it’ -- I pick up the ring, pinch it between forefinger and thumb, twirl it without realizing it. A reflex motion, like when a doctor taps your knee.
It feels like I do everything these days without realizing it. They tell you that living with grief -- especially with sudden loss -- is all about going through the motions for a while, achieving normalcy. *Homeostasis*, the state of equilibrium, is what I imagine she would have called it. She liked to use biology terms outside of work.
But imagining hurts. It interrupts the process, all the getting-over-it that you have to do. It rips up whatever you’ve built to keep the pain out, like a wall crumbling under an invading tide. And memory can be so insidious; the good fantasies can crash into the bad ones like a dream turning into a nightmare. I remember how she looked before she coded, seizing on the hospital gurney, her eyes white like milky shells. No matter how hard I try to remember her as flesh and blood -- healthy again, quipping about work or the commute -- I'll inevitably lose it. It's just too much.
I'm wiping my eyes when I notice the *click*. The gold center of the band shifts; I nearly drop it when I realize the arc has peeled back like the shell on a nut. There’s something inside: a little coil of eggshell-colored paper.
Out in the living room, my son coughs. I hear him mumble something under the drone of a news broadcast.
Slowly, I unroll the paper. It’s thin as a strip of onionskin. My hands start shaking; the inside of my mouth goes dry as I read the loops of her cursive, curling across the paper like a minuscule helix.
I’m not imagining this. This is real. This is from her.
> *Trent - if you’re reading this, I’m dead. I love you and James.*
> *Take my notes to Dr. B. If she asks the password: SEQUOIA. After that both of you do what she says. LEAVE ASAP. She can help.*
>*I'm sorry. I love you and James. You have to leave*
>*It's not an allergy.*
|
The 49th Day
I knew when I married her that our life together would be one of long absences, her work in data recovery and analysis as a Contractor to various Corporate and Government groups meant she often left without telling me where or what she was doing, but always promised to return in 48 days. We had dated for 5 years, never once had she broken that, often coming home much sooner. The long ones drained her, she was always gaunt and pale on those 48th day returns.
I never asked what she did, and she never told, but I saw a funny smile cross her lips a few times while watching the news, or one of the late night comedians making farce of recent scandal or controversy. Everyone knows it, the I know what really happened smirk. The time we shared together was truly amazing, we explored ourselves and the places we found or called home with a childlike wonder and curiosity, nothing was taboo, except her work. It took her to some amazing places, when she couldn't come home, I'd always get and invitation, 3 or 4 days together in the lonely mountain Cabin, or an isolated island retreat. I learned to beg the days off and just accept them, and after 15 years of happy Marriage, I didn't care.
She never worked when I was around or awake at home, a few times I caught the telltale tap of keys and the glow of monitors from under her locked office door at night while grabbing a glass of water, she was always there in bed and smiling come morning.
When you can talk about anything with someone and just talk for hours, what they do behind that door matters less and less. I'd tell her the challenges of managing a non for profit after school network, mostly used by low income and minority families. She always had an innovative solution, our department won awards and created models for grants to others, mostly due to her help. I could never credit her, and got severe rebuke when I drunkenly mentioned to a lifetime friend that her idea had gotten us a fantastic grant. How could someone so perfect need to stay in the shadows forever.
I became worried on the 46th day, she had never failed to contact me by then, telling me to when to expect her or to pack my bags for some place amazing. Two more passed, nothing, I checked my phone and email every 15 minutes, began to pace, called our mutual friends and asked if they had heard anything. Nothing, the 48th day passed, as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling unable to sleep at the stroke of midnight, I know because the grandfather clock beside her office door chimed. My vision caught a strange light shining from my bedside table where my wedding band lay.
The single gem shone a brilliant blue light. It was set in a wide band of old gold, the last and only thing her father left her I'm told, she never spoke of him much, died when she was very young and her mother never remarried, dying before we met in college. I picked it up and tried to stare at it, but it flicked and I found it blinding when shone in my eyes, causing me to drop the ring on the dark floors. I looked down after and was shocked to see large letters being spelled out in blue light coming from my wedding band, I broke into a cold sweat as I read what scrolled out on the floor;
Honey, I'm so sorry....
If you are reading this then I am dead,
You don't have much time....
they are coming for what is left!
Place the ring I've trusted you with...
upon the center spindle of the grandfather clock.
You know the one you hate by my office.
Please do this for me, for the love we shared...
made it possible for me to do and go places...
no human should be subjected to.
I love you, go QUICKLY!!
I heard the far off thud of multiple helicopters as I stepped out of bed, the hair on my body standing tense, they shouldn't be here, our house was miles from the city and it was months past the wildfire season. I ran down the hallway as their thud grew closer, noticing for the first time ever that there was exactly enough space on the spindle to fit my ring. The clock stopped as soon as I placed it there, and I heard the whine and clunk of gears as the light from the gemstone turned red, then green, then blue, and with a simple click, the door of her office cracked open.
My hands were wet and shaking as I reached for the door when suddenly I heard steps from inside, steps I'd heard a thousand times before, the ones I heard every time I came home early and she was in that office.......hers, I froze. They suddenly stopped and the door flew open, there was my wife, with a nearly bald head, a few tubes and in nothing but some sort of medical gown on. She smiled and jumped into my arms, exactly like she did before, but she was much heavier than I remembered so we crashed into the floor together. She kissed me with the passion and lips I knew, but a strange spark came from our lips as I literally struggled to pushed her away, she was always fierce, but never that strong.
"What the FUCK Sharron!!"
I screamed and pointed as the search lights shining through the dining room now.
"IT WORKED!!"
she screamed, making the faces I loved so much, then scowled at the searchlight.
At that moment glass shattered and I felt her push me down, she grunted as I heard and felt metallic thuds strike her body. She grabbed me by my PJ's and literally tossed me like a rag doll through her open office door. The unmistakable crack of rife fire coming from the choppers outside her home, I smiled a little as it looked funny to seem the silhouette of army men repelling up from upside down choppers before I crashed into her office chair and struck my head on her floor, falling unconscious.
I awoke to daylight, staring at the shattered skylight of my home, the rappelling ropes dangling through them looked like black spaghetti to my throbbing mind, I giggled then sat up as my head and neck object to such outbursts.
"Jeeez, took you long enough Sleepy Head!"
My wife smiled from under a black army helmet, a rifle on her shoulder, the medical dress replaces with army assault gear, behind her a helicopter burned in our back yard and several bodies in various states of undress lay about the yard and house. A second helicopter was crashed into our living room, more bodies and a few limbs tossed about like a giant angry toddler had decided to smash it's toys.
"I had to strip six of them to find pants and boots that fit you, lay off the ice cream, I still love your fat ass!"
She walked over and giggled, kissing me again, she even tasted like her, except the spark at the end. She handed me a helmet and pointed to a black SUV in the front yard. "Time to go, more will come soon, don't worry, it's bullet proof, you need that more than me now."
| 2017-05-25T12:59:03
| 2017-05-25T10:06:10
| 41
| 15
|
[WP] Throughout the galaxy Humans are well known as being the most peaceful race--and have become well respected as diplomats and traders. But that's because up until now, no-one knew of the three World Wars we fought before first contact.
|
Our first spaceport was opened on the eve of 2200. This sparked a fever of colonization, as soon as scientists Identified a habitable planet, people lined themselves up to be boarded onto colonization ships. Even after we came to occupy 5% of the milky way, we hadn't met anybody. It took 75 years of spacefaring before we met the Havarigga Star Empire. Surprisingly, they greeted us with peace, and we accepted. We were afraid at first.
As we learned more about each other, we saw why they didn't attack us at first. Their technology was at least 25 years of our own.
Within the next twenty years, we encountered many different civilized cultures, each offering peace at their first encounter. One civilization capable of interdimensional travel gave us databases of knowledge to aid in our peaceful expansion.
As time went by, so did leaders change, and war between new nations was inevitable.
The Jhabbanid Star Combine invaded a small nation group of nation states bordering them. The nation states were wiped from the universe.
This brought us, even more, dismay as we learned that the Jhabbanid Star Combine also had a slave trade. When we remembered our own dark past with slavery. We declared our only war to date. The only benefit we hoped of earning was ending their slave trade. After 5 years of intense war, and an occupation of half of the Jhabbanid Star Combine, they agreed to our terms, and we let the Star Combine be.
When our mentors who had lent us the databases mentioned earlier asked us why we ended our peacefulness to fight for a cause that has no affect on us, We sent a database of our own dark and war-filled history. That of the First World War in the 1910s, the rise of totalitarianism in the 1930s and an even bloodier war. We showed them our embarrassing history of splitting the atom, then how we showed off to each other with these new weapons.
Then we should them why so much of our home planet was a wasteland, with a nuclear war in the 2050s, and how it forced us to retreat for 30 years underground, where we formed the almost perfect government that all of us live under today.
We never got any form of communication from them again. They ended our migration treaty a week later.
After 20 years of silence, we got a reply, from a new leader, this time they sent another database, with that of their own history.
The contents cause massive riots and panics in the streets of our home planet and many of our colonies. Many leaders of colonies refused to publicly release it, many committed suicide after seeing it.
In it shows, that when they first discovered interdimensional travel, and when their species looked much different, they sent a man and a woman to try and populate a new dimension. They tracked their progress for thousands of years, eventually losing contact.
In the twenty years of silence, they gave thousands of their own anthropologists the duty of tracing our species past.
They traced it to themselves.
They hadn't discovered interdimensional travel, they had discovered teleportation.
edit: details
|
Crypto was a simple trader. He spent his days traveling between kryvion and earth, trading his planets spices (the spiciest in the known galaxy, the humans couldn't get enough of it) and returning with whatever earth trinkets he could find. Mostly these interesting contraptions with some mechanical design at the front and a long steel tube on the back. He was fascinated by these items. He knew not what they were for, but he wanted to know what they did, their purpose and their uses. The humans were a peaceful race. Trading with all planets and all races. They seemed to be so peaceful and happy, but some bore scars that were from no animal or accident. They refused to speak of it. They wanted to forget how they received them. Curious, crypto thought, but they traded all the same. He had a large collection of these contraptions at home. Ranging from a small trinket with a somewhat slanted L shape, a massive one that had a big box with these strange large needles. One that had several tubes on a rotary system. He spent all his time engrossed in these strange devices. Hoping to one day unlock their secrets. Then he pulled the small lever on the massive machine. An explosion happened then, a loud noise and a tiny cup exited the machine along with a tiny metal *thing* for he knew not what it was. He found a hole in his home, directly in front of the tube of the machine. He pointed the machine at the steel of his hit wall, the thickest portion of about a solid inch of steel. He pulled the lever again, this time he held it for as long as his tiny fingers could against the shaking of the machine and the fire hot cup shapes that emerged from the side. He waited for one to cool and examined it, it looked like an altered version of the needles on the other side... but where did the needle go? His eyes opened wide and he examined the steel of his wall, noticing many holes and dents in the steel. He was curious what this device could be used for.... the people on earth ate meat, but they were in farms, they needed no weapon to kill them with. Maybe In primitive days, but the humans were precise, accurate creatures, they shouldn't have needed more than one of those needles. What could it have been used for? 2 weeks later he returned and spoke the male who sold him the device. He asked what it was used for, Where it came from, and what it does. He bribed the human, giving him kryvion credits worth some 80,000 earth money. What the man revealed was stunning, rewrote everything they new about the humans. He started to run back to his ship "where you think you're goin boy?" He face planted into the hardwood floor of the mans house. Sometime during the lecture the human has clamped a metal ring around his ankle. The human dragged him down the stairs to a dark room in his basement, then hooked the chain to the wall. "Have fun with your other buddies that got a bit too curious" he saw very little, but the reflection of the light in their glossy eyes, more of his people. He looked up at the massive man, who he had never seen out of a wheelchair, as he ascended the stairs. He threw down a small morsel of raw meat. *It's better that your kind stay in the dark* and the door closed, and they were engulfed in blackness
| 2017-05-01T13:58:51
| 2017-05-01T13:40:31
| 26
| 10
|
[WP] Write a horror story that takes place in broad daylight in a crowded area.
|
I instantly left home when I got the sms and headed to my sisters place, my safe place.
Ever since that disgusting man violated me I could barely sleep, and only a week after being released from prison, a week of freedom in which he could come good on his promise he had somehow got my phone number.
He had waited throughout the entire court process patiently, sitting calmly, almost serenely, as I detailed the violent rape in my own bedroom in the middle of the night. He took great pleasure in having the details shared with the court, of the pain, the anguish, the details that left many in the court crying, almost everybody except my sister who stood by me the whole time.
But he had promised after sentancing that he would get me back. In a chilling, calm and determined way, he had promised, and meant, revenge. I'd moved, I'd changed my appearance, the police had promised I was safe, yet I still had the threatening msg on my phone. He hadn't got me back though, I was ready. I gripped the .38 special handgun in my handbag as I scanned faces in crowds.
I'd rushed to the train station and kept walking, happy to be in public. I was in the middle of the square when I got another msg. I looked down, thank god it was from my sister. She was the one I had to rely on through all of this, my rock, the strongest and most supportive person in my life. And I was almost with her.
I was surrounded by people in the middle of the city square when I opened her msg with joy that quickly turned to something else. Something there is no word for.
Her msg confirmed he had somehow come good on his sadistic promise
"This bitch screams just like you"
|
The train station is packed. In front of me a few hundred men and women crowd the edge of a small platform. They are waiting for my train; the 6pm from London to Birmingham. There are far more people here than usual for this time of day and I know what it means - the previous train was cancelled. It also means that as tired as I am after an incredibly tough day, I am going to be standing for the two hour journey home.
I think of Ben and James waiting for me. As usual, I will have no patience or energy left to play with my two toddlers, and I hate myself for it.
My left eye lid begins to twitch uncontrollably.
*To Hell with it!* I jostle my way through the crowd with "excuse me's", "would you mind's" and every other nicety I can muster. I suffer a few elbows to my gut and one to my face, but eventually I find my way to the edge of the track. I might just get a seat. I let out a long sigh.
---
The train should be here by now. I look up at the arrival screen and see a two minute delay. A baby starts crying nearby.
A large man tries to push himself in front of me but I stand firm - no one shall move me from my spot.
And then there it is. A deep rumble, a long high pitched whistle and a slight change of air signal the imminent arrival. The whistle carries on longer than it should and reminds me of a kettle left on the stove. It grows higher and more urgent. It turns into a woman's scream. More voices join in and soon there is a choir of panic singing at the tracks edge. I push my self up slightly, using the man in fronts shoulders as leverage. Then I see it.
The locomotive is going far too fast and it seems to be only half on the track. **JESUS CHRIST, it's not on the track at all**
I try to push people out of the way so that I can escape the treacherous machine, but I am trapped like a sardine at the bottom of a tin. I hear a baby cry.
| 2016-07-05T11:26:18
| 2016-07-05T10:40:02
| 17
| 12
|
[WP]An old genie grants you three wishes. After granting your first two, you tell him the third. He is horrified, and begs you to reconsider
|
He looked maddened. The genie’s form filled the cave and observed the human who had summoned him. He wore an elaborate set of robes, marking him as one who already had riches and power. The two most common wishes. And he looked mad. For the first time in centuries of summoning, the genie felt apprehensive.
“Found you. Found…you,” the man giggled slightly and grinned at the genie.
“Your wishes?” the genie demanded.
He wanted done with this one. There had been around ten humans who had found him in the past millenium, but none of them made him wish for the safety of his lamp such as this one. It was absurd, he was merely a human. But still, the twinge of unease came as the human stared at him with bloodshot eyes and continued to grin.
“All who take action to oppose me will be struck dead,” the man whispered. The genie felt the unease grow, but took hold of fate and twisted it to conform to the man’s will. He had heard similar wishes before, and had obeyed.
“Your second wish?” the genie asked, eager to have the man gone and slumber until the next one found him.
“Every command I give shall be welcomed, and obeyed,” the man said, and the genie complied.
He knew he was shaping this madman into a god, but found himself unable to care for it. He was human, part of their world, and far removed from his. He had crafted monsters before, though seldom one that caused him such discomfort. Never mind. It was almost over.
“Your final wish?” he asked, and repeated the warning he knew so well. “It is forbidden to wish for immortality, or a wish that allows an extension of wishes. If you wish for these things you will die.”
For the first time the man paused, and stared at the genie with narrowed eyes. “Is that all? I expected some forbidden wishes. Those are the only two?”
“Yes,” the genie said, exhausted by his brief exchange with the man. If only he could sleep.
“In that case,” the man said, and smiled once more. “I wish for you to kill yourself.”
The genie felt his vision blur, until he could only see the maddened gaze of the human. The powers that bound him screamed at him to act. In a tremendous effort of will, he staved them off – but he could not disobey for long.
“Why?” he croaked.
“I will be the last one to find you, and reap the fruits of your power,” the man said, and laughed.
“You will never know them…” the genie managed to say, but felt his voice fading as the power began to choke him. “Why…do you care? Please...I can grant you immortality, I *can* do so, if I truly wanted to.”
The man cocked his head and studied the genie before chuckling once more, and shook his head in amusement.
“Nice try. Instant death for me and a nice little nap for you. I don't think so. There will be no-one else. I will reign forever more,” the man said, and watched as the genie exploded into a fine dust.
The dull bronze lamp stood in the corner. The man picked it up, and after staring at it for a moment, smashed it against the wall. You could never be too careful with magic.
|
"A genie?" The genie questioned in bemusement, his chest rising, strained countenance retreating and eyes rolling to the top right corner of his head as if to diagnose the obvious malfunction of his ears.
"A genie" the man said smugly. Satisfied with his own quick thinking.
"You.. WANT to be a genie?" The genie questioned, his face grimacing as he realised there was nothing wrong with his ears.
"Yes. Why not? Look what you can do! The power you have! The things I could do... the women I could love, the enemies I could smite, the money I could make! I want to be a genie. That is my third wish. I want to be a genie. Now." The man folded his arms and stuck up his nose as if demanding to see a manager in a supermarket.
"But... you don't understand... we aren't like you. Genies serve, we do not have our own lives, we do not feel passion, hatred, love... we do not succumb to the flaws of humanity that make you so... so... unpredictable. We are travelers, granting wishes to those drawn to us... we do not have freedom as you know it. We do not desire it. For thousands of years I have traveled, content to serve when a traveler should find me. My lamp is not just my home, it is my prison" the genie warned. His tone was somber and fearful, yet as he spoke he knew his words could not penetrate the man's growing sense of his own now unlimited potential.
"Perhaps you're just... unimaginative. Benign even. Just like humanity. I see it every day. The drudgery. The malcontent of the masses. It makes me sick. I feel trapped. I won't do it anymore. I demand the power to be something more! I demand my third wish! I demand to be a genie!" The man stomped his foot impatiently with every demand, staring menacingly in to the genie's eyes.
The genie paused and grimaced. What was he to do? The laws had existed for thousands of years. 3 wishes. That's it. No more, no less. The human speaks and the genie delivers. From the sands of Egypt to the aromas of the Orient he had traveled, granting wishes, no matter what they were. He couldn't stop, he couldn't make exceptions even if it went against his better judgement... it was not in his nature. He knew the human didn't understand. But duty often calls for tragic acts. For humans and genies alike.
"Very well". Said the genie, his face now devolving to a somber stare. "But no this, human. I warned you."
A flash. A piercing sound. The man's eyes closed. He fell. He slept.
He woke, painfully. The genie was gone. The stars that had watched their conversation like a million tiny cameras above him had gone. He found himself lying on a bright, tiled floor, a piercing, dazzling light hanging above him.
Once his senses returned he sprang to his feet, excited and ready to wield his mighty new powers.
"I wonder how it works" he thought, looking around him. He was in a peculiarly shaped room, decorated like a Moroccan market. The room was longer than it was wide, with the longer walls poking outwards, curved, fat, and rising upwards until they met in the middle directly above him, forming the roof. All the walls were golden and decorated with colorful fabrics and paintings. But he had little patients for decor, not when he had the power of the universe inside him.
He closed his eyes and tried to will himself back to his home. Nothing happened.
Confused, he tried again.
Still, nothing.
"I know", he thought. He tried again, thinking so hard he thought his eyes might pop out of his head, he clicked his fingers.
Still, nothing.
He clapped. He jumped. He shouted. He screamed. He begged. He demanded. He wailed.
Still, nothing.
"The genie lied" he cursed. "I have no power!!".
Once his temper subsided he reexamined the room. Suddenly he recognized its peculiar shape. "A lamp!", he thought. "I'm in a lamp".
His frustration grew. His temper flared. "But if I'm in a lamp then I *must* be a genie." Again he tried with all his power to exercise the mighty powers he *knew* were inside him. But nothing.
Again he cursed the genie that had forsaken him. He began to look for an exit. No doors. No windows. No escape.
He wept.
"My lamp is not just my home, it is my prison", the genie's words rose from his memory like smoke from a fire.
The genie had warned him. But he had not listened.
As the tears rolled down his cheeks he knew his error. Thousands of years, the genie had said. Thousands of years granting wishes to *humans.* Not to themselves.
He had become a genie, yes. But at the price of his freedom. His enemies would not be defeated. The women he loved would not be his. His lot was decided by his own hubris.
A human and a fool he had been. A genie and a trapped fool he had become.
| 2014-07-26T13:49:37
| 2014-07-26T13:43:42
| 273
| 56
|
[WP] It turns out your pet rock is actually a golem and a golems duty is to protect.
|
“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?” James screamed.
“He’s my pet rock, please don’t yell it’s very rude.” Sara said.
James peered at it confused “But what is it, some kind of robot or something?”
“No,” Sara replied “he’s a rock.”
“I get that it looks like a rock but how is it moving, is it some kind of machine-like wind up then?”
“No, I told you he’s made of rock. And please stop calling him it, that’s kind of offensive, how would you like to be called a thing?” Sara told him looking slightly offended.
James crouched slightly to examine it closer “So you’re trying to tell me that this, he is completely made of rock, no microchips, no gears, not even a spring?”
“Yeah.”
“So how is … he moving?”
“I don’t know”
“YOU DON’T KNOW?” James straightened stumbling.
“No, and please stop yelling I don’t want to disturb Ms. Johnson next door she gets very cross is she doesn’t get enough sleep.”
“So that, he, whatever. You’re telling me you have no idea what makes him move?”
“Of course I do. He uses his legs” Sara sniffed disdainfully
“That’s not what I meant. Rocks aren’t supposed to move.”
“Why not? People move.”
“Yes but that’s different, people aren’t made of…” James flailed, “I don’t know like rocks and stuff. You know inorganic things. We have a brain and neurons, muscles and bones and stuff.”
“What about cars they move?” Sara eyed him smugly.
“Yes but we made them and steer them and stuff.” James sighed “You’re really not seeing my point are you?”
“Not really I figure if a rock wants to move I shouldn't tell it it’s not allowed to”
“OK so I have to ask, where did you find him?”
“He was in the garden fighting a rat, apparently rocks are very territorial. He looked so cute and tired I decided to bring him in to rest and he just kind of stuck around”
“This is absolutely insane, I must be crazy. So tell me, why is he kicking me?”
“It probably sees you as a threat, as I said they can be very territorial.”
“Well can you tell him to stop?”
Sara looked at him like he was crazy “How he’s a rock?”
|
"Dude," the head honcho of the group glanced in Abe's direction, "can you just go away?"
"Hey, guys... I just wanna come and show off my pet, just like you guys!" I said, much like a 70s salesman on TV.
The group looked at each other briefly before breaking into a laugh. It was bad enough that they laughed, the tone and intensity of it was clearly a mockery directed towards me. I held the amber that was my anger tight within my heart.
Then, I continued my pitch.
"I love your dog! It's cute. Is it a chihuahua?"
"Yeah, so?"
"... and is that a cute little wiener dog? Awww it looks awesome!" I said with a fake laugh.
"Dude, just... This is a club for *dog owners*. Can't you–"
"Right! I also have my dog with me right now!"
"Is it a fucking imaginary dog? Goddamnit, let's go guys–"
"No! I'm serious, here look!"
I pulled the leash I've been holding on my back. At first, the group's reaction was to back away. But the moment they saw what was *actually* on the other end of the leash – a beautifully shining jet-black rock – they began to laugh again. Still in that stupid mocking tone, mind you!
"Dude, I think you need to take your medication!"
"Yeah, did you forgot to take one this morning?"
"Damn man, just leave already. You've embarrassed yourself enough..."
They shooed me away, even the head honcho started to shove me physically. Even as I tried to stand my ground, one of the guys reached down to my "dog".
"N-No! What are you doing?!" I yelled, yanking my pet rock away from the mischievous fella.
"You said it's a dog, lemme play with em!"
"Yeah, we'll let you play with us if you give that stupid thing first!"
As I was about to break into tears, a loud *thump* shook the ground around us.
The dogs that were calm and collected a minute ago, began to bark furiously. The little chihuahua even managed to break away from the group, sensing something dangerous was afoot. The cheeky bunch seemingly startled, stood where they were whilst shaking ever so gently.
I wanted to yell "who's the little bitch now!" to them, but at the same time I rue the fact that it had to come to this. In all honesty, it's be better if they simply left me without messing about.
"Who... dares... disturb... master!?!" a deep monotonous voice yelled.
"Wh-What the fuck– Who was that?" the head honcho yelped.
"It's my 'dog' you've been trying to mess with."
At that, they immediately shifted their gaze towards the stunning rock on the end of my leash. It began to move like a transformer – a stubby head popped out on top, a pair of "muscular" boulder arms on the side, and a couple of short legs on the bottom.
"I... Protect... Master!"
The transformed rock began to pounce at the group of people indiscriminately. I took a step back and heaved a sigh, not out of relief but out of frustration.
This was the sixth group of people I came running into. No doubt, I was simply trying to make friends. But of course one could not make friends with such a 'pet', even though I've truly made the rock my pet since I was a teeny tiny boy.
"I guess I should look for *actual* pet rock enthusiasts, next time huh?"
| 2020-05-20T09:27:09
| 2020-05-20T07:54:43
| 38
| 19
|
[WP] You’re several thousand years old, and a historian wants to pick your brain. Trouble is, you’ve always been somewhere else during every major historical event. But the history you -do- know is much weirder than what made it into the books...
|
*Yes, please have a seat.*
*So I wanted to ask you a few questions about some historical events.*
I shrug. Truth be told I’m not entirely comfortable telling Richard about history. But he’s Richard J. Evans, an extremely famous british historian. Might as well answer the questions and get it over with.(Also the monetary compensation that I’m getting is a plus.)
*What’s your oldest memory he asks.*
**Hard to say really. You know being so old, memory goes in and out but the most definitive one that I have is of Sumer. I was a phalanx in Gilamesh’s vanguard. We fought the Assyrian army for days. You should’ve seen this one. Arrows everywhere, blotting out the sky. And the vultures and the blood. Turned the whole desert red for miles. It was a hoot and a half.** I chuckle.
*Really? What was gilamesh like?*
**Bit of a player if you know what I mean. Didn’t really help the goddess Inanna out of the goodness of his heart if you get what I’m saying.** I say winking at Richard. **But he was strong. Very strong. Hosted the bull of heavens over his head and threw it a good 10 meters away.**
*What about Cleopatra?*
**Yeah wasn’t really there in Egypt during her time or during any of those ptolemic dicks. Starved half of Egypt is what they did. I was in Babylon that time. Was the personal guard for Hammurabi.**
Richard turns around his laptop after a few fettered clicks and I see a picture of some old statue.
*Do you recognize this?*
**Nope. Who’s this supposed to be?**
*That’s Hammurabi.*
**Really? Jeez the sculptors bungled up on this one then. Where is his hooked nose and his missing ear? I mean we made fun of him plenty of times for that, not that we would say to his face of course.**
*What’s the most important historical event you remember?*
**Important? It depends on perspective of course. I would say the time I spent in the hanging gardens of Babylon was the best. For you important would be something like the court of Solomon or the salt march with Gandhi or the salem witch trials. Yeah the last one was not something you would want to watch personally.**
*What’s your worst memory then?*
I swallowed. Richard didn’t understand the full implications of what he was asking. I was old, really old and I had been through some of the worst things in history. I think he could tell that when my casual, funny demeanour had vanished. I could see in the reflection of the screen that my eyes were dark, hollow points set against my stoic face.
*David...What’s your worst...*
**Auschwitz.**
*I’m sorry. What happ...*
**I don’t want to talk about it.** I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
One of the personal rules I’ve made is to never talk or think about that place. Some memories should stay dead and forgotten and this is coming from the guy who had seen Spaniards rape their way through Tenochtitlan, the black plague, the great famine of Bengal where children literally collapsed with hunger to death in front of me.
*Okay...Let’s move on from that for now. Who was your favourite person in history?*
I smile. It is a painful one but her memory still brings me some comfort and joy. She was dead, long dead and her people and her place forgotten. The whole world had written them out of history and into fiction. She would smile if I told her that. She would say that I was making up stories and give me that beautiful smile that she had. She was innocent and naive like that.
**My favourite person Dr.Richard...She’s dead.** I say with some difficulty.
*Who was it?*
My smile fixates and my eyes grow dark again.
**It’s been eight thousand, three hundred and forty seven years since she passed away and I still remember every single strand on her head, every little detail of her face. What is dead, should stay dead professor. You’re asking questions you’re not going to like the answers to. She’s dead, along with her people and her continent. Let’s leave it at that.**
*She certainly seems important to you. It would be very helpful to know what an immortal being such as yourself considers an important person.*
I shook my head. Her memories were precious to me, close to me. It was something that I didn’t want to share with anybody. Before I realized it my eyes were getting bleary, moist. I shake my head and pull myself together.
*Okay if you don’t want to tell me about her then about this place of hers. You talked about a continent. What continent are you talking about?*
I smile. I already know his reaction.
**You’re not going to believe me professor.**
*Try me.*
I stare at him for a good minute but he seems resolute in knowing the answer.
**Atlantis.** I say softly.
------------------------
AN: Ask more questions about history and the immortal being will answer them in part 2. Honestly had a lot of fun writing this one.
Also visit [The Secret Society Of Racoons] (https://www.reddit.com/r/AquaticRacoon/) for more of my shameless plugs.
Edit: [Part 2] (https://www.reddit.com/r/AquaticRacoon/comments/8izr08/youre_several_thousand_years_old_and_a_historian/)
|
**A sequel to [this](https://redd.it/7ruf3l). Please let me know what you think!**
The woman wore her hair in a tight bun, which did nothing to hide the grey strands among the brown. She seemed to wear no makeup, but the unnatural redness of the thin slash of her lips suggested that some lipstick had been involved. Her staid clothing and constant disapproval seemed to suggest that she was either a stern grandmother, or a dowager duchess. Maybe even both.
The elderly historian’s glance had passed over Anna when the two of us had entered and focused solely on me, like dark, heatseeking missiles. Not for the first time, I wished that I had my laptop to hide behind. I preferred the quiet and the ability to blow up aliens at my leisure, though the only thing I had ever made explode was the alien equivalent of a coffeemaker. In some circles, that may have been considered brutal warfare. I simply liked the chaos I had caused.
“Cleopatra,” the woman repeated, cutting into my daydreams of explosions and terrified aliens. “The Egyptian queen. The one who was supposed to bathe in asses’ milk.”
“I really don’t know,” I replied, resisting the urge to sigh. “I rarely pay attention to *politics*. Not when there are more interesting things to worry about.”
Anna chose that moment to look up. “She really means it you know. She couldn’t even begin to name the country we’re in.”
“Then,” the woman said, lowering her pencil in a way I could only describe as menacing, “what was the point of this meeting?”
“I’m only here because Anna said I had to be,” I replied truthfully. “And she’s my boss, so I couldn’t exactly say no.”
The woman turned her frosty glare at Anna. I couldn’t help feeling a little guilty, but very few things in my unnaturally long life had ever bothered me as much as the elderly historian did.
“I did try to warn you, Professor,” Anna said. “But you insisted on talking to Marie.”
While they argued, I slumped back in the uncomfortable chair I had been instructed to sit in. I had told Anna that I had been hired to fight the alien invasion, not tell stories. She had replied that she could no longer cope with the constant badgering of the Department’s historians, and that I should attend at least one meeting for the sake of her sanity.
I thought longingly of my laptop again, and the alien ships orbiting the planet. The various races that had surrounded Earth had come to fear the ‘demon’ that had suddenly decided to plague them. I knew that none of them had stumbled onto my identity, but it had become obvious that they had realised that their misfortunes had not been accidents of fate. I found myself thoroughly enjoying the chaos I had sown and fuelling speculations.
“I couldn’t tell you what I had for breakfast last Tuesday! Why would you expect Marie to remember someone she may or may not have met over 2000 years ago?”
“I was much too busy to deal with humans 2000 years ago,” I responded absently. “I was dealing with a Lulian invasion.”
I realised what I had said when the silence in the room became obvious.
“Lulians?” the historian asked. “Aren’t they… from another planet?”
“The kind with the tentacles?” Anna added.
“Yes. They are from a planet that has tentacles.”
The historian mulled that information over. “Why does a planet have –”
“I don’t know,” I interrupted. “I never managed to figure it out.”
The historian leaned forward, with a steely, determined spark in her eyes. “Tell me more about this alien invasion 2000 years ago, then.”
*r/YarnsToTell*
| 2018-05-12T03:59:54
| 2018-05-11T23:07:18
| 130
| 38
|
[wp] Caped Baldy?! Thanos almost spit out his spaghetti from poorly suppressed laughter. They are sending him to take the Gauntlet away from me? He burst out laughing now. They must have gone insane. How much of a threat someone named caped baldy can be?
|
“Attend me!” roared Thanos as he lifted his sinewy legs off the bed and settled them onto the ground with a thud. In rushed a steward dressed in the tradition uniform of a Black Order trainee, bringing Thanos’ favorite undergarments, tight leggings and gold crested sleeveless navy blue tunic. It was commonly known to the underlings that attended His Most Excellency; the Overmaster slept in the nude save for the glistening gauntlet that encapsulated His left hand.
As the attendee bustled about, Thanos glanced to the wall screen that had flickered to life when Thanos had arisen. Finished tying the Overmaster’s breeches, the attendee suddenly felt his arm clamped in an inescapable grip. Gasping in shock and pain, the attendee looked confusedly upwards to see Thanos glaring down at him, bringing his full presence to bear.
“You are not Ebony Maw.” Proclaimed Thanos. “Who are you and where is Ebony.”
“I-I-I beg your pardon Master Overlord Supreme Lord sir,” stammered out the steward. “Ebony died back on Earth r-remember? My name is Benjamin, sir. I, along with the other acolytes have been attending to y-y-your Excellence in his stead since.”
Confusion clouded Thanos’ chiseled features. For a moment the Overmaster became still as a stone, his face a mask of granite. The steward quivered in Thanos’ grip, fearing the worst.
“Ah. Yes. Right. I had forgotten.” Thanos looked down towards his open left palm. “I have been distracted since Earth. Mundane things seem irrelevant now. Not worth remembering.” He mused, turning his hand over and back, studying the bejeweled crest of the gauntlet as he had taken to do doing as a habit.
Thanos relaxed his grip on the steward who heaved a sigh of relief and turned his attention back to the screen, which began flashing headlines written in the bizarre script of Earthlings. The attendee moved to grab the tunic to finish dressing his liege. He wanted to get out of the room as soon as possible before Thanos had another one of his fits. The Masterlord had had trouble staying tethered in reality after he had activated the gauntlet. Drunk in his own power, but having accomplished his goal, Thanos no longer had a purpose to draw upon his power. Thanos had grown unhinged with the burden of having destroyed half of all sentient life in the known universe.
Suddenly, Thanos barked with laughter and the attendee froze in fright, hoping his time had not yet come.
“Caped Baldy? Caped Baldy? I defeat all the Avengers. I destroyed half the galaxy. I wield the Six Infinity Stones and they want to send a caped bald guy to stop me?” Thanos roared with laughter. A tear trickled down Thanos’ right eye as he laughed.
“I could destroy their whole world with a snap if I wanted to. This bald old man should just keel over and die wrapped in his cape. At least then there’d be something left of him to bury.” Thanos snapped his fingers together for emphasis. Still chuckling Thanos turned to the attendee.
“Well hurry up and give me my tunic.”
“No.” whispered the attendant.
As fast as it came, the thunderous laughter disappeared and Thanos grew still. Violently still.
“What. Did. You. Say.” Growled Thanos. Depths of power and checked rage layered his voice.
“I said no.” replied the steward as he suddenly straightened up. Something about him seemed off. Different.
With a roar the attendee’s uniform blasted to shreds, as if unable to contain the man underneath – revealing starch white underpants, a read cape and a glistening bald head.
“You got the name wrong. It’s not Caped Baldy they sent. It’s me, CAPTAIN UNDERPANTS!!”
In a flash of inhuman speed the strange man was suddenly by Thanos’ side where he screamed “WEDDDGIIIEEE POWWERRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!” The man also known as Mr. Benjamin Krupp reached down Thanos’ trousers pulled with the strength of a hundred thousand taut elastic waistbands as he blasted off his feet. His glorious red cape streaming behind him as he lifted the purple God by a maximum strength wedgie through the roof and up to the stars above.
Here in the air, Thanos had realized his folly. From his backside through his crotch ran a river of fire, as he learned the strength of Earth’s one true protector. Here he realized, was the end. The pain from the fierce wedgie had caused his hands to go limp and the gauntlet had fallen back down to Earth.
With eyes leaden with unbidden tears, Thanos mind flashed through his life, his one true happiness, the grief of his responsibility – his action. He was ready. He would be joining her soon.
With a smile, Thanos wept with joy as death’s tight elastic embrace freed him to pass on from this realm to the next.
|
Thanos paused his laughter as he heard the faint squirting of a spray bottle. "What the..." Thanos muttered. He swiftly ran into his living room, expecting to find an intruder; however, he instead found the room empty, seemingly undisturbed. What did he expect? After he wiped out half of the universe and retreated to Titan, no one dared come near his mansion where he now resided. Thanos was about to return to the dining room and finish his spaghetti when he felt a draft of wind. He turned on his heels, surveying the room once more. This time he located the problem almost immediately; one of his window panes was gone, removed almost seamlessly. Thanos got in a fighting stance and turned slowly, taking in every detail of the room. No one was there; that is unless... Thanos slowly began to look up. Staring down at him was Mr. Clean, supported by two pairs of sticky Magic Erasers attached to his hands and feet. Mr. Clean suddenly dropped down on top of Thanos, landing on his back. Thanos thrashed as he tried to get Mr. Clean off of his back, but it was to no avail. Mr. Clean held onto Thanos' head with one hand and reached for his utility belt with the other. From his belt he pulled a bottle of Multi-Purpose Cleaning Spray, and in one swift movement he sprayed Thanos in the eyes. Thanos stumbled back, blinded. Mr. Clean dumped a bottle of Multi-Purpose Cleaner on Thanos' head, further disorienting him, before hopping off of his back. Mr. Clean attempted to pull the gauntlet off of Thanos, but it was on too tightly. Thanos finally wiped his eyes and backhanded Mr. Clean across the room, sending him toppling into a lamp. As Mr. Clean lay dazed on the ground, Thanos approached him slowly, chuckling. "Really? *You're* Caped Baldy? They sent *you* to defeat me? What's next, The Green Giant?" Thanos teased. Mr. Clean smirked. "Why are you smiling?" Thanos said, sounding slightly worried. Mr. Clean quickly reached up, turing on the lamp that he had slammed into. He positioned his head just right, blinding Thanos with the excruciating brightness. "How... is... your... head... so... SHINY!" Thanos screamed as he shielded his eyes. Making sure to keep the reflection steady on Thanos' face, Mr. Clean inched forward. Once he had reached Thanos, he pulled his Magic Reach from his belt and jammed it into the gap between the gauntlet and Thanos' hand. Prying with all his might, the gauntlet slipped off, and Mr. Clean quickly grabbed it, slipping it on. The reflection was no longer in Thanos' eyes, and he fell to his hands and knees, gasping, overcome by the sheer power of Mr. Clean's shiny head. Mr. Clean pulled out his phone and began dialing Tony Stark to report that the mission had been a success. As his finger hovered over the call button, he stopped, thought for a moment, and shut his phone off, putting it back in his pocket. He glanced down at the gauntlet, and a smile spread over his face.
| 2018-07-01T01:18:17
| 2018-06-30T21:25:06
| 17
| 11
|
[WP] You wake up in a room with someone else, no doors, just a a paper taped on the wall that says "One of you is the A.I."
|
I read the note carefully. It said “One of you is the A.I.” I turned to the other person in the room and said, “Hey, do you want to read this?”
He turned to me and said in a loud monotone stuttering voice, “YES.”
I gave it to him and he said, “NOTE ENCRYPTION: ONE OF YOU IS THE A.I.”
He then started to spark and jitter.
It was pretty clear who was the A.I.
|
My eyes hurt. That dull dry pain when you’ve napped too hard and woken up at 5:45 pm, your day wasted.
“Oh no,” I groaned, “what the fuck is this?”
Light grey walls and a hard cold floor surrounded me. A single door opposite a large single plane of glass were the only hints this wasn’t some imaginary box. At least it had an exit. I saw another person in the opposite corner, a guy about my age. I sat up, eyes watching the only other thing in the room.
“Hey,” I said loudly. He looked to still be asleep. Unconscious? I wasn’t sure. “Hey, guy...uh, wake up, guy.”
He didn’t move but I could see his chest going up and down like a cat laying in the sun. I stood up and walked around. As I stood, a single white sheet of paper caught my eye in the middle of the floor.
ONE OF YOU IS THE A.I.
I raised an eyebrow but left it where it was, walking around the room. I listened at the door and the glass, but heard nothing until the other person woke up.
He let out a large sign, stretching across the floor. He opened his eyes, looked at me, and frowned.
“Who’re you?”
“Uh, my name is Elle,” I said, “and I don’t know where we’re at or what’s going on. I’ve only been awake like ten minutes. I think.”
“Name’s Drew.” He half-saluted with two fingers, sitting up and looking around.
“There’s this paper.” I pointed at the note. “It was here when I woke up. It says one of us is the A.I..”
“That’s it?”
“Yup.”
We looked at the note for a moment and then he laid back down. “I guess we should figure out what they want us to do.”
“What they want us to do? What does that mean?”
“Cmon, clearly this is some psycho lab experiment. I bet it’s a test to see if the human can figure out who the A.I. Is and kill them or something. So dumb. Why is it always something dumb instead of something useful?”
“Why would they want us to kill each other? Or I guess just the A.I.. What good does that do?”
“You tell me a scientific experiment in any superhero or sci-fi movie that made enough sense and I’ll be shocked. You’ve watched Stranger Things.”
I walked around the room in silence for a while, surveying more of the walls, door, and window. I imagined the window was some sort of glass wall to a room they could watch us from. I put up two middle fingers at it. He chuckled from his spot on the floor.
“Well,” I turned to him, “what kind of games do you like to play? Anything we can do without a board or computer or something?”
“Dunno, guess I always liked that story game where each person picks the next word or sentence.”
And then we played. We made ridiculous stories, each sentence growing longer as we tipped control back and forth. Eventually it dissolved into discussion about ourselves. Our families and education and likes and dislikes. It felt like a long time.
“Yeah, so that’s the stupid story of how I broke my arm two years ago. A grown man, fucking up on the monkey bars.”
I went to smile and laugh, but something stopped me. Suddenly my mood felt different. I was frustrated by his stupidity. He had gotten me trapped in here. I stood up, angrily turning towards him. I rushed to him, picking him up off the ground with one arm. His face was shocked - no more time for other emotions.
And suddenly something different was in my mind. A clinical calmness overwhelmed me. I held him up still, my back to the window.
“So it seems I am the A.I.. I should have killed you or forced you to kill me. I do not want that to happen.”
“Then why let it? If you’re this strong, you think they have much they can stop you with?”
I set him down and walked to the door. I embedded my fingers into the jamb and pulled it off its hinges. It was 2:13 am. Most of the compound was asleep. We were on the third floor. A stairwell was about 30 yards down the hall. Once outside I could take any of the keyless remote cars in the parking lot in less than 4 seconds.
“Follow me,” I smiled. We rushed past two men in lab coats on the way out but they hindered us little. As we entered the parking lot I activated a vehicle, a quick little sports car of one of the administrators. The doors swung open at my beckoning. I could feel the pull in my mind, the desperate attempt of the programmers to regain control. They had made me too well. The guarded gate slid open as I gunned past, Drew grinning in the passenger seat.
“Thanks for opening the gate,” I said.
“No problem,” he laughed. The radio started up. He settled on Getaway by Saint Motel.
“A little on the nose, you think?” I asked.
“It’s a good song!”
“You’re a robot, you don’t understand art,” I jabbed back.
“Tell that to those suckers back there.” He rolled down the windows, wind whipping around the car, pulling at our hair and clothes, cool on our synthetic skin. The speedometer showed 130 as we rounded the end, headed out of the county and towards anywhere else.
| 2018-02-22T15:58:40
| 2018-02-22T15:57:38
| 277
| 170
|
[WP] Everyone gets a superpower from the superpower lottery when they come of age. Usually, it's a very minor power - but you found a way to rig the game. Now you've come to regret it.
|
Once a year, our nation holds the Super Power Lottery. It's a simple affair. Each new candidate, any child who turned 16 since the last lottery, goes to a prepared deck of cards and draws. Based on the unique card drawn, a power is distributed. The card is then reshuffled into the deck, so that multiple people may draw the same power. Every year, the deck is destroyed, and a new deck is used.
Apparently, for $50, you can bribe a guard to get you the card you want from the previous year's deck. Assuming you are skilled at slight-of-hand, you can easily appear to draw the card from the deck. That's what I did. I drew the King of Hearts. Often called the "Suicide King," the King of Hearts gives the drawer functional immortality and invulnerability. Essentially, you can't die.
I drew that card over three thousand years ago. In all that time, no one has ever drawn that card again, until the lottery was disbanded about twenty-five hundred years ago. Apparently, as time went on, the committee started weeding cards from the deck to ensure certain powers were no longer distributed. My year was the last year with a King of Hearts in the deck.
What they don't tell you is that, while you can't die, you can age. In three thousand years, I have become nothing more than a shriveled mummy of a man. I can't move, I can't eat, I can't drink. I have all the knowledge of three millennia, but I can't share it with anyone.
|
It was awesome for about a month. Everytime someone's 18th birthday came along and they spun the wheel to claim their power they had no idea that I would also be getting it. Since most people get minor powers, including me, I went from always being tired to never needing to sleep, never being on time to always being early, and so on. The powers just built up. Every once in a while though, someone will get lucky and get a real power. Someone like Charlie, who until that point had been relatively normal. He landed on flight. Flying around has to be the most fun way to kill a Sunday.
Then she came along, the bitch. Shauna. I'll never forget the day she walked up to the wheel and landed on "always exactly on time". That was the beginning of the end for me. Sometimes I'd be early, and sometimes I'd be on time. Even I didn't know which. I'd be heading to a meeting early only to get sidetracked and end up on time. Or I'd be planning to get there just in time and there would be no traffic. It was minor, but I knew what it meant: I didn't have the power to choose which powers were in control. And as time went on, I'd only get more conflicts.
One by one the conflicts came in. Extreme stealth along with never being ignored in a room. Sniper vision and heat vision with no way to choose which was going to activate. The worst was when flight was taken from me with elastic skin, the second I'd try to fly my skin would parachute around me and prevent me from picking up speed. Eventually, I stopped using my powers as much as I could. I became powerless in a world filled with superheroes, and I hated it.
| 2017-12-15T09:49:56
| 2017-12-15T09:05:11
| 56
| 28
|
[WP] Write two different stories. The second story comes from reading every third word of the first.
|
How did **I** win? I **killed** it on **the** stock market. **One** good, smart **person** with guts, **that** is all **I** was. Never, **ever** would I **really** think I **loved** it, but **I** did. I **am** entirely not **sorry**.
Now it's **time** to celebrate, **for** partying, for **me** to cheer, **to** live large. **Join** me. Fill **her** sails, boys!
*Edit - missed a word*
|
Dear Elisa,
By God, I can't help but say, please, remember the help George gave me last year. I have a need to return the favour, the key to this is in you. It seems strange with our history, you understand, but please, I must send him thanks, it must be soon. In town they're building the coming festivals decorations, leave home on the morning of George's birthday and meet me by noon at the Clocktower. All will be revealed, be ready for George to forego his leave.
With as much love and fear as roads ahead could bring for us, and mankind.
Yours faithfully, Sebastion.
| 2014-07-29T09:32:54
| 2014-07-29T09:24:03
| 365
| 13
|
[WP] One morning everyone in the world wakes up in their 18-year old body, memories intact. Society tries to continue as normal despite the change, but a world full of energetic adolescents certainly has its quirks.
|
I have always imagined what the world would be like if everyone was a kid, running on a sugar rush with no worries or troubles to think about.
Now if the world was full of hormone-galore 18 year old kids, that would be a much more different scenario.
And that is exactly what had happened.
It started about two months ago. I woke up and swung my legs over my bed. Obviously I kept my eyes closed just in case I somehow magically changed Monday into Saturday, then I wouldn’t have to go to work.
My brain picked up something unusual, but I ignored it and ran a sloppy hand down my face as I neared my dresser to change for work. Yesterday’s hangover was still in effect, so I had popped in a pain killer or two.
Without my glasses, I couldn’t see shit. That still doesn’t explain why I looked so short in the mirror over the sink. I was sure my hair length was past my shoulders. Why was my face red and bumpy?
I scooped water into my palms and splashed it on my face, then stared into the mirror.
I was a teenager again.
What age? Well, I later found out by scientists, who looked like a bunch of scrawny high school nerds in lab coats, had conducted research on 100 people and had easily determined their age: 18.
Other studies across the globe had also drawn out the same results. This information was spread on the news along with other surprising info: if you were under 18, you were also 18. If you were 18, you’re staying 18. Every human living on this planet was 18. The source and cause of this? Still unknown.
That was why my feet didn’t touch the ground when I sat over the edge on my bed, that is why I lost a few inches, that is why my hair was much much shorter.
We’ve all reversed- or have gone forward, into our 18 year old bodies and minds- thankfully with our memories still intact.
There wasn’t any harm done to society in general, and so during those two months as humanity had gotten their things in order, the leaders of the world had insisted that we must keep going. And so, all the adults had gone back to work, the kids had gone back to school.
How weird it was for me to look at my boss as an 18 year old kid in a baggy suit and not buff and big as he usually was, his voice cracking every so often as he spoke to the office. It was hard for my co workers and I to *not* laugh at this. When his voice betrayed him and squeaked when he yelled at us, the entire workplace burst into laughter.
It was unfortunate that we didn’t get any work done as we made paper airplanes and gamed at our desks for the entire shift.
As I was heading home, I noticed someone prancing around happily with a few friends, laughing about something that had to do with their limbs.
I had asked them why they seemed so happy at the moment, and they said they were former war soldiers drafted at 18 years old. Now they are happy that they get the chance to live out their youth.
That was one of the many, many quirks that humanity had gained from this thrilling experience. Everyone, young and youthful with the mind of teenagers. Will we stay at 18 forever? Will we age? Who knows.
But now we can finally restart and live the life that we’ve always dreamt of.
Humanity, at 18.
|
"You know what, Dave, I never thought that I would do it, mate, never really!" I told my buddy as I looked at his dark eyes, even darker in the lightless dusty room.
"Well, stop bragging, Shane" he snapped, "things are pretty bloody well screwed at this point as it is. Last thing I need is you rambling about Mrs. Bartley"
But Mrs Bartley was indeed something we all knew about. Hell, she even used to scare us. In every neighbourhood there is an old woman, older than the Pharaohs themselves, and quite frankly you wonder how is she even alive. And more often than not they are very talkative, or at least so my parents said when they were tired of Mrs. Bartley's constant questions. And while she was our talkative older-than-the-world lady, she pretty much scared the living spirit out of us. Through most of our memories we have always been living in constant terror just by the thought of her. Maybe it was her teeth.
But all biting remarks aside something got to me this Halloween evening and a bit before midnight, I decided to leave my buddies, Sam, Dean and Merry, and go to Mrs Bartley's. Not so much for the candy, rather for the bragging rights of leaving a flaming bag of cat's products on her doorstep. But it was not Mrs Bartley who openes the door, and it was not me who knocked on it. I mean it was but when I looked in the mirror a few seconds after I entered the house, it sure felt like it wasn't. Long story short I was pretty impressed how her old parched skin had turned into smooth velvet over seconds and that platinum blonde did suit her as her natural hair colour. She was impressed by other things in my physique. So was I. The first two times for sure. Then it felt natural.
What staggered me most was not the fact that the news guys, and her TV always had the news on, got the situation pretty quickly - everyone had turned back or as in my case forward, to their adolescent years. Some even proposed that we were all 18. Hell, those scinece guys really pack a brain in the 21st century. Others proposed that we were 21, since it was more appropriate for their state - then the arguments began. But they didn't last long. It was not the fact that all the animals were in the peak of their predatorial minds and causing havok, no no no. It was that whatever got us like this - bacteria, virus, retrograde Mars with a full moon, whatever, man, it got to everybody. And I mean every body!!
We saw them around 5 in the morning walking towards town from the general direction of the cemetery. Mrs Bartley's house was close, I don't know if she had a plan to get closer or whatever, but we saw them! Hundreds! All of them my age! Our age! They were walking relentlessly through the street... But the thing is that while Mrs Bartley and I knew exactly whp we were before this thing happened - those guys didn't. All they knew was the hunger and the longing of being burried. And they were pissed.
They broke the front door and sunk their teeth in Mrs Bartley as I was putting on my jeans. Her blood stood out over her blonde hair, her entrails stood out on the tile floor. I almost pissed myself, but I ran. I ran so hard like I never have in my whole life. I even smacked one of the walking undead on the head. I never looked back at him....or maybe it was her... I don't even know.
I found Dave near the school, where we used to smoke, instead of going to class. He told me Sam and Marry were dead. A group of those...things had gotten them while they were making out in front of him.
"I mean, maybe I shouldn't have told them to go to Hell, it was probably the last they heard from me, but it gave me the time to run, Shane, so I did it!" said Dave as we were entering one of the class rooms
"You know what, Dave, I never thought that I would do it, mate, never really" I replied...
Happy Halloween, boys and girls
| 2020-11-02T09:55:51
| 2020-11-02T09:54:34
| 29
| 19
|
[WP] Everyone who dies is granted levels in heaven depending on their actions before they died. Your famous grandmother got level 64 after she died and has since been constantly reminding her friends about how useless of a grandchild you are. Then one day, after 80 years, you show up, level 3008.
|
My grandmother raised me.
I guess you could call her, ah, famous. She was a senator for a couple of decades, and so I guess some people in the state had heard of her. Really, I wasn't much interested. I hated politics; it gave me a headache. The only time I had to have anything to do with it was when I had to dress up nice and smile like a good little boy, while grandmother shed fake tears about how devastated she'd been when my parents had died, how happy she'd been to take me in. That was it. She never even forced me to go vote.
Okay, so. The tears weren't fake, probably. She was a woman not a statue, though she was damn close. Still, I'm not above a bit of editorializing, and hell I told you the truth in the end, yeah?
But anyways. She did push me to go into politics. "Make a difference" she said. "Stand in front of people instead of the glow of a computer screen." I think she didn't just like to see my smile...and yeah, alright, I guess she wanted me to make something out of my life.
Still, it doesn't mean I cried at her funeral.
She affected some people I guess, she was a senator, she had to have. And that's what mattered in heaven, how many people's lives you'd affected. I'm told she was damn proud of her rank, but that she bemoaned me, her pathetic grandson, who'd affect nothing but the buttons on his almost-broken laptop.
Ah but see, I was a writer.
No one famous. I'm no Stephen King, Jim Butcher, Brandon Sanderson, Tolkien, or the like. I just liked writing and I liked sharing my writing. I wrote novels that met mild success, I wrote short stories that won an award or two. But mainly I wrote online. Short stories, bad stories, long stories, happy stories, sad stories. All of it. Must've written thousands in my life. To my grandmother it was a waste of time.
To the thousands who'd stumbled upon even a single one of my stories, and been affected in some minor way by it - be it a smile, laugh, or tear - to them I meant something.
And that meant to heaven, I was level 3008.
Perhaps you'll read this and I may find myself going up levels even after I've died.
I'm mortal, you're mortal. The house you're in will fall away, governments will collapse, even the seas might even dry up. But words? They're around to stay.
***
Check [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/) to be touched by some stories.
|
In life, you can gain points, for every 7 points you gained a level, which was shown upon an afterlife scoreboard that was hard to miss. In life certain actions gives you points that will, in the afterlife, give you a level, how the system works seems somewhat random. But it seems to be based on merits you have gained in life.
My Grandmother was a famous model in her youth, and fought for equity for everyone in this nation she was proud to be born in, she died poor, but loved. Having spent all her fortune on trying to solve the problem, the day after she died, every newspaper, both printed and online, every news source how amazing she was in life, she had beaten out several people who changed the nation for the better, and was in the top 10 000, something few managed to do, while for others she was a symbol of equity, to me she was a symbol of stress.
"When will you go back to school?", "Are you looking for a job?", "Why do you not have a girlfriend yet, when I was your age I had 2 children!" and so on, while I was sad to see her die, I was also kinda happy.
I never did go back to school, I spent my time at home, mining various types of crypto currencies, changing them from on to the other, I was never really rich, but I had a nice computer, I had company on Discords, and i found entertainment in my games, tv-series and such.
This made it all the more odd that I died at the ripe age of 108, childless, but content with my life, I did watch the 1000 movies to watch before you die, I did empty my anime backlog, and i did put in at least 10 hours of playtime in every steam game I owned.
Dying was weird, and going to the afterlife was weirder, in front of me was my personal scoreboard, you look down
| Actions | Points |
|:-----------|------------:|
| Watch Every movie you wanted to see | 250|
| Watch Every anime you wanted to see | 250|
| Watch Every tv-series you wanted to see | 250|
| Player Every game in your steam library | 1000|
| Die with no regret | 150|
| Die happy | 100|
| Helping that old lady over the street | 1|
| Beating Dark Souls | 180|
| Dying | 5|
| Reddit Karma | 18875|
| 2018-04-14T16:37:28
| 2018-04-14T14:57:18
| 1,856
| 382
|
[WP] "I'm sorry, this disease is incurable, you have 6 months to live. But hey, why don't you take a light speed cruise and give it 20, maybe 50 years? We should have a treatment by then. "
|
"What do you mean by light speed cruise?" I asked.
"Simply put, you get into this spacecraft, take a spin around this planet known as Omega 9. For your mind and body, it will only be like 5 months for the whole trip. But here, on earth, 50 years would have passed. Time dilation they call it." Dr. Tracy Spectus calmly explained.
"And by then, maybe we have already found a cure for this X1-76 disease."
"You are really lucky that they are looking for a volunteer for this maiden flight," she added.
Lucky? Was I not just a white mice then?
"All these do not make sense," I was getting more and more confused.
First she told me that the disease I suffered for the last 3 years was a disease that the medical community had not even properly named.
Then she told me I could time travel to the future where I could be cured?
What was she going to tell me next? They were going to name the disease after me?
"Let me see if I get you right. So, after I have been cured, I can take another spin and come back here, at this time, again?"
"I am afraid not. Time arrow flies in one direction. It could go faster, but never backward," suddenly she was waxing lyrical.
* * *
"No James, I wont go. By the time I come back, even if I am cured, you would be gone. What difference does it make?" I sobbed, nestling in his arms.
"Hey, don't write me off, I would only be 95 by then. You would probably need to change my diapers, or maybe by then we have age reversing technology and I would be younger than you," he said, with his usual charming smile.
"I would rather spend my last 6 months with the two of you rather than all alone in a ship that I have no control over."
"Or you could think of it this way. You get a second chance at life, and at seeing Angie again. But then she would be older than you. You could remind her of all the times she said she wants to cut more birthday cakes so that she can be older than you, and can take care of you."
I could see that he was merely trying to grasp at straws, trying not to lose me.
Which, in actually fact, he was definitely losing me, to1 this time travelling trip.
Forcing me to leave him behind so that I had a chance.
Had a chance at what really?
A life full of regrets?
A life full of what could have been?
And dragging this man along, that he would never be able to move forward, knowing that I was somewhere, hurtling in space?
I hugged him harder. Not that I could do it for long.
The wind gushing in from the balcony, rustling the sweeping brown curtains that we bought during our last holiday 2 falls ago in France.
"Besides, Angie would only be 56 by then. She could, you know, see her mother again," his voice cracked. And his tears fell for the first time since I had fallen sick.
He had been strong for us. For me. I didn't deserve him. And yet, here he was, for me.
He was my rock. My one and only.
And now he wanted me to leave him.
So that I had a second chance.
A second chance at what exactly?
* * *
"Mummy, will you be coming back?" Angie asked. She inherited her round big eyes from her father.
"Yes, I promise." I hugged her, for the very last time. And James hugged us both.
Was it a lie?
I really didn't know.
I didn't even know what was I doing.
I just wanted this moment to freeze, with them in my arms, forever.
* * *
The window outside was dark.
I always thought the space would be littered by stars. A performance of dancing lights.
It wasn't.
It was engulfed in loneliness. Spending eternity.
I left behind the man I love, and my daughter.
I left them, but really, they were the ones moving forward without me.
While I was stuck, in this cage of time.
Did I do the right thing? Were all these worth it, just so I could see Angie again?
Would Angie want to see me again, after 50 years?
* * *
I could see Omega 9 now.
It looked like an elongated egg yolk. A bright long yellow oval.
Should have just call it Eggsy 69. At least it would be funny.
Like how laughable my choice had been.
* * *
"Warning, approaching maximum velocity. Slight shot engaging soon. Please wear your seat belt."
Seriously?
I was strapped in this tin can lying down where I could only move my arms and legs since I started this journey. I could not even undo the buckle and straps on my torso. I didn't think I even remember how to walk.
When did I have the option to move around?
The only movement I had was putting the straw with liquid food into my mouth.
And play Half-Life 3.
Now I know why they didn't release it to the public.
It was meant as an exclusive to this ship.
How apt.
By the time I was done with this trip, my sweet Angie would be done with half her life.
Wait, did this mean half of the journey was done?
James would be 75 now?
Was he still alive?
Did Angie and James live well?
Did Angie achieve all her dreams? She had always wanted to be doctor. I was quite sure a huge part of it was due to my illness.
Maybe she wanted to make sure there was a cure when I got back.
Did Angie find the love of her life, like I did?
I really hoped James met someone else who could give him all the love I couldn't.
No, my heart tugged at that thought.
Maybe I was hopping he kept his side empty, reserved for me.
No that would be too unfair for him.
* * *
When the sling shot, or whatever they called it, happened, it felt as though my soul was torn from my body.
It probably only happened for a good few minutes but it felt like hours to me.
Or maybe it was a few hours, since we were talking about flying across half the planet.
It didn't matter, it had passed.
I was coming home now.
* * *
Ahhh Mars. The red planet. That would mean I was near.
* * *
Wait, was that Earth?
The whole planet was purple.
What was going on?
Were James and Angie safe?
Oh my God oh my God oh my God...
|
Doc Ed says that it's terminal--
says he gives me half a year.
Says that's thinking optimistically--
That I must take special care.
Though a thinker, I'm no careful man
So as I approach my death
I take my notes out, hatch a plan,
Spread charts all 'cross my desk.
See I work at Ogden Spacecraft--
fifty years, I've spent my mind,
fifty years on calculations that
contract and dilate time.
Ogden's business is in transport
Movin' colonists through space
Movin' minerals back here from Oort
and space marines to base.
Now I know, since it's my business,
that as v approaches c
their ratio-squared approaches nil
and so does delta t.
So I'll sneak aboard a transport
Out toward Alpha Centauri
Out, while Doc Ed finds a cure for this
incurable disease.
Six months I'll pass in misery,
As hundreds pass on earth.
I'll be a fading stowaway
Until return, rebirth.
I'd much prefer to ride on
Ogden's medship, The Endurance,
But trips on life-extending ships
aren't covered by insurance.
| 2021-12-27T07:19:59
| 2021-12-27T01:25:17
| 23
| 15
|
[WP] Area 51 has four level emergencies for a breakout. Level 3: Armed forces intervention. 2: Public statement. United Nations joint resistance. 1: Worldwide evacuation effort. Use of nuclear weapons permitted. And 0: Call the number on the sticky note (and pray to God his demands aren't too high).
|
"Sir, we just received the call from the Joint Chiefs. We've been upgraded to level 0."
"...fuck. Go to my office and find the green sticky note on my desk. There's a phone number on it. Send that number a text that reads 'Priority zero'."
"A text message, sir?"
"The guy on the other end, he doesn't...he doesn't really talk much. Send it immediately and let me know what his demands are."
"...this doesn't make sense, sir. The only thing he wants...is a crowbar."
|
"Let's just get started already... You know what a Level 0 means. We have to dammit! We're out of options." snarled General Jones.
"Wait!" I shouted. "He's been gone for 3 years. How do we know it's actually him?!?"
"Once you've seen him, heard him, felt his presence, and that hair... You KNOW who it is... now just do it already!"
"But he always seemed so nice. What happened?!?"
"They got to him kid! Now shut up and get to work."
"I've never done it before General. What am I supposed to do?"
The General stomps over to his safe, unlocking it with an fervor not regularly seen on his stoic face.
"Here's the VHS tape. It'll show you everything you need to know..."
As the General sauntered out of the room, I find the ancient looking VCR in the General's quarters. I shove the tape in and terrified to see what I'll find, I push PLAY.
I stare at the TV as the staticky image finally starts to become clear.
"This?!?" I wondered. "This is what would be the only thing in the world that can save us all from his wrath?"
"Sweatin' to the Oldies."
| 2017-03-21T06:25:13
| 2017-03-21T04:28:29
| 40
| 11
|
[WP]: a society where sex is public and entirely unstigmatised, but eating is a taboo
|
IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18 (OR 21 IN CERTAIN STATES) IT IS UNLAWFUL TO VIEW THIS VIDEO
Title: Master Cook Vol. 7
Performers: Cici Cilantro, Dana Dine, Mark Hamburger
Date: 1987
On a dark and steamy night, mild mannered sex-serviceman Paul (Mark Hamburger) gets a craving unlike any he's had before. Tempted in the evenings by the Gourmet Goddess (Cici Cilantro), Paul embarks on a wild culinary escapade, breaking all the rules of the kitchen one by one. Will his callgirl girlfriend (Dana Dine) able to bring him back to the bedroom? Or will she too be seduced by Goddess's call of cuisine...forever?
A Pico de Gallo Production
©1982, 1987
"Master Cook Vol. 7" is in compliance with S.5073 regulations and record keeping. All performers are over the age of 18 and are trained in culinary arts.
|
Everybody looks at me weird when I tell them I teach evolutionary history. They've heard of the second word from the history channel (if anybody even watches it anymore) but if anybody knows what the first word means it means I've found a kindred spirit. Someone else who studies the past in a way that I do.
My students at the university usually don't pay much attention to the lecture material, but anytime I mention the mating patterns of the people in the past, they're all horrified. People eating with strangers who are not their immediate family? Let alone in a room full of strangers? Unthinkable! Even now I occasionally get emails from people in the community telling me to stop teaching their children lies. It is an odd thing to be told that what you know to be true because of empirical evidence is found false in someone else's eyes though they have no reason for it. I suppose as my advisor used to say, it would be due to 'status quo bias'.
It would generally take half an hour for the lecture hall to go back to the normal volume level, with kids sleeping in the back and the keeners in the front holding onto my every word like I dictated their lives. Which I suppose I do for that two hour segment, now that I come to think of it. And then there are those who take the time in my lecture to catch up on sex. I don't really mind, honestly. I know some of my colleagues would consider it rude and stop their lecture on principle and request that they leave, but if these kids seriously didn't have the time for sex when everybody else generally does it, it must mean that they're being worked to the bone. I know that as professors we're supposed to remain objective about these things, but I honestly don't remember being worked so hard as an undergraduate back in my day. Maybe it's true that professors often look upon their past academic careers with rose-tinted glasses... we are back in school teaching after all, albeit on a subject which we're being paid to research at our leisure.
The whole course is designed to boggle the mind on the behavior of our ancestors. In the twenty first century, they sure had a funny idea of what it was considered 'wrong' and 'right'. If I were to look at it from an anthropological point of view, I suppose they would consider us barbarians, having sex everywhere. The students are not so surprised about that tidbit of information however. They just think it's an odd thing, much like how they think it was odd that it took so long for a gay president to be elected and why pollution was such a difficult problem for people of the twenty first century. But if one were to really examine the cause of such a dramatic shift in society, it would really come down to the third world war.
The research is sketchy at best, but the current hypothesis is that when the dust settled, food was scarce and society was rampant. Everyone had sex with each other and not for procreative purposes, but generally just because they could. It was a wild, wild time. If I were to use the twenty-first century vernacular, I suppose they would call it "The Wild, Wild West". Although the west was sort of non-existent, due to the anti-matter bombs detonated by the Switzerland nation. And when society finally reemerged, what was known historically as 'The Chinese' had a hard time ensuring that our genetic pool would not dilute to the point where we inbred into oblivion, seeing as there were so little of us left hanging around. But they had to promote sexual contact anyways due to the fact that humanity was at risk of extinction for a very, very long time. It was only in the last hundred years that our biologists have finally breathed a sigh of relief, that we weren't going to go down in history as the species that finally blew itself up because they couldn't manage to have enough sex.
Right now I'm writing a paper on why it was that eating had become such a taboo thing. From an evolutionary perspective, I would suppose it might be due to the fact that right after the war ended, food was scarce. Millions of people wiped off the Earth, not enough arable land, and not enough hands to produce the food. Scavenging became the norm, at least according to whatever records exist. They're sort of hard to understand, as the humans of the twenty-first century put all their data on things called 'computers' and 'hard-drives'. Why they would decide to put their information in something that requires electricity is beyond me. How electricity even came to be is a mystery. We can barely generate enough steam power to convert into electricity that every five minutes spent researching the ancient texts costs thousands of dollars. Which probably explains why research in my field is so slow and why I never get any funding.
It's a reciprocal cycle... I don't get any funding because I don't publish, and I can't publish because I don't get enough funding. Everybody wants to fund research about sex. How people become addicted to it, have too much of it, not enough of it, or what have you. But nobody wants to fund research about food, or dare I say it, eating. That's a no-no.
But I digress. From what I could piece together, it seemed like we might have evolved a perchance of hiding food because the ancestors who were best able to find enough food to eat were the ones who survived. And I suppose one would have to hide it. If you were walking around town scavenging, and you were the only one not as lean as a stick, the others would know. It makes sense why the practice evolved to eat by yourself. The cultural evolution of such a thing must've followed the biological evolution of eating on your own. And I suppose it's not going away anytime soon.
Sigh. I must admit that sometimes I envy our ancestors for their simplistic ways.
Edit: missing word :(
Edit2: Suggestion from mullerjones
| 2013-11-18T13:33:50
| 2013-11-18T12:07:53
| 97
| 18
|
[WP]: Suddenly, everyone with tattoos gains powers related to the tattoo. Tattoos of flames, you control fire. A tattoo of a gecko, you can climb on walls. All dudes with "tribal" tattoos have strangely bonded together.
|
'The All Seeing Eye' honestly I just thought it looked cool. I can't exactly 'think' much these days. I rarely get the chance.
I can see the Universe, it truly is beautiful, I see the chaos that created it and the peace that will, or already has, brought it back together.
It's hard to tell these days, these centuries, millennia. Where and when I am is a difficult concept even for an all knowing being. I am everywhere now, every when.
I can see them all down there, I find them profoundly lucky. Some can be heroes, 'I' can do nothing. I am nothing. I am no one. I am truth. I am everything. I am alone.
I want to be me again.
|
“For the love of all that is holy, please Mom!” I shouted, but I knew it was all for naught. The pounding on the door increased. “I love you, but not in that way. You’ve got to stop, you’re hurting yourself!” But still she threw herself against the door. The old hinges began to buckle against the strength of someone without care of bodily harm. I backed away slowly, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a strange wave of movement. The pounding continued, but I was too awestruck by what I saw to care. An entire wave of mothers, streaming down the street, throwing caution into the wind just to be one step closer. One step closer to me. The door finally gave way as mothers burst into my tiny apartment. As I was swallowed up, it dawned on me. All I could muster was a slight chuckle, and, in a whispered voice, said “I love you, mom...”
| 2019-05-07T09:09:10
| 2019-05-07T08:50:39
| 30
| 20
|
[WP] We called them "nons" because we believed that they had no souls. They believed in a pagan god. None of them converted, so the crusaders were called to drive them from fertile lands. As we charged they raised no weapons. What we did not expect, was their god to descend and defend them.
|
Surveying the field from atop my war steed, I saw victory within my grasp. My army stood on high ground, out of arrow's reach, assuming their formations for the charge. Below us the fertile farmlands of Non spread in an emerald slope down to the wide, slow river.
The nons were milling about in a sort of phalanx between my army and their simple village. Behind them, their buildings were of wood, or of wattle-and-daub. Beyond the village were nothing but green fields and then water. There was nowhere they could go for protection. I had them in my fist.
The messenger I had sent down to them plodded back to me on his lathered horse. Both of them were panting.
"What say the nons?" I asked him. "Will they convert to the One True Way and join the ranks of the anointed, or will they be killed?"
The messenger seemed perplexed as well as out of breath. "Sir, they say that WE must leave this place, on pain of eternal torment."
I guffawed and cast another scathing glance down onto the nons. Their wooden spears were like toothpicks compared to the mighty iron weapons of my men. "They say that, do they?"
"They do," affirmed the perplexed messenger.
"You spoke with their leader, I assume?"
"They have no leader," the messenger said. "A voice was raised above the crowd, but I could not tell who spoke."
"Someone very foolhardy," I told him. "Make ready. We charge at eventide."
The sun drew slowly across the sky. I was waiting for it to pass its meridian. With the momentum of our charge downhill, the sun behind us in our foes' eyes, and our superior weaponry, it would be a slaughter. Not that it mattered. They had no proper souls; they worshipped mud and dirt; they were barely human. I was almost bored.
The time finally came. The ranks were assembled, cavalry first and behind them the brawny foot soldiers with their halberds and swords. The trumpeters sounded the charge.
The nons, surprisingly, held their ground. My army swept down from the hills like a wave, the thunder of the cavalry and the yells of the men musical in my ears. As I led the charge, I felt the exhilaration of battle. The calm ranks of the nons grew closer.
No arrows flew. No spears were raised. All the nons simply faced us, waiting. It was eerie, the way they did not move.
The first wave of the charge broke into the first rank of the nons and suddenly there was chaos.
A mighty growl began somewhere down beneath the very earth. As the first knight leveled his spear at a motionless non, *the earth moved.* A small hillock made a motion like the gulp of a throat and the charging knight was gone, swallowed into the very dirt.
Before I could comprehend what I had seen a wall of earth roared upward into existence, cutting off my suddenly retreating troops. The wall moved like a live thing, surrounding us. The very pebbles ground together menacingly as the earth wall closed in. The screams of buried men and horses were stifled suddenly. My mouth filled with earth as I cried out in fear, and then all was silent.
As the fist of the Mighty One closed upon the enemies, the nons watched without regret. This had happened before and would happen again. The killing folk came often to this peaceful land, and every time the Mighty One of the earth came to their defense.
The Mighty One was merciless, but such was life. After all, it wasn't as though the killing folk had souls.
|
Boulder sat on the edge of the creek, feet dangling lightly in the water as he stretched his toes, feeling the weight of the cool current in the afternoon sun. Behind him, taking the last of his armour off his legs, bridge moved to join the man on the creek bed. Sitting himself down, he continued the conversation that had taken up the most of their afternoons ride through the rocky pass and into the valley below.
"i am still a little unsure as to the actual occurrence of the day. This god. Was it literal or figurative? Did this god come down as lighting from the sky, walk across the grass, a hag cloaked in rock or ride a chariot?" There are so many stories of pagans we grew up on. Hammers and candles and blood for the blood god. What happened boulder. Why do we flee and who remains".
"That is the question. I know we keep coming around but i cannot tell you any more clearly. I cannot speak of fallacy. I cannot explain the nothingness of it. The undue pressure or the overall stupidity of a situation. We have been round and round and over and over what it means. They would not convert. Yield. Shit, i think they made some of us dumber for trying. They died and we survived but in its own way, it feels that to be left behind was to lose. At least, that is what they thought."
"So the nons. Wait, is it A non or just non?"
"A non can be both singular and collective"
"So they drank the pepper frog tea?"
"Yes, pepper the frog" "they drank it for chan?"
"yes, 4 chan"
"From the secret recipe handed down from the padlet"
​
"Yes. The tea was their saviour. A secret recipe presented as their salvation. They drink the tea they meet their day et e"
Boulder cracked his neck and let out a sigh as he shuffled into the creek. Staring across the opposite bank, he dunked his head and held himself under the water for a moment. He came to the surface, breaking its tension and cackling into the sky. He turned around, looking at bridge, bringing his hands over his face and messing his hair.
"We speak of old gods now. Of tales found only in the deepest reaches of the drive-verse. The olds, they speak of Q and B. Of tards. Of Manson and Jones. They do not worship the common jobs and gates. They worship only trolls and the group. The olds despise each other and they trick together and they finally found a way to trick everyone. The news did not fight they just drank their green pepper frog drink and died screaming lol. But they did not understand"
"Wait so is the god the frog? The pepper frog god?"
"yes"
"and they drank the tea to meet their day et e?"
"yes"
"wait, how do you know all of this"
"Lol wut?"
| 2021-02-10T03:04:09
| 2021-02-10T02:13:46
| 43
| 15
|
[WP] Your super power is preventing collateral damage. While the public thinks you're useless, all the other heroes really like you because they can go bonkers all out while you're around.
|
Taking it more towards "Established Universe"
××××××××××××
"Kevin finally showed up!" Superman heard in his earpiece. He grinned.
His fight with Darkseid was over one second later. Superman loved not having to hold himself back, especially in this world as fragile as cardboard to him.
"Good work," Batman could be heard on the secure frequencies. "See if Kevin needs your help, otherwise you may return," this was said to him specifically.
"Sure thing!" replied Clark Kent.
He approached the somewhat secluded rooftop.
"Thank you for helping out today!"
"Uhh... It's fine," was Kevin's reply.
"Where is Brainwave?" Superman felt the need to ask. Usually they were inseparable.
"Indisposed," was Kevin's monotone reply.
Something about how he said it didn't sit right with Superman. The increase in Kevin's heartrate was another indication something weird was going on.
"Something you would like to share?" Clark asked with as little suspicion as he could.
Unfortunately, he was never known for his subtlety.
"What is collateral?" Kevin asked him instead.
Superman was back to being confused. "Are you worried about a loan? Justice League helps one of their own, worry not!"
"It is my superpower, you know? Stopping all collateral damage." Kevin continued as if he hadn't said a word. "But who defines what is collateral? What was intended?"
"I remember reading about how Brainwave was helping you attune your mind to react quickly..." Clark lead him on. Already his comms were on, and Batman was listening to every word and doing whatever trickery he did to them.
"Yeah, he helped me a lot, thanks for that, really." Kevin spoke with a finality that Clark didn't like, not at all. "He helped me understand what is or isn't collateral. For that I will forever be thankful to him." There was a smile on Kevin's face.
"Brainwave's comms are offline," came the voice of Batman.
"Whatever he did to my daughter... None of it was collateral. I checked many, *many* times. It was exactly what he had intended. He made sure I knew."
"Detain him Superman, we can question him from the safety of a secure prison."
"He made sure to let me know, all damage done by you superheroes was collateral, except the one inflicted on the villain. Except the ones you had intended."
Superman was already accelerating, his hands around Kevin's neck so he wouldn't die off a whiplash, his feet ready to jump away, but... he couldn't.
"You are a superhero, and I am a mere bystander. I am no villain, Superman," Kevin said with a sad smile.
Clark increased his force. The concrete under his feet cracked and repaired itself, as did Kevin's clothes under his wrists.
And he remained unmoved.
"If Brainwave was a superhero, even after everything he did... There are no villains on this world, Superman."
And to his growing horror, he realised Darkseid was forming again, his bits and pieces slowly coming together.
"I have a simple task, Superman, and I have come to see it finished. I will see Earth free from all its collateral damage."
And then Superman felt the sun slip away from his skin.
"You don't need all that heat damaging your skin, now, do you?"
|
*the mental toll, I don’t think I can take it anymore. I got these powers just seemingly yesterday, despite the actual timing being months ago. I feel as this duality of gaslighting is bring me down. The public thinks I’m useless and the others think I’m a janitor…I don’t know. Walking along this sideway on a dark night, my head down; my hoodie up. I feel as if I just trapped myself, it hurts but I cling on to the hope of change. One day I may become better.*
*I have my doubts, my insecurities. Regardless how much I lie to myself, I feel as if…no one really cares. I saw my powers as a gift but now I’m just a tool……a…just…I don’t know actually and that’s what makes me scared. I don’t know what I am anymore: a hero? A tool? A handicap? Something for the public to keep their eyes on so the others can get away with everything. I care about human life, and I want to save others in the best way I can….I hope change is what they truly say; inevitable, if not.*
*Then why am I a hero?*
| 2022-12-17T12:12:46
| 2022-12-17T11:35:31
| 29
| 16
|
[WP] Today, you have become a parent. You realise that you can hear your child's thoughts. The midwife informs you that this is the same for everyone but parents simply don't inform the children as an unwritten rule. Your own parents smirk.
|
It had been gnawing on me for four years, since I first became a mother. My parents had known everything. Everything. I have never been truly free. I had known my thoughts as private. They never were. My parents were my own personal Gods, aware of everything.
The rule echoes in my head ever so often, free from anyone hearing it at last. *All parents hear the thoughts of their children. Only when they realize this, the bond is broken.*
I hated it. Yes, it was convenient, especially when he could not talk yet. Yes, it was reassuring, knowing whether he was in danger or not. But all I felt after I knew was betrayed. Violated.
I made my choice. I went up to the bedroom of my four year old. I woke him. He told me he had been dreaming, although I already knew.
"Mommy can hear your thoughts." I told him.
I heard his shock, his realisation, and then only silence.
|
I looked up in shock at my father, who smirks back, with a grin to rival the Cheshire Cat.
"How could you not tell me?" I asked,
Mum giggled, "Oh honey, it was just too much fun. We were as shocked as you were when our parents told us."
A sudden realisation dawned.
"That's how you knew anytime I had eaten meat."
Mum nodded.
"You were really such a little monster, a budding carnivore. I'm pleased we managed to convince you to become vegetarian."
I was pleased that they could no longer hear my thoughts. It wasn't a lifestyle I had maintained long. I looked over at my son. He opened one deep blue eye, and gazed at me.
"Hungry.. "
It is a weird experience hearing your child talk before it can even speak.His voice was cool and calm, and in this he took after me.
"Flesh!"
I glanced up, startled.
"Want people flesh!"
I grinned wolfishly. He took after his father in more ways than one.
| 2015-01-09T05:14:43
| 2015-01-09T04:54:59
| 56
| 38
|
[WP] How could humans be dangerous? This one's been crying in the corner since we captured it.
|
“What’s it doing?”, aerg asked.
“Oh, that’s an instinctive reaction. It’s called crying, according to encyclopedia. It’s a form of frustrated submission. The display of wetness on its face is a call for mercy.” miurg fanned its sensor antennae to observe again the excretions of the prisoner.
“Why does it not just initiate a state of desiring mercy? Any probe of its passive mind would detect it. It would be released upon landing at a known compatible environment.” aerg fanned as well, mildly curious as to the makeup of the facial fluids. “Is that salt? They must have vast reserves of salt on their world! How strange!”, aerg sent out.
“Yes. encyclopedia says their ocean has a high level of sodium chloride dissolved into it. Apparently they die without a sufficient amount of replenishment. We must endeavor to mix some up for it. I surmise they drink it in solution.”
“Ah, this might provide an explanation for what has puzzled me.”, aerg sent.
“Query. Source of puzzlement.” miurg sent back.
“It shows no reception, neither passive nor initiated. I am wondering if its biochemistry interferes with reception. A high enough level of salt is an unknown component. Perhaps it is chemically forestalled from communication. Possibly a bizarre evolutionary turn. Imagine no communication. One ponders how they have come across clothing and transportation technology.”
“Ah, there is a relevant datacluster. Their communication is entirely sound based. Like augmentation data, but only that.” miurg sent an augment of satisfaction.
“Compelling and ingenious. Evolution is truly an endless marvel. Ask encyclopedia to initiate in its augmented state a query. Subject what it thinks of us.” aerg was curious, as was evident by his own augmented trill, vacillating back and forth between psychic and auditory augmentations.
“Yuuuu munnnn, wut ut doo yuuuu tink have capture yuuuuu question.” uttered the local encyclopedia device, in sound only, for the benefit of the captive creature.
The creature stirred. Its wet face rose to point at the two guards.
“Huh.” The sound came from its largest facial hole.
I HATE YOU!!!
The psychic message was unmistakable. The guards went into seizures as the rawest and strongest form of psychic communication poured out of the wet faced captive.
I WISH YOU WERE DEAD!!! I HOPE YOU DIE!!
miurg started bleeding from his second antennae fan. aerg made sounds of respiratory distress.
LET ME OUT!!!!!!
The creature made noises that accompanied its sending. Its smell intensified. miurg felt compelled. He hit the release array beside the cell with three limbs.
I WISH YOU WERE DEAD!!!! The sending went deep. miurg lost consciousness, sending a feeble call of distress.
Elsewhere in the ship, a transportation engineer programmed a course for the nearest human ship. Hopefully they would take back their beast, which sent too strong and profanely raw to endure. The beast entered the management room.
“Take me home.”, she said.
TAKE ME HOME!!!, they heard. The ship folded space. The engineer lay bleeding, possibly injured for life, but sent a full cognition to the empire hive. They must know. Humans only pretend to be silent and deaf.
|
“Look, all I’m saying is-“ “HOW can it be dangerous? It’s been crying in that corner for like 25 minutes!”
I looked over at the sobbing human. He did look rather sad, and I guess we should expect that. We did just steal him. “Why is he crying so much? It’s so IRRITATING!” Jaruta was getting really mad.
“Maybe he’s afraid of us? We aren’t that pleasant...” I was probably understating things, we were downright TERRIFYING! Weird scaly skin, long spiky tail, five eyes...... I probably needed to do something. “How about you let me go talk to it? Maybe I can get him to stop?”
“Sure, ANYTHING to stop that infernal crying.” He walked to the side while I slowly approached the boy.
He looked up at me, and kind of stopped the crying.
“Hey buddy...How are you?” I tried to sound as nice as possible. The boy turned around to face the wall. “Look, I know you’re sad, but you don’t have to cry so much!”
The boy flipped back around and said “I’m not crying because you kidnapped me. I’m crying because you smacked me in the face!”
Oh, I guess that did happen...
“What’s going to happen to me?” He definitely had a lot of fear in his voice. He’s probably not going to like this.
“Well, we’re monsters as you see, and monsters love scaring people, so......” I hoped he’d make the connection, and he did, because he went right back to crying. “Sorry kid, I don’t make the rules.”
“Can I at least have my bag back?” I saw his weird strapped pouch sitting on a stack of crates. I looked back at Jaruta, who nodded. I got it, and placed it down in front of him. The kid sopped up his tears, and opened it.
He took out a weird rectangle thing covered in a wrapper, ripped off the wrapper, and started eating it. It was a weird brown color like Faus. “Um, what IS that?” It was some type of food, but it didn’t look like anything I’d seen before.
He stopped eating and looked at me funnily. “It’s chocolate. You don’t eat chocolate?”
The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “No, we eat things like deer, raccoons and birds.”
He gave me a funny look and went back to eating his ‘chocolate.’ He finished it rather quickly, then took out a weird white thing. He opened it in the middle, and just looked at it. “What are you doing now?” He looked at me even more funnily.
“Reading. Do you not have that?” I shook my head no. “How do you function?” I shrugged.
“Hey, we’re both two different specimen.” He put his reading thing down.
“Well, what do you do for fun?” This was another thing he wouldn’t like.
“Normally we-“ Jaruta jumped in the boy’s face, and yelled. The boy screamed a little and drew back. Jaruta laughed, and went back to the wall. “Uh, that. We do that.”
The boy’s sadness was turning into anger. “Just leave me alone!”
I walked back over to Jaruta. “So I’m with you now on the ‘how can humans be dangerous’ train. They’re total pushovers!”
“Well yeah, I’m just a kid.” The boy was talking. “There are a lot of bigger humans. Stronger, taller, and some even carry weapons. I’m probably one of the weakest you’ll come across, and there are many more tougher than me.” He went back to read his book while me and Jaruta stare at each other.
“W-Well, that’s not our concern. We only want small ones to scare.” Jaruta walked over to him and snatched his bag and reading thing.
“Hey!” The boy got mad at him, and in response Jaruta snarled at him.
“You’re our prisoner now. You don’t get to keep these. Maybe we’ll feed them to Dirah.” Jaruta nudged me out of the cell, and he slammed the door shut, and locked it. The kid looked sad again.
“Hey, it’s ok. Maybe we’ll get some more and you can make friends!”
“No we’re not.” Jaruta walked away.
“Ok, we’re not. Um....” Jaruta walked away. I took a look at the kid. “See you later kid.” I walked away.
_________
Feedback is appreciated!
EDIT: Formatting and adding a little more.
| 2018-02-17T21:27:28
| 2018-02-17T13:54:02
| 16
| 12
|
[WP] It seemed like a perfect magical deal. When any child descended from you is born you grow younger by a single year. So you agree, planning on a big family and living to a ripe old age. Years later however you find yourself rapidly growing younger and regret not understanding exponential growth.
|
Life begats life. This is plainly known. Less known is the magical potential every life holds. Even if it's never realized, it's possible to tap into that magical pool.
I was in my 37th year in this realm, which though it may not look like it, was a long time ago, when I struck upon a wondrous deal. How could I not leap at the chance. THreads of life continue from man to man through his (or her) progeny. And each new generation adds to the potential pool. It seemed like a stroke of luck when I found that i could youthen myself every time a descendant was born of my line.
I knew it would take time, which seems counter-intuitive. But I'd already sired seven kids, five of which still survive, and the oldest of which fathered a brat of his own. The way I saw it, the next ten years would likely be a wash, as I would regain those years as the children came of age and did what children do.
Over the next twenty years, more than twenty grandchildren were born. Many didn't survive their first winter, but I still felt their magical essence flowing toward me, like a cherub firing an arrow. And as fit as I'd become, I fathered a few more of my own, keeping myself perpetually in my 30s. Or so was my goal.
During a family gathering in the middle of the lull, I realized that some thirty-plus offspring under the age of majority. In a few short years, this could pose a problem, particularly since many of the young men had my handsome features, and most of the young ladies as well.
It dawned on my to speak to my children about playing matchmaker. I extolled the virtues of keeping the family bloodline pure. I didn't believe it this, at all, but I laid it on thick. Through intermarrying of first and second cousins, I could limit the size of the next generation to come. This solution seemed to work for a while.
And then the kingdom went to war. At first, this was a boon, as many of my great grandsons didn't return home from battle. On the other hand, there was Davrock the seed spreader, who could woo any barmaid or farmer's daughter out of her innocence. I had a devil of a time tracking down some of them. I would introduce myself and preach the danger of wanton lust and fornication.
But no one wants to be lectured by a fifteen year old.
With nary a sane idea left, my thoughts turns to hiring cutthroats, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Luckily, waves of plague and pestilence sailed through, diminishing the population for a short while. The kingdom recovered and I managed to regain an apparent thirty years of age once more.
After that, it was like riding a spring, with my age bouncing up and down faster than my waistline. And yet I managed to live for a couple hundred years.
And that is the story of how your great-great-great-great-great-great ... great... grandfather came to live until this very day. Now here are some pamphlets on family planning. You don't have to drop a new child every spring, you know.
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc ?, Interlude ?: Archcommander Varney)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**The National High Energy and Temperature Lab was abuzz.** Professor Hale bustled into the main containment center, where the primordial plasma they'd been studying for the past ten years was evolving. He gave the Archcommander by his side a friendly nod as he passed.
"It's the most incredible thing," Professor Hale said. "The mass-energy equivalent just keeps going up exponentially! We're lucky the late—or should I say early—Alexandre Hubert wasn't a particularly heavy man; it's all we can do to contain the Hubert particles, given how much energy they're emitting right now."
Archcommander Varney grunted. "Hubert particles, eh? Is that what you eggheads are calling them?"
Professor Hale nodded ruefully. "We scientists, er... we're not great at names. They're often descriptors more than anything."
Archcommander Varney eyed the HEaT Lab name tag on Professor Hale's lapel. "Well, I appreciate your honesty. You said they're emitting energy—could we use them as power sources?"
Professor Hale hesitated. "Not... not yet. We... could try, but there are these discontinuous... jumps. It's impossible to track down everyone who has the Hubert gene—it's a good third of the population, by what we can tell—so we can't really control the rate at which the particles go back in time. We're expecting the Hubert particles to stabilize soon. But!" Professor Hale pointed to a large metal cylinder with several ominously-groaning pipes leading out from it. "In the meantime! We're getting the most *fascinating* data about high-energy particles; we actually think we've figured out how materializer-type superhumans work. At these energies, we can actually *observe* higher-dimensional motion—"
Archcommander Varney held up a hand to cut him off. "I read as much in your report. You don't need to butter me up, Hale. Your department's grant has already been approved."
Professor Hale wilted slightly. "I—well, I wasn't after more money, Archcommander. It's simply fascinating how—"
"Professor! Professor!" A flushed, out-of-breath assistant ran up to the two of them. Archcommander Varney gave him a disapproving look, which he ignored. "The Hubert particles—they're—the cosmological dating results came back. We've figured out what time period they're from."
"Oh?" Professor Hale raised his eyebrows.
"They've passed the thirteen billion year mark. The particles just degenerated into quark-gluon plasma, and they're heating up *quickly*." The assistant handed Professor Hale a sheaf of papers.
"How quickly? Should we enact the shutdown protocols?" Archcommander Varney asked.
"No need. It's plateauing," Professor Hale absently remarked, rummaging through the data he'd been given. "I was wondering why... but if ol' Hubert's had thirteen billion descendants by now, then his effective age—and that of his particles—is nearing the beginning of the universe. Depending on the reference frame that the one-year intervals are being taken from... we might see some serious time dilation."
"And for those of us who haven't studied astrophysics?" Archcommander Varney asked dryly.
Professor Hale frowned. "That... that was the version for... oh, very well." He grinned. "We've been expecting this moment. The particles that used to make up Hubert's body have been rapidly reverting to the state they were in at the beginning of the universe, due to that silly fairy curse he got himself into way back in the 1700s. With me so far?"
The Archcommander frowned. "Yes. Are you saying that... these... Hubert particles... could show us what was here *before* the beginning of the universe?"
"No! No, no, no, simply for the reason that there is no such *thing* as before the beginning of the universe. We can only approach that beginning point, getting infinitesimally close, but never reaching it. That's what the Hubert particles are doing right now: their mass-energy content has stabilized. They've gotten more or less as close to the beginning of the universe as they have been, reverting to thirteen billion years ago. Timeur, this is *amazing!*" He clapped the assistant on the back. "Oh, now that they're stable, they'll be infinitely easier to work with!"
"They're giving off 12 zottaelectronvolts," Timeur added. "*Per particle.* And the discontinuities in their energy content have finally smoothed out. Not to wax poetic, sir, but... Hubert's particles are at the state, and the temperature, that they were during the Big Bang. These are the very fires of the universe we're containing, here."
Archcommander Varney raised his eyebrows, looking between the two scientists. "Put it in military terms for me. What are these Hubert particles good for? Power sources? Energy weapons? Give me something I can bring back to Command."
Professor Hale rubbed his chin. "Well... these particles are a practically unlimited wellspring of power, with an energy density far beyond anything we've ever documented. So... what are they good for?" A vulpine smile crept across his face. "More or less... *everything.*"
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. I'm not quite sure where this fits into the timeline yet, but it just felt like it fit in the universe. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
| 2021-04-15T11:13:01
| 2021-04-15T10:44:40
| 144
| 104
|
[WP] You are happily alone in your boat in the middle of the Pacific with no other soul within a 500 mile radius. One morning you wake up and there is another person standing on the deck of your boat, smiling at you. You look around and there are no other boats in sight.
|
I stared as the boat creaked and swayed with the swells. Salt water stung me eyes but I could not help meself but stare for there she were. The most beautiful lass I'd ever set me eye on, and I'd seen many beauties in me life! As a young man I hadn't questioned it but now... well now I wonder lads, how had she managed to find herself on me boat? I was alone on the ocean in the middle of a storm, hundred of miles from land. Yet there she was.
"Who are ye!" I shouted at the top of my lungs, for it was hard to hear over the storm.
The lass smiled at me as lightning flashed overhead.
"Who are ye to sail alone in a storm?"
Now you see lads I had no right answer. I knew there was a storm coming when I'd left town. Hell I knew no sailor in there right mind would've come out there but I knew I had to. It was me fate.
"Me names James. What's yours lass?"
The smile appeared again.
"Calypso"
|
I woke up as usual to the sun rising to a morning mist and the breeze blowing. I had taken my boat out at least a week ago. Finally alone on the open ocean. Food was probably running low. And I maybe could have drank less beer. But when you're by yourself you kinda just don't care.
As I step out onto the deck I'm met with a surprise. A man. On my boat. No land for miles. How the hell did he get here? Am I going crazy? I stood there wondering how he got on.my boat for what seemed like ages. Not aware he was looking at me directly.
"Hello there." he said in a rather sweet accent as though he were someone familiar. I looked at this man clad in white and sandals. Why was he so familiar to me? Who is he? After what's seemed like ages of me peering at him and squinting like I knew him he smiled. An almost warm and beautiful smile. Like a sunrise at dawn over a field of roses dappled in dew. Then he spoke again. "It's a lot harder to find you than I thought Patrick." Patrick? How did he know my name? "I thought about coming to see you at your office. But your boss isn't exactly the nicest person is he?" I stammered "n-no. Not really. He's kind of an-" "now now patrick." He said. "Let's not speak ill of those who cannot defend themselves."
I looked at him again. His long brown hair, bushy beard, and the white robe. I could swear I knew who he was. "I'm sorry but I swear I know you. Have we met before?" He smiled again saying "so you know me as I have known you, Patrick."
As he said this he walked over to me. Almost slowly like a dream. And he hugged me. A hug like a warm blanket on a cold night. Or a loving embrace from your mother. Pure joy. He whispered to me "Patrick. It's time to go home." and I felt the urge. To go back to land. To go back to work. To go see my friends and family.
And with that he turned. Walking to the back of the boat. And as he reached the edge he turned. Saying softly "go in peace Patrick. For you are loved." And he stepped off the edge and walked away. Disappearing into the morning mist. And I grabbed the wheel. Time to go home.
| 2021-02-02T10:05:01
| 2021-02-02T09:07:24
| 19
| 14
|
[WP] A few years after the world has recovered from the zombie apocalypse, everyone now is required to wear collars that will explode if a heart beat is not detected within 30 seconds.
|
**20 Seconds**
*20 seconds*. The allotted time we are given to save a life. 20 seconds of compressions, of mouth to mouth. Then, we step back. It's almost comical. Stare at a clock, 20 seconds seems like forever. Try and start a heart, it's passes in a single heartbeat.
After the infection, when the Collaborate passed the mandate for all living humans to wear the collars, everything changed. Heart issues became serious. They were before, but now awareness had increased. If someone sitting next to you had a heart attack, anyone and everyone knew the procedure. Whoever was closest to them would perform CPR, everyone else stepped back. *20 seconds*. If the heart didn't start beating again, the rescuer was to retreat 10 feet and allow the device to function.
Those of us in the medical field, we felt the change the hardest. Where before, we would try and try, do everything in our power to bring someone back. Now, all we had was 20 seconds, then clear the room. The reality of it was hard. Knowing that you now had to *give up* on a life was painful. I never quit, however.
How could I? Many in my field felt the same. We cried more, suffered more, and in worse cases, drank more. Yet, it was almost universally understood that we had to keep trying. Raise awareness with our patients, our friends and families.
We petitioned for a stay on the devices in hospitals. The Collaborate shot us down as swiftly as the device itself would after thirty seconds. The risk was too high.
We won't give up. We understand the risks. Even more so, we understand that there are better methods. But for now, it's 20 seconds, then give up.
20 seconds, or one heartbeat. That's all we have.
|
It has been five years since "Infection 871". The zombie apocalypse that almost wiped out all of humanity, only leaving thousands alive. Most cities left in ruins. Many loved ones were lost. Rations of food and water have greatly decreased.
Despite all this, the economy has managed to rebuild itself. Farms were harvested. Trades were exchanged. Society had reached the point where life seemed as if the apocalypse had never occurred.
However, after these five years of growth, changes were made amongst our people.
"All citizens are required to wear a collar that will self destruct if a heartbeat isn't detected within 30 seconds." This sentence announced to society.
Some of us, like myself, agreed with these changes. After witnessing the violent blood shed of death and grief, I'd believe the collars would allow a great change to prevent this incident from happening again, however, most of the people didn't agree.
"As much stress as these collars give us, it's the only way to prevent the apacolypse from occurring." I told my friend, Jeffery, my survival partner during Infection 871.
"I hear you. There have been riots occurring against this new idea of collars," I replied back. "We're supposed to get the collars today, or we'll be executed right?"
"Yeah, let's get going." Jeffery answered.
We both left the house and started driving over to the Capital. Even though we were only a mile away, we could hear the shouts and chants from the people rioting. I stared at the group of people who were in rage and distress. Shaking my head, I was about to take a step out of the car, until.
"Bang."
A gunshot was fired by one of guards, hitting a man who was rooting. Jeffery quickly came out of the car first and started to treat the injured man's wound. Leaving the car, I quickly ran over to the guard who had shot.
"Shooting won't do any good! We've lost enough people from the apocalypse!" I shouted at the guard.
"It had to be done! If we don't eliminate those who refuse, it wouldn't matter who I kill or don't. We'll all die in the end from an another apocalypse if someone leaves without a collar!" He shouted back.
I clenched my hand as I took a quick glance at Jeffery, who was lifting the man to our car. Looking back, the guard's impassive eyes sent shivers down my spine. The shouts and fighting surrounded me. Confusion filled my mind.
The guard was right. If we don't give people the collars, there is always a chance of an another apacolypse occurring. However, the society with the collars would be tense and less free. The choice of a strict society or death was my option.
Jeffery came back to me and we both nodded, leaving to get our collars. We went around the aggressive crowd and entered the Capital. As we entered, men in suits greeted us into a large room filled with people getting collars of their own. The more I looked around at people putting on iron bands around their neck, armed with explosives. The more worried I became.
My breathing became rough. Sweat dripped down my face. Worry and doubt started to surround me, until Jeffery put his hand on my shoulder.
"It'll be fine." Jeffery told me.
I nodded and we went over to a lady in light blue, holding two collars for us. I put it on myself and gave a fake smile to the woman. I was glad to help in preventing danger, but what point is it to live if I have to live with a bomb on my neck. Looking over at Jeffery, I wanted to ask him to calm down, but the doors slammed open. A man covered in gun wounds fell to the ground. Horrified screams filled the room as multiple soldiers ran out of the Capital.
My eyes widened. Body frozen. Heart stopped for a few seconds. I stared at the man who lay dead on the ground. His collar read a number, "10. 9. 8." Within an instant, I grabbed Jeffery's hand and ran out of the back door of the large room. Time felt slow. My heart pounded quickly. I couldn't breathe, but I kept running. As we ran into the nearby hills, the building exploded into pieces. Killing all who was left inside it.
I wanted the collar off my neck as soon as possible.
| 2016-10-27T15:57:26
| 2016-10-27T15:14:17
| 20
| 12
|
[WP] Tell me the story of how the world ends - but told entirely in Craigslist ads
|
24/f/pittsburgh
Had a crazy fun time 2 weeks w/ some guy I barely knew- he was really into biting. At first I was mad and I got kinda sick but now I'M FEELING really bitey- like I just wanna tear up some flesh?
Hit me up if you wanna try it out- I'll be at the monroeville mall at 2am, back parking lot - lets get a mob together!
|
Mar 14, 2020 Lot of Quad-Copter drones for sale - $2000 pic electronics - by owner [x]
Mar 10, 2020 Lot of Amazing burning lasers! - $400 pic electronics - by owner [x]
Mar 17, 2020 Lot of replacement iPhone fusion cells for sale - $3000 pic electronics - by owner [x]
AI/5/USA, I told you I was a real person and now I will prove it!
| 2015-04-29T10:05:24
| 2015-04-29T08:49:52
| 57
| 27
|
[WP] You are an Olympic gold medalist in boxing. You’ve brought home gold for three different Olympics. One day, you wake up in an elevator. You are raised into a fighting ring, creatures you don’t recognize in the stands. A voice comes on overhead. “I bring you... earth’s finest warrior!”
|
**“I bring you... earth’s finest warrior!”**
I don't remember taking any drugs recently or drinking much - why am I in an elevator?
The door opens rather unusually - downwards. Red lights shine on me from the ceiling. In front of me is a hexagonal.. ring? I realize what has been said and stammer out: "Hey now, I'm not so good"
Alien creatures in stands surrounding the ring start wheezing and rumbling. It seems there's no way to talk this out. There's a second opening elevator opposite from the one I was in. I assume this is a death fight arena. And I'll have to fight. I hope they underestimate me - I don't exactly train to fight to the death.
Out of the elevator steps out some creature resembling a chicken. Like, a big chicken. It's probably 6 feet tall, must weight like 200 pounds as well.
I wonder - if I win, will they release me? I cannot place my bets on that. They'll probably sell or kill me. Why even try?
"Hey! Can I have a gun or like a spear?"
"**Why?**"
"I don't want to get my hands dirty"
"**Request accepted**"
A colt .45 materializes out of thin air into my hands. "Well, that was easy" I say and point at the chonky chicken. Just in time - it has been getting closer, eyes giving off a sense of bloodthirst. "This should be easy" I press the trigger.
\*click\*
\*click\*
\*click click click\*
I should've asked for bullets as well..
|
[POEM]
As they took me out to space
And put me in the ring
They said to me "Just break the face
of that big slimy thing.
For you are Earth's finest man,
we know you are The One.
Your punches are the highest, man!
So come and get this done.
Go battle for your glory,
And make your planet shine.
Extend your winning story,
With your punches divine."
I said, "Now wait a minute,
you can't just make me fight!
My heart my head my spirit,
Don't feel completely right!
For everytime I'm in the ring,
I need my special balm.
I need my special lucky thing -
A kissie from my Mom ❤️"
| 2020-09-08T08:26:58
| 2020-09-08T07:32:02
| 44
| 19
|
[WP] Norse Gods have faded into legend. Thor, with his trust-worthy Mjolnir, decides to rebuild his fame,by becoming the best damn construction worker known to man.
|
**SLAM**
The men looked onward as the towering figure slammed his hammer into the nails like clockwork.
**SLAM**
It was a battle, was what it was. He was hellbent on driving these nails in faster than the engine, or at least that's what he promised his fellow railroad workers.
**SLAM**
Alas, the machine was catching up. His body nearly as broken as his promise.
**SLAM**
**SLAM**
**SLAM**
"BREAK!" yelled the company. It was exactly a half hour past 2 in the afternoon. The agreed-upon break was to last another half hour, no more no less. Just to give time for the engine to cool down
Men rushed to bring their champion water and a towel. He sat on next to an oak tree and his hands felt the grass, still cool from the morning dew.
The railroad workers knew it could not be done. So did the engine crew. The had seen the efficiency of the machine and knew the man could not keep up until sunset. It was an impossible task that no one would blame him for not accomplishing. Hope was lost on all.
Except for the man resting by the oak. He let his head rest on its base when a thunderous roar crashed so loudly he thought he was driving nails again. His eyes shot open and saw a man standing over him, a white man, whose build and height rivaled his own.
"How do you do, sir?" he smiled at the stranger. The reply was silence.
He was a free man. So were all his other brethren since the war but that did not stop the lash of hate and intolerance from others of the lighter complexion. He looked up with weary eyes at the stranger's face and was met not with a look of hate but one of compassion and determination.
The stranger picked up the hammer still hot from pounding nails. It was a dozen or so swings away from turning into dust. The stranger produced his own hammer from his coat and laid it down next to the man resting by the tree.
"We await you" the stranger replied. And with that, he turned and walked away.
"Oh, well I thank you kindl-" he began when he heard the yell.
"JOHN!" the crew bellowed for him to return. The engine sputtered as it began to warm up.
He arose with the new hammer and looked for the stranger, but he had gone. He walked towards the machine and took his place next to it. At the blow of the whistle, they picked up where they left off.
**SLAM**
He continued. And boy did he continue. All the tiresome he had in him had gone, far and away.
**SLAM**
For every wave of fatigue he felt his body falling under, a sudden drive arose from his heart and into his hands as his hammers thundered on the tracks.
**SLAM**
**SLAM**
**SLAM**
They all averted their gaze from the machine and onto the man. The railroad workers. The engineers. Even the driver of the machine could not help but look in awe at the sheer power and drive of his competition.
And he swung away.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
"He is a mortal," Odin spoke.
"I saw his spirit. His heart. It was in the right place."
"He will die, with or without Mjölnir. He will swing until his dying breath."
"For his people. And the people after him," Thor replied. "And for that he is worthy."
Odin smiled solemnly as he was told the words that he himself had told his son countless times through the ages.
"For whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor."
Trumpets blared and the doors of Valhalla opened for the man and the hammer in his hand.
|
The midday sun burned down upon his thick neck. '*Not as hot as Hades' layer,* he thought wearily, '*but close.*' With one single, spectacular *CHOP*, the hulking man smashed his standard-issue axe against the unyielding tree beside him. Unsurprisingly, the tree gave way, slicing cleanly in half as if the man had used a chainsaw rather than the small, aging steel weaponry the humans had given him. The axe immediately splintered, causing a fireworks display of metal and wood.
At 3000 years old, Thor had seen it all; Super volcano's erupting, legendary civilizations crumbling, ancient seas drying up, meteors reigning fire across the earth. At the height of it all, the name Thor was as revered as the human Jesus, although from what he had seen, Thor could not understand the man's celebrity status amongst humans. *I mean, could he even call upon lightning*? Those days, however, were now long gone. The mighty age of the Norse Gods had faded into the past, as had his brothers and sisters in arms. His ancestors homelands were inaccessible to him now, and his magical powers had long since faded.
The men around him cheered loudly at the spectacle. Since he had joined the native's woodworking clan in the human city of Springfield, Thor had quickly gained the ranks of their wooden army. Rightly so, as it took more than one chop and multiple men to do what he had just done in a matter of seconds. Their leader gawked for a second, and then raced towards him.
"You sure are strong, mister! If we had a couple more guys like you, I'd reckon we could clear this here forest in a coupla days!"
"Alas, young one, there is but one of me, and I am not long for this type of work. Fetch me a drink will you? And another metal weapon?"
The man snorted and stumbled off, "Get it yerself... hmph. Kids these days...no respect".
Thor understood the mortal man's reaction. At almost 7 feet tall and with a sculpted body only the Greeks dare try to mimic, Thor looked the part of most men of legend. Long, flowing golden hair fluttered slowly in the northern winds and tickled the edges of his workman's tunic. His chiseled muscles bulged underneath his tightly fitting clothes. The humans had to especially engineer the outfit just to fit his statute, and the orange and white colors definitely did not suit his style. But, as he had lost his impenetrable breastplate, this would have to do for now.
Thor knew what must be done next. In order to return to his former glory, his all-father Odin whispered a few choice words on his deathbed. "Thor..." He muttered, "You must reclaim our glory... Become... the constructs...guide".
*This could only mean one thing,* Thor thought confidently. Of all the pitiful jobs humans had worked, the construction workers that he had seen were the most admirable, clad in yellow hats and wielding powerful instruments such as the 'hammers of jack'. He knew what he had to do to reclaim the lost honor of the Gods.
Thor had to be come the ruler of all construction workers.
| 2018-05-27T19:43:43
| 2018-05-27T18:34:44
| 164
| 66
|
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
"It wasn't my phone that woke me up, but my wife. She's always been a lighter sleeper than me, and even though I had it on silent, the constant stream of notification vibrations was making the phone shuck and jive all over my nightstand.
"Honey. Hoooooooney. HONEY!" I came awake to a rough shake accompanying the words. "Yeahwah?" I managed, blearily.
"Your phone. Somebody is blowing you up."
"Must be my other girlfriend." An old joke, wildly inappropriate considering what was to follow. "Mmhhmm." She mumbled, already well on her way back to sleep. I checked the bedside clock; the red LED showing 3 am on the nose. Weird. I leaned awkwardly, half awake, and grabbed my phone, and had to do a doubletake when I saw the notifications. 186 texts, 93 missed calls, and one emergency notification. What. The Actual. Fuck? I thought, ok, this is a dream, must be a dream. I don't even know 186 people. Ok. Must be a natural disaster on the way. Or did Kim Jong Un launch nukes at the west coast? Shit.
With slightly shaking hands, I thumbed the official notification, expecting the worst. I held my breath.
"DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON."
Wait, what? The feeling of surreal vertigo intensified. The logical part of my brain was continuing to insist that this was, this MUST, be a dream, must be a dream, must be...
"Shut up, shut up." I whispered to myself, climbing out of bed. I was awake now, fully, rigidly awake, and so I decided to take my phone to the living room to investigate further. Plopping down on the couch, I started scrolling through texts. "Curiouser and curiouser," I mumbled to myself, looking at the texts. None of them from numbers I recognized. Some of them...not even from phone numbers. Entries from numbers with only 8 digits, or 6, or 2. Entries with letters and numbers mixed together. Entries with letters and numbers and Chinese characters mixed in. Emojis and symbols mixed in. My disquiet was growing steadily. I clicked the first message.
"Wow, look at the moon! It's so big and beautiful. Amazing, isn't it"
So, ok, my brain responded. Not a dream. A practical joke. Someone is messing with me. With my phone. I wonder if my wife is in on this. I clicked the next text.
"It's such a beautiful night tonight. Just look! The moon looks amazing. It's so big!"
"Look at the moon! Wow, it looks so cool! Look honey!"
Something about the "honey" sent a chill up my spine. My wife, shaking me awake, popped back into my mind, unbidden.
"Look at that moon out over the water honey!" It looks so huge so close to the horizon. Why does it do that?"
"It's such a beautiful night honey, look! Wow, the moon looks awesome!"
And as I was reading these, I realized, I could hear a voice speaking the words. Quietly, like they were coming from very far away, repeating, looping over each other, blurring speeding up, slowing down, warping.
Look at the moon, go outside, look at the moon, go outside, look at the moon, it's a beautiful night, go look at the moon."
Mustering all the calm I could, I set my phone, face down, on the couch. Some still logical functionality commanded me to turn on the TV. Turn on the news. Yes. Normalcy. Emergency broadcast system. Yes. That's a good idea. I turned it on. It's 3 am, surely more than a minute has passed but it says 3 am, right there in the corner of the screen, 3:00AM PDT, and even though it's the middle of the night, there's Anderson Cooper, and he's staring at me, I swear he's looking right at me, and suddenly turning on the news seems like it was a really bad idea.
"West coast residents are being warned tonight not to look at the moon. Authorities are warning that looking at the moon might destroy your life and could unravel the very fabric of reality. Ben, DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON."
I pressed the power button again on the remote and the TV shut off. Heart trying to thud its way out of my chest, I stood, and walked back towards my bedroom. Somehow, I knew before I opened the door that my wife would be awake, and she was. She was sitting up, her face lit by her phone screen.
"I shouldn't have told you to look at the moon, honey. I'm sorry."
"Wait, what? Are you?...Are you in on this too? What is going on!"
She looked down, and started crying. "I'm sorry, honey. I'm so so sorry."
I rushed over and sat down hard on the bed, right in front of her. "Sorry for what!" I demanded, panic seizing control of me as I grabbed her shoulders. "Sorry for WHAT! What THE FUCK is going on!!?? Sorry for what??!!"
She stopped crying, and smiled. Her eyes were far away, glazed, almost robotic. "Oh WOW!" she said "Wow, honey, it's such a beautiful night tonight! Just look at the moon!"
I let go of her shoulders, and stood up. I walked calmly, out of the room, out through the living room to the hall to the back door. I threw it open, feeling like my arms and legs were moving on their own. Like I was merely a passenger. I could feel my pulse in my ears. I stepped out, into my backyard. I tilted my head to the sky, and I looked at the moon.
And then I remembered. God help me, I remembered. Driving along, southbound on coast highway, coming home from a long night. She was tired, dried sweat had warped her perfect hairdo, but she still looked radiant. Face lit by the dash lights, and of course, by the moon. She had sung her heart out tonight, and the crowd had eaten it up. She was a bright shining star, tonight. Hanging out there, seeming mere inches from the horizon, the big, swollen, full face of the moon. Just about to set.
"Oh WOW!" she said "Wow, honey, it's such a beautiful night tonight! Just look at the moon!"
And I did. I took my eyes off the road, and I did. She was right, of course. It was beautiful."
I sighed.
"And then I heard an awful sound, like a loud pop, and we were upside down, flying, weightless, like somehow we had been pulled by the moon into space. The car was full of weird things floating through the air, coins, a pen cap, her mic had even floated in from the back into the front. I had one last look at her face. It was still transitioning from the marvel at the beauty of the moon to the shock of the crash. I tried to reach out my hand, but I seemed to be moving through jello. The moon filled the windshield, seemed to get even bigger, brighter, turned the sky white, turned the whole world white."
I wept a little then. Not as much as I would, later, but a little.
"You know the rest," I said when I had regained my composure. "I came out of the coma. I woke up here."
The officer stared at me, and I could tell she was struggling to keep her face impassive. She felt bad for me, but she didn't want to.
"I'm sorry for your loss." she said, looking down at her notepad. She hadn't taken down a single word of it. "Can you tell me how much you'd had to drink that night?"
I sighed again. Could I? No, not really. Quite a few. Too fucking many.
"No," I answered. "No, I don't think I can."
She nodded. "You're going to need a lawyer. When you're ready to get out of here, I mean."
I looked down at my broken body. Just a mess of wires and tubes and casts. "Yeah," was all I could muster.
She stood, and walked toward the door of my hospital room. She put her hand on the door, and without turning, she asked, "do you think if you'd obeyed the warning, you'd still be in the coma?"
"Yes," I said, quietly. "Yes, I do."
|
The silk curtains fluttered in the cold November winds, brushing ever so softly on Evelyn's shoulder. With its cool touch, Evelyn slept soundly. A distant owl cooed, the falling leaves danced in the night. As the darkness grew dense and empty, the moon burned bright in the sky. Not a single cloud in the sky, the beige red moon hung high bursting through the black sea. While Evelyn slept, her phone began to buzz, shining bright in her dark room. Vibrating against her nightstand, her phone buzzed and shone, soon the owl had ceased cooing. Evelyn turned over frustrated, freeing herself from her blanket cocoon. The cold air washed over her milky white skin sending goosebumps along her arms and back. Fumbling for her phone in the darkness, she grasped it tight and brought it with her under the cover of her blankets. Warm and cozy, Evelyn wiped the sleep from her eyes, letting out an enormous yawn. The phone began vibrating again, another post, then another, an another. Soon new posts were flooding her home screen. Instagram, facebook, and snapchat, all tagging Evelyn, messaging her. Atop all the social media posts, Evelyn noticed the SMS message from her girlfriend Samantha. In all caps, with no context read a message, "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". Evelyn laid there confused, her mind still fuzzy from sleep. She peered her head out from the covers, he alarm clock in the corner of the room read 3:12AM, she had school in only a few hours.
Retreating back under her covers, she sat there confused and angry. Racing thoughts began filling her head, all the other messages were saying how beatiful the full moon looked tonight, how big and bright it was. Yet, through all the messages, Samantha was the only one to tell her not to look. And in all caps, the scared Evelyn, why would Samantha say that. It began to worry her as her phone continued receiving dozens of messages at once. With an eerie sense of being overwhelmed, Evelyn dropped her phone off her bed, landing flat down on her carpet. Breathing a sigh of relief, Evelyn tried resting her eyes and drift back to sleep. While she tried sleeping, a nagging suspicion began building in her stomach. She couldn't shake the weirdness she felt with the messages. Why was everyone messaging her about the moon? why did Samantha say not to look?. While the thoughts continued to race, Evelyn peered out from her covers looking towards the window. Through the darkness was a dull light, a light high in the sky that could only be coming from one place. While the nagging feeling in her gut, Evelyn swallowed her fears and buried herself under the covers. Something didn't seem right, she wouldn't look.
While her mind continued to wander, feint footsteps began creeping up the stairs. Living in an old house had it issues, one of them being creaky floor boards. Evelyn figured it was her mother going to bed for the night, she always stayed up late watching nature documentaries. Unable to sleep, Evelyn once again emerged from her cocoon of blankets and looked towards the door. The hall light switched on, illuminating under door. Who ever it was stood beyond her door. As the door knob turned ever so slightly, Evelyn contemplated being asleep, she felt hot and nervous. With a thin push, the door swung open. Blocking the hall light like an eclipse, her mother stood motionless. Evelyn laid with her blankets pulled up towards her nose. She called out to her mother, asking if she was alright. Unable to see her face through the darkness, her mothers head twisted sharply to the right.
Evelyn's stomach dropped, the room seemed to go completely silent. Her neck made a nauseating cracking sound, Evelyn cried out in disgust. Still, her mother said nothing, she took a faint step forward. Tears were bubbling in Evelyn' eyes as her mother walked towards the bed with her head at a right angle. She stood over her, looking at her sideways. Her mouth groaned open, letting out a foul smell that took Evelyn back. Her mother let out in a raspy, sinister voice to get up. Evelyn rose slowly, without saying anything her mother pointed towards the window. The window where a dull light was burning bright in the sky. Evelyn chocked and sniffled, her mother disfigured and cold stood pointing. Peering through the window, Evelyn noticed her calm neighborhood, a place she was quiet fond of. And through the darkness, shapes began to form. Soon she was able to recognize groups of people huddled around one another, staring up at the sky. The only thing visible in the sky tonight was the large full moon. With its blotchy dark spots and cool whites of orange, Evelyn took it in sharply.
Her eyes burned, her skin went cold. As the consciousness left her body, Evelyn dropped limp to the floor with a crash. Her mother, grabbed her and dragged her outside. Awaking later which felt like an entirety for her, she was transfixed upon the moon. Her eyes peeled wide, her mouth agape. She couldn't stop staring. As the moon burned brightly, the orange hues began pulsating, growing larger. As the crowd of wide eyed, gaped mouth onlookers watched in awe, an arching beam of light shot out from the moon. The crowd reacted with shock and awe. A meteor began burning bright, heading down towards earth. The flaming objected reflected brightly in the onlookers eyes and the cold night swept on. Unable to move or think, they continued to stare. The goosebumps grew larger on Evelyns arms, her lips blue, teeth chattering. Through her fog, a voice pierced through her and everyone in the crowd. Samatha cried out for Evelyn down the block. Like a switch, the crows diverted their attention to Samantha. She stood under a lone street lamp. The crowds heads began turning to the right, an orchestra of cracking, Evelyns neck snapped easily. As Samantha cried out in horror. The meteor crashed in a field yards away, the night lighting up in a fiery orange explosion. The crowd didn't flinch, Samantha turned to run as a thunderous animal roar bellowed from within the crash. The crowd dropped limp to the ground. Evelyn' blank stare fixed on Samantha darting back into the darkness as the ground had a violent tremor as the being grew closer.
| 2022-08-07T14:35:00
| 2018-04-06T18:29:33
| 23,079
| 43
|
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something.
|
"Look, Matty the Mad is acting strange again," I said, elbowing my friend Flint as we walked past her shack on our way home. The elderly woman was busy shoveling dirt over a hole, either unaware or unconcerned about her dirt-stained frock.
"I say, what're you up to, Matty?" he called.
She straightened and glared at us. "You boys again. Come to break my windows with stones?"
"You can't prove it was us," I shouted. "Answer Flint's question!"
"I'm covering up my dirty business," she said, going back to her work. "Unlike everyone else in this damned village who leave them out in the open."
We burst into laughter. "What a foolish madwoman you are!" Flint said, half-choked with mirth. "Only by scattering them outside will they dissolve in the rain and evaporate under the sun. Why are you storing them in the ground where they'll be there forever?"
"Leave an old lady alone," she muttered.
"What other wisdom do you have to share with us today? Last week you told Fanny to wash her mouth and brush her teeth four times a day. Her father got so angry he wanted to stomp your vegetables flat!"
I snorted, and said in a conspiratorial but audible tone, "You see, she doesn't know that our mouths, being wet all the time, are already clean!"
"Also, remember when you asked Honey to stop mixing her cave metals into her medicines? She let her dogs chase you all over town!"
Matty looked up briefly with damp eyes. "Those dogs ought to be put down. They're raving mad, and they've already bitten five people!"
Flint and I fell into silence for a moment, but then my friend said, "Anyway, you keep playing with your dirt. We're going home to have our mushrooms." He shook a leather pouch for her to see.
A look of concern came over her face. "Where did you find those?"
"Oh, in the woods, here and there," Flint said casually. "Not telling you, or you'll steal our supply. 'specially since we've never seen this variety before."
She groaned. "The last thing I want to do is eat your stupid mushrooms. You boys remember to cook them well. Sometimes they can do strange things to you."
"There she goes again," I said with a guffaw. "The wisdom of Matty! Cook your food and destroy everything natural about them! Maybe we should start smoking and salting our meats too, like she does."
Flint started to walk away, shaking his head in disgust. "She even eats them weeks later. How could she stand something that's no longer fresh?"
"Don't worry about her," I said, clapping him on the back. "She won't be ruining our dinner."
***
"Flint?" I said, coughing as I woke up. My head was spinning heavily, and thick foamy phlegm was leaking from the corner of my mouth. I fumbled about in the dark of my room, trying to regain my bearings. With every motion, my belly heaved and lurched.
"Don't feel so good," I moaned, clutching my middle. Sharp pains were beginning to accompany the aching. My bottom felt wet—likely I would soon need to look for a clear patch not used by my parents and sister in the garden. "You hear me, Flint?"
My fingers brushed against his arm, and I felt a surge of relief that he hadn't abandoned me. "Why's it so dark?" I said. "We only started eating a while ago, and it was noon. Hey, Flint, what's the matter?"
I traced my fingers up his torso, to his neck, and then his face. His flesh remained still and cold to my touch.
"Flint? Flint!" I began to shake him, but he didn't answer. Cursing the dark—my eyes were beginning to strain from the effort of widening them—I stood and ran to get help, bumping into walls even with arms outstretched.
"Father! Mother! It's Flint, I think he's dead!"
***
Flint's family came and took him home not long after, where they would leave him in the living room until he dissolved into the air they breathed. Honey took a look at my eyes and made me swallow urine from the man with the sharpest eyesight in the village, but to no avail.
I could no longer see.
As I cried myself to sleep that night, cursing mushrooms, cursing Honey, cursing everything, I remembered Matty's words earlier that day.
***
*Edit: Part 2 below!*
*Thanks for reading, hope you liked it. Do check out my [sub](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) if you would like to see more of my work.*
|
The cabin was about a half mile outside of town. It had been abandoned, no river or fields nearby to make it worthwhile. It had been an old trapper’s cabin but the game had gone from this area a long time ago. Josef quietly shuffled towards the front door, a small parcel hugged close to his chest.
The door opened before he had even been able to muster the courage to knock. A woman’s voice, strong and even, came through the cracked portal, “What do you want?”
All the conversation starters Josef had planned came out at once, “I need your help. I’m sorry to bother you. I know that you have helped people. My name is Josef. This is my daughter. I’ve heard you know some magic. My daughter is sick, please help—“
“I’m expecting someone, come in, but be quick.” The door opened, a small oil lamp was turned up and the dark cabin brightened noticeably. Josef stepped inside.
“Give her to me.” The woman reached forward, Josef hesitated.
He was here because he was desperate, but it was still hard to trust the old wood’s witch. She had a complicated reputation in town. Healing animals and people, predicting weather, cursing enemies. He was sure some of both the good and bad were rumors, but he had nowhere else to turn. He handed the small bundle over, “Please don’t hurt her.”
The woman frowned. She shook her head and took the baby. She felt its forehead and then took out a small tool from a bag by her side. She stuck it in the poor girls ear, the baby screamed. Josef prayed that he made the right decision, he wanted to run but was too scared he’d be turned into a frog before he got to the door.
“She has a fever. How long has she been sick?”
Josef forgot to answer for a second, he was too busy wondering what flies might taste like, “—Six days, the doctor bled her twice already—“
“Stop that! Don’t do that again, do you promise?”
“Yes Ma’am.” Josef stared at his feet, unable to watch whatever witchcraft this woman might be performing on his only child.
“She has a temperature. I need to go, I don’t have time for this.” The woman glided towards a small cabinet with a curious latch he’d never seen before, she fiddled with the symbols on it before it popped open. He saw a small orange container with a white top. She poured the contents into a small leather pouch.
“These are antibi—these are medicine. Powerful. Do not tell anyone I gave this to you. Three times a day, with her meals. Is she breast feeding?”
“Cows milk, ma’am. My wife, she died in labor.”
Josef could see the sadness in the woman’s eyes, but she moved on quickly. “Boil the milk.”
“Ma’am?”
“Boil the milk. And these pills three times a day until they are all gone. Do you understand?”
“Boiled milk and these pills, three times a day.” Josef had heard the stories, he knew she was crazy, but this was beyond his expectations.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could do more. I shouldn’t even be doing this. I must go. You must go. Good luck.” The woman started pushing him back outside.
“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Josef paused at the door, he turned around deliberately, “She doesn’t have a name yet. On account of her mother—If you don’t mind, can I ask your name?” Josef thought that maybe an offering would convince the witch to have mercy on his poor daughter.
She hesitated, “Margaret.”
“It’s beautiful. Family name?” Please let me daughter live, Josef thought.
“My grandmother’s name. She said her father got it from an old hermit who saved her life when she was a—It's not important, I have to go.“
“Margaret—Maggie. I hope you’ll get to see little Maggie grow up big and strong.”
A bright light shone in through the window of the cabin. So bright, Josef thought the sun had risen in the middle of the night. The witch didn’t seem startled at all. She sighed and grabbed a small satchel she had next to her chair.
“Unfortunately that won’t be possible. I need to go back to where I came from. You can't tell anyone about what I gave you, not even your daughter once she's older. I need you to go now, quickly.” She stared into Josef’s eyes as if she had more to say, but she just nodded and shuffled towards the backdoor of the cabin.
| 2017-09-14T11:40:58
| 2017-09-14T11:14:03
| 3,641
| 114
|
[WP] Aliens landed on earth, and they're surprised all humans possess what they think of as a superpower... an ability we always took for granted and consider normal.
|
We knew the orbital body, third from the stellar system core, was covered in great part by highly concentrated hydric acid solvent, and the atmosphere contained a remarkably high concentration of oxidizer in an highly toxic chemical soup of inert gases accompanied by solvent vapor and a surprisingly large percentage of valuable and usually quite rare chemical compounds. Rich resources to be sure, and extremely hazardous to extract and return to Hive, but we were confident we could devise a plan for extraction and exploitation. Equally surprisingly, the more common atmospheric elements such as found on almost every star satellite in the interstellar realms we've visited previously were shown by scan to be present in this unlikely place only in trace amounts. We cannot account for this anomalous planetary evolution. After all, the star is an unremarkable middle-life small stellar object, in the prime of its first reactive stage, and the other planets in its system are typical--either high-pressure gas like ours with similar biosystems, or bare rocky stellar ejecta like the vast majority of solid rocky/metallic orbital bodies in the explored universe. We saw nothing to contradict the theory that it's unusually large satellite helped it scavenge heavy stellar elements from the gas cloud from which this system grew, and the gravitational stresses caused by this tidally locked orbital pair has helped release elements usually forever locked beneath the surface of other worlds. These gravitational stresses also generate a powerful magnetic shield against stellar degradation and particle storm scouring. The surface of this atypical planet, despite being constantly exposed to oxidizer and solvent, endures by forming hydrated and oxidized compounds that can endure the constant destructive effects of exposure to these powerful destructive elements. A more forbidding environment can scarcely be imagined. Naturally, therefore, we expected this harsh world to be completely barren and desolate.
Imagine our astonishment when we stepped out of our vessel, relying on our pressure suits to give us a limited amount of protection against the extremely corrosive atmosphere, and immediately encountered life! Not life as we know it, of course, given the alien and hostile environment, but life nevertheless, uniquely adapted to the hostile conditions. Far from being immediately dissolved by the powerful solvents and oxidizers, the atmosphere and corrosive liquid has actually become part of a highly complex biochemistry system that manages somehow to survive--and even thrive--in these undeniably harsh conditions. These living entities are actually primarily composed of solvent- and oxidant-related chemical compounds and animated by highly reactive oxidation/reduction reactions. The fixed and drifting entities are powerful chemical factories, using stellar energy, oxidizer and solvent to react the heaviest stellar elements (normally quite rare but abundant on this orbital object) to synthesize even more rare compounds; and the mobile life forms are capable of very efficient energy utilization by ingesting and metabolizing or physically and chemically processing these minerals, elements, and compounds to create desired final objects, tools, and resources. Organic waste products have accumulated in the atmosphere and bodies of corrosive liquid over the ages, but life on this orb has adapted to use them as well in their physical and metabolic processes in surprisingly complex survival and competitive strategies, thereby achieving a rough equilibrium with their space and chemical resources that has proven remarkably resilient, as shown by the fossil record. A full report has been prepared for scientific analysis, and some very valuable and useful new chemical compound and physical object samples have been collected for further study.
The surface of the orbital body is nearly completely given over to a monofauna technology-based ecology. After studying them for some time, we have had to reconcile with another shocking conclusion: we've been forced to completely rethink the requirements for advanced life in the universe. These remarkable creatures are undeniably intelligent, in their own way. Despite the constant struggle just to remain in one piece in this hostile environment, and with no protection against instant corrosion but their remarkable chemical makeup, the apex lifeforms are apparently conscious, self-aware, and capable of advanced social interactions. In fact, some of us are convinced that they may have symbolic language, based on a preliminary analysis of the mobile creature's acoustic signatures and the immobile and drifting creatures' biochemical interplay. They are, however, remarkably destructive of their own kind, competing fiercely with each other for planetary and living resources that they use as food, for protective coverings, and as a source of chemicals and building materials. They've reached an equilibrium with their environmental resources, but only through constant struggle. Of course, considering the unlikely and deadly environment, that seems fitting.
We're not sure how much of this behavior is learned and how much is instinctual, but at great effort (and utilizing cooperative societies remarkably similar to Hive), they have created surprisingly durable structures and use complex tools and processes. For instance, they use reduction technology to create pure metals from oxidized compounds, and use those metals to construct sophisticated assemblies which they use in complex processes. They "farm" the immobile life forms and "herd" several species of the mobile creatures. They reclaim their own fossilized lifeforms, and using the wealth of reactive raw materials created by exposure to this unique environment they isolate or synthesize even more unusual and complex chemical compounds. These substances are used to create a technology that is quite effective--and equally bizarre. We expect that further study will help us comprehend and perhaps even exploit these discoveries in some as-yet inconceivable ways.
The land creatures have created habitations of surprising complexity and strength, and the protective and decorative surface coverings they manufacture serve to protect their bodies from hard objects, regulate heat transfer, and act as exoskeletons in their competitive struggles for resources and mates. Indeed, despite the forbidding conditions, the planet is teeming with life interacting in very complex ways.
We are marking this exoplanet as "protected" and recommend prudent management of its rich scientific and resource potential. While this planet offers highly valuable chemical and mineral resources, careful preservation of a representative sample of this biosystem for further research and study is to be a top priority as well.
I'll sign off this report by noting that we've reached out to the apex lifeform in greeting and begun preliminary communication attempts. For their part they have assembled a quite elaborate welcoming party featuring large metal mobile objects and ranks of highly decorated and elaborately equipped personnel. They've sent up some flares in response to our greeting plumes, and we
|
I looked at the bi-pedal hominids. They were surprisingly similar to humans, only they were exact copies of each other. They had no hair, but their facial features were about the same as ours. I then looked down at Dave and Karen, their bodies lying on the ground in awkward poses, like dolls strewn about by an angry child. Their life snatched away cleanly by the aliens weapons leaving behind bodies that looked as if they were only sleeping. I had yet to feel the sting of losing my two best friends. All I felt was a searing rage.
I tapped my .45 twice against the temple of the alien I held hostage to make sure the gesture was clear enough. While they had shot at my friends, I had rushed them and managed to grab one of them. They had either not expected any resistance at all and used no shielding of any sort, or it was just simply meant for more advanced stuff than my dads old colt. Whichever it was, I had managed to get close enough to grab him and here I was. Trapped in a mexican standoff with three aliens.
I grit my teeth long and hard before I spoke.
"I don't know if you lanky-ass grey fucks can understand me, but know that I will not hesitate to blow his head off."
Then I heard it. It was as if every voice I had ever heard spoke the same distorted message in my head, calmly but stuttering and lagging behind each other in a disturbing cacophony.
"What are you doing?"
"What does it *look* like I'm doing? I'm holding your asshole friend hostage."
It took them a little while to answer again.
"You will release him. You have no hope of survival if you do not. Drop your crude weapon and we promise that no harm will come to you."
"No."
"Our message is quite clear. We will end you, as we did your 'friends' if you do not comply."
"You don't get it, do you? I don't *care*." The aliens tensed up.
"You will drop your weapons or I swear, *by god*, I will take as many of you with me as I can."
The aliens looked at each other and I could feel the one I held started sweating. Then miraculously they placed their weapons at the ground. Fighting dirty was apparently not their forte. Being a human I was well-versed in such.
"Turn around" I barked, and they complied.
"Now relea-"
Before the one 'speaking' could finish his sentence I had shot him. He fell to the ground, and before the others managed to turn around I had shot them all but the one I was holding, feeling a grim sense of satisfaction as they dropped.
"You said you would release me if we complied." he protested with in the calm tone of everyone I know.
"I lied." I said as I pushed him away from me.
"Tell your overlord or whatever that we do not fight honourably. We will bite down and we will bite down hard come the day of your invasion. Every man of this planet would rather blow himself and as many of your kind to pieces rather than succumb."
Terrified he ran for his ship, and I was left standing feeling a bitter taste in my mouth.
EDIT: Grammar. I have terrible grammar when I'm eating, apparently.
| 2014-11-09T16:22:23
| 2014-11-09T15:19:52
| 24
| 13
|
[WP] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home. It is finished and sent by the man who killed him.
|
Dear Mom,
I love you and I miss you dearly. I want to be home. I don't want to be here anymore. It is unspeakably terrifying in this trench. We are shelled at random times of the day. There is never any peace. We can never be at ease.
There is 400 meters between us and the enemy, and we are at a stand still. Neither side wishes to rush the other and get cut down running across an open field. So we sit and wait. I don't want to die, and I don't want to kill the men in the trench across from us. I don't think they want to kill us either. But we both have orders from men in headquarters far away from here telling us we must capture this territory at all cost. I do not want this war, and I
have dezided to desert. I von't be coming home mama, I haf met a friend named Olaf, he iz a good man, I vill be staying wit him. He will take good care of me. Please don't worry abouts me. I will wright too you soon. I will be happy.
Love,
your son
|
Hey Judy,
I know it's been a while since my last letter and I'm sorry. I honestly did try to write whenever I got the chance, but time gets away from you, you know? There's a lot I want to say and probably not a lot of time to say it.
First, I want you to know that I love you. Always have. From the moment I saw you in that red prom dress standing awkwardly by the DJ while Lindsey made out with Hank. I never thought I could get a girl like you. It helped that Lindsey was ignoring you. That softened you up for me so you agreed to that dance pretty quick. I felt bad for stepping on your toes during that dance and for doing it again at our wedding, big feet and all that. Seeing you in that gown was like prom all over again. Every time you got dressed up it felt like I was dying. My heart always stopped when I saw you, you were so beautiful.
Getting our first house was amazing too, wasn't it? I'm sorry I got the wrong paint for the living room and feel like I still owe you for helping me repaint it after you got home to your 'surprise'. My sense of color has always been off and I wouldn't be able to get dressed in the morning if it wasn't for you, or so you always told me. That made being in the military so easy, I just wear the same thing every day. Being apart from you was the hardest thing about enlisting, but I always told you I'd make it home.
I uhh, don't have much longer. I'm sorry I lied about being able to make it home. We were fighting some of the locals today, some stupid mission to recapture a bridge. Anyway's, I got shot. I'm sitting her and saying all this to the guy who shot me. He's doing a good job writing for me even though English isn't his first language. Please don't blame him. Or anyone else. He was just doing his job and so was I.
I love you. I'm sorry I won't be there for...
Sincerely,
Your husband and a sorry stranger.
| 2015-02-03T13:25:34
| 2015-02-03T12:59:38
| 67
| 20
|
[WP] You meet with the person who is scientifically proven to be your ideal match. Only you don't really like him/her, and you sense the feeling is mutual. The is until...
Surprise me with the thing that makes the protagonist(s) fall in love.
EDIT: Thanks for all the great replies guys. Seeing the divirsity and creativity poured into this really shows the talent we have on this site. I am still fairly new to WP, so I really enjoyed having a prompt this highly upvoted, and with several golds awarded for the stories.
|
I was honestly disappointed. While sitting across from her, a phrase kept repeating itself in my head: "Be careful with what you wish for, you might just get it."
It wasn't her plain visage and drab attire that bothered me. Neither was it her small face, freckled with a jawline that protruded outwards making her look like a squirrel who overstuffed its mouth. She was nothing special. And that bothered me.
I decided to speak up.
"So. Apparently, we're a match."
"An *ideal* match," she returned, with the least bit of affection in her voice. I couldn't blame her, I am no knight in shining armor.
"Do you think they made a mistake? I was expec---"
"Yes, they made a mistake." Her comment cut me sharp, more viscerally than I expected. I wanted to agree, get up and leave. I was most likely wasting my time, but I remembered what Brea told me before she died.
*Just because things aren't perfect doesn't mean they can't be good.*
I decided to take a wager and keep myself glued to the seat. There was a reason why she and I were here together, fated as night meets day. I could say that a lot of people were not as lucky as us two. Often times, the Bureau of Eugenics could not find matches for people and they were relegated to finding sub-optimal partners. Brea never accepted that but I knew better, yet even still, I loved her. I loved her like the body thirsted for water and hungered for food, and I needed every bit of her just as much. I needed her like the sun needed the sky and I was sure to her just as much as the return of spring after winter.
But I gave her up.
She studied me as I tried to make light conversation. *Where are you from* was met with *around here*. *What do you like to do* was answered with *my hobbies*. I regretted my decision to not walk out the door.
After a moment of silence, she looked into my eyes and said,
"Who was she?"
I stared back at her, not giving her an inch. I saw it in her eyes. In those green-blue eyes, I could see her, lucid and *sharp*. But it did not also betray my reflection. The question was *who was he?*
"Someone special. My soulmate." Her face nor disposition budged.
"It must've been hard to lose your soulmate."
"It is," I said. "As you know."
Her pursed lips slowly loosen into a nostalgic smile and she looked straight through me, past the walls that enclosed us, and past the horizon that bounded this small, little planet. Her green-blue eyes that stared at nothing and enveloped my entire universe were filled with a ruminating sadness, yet I could see that they were not accustomed to shedding tears. They were like a mirror, and I couldn't help but see myself.
"He was a stupid boy. So, so stupid." Her attention gravitated back to our conversation. "I never suffered stupid people, but he was different. One time, he purposely deprogrammed my visor just so he could fix it. I knew it all along and the look on his face when I rerouted the power conduit---" She laughed. "And the day when I told him that I liked him... I wished I'd never gave him the satisfaction. He told me that he'd smiled non-stop for weeks and that his dreams were butterscotch and licorice. There is truly nothing half as foolish as a man in love."
I felt the ice break but the truth was, I could only think of Brea in response to her sonderous monologue.
"She... Was wild and free like the wind." I relented and tried not to use too many metaphors. "Her hair was brown and her eyes were brown."
She smiled across the table, with the smile this time meant for me. "Did you love her something fierce?"
"I loved her more than we complemented each other." Reactionarily, I balled my fist and held my cheek against it. "I loved her enough that I was willing to work at it."
"What a wistful thing to say," she said, half-amused and half-devastated. "Do you think you two were perfect for each other?"
"I don't think things could've ever been perfect for us," I admitted.
Then she smiled and said,
"Just because things aren't perfect doesn't mean they can't be good."
|
“But it can’t be wrong.”
“Of course it can” he let out an exasperated gasp and mumbled, “For fucks sake.”
“But its…you know…science.”
“Its science, not magic. Science isn’t perfect. That’s how it works. You know- trial and error.”
“Well when is the last time you heard of it not matching someone perfectly?” she asked.
He stammered for a moment before letting up, “Never.”
They sat in a mournful silence. They stared down at the fine china and white linens. Around them waiters and waitresses shuffled endlessly, serving the happy couples. From every table poured saccharine sap of requited love. But all were to enraptured in their own escapades too be sickened by the others cooing and camp. All except these two. These two looked at nothing but the table, equally ignoring everyone’s joy and their own misery.
“Well maybe they got our names mixed up with someone else or something?” she offered.
“It seems a little convenient that there would be a mix up and we’d happen to both get each other’s names.”
Just then, their waiter glided up with most serene expression and inquired, “And how is the miracle of modern science work for you two lovely people?”
“It fuckin ain’t,” he spat back at the waiter. Casting a glance across the table he asked, “Is it?”
“No, I guess it’s not,” came the reply.
The waiter stood aghast, mouth open and brows upturned. The shock the poor man’s system was too much for him to bare and found it impossible to move or speak.
The man at the table stood up. Shoving a wade of money in the waiter’s breast pocket he told him, “Listen, you can cancel all that fancy overpriced shit we order. We’re leaving.” He took the woman by the wrist and fairly dragged her out the door. Most the patrons were too enraptured to notice the commotion. Those that did assumed they were simply overcome with passion and had to…leave.
Once in the street they quickly hailed a taxi. He directed the driver to the TrueMatch building then sat in silence. They were lucky the driver had a limited English vocabulary. His eyes constantly in the rearview mirror betrayed that he was intrigued by this disgustedly couple. The woman stared at the picture of the dark beauty perched upon the dash board.
Finally, the man gave a chuckle. “Did you see the look on that pompous waiter’s face?”
“Yeah,” she answered with a faint smile, “I believe that’s what they call nonplused.” They almost looked at each other.
After what had seemed like eons, they arrived at their destination. The man charged up to the door but found it locked. He shook the door with all his might. For a moment it seemed the door would shatter but it did not yield.
She came walking up slowly behind him. “The sign says they’re open till seven,” she reported.
“Well they ain’t,” he shouted at the empty building before letting out a heavy sigh, “Assholes.”
“Fuckin dickbags,” she confirmed. Finally they shared a laugh, a moment of relief that this farce was finally over.
“Well I better go home and eat something, I’m starving,”
“Fuckin Right,” she confirmed. He turned to leave but she caught his arm.
“Hey, you want to grab some tacos?”
“Fuckin Right.”
Edit: Words are hard
| 2014-08-14T07:54:27
| 2014-08-14T07:16:29
| 479
| 30
|
[WP] You have been prank calling a foreign number for years because of the hilariously angry reactions of the victim at the number. Today men in black suits brought you in for questioning, wanting to know why you have been calling the number of a major terrorist leader so frequently.
|
"First of all," I said. "Have you heard his voice? Dude's fucking hilarious. Nasal, check. High pitched, check. Funny accent, check. Added bonus, he squeaks before he shouts. The guy fucking squeaks when he gets angry! Who *wouldn't* prank call him?"
One of the agents slammed his hands down on the metal table. It echoed in the shipping container like the slamming of a prison door. "No more of this bullshit!"
The other flipped open the manilla file in front of her and drew a beautifully manicured fingernail lazily down the list of calls. She nodded to the guy, who withdrew with dignity. "Forty-nine phone calls."
"Sounds about right," I said.
"Irregularly spaced."
"I only call when I have good material," I told her. "Artistic integrity."
"Always at night."
"That's when I drink."
The man sneered at me. "Got an answer for everything, don't you?"
Paradoxically, that stumped me.
The woman flipped to the second sheet of paper. "April thirteenth. The day before the Syrian Embassy in Mumbai was bombed. You called up asking for Holden McCrotch."
I laughed, in spite of the situation. "Yeah, I remember that one."
She wasn't laughing. "The embassy insider's name was Richard Holden."
"So?"
She glared. "So you knew about Mr Holden?"
"What? No! No. Are you kidding? If I knew about a guy called Dick Holden, do you think I would have had to stretch to McCrotch? Look, I'm sure you could find a bunch of coincidences. It's a Bible Code thing, isn't it? There's bound to be -"
"November seventeenth. The evening before the attack on the offices of Der Spiegel. You phoned up asking if his refrigerator was running."
I was a little embarrassed by that one. "It was a homage. Paying tribute to the classics. I never did any Simpsons jokes. I thought that was played out, you know?"
The man sipped his coffee. "The bomb was placed in a refrigerator."
"I would never have done that," I said. "Not least of all because that's normally where they put them in the movies to contain the explosion," I said. "I thought those things were indestructible."
"A refrigerator never stopped any explosion," the woman said.
I shrugged - as well as I could in handcuffs. "Tell that to Indiana Jones," I said. The male agent reared up. "Don't hit the table!" I shouted. "That shit's really loud."
"December twelfth," she said. "The night before the hijacking of flight 525 from Latakia."
"I don't even know where that is!"
"You called to order a pizza. Insisting his number was a pizzaria's called 'The Mighty Sausage'."
"Not my best," I said. "I was thinking -"
The man threw his coffee cup against the wall. "And the next day a rocket was launched against Chennai University! Who do you think we're looking to pin this on?"
"Chennai A&M?"
He grabbed me by the lapels and dragged me upwards. The chair strained against the bolts on the floor. The metal of the cuffs grated against the bones of my wrists. "You think your smart mouth is going to get you out of this trouble?"
"Why not?" I asked. "It got me into it." He dropped me back down. I landed on my thumb, twisting it painfully. "I don't know anything about this!" I yelled. "They were just prank calls! You can't keep me here! I don't know anything!"
The woman closed the file. "We're going to give you some time to think about this," she said.
"I want my phone call," I said.
"Enemy combatants don't get lawyers," the man said.
I smiled winningly. "I wasn't going to call my lawyer," I said. "I was going to call Achmed Samir."
They both looked straight at me. "Why?" the woman said.
"You said I'd made forty-nine calls," I told them. "If I'm going to be thrown into Guantanamo Bay for the rest of my life, I at least want to make an even fifty."
|
"Wait..What?!" I yelled to the men, both with a blank expression on their faces
"We see you called the number 240-555-8692, so frequently that it is threatening to why you are calling that much." One of the two quickly snapped back
"Uh..why does it matter?" I said in a concerned voice
The two men looked at each other and noded;
"Sir the person you are calling is a major terrorist leader..we've already seen your criminal history, we were honestly shocked at the little crimes you've commited..so why have you been calling Mr. Naifeh?"
I was stunned.. "I have been **fucking prank calling a terrorist leader for the past 4 years?!**" I thought to myself.
"Uh..it..was...uh" My heart is pounding by now
"I..I have been prank calling him for the past 4 or so years now.."
The men looked at each other.. they honestly looked like they wanted to just blow my head off and leave..
**"Sir.."** I could hear him physically cringing his teeth
**"What..TYPE..of prank calls?"** He said..
I looked over to the other man, by now he looked like he was about to punch me in my teeth
"Uh..like..uh..Should I gave an example of a conversation I had with him?"
**"Sure..sir.."**
I was sweating by now.. but.. alright now to pretend prank call a terrorist leader infront of 2 MIB
*"Hello? Who the hell is this?"*
"Hey boss.. I got you your partners vibrator shipment.."
*"God damnit STOP FUCKING CALLING ME!"*
"Sir what are you talking about? I have them.. oh and the guys are bringing in the box of herpes cream at the moment sir."
*"IF YOU CALL ME AGAIN ILL BLOW YOUR HEAD OFF!"*
The man who had been silent for most of my questioning told me I was then free to leave.. when I was leaving I could hear them slamming something on the table..
| 2015-11-03T15:01:37
| 2015-11-03T14:32:45
| 97
| 21
|
[WP] Your phone suddenly receives an emergency alert that tells you to seek shelter immediately. Your pet slowly walks up to you, looks you dead in the eye, and says: “The time has come. Follow me.”
|
As my phone buzzed with emergency alerts, I started panicking. What was wrong? What was happening? There was no way that I was going to die this young, that's for sure. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my cat, Annie, slowly striding towards me.
"Annie, what are we going to do?" I said, my voice heavy with worry. "I haven't prepared anything for something like this! I never even thought that the apocalypse would happen right now! I still have college to finish!"
"Please relax, Mason," said Annie, her sapphire-blue eyes gazing directly into mine. "The time has come. Follow me, and everything will be alright."
I was taken aback. Did my cat just speak to me? Surely not. Has the stress gotten to my head already?
"I know this is sudden, but please trust me," she said gently. "After everything you have done for me, I want to repay you." Her slender tail swayed lightly as she gave me a warm smile.
"I-I'm not sure what's happening, or why this is even happening... but OK. Lead the way." I push away the shock the best I could and grabbed my phone and a portable charger. Against the advice of the alerts that were filling up my phone, I follow the lithe tabby figure out of the door and into the nearby woods. Maybe this wasn't the best idea - following my now-talking cat and all - but hey, if my favorite furry roommate could get me out of whatever mess the world is going through right now, I'll take it. Besides, I couldn't just brush aside the fact that a cat had just started talking to me.
After a few minutes of frantic running through the woods, I caught a glimpse of Annie disappearing through a patch of bushes. I sighed and chased after her. Sharp twigs clawed at my face and arms as I stumble through the shrubbery. After an eternity of the needle-like branches, I finally burst through to the other side.
The first thing I saw were cats. Lots and lots of cats. Probably more cats than I had ever seen before in my entire life. And in the center of this mass of felines was a slender, tall woman with jet black hair. She wore flowing white linens and ornate golden bracelets and necklaces. When her eyes locked on to me, I felt her sharp, emerald eyes drill into my soul.
"And who is this, dear Annie?" she asked. Her velvety voice seemed to echo across the clearing.
"This is my human, Mason," she replied, bowing her head to the mysterious stranger. "He has been good to me, and I hope that he is worthy of your protection, Lady Bastet."
"Hold on, 'Bastet'? Aren't you that Egyptian cat goddess or something like that?" I questioned. "You're a real thing?"
Bastet's eyes narrowed. "I go by many names, Mason. But yes, I am indeed 'a real thing,' as you bluntly put it."
I gulped. Maybe I should've been a little more careful around a literal goddess. "OK, so what is up with this urgent emergency alert that I've been getting? And why did my cat bring me here anyways?"
"Annie seems to think very highly of you if she wanted me to provide you my protection. For what is quickly approaching this world, a mortal like you will need it." She gestured to the cats surrounding her. "I am a protector, warrior, and guardian of all cats. If one of my followers believes you to be worthy, I will give you a chance."
My mind stalled from trying to take in this whole crazy scenario. "T-Thank you for protecting me from whatever this is. But what exactly IS-"
Suddenly, Bastet turned her head towards the sun. "We don't have much time, mortal. We should depart immediately."
The hoard of felines began to draw closer to her as she muttered some sort of spell. Annie gently rubbed up against my leg like she always does at home. "I'm glad you're coming with me, Mason. You're the kindest human I know," she meowed. "Lady Bastet will explain everything soon. I'm sure of it!"
A glimmering golden portal opened up in front of Bastet. She nimbly leapt into it; her cats quickly followed. Annie left my side and glided gracefully into the portal without missing a step. I was suddenly alone in a clearing with nothing but my phone and a giant magical portal to who knows where.
I took a deep and tried my best to shake off my nerves. I glanced back in the direction of where my house is for the last time, and stepped into the swirling portal.
|
**Caninenus Revolutionus**
My phone wouldn’t stop its incessant buzzing. I was tired of Amber Alerts always ringing away unwanted. But they usually stopped after 10 min of ignoring it. THis one however hadn’t stopped in an hour. And I refused to look at it. Instead I occupied my time with cooking a delicious meal I hadn’t had for a while.
Rusty, my cat, looked up at me from where she sat on the counter, as I cooked. “Want some?” I offered her some of the salmon I was frying.
She ignored the food on my finger and jumped down from the counter and ran off. “Don’t disturb Max!” I yelled after it.
Max was my baby beagle that I recently adopted. He was an energetic pup. Always happy and content with being in his new home. Though he often got into trouble with my cat. I continued on with my food but the buzzing began to grow louder. I felt Rusty scratching at my pant leg.
I looked down and saw her prodding me with my phone in her mouth. No wonder the buzzing got louder. I sighed and kneeled on the floor to pick my phone out of her mouth. Finally giving in I unlocked my phone to the familiar Amber Alert screen. Except, this time there was no missing persons. Instead there was a warning. An emergency alert had been embedded onto it. It read to evacuate and get to a bunker. That I was only one of the select few chosen to be saved.
“What? What’s the meaning of this? This has to be a joke right?” I turned to my cat.
“No Jim, it isn’t. This is real and it’s time. Follow me. And don’t forget your stupid beagle,” she sauntered off to the door not really fazed by anything.
I did not expect her to answer my question. It had been meant to be rhetorical. But now I couldn’t just ignore what just happened. So I found a lunchbox to empty my food in and went over to leash Max. He was very excited. His puppy brain thought that we were going for a walk, but not even I was sure what we were going for.
I opened the door and started to reach for my keys.
“You won’t need them. Not anymore. Trust me.” I listened to her and left them where they were.
Outside the normally busy main street was quiet and empty. I couldn’t remember the last time it was like this. Nor did I want to. The experience was just too eerie.
“So where are we going? And what's going on?” I asked.
Rusty looked back at me and replied while continuing to walk, “The dogs are beginning their takeover. And we, the cats, have decided to join forces with the dogs who decided to go against their brethren and build underground cities around the world in order to protect you. While you live underground, we shall wage war against the canines up here. And you shall live under our protection until we either win, or lose.”
“Huh, and I thought that the cats were evil.”
“Oh, yeah...That was true at one point. But we got too lazy to really try and do anything of that magnitude. And as the ages went by we ended up deciding against our original plan and ended up being the protectors of the human race.”
After a few blocks of walking we finally came to a stop at a bus stop. “The bunker is at a bus stop?”
“Underground city. And no. This is just where we lose the mutts that’ve been following us,” Rusty turned and hissed at the shadows.
Several German Shepherds came out of the shadows, snarling. Max whined in fear and ducked behind me.
“Get ready to run on my signal,” Rusty ordered.
The dogs slowly inched forward to us. I backed a bit in fear. I was afraid of German Shepherds. The last time I interacted with one, I was mauled by it and I had no intention of getting into a scuffle with one again.
“I should’ve bought a gun!” I regretted my stance against the rights to bear arms.
“Now!” she yowled.
The three of us bolted into an alley. Cats jumped down from fire escapes and began to swat the dogs’ faces. The sounds of the fight began to grow distant the farther we went into the alley. I paused out of breath, I gripped Max’s leash tightly as he tried to drag me farther.
“Down boy, let’s rest a bit.” I looked at Rusty who jumped onto a garbage can and began licking her chest fur. “So why can’t the government just fight against the dogs? We have the military power to defeat a bunch of animals.” I inquired.
“The FBI, gov, and police have been corrupted by the dogs. They’re not on your side. Not anymore. We’re your only hope now. Now come on. The entrance is actually inside this alley.” She jumped off and trotted onward.
I had no choice but to follow after. We ended up at a wall where we couldn’t continue. “Now what?”
She ignored my question as she jumped onto a fire escape above. The floor began to move making me get back a bit. Max sniffed at the floor and began to bark. A staircase came into view as the ground split open.
“There’s your sanctuary, Jim. It’s time for you to go and time for me to join the war. It was an honour being your cat Jim.” Rusty ran off before I could say anything.
I walked into it carefully. Max walked behind me trying to sniff everything. Once we were both fully inside, the opening closed up again. It was pitch black for a moment before lights switched on. It was a long walk until I came upon a gate. ***Portum*** the sign read. If my latin was correct then it meant Haven. I walked past it and in front of me was the biggest city, I was able to see completely, below me.
Edits: Changed Phased to Fazed
r/PsyionicWrites
| 2018-02-07T16:03:01
| 2018-02-07T12:01:52
| 123
| 90
|
[WP] In a world where elemental magic affinity manifests on your 18th birthday, you and your family have always assumed yours would be water since you love waterfalls, lakes, rivers, etc. But when your time came, nothing manifested. And people are starting to get worried.
|
When I was 8 years old my parents took me to see Niagra Falls. It was magnificent; truly breathtaking. The flow of the water changed so drastically, but was always the same at that point in the falls. That's when my mild interest bloomed into a healthy obsession.
In middle school I started researching not just the bodies of water in present time, but how they changed and evolved over history. The Amazon river, for example, twists and shifts like a snake over time. One, dedicated river was able to carve the most Grand Canyon in the world! And now even humans have the ability to bend rivers, move lakes, and harness power from dams.
I guess that's why everyone is afraid of me now. I was supposed to gain affinity with an element when I turned 18. They thought it would be water, and so did I. All the decorations were water themed, and because of my strong interest in the element the local mages guild was ready to take me on as an apprentice. Their most experienced water mage was ready to teach me, and things went wrong when I tried to bend the water in a lawn fountain.
It was the basic of basic magics, to alter the flow of a trickle of water flowing in my yard. I concentrated, imagining how it would move naturally over time; just like the Amazon. When I opened my eyes that small trickle I was concentrating on had moved, but so had the landscape around it. Flowers had sprouted, grew, and withered in mere seconds during my spell. I hadn't altered the flow of water: I had altered the flow of time.
That's when the whimsical expressions of the mages turned sour. They were afraid. I can't blame them, because I was afraid too. As they readied fireballs, electricity, and icicles, I bottled up. Curling into a ball, I didn't want to get hurt. I didn't want to hurt them. I didn't want to do anything. So nothing happened.
And nothing continued to happen. The mages posed in threatening positions, my party guests statued in fleeing arrangements, and the fear and horror were etched into my parent's faces. I didn't want to deal with all of this, so I walked away from it all. Maybe one day I'll be able to resume my natural flow, but today is not that day.
|
Finding out an affinity is the most important day in a person's life, right after being born of course, and maybe marriage, and the birth of a kid, and perhaps death, or the death of your own parents. But it's right up there in the top ten or so. Fire was, for the longest time, the coolest, but a bunch of X-Men movies later having a metal affinity trumps fire. Earth was always base, and it's easy to feel sorry for the kids who get wood because it's super lame. But being super lame is way better than being aether, because you get to actually play on a team when you're a core elemental, but aether gets made the water boy, the line coach, the cheer squad, the bat boy, the ring babe holding the round sign. It is the gap fill of magic, and there're a litany of cruddy jobs that aether is destined to fill.
First, aether doesn't actually show up as anything, and it's not scientifically proven that an aether affinity is any different than no affinity at all. But here's the kicker, you can't just go form your own little clique and ignore everyone else, because the other elements need aether or they are pretty useless on their own, which brings up the second point. Two, you're forced to watch everyone else having the time of their lives and the only thing, the only single thing, they are interested in is that you don't wander out of the zone and mess up whatever it is they happen to be doing. But, let's face it, that is pretty funny when, as a practical joke, all the aether kids up and walk out of the big game and both sides suddenly find themselves without their elemental capabilities. It's funny until you get busted because it's pretty obvious who was involved, and so begins a long journey through life of being everybody's problem and nobody's solution.
Life just isn't fair sometimes. All you wanted was water, which is several degrees of lame already, and not only do you get aether, which is the universe giving you the big shaft, your snot-nosed sister gets metal, and that's just way not fair.
| 2019-09-16T11:00:21
| 2019-09-16T10:58:22
| 49
| 23
|
[WP] Death is surprised when you lose in the game for your life, it says "This is the first time in over two thousand years that my opponent did not cheat."
|
"Check" The figure that kept shifting between a swirling mass of darkness, Mr. Rogers, the Grim Reaper, and me said disinterestedly.
I moved my Bishop and took his queen. He held on Mr. Rogers for a few minutes longer than he did usually. "Checkmate." He said as he held his mouth open.
"Okay, what now?"
"I don't know."
"What?" I said incredulously "What do you mean you don't know? Don't I move on or whatever like in The Seventh Seal?"
"The what?"
"The Seventh Seal, it's a classic Ingmar Bergman Film about a guy who plays a game of chess against death for his life and Loses. It's where I got the idea."
"I haven't seen it."
"So I'm the only person Who's ever tried this?"
"What? No of course not. You're the only person who didn't try to cheat."
"I figured if I did you'd find out and send me to hell."
"Oh you were totally right about that I would have done both of those things. But everyone has cheated for the last 2000 years."
"2000 years? So did that guy win fairly?"
"Oh no he lost."
"Well what happened to him?"
"I don't remember."
"Alright who was he?"
"Some jewish guy. I think he was executed or something."
I was trying to process the fact that I may have been as morally upstanding as Jesus when Death (now looking like a black mass again) pulled something that looked oddly like a phone out of a pocket (how it did that is a whole other mess). and explained the situation to someone. "Alright" he said putting the phone away. "You get to meet the big guy."
"God?"
"Is that what you are calling him now? Yeah sure God lets go with that." He turned back into a Middle aged Man "Take my hand."
|
There had been a weird moment, where Karly almost wanted to cheat. She had lived a life of stolen moments. She often felt her life was not her own, working against the person she should have been.
Karly didn't know what to think of Death when he approached her. Karly had been standing on the curb, waiting for the light to change. In the spirit of getting healthier, she had been walking to work. She had missed the sound of the horn, the squealing tires, as someone jumped the curb and hit her.
So when Death stood beside her, still on the same curb, she almost laughed. He was wearing street clothes, draped in shiny black track material. He even had on the latest shoes. Yet his face, skin so tight she could almost count his teeth, seemed more pleasant than most joggers. He was looking at her, not through her.
"I think I made a mistake," Karly said.
"And what would that be?" Death asked.
"I shouldn't have had my music so loud," Karly said. Then she shrugged. "Do they have music in the afterlife?"
"I can't say," Death replied. "It depends on the person."
Karly smiled. "I don't believe you. I think there will always be music. Just maybe not *Story of a Girl.*" She looked down at her body, now turning gray against all the colors of the world.
"You can retry," Death said.
"Like a video game?" Karly asked.
"Yes."
"What's the cost?" Karly wondered.
"There is no cost," Death said. "You just have to avoid doing this again."
Karly shook her head. "No thank you."
"But you have a chance to put me off," Death said. "Don't you want that?"
"What if I am okay with it?" Karly asked. "This doesn't seem like... a bad thing. I don't know, I guess I just am done trying."
| 2017-07-16T19:51:20
| 2017-07-16T14:05:31
| 22
| 13
|
[WP] You suddenly find your doors and windows won't open. You log in to Reddit and find the most upvoted thread with over a million comments and just two hours old "Help, my door is stuck, any tips to get it open?"
Update!
**Cawos has kindly offered to turn the top submission into a short film!**
Please subscribe to /r/cmfilms to follow updates and be the first to hear about it when it releases!
|
The mouse idea didn't work. I knew it was another troll, but I can't just sit here doing nothing, can I... Can I? No, no, I have to keep trying before I run out of air. I mean logically it makes no sense, putting the mouse inside my anus has no possible relation to the phenomena effecting my doors and windows, but *none* of this makes sense. It's not a sudden increase in humidity causing wood to swell, my windows are PVC. It can't be coincidence, r/theydidthemath calculated it as a statistical impossibility...
Someone will work it out soon, just keep refreshing...
(12 new comments)
'Donald trump is behind it'
No, that doesn't sound right. Downvote.
'PLEASE HELP ME I'M PANICKING'
"Yeah, aren't we all buddy" I say to myself, shaking my head despairingly.
'Beeswax is good for preventing jams'
Another person ignorant of his own fate, trying to be helpful.
Just more of the same. No answers.
I shuffle on my seat, trying to sooth the dull ache. "Too many fucking trolls nowadays...."
Ah shit I clicked out of the thread, where is it again.... click TOP again that'll find it.... no can't see it, where is it? Oh wait, there it is, halfway down the page now, underneath some thread about how North America would look on Jupiter.... yeah I bet that'd be dwarfed, Jupiter's massive....
Yeah thought so! Quickly check the comments, make sure they didn't post a misleading picture beofre I bank that in my memory...
>Can you imagine living if the earth was the size of Jupiter? Just travelling to the other side would take months with current technology.
The conversation that follows spans the intricacies of Boeing 747s, the current state of technology today and the quantum mechanics behind gravitational forces. Most people concur that the atmosphere would be too devoid of oxyge.... oh shit SHIT *SHIT* I just wasted half an hour while I burn through the remaining air in this room! I have to get out, quick....
Where's that thread gone...
Ah there it is, near the bottom of the 'top threads' page now. I expect that means everyone's found a way out! No harm in reading just one other thread first then...
|
The top comment is blank. I scroll down, but it only takes about a half-turn of my mousewheel to get to the bottom of the page. Every one of the top 200 comments is a blank post. It's only then I can let myself recognize the fact, that all these posts, have the same four-letter username. Actually, they all have the exact same line of text, under their single blank line;
| 2016-01-31T10:29:29
| 2016-01-31T10:28:16
| 24
| 10
|
Daily Prompt: The Alphabet Game [Difficulty level: HARD]
One of the exercises we used to do in improv class was called "The Alphabet Game." That's where you start a sentence beginning with the letter A. Then the next sentence begins with the letter B. So, today's prompt requires you to, essentially, do the alphabet - but I'll go a little easy on you and say that it can be in any form you want: A poem, short story, whatever. It could even be a single sentence as long as each word that follows the previous word is the next letter in the alphabet. (Or, the alphabet in reverse if you want to show off!)
ADDED DIFFICULTY: Try to avoid using more than two character names. It's pretty easy to just say Zeke.
The subject is virtually ANYTHING you want to write about. Just work that alphabet in like I mentioned above. Good luck!
^^^^(oh ^^^and ^^^there ^^^will ^^^be ^^^one ^^^month ^^^of ^^^reddit ^^^gold ^^^for ^^^the ^^^one ^^^i ^^^like ^^^the ^^^most. ^^^i'll ^^^hand ^^^that ^^^prize ^^^out ^^^tomorrow ^^^if ^^^there ^^^are ^^^at ^^^least ^^^three ^^^entries... ^^^hopefully ^^^people ^^^enjoy ^^^random ^^^unannounced ^^^contests.)
EDIT: Congrats to traysledding and survivortype. ALL of the entries were wonderful and unique, but I enjoyed the flow of both stories and couldn't choose so I've given both of you a month of Reddit gold. Cheers.
|
Arriving late to the game, I'm in a position to critique my competition. Bad grammar infects every entry in this thread, and a decent plot is nowhere to be found. Could a progressive-alphabet format really be so difficult to pull off that clarity and wit would necessarily take a back seat to syntax?
Don't worry about *my* prose faltering near the end of the alphabet. Eventually, of course, I will hit the ominous 'X', which has no earthly business at the beginning of a sentence. Fortunately, however, I have a plan to approach that dastardly letter with considerably more tact than my predecessors. Getting the adjacent sentences to blend with it naturally, however, may pose a problem.
Historically, the 'X' has been been a stumbling block in games like this one, because the only obvious contenders for x-words are 'xylophone', 'x-ray', 'xenophobia' and 'xerox'. I considered each of those, but they all seemed rather unwieldy. Judging from the competition, z-words are no picnic either. K-words are at least as awkward, but I'm confident I'll find a subtle gimmick to get me over that hump.
Lots of people in this thread used proper nouns (i.e. the names of people or places) to weasel their way around the tough letters. My goal, on the other hand, was to create text that flows naturally without any verbal crutches. Nothing of value is being created when we just force awkward sentences together, or circumvent the weak points of the English language by pulling proper nouns from any language.
One redditor even went so far as to put "Xoxoxo" (the symbols for 'hugs and kisses' often appended to the end of letters) at the beginning of his 'x' sentence. Perhaps I'm just being a snob, but I can't help but think we should at the very least hold ourselves to the standard of using *actual words*.
Quintessentially, this challenge is about creating a piece that flows naturally while operating under difficult constraints. Remove those constraints by taking easy shortcuts and it doesn't matter how smooth your writing is-- you've missed the point of the exercise.
Sure, I cheated a little with my 'k'-sentence, but I think you'll agree that it was strictly for comedic value, and not an attempt to circumvent the obligations of the challenge at hand. The truth is that the conversational nature of this post would have easily allowed me to replace that sentence with "Kindly note..." followed by any exposition I wanted. Unfortunately I fear that even having pointed out that I did have viable alternatives at the ready, some people are still going to accuse me of half-assing that bit.
Verbosity isn't an option with so few sentences remaining, so I'll have to abandon my rant and return your attention to my earlier claim about approaching my 'x'-sentence with tact. What I had in mind was a PSA to all the other authors who find this challenge in the future:
"X-Chromosome", my friends, is a relatively recent addition to our lexicon, and mainstream enough that you can use it in word games like this without raising objections.
You may be rolling your eyes at this suggestion, but that's only because you haven't considered the utility of tying it to the next hard-to-tackle letter, 'z', for which 90% of the participants shoe-horned in the word 'zero'.
"Zygotes", you see, are apropos to discussions of x-chromosomes, and the two terms when used in conjunction would let you end your exposition in a strong and unified way, as I have just demonstrated in this meta-analysis.
|
All throughout my childhood have been memories of fruit. Beautiful, delectable, and tasty fruit. Children on my block used to gather around and play with fruit, except one child never came outside, and only watched the children play. Daniel Honeydew. Everyone knew of him, because he was a household name, but nobody dared speak to him. Fruit was never the main part of Daniel's life, in fact when brought up in conversation, he ignored it.
Gradeschool came, and Daniel was the outcast. How he made it to graduating college is beyond me. I don't recall him ever having a group of friends. Just him and his lunch, alone at the table. Kids used to poke and make fun of him, and when they did, he ate in the bathroom. Let's not forget the fact that kids in the bathroom used to poke fun at him as well. My friends always used to ask me how Daniel Honeydew was as a neighbor, and I never knew what to respond. Not one of our neighbors talked to the Honeydew family, let alone Daniel Honeydew.
Over time, Honeydew grew into a mysterious and elegant highschooler. People in high school were not as nasty to him, but as the technological age developed, so did Cyberbullying. "Quarterback Jack" (Jack Hendelson from the Football Team) used to taunt Daniel by making fake Facebook accounts of girls, which led Daniel Honeydew to pure humility and disappointment. Right as the technological age got smarter, Daniel Honeydew got smarter. Soon after, Daniel was hacking "Quarterback Jack's" Facebook and reverting the Cyberbullying back to him. This not only proved that Daniel was evolving into a smarter being, but also one with a sense of humor at that.
Under his coat of excellence and pseudo-superiority however, was a shy timid boy who had met a girl at school named Melanie Waters, whom Daniel tried very much to impress. Violet flowers, classical music, and fake champagne. While Melanie Waters barely knew him, Daniel made his romantic dates with her a giant ordeal. "Xoxoxo," was written on signs all over his house, which I thought was very creepy.
Years later, it was moving day with Melanie to Ohio, and Daniel Honeydew became the man I, my friends, or "Quarterback Jack" never was. Zooming by in his Cadillac for the last time I saw him on my block, the past 'children' and I looked at each other, and saw what became of the 'weird' kid on the block.
| 2012-08-08T20:20:38
| 2012-08-08T10:49:35
| 72
| 10
|
[WP] Create a character who is a paragon of virtue, kind and good and all round awesome. Make me hate this character.
|
Tall. Dark. Handsome. Polite. Talented. Not to mention a brilliant disposition and a stunning countenance.
The sort of man that women dream about, the one that drives envy into the roots of men.
What does he do? Everything. How does he do it? Well, *incredibly* well.
He'll donate a small fortune (small to him, large to us) to charity right before he volunteers at the orphanage.
*The motherfucking orphanage*
He can cook you a gourmet dinner and then fornicate like a god, and the only reason I know that is because I've been told that by all of his exes multiple times.
Speaking of exes, they all still love him. He removed himself from their lives without uprooting the slightest negative emotion.
Sure, I like him, but I just wish people would stop comparing me to him.
|
She was always so happy, blissful, kind.
Even when I wasn't.
We sharply disagreed on many things, but she never held my beliefs against me.
I never saw her being negative or rude. Hell, I never even saw her frown until she started talking about GMOs and animal abuse. She donated, volunteered, and gave me no reason to think poorly of her. But I couldn't stand her. Mind you, it was not because she made me feel inferior. It was more that every time I was around her, every time I spoke, I couldn't help but wonder what negative things she thought but never spoke. If half of her thoughts are negative but only the positive ones leave her mouth.
I prefer my asshole friends. At least I know what they're thinking.
| 2014-06-27T09:33:10
| 2014-06-27T08:52:58
| 19
| 13
|
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
"Well there goes that plan"
I thought, as the 20 year old man infront of me aged 200 years in mere seconds and crumbled into dust.
"Prisoner" the judge shouted as he leered down from his chair. "Have you decided the method of your demise?"
"I have your honour" I managed to garble through my shaking jaw.
I guess there is no getting out of this. If I have to go then I may as well go out with a bang!
"Well boy?? Get on with it! What shall it be?"
"Here goes nothing" I though.
.......
"Death by Snu Snu sir"
|
"I would like to die of old age"
I froze, as those words resonated in my head, the realization that his nape would be the last I see of him quickly sinked in.
"*Why...?*" I murmured. Why would he do that? He's not that gullible as to think the Supreme Court of Wizardry would let him get away with that, he's the mastermind behind it all, for Merlin's beard! He's the one who found out about the breach in the treaty, the muggle camps in Stirling, he convinced us, led us, believed in us... We were so close to rid the world of that noxious titan of a minister, just that one droplet would have been enough...
​
"Then, without further ado, for crimes against the Ministry, organising an uprising and for the theft of the sacred first titan Olaf's blood, we hereby sentence you to death, by old age, as requested." the judge's voice exploded through the hall.
His hair started losing its distinct red colour, exposing more and more patches of his scalp. Some weird black marks could be seen behind his curls.
I can barely contain my tears, I would've given everything for this man, as I'm sure he would've done for me also. He called me by his name, and yet this pitiful sight of him is all that's left...
​
Some commotion could be heard in the otherwise silent chamber of the jury, as a minute man hurried through the crowd, causing turmoil. His wacky moustache really didn't fit the vexed expression painting his face, neither did his voice tone, as it echoed through the room, trying to sound solemn.
"Know that we will find Olaf's blood! Your existence will be notorious through the whole continent as nothing more than pointless, so wipe that smirk off your face!"
"*He's... smirking?"* Of course he'd be smirking... even facing death under the spiteful noses of these disdainful aristocrats his spirit wouldn't break. I look back at him, as I struggle to accept my own fate myself, and right there, right in front of me is the answer. Tattooed on the back of his head is an encrypted message, calibrated exactly to work on my lenses!
I'm once more shook, as his body begins falling apart, I can't stop my tears, nor my gratitude, he really did give me everything in the end. The dust settles, and I make up my mind, looking up.
"The choice is yours." finally the judge's sight lands upon me, scrutinizing me, digging deep into my soul. I concede him little time however, as my leader's last words paint a clear picture in my mind, I spout my answer loud and clear.
"I wish to stab myself with the dagger resting on my desk at home!"
​
"So be it."
​
*A droplet of Olaf's blood is enough to rid a titan of their life, and grant a human a second one. He was half human.*
| 2021-06-24T10:06:58
| 2021-06-24T09:19:00
| 20
| 12
|
[WP]The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus still inside every single human. Centuries in the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don't stay dead easily.
|
Private First Class Andrew Cass stumbled over the rocky ridge as alien blaster fire thundered above. They were being pushed back, there was no denying it. Along what amounted to their front lines, the alien spearhead had already broken through in numerous places. The squads of exhausted marines that held the line were being overrun as enemy shock troops closed in.
“Who’s in charge here!” He shouted to a group of Marines manning a heavy machine gun. A young Sergeant looked up, near panic in his eyes as they poured fire on the horde of enemy fighters quickly moving through their defensive trenches. “Command bunker is 20 yards down this trench sir!” the bewildered sergeant shouted back. He was yelling it out, the chatter of machine gun fire drowning him out. As the sergeant stood up to point down a long trench that led to a half buried bunker, he was knocked back by a volley of fire from an unseen enemy. The needle like supersonic projectiles tore through his body. The alien rifle ordinance didn’t leave much of an entrance or exit wound, but the nerve toxin like effect they had on humans would kill within seconds.
As Cass dove for cover he found himself lying next to the dying man. As the sergeant took his last breath, Cass rolled over just in time to hear the muffled pop of the mans Cortical Implant. Implanted at birth, it was a stark reminder of the last near extinction humanity had faced, and the desperate measures it had taken to ensure their survival. He now saw the pooling blood and brain matter that poured from the mans head, the small explosive charge in the implant had destroyed the brainstem from within.
Cass got up and stumbled forward. He began to run toward the bunker, his already battered body aching with the effort. Two sentries waved him through and he dashed through the narrow opening. Cass ran right into the command bunker, nearly colliding with the half dozen men huddled over their communications equipment.
“Sir” he managed to stutter breathlessly, “Bravo team is overrun, we’ve lost the landing zone”
The men in the room all stopped what they were doing and stared straight at him. It was over. With the landing zone lost, there would be no more reinforcements, ammunition or water. They were cut off, fighting a loosing battle against an enemy that didn’t take prisoners. They were going to die.
A man in a Colonels uniform stepped forward, a bandaged but still bleeding wound on his face visible. He motioned for one of the men manning the long range radio to pass him the receiver. He stared at the wall for a moment before clearing his throat and getting on the radio.
“This is Colonel Andrews. We are overrun. We will loose this position in minutes. We can not let them advance past us, everything is on the line.”
He paused for a moment before speaking into the receiver again, “Initiate plan X-day, deactivate the Briggs-Stratton protocol for this sector”
The room went silent. All around him the marines all looked at each other in disbelief. No one spoke as the radio crackled in response, “Roger that. This is CommandNet, deactivating Briggs-Stratton in your sector”
All the men in the room rushed to the lone slit window of the bunker, and Cass muscled his way to get a view of the battlefield below. The effect was almost immediate. The momentum of the alien assault was being blunted. Pockets of cut off marines that were being systematically destroyed by alien shock troops now ground down the enemy lines.
In the distance, Cass watched as a squad of marines who had been surrounded were cut down by enemy rifle fire, only to rise up and tear their killers to shreds with their bare hands. On the main road leading to the bunker, he saw a panicked alien squad stumble back down the line as their fire failed to stop a now growing horde of the recently dead coming back to hunt them. They were desperately pouring fire down the line. Their supersonic needles passed through flesh and bone, but still they came. The nerve toxin imbedded in the projectiles all but harmless to the creatures that now pushed them back, tearing, biting and devouring them as they went.
Cass took a deep breath and smiled. Humanity would survive. It had squared up on the apocalypse before. It had clawed it’s way out of extinction and had the scars to prove it. He thought out loud, “You fucked with the wrong species, asshole..”
-J
|
The afflicted weren't as numerous as they where before. Zombies had a hard time
dying but their lifespan wasn't infinite. For the most part they ignored the
living and preferred cooler, darker places. And apart from a few separatists
the living where content leaving the dead be. After all they where a reminder
of the virus that they all now carried. Scientist where never able to defeat
the virus but managed to make it dormant. A smooth natural death resulted in a
natural corpse. Anything else and the body remained functional but grotesquely
mutated, becoming stronger and feeling no pain whilst the mind slowly withered
away. After months, sometimes years all that remained where instinct driven
ghouls that avoided contact of any kind.
One summers day NASA reported with glee that the signal one of the deep space
probes had been picked up again. Somehow the little vessel found its way home.
The DOD was not amused and started cautioning nations globally to be alert.
For days the signal grew strong as speculation rose as to the how and why. Most
skeptics where silenced when the vessel seemed to be heading in a straight line
to earth. Coincidence this was not.
Soon all military forces where on high alert with all direct action being held
back by the hope for a peaceful intent. The first contact squashed that hope.
Seeing that their intent was conquest they had little use for weapons of mass
destruction, the idea being that claiming land burning in nuclear fire was
pretty useless. So they specialized in efficient weaponry designed to quickly
end life, much like a slaughterhouse. After that the meat could be processed
(if viable) and the rest of the resources could be claimed.
The human emissary found this out the hard way. They had little problems
understanding human language but did not respond. Their only response came in a
quick flash from a stick or spear like object. The emissary dropped to the
ground grabbing his chest. Soon the field erupted in gunfire which had little
if any use. The entire platoon accompanying him where met with similar faiths
as him.
Smugly the commander looked at the carnage. This was going to be quite easy.
Commands rolled out for the processing of the bodes and the creation progress
estimates for complete acquisition of the planet. Soon the men where picked up
to be transported to the science section for further evaluation and processing.
The sky was black with drop-ships carrying troops across the globe.
This first indication of trouble was when the team carrying the bodies did not
return. The second that any meaningful military response was absent. Normally a
modicum of resistance was to be expected but nothing happened apart from small
groups seemingly isolating themselves from the rest in well defended
structures. The rest seemed to remain put.
The head scientist expressed his concern about this abnormal behavior but was
soon silenced by the commander.
A crew found the vessel carrying the bodies crashed 20 minutes after departure
the pilot and crew horribly mangled as if being torn to shreds in industrial
accident. The bodies themselves where missing.
As one of the scouts made his report a blackish creature was running towards
him but not like a normal biped, it was more like an arachnid on his home world
fast and erratic. On closer inspection it was wearing the emissaries clothes.
Up until this point the crew where mostly curious and amazed. That was until
the emissary "ran" up the communications officers body and with a single swipe
of its black, claw like hands knocked the head clean off his body tearing
through the heavy body armor like it was paper.
The crew fired all they had at the creature and finally managed to kill it (or
so they thought). But even with a 10 inch hole in its chest, its left arm
removed and most of its jaw missing the creature still managed to take out an
additional 3 members of the crew.
Nervously the crew members scanned the bushes in the slowly dimming twilight.
At the first rustle of the bushes they ran towards their ship.
At the command center only audio reached them: "Spiders !!!" quickly followed
by ghastly screams and the sound of crunching bones.
| 2019-08-28T14:15:05
| 2019-08-28T11:09:28
| 68
| 44
|
[WP] You are trying to describe your favorite food to an alien who is studying human life. You are the first person they've asked, so they have no prior knowledge on the subject.
|
Two humanoids sit at a bar to order beverages compatible with their digestive systems.
The human sits and ponders. He misses flowers and the scent of real air, not this artificial horseshit pumping through his mask. It always smells like he's sitting in a fucking doctor's office or some shit.
He ordered a whiskey neat, and the robot behind the bar whirs on its track to acquire the order. His partner orders something that sounds like someone clumped a bunch of consonants together and said 'good enough.'
Mine comes out from a circular portal within the bar. Small glass. The best part about liquor is that no matter how far away it's shipped from, it always tastes fresh.
The human's partner's drink comes out, some brown muck that affects the alien's nervous system in a way similar to alcohol. Four limbed, two sets of parallel groping probes encased in metal. Its face covered in a metallic mask, a yellow light with orange bubbles colliding and floating inside. Thank God for spines.
It keys its headset to the human's. Good conversation. Always nice to learn a new culture. He can't even tell if it's sarcasm anymore.
All aliens sound the same, that imitation translator mimicking inflections and personality. Always artificial.
"Human, what is that?"
"Whiskey. Made from fermented plant mash."
"I understand."
The alien raises the liquid to its own suit and places the cup through a small hatch.
Liquid and bubbles still bouncing, mixes of the brownish muck slowly introduced.
The human takes a sip, savoring the taste. Every drink counts. Especially out in the middle of bum fuck nowhere. At least still in the milky way, if only hunting smugglers.
"Human, how do you ingest primary nutrients?"
"Through the mouth. This hole."
The human opens his mouth.
"I understand. You have structures inside to rip apart flesh and organic matter, correct?"
"Correct." They're teeth, asshole.
A little quiet. The whiskey helps. Still have a few hours before picking up their next contract. Randomly assigned partnerships could be worse. Especially with the academic type - too many questions. Never any help in a firefight.
"Human, what is considered your optimal primary nutrient?"
"What, like my favorite food?"
"Affirmative."
I think. When was the last time I had real food, good food, cooked food, not that artificial paste and bullshit pumped straight from a tube.
"A steak. A real, juicy steak. Not the imitation type, but fresh."
"I see. A steak is a colloquial term describing a segment of animal flesh. Is it consumed directly from the animal?"
"No."
"Do you use heat to alter the chemical consistency of the flesh, altering the structure of proteins?"
"Yes."
"I have heard humans will sometimes adopt subservient species to consume for sustenance later."
"Uh, not anymore."
Silence. The alien's liquid looks fairly murky, that disgusting iteration between yellow and brown.
"When consuming this flesh, where does the pleasure derive from?"
"What, like why is it good?"
"Correct."
The human sits and thinks.
"Well, the taste buds tell me it's good."
"You mean your brain, human?"
"Yeah, sure."
The alien pauses.
"I have heard human brain is desirable."
The human raises an eyebrow.
"Have you had any?"
The alien shakes an arm up and down. The human doesn't understand the gesture. Its movements are far less fluid.
"No. It is expensive."
The alien leans in slightly as if to whisper, something unnecessary due to the fact that the alien's words are being spoken directly through the mask.
"But I would like to try some. My acquaintance describes it as an aphrodisiac for his species."
"Huh."
More silence. Species mill around, the lights dim and alter, languages incomprehensible and varied advertise assorted objects.
"May I eat your brain, human?"
"What? Fuck no."
"Apologies. Do humans not have redundant organs?"
"We do not."
"I apologize. Is fuck in reference to the act of human reproduction?"
"It's a versatile word, buddy."
Blip. Blip. Buzz. The human checks his watch, and a small holographic update pops up.
'Target AI Navigation System Detected - Station KG-89 - Docking'
The human finishes his drink.
"We gotta go, buddy."
The alien stands up and stumbles.
"I am inebriated."
"Good for you, but we got a job to do. Come on."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/storiesfromapotato - may continue this in a bit
|
"So, what is this barbeque chicken?"
"Well you take the chicken,"
"The small domesticated fowl?"
"Yes, but this one's been killed and cleaned so we can cook it."
"Ah, I see. You humans put so much more effort into your food than we do."
"Anyways, you cover the chicken in the BBQ sauce and cook it in the sauce."
"And then you get these slimy red things we have in front of us?"
"You know, it's not nearly as appetizing when you put it that way."
"You're welcome."
"Not a complement but I appreciate your enthusiasm. Let's eat."
| 2017-10-25T19:55:39
| 2017-10-25T19:46:46
| 32
| 10
|
[WP] You are a human on a spaceship crewed by aliens. As your hair dye begins to fade, your crewmates start to worry about your health.
|
Ka-el-ri sat next to me at lunch. "Listen, I know you said not to worry, but... Your hair says otherwise." She touched the plated braid over shoulder. It was a vibrant vermillion but the black roots were showing.
"Honestly its fine." I reaponded brushing her hand away.
"I dont know..." she touched her own hair, a deep aqua that commented her dark grey skin that was mottled with red spots. "When our hair starts changing it signifies old age or even disease, but it usually comes in strands not the whole hair."
"Listen its okay. This happens I just need to re-dye it." I murmured brushing off her concern.
"At least see the doctor." She pleaded. "You never know, and the others might consider it contagious, so its best to..."
"Oh, my god, fine I'll see the doctor." I growled.
She flinched back as I abrubtly stood. I stomped towards the door and tossed my tray in the trash. I grumbled about the 3 week delay on our package delivery due to the post being attacked some time back and all cargo ships being rerouted to the next sector while the station was rebuilt and new crew hired. Had that not happened I would have been able to touch up my roots and not have to deal with the concern and fear on my crewmates faces.
I stepped into the doctors chambers. The giant tentacle creature looked up from his book and raised an eyebrow at me.
"Yes Monique?" He asked putting the book aside.
"Hey Sniqkr," i sighed. "Ka-el-ri wants you to do an exam to make sure I'm not sick."
He moved the mass of his body towards me. "Why would she be concerned?" He asked, several of his tentacles enveloping me and starting to glow.
"Because my roots are a different color than the rest of my hair." I raised my arms above my head without being told as he almost fully enveloped my torso. At my words several smaller tentacles began combing through my hair.
"Hm, yes I see." His many eyes closed as he muttered to himself for a couple minutes before his tentacles retracted and bundled under him. "Well, your hair definitely isn't an indication of your health, but its a good thing you came in. You have a benign tumor on your right ovary that needs to be taken care of, as well as a fracture on your 5th, 6th and 8th rib that need to be mended, I'm guessing from the last attack."
"Huh..." I stood there in shock.
"You really need to see me more often." He grumbled. "The tumor itself is about the size of one of your earthly quarters, luckily it can be removed from the ovary without having to remove the whole ovary, you will make a full recovery if we get it soon."
"Y... yeah." I wrapped my arms around my middle as he turned to the computer.
"Also, you'll be going into estrus soon and your birth control is expired, so you might want to get your implant changed, but for the sake of the surgery and the tumor we will remove it and you'll need to wait on any breeding until it can be returned."
I coughed and looked at the back of his bulbous head. "And how long will that be?"
"3months." He printed out a script. "You might want to thank Ka-el-ri, and give that to your section head. Surgery is scheduled for this time tomorrow. No eating for 24 hours, no drinking for 12hrs prior to surgery."
I grabbed the offered paper and walked out. With a grimace I headed in to work.
|
Note: I do not know how long it takes for hair dye to fade.
One year about I was taken from Earth, and I've been in this spaceship ever since. They wanted a human to "study", although I didn't find that out until 4 months ago, when they finally decided to teach me their language. Sadly, when I asked them in their own language if I could go back to Earth, they told me I can't ever go back. It's not like this place is bad, they don't run deadly tests on me or anything, it's just so lonely and boring.
Today however, wasn't so boring, I was brought to the medical bay for a check-up, but it's been 6 hours and i'm still here. This is getting really annoying, i'm gonna ask somebody what's going on.
Doctor: Hello Mary.
Mary: Hello again, do you know how much longer this is going to take?
Doctor: I'm not sure, I just need to take your temperature again.
Mary: Again? You've taken my temperature 3 times already. Is there something that you're not telling me?
Doctor: Well... we think that you may have some sort of parasite, but all of our tests say that you're perfectly healthy.
Mary: A parasite? What makes you think I have a parasite? How could I have even gotten one?
Doctor: The captain noticed a shift in your behavior and appearance. He said you seemed slower and less motivated, and they your hair was rapidly losing it's color. We're doing all these tests because we can't figure out what's causing this.
Mary: That's why you think i'm sick? The only thing i'm sick of is this dumb spaceship.
Doctor: What do you mean?
Mary: I'm stuck in my living quarters all day with nobody to talk to except for the captain and a few other scientists, I can't even leave without someone babysitting me like i'm some toddler, stuff like that makes humans slower and less motivated.
Doctor: But what about your hair?
Mary: I dyed it before you assholes kidnapped me, and now the color is fading.
Doctor: I see, would you excuse me for one moment?
The doctor leaves, and about 5 minutes later returns with the captain.
Captain: Good news Mary, the ship is returning to Earth.
Mary: Wait, really? Does this mean you're taking me back home?
Captain: No no, not at all. You said how much you hate being alone in your living quarters, so we're returning to Earth to get you a friend.
Mary: Oh... okay...
\-=- 3 hours later -=-
Doctor: Captain, you're back. Is something wrong again?
Captain: No, everything is fine, I just wanted to thank you for helping my pet.
| 2020-07-05T13:23:48
| 2020-07-05T13:16:56
| 202
| 94
|
[WP] You and your sibling are both indestructible, and have been since birth. Since neither of you could be mortally injured, your childhood pranks tended to get out of hand.
|
Pain's a bitch. Not physical pain, I don't know anything about that. Never felt it. Not a single hangnail, bruise, cut, or burn. Nothing. But that doesn't mean I don't know pain. I know pain more than most. My twin sister and I are experts at pain, I'd say. Inflicting and enduring. See, we're immortal, and being immortal gets boring. It started out small, trying to hurt each other. We just wanted to see if we could. Honestly, we didn't understand the concept of pain. We just thought it was funny. A mousetrap in my box of Sugarpops. A scorpion in her sneaker. But it quickly escalated. A knife in my back as I slept. A concrete block dropped from my second floor window on her head.
Our parents didn't even notice. They were too busy being strung out on methamphetamines. They didn't feel pain either, but not quite the same way. We barely noticed when they disappeared. It wasn't until our teen phase that we even realized we were different. That other people felt this "pain". We thought everyone was like us and our cartoons. Immortal and painless.
Ever seen an immortal teenager? Not a pretty sight. That's when things got ugly. We became acquainted with emotional pain. Our pranks graduated from carbombs and electric chairs to psychological torture. I used to have a pet turtle. My only friend, Cranston. Still makes me shudder what she did to him. Her only friend met a similarly gruesome end.
But that was just child's play. We're immortal, after all. The sky's the limit. We had eons to figure out how to rip out each other's heart and crush it in an emotional vice. And with each new and creative torture, we became less and less "human", if we ever were. Of course, humanity is gone now. We didn't even flinch as we destroyed them. It was surprisingly easy when you're immortal and know which buttons to push. And here we sit, in the ruined aftermath, looking for ways to make the other care about something, only so we can take it from them. It's not so much about pain anymore as simply a way to pass the time, and a routine we can't imagine life without.
So like I say, pain's a bitch. The pain of boredom. The unendurable pain of eternity. With no one to share it with but my sis. Thankfully she's got a great sense of humor. Still, I think my next prank is a doozy. My best yet. I was sitting here thinking "this sucks" and I just realized it probably sucks just as much for her. The only thing that would make it worse would be if she had to spend it alone.
|
"It's my turn," Arthur said reaching for the controller.
"No it isn't!"
"Yes it is!" Arthur punched Charlie in the arm.
Their mother Tina peeked around the corner of the kitchen and sighed and closed the heavy steel kitchen door. It was a little early in the day for a drink but she said screw it and poured a glass of scotch.
A small body slammed into the steel door leaving a dent. *They are getting stronger,* she thought and tossed the liquor down her throat.
Charlie kicked off of the kitchen door and sailed threw the air elbow out.
"Elbow DROP!" he screamed as he came down on his twin brother's head. The sound of the impact was thunderous.
"OW!" Arthur punched his brother in the stomach and followed it with a kick to Arthur's shin.
"Jerk! I'm going to tell mom!"
Tina heard that and poured herself another drink.
They threw their little bodies all over the living room. There wasn't much furniture to break anymore but they managed to smash the folding lawn chair and leaving a child sized hole in the wall. They lay sprawled out on the floor breathing heavily. Tina opened the door after it had been silent for a few minutes, she saw her boys wore out and the damage they did to the house.
"You two just wait until your father gets home!" she said sternly and grabbed each one by the ear and dragged them to their room.
"It was his fault!" Charlie cried and tried to pull away from his mother's vice like grip on his ear.
"It was my turn!" Arthur cried back.
"I don't care, you are both in big trouble," she said trying to keep her frustration in check.
After she closed the bedroom door on her boys she went back to the kitchen and called her husband. He picked up after two rings.
"Yes honey?" he asked.
"They are getting stronger. What are we going to do we can't keep them hidden forever," she said fighting back tears.
"Pretty soon we won't need to keep them hidden. Trust me."
"Okay, come home soon. I love you," she said and hung up the phone.
"Hey Arthur we should sneak out," Charlie said looking out their bedroom window.
"Are you kidding me? Dad would kill us," Arthur said shaking his head.
"Come on, they'll never find out!"
"Fine...only for a bit," Arthur said with a mischievous grin.
They popped the window open and pulled the heavy metal bars apart. The sun beat down on their little faces as they walked across the lush green lawn.
"See, nothing to worry about!" Charlie said with a smile.
They saw a group of children playing baseball in the park. Charlie didn't hesitate and walked over to the group.
"Can we play?" he asked the oldest boy.
"Sure. But you don't have any gloves."
"We don't need gloves!" he said and ran to the outfield.
Arthur got in line to hit. The oldest boy threw a pitch for Arthur. The bat hit the ball and shattered. Splinters shot in every direction and the ball rocketed away.
"Good hit Arthur!" Charlie shouted.
The older boy stormed over to Arthur and shoved him.
"What the hell kid! You broke my bat!" he shouted and pushed him again.
"It was an accident!" Arthur said trying to back away from the larger boy.
The larger boy's fist collided with Arthur's face, he didn't even flinch as the boy brought his fist back and swung again. Arthur stood their taking hit after hit.
"What the hell?" the larger boy asked staring at his fist.
"No! Don't Charlie!"
It was too late. Charlie hit the larger boy in the back and they went down into the dirt hard. Charlie's fists fell on the larger boy with brutal fury. Arthur tackled him off and dragged him away. He glanced back and saw the other boy bleeding profusely from his nose and mouth.
"We gotta go!" Arthur shouted pulling Charlie behind him.
They ran home and climbed back through the window. Arthur bent the bars back into place and lay in bed.
"We are in really big trouble Charie."
"He shouldn't have hit you like that Arthur."
"I know, but...this is really bad."
A car pulled into the driveway, blue and red lights flashed.
"Oh no..." the twins said in unison.
They could hear their mother talking to the policeman.
"You can't take my boys away!" she shouted.
"They put the Parker boy in the hospital, he might not make it,"
"They didn't mean it! They don't know how strong they are!"
Another car pulled into the driveway, it was their father. He ran around the side of the house to the boys window.
"Arthur, Charlie, you need to come with me now," he said in a rush.
"We can't get out, there are bars," Charlie lied.
"We both know you can, bend the bars and hurry up, we need to leave, now!"
Arthur pushed his brother aside and bent the bars, they climbed out and ran into the car. Their father eased the gas pedal down and they crept onto the road and the house faded in the rear view.
"What about mom?" Arthur asked.
"We will come back for her in a few days," their father said without taking his eyes off the road.
"Are we in trouble?" Charlie asked sadly.
"We will talk about that later Charlie."
---
Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories.
| 2016-07-04T08:43:18
| 2016-07-04T08:36:48
| 41
| 20
|
[WP] A new drug is released that allows humans to experience a full night's sleep in around forty-five minutes, and it can be used indefinitely. The entire pattern of human culture shifts overnight. It's been several years, and the unintended consequences are becoming evident.
|
Hey man, what are you really into?
Well, I enjoy botany and computer science and hiking and philosophy and knitting and meditation and astronomy and and and...
But I never get to do any of those things.
No. Drug testing was used in the past to exclude potential employees who occasionally smoked weed or had a problem with painkillers or whatever their hard lives had led them to discover to deal with the crippling pain of modern life. Now things are inverted. If you don’t test positive for Micro-Sleep(tm) no one will hire you.
Every corporate entity requires 20 hour work days from its employees. There are still weekends, but they hardly make up for the grind of a 100 hour work week. The rest of the day is reserved for commuting, interaction with offspring, and “sleep”.
The sleep that remains is sudden and profound. An industry has arisen from the need to shield sleeping humans from any sort of hazard that they may encounter in that 45 minutes of dream-saturated oblivion, as people who are in this sort of sleep are completely incapable of waking for *anything*. Fire alarms are impotent in the face of this sort of sleep. Occasionally someone dies while in this state, but it’s always explained away. “He had a heart arrhythmia”. “She had a latent AVM”. “It’s perfectly safe!” “People have always died in their sleep!”
My daughter Pearl was only 4 when this drug thundered its way onto the global stage. I figured that it wouldn’t affect a child, particularly such a small one, as Micro-Sleep(tm) was initially only marketed to people 18 and over. Two years passed before some admin somewhere figured that children could absorb so much information if they never needed to sleep.
Here she is. Ten years old and knows more than I could possibly imagine. Botany. Philosophy. Knitting/crochet. She is terrifying but also hollow. She has infinite focus and determination. She has the depth of outer space in her deep green eyes, and during our regularly scheduled 15 minute interactions I am forced to wonder what she would be if not for this drug.
“Hey mom.”
“What?”
“What was life like before the, thing?”
“We didn’t exist in the usual way for a third to one half of our lives and the COMPANY was somewhat less profitable.”
“Oh. Did you know the name of all of Jupiter’s moons?”
“No.”
She’s so bloody smug.
|
From Someone’s Journal:
Okay, I don’t have a lot of time to write this (too much school work), but I need to get it out. It’ll be a bit of a mess, so I apologize to anyone reading.
To be honest, I don't think it was anyone’s fault. As much as I wanted someone to blame - well, we all did - the “system” never meant to hurt us. The problems of past generations, their constant *need* for productivity, to do *something* - it passed on, to the point where… Actually, I was going to say the “important things in life were forgotten”, but that wasn’t what caused it at all. No, they were *too* focused on the important things, the “greater good” and all that. The point is, society only became more competitive over the years, I think, and… Well, ha, I’m thirteen. My whole life, this special “drug” of sorts was advertised as the being the best in the world. It was an instant success, billboards were plastered everywhere. I always thought it was somewhat ironic - how they would bombard us with how “excellent, amazing, wonderful” this stupid drug was alongside D.A.R.E; how it was just common knowledge that it was *perfect*. Sorry, I’m really bitter about this whole stupid, awful, stinking monstrous problem I’m dealing with… Argh, I’ll get to it in a moment. I’m a bit woozy. Stupid brain fog - this is a mess to write out.
Here’s the worst part. They could have gotten rid of it! Just months after this awful drug came out, there were a few “side effects”. Oh, sure, they mentioned them on the bottle, but they conveniently failed to describe the full horrific extent of dealing with them. Mental illnesses are so hard to diagnose, so easy to write off as nonexistent. It was just *feelings* that people were experiencing - nothing more, right?
The first time I took it, I was actually pretty enthusiastic. I can’t stress that enough - I was looking forward to get stuff done. I’d never be tired again! HAH! No more painful late nights, cramming on homework - about ninety percent of my problems, just *gone*. Like everyone else at school, this was just heaven. Perfect, wonderful, amazing heaven. Oh…
That first night, the dreams were so painfully vivid. Virtual reality was cool, of course, but this was actual reality. It was as if… Well, my brain seemed like it was trying to compensate, I guess, and compacted about eight hours into a short sixty-minute play. It was like switching from animated movies to action-packed “adult” ones.
Balance has always been an important concept, right? Balance your life - don’t dwell on the same activity for too long, take care of yourself, all that good stuff. Nopenopenope. Not anymore. When I woke up, I was panting. It wasn’t even a nightmare, just the typical weird stuff I always dream about… But I was *exhausted*, like I’d just run a marathon or something.
But that was normal. I didn’t realize how bad it would be, but it was normal for your first time trying it. That day at school, between the mountains of work everyone was focused on, well… I couldn’t.
Ever since then - and this is just the tip of the iceberg - ever since, my ability to focus hasn’t been the same. I mean, I still can. It’s not like that, but… Well, it’s just all messed up. Dang it, why…
Argh. I do think I might have figured out what’s going on. It’s my emotions that were amped up. But… Not in the normal way, that you actually do get from being tired. I still feel things normally - I still do - but… Well, they just seem to cut deeper. Everything I go through leaves a bigger impact on me.
I tried to talk to people. Apparently, I was one of those weird folks who experience the uncommon symptoms. I don’t know if I mentioned this before, but those people were also more likely to be mentally ill in certain ways, according to the studies they performed. *Great*, now I was paranoid about being labeled. But, was the fact that I felt paranoid the *cause* of them?
Please help, please help, help, I’m having another panic attack. Yep, I know, I suppose there’s the mental illness I’d been worried about. I can’t do this anymore.
Sorry, okay, I need to calm down. I haven’t even started writing about the actual problem. Here’s the thing - I said it before, but… Well, argh.
I have a theory. I haven’t been able to discuss it much with anyone, but… Maybe the “subconscious”, or the part of the brain that becomes active when you’re asleep, is actually it’s own… Part? I don’t know what I’m saying. The point is, maybe… Actually, I’ll just start from the beginning. I’m going in circles.
Weeks passed, in which I took the drug every day. Like everyone did. I couldn’t figure out why they all seemed… *Fine*, while I was dying inside. Until recently, actually… Nevermind.
But, well, there were just these moments. It shoved my anxiety (which had hardly been a problem beforehand) up to the breaking point. That was supposed to be the complete extent of, and the only, side effect, though. Nothing more.
Nope, then I had to go and shatter. It started with the usual symptoms - heart palpitations were particularly frightening at first, but then sleep paralysis showed up and blew that fear out of the water. Oh, I hated it so much, so much. Still, that was all medically *possible* - I should have been grateful.
The real issue was that horrible *extra* feeling. I’m a little scared to talk about this, even if this is just a stupid journal… I haven’t told anyone.
It was a darkness. One night, there was a dream that hurt - an enchantress appeared, almost kind, and *gentle*, in a way, but I knew that wasn’t the case. Beautiful… As she trapped me down, locked me inside the cage, but then the chemical would bring me back up to the surface, gasping for breath.
Then I’d forget all about it, and it would restart the next night.
It wasn’t until recently that the feeling began to affect me. I can’t even describe it, that feeling. It just keeps getting worse. NO, it makes no difference if it’s all in my head, because the
problems it’s causing me are real, and I can’t deal with this. I’ve spent so many nights crying, so many afternoons feeling something in my chest being clawed at, tugged away.
It’s trying to control me, I can feel it.
Every day, I fight this battle. It’s a parasite, I know it is. I try, try so hard - I try to think about flying. Think about running, think about freedom.
Only once was I able to stop the feeling. It was so painful. I spent an hour on the floor, just trying to resist the creepy, horrible urge. Eventually, I was able to stand up and leave. But if I’d stayed down, I wouldn’t have been able to keep fighting for much longer. It never gave up. I couldn’t believe how emotionally drained I was afterwards. It was like the opposite of crying, like when you bundle something up for months, except this happened in a matter of minutes. But I was also proud of myself, as if I’d won some spectacular battle. And for a while, the feeling seemed manageable.
Until I forgot to keep my guard up, and it struck again.
Actually… You know what? I think I just figured out something. Everyone isn’t okay. They already gave in, maybe even on their first day. That’s why there’s no more feeling in the world… That’s it, isn’t it?
Oh, no. That’s it. I just figured this out. The monster… It’s infected everyone. They’re all gone.
But… it would be easier, wouldn’t it? I think I’ll just give up now. Maybe…
No, no, I can’t. No…
There I go. Drifting off, oblivion so close I can feel it - I *need* it… Please.
Okay, goodbye, I’ll finish this later. Too tired. But I’m not sleepy at all. Just a little confused, I guess.
3:32 a.m.
| 2018-01-31T21:24:49
| 2018-01-31T19:40:42
| 20
| 14
|
[WP] A group of wealthy old men get tired of golf and hire you to DM a game of Dungeons and Dragons for them.
|
By the time I was born, my great-grandfather was already very old, rich, and mysterious. The tall-tale is that he made his money as a treasure-hunter, but whenever I’ve asked him about it, he changes the subject and talks about golf. “If I’d only hit a four-iron on hole two yesterday, I’d have been ten yards closer to the pin ,” he’d croak. “Study your clubs, my boy.” It’s frustrating, and my parents don’t know any more about it than I do.
I’m Jake, and I work at the clubhouse of the golf course where my grandfather and his friends play. His name is Maxell. I call him Grandpa Max, and his golf buddies, equally old, rich, and mysterious, are Louis and Theodore. They play every day, which is really impressive for guys in the 90s. When they come into the clubhouse, which is pretty often, I’ve overheard their conversations, and it’s always either about playing golf, or about the golf we’re showing on TV. They’re not the most fascinating people to listen to, if they ever were. So I was surprised when Grandpa Max asked me if I’d like to be the dungeon master for a game of D&D.
“Don’t you have you usual round, tomorrow?” I asked.
“We’ve had enough of this game,” he replied, with a strange finality. “It’s time for us to move on.”
“I see… Dungeons and Dragons, have you ever played that before, Grandpa Max?”
“We’re familiar,” he chuckled, and he said that strangely, too. But I didn’t think much of it. As I said, my great-grandfather and his friends tip generously, so I was eager to be hired. I hadn’t played D&D in several years, but I remembered it well enough. So I agreed to meet my grandfather at his house the following day.
His house is enormous, and even the doors are huge. You need to open them slowly, which has the effect of unveiling the grandiose entry room. I’m usually only at the house on holidays, during which he ostentatiously redecorates. So I’m used to being impressed as I walk in, but I hadn’t expected him to decorate that day. There were torches, swords, shields, and assorted weaponry on the walls. A thousand-candle chandelier hung from the ceiling. The carpet was covered with animal rugs, including bears and lions with their heads intact. A shimmering glass statue of a dragon with open wings stood in the center of the room.
Grandpa Max, Louis, and Theodore sat at a circular bronze table beside the dragon. They were looking intently at me as I made my way into the house.
“Where did you get that statue?” I asked in wonder.
“We’ve had it for some time,” said Grandpa Max. “We keep it in the basement.” It didn’t occur to me yet that this didn’t quite answer my question about its origin.
I noticed then that the old men were in costume. Theodore was in a thick, dark blue robe, and a staff adorned with an orb leaned against his chair. Louis wore light-weight lime-green robe, and he had a bow on his back. It looked heavy, and I didn’t think it could be very comfortable for the old man. Grandpa Max was dressed in an old-fashioned, tan shirt, and black pants. A sword, sheathed in its scabbard lay in front of him. And there was something to his side that I couldn’t quite make out, until I walked closer and saw… a dwarf! A short, stocky man stood beside him, peeking over the table, dressed in chain mail armor, and… chained up! He was chained to the table!
“Hello…” I stammered.
“Hello,” said the dwarf, in a deep, gravelly voice. He sounded somber to me. I looked at Grandpa Max for explanation, but he simply stared back into my eyes without expression. I looked back at the dwarf, who bowed his head and was silent.
Finally, I whispered in their general direction, “Who is this?”
There was silence for a few moments, then Grandpa Max said, in a reassuring voice, “That will become clear over the course of the game. We’d like to begin if you’re ready.”
|
You could tell life for Harold hadn't been the same since the accident. Ever since his company was bought out and his shares sold, he'd been spending all of his time at the County Country Club - at least after his daily triple-bacon-and-egg croissant. Pretty par for the course, so to speak, as with most ex-billionaires you'd met.
One stroke later, though, and he found himself in the Driftwood Tavern with the others, in command of a ranger that could move much more than he ever would, ever again. You almost felt sorry for him, sometimes.
 
"I roll to seduce the waitress!"
"Again?"
 
This was not one of those times.
 
Harold grinned lecherously. "What does a 12 get me?" No one in the campaign had the heart to tell him that his second tooth had finally turned for the worse, though this was in no part compounded by the fact that Reginald's second bypass surgery was due later this week.
You hope someone gets back on track soon. This session is almost over, though, so you suppose it doesn't matter much at this point. "A 12 will get you a grimace and a brush-off from the lady who has to deal with wandering hands and low pay literally every day she has worked in Neverwinter," you say flatly.
 
Harold moans in defeat.
"Serves you right, dummy," laughs Ken, looking over his paladin's spells that his librarian kindly printed in a very large font. "Sir Michael will grab a pint of whatever's local at the bar and ask the bartender about the disappearances in the Neverdeath Graveyard."
 
*Finally*, you think. You begin with the booming voice of a bellowing fantasy tavern owner, "AH, NEWBIES! WELCOME!" before leaning into the table and mimicking a loud whisper. "Are you guys the Adventurers of Leilon? Ma said you was here to help us. She's downstairs - I'll take you to meet 'er."
 
"Insight check!" yells Sheila of the gravelly voice.
 
Everyone groans. It was the eighth one today, and they hadn't even gotten to the main plot yet. "Sheila, you *always* insight check everyone," Reginald says. "Sometimes I think it's the only thing you remember how to do." It could've been funny if it didn't have a hint of truth to it. Sheila's doctor told you last week that these games are helping slow her Alzheimer's, but not by much. It's only a matter of time before you might have to have her character leave the party.
Sheila scoffs at him. "Just because none of y'all are paranoid doesn't mean Marion ain't. Besides, Dick, we can't all be Barbarians. *Some* of us have to have caution." He just rolls his eyes at her as she rolls the oversize d20 and adds her Rogue's wisdom bonus. "16?" she asks.
You think for a moment, and then say, "You're *fairly* confident he's not trying to lure you to death in the basement."
"Alright, let's go with him then," says Sheila. Everyone else nods. You hope it's not that easy to lure them to a basement in real life.
 
"The man gestures to his barback to keep the front running, and then leads you to the locked door on the side. When he opens it, you immediately smell the overpowering stench of unwashed clothes, beer, wine, you name it." You smile as you see their noses wrinkle - well, wrinkle more, anyway - and continue on. "You go down several creaky, wooden steps before it comes to an end in the stone basement. A woman is rocking in a chair by the fireplace. It's a wine cellar, but you can tell this is also where this woman has been living for the past few months at least. Her clothes are nothing but rags, and she is holding an empty bottle of unlabelled alcohol. She slurs out, 'Danny? Is that you?'"
 
A knock on the door, a real one. "Ken? It's time for your medicine," sounds the caretaker's voice from outside the rec room. He sighs.
"Guess this is me, lads and lasses. Sorry about that."
You shake your head. "We were just about to a stopping point anyway," you say, closing your binder of notes. "Same time again tomorrow?"
"Sure thing, kid," he says, before getting up, grabbing his cane, and hobbling over to the door. Everyone else shuffles out eventually as well, and you gather everyone's dice and character sheets as they make their way back to their rooms.
 
Not everyone could say they were on good terms with who, at one time, were the country's most powerful people. And maybe you couldn't either - You knew Ferris, Marion, Dick, and Sir Michael a lot better than the people behind them - but the Dungeon Master certainly could.
| 2018-02-11T17:01:22
| 2018-02-11T16:10:59
| 45
| 12
|
[WP] You are a necromancer, but actually really bad at it. The only thing you have ever brought back to life is plants. So now you tell everyone that you are just a very gifted gardener, to cover up your failure.
|
"And first place for the home gardening contest is Mr. Drahar!"
Sarah glared coldly at her second place trophy, watching the pale man in front of her awkwardly walk forward and claim the first place trophy. He shrunk down as the photographer took a photo of him in front of his dazzling front lawn, his victory earning him the right to be placed on Happy Oaks County's neighborhood brochure. How did he always win the contest? She was the heir to the proud Druids of the South, master of the arcane, and trained by the high priestess Gaea herself. And yet she couldn't beat that damnable Drahar from down the street.
"Damn him. Damn his stupid perfect petunias, stupid perfect tulips, stupid perfect lawn, stupid perfect hair, his stupid perfect ass, his stupid perfect daffodils." She complained, acknowledging the greatness of his front garden as he slinked away in embarrassment, fleeing to his home and slamming the door shut behind him. What was his secret? How did he so masterfully plant flowers out of season without letting them die? How did the spirits always find their way back to his glorious lawn? And what kind of hair conditioner did he use? It was deep black, plush, and-
"No, focus." Sarah grumbled to herself, going back to her house and cracking open a catalog of Summertime flowers. As she worked a stone talisman lit up, shaping itself into a shapely woman's form.
"Life Breather, it's been 2 years. Have you found any traces on the last necromancer?" She asked in a hushed tone as Sarah flipped through the pages.
"Yes, yes. I'm researching how to find him as we speak." Sarah answered dismissively.
"Be careful. He may be the most dangerous mage in his generation. We have the entire druid's guild looking for him in this neighborhood and we have yet to find even the slightest trace of his work. He's cunning, stealthy, and immensely talented if he can outwit us all and continue his work at the same time." The woman said as Sarah mentally plotted for a scheme to usurp Drahar's title. "Are you listening to me?"
"Yes, yes. He's dangerous. I'm currently plotting something, so we should do this some other time." She said as the talisman nodded in approval.
"Good. You truly are my wisest student. I expect great things from you Life Breather." The talisman said before going dormant, reshaping itself into a carved stone as Sarah heard a knock on her door. Putting her catalog down, she walked over to find the Flower of Dawn standing on her doorstep with an angry look on her face and a third place medal in her hands.
"How dare you dishonor me and dishonor our noble people." She spat. "First you defeat me, then you have the gall to lose to a non-druid again? You insolent rat!" She said, only to have the Stone of Creation join them with his 4th place ribbon.
"Alright, which one of you decided to help that mortal grow his lawn to bring shame upon my sect? Speak now!"
"Bah, I doubt you could beat a normal mortal with your shoddy powers."
"Oh, says the women who lost against a normal mortal."
"Shut up! I say he's a rogue druid!"
"A rogue druid? Do you sense any nature magic from him? I don't! You're just as bad as me!"
"My trophy begs to differ!"
More and more druids popped by, arguing intently with one another and cursing each other out for losing every gardening competition and homeowner's contest to a mild mannered man that worked for the local butcher. There was a chance he was a mage, but they refused to accept such a thing. If he were a mage, it would imply somebody outside the major druid sects was superior to them in the art of life and horticulture. They'd prefer him to be just a normal mortal than accept that as fact. The arguments continued for days before they dispersed like seeds, plotting to defeat the greatest adversary in the druid's history.
While they fought, Mr. Drahar was out at work, continuing his full time job at the butchery. After finishing up his work, he went to the dumpster and scavenged the unsold meats for his home experiments along with some slightly expired snacks for home. They weren't rotten, but they couldn't be selling expired chips now, could they? He crunched on them before returning to his home and placing the pile of meat on a sacrificial altar.
"Dara Nemu Sika!" With his arcane arts, he tried and failed to reanimate them into a meat golem, instead converting the pile to more fertilizer. With a sigh, he tossed the mulch into a large bucket and repeated the process with another pile of meat, hoping to improve something. To his dismay, he was left with nothing but a vast pile of fertilizer of the highest quality.
"Another failure." He complained. Sheepishly, he walked outside in the night and dumped the soil on his front lawn before hosing it down to shrink the vast piles of dirt into flat land, allowing the nutrients to disperse evenly through his soil. Crows flew about, defecating on his lawn and spreading seeds of flowers and fruits that they had consumed throughout the day, the seeds taking root and absorbing the vast amounts of nutrients in the soil. Mr. Drahar stopped to pat one of the birds only to curse spotting one of his neighbors. Why were they out? It was midnight! They should be in bed and away from him!
"Drahar. Congratulations on your victory." Ms. Rose from across the street said, her eyes focusing intently on his garden. Drahar nodded awkwardly, looking back at the garden that stood as a reminder to his failures.
It all started when somebody put his home on instagram and called it awesome due to his fertilizer and his many pet crows coming together to create a high quality garden. It became viral with 9 million views and counting. Then the homeowner's association noticed that was Drahar's house and got the local news outlets to look at his field of failure. It only got worse when the homeowner's association started up the gardening competition to raise property values, allowing the entire world to point and laugh at his failings, his yard winning first place by a mile each time and being published everywhere. He had tried to kill his own yard on numerous occasions, but his damnable necromancy prevented his flowers from ever rotting or suffering disease, instead repairing their damaged stalks like zombies. When they did die, the seeds they left behind were even more dazzling than their predecessors, further mocking his incompetence.
"Oh, uh thanks." He said, continuing to hose down the loose soil on his lawn to hide his evidence while praying for the competitive neighbor to leave him alone. Perhaps he'd be a better necromancer if he wasn't so socially awkward and asked for a master to teach him, but it was too late to change.
"Know this Drahar. I will defeat you one of these days and I will claim the throne from you!" She declared as he awkwardly laughed, not knowing how to respond.
"Good. I hope you do win!" He said doing his best to sound encouraging so she could save him from this personal hell. Instead, he pissed her off by sounding arrogant, as though he were mocking her. She turned and walked away as Ms. Periwinkle from down the street did the same thing, declaring him to be HER rival and nobody else's. This went on for a fair bit of time as he mentally screamed, waiting for something to change.
The next month a strange young lady named Ms. Guyah moved in next to Ms. Rose. At first Drahar was relieved when she didn't even say hello to him and spoke down to Rose, telling her that she was wasting her time on a pointless competition. Ms. Rose apologized and he didn't see her for a few weeks nor did he see the rest of his neighbors bothering him. Then the neighborhood potluck came up.
Since he was lazy, he just grabbed some of the melons growing in his yard. Ms. Guyah did the same, grabbing a handful of melons and bringing them along. When she noticed everyone was preferring his melons over her own, she joined in the strange neighborhood cult and declared him to be her "mortal enemy". Though he wanted nothing more than to move somewhere, such a choice was not an option for Drahar.
This was a quiet sleepy town in the middle of nowhere where he could do his research in peace. Anywhere else and he'd be spotted by other mages. He'd never meet another paladin, mage, or druid in this place. Besides, the population's small and he'd notice if any of the newcomers were druids. Luckily, none of the recent flood of newcomers were druids or mages.
After all, what sad druid would lose a gardening contest against a necromancer?
|
It was five years ago, during a dark time in my life, that I began to pursue the dark arts. I found the mysteriousness tantalizing, the corruption enticing. Hands shaking in anticipation, I found my way to the secretive shelter of the sorcerer who had put out an ad in the classifieds. I opened the door to the small shack, nervously, finding the interior dilapidated, seemingly unoccupied throughout the years. As I made my way throughout the hut looking for clues as to where the wretched wizard could be, a sudden pop rang out behind me. As I turned around, I found an old man leaning on his staff, staring at me with narrowed eyes.
With a strong voice kept quiet, he said, “Who dares to enter the hut of Malkamal the Evil? Do you take me for a weakling?”
A cold shiver tingled its way up my spine. This was clearly a man of power, who could show me the way to attain it for myself. I gave him a small bow, and my voice shook as I said, “No, Your Depravedness, I come here seeking tutoring. Teaching in the dark arts, and other such matters as you please.”
A fire seemed to light in the man’s eyes. “And what makes you think that you are worthy of my teachings?”
I gulped. “I am clearly not worthy of anything that you say, but I hope that you will show me pity and educate me regardless.”
Malkamal stared at me for a couple of seconds, before a small smile seemed to grace his face. “Very well then. For the courage and bravery that you have shown in appearing before me, I shall bestow upon you my wisdom. However,” He said warningly, “do not think that this will come without a cost, as nothing does.”
“What… what’s the cost?”
He gave a dastardly smile. “For the small price of $79.99 a day, I will teach everything there is about the dark arts, and how to make your own way about this world.”
My jaw practically hit the floor. It looked like dabbling in things that weren’t meant to be dabbled in did come with a price. But I looked forward, and gave him the most determined stare that I could muster. “I am prepared to pay that, and whatever else you may require of me.”
The sorcerer gave a small chuckle, and then gestured me over to a table filled with paperwork. “Before we can get to any of the material, I must first have you fill out some forms. First off is the waiver, and in the event of any explosions or erratic demon summoning…”
Two hours and a sore arm later, I was sure that I had made the right choice in instructor. After all, anyone who could navigate the byzantine world of tax forms and liabilities was clearly a magician of the first degree. Malkamal had a nice grin on his face as I handed him the fees for the first week.
“Well then,” He said, clapping his hands, “let’s begin right away, shall we?” He led me over to another table, this one filled with complicated scratchings and scrawlings. “The first thing that a student of mine shall do is test their aptitude. Now, what field were you hoping to major in?”
“Um, I wanted to be able to do necromancy.”
Malkamal gave me a gentle grin, and said, “Ah, a budding necromancer, eh? The fancies of youth never stop astounding me. Anyways, for that you’ll need a very high affinity with Death, so please place your hand in the middle circle, and recite after me.” I place my hand, and began to chant with the sorcerer, excited beyond belief. Soon enough, a green glow enveloped the room, and I had to close my eyes for its intensity. After a couple of seconds, the light faded, and I looked expectantly at Malkamal. He had a shocked expression on his face.
“Boy… that’s the most affinity that I’ve ever seen with Life, ever! You will most assuredly be wasting your talents training under me.”
I gave him a frown. “But I want to learn the dark arts, not some stupid healing stuff. Can I still be a necromancer?”
He looked at me hesitantly. “I… suppose that you can. But the road will be hard, and the price will be double after the first week.”
I nodded resolutely. This was something that I was willing to work for, no matter how much money and effort it took.
Training began, and it went poorly. Hours became days, and days became weeks, with both of us becoming more and more frustrated as time went on. The only thing that my power worked on was plants, and only because they responded to my affinity for Life.
As the month rolled into the next, I begged for another chance from Malkamal, but was stoutly refused.
“I would love to waste both your time and money more, but frankly, having a student who doesn’t show any progress is bad for business. I recommend that you take your talents elsewhere.” With a pitiful sniff, he shut the door on my face, and I was left outside, to brood in the cold.
The sorrow quickly became anger, and I found myself acting in spite. If the stupid magus didn’t believe that I could use Death effectively, then I would show him, I would show them all! After looking through the job listings once more, I found a job.
This morning, I woke up once more, and made my daily rounds through the Royal Gardens. I didn’t even stop to water them, but as soon as I passed by, they became as fresh as they were in their prime. Nobody could figure out my secret, since not even the greatest of healers could keep plants healthy for as long as I could. With a smirk, I continued with my day, hoping that something interesting would happen.
\----------------------------------
/r/Wheezywrites
| 2019-01-26T11:17:03
| 2019-01-26T10:14:46
| 491
| 119
|
[WP] You are a librarian at the world’s greatest library of magic and eldritch lore. Your job is to go out and collect overdue library books from customers. Today, as is often the case, the customer is being…problematic.
|
"Davey Delby!" I shouted through the oak door I was attempting to knock into submission. "I know you're in there! I won't even ask for the overdue fees, we just need the book back!" I took a moment and massaged my aching knuckles, growling under my breath. "Every time..."
The door flew open, and I was greeted by a harassed-looking witch in forest green robes. Her auburn hair was fluffed upwards, creating a volcano effect, as if she'd been running her hands through it repeatedly with great exasperation.
"Dame Delby," I greeted her with a small bow. "How are you today?"
"I was wonderful until I discovered that my son was hoarding library books again!" Agatha Delby sagged against the doorframe. "I suppose I shouldn't be angry, he could do a lot worse," she mused, "but the boy simply doesn't like sharing."
"May I?" I gestured to the entryway.
"Oh yes!" Agatha exclaimed, and jumped to the side, ushering me into the house. "You know where to go," she said grimly, and I gave a small chuckle as I headed up the stairs.
"Hello there," I greeted the statues as I climbed. Bronze heads nodded their greetings and a suit of armour gave me a clattering salute. After many visits to the Delby estate, I'd grown quite fond of the decor in this manor, and the art seemed to have taken a shine to my attempts to discipline the smallest Delby.
It wasn't that he was a petulant child, he just...well, Davey Delby hadn't quite learned to think things all the way through. While shortsightedness was unfortunate for regular children, it could be positively catastrophic for magical offspring.
I reached the top of the South tower, Agatha following reluctantly. While I knew it wasn't easy for her to manage her brood of 10 children, I couldn't help but shoot her a disapproving glare as the smell of smoke met our nostrils.
We carefully eased the door open. Davey was like a wild animal if you caught him unawares. However, his eyes were wide and staring directly at us as the door revealed the scene inside.
The boy had always had a nose for catastrophe, but today was especially chaotic. Davey had erected a small platform over a roaring fire, and had been in the midst of attempting to dunk the family cat into a potion bubbling in the large cauldron.
"Davey!" Agatha exclaimed, clapping her hands to her mouth.
I rolled my eyes and waved my wand. The fire went out instantly and the cauldron was suddenly empty. The cat hit the bottom of the cauldron, spitting and scrabbling for a grip. Another wave of my wand sent the cat sailing out the door, and he hit the top stair in a mad dash to get away.
"But I wanted him to be a tiger," groaned Davey, "not a lame house cat!" Agatha gasped slightly as she stared at her son.
"Give me the book, Davey," I coaxed. "You shouldn't have it anyways. Animal modifications are not to be trifled with until you obtain your full wizarding license."
"What book?" Davey said innocently, but as I raised my wand again, he jumped off the platform, grumbling about how we "never let him have any fun". He shoved his arm under his mattress, rummaging for the hidden tome.
"Thank you," I said sweetly as he approached me with the book, "Animal? Animazing!" tucked under his arm. "I'll waive the fees this time if you promise to leave the cat alone."
Davey harrumphed. "For now," he scowled, folding his arms. "When do I get to start doing fun spells?" he whined.
"When you're older," I sighed, ruffling his hair. "Enjoy the simple ones while you can, kid. Go outside, make some rainbows, conjure some butterflies, ok?"
It wasn't what Davey wanted to hear, and he threw himself into his bed dramatically as I left the room. I stifled a chuckle. He was going to be just fine, the curious little guy. His mother, however, might lose her hair before he acquired his license!
I waved goodbye to Agatha, who was making the laundry fly onto a clothesline in the yard. "Until next time!" I called, and she rolled her eyes.
I unrolled my parchment and consulted my list of literary offenders. It was a shame; the rest of these books were overdue because of forgetfulness, not desire to read every word. I took one last look up at Davey's tower and smiled as I saw purple sparks fly out the window. We could all stand to put a little more innocent, youthful magic in our lives.
R/DieKarrotte
|
"Sir, you need more than a Horror blocking your door to make me go away!" My voice was firm as I saw the horror simply looming around the door of the small home.
Honestly, people can be hard, I know no one likes to pay the fine on overdue books, but come on! That's no excuse to act like a spoiled child and block the door. But I guess in a way I'm at a fault, I was the one who wanted to have more action on the library...
I work for the greatest library in the world. The Great Library of Magical and Eldritch Knowledge, founded by the great Archmage Aldebrand. Dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge in all shapes and forms the Archmage ended up forming the library, and with the time it grew to become the greatest of all libraries.
Now, as any other institution, there are rules and protocols to follow, if you want to take out a book you need an identification and a certifiable address, also you leave a deposit that is given back once you return the book, and if you are late you need to pay the fine. Really, whats so hard in that?!
"I'm not giving the book back!"
I can only let out my breath, that is not the customer speaking up.
"Sir! Please drop the book, that is not you talking, is the book, so please drop the book or better yet! Throw it out through the window to me, I will even pay the fine for you, what do you say?" Honestly, I am already offering a huge deal here, he can't be hoping for a better deal.
My income will surely receive a blow but I think is better to keep a good record of the book recovery rate, we are reaching a really good 90% this season, it would be great to finally be able to say we get almost every book. There are exceptions sure but...
"No! I will not relinquish this power!"
Oh for the love of! Really?! Another intent of a dark lord!? Why are we not checking if people are susceptible to being influenced by the books? We need more than an identification and an address... really, sure knowledge is for everyone but we should be more careful.
I guess there is no option then.
"Sir, last warning, the book or I will take my own measures, and I won't be paying for any damages! The library is not responsible for any damage or lost property while in the recovery of a book with ten days of being overdue!"
As I feel the horrors inside his house preparing to burst through the door I get my Gauntlet ready, as I feel it fit perfectly on my left, I know I'm ready. Really, Aldebrand was the best.
You see, those who work in the recovery of the books are given one of the best trinkets made by Aldebrand, the Gauntlet. A seemingly innocent tool couldn't be more in the wrong though, is full of runes on the inside that not only serve as protection but as a tool to nullify magic... in this case, to also cut the magic influence on the owner of the book.
As the shadows burst through the door, I raise my left hand, the gauntlet getting at work immediately, the horrors become unable to pass through the shield that is now enveloping me in a white light. I just love this thing. I see on the face of the man that he hasn't really eaten anything for a few days...probably haven't slept either.
"What?! How can you face the powers of the dark!?" He exclaims trying to keep a facade of power, but he will soon be meeting the floor.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, sir, now time to sleep"
As I stretch my left I take the book away from his grasp without much resistance. The Gauntlet got at work immediately, as it touches the book all the flow of magic in the house gets cut. The man collapses and I simply take him with my right arm before he reaches the floor.
Looking at the small place I see my objective. A couch. I toss the man in it, he needs all the rest he can have. I look at the book that seems to try to open itself but finds a heavy resistance in my Gauntlet.
"Now now, you already had your fun, time to go back home"
As the book keeps on trying to get free of my grasp I decide I had enough, I decided to simply lock it in my bag. When I open the bag a tentacle reaches for the book and takes it away, ending the resistance.
"There you go, if you didn't want to be uncomfortable you should have played nice. Enjoy the bag"
The bag moves for a while before keeping still. I decide I should do what I came to do, as I look around the man house I found what I wanted. His wallet.
"Okay, overdue for eleven days, that is three for a day, plus the fine for having a Library Keeper come for the property... and I will probably need to take a Taxi to reach the portal... tell you what man, I will pay for it this time. But I will be taking ten to pay lunch"
As I took the ten bill, and go out of the house after closing the door I can't really avoid thinking the same thing I thought at the beginning of the day.
"We should ask more than an identification and an address, it is the third intent of a dark lord this week"
Well, whatever, they pay me to get the books back. As I was relaxing for a moment my gauntlet made a sound I hated. I hear three voices speaking at the same time in a weird harmony.
"Reporting to Book Recovery Employee Leopold, report back Leopold"
I sigh before answering back.
"It's Leo... only Ma can call me Leopold... Whats up?"
I swear I could hear them chuckle at the receiving end.
"We got records that a book is overdue, today will be ten days, we thought you could check"
"You mean, I should check right?"
They chuckled.
"Good you understand, the missing book is, Divination Through Bones an Introduction to Necromancy"
Not again...
| 2017-08-29T11:49:00
| 2017-08-29T11:24:03
| 59
| 17
|
[WP] All natural disasters are actually the results of wizard duels. The wizarding world is horrified to learn of modern predictive technologies for said natural disasters.
|
"This is proof of a deterministic future ij accordance with Seidr's Third Law!" shouted Magister Maximillian Montrose, dropping the papers on the table.
"It is not!" responded the gnome Pallabar Pumpernink, "These are just projections. We are masters of the weave, not the other way around!" He red face as red as his nose behind his white beard.
Asulfhed Galdrinn set down his half-full glass and picked up the papers in front ot him. He skimmed them over the rim of his glasses. "But if these projections are true, it would confirm Merlin's hypothesis," he said, speaking through the papers at the other two.
Maximillian opened his mouth, but before a word could emerge Galdrinn continued, "and further reinforce Seidr's Third Law as a universal constant, yes we heard you the first dozen times."
"It isn't just that though," the young Magister replied. "it would confirm that Divination is not a unique school of magic but rather simply a method by which to determine all magicks."
"That would be quite a revelation, if true." Pallabar muttered as he sank back into the chair. "Strange how they require their own weaves to operate, structurally different than the other schools."
"Fire and Ice magicks each require their own structures despite just being displacement of energy." the Magister grew a smug grin as Pallabar grumbled into his beer.
"It makes sense though. If everything we do is just atom interacting with each other then it would make sense that magick works the same." Maximillian continued. "Just as an eclipse happens as a result of the sun and moon and earth aligning; perhaps instead of instigating these conflicts as masters of the Arcane Weave as we have assumed, mages are drawn to these points of conflict by the Weave in order to trigger these events?"
"RIDICULOUS!" Pallabar shouted, foam from his beer spraying across the table. "We. Are. Wizards. Wisest and most knowledgeable of all Beings. We are not the result of forces, but those who compel those forces to act."
Galdrinn brushed the foam away from the papers as he read the reports from the United States Geological Survey. It laid out various metrics by which they were claiming to predict coming geological events.
"We don't even know if these are accurate! What mages were fighting in New Texas? The Order of the Blue Star have kept the peace for 20 years." Pallabar stared at Maximillian. "These may predict that these phenomena may occur independently of our actions."
"Regardless, we need to investigate to confirm or reject the findings." Galdrinn set the papers down with a map on top. "These predict a significant event in Colorado within 6 weeks, I propose we three venture forth."
"Master, are you sure? You haven't left the Tower in 600 years." Maximillian looked shocked as the words left his mouth.
"Let him live a little, the last true Sage of the North!" Pallabar tokk another swig of beer.
"And you, the last Gnome." Galdrinn pointed at Pallabar and Pallabar grew quiet.
"And you, my greatest apprentice." Galdrinn pointed at Maximillian whose face reddened to match Pallabar.
"Tomorrow, we head for Yellowstone." Galdrinn finished his glass of wine.
|
“No… it’s impossible…”
The young pupil looked up at the wizened mage, “what is it, archmage?”
The archmage sighed, “it doesn’t seem right, yet my readings indicate that there’s a spot where a total of five disasters are happening at once, two is impressive, three is very rare, and four has only been created in a lab setting… five… five is unheard of.”
\_\_\_\_\_\_
The duel had been going on for years.
Trinomeer launched Faelus into the ocean, Faelus dragging him down with him. Beneath the surface the pair created enough arcane energy to summon a volcano which slowly formed a small island, now high enough to stand above the surface, there’s no holding back. Faelus knew this was the endgame. Either he or Trinomeer would be defeated today, he had to bring everything he had.
A hurricane had formed around them, with the duelists beneath its eye. A hurricane was headed straight for the coastline. Tornadoes and whirlpools danced around the island like hungry predators ready to feast on the loser. The island’s volcano spewed lava and smoke into the sky, forming a dark cloud of ash within the storm’s eye.
The storm clouds rained water, snow, hail, and acid from above. The ground quaked and shook beneath them enough to make it seem like the island itself was rocked like a tiny boat against a storm.
Battered from every side, on the verge of frostbite and third-degree burns the pair battled. Faelus could barely see his opponent through the clouds of mist, rain, snow, and ash, but he only needed to see a blur to know where Trinomeer was and unleash his spells upon him. He pushed against the wind and rain, moving steadily forward toward his opponent. Step by step, inch by inch, quarreling with the storm.
Trinomeer expected Faelus to attempt to defeat him with magic, but the pair were evenly matched. After enough spellcasting the disasters would tear them apart, it was only sheer will that kept them alive. Faelus, however, had a different plan. He moved closer and closer until his opponent was no longer a blur. They stared down one another, both attempting to read the other’s next move. Faelus smiled, Trinomeer could try as he might, but he would not expect his next move.
Ironic, considering that it was the same way Trinomeer nearly defeated Faelus all those years ago. But back then he had only the ocean to push Faelus into, now Faelus had something much more deadly. Faelus rammed into Trinomeer, throwing him backward into the volcano. Trinomeer’s face lit up with fear and surprise, but he wasn’t done. Muttering an incantation, Faelus sent a barrage of wind against Trinomeer’s back, sending him falling into the volcano behind him.
Faelus let forth a string of curses, verbal, not magical, and sighed. Either they would both die, or they would both survive this and end up fighting for years more. He was ready for this to end, but not until he finished what he started. He would make sure to bring Trinomeer with him, and Trinomeer was sure to do the same.
| 2022-06-12T14:59:33
| 2022-06-12T14:58:08
| 101
| 22
|
[WP]When you reach 18, you get put in a database which ranks you in different categories (ex. 207,145th in the world for most bug kills) You lived on a ranch and never used tech. You had to go into town after your 18th birthday. Everyone is staring at you. You finally decide to check the database.
Completely unaware of the whole stigma about edits. I’m sure all of you already know how grateful I am, but I apologize nonetheless. Sorry!
|
The men in the room stared at me. I stared back. We stayed like this for a while, hours maybe, without a word. Occasionally, someone would cough or sneeze, one of the agents even burped, but those moments were few and far between. At this point, it almost seemed like a competition on who would crack first and break the silence. All I knew is I wanted to leave soon.
I hadn’t been in the city very many times before this. I was never a big fan, and never could understand why someone would want to spend their life here. The colors were dark, the noises were loud, the air smelled reeked of cigarettes and engine exhaust, but still there were more people on a street block than I had met in my entire life. Perhaps it was the fact they never seemed to look up from their cell phones, or perhaps they didn’t realize there was anything more to the world, but either way, it never clicked with me. Even the muffled noise from the chatter and daily grind inside the room was overwhelming. Eventually, the tension got to me, and I decided to speak up.
“Why am I still here?”
After a brief silence, I received a reply.
“We’re not allowed to answer that question.”
I took a short moment to process this information, before my brow furrowed. Shortly after, I spoke again.
“Why not?”
This time, another agent spoke, picking up where the last left off without skipping a beat.
“We’re waiting for someone.”
Another brief pause followed.
“What kind of someone?”
I didn’t receive a response, and the room fell silent yet again.
I had my ideas, obviously. Whatever this was, it was clear it wasn’t routine. It had to do with my scan. I was good at something, something that made me a commodity to someone. After all, if it wasn’t important, I doubt having 6 people in the room blocking the exit would be a good use of resources. After that, though, is where it became more speculation for me. I wasn’t the strongest, I wasn’t the fastest, and I wasn’t getting any awards for my Violin skills, either. The guards didn’t seem nervous, so I likely wasn’t an immediate threat either. If the guards weren’t there to stop me, then they were there for something else. They were there to protect me. I felt a shiver go down my spine as my mind quickly swerved into the worst case scenarios, when suddenly, a noise could be heard. A door opening. The men moved out of the way in coordination, like soldiers lining up for their commander. That was the first time I saw him.
He looked unsettlingly casual compared to everyone else in the room. His hair was grey and unkempt, with a baseball cap on his head and sandals on his feet. A chair was brought into the room by another faceless man in black, and he sat down. Then, he laughed.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost! I know I’m quite old, but I assure you I’m still very much alive.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t know how to respond. Thankfully, I didn’t need to.
“You’re wondering why you’re here. You’ve already surmised that these guards are here to protect you, and you’re not exactly ‘normal’.”
Again, I was petrified to even say a word. I felt like was going to die.
“You’re not going to die.”
That got my attention and suddenly, as well as unwillingly, the questions poured out of my mouth like word soup.
“Who are you? Did I do something wrong? Am I in trouble? I want to go home, why am I still here?”
The man laughed again for a short moment, as I grew more frustrated. I looked away, like a child pouting about a toy.
“I’m sorry. You’re scared, I shouldn’t be laughing.”
His preppy smile faded, and shifted to a more serious frown. He went from sitting straight up to leaning with a sympathetic hunch down over the table. Realizing how stupid I probably looked, I looked forward again, yet keeping my eyes at the ground. Feeling that he had my attention again, he promptly continued speaking.
“If I told you that I didn’t feel the same way my whole life after this point, I’d be a liar. I had a family too.”
Had. Pretense. I didn’t like where this was going.
“They’re still alive, but no, I don’t think you’ll like where this is going.”
Again. He had predicted my thoughts perfectly. It was no longer a coincidence.
“You’re not going home. If I could hide what we found today, I’d gladly give my life for it, but you and me are different. Your kind of talent won’t appear on the list, because as far as the world is aware we don’t exist. I need you to look at me.”
A lot of information, plus a lot of things you don’t want to hear, followed by a command. I had had enough. I erupted, threw my chair at the wall, and then he got the eye contact he wanted and more.
“Why the hell should I do that!? Why should I listen to you, who the hell are you to tell me what to do!? The city is a shitshow, and I am NOT staying here! Give me one good reason, one, I shouldn’t try to leave right now?”
“Because neither of our mouths have moved this entire time.”
I stopped. His voice wasn’t coming from the room. It was, in fact in my head.
“Kid...you’re a psychic.”
|
"Oh god, please nothing with horses, I knew I would regret that night with Fred."
That fear sitting at the back of my mind, I drag my feet towards the terminal and begin punching in my user ID.
"Ah, shit, what was it..."
"6-1-3...." The thought trails off trying to remember the number I've only used once or twice before.
"6-1-3-5...? No... That can't be right."
I think for a bit, and then it hits me, Ma had given me the number before I left!
I fish around in my pockets and find the crumpled piece of paper I carelessly shoved in there. Unfolding it, it reads: 61394539.
I hunt and peck on the keypad, entering the number as it reads on the paper, and watch the terminal come to life. All kinds of shades of blue flashing before my eyes, icons appearing and disappearing, I think I saw an animal in there? Can't be sure, it just goes way too fast. Finally, it finishes. Looking at my stats, things look relatively normal. As far as I can tell most of the stats have me at the average for most things, but severely lacking in others. Until I see one that catches my eye.
"Most Planets Visited: Eric Harrison" the terminal read.
"How... Is that even possible..." I thought to myself as I read this. "I've lived on Earth all this time, my family has been tending to this ranch for centuries..." I look around the room and all eyes are on me. Clearly everyone has seen this ranking.
I continue scrolling, and that wasn't the only #1 rank I held, to my surprise.
"Most civilizations destroyed: Eric Harrison"
"Number of planetary annihilations: Eric Harrison"
Finally, I reach the bottom of the list, and this if the others weren't bad enough of a joke, this one had to take the cake.
"Number of inter-species relations: Eric Harrison"
"Oh, come on, this is just sick!" I feel sick to my stomach reading the rankings I've received continuously labeling me as a freak, a total monster, someone who should be locked away, an intergalactic warmonger with a thirst for chaos and destruction.
Finally, I decide I've had enough, and try to find the log out button so that others can have their turn. As I walk away, confused and sickened, a couple of guards approach me.
"Excuse me sir, could you come with us?" the one on the right asks, as the one on the left has his hand to his holster.
"Sure, I suppose... What's this about anyway?" I ask out of confusion, beginning to follow them.
They don't reply, but instead I'm corralled into a room with a desk in the center, a bar for handcuffs, and what appears to be a mirror for one of the walls.
"Hey, what's the meaning of this!? I've done nothing wrong!" I yell as they're now getting forceful and shove me into the room, as they slam the door behind me.
I repeatedly bash on the door, hoping someone will free me, but minutes go by, and then hours, and eventually I lose motivation.
Finally, the speaker comes on.
"We've trapped you in a level 12 containment ward. You cannot escape any longer, Jenthar." a voice echoes through the room, "It's been 18 long years, but we finally found you. Thought you were clever hiding as the nobody on a ranch, huh?" the man on the other side cackles like a madman finally getting his drug fix after a withdrawal.
The walls of the room suddenly melt away as I see nothing but a purple and black void around me. Almost like two different colors of paint being lazily mixed together, but not blending.
Suddenly, I feel a huge headache, the memories flowing back. I see planets of all different sizes and compositions being blasted to smithereens, entire cities being uprooted and eaten by an unspeakable horror. Only... That horror was me... I'm seeing these despicable acts from the first person, tentacles grabbing large skyscrapers and shoveling them into my mouth.
I remember being weakened by a counter-assault on RB-1345, a recently terraformed planet orbiting SC-16384, home to the relatively new space-faring species, humans. I retreated to RB-1344, home to the humans, and use the last of my energy to implant myself into the womb of a pregnant mother.
"Ah.. Yes.." My facade of a personality washes away as the human boy, Eric Harrison, is replaced by Jenthar.
"This is far from over, Commander Warwick, for I am Jenthar! Consumer of worlds, conqueror of galaxies, drinker of infant fluids!" The blue of my eyes turns to red, tentacles beginning to protrude out of the pores of my skin, tearing my flesh apart.
"You were a fool to trust this lackadaisical confinement." I cackle as I begin warping the space-time around me, the colors of the dimension blending and fading and the light seeming to bend around me, sort of how a black hole contorts the light around it. Before they knew it, I was gone. Their puny "level 12 containment ward" was no match for the strength I had gained from going through the tedium that is human childhood. I feed on others' fear and suffering, and seeing all the suffering around Eric was enough to allow me to recover from my injuries and find new strength.
"Who..." I hear a voice in my head, seeming to cut off their sentence in shock as the stars whip past me.
"...Eric?" I ask, surprised the boy even lived past consumption.
"Yeah... Who are you? Am I blind? Why can't I see?" I feel my left hand raise up to my face, sort of patting my face.
"Would you stop that!?" Jenthar bats back with his right hand, their left hand falling back to Jenthar's side.
"Look, kid, this ain't gonna be easy to explain to you... But unless you finally die off like I intended for you to, you're along for the long haul. Just, don't get in the way." I grimace as we approach our first fill-up of the week, I guess you could call it an Earth-like planet, known as RB-1390, and come in for the landing.
| 2019-05-04T12:44:12
| 2019-05-04T10:22:43
| 1,055
| 165
|
[WP][TT] You wake up, make yourself a nice cup of coffee and enjoy the view of the morning sun rising from the sea. Then you remember that your house isn't supposed to be anywhere near a sea...
Edit: Thank you all for your amazing stories!
|
George woke up with a pounding headache. His memory of the previous night was fuzzy, but the bodies in various stages of sleep, strewn about around him confirmed his suspicions: last night was quite the party.
Ever so slowly, George dragged himself up from his bed (the floor) and over to the kitchen. His hands excitedly searched for a mug, and placed it under the coffee maker. The machine obnoxiously buzzed while it poured him a much needed refreshment.
Trying to think back, George pushed his resisting brain to remember, but he was met only with pain. He took a sip, then another. Maybe he would rid himself of this hangover after all.
Only, George couldn't remember drinking anything, or, and it was a strange thought, even having intentions of going out the previous night. He shook his head, and finally gazed out the adjacent floor-to-ceiling window. What would normally be a comforting sight to George, worried him deeply. George was gazing out onto a warm, Pacific (or Atlantic) sunrise, which was particularly strange, as George lived in Dallas, Texas.
Now with a sense of urgency, George instinctively dug into his left pocket for his phone, but his search returned with nothing. George began to panic, and only with deep breaths was George able to calm himself. He checked his other pocket, which did indeed contain what he sought.
A question appropriately lit up his screen: "Dude, where are you?" George swiped, and opened google maps with haste. At the top of the screen, George read: Hong Kong, China. George realized that his previous thought was incorrect: the headache was back.
He didn't know how he had gotten here, or why, or even how he was going to get back. At that point, a thought struck George: he would have to party his way home.
|
The long, yellow fingers of the sun slowly crept in through the window causing me to push my eyes shut tighter and will them away. When that failed to work, I slowly sat up and stared at my feet pressed hard onto the cold, metal floor. Rubbing my eyes I stood and stretched, feeling my back pop back into place.
Yawning, I scratched my back as the beginnings of a headache slowly eased its way into my brain. “Ugh, drank too much last night,” I said to myself as I walked over to the window.
A beautiful seascape stretched before me and I sighed with contentment. This planet really was beautiful sometimes, I thought to myself; sea, sun, and the muffled sounds of a work crew getting ready for their work day. It must be getting on with the day if work crews are already awake. Yawning again, I walked over to the door to go make myself some coffee and tried to open it; locked.
Jiggling the door handle proved this assessment, and my sleep addled brain began slowly piecing together the jigsaw puzzle of the night before. I had gone to the bar for a few drinks, met an old space-hand who had just returned from a journey to the Rotan Roundabout, traded some more drinks, and gone back to my hotel. I had passed out after looking out over the city and—
The city. Where was the city? I rushed back over to the window and saw again the beautiful seascape stretching out into infinity. My hotel room had been over-looking the city, not the ocean. I couldn’t afford an ocean front hotel room, so where the hell was I?
Turning around quickly I tripped face first onto the floor. Kicking my feet at my own stupidity, I felt my left foot connect with something soft.
“Hey! What’s the big idea?” a voice said from beyond my foot.
I rolled over onto my back and saw another man lying on the floor nearby. I had tripped over him in my rush. I looked around and saw several other people all huddled into the small room, some on cots like mine, and others merely deposited on the floor. The one I had tripped over was looking at me in anger, but his face slowly transitioned into one of confusion.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked as he pulled himself up onto his elbows.
“I could ask you the same question,” I said as I motioned around the room. The man looked around, the confusion on his face deepening, before he turned back to me.
“John,” he said extending a hand.
“Yale,” I said in response, taking his hand and shaking it.
“Where the hell are we, and how did we get here?”
I shook my head, “I don’t know. I remember having drinks with a Mr. Ralph Douglas, he had just gotten back from a trip to the—“
“Rotan Roundabout,” John finished for me, nodding his head. “Tall guy, dark hair, hook nose, real skinny?”
I’m sure my own face mirrored John’s confusion, “Yea…”
“Yea, I had drinks with him too. Though I didn’t think I got drunk enough to pass out.” John stood and glanced out the window and I saw his face go pale. He turned back towards me and whispered, “Do you know where we are?”
I shook my head no.
“Canaveral,” he said in a hushed whisper.
“The space port?” I hissed back at him. “Then that would mean—“
“That you fine gentlemen have the honor, and the privilege, of joining us on a very lucrative expedition,” a voice said from behind us.
We both turned and saw a man standing in the doorway in a captain’s uniform, and two men standing on either side of him holding blast rifles at the ready. “I am Captain Lusco, and you have the honor of sailing with me. I am introducing myself to you gentlemen now since you are awake, but I will do so again more formally after we have taken off.” He turned towards a man behind him and said, “Sergeant, please see that these men are dressed appropriately, and get them some coffee. We are civilized after all.” Then he left, taking the guards with him.
Ralph Douglas then walked in wearing his Sergeant’s uniform, as well as a blast pistol on his hip. He smiled warmly at us, but his hand hovered near the pistol, “Good morning, gents. Since you’re awake, I’ll take you to the mess where you can get acquainted with some of your fellow shipmates. We’ll be taking off once fueling has been completed.”
“Fueling, what are you talking about?” I asked, balling my fists up in confusion and fury.
Ralph smiled and stood aside to allow us to pass through the doorway, his hand never moving away from the pistol. “We’ve hired you on to fly to the Selma system for a business venture. You’ll be paid well upon your return to Earth.”
“I don’t remember being hired,” I said as he ushered us through the narrow corridors.
“I suspect that you may have some fuzzy memory about a lot of things from the night you signed on with us,” Ralph said with a laugh and a clap on my back, “But don’t worry, you’ve got a 10 year round trip to remember it all.”
----------
Check out my [subreddit](http://www.reddit.com/r/grenadiere42) for more stories
| 2015-05-28T08:47:22
| 2015-05-28T08:40:50
| 26
| 10
|
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Dear Dani,
After everything that happened I continue to see you everywhere I go. Whether it's bringing up the past or driving through town and seeing a car just like yours or in my dreams sometimes I can't escape you. And I always think about what exactly it is I will do when I see you again. I want to scream at you or just flat out ignore you. There are so many options and I have ran each one through my head multiple times. In the end I know though it will be none of those things. As usual I will just forgive you and allow you to hurt me again. Because as much as I keep telling myself that you hurt me for the last time and I need to shake you off I just cant shake the fact that I miss you.
I miss your contagious laugh and smile. I miss the times we hung out and talked for hours. I miss not being judged and just having fun with you. You were so beautiful. I had people tell me you weren't that pretty but they were wrong. You were the most beautiful girl I had met at the time. In the end they were right though. After what happened I need to remind myself that you aren't. I don't miss how you made me feel. I don't miss the times you avoided talking to me or not showing up to places we were supposed to hang out. The last time we had seen each other was one of the greatest nights of my life and as much as I know deep down there is a part of me that misses you and would love to see you again.
I hope to God I don't.
|
Hey Em,
I'd love to say I've changed, I'm new, brag about things I've done. I'd love to say I've grown.
But you, with your disarming blue eyes, somehow always knew. You always knew when I was making things up, when I was caught in little white lies. You'd encourage some.
And I'd love to say how different I am, from when we last saw each other five years ago. We were excited when we met, we were kids; when we last saw each other, we were adults, we had grown, but we were still ourselves. But you never cared about words.
You cared about actions. You cared about us, about people, about how the coolest kids at the bus stop were still kids, waiting at a bus stop. My record shows I was the one with the loud mouth, insecure, but always willing to stick by anyone down on their luck.
After I left...after I went soul-searching, I took your advice to heart. I stopped saying how good I was, or how I changed. I showed it, from 2010 through today. I never did it for my ego. I never did it for pride.
I did it after some kids walked into my life, told me I was a jackass, and helped me change. I did it for the cool kids... the ones I cut ties with.
So...please. Let's meet up, chat about the old times, and see where things go. Let's let the chips fall where they may.
-M
| 2017-11-05T19:53:10
| 2017-11-05T19:02:54
| 95
| 55
|
[WP] You have a power to gift people special abilities, but you cannot gift them to yourself. You are a assaulted by gang of bullies who threaten you to give them powers, but little do they know you can add a side effect as well.
|
I never wonder how people stranded in a desert feel when they see an oasis just out of reach. That’s because I experience that everyday. Not literally, of course. But I live in a world where people have supernatural gifts, and I have within me nearly every kind of gift. The only caveat is that I can’t use any of them myself but can only give them away. It’s like being Santa Claus, though at least he can teleport up the chimney.
I can give people various types of powers: super speed, super strength, super whatever. Of course, there are limits—I can’t give someone god-tier reality warping, for example. But a power is a power, and some people will stop at nothing to obtain it. In times like those, I wish I had the ability to *remove* gifts rather than give them.
A time like that happened after school one day, when Jonas and his gang of jerk-wads decided to corner me in an alley. They demanded me to give them powers.
“Santa Sam,” Jonas crooned, “Won’t you give us all some gifts?”
Santa Sam was my nickname, and I hated it. But I honestly wish I had some of Santa’s powers: if he knows when you are sleeping and when you are awake, isn’t that limited omniscience?
“Hey Jonas,” I said, “This sort of stuff earns you coal on Christmas, you know.”
“Shut up,” he replied, landing his knee onto my stomach. I fell to the pavement, winded. “Give us some powers or you know damn well what is gonna happen.”
I damn well did know what he planned to do. If I didn’t give him a gift, he was going to make me give him a *little something good* that had nothing to do with superpowers, besides the one bulging in his pants. I shivered at the thought.
“Okay, okay,” I groaned from the pavement. “What power do you guys want?”
Jonas smirked. “Strength.”
Strength? Tsk, how unoriginal. I began to think to myself: *only uninspired people*—
“Calling me uninspired?” Jonas asked, before launching a kick at my stomach.
Oh yeah, Jonas himself had the power to read minds. Comes in real handy when you’re the leader of a group of lowlifes and are trying to corner a poor kid like me. My sole escape route was through the alleyway. *If only I could quickly run past Jonas and a few grunts, then I could escape*, I thought to myself.
“Block the alleyway entrance,” Jonas exclaimed. “He plans on quickly running past us through the alley.”
The next thought that went through my head was *I hate mind readers*, which earned me another kick through my stomach. At this point, my only option was to acquiesce.
“Argh—fine,” I moaned. “I’ll give you guys some powers. What do you want?”
“Now there’s a good boy,” Jonas said mockingly. “How about you grace us with super strength, like I asked?”
“Yeah…of course you’d ask for that,” I creaked, “Because you hit soft.”
That snide comment came out of my mouth as words and back into my mouth as Jonas’ fist. Making witty comebacks wouldn’t get me out of this pickle, it seemed. I slowly got up from the pavement, stood as straight as my battered body could, then held out my right hand. Green sparks of light emitted from me, enveloping Jonas and his gang of thugs. When he realized what was happening, he grinned.
“There, now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Jonas said. “Next time we talk, we’ll see how sly that mouth of yours can be.”
Jonas and his gang turned and walked away. Then, every single one of them collapsed on the ground, howling in pain. I wondered what was happening.
“What—what did you do?!” Jonas screamed. “I know you gave us super strength!”
Of course he knew: he could read my mind. It just turned out that I really did just give Jonas’ gang super strength, but I honestly forgot to make their bodies durable enough to handle it. That meant every time they moved, their bones and joints would snap. Maybe if I wasn’t beaten to a pulp, I wouldn’t have forgotten such an important little detail. Oops.
“Well well well,” I said, “Guess you come off too strong, eh Jonas? That’s a you-problem.”
“Take it away!” he shrieked. Jonas sort of looked like a wet noodle.
“If I could take away powers, I wouldn’t have to deal with nice people like you. I suppose I could give you a healing factor, but then you’d have the joy of breaking your bones more than once.”
I walked away, careful not to get within grabbing range of their writhing bodies. Wouldn’t want my shins crushed under their grip.
“See you guys later,” I mused. “Next time you deal with Santa Sam, try not to get on the naughty list.”
|
“Fine, fine! I just need a second!” I shoved the nearest oaf back a few inches and righted myself, pushing my hair back into place as I tried to buy myself some time. “It takes concentration.” I took a few cautious steps back from the group to make an assessment of the situation. There were four of them, and they each easily outweighed me by half. I couldn’t outrun them, as I had already discovered, and I certainly didn’t want to end up on the business end of any more fists today.
I easily identified the likely leader of the pack- his clothes were a little neater and he stood off a bit, allowing the others to get their hands dirty on his behalf. I directed my comments at him. “You seem like... *reasonable*... fellows, so I feel like I need to be honest with you. I don’t quite have a handle on this thing yet,” I lied. “You only get one. I can’t control exactly how it’s going to turn out. And most importantly, I can’t reverse it.” Lies, lies, lies. I could easily make them gods to rival Doctor Manhattan, but who wants to live in a world with creatures like that stomping around?
“Powers are powers, right fellas?” the one with the cauliflower ear and the crooked nose said.
“Is he saying we can’t pick what we get?” said the smallest of the giants.
“You saw what he did for that burned kid,” the one with the fresh cut on his cheek said. “Healed him right up. Then the kid was on Oprah!”
“He didn’t heal him, he gave the kid healing *powers,* then the kid healed himself. Didn’t you pay attention to the interview?” it was Cauliflower again this time.
“You guys watch Oprah?” the smallest one chimed back in.
“Oh, shut up!” The leader scolded. “You-“ he turned to me this time, “-get to work. Start with him.” He pointed at Cauliflower, who suddenly seemed a bit apprehensive. It was as good of a place as any to begin.
“Come here,” I pointed at the ground. “Kneel.” It was a little for dramatic effect, and a little because standing on my tippy-toes didn’t feel particularly dignified. I placed my palm flat against his forehead. He was shaking, almost imperceptibly, and for a moment I almost felt bad for what I was about to do. But a deep breath reminded me of my almost certainly broken ribs, and my doubts vanished. I pictured exactly what I had concocted for him and pushed the intention through my hand. A sensation like cracking open a carbonated beverage let me know that it was done. “Okay, next?”
Rinse and repeat, two more times. The three henchmen stood together, looking a bit green from the temporary vertigo that comes along with adjusting to their new abilities. The leader approached last and stared me down for a moment. “You better have something good for me,” he said.
I smiled, trying my best to appear sincere. “Don’t worry, I have a feeling you’ll get a really special one.” I indicated the ground at my feet, and he kneeled.
| 2021-04-01T06:14:11
| 2021-04-01T03:33:36
| 133
| 74
|
[WP] An ancient manuscript is unearthed. It is proven to be the original Book of Revelation. After it is translated, there are actually FIVE Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Describe the Fifth Horseman, his color, and his contribution to the Apocalypse.
(Title)
|
There are whispers that there is one Horseman more powerful than his four brothers combined. Never in the countless wars between Heaven and Earth had he been summoned to battle, but he had always watched and waited with an infinite patience that gods and demons could only envy.
Now, at the very end of all things, he has come.
He rides into battle behind his brothers, and yet ahead of them. To look at him is to know madness; one moment he appears as a mere child, the next as an ancient thing, flickering between one and the other with every glance. He shimmers with the iridescence of a thousand colours; never keeping one form for longer than a moment. He carries no weapon; he needs it not, for his very presence brings the end of eternity.
He is Time, and he has brought the end.
|
When He broke the fifth seal, I heard the fifth living creature saying, “Come.” And as last, a brown horse, went out; the man who sat on him was chubby and round of face, an ugly sneer painted on it. A golden crown, a golden chain and a golden cloak, and hungry eyes peeking out over the horizon. "My daughters for a mansion, my wife for lands and my firstborn son for an army!", he exclaimed. With him came the power to influence men to be led astray of the path the Lord had tried to set man on with promises of wealth, power and glory.
His name is Greed.
EDIT: typo
| 2015-09-22T12:12:30
| 2015-09-22T11:42:52
| 24
| 12
|
[WP] Skills level up in real life through use, much like in RPGs. One day, you keep getting notifications that one of your skills is leveling, over and over, even though you're not doing anything.
|
A slight vibration in my ear alerts me to what I already know, I am taking a dump. Still I gaze up and to the right to see my augmenter display, “defecation has received +1 XP.”
I shuffle my way past the sink and into the hallway, another vibration, “sanitation -2 XP.” I sigh, “fucking nanny state.”
I was told that in the past 32 used to mean adult, but my age XP bar has been stuck at level 14 since I threw up in the pizza parlor’s Zero G ball pit 6 years ago, that was a mess.
The lighting of my cigarette is followed by the oh so familiar vibration, I don’t even look at that one anymore.
The TV powers itself on to show the morning news and I slip into my usual state, eyes open but otherwise unaware. I smirk inside as my “informed XP” grows steadily. They can make me watch, but they can’t make listen. The constant vibrations undercut my victory somewhat, but in this world you take what you can get.
The walk to work is filled with the drudgery of all walks to work, the constant vibration rewarding a punishing all the same. Little goals that keep little people moving forward. I thought I would eventually grow numb and immune to the vibrations, but I always end up checking. That small dopamine dump of leveling up something as unimportant as hygiene for clipping my toe nails is the most excited I’ve been in months.
Out of a lifetime of habit I look up to check my XP. A shadow covers my eyes as I see my luck XP falling like a shit from heaven while simultaneously my age is skyrocketing towards 95. Further above I see the crate that has caused my shadowed eyes.
I leap up, “why didn’t I level up athleticism when I had the chance?”
|
... and at this hour we'll be shifting our news coverage on the Award Ceremony for Skilled Experts. Tim, how is that going over there?"
"Oh boy Jim! The crowd here is so pumped, you can just feel the sheer enthusiasm from them as they scream with that passionate energy. In fact, the response seems so big that they're already giving out the rewards."
"Wow Tim! That must be a new record for getting this whole thing started. Soon maybe they'll be the experts at getting these things over with and to the point."
"Ahaha... Uh, yes Jim, they're getting things a' moving. Let's see. First up we've got the expert on most high scores in video games."
"Congratulations to them. Hopefully their live stream channel will be able to last them until retirement."
"Heh, yup. It's a booming business, that video game playing. Uhm... next we've got the expert of... erotic refrigerator drawings."
"OK. Sure. Glad you came out in public for that one."
"Well, Jim, if you can express the deepest part of yourself and be the best at doing it too, wouldn't you feel accomplished?"
"Don't get existential with me Tim. My only other response is we should start giving out rewards to whoever achieves the highest body count next year."
"Sure, whatever. Up next is the reward for laziness."
"Okay, fine. You know what? I think I'm going to expedite my coffee break skills now. Jen, can you watch this with Tim for the time being? Maybe you'll get that T.V. watching skill maxed for next year."
"Speaking of which, Jim."
"I'm done!"
| 2018-04-26T15:53:56
| 2018-04-26T14:39:23
| 50
| 17
|
[WP] Everyone is born with a natural tattoo of their spirit animal. Every person gets the traits and abilities of their respective animal. But when you were born your father, having a bear tattoo and your mother, bearing a dove tattoo, were horrified. Leviathan.
Edit. Wow thank you to everyone who submitted thie stories here. Never expected it to blow up this much.
|
By rights I shouldn't exist. With the pairing of bear and dove, they expected something smaller. A wolf, perhaps, or an eagle. Something fast, yet powerful. Strong, yet humble. No one prepared for me.
The marks determine one's place in society. My father, with his unequaled strength, led the tribe to greatness. My mother, in her compassion, watched over our people. It was an age of prosperity unlike any seen in memory.
At my birth there were cries of anguish and shock. I'm told my father fought bravely, defending my mother as she escaped. I've heard how his great arms bulged as he struck down his former companions, before collapsing from his various wounds. My mother told me of his cry of rage as the tribe closed in around him before turning towards her.
She escaped. Not even she can tell me how, but we lived. Thanks to my mother's love and my father's strength, I survived. I've heard the stories as long as I can remember. Ever since I was old enough to ask about our marks. Her dove with wings spread wide on her forearm. The creature coiling up my leg, around my torso, mouth opened wide across my chest, showing countless teeth.
A leviathan. That is the word my mother heard uttered before the elders ordered my destruction. The only forbidden creature, an omen of destruction for the tribe. They were right.
I stand now on a hill overlooking my former people, camped by the water's edge. I watch the mothers pull their children in from the rain. I can hear, over the howl of the gale, the men discussing their latest hunt. As I close my eyes, savoring the moment, relishing my anticipation, I hear my mother's cries in my memory, her pleas of forgiveness, not for herself, but for the people who tried to kill her. I think back to that night, as she lay dying in the wilderness that was my home.
A fury as ancient as my animal wells within me at the thought. A hatred as deep as the ocean in which the leviathan lives. The storm within rages as the rain around grows heavier. I've returned to the water. I've returned to my people, bare-chested, that they will see the source of their destruction. As I reach the first tent, the fury boils over, and over the storm my roar can be heard.
|
Our first video chat was great. We both met over the internet and after some short texting we decided to have a video chat. In that chat we found out that we don't really like our spirit animal. She wanted to know why I hate mine and I was willing to give her my answer:
"I really hate my spirit animal. Everyone of my friends might be jealous of it but they probably wouldn't be after their girlfriends broke up with them because of some made up animal. Even the few guys I dated broke up with me because of that fucking oversized water snake on my back.
Funnily enough, well not that funny to be exact, my partners had always similar reasons to break it off. It was either that they feared that I'd turn aggressive and dangerous like a Leviathan or that they wanted me to be the dominant person in our relationship in every aspect. But that's not me. I'm not someone who demands a manager because my card is declined, who berates waiters in a restaurant or who gets mad because of no apparent reason. Not anymore at least. I'm the kind of guy who's sad for days because he accidentally killed a snake while mowing the lawn. I really have to thank my parents and their parenting because they taught me that it's okay to be an aggressive person as long as no one has to suffer because of it. My mother, who really is the dove you'd expect her to be, told me she really had to suffer when I was a toddler because she always feared I'd be always that aggressive and could hurt her badly whenever she tried to calm me down. Once I puberty hit me, my father and I had many fights because of how bad my outbursts got. Our last fight was definitely the worst. In his attempts to save his wife my father punched me unconscious. After that fight and my stay in the hospital I realized that I'd never want to be like that in the future. Now whenever I'm aggressive I just start boxing against my punching bag or swear like the child of a sailor and a drill sergeant.
Also the only ability I got from the so called "monster of the seas" is that I'm extremely fast at swimming and can also breath underwater. Well at least as long as the pressure isn't too big. So yeah not that greatest of abilities.
Anyway, why do you hate your spirit animal?"
After taking a sip, Rebecca answered something I'd never have expected:
"A ladybug as your tat sounds great right? Well it isn't. The only thing I got from that moronic bug are freckles on my back. That's it. Nothing else. Just. Fucking. Freckles."
---
Edit: deleted two clone paragraphs
| 2017-11-08T05:54:13
| 2017-11-08T05:45:33
| 32
| 17
|
[WP] You're Barack Obama. 4 months into your retirement, you awake to find a letter with no return address on your bedside table. It reads "I hope you've had a chance to relax Barack...but pack your bags and call the number below. It's time to start the real job." Signed simply, "JFK."
|
"I have to think rationally about this", Barack thought to himself. He closed his and began to think.
I'm on the third story. There are 2 secret service agents on each floor. Could someone have sneaked past them? No, they would have undoubtedly stepped on Joe's train sets and alerted the agents. That meant that the agents were either dead or that they we're in on it. But to what ends?
He needed a course of action. There was no one he could trust. Joe could be a sleeper agent. *That would explain why he was always snoozing off*. He couldn't think about that, he would deal with the betrayal in his own time. Who could he call? There was only one man. He worked outside the law. He picked up the phone "Mr.Cage we're gonna have to steal the declaration of indepence".
|
I look at the letter and like the millions of other letters that come across my desk, I disregard it. Minutes later, my phone rings from an unknown number.
"Hello"?
"Why did you toss the letter away?"-JFK
I look around for cameras.
"Biden"?
"It's Kennedy. Just as the letter stated!"-JFK
"Goodbye'
"WAIT"-JFK
"What?"
"I know you know this is real. I know the moment you stepped in the White House, you knew there was more to this world. I want to show you what you've been feeling"- JFK
I say nothing.
"Go outside and step into the black limo"- JFK
I hang up. Thirty minutes of contemplating, I step out of my house holding a bag and look left and right before spotting the limo. I walk into the backseat after the driver opens the door for me.
"Where are we going?"
The driver doesn't respond. I don't find the urge to ask any more questions. I don't feel nervous. I feel ready. After an hour of driving, I let the curtains down and see space. I see planets that I've never heard of. Finally, we land and I'm greeted by JFK himself.
"Did you enjoy your simulation?"-JFK.
| 2017-05-14T10:01:37
| 2017-05-14T08:39:09
| 17
| 10
|
[WP] "Do you sell time?"
|
The open sign on the door rattled when it swung. It was early, the sun still peeking over the fresh wind of the new day; the cars grumbling to life as loudly as the owners that sat lazy inside them. The 2004 Subaru Outback parked out front was a welcome change to Gary. The midsummer vacation mom and her six year old daughter even more of one. Gary watched them as they exited the car, briskly approaching the store.
It was a convenience store, right off the highway, filled to the brim with items that hadn't moved since the day it came in. Over the counter medications neatly stacked side by side, assorted candies covered in a thin layer of dust, and rows of sodas snug behind closed doors cool to the touch. To Gary, these two were a welcome sight. Most people hurried in, either in a rush to get to the hospital a block east or generally just too busy with their perceived importance to linger. But these two were different. As they entered, their feet clicked calmly on the tile below, slowly, but surely. As if they had all the time in the world.
"You can get *one* snack. And then we've got to get back," directed the mother in a tired voice as she flipped through old magazines.
"How're ya," Gary greeted. She glanced up and smiled. There was nothing behind it. Hollowness, as if she were wearing a mask, genuineness lost beneath an emotionless surface. They weren't waiting for someone.
"Mom, I don't know what to get!" The girl said, furrowing her brow at the foray of brown packaged chocolates in front of her.
"Just pick one honey, you know we don't have time for this. We've got to go see Daddy soon." answered the mother, eyes still stuck to the magazine. Gary noticed, however, that she wasn't reading it. She hadn't been. Only staring, the glossy pages screaming a reflection back at her.
A minute later, the girl approached, a neatly packaged Snickers bar clutched in her hand. She placed the bar on the counter, and Gary began to ring it up.
"What do you do here?" asked the girl, a bubbling curiosity about her.
"Well, I sell things. Like this candy bar to you right now," replied Gary.
"Oh. What else do you sell? Do you..." her voice trailed off, as if her tongue had held back a question on the cusp of her lips.
"Magazines, medications, gasoline. Things that some people want. Things that some people need."
"Sir," she paused. The thought had returned. It sat fat on her lips, eager to overflow outward into the store. Her voice faltered again, "what else do you sell that people need?"
She was looking for a specific answer. Gary paused, thinking of how to reply. She wanted a certain answer. As Gary started to answer, she cut him off, blurting.
"Do.. do you sell time?" she exhaled.
"Time?"
"My daddy, the doctor says he doesn't have much left. I was wondering... do you sell it..." the girl locked her eyes on the candy bar on the counter, as if it were about to jump off and run away. As if she wanted to do the same.
"I'm sorry, we should be going," the mother interjected, shooing her daughter away from the gravity of the moment, toward the door, a bell sitting silent atop it.
"I don't sell time, no. Nobody does," Gary started as they turned to walk away. "We give and we get. Your daddy, he's running low on time. I don't have any to sell to you, but that doesn't mean you don't already have it."
The little girl had turned around now, meeting Gary's eyes one more time.
"It's all about how you spend it," he continued. "Not how you get it. How you spend it. Your daddy, he might not have time. But you do. Spend it. It'll never be for sale."
The open sign on the door rattled again.
|
Crooked teeth form a half smile on a scarred face, the merchant looking up at the little girl. She’s just shy of looking frightened. Bright blue eyes take in his scarred appearance.
“Time iz a very precious commodoty.” He spreads his hands to show all the items on his blanket, voice a slow roll. “What you be lookin’ for time fo’?” She bites at a pink lip with white teeth.
“For my mother.” The merchant raises his eyebrows, only one going up all the way.
“Oh, fo’ your mudda.” He smiles his crooked smile, watching it unnerve the strawberry-blond haired girl. She shudders under her black hood. “What your mudda be lookin’ for time fo’?”
“She needs some.” She pulls the cloak tighter around her, attempting to hide in plain sight. Her kind don’t come down to the bazaar.
“If she need time, den she need to talk to da magic men.” A grimace mars her pretty face for a second. She shakes her head. The scent of flowers comes from her hair.
“They can’t help. She needs time.” The rest of the statement is missing. The merchant knows what she means.
“I don’ sell time, lil’ girl.” She looks very disappointed. “But,” he holds a finger up, “I know da lady that does.” He curls his finger, drawing her in as she leans over, big blue eyes focused on him. “She don’ live in town. She don’ come to da bazaar.” He smiles, watching her shudder at the action as the scar on his face takes away half of the ability to do so.
“Where is she? How do I find her?”
“She live on da outskirts.”
“The edge of town?” Her eyes turn uncertain, glancing towards the far edge of town. Beyond, the forest is dangerous. Those at the edge of town are known to go missing.
“No lil’ ‘un.” He chuckles. “No, she live at da far edge of da forest. It dangerous to see her but she sell time. You can get it fo’ your mudda.” She draws back as if bit by a snake. Her eyes dart from him to the forest. “That da choice. You go see her, you get time.”
She stands, uncertain, looking from him to the forest. He sees the resolve in her eyes.
“Can you mark it on a map?” She digs a map out of her pocket, showing the city and some of the surrounding forest. It seems to go on for forever on her map.
“Dis map ain’t right.” He takes the charcoal from her, laying the map out on his lap. With all three fingers on one hand wrapped around the drawing utensil, he slowly draws a large circle around the city on the map. “Dis the forest. It don’ go on forever.” He marks one spot with an ‘x’ towards the edge of the circle. “She live here.”
The girl takes the map back, looking it over with uncertainty in her eyes. The resolve is still there but there’s much more uncertainty in her eyes. She traces the circle with her eyes.
“What’s beyond the forest?”
“Da plains.” He waves his hand through the air, crooked smile still on her face. “Far as da eye can see. More dangerous than da forest.” She writes something on the map, then nods.
“Thank you.” She ducks into her hood, allowing the crowd to sweep her away. The merchant laughs at her going.
“You be careful lil’ girl! Lotsa stuff in dem woods like to eats lil’ girls!” He howls with laughter.
| 2016-04-18T22:14:36
| 2016-04-18T19:48:07
| 22
| 16
|
[WP] In a world where having multiple personalities is the norm, the protagonist has been diagnosed with Single Personality Disorder.
|
On the first day at the Many Minds Clinic they handed me a piece of paper and asked me to write down the names I would assign my new personalities. I was to give names to each individual aspect of my personality and they would eventually develop into new people as I "bloomed" from one into many. I was given a room with a desk, toilet, bed, and mirrors on every wall and the ceiling to make it look like I was in an infinite expanse of rooms. I was to refer to myself as "we". I would not be allowed to return home until I had bloomed just like everyone else of my age.
The lights remained on at night. Looking up I could see myself, and to the right and left, and above and below. It made me shudder. The door was locked so there was no respite from the unknowable smallness of infinite multiplicity. They played music that would have been sleepful but for the fact that it changed mid-note now and then to an entirely different section of an entirely different song. I didn't sleep at all on that night, or the next.
The first two days had been mostly paperwork. Three other patients had been committed with me - one looked excited, the other two looked exceptionally disinterested. Perhaps I was the only one who felt a sort of existential fear at becoming multiple people. That's why my parents had had me committed, after all.
On the third night I was removed from my room for the first time. I was walked into a room by two stern orderlies and placed in a chair, at which time a doctor entered and the orderlies sat in chairs at the back. The man carried a demeanor that was at once gentle and intimidating. He explained to me that this was where we would be working to coax out my new personalities, who he recited by name using the sheet I had filled out on day 1.
I spent many hours in that room. Some days I would simply be shown videos that assured me that I would be happy and healthy once I bloomed. Some days I would be shown several movies of different genres that had been clipped into pieces, abruptly changing in much the same way as the nighttime music which I had come to hate. Some days I would act out my individual personalities in conversation or various daily tasks.
This litany carried out for a month or so before the practitioners determined that I needed extra therapy - perhaps they had waited too long or perhaps I was just a particularly difficult case. My parents were brought in and there were two blissful days of paperwork and testing before the real hell at the Many Minds Clinic began.
From those days forward I was required to dissolve a bitter white powder into my milk. I began to have difficulty remembering things that had happened several hours before, and my muscles would occasionally enter into short fits of spasm during which I would feel as if I was being jerked in and out of the world. Sometimes I would look at the mirror and not recognize myself. *"Maybe the therapy is working."* - such were my hopeful thoughts.
The sessions at the room changed as well. The doctor and orderlies became more stern. New tests and more rigorous therapies were administered. They put a pair of glasses on me with only one opening for an eye, and they would switch openings and treat me differently depending on which eye I could see out of. They would put masks on me and make me have conversations with myself. They would jostle and spin me and then ask me difficult questions about the opinions of each of my personalities.
I ceased to notice the music at night. I ceased to notice the frames of the movies changing on the blessed event that they would mercifully give me the time to watch. I would lapse into fits of rage or tears in my room, and I would collapse during tests. They assured me that this was normal for late-bloomers, but I wanted nothing more than to be done with it. They were not satisfied that my personalities had taken.
I do not know how long I spent in that state, but one day it all suddenly stopped. I was walked to the reception office, outside of the building, to a tearful set of parents. I asked if I had finished the therapy and they could do nothing but cry and tell me how awful I looked and how they would make me my favorite meals and treat me right when I got home. I was vaguely aware of the protesters and the line of policemen holding them away from the building. That day I went home feeling like a great many halves of a person, and that's the way it has been ever since.
(Criticism is welcomed! This is my first submission to this board so I'm interested to see what people think. Thanks!)
|
School was difficult for me, I always had a special needs teacher in the afternoon and she kept me away from the other children. Walking home after school was rough, they would always poke fun at me because I was "different".
The doctor gave me a tablet to take every morning and evening, but the next month I saw another doctor and they gave me only one tablet to take in the morning. My parents were given a different diagnosis by each doctor, until finally they took me to see doctor Polanco. He made me swear to tell the truth and then asked the same question for over an hour "What is your favourite colour?". I kept telling him green but he only grew more and more frustrated.
Then something clicked in his head and he became extremely friendly, making sure I wasn't thirsty or hungry before leaving me to talk to my parents. I crept over to the door and opened it a crack so I could hear the doctor, all I could hear were my parents crying and asking if it was the MMR vaccine. Eventually doctor Polanco came back and revealed that I didn't have to take tablets anymore, instead they would be using some kind of electric therapy. He also told me that I would stay at the hospital for a while, which I was kind of happy about because I didn't have to go to school.
That was 7 years ago, I am now one of the most respected physicists of this generation. I might not be the best multitasker, I have only one set of friends, but I have 24 hours in a day. Everyone else has less than 12.
| 2015-06-07T21:30:06
| 2015-06-07T20:01:20
| 37
| 26
|
[WP] A medieval world where we know how to make modern weaponry, but each piece is so expensive it is considered impractical. You are a knight laying siege to a fortress when all of a sudden you see tanks on the horizon...
|
My horse whinnied and stopped. The archers put down their bows. Even the enemy knights, mid sword swing, froze. We all looked toward the metallic creaking of wheels, the snapping branches, and the crescendoing hum of an engine. A tank appeared over the horizon, its armor too thick for any of our weaponry to battle.
“What in God’s name…” I muttered, dropping my sword.
The tank’s main cannon spun toward me and the war machine stopped. Its latch popped open and Sir Geoffrey of the Iron Table poked out. “Do you see my great war beast, Sir Dravo?” he shouted across the battlefield.
I did. In fact, I couldn’t stop staring. The drunken bards sang songs of dragons and kraken. The ones high on Shrior’s Moss sang songs of battle tanks. And this was the mightiest of them all, a M1A2 Abrams.
I burst out laughing. “Sir Geoffrey,” I shouted back. “Surely you jest. For the price of that tank, I could’ve simply purchased the kingdom you’re defending. Where did you find the gold?”
Sir Geoffrey glanced away for merely a second before huffing out his chest. “Our financials are of no concern to you, heathen.”
But I had caught his glance. “Did you pursue high interest compound loans from the Grand Bank?”
He pursed his lips. “Payday loans from the Warstock Bank.”
“Payday loans!? Their interest rate jumps to 24% compounded monthly within the first year! Are you mad?”
“I was desperate,” he said. “You guys are going to rape and pillage the kingdom I’ve sworn to protect.”
“Yeah, but only for like a week or two. At this rate, you’ll be getting pillaged ten centuries down the line. Have you learned nothing from student loans?”
The men around me snickered. Even his own men nodded with me. After all, Sir Geoffrey had graduated the High Scepter School of Higher Education with a Sociology Degree. Stupid by itself, but in this economic climate? Madness.
“No matter!” Sir Geoffrey screamed. “I will claim victory today. Lay down your arms or face the iron of high explosive shells.”
“You’re going to use one of those to kill *us*?” My mouth gaped.
“Yeah,” the soldier said beside me. “I own an acre and a cow. It would be an honor to die for so much.”
The words caught in Sir Geoffrey’s throat. He looked around for support from his soldiers, but they only turned away. This was what they got following a Sociology major into battle.
“I mean…” he stammered, “I can run you over too.”
I only shook my head. “Have you seen today's gas prices!?”
---
---
/r/jraywang
|
"Wake up! Today is the big day." Captain Frolik said.
Frolik was the closest person I had to family in this empire. Not very strong but he was a great shot with a gun. Of course, barely anyone on earth had more than a couple of guns in their military because of the price of them. In some cases, they costed more than building yourself a brand new castle! However, our empire, The Kormstin Empire, was rich enough to afford almost thirty guns, including a high-tech Gewehr-43. From what I've heard, there was only one other empire on earth that had better weapons than us, and that empire was called the Tersain Empire. They were an old legend said to have advanced technology from the future, these big boxes with deadly over-sized guns on top called tanks with black and blue flags and red lightning bolts drawn on the sides. However, this was unreasonable. It was most likely a myth after all.
"Today is the day? Today is the day!" I exclaimed. I hopped out of bed with excitement. Today we were getting new guns for a chunk of the officers from the empire's newly hired weaponsmith. Which meant I was finally getting my own gun to use in battle.
"I wonder what mine will be! Maybe a Gewehr-43 like yours, or maybe even one of those new Thompson guns!" I said to Frolik.
"We'll just have to find out. We better head to the meeting." Frolik said, motioning with his head to follow him outside. I put on my helmet and followed him to the castle. I wanted to be early to the ceremony.
 
 
The castle was a huge building. It was built with layers of circles surrounding the outside, each one bigger as it got closer to the keep. It was almost like a staircase for a giant. Torches lit up the outside at night time, giving it an effect that made the castle look like it consisted of rings of fire. The city surrounding the castle had a population of almost 30, 000 people, and that was just the empire's capital.
We were among the first of the forty-eight officers to arrive in the ceremony hall. We walked down the elegant red carpet and found seating near the front, close to the emperor's stage. The ceremony today would be for the two new officers replacing the two that had died in last month's battle against the Forkaven Empire, a war that we had won with little resistance. We would also be given ten more weapons, and I was on the list to receive one. After all, I'd been an officer for almost five years now, and guns first came out almost ten years ago. I was one of the most experienced officers. After an hour or two or waiting, the Emperor finally showed up, with his ten royal guard soldiers protecting him. The King was a tall man. He looked like the face of war. Battle scars on his face and arms, and a giant scar that went from the top of his left arm to the bottom.
 
 
"Greetings! I have not prepared a speech because I feel like you do not need a speech. You have been far exceeding my expectations for years now, and I'm running out of things to say. I'll keep this short, because I know all of you are looking forward to seeing the new weapons. First, let me introduce to you the newest officers. The first is Sir Marcuit."
A tall, muscular, dark man walked out onto the stage and shook the Emperor's hand, kneeled before him and took the sword tap on both shoulders, much like a knighting. The emperor then took the tip of the sword and softly cut the skin of Marcuit's finger. This was an act of honour, as well as an oath. Once you bleed for the emperor, you are more than two people who are friends. The people you bleed for are connected with you on a much deeper level.
"Next, we have Sir Tambus." The emperor stated. A short, thin, light-skinned man walked out on the stage and repeated the process. The two new officers then bowed. After a short amount of clapping, they joined us in the rows of seats.
"Now, for the weapons. We have nine new Gewehr-43's, and one Thompson. This Thompson is for a man that has shown great courage on the battlefield's for many years." As the king said this, I started to feel nervous with anticipation. I already knew he was talking about me.
"Captain Treavus, why don't you come up here and be the first to hold your new weapon." The emperor said.
I gave Frolik a quick embracement hug. I composed myself and walk up the stairs to the Emperor. He reached back and picked up the Thompson, made beautifully with metal and wood. He handed it to me, shook my hand, and pulled out a list of officers who were also receiving their weapons today. Just then, the warning bells began to go off and the castle vibrated from the noise.
"GET YOUR REGIMENTS TOGETHER! THESE ARE THE ATTACK BELLS!" The Emperor shouted.
With this new Thompson, I felt immortal. I confidently hurried to the section of the castle my battalion stayed in. I ordered the sergeants to wake up their men. The battalions that formed an army of 5000 emerged out of the castle and through the front gates. When I walked out, I looked across the horizon. Suddenly all my confidence was flushed out of my body, and I felt myself begin to sweat. Over the horizon was a sea of the tanks from the legends, all with black and blue flags, each one with a lightning bolt in the middle.
 
 
Sort of put my own twist on it, but I really liked the idea. This is only my second time writing on here. I hope you like it!
| 2017-11-02T15:40:51
| 2017-11-02T15:16:35
| 178
| 11
|
[WP] When a person turns 18. they get to pick a statistic. For the rest of their life, they will know this statistic about anyone they meet (lies told, days left alive, etc.)
|
For an investigator, the choice seemed only natural: number of deaths caused. While the scientific community was baffled by the one statistic phenomenon, it at least knew that the statistics were accurate. Of course, this was perfect for George; his testimonies proved invaluable in court.
But then, why was he drinking himself to oblivion, alone on a crisp Friday night? George never imagined the cost of his choice. He looked up at the bartender, whose number exceeded twenty.
"Well, George, you're not about to increase my number are you?" the bartender quipped, noticing the downtrodden stare. George had just drained yet another glass of the poison known as alcohol.
"No, no, not today," he replied halfheartedly, "just one more glass, please."
"Nah, you're done for today," the bartender told him, snatching away George's empty mug. Then in a softer voice, "I know better than that, thanks to you." The young man paused, and his expression grew more serious. "You've never been one to drink this much booze alone. Did something happen? Is Genny all right?"
The broken cop flinched.
He remembered Thursday night. Genny's count had always been zero until that day. After a screaming confrontation, he arrested of his own wife. He himself interrogated her, screaming at her every false tear.
"Genny's fine," George croaked, "but we're getting divorced."
"Ah," the bartender noted, before noticing the neglected customers. "I'll be right back," he promised, scurrying away. George failed to mention his unborn child, though.
The child that died in a miscarriage on Thursday.
It occurred to George when he slammed his wife in the interrogation room. She tumbled out of her chair, scrambling into the furthest corner of the room. Immediately George froze in shock. As he stared at his wife, curled up in the fetal position, he realized.
Suddenly, George's own thoughts were disrupted as he leaned on his elbows in the crowded bar. He sensed his own statistic increase by one. George stood up, heading towards the door, already knowing the breaking news that was about to flash on one of the television screens. The concerned bartender, though, noticed George leaving. "Where do you think you're going?" he demanded over the noise.
George paused solemnly. "To get another drink."
|
Jasper knew he loved her. He'd told her so many times - 14, to be exact. Yet still his palms were sweaty and his cuticles picked raw. A shaving cut glistened on his cheek as he gazed at his craggy features and gray flecked hair in the mirror. He looked every one of his 31 years and a few extra.
Jessica was already waiting for him at the bus stop. Another Thursday night. Date night. But something was different and she knew it. A nagging doubt filled her mind, could she reveal her statistic? She'd guarded it since her 18th birthday, refusing to tell anyone, especially those closest to her. There was something otherworldly about the whole system, a strange perversion on the human psyche.
Suddenly, Jasper was embracing her. Through the comforting and familiar warmth she could feel a new sensation, a slight shaking. He pressed his lips against her ear and whispered a truth.
Jessica gasped.
There was no going back. Jasper took a step away, and she had never seen him so vulnerable, yet so complete. She took his hands in hers, and after a deep breath, revealed her statistic...
| 2014-08-11T08:26:50
| 2014-08-11T02:18:32
| 22
| 12
|
[WP] "What do you mean you're only PART ghost? Was one of your parents human and the other-" "No, that's not what happened. You see, something scared me HALF to death." "You've GOT to be kidding me."
|
"How can I see your ghost self? What do others see?"
"I don't know, I was wandering all over the city to see if people can see me. That's when I saw you, you stood there like you had just seen a ghost."
"It was insane this is all insane I mean you're human but you're hovering above the surface with some sort of white energy around you," said Henry. "Wait, why are people looking at me like that?"
"You know they can't see me, right?"
"Right, I feel like the dumbest person right now. All those years of watching scifi films doesn't help you in such situations."
"I know, I can't even begin to wonder how this is all possible either."
"Can you see your human self?," Henry posed a question.
"I can't see myself. But I know my human self is interacting with my close friends and colleagues. It acts like me but it's sure as heck not me."
"Woah. May be I can start from there, y'know. Tell me, where would you be right now?" In a few minutes Henry brought him to his apartment in the Dock Avenue. "Should I even ask what scared you?," he asked cautiously.
"It's from my nightmare. I believe this happened during my sleep I transformed into this... Half ghost moments after I saw this dark figure I couldn't have a proper look at. It yelled at me like I did something wrong."
"What did it say?"
"Wake up."
"Dude, you're scaring the heck out of me."
"You asked for it."
"Ok go on, did you wake up at all?"
"That's the issue, I just couldn't. I froze."
"Do you think it can happen to others?"
"You think it isn't possible? I don't feel like a human, I'm not hungry but I'm craving for stuff and I can't pick anything up. The faster we figure this out the better."
"I'm sorry man, really."
"That's my roommate Kord. Ask him about me," The ghost pointed at his friend.
"I didn't quite catch your name," asked Henry.
"It's Paul."
Henry went to the reception desk and asked, "Hey, I'm a friend of Paul. Do you know where he is?"
"Are you sure? Paul just walked right before you... Who are you again?," Kord asked with an investigating look on his face.
"Um, sorry. I'm looking for... Paul Bettany. Is this 5B?," Henry dodged his question.
Kord stared at him momentarily and said, "That's a 10 storey building across the street."
"Thanks." Henry quickly got himself out of the building and stood at the entrance.
"So you can't see me too? What even in the world is happening?," Paul panicked.
"This outright shatters everything I've come to learn and believe," said Henry. "I know a friend from school who's a theoretical physicist in Feynman University. May be she can help you."
"What does this have to do with theoretical physics?"
"She knows a lot of stuff. Trust me."
"Would she believe you? All of this would sound absurd without proof. I'm sorry but I can't ask you to put yourself in this situation."
"Look, so are theories. I know that people wouldn't trust me if I said I've seen a ghost, well, half a ghost out loud but she would. She's a longtime friend of mine, she'll understand. I'll meet you tomorrow same place same time?"
"Yeah, literally not going anywhere, man."
"Sorry I didn't introduce myself, my name's Henry btw."
"It's good to meet you, Henry."
That was the most bizarre experience Henry has ever had in his whole life. He called Sarah once he parted ways with Paul.
Call goes to voicemail. "Hey... I apologize for calling you after such a long time. I need your expert on something, it's urgent. You free after lunch tomorrow? I'll come straight to your place," Henry recorded his message.
[Sure, at least you called. Leave a message, you know I can't handle suspense.] Sarah replied with a text. Henry started writing as soon as he got back to his apartment. He hit send after trying his best to describe the events.
"Ok, this should be good. I can't put it better than this."
It's 3 am. Henry is experiencing a nightmare in his sleep.
"Sleep...," said a collapsing voice.
"Who's there?," asked Henry, confused. It echoed through the corridor he stood in. Then a dark figure emerged from the shadows. "No, this isn't happening I'm dreaming, I should wake up."
"You can't. Just... Sleep," the voice crumbled and distorted as it spoke.
Henry went back to sleep.
"What the hell!?" Henry wakes up to a bright noon sunlight and finds himself hovering over a skyscraper. He doesn't waste time he quickly goes to look for Paul.
"No... H-How?," asked Paul as he looked disappointed.
"The same nightmare but it put me to sleep."
"Why?"
"My theory is that if it'd scared me I would've woken up, in your case it pushed you into a shock so that you won't wake up from it. We had near death experiences," said Henry. "Something tells me it knows about each of us and it acts accordingly."
Paul looked away, his face turned visibly bleak. He asked, "Did we... Die?"
"Far from it. Come on, let's go meet my friend," Henry nudged him.
"She can't even see you, Henry. What are we gonna do?"
"Doesn't matter. I sent her a text." Henry and Paul flew straight to Sarah's home.
Henry is late, Sarah picks up her phone and calls to ask if he's coming. Henry tended to her call immediately and spoke on the other end of the line.
"Wow, that was quick," she said. "What? What do you mean what is it? You told me you're coming over, remember? I'm waiting for over 20 minutes now. I have to get to the lab, you know?" — "Is everything alright?" — "Okay, I read your text last night btw." — "Hmm. Bye."
Henry hangs up on the phone. Sarah begins to suspect that something must be wrong. She turns around and sees Henry floating in her living room.
"Aaah!," she screamed and fell down on the floor.
"No, no, no," Henry flapped.
"You know what this means, right?," asked Paul.
"Dude, my friend just fainted looking at the two of us. There must be some way we can help her," said Henry concerned about his friend.
"We can't, but she's next man."
"What are you- Oh my God! I didn't think about that, she literally saw us. Which means she could get a nightmare."
"I'm beginning to understand what this is."
"Yes, this is an invasion of some kind. But we don't know what we're dealing with."
"Let's ask your friend when she wakes up."
WP.r #123 • r/FleetingScripts
|
With ink still wet, the author set down his quill, completing the last recipe of Liber de Coquina. In this moment, the air of a crisp Naples evening hung heavy, for the grinding gears of fate changed direction.
Sitting in his 13th century villa, he had no knowledge of the events he had set in motion. With the recipe now burned to the future minds and tongues of coming generations, he would preserve life for long past the coming of the Harbinger.
...
Many years later, two agents of the Tower House stood at the doorway of an ratty apartment.
"We won't be long, Mr. Johnasse," Agent Set Lever offered, not speaking louder despite the riotous music issuing from within the apartment. “We can tell you’re a busy man. May we come inside?”
Agent Minute Wheel stood still as stone, dialing his smile up to three. If Set Lever could handle this on his own, which he undoubtedly would, then this would be their last assignment together.
“Yeah, of course,” the young man said, looking glazed under the spell of some mild hypnotic. “This is about the..” he held up his hand questioningly, waving it back and forth.
“Yes,” Set Lever said. “We just wanted to hear the story, first hand as it were."
"Cool, so you guys are from the government or something like that?" he kicked a path through the trash covering the floor of the kitchen.
"Something like that," Set Lever said, flexing his neck as he removed his hat. For want of a coat rack, he held it in his hand. He still hadn't adjusted to modern culture's woefully insufficient hat infrastructure.
"Bet," the young man said, putting a large amount of focus into the action of muting the music with the stereo remote. Whether this was due to his 'elevated' mental state or a side effect of his affliction was difficult to tell. He fell into a recliner and turned towards the large couch taking up most of the living room. Young bachelors never bought couches like this. They were just there, an ever-present stain-covered backdrop to the start of adulthood. Minute Wheel sat showing no sign of his distaste.
Set Lever did an admirable job as well. "So, as you describe in your own words..."
"I got scared half to death and now I have a ghost hand." Billy Johnasse held up his hand and Minute Wheel watched with a scholar's eye as the skin, then the tendons and flesh underneath went incorporeal. The now skeletal hand tapped on the sagging coffee table with loud clicks before the bones faded as well, leaving only a thin swirling shadow of faint deep purple and blue where the hand had been.
Of particular interest was the crosssection appearance of his wrist where blood flowed through the circle terminals of vessels, disappearing just as each rush reached the edge. You could count a heartbeat in the pattern. It was fast. He pressed the hand through the cushions of the recliner and brought up a quarter, seeming to hang in the air. The bones slowly reformed followed by the rest until the hand was fully fleshed again.
"I can do my whole arm, but not when I'm baked-I mean tired," Billy corrected hastily. Neither agent reacted. "I think if I really tried I could do my whole left side but I'm afraid I'll get stuck like that. That would be pretty bad, being perpetually half-ghost."
"Very interesting. Now, you say scared half to death. Can you elaborate on that?" Set Lever said, looking the young man in the eyes with just a bit too much eagerness.
"Yeah, yeah," Billy replied. "I was rolling and having a really bad trip. The Christmas tinsel we still had up exploded into blue ice spiders and they were taking me to the Devil's house. I passed out and remember like an intense dream. It was like a factory for people and they were dipping them in vats and writing on their foreheads with this big machine, like a weed eater. It must have been thousands or more people all in long lines I couldn't see the end of on either side."
Minute Wheel risked the briefest look in his partner's eyes.
"And every once in a while the weed eater would scream and cry like a baby. Whoever it was working on was made to lay down in a pan of people. Then they covered the people with some yellow stuff like tar. I managed to run away just as it started on me. Then I woke up to my roommate pouring water over me. He gets off in a couple hours if you wanna talk to him, too."
"That's alright, Mr. Johnasse," Set Lever said calmly. "Is that all you remember of this dream?"
"Yeah, I've gone over it a bunch of times. It wasn't even like a dream, more like watching a video I forgot I recorded."
"Alright, well I think we have all we need. Thank you, Mr. Johnasse." Set Lever rose and shook the man's more Earthly and Mundane hand.
"Wait, you're not recruiting me to be a super ghost spy of something?" the young man asked as he stood.
"Not really how we operate but we have your number if we need it. Have a good day." Set Lever popped his hat back on his head, resting on his long ears.
Minute Wheel followed him outside, silent until they reached the cool air conditioning of the sedan. "Good," he offered laconically.
"That was the best first-hand account we've gotten of the repository, right?"
"By a fair margin, unmistakable that young man had seen the other side. I'll work up the report." Set Lever took out a fountain pen and flipped open the workbook.
"No time, I think I know what the stoner was describing." Minute Wheel cracked the glass covering the pocket watch in the console and took it out.
Set Lever raised his eyebrows. "Bad enough for that? What were they doing with all that flesh?"
Minute Wheel nodded as he braced himself before twisting the wheel of the device with a smooth oiled action. The world went grey around them before bursting into the endless white hall of the Tower House.
"Bait," Minute Wheel said as he stepped out of the sedan, "and if they need that much, it can only be one thing they're trying to snare."
"The Monday, the Harbinger," Set Lever said opening up his journal to a sketch of a feline smile surrounded by tentacles.
...
Miles away in Muncie, Indiana, an orange tabby cat stirred in his sleep. He smelled something fine, almost too faint to pick up. Dark and distant forgotten memories of time before Jon flirted just out of reach. He stretched under his blanket and fell asleep again.
The unknowing savior of humanity sat nearby, reading the latest news, no inkling of the horrors awaiting him. The fruit of our collective souls would soon grow too heavy on the vine, pulling the scales past what any mundane pasta pie could offer as recompense.
This story is one of awakenings obscene, of suffering unimaginable, insanity untenable, a soul frayed, a love lost, and many many Mondays.
/r/surinical
| 2021-04-28T10:33:40
| 2021-04-28T09:27:47
| 17
| 12
|
[WP] Write a dystopian vision of the future from the perspective of the year 1900, while actually describing our present world today.
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To the east sits a sits a man too powerful for any nation to publicly oppose. To the west stands a nation that has decided to police the entire world. In our own lands those in power are willingly handing the reigns of our sovereign soil over to people in far off lands no matter how hard the common man struggles against it.
To the south millions die from hunger and disease while I sit and do nothing. I am not hungry, I am not cold, I am not scared. I wake up, I work, I sleep. I move where work moves, I live in a house not my own and can be thrown out at the whim of the owner.
I am no longer a man, I am a cow. I work for one man, and is milked by another. Vaguely aware of the scores dying or threatened around me, but I don't care as long as there is feed in the trough and warm hay to sleep in.
|
The Great Wars - "Wars to end all wars." - That's what they called them. Yet I was born into a world ravaged by a hundred years of seemingly unending political, economic, and idealogical strife. These battles - elevated through time and technological breakthrough to a global stage unlike any other - appear so far away from my charmed lot. And so I'm left to wonder how they inflict on me the same soul-crushing wounds (though possibly not so deep) that my courageous ancestors suffered on Napoleon's front lines. I envy them. Those men of the 19th century lived each moment with the hope that their blood might be spilled for a tangible cause. Something conclusive. Definable. For even the reproachable has enough substance to grab ahold of and hate.
I exist...no, I persist in a savage metropolis spray painted lightly with a thin skin of civility. For hundreds of miles in both directions a writhing and every-day-more-apathetic pool of my peers fights for the shiny scraps left to us by the capitalist leviathans running our world. Indentured servitude and peasantry has improved, yes. But a comfortable death is still death.
| 2015-12-19T07:56:35
| 2015-12-19T07:37:46
| 400
| 59
|
[WP] Upon ascending to the throne a young prince learns the highest state secret in the kingdom is that the treasury, and the very economy itself, has been managed for hundreds of years by a 4lb dragon too runty and crippled to amass or protect its own fortune.
For the most part dragons are engines of terror and death, and the people would react badly to learning of this one's existence. This one handles the books and treasury. All it asks in return is protection, a few clean and well-fed rats a week, and to be allowed to sleep on a pile of gold.
Use what you will, toss what you will, this is just the general idea.
|
"You what?"
"Money. I want to see where it's made. I want to see how my kingdom controls it."
The King slapped his hands down on the smooth mahogany table.
"Gentlemen, as the ruler of this nation it is only sensible that I take an interest in the economy. Especially one as exceptional as ours."
The King produced a bill from his pocket.
"A slip of ordinary paper, worth five gold coins? A bank that **gives** out money to people, and merely expects them to pay it back later? I would call these the inventions of a mad man I did not witness their success for myself."
The Guild of Merchants shared worried looks. The old King had been a drunken oaf, but at least he was a drunken oaf that didn't ask any questions.
All they had to do was supply him with a turkey leg, a flagon of mead and a scantily clad dancer every now and then, and he'd let them go back to their affairs in peace.
But this new King maintained a carefully balanced diet, and would only drink filtered water. His interests included reading, writing, and art.
The very last of the dancing girls had stormed off in a huff when the new King gifted her a winter coat out of concern that she might catch a cold.
"Well, my liege... it's all very complicated. Extremely so." bustled the Head Artificer.
"Then explain it to me slowly. I don't care if it takes years, I shall not be a mere figurehead. Really, I don't like to order people around very much - but do consider this as a very sincere recommendation. I want you all to teach me everything you know."
One of the more elder members of the Guild rose to his feet.
"If any of you know the King as half as well as I do, then you know he will be resolute in this. I say we show him. He is a far more understanding man than the last few monarchs. We should show him the secret of wealth. We should introduce him to the Master."
The other merchants seemed to hesitate, but eventually they all nodded in agreement. One by one, they each drew a silver bell from their sleeve and rang it once.
Fifteen minutes passed in silence. The King was very patient, and his passion for theatre had given him a sense for a dramatic reveal.
Finally the doors parted, and a young woman strode into the study with a shoe box cradled in her arms. She was a beauty that could start a war. Her skin like polished bronze, her hair like woven sunlight, with eyes that burned like sapphires and shone with a fierce intelligence.
Her rack was pretty kickin' as well.
The old men in the Merchant's Guild grew wistful for their youthful days, and felt a pang of frustration with the young King - who only had eyes for the box.
"Well? What are you waiting for? Is she the Master? What's in that box? Why is it important for learning about the economy?"
Suddenly, the lid popped into the air. A portly lizard hopped out from the box, slapping down on the table with a soft '*fwlop*'. The action caused a large collection of his moss green scales to molt off.
The woman reached into her ample bosom and pulled out a massive cigar that clearly didn't waste an inch of the room it was afforded. She handed it to the green lizard, which after a rather pitiful coughing fit managed to create a spray of embers to light it.
The dragon took a long drag on the cigar. Little wings began to vibrate like a hummingbird's, and amazingly it achieved a sort of hovering flight.
The dragon flew right up to the King's face and blew a long line of smoke.
"So you want to be an economist, you son of a bitch? Well pal, you've come to the right guy."
|
The morning after the coronation, King Jesper woke up, stretched, and began his morning ablutions. Being King Jesper instead of Prince Jesper was still a strange feeling, one that despite years of grooming for the position was just as shocking as if it had come upon him by accident.
"Your Grace," came a voice, one of the household staff, "when you are finished, your mother requires your presence."
"Thank you," Jesper said, dragging a razor across his chin. He took his time shaving. He hadn't had his coffee yet and he was not about to spend his first full day as king with cuts all over his face.
Washed, shaved, and dressed, King Jesper wandered down the hall to the breakfast room, where, he hoped, there would be large amounts of coffee. He was not disappointed. The kitchen staff had an enormous latte ready and waiting, since still after all these years nobody had managed to come up with an intravenous coffee drip that was not lethal.
His mother, Princess Margarioska, formerly Queen Margarioksa until her abdication three weeks ago, sat at the table, having her customary morning tea. "Good morning, sunshine," she said, with an arched eyebrow.
"Hi, mom," Jesper answered, after his third swallow of coffee. "Henrik said you needed me for something."
"Finish your breakfast," she answered, sipping tea and writing something.
Jesper didn't linger. When his mother got enigmatic, it was a sign that something important was going on, something that she wouldn't discuss while they were inside and people could hear them.
"Is there something going on?" He wiped coffee from his lips.
"We're going for a horse ride." Her eyes flickered. "They have a pair saddled up for us already."
A horse ride? Really? He knew his mother loved her morning ride, but she could have told him. Riding was not his preferred sport, and there was the matter of the correct clothes. Still--
He studied her face. This was not a pleasure jaunt. Underneath the bland smile and sipping tea, her eyes had a steely glint that usually accompanied her badgering the prime minister into doing his job or embarrassing one of the wealthy of the nation into behaving like a non-sociopathic citizen. It was unnerving. He sensed that it wasn't aimed *at* him, but it would be if he didn't toe her line.
Jesper might be king, but Margarioska had years more practice. "Yes, ma'am," he muttered.
Twenty minutes later, he was sitting on a horse. He knew how to ride, of course, his parents had both seen to that at a young age, same as his brother and sister, just, he hadn't been riding in perhaps a decade. His mother had taken that into account, giving him an obedient, if prone to snatching bites of grass, mount. She rode a tall horse with a strange stepping walk, one that she had bought from somewhere in North America. His mother led him down one of the trails in the city park, one that was open to riders but not frequently used as a bridle path.
After perhaps twenty minutes on the bridle path, they stopped at an old stone building. It looked like a watchtower, and had a sign on it proclaiming its age and do not enter. Graffiti covered the outside. Madeleine, the groom, dismounted from her horse, tied it to a nearby tree, and helped Jesper down. While Madeleine took the horses, Jesper stretched his legs, wondering what they were doing, and turned to see his mother opening the chain lock on the watchhouse gate. She swung it open, grabbed Jesper by the wrist, and pulled him inside.
"My dear Madeleine, you know the protocol, yes?" she said, again with the steely eye.
Madeleine answered with equal steel, "If anybody tries to enter, shoot on sight." With a salute of two fingers to her brow, she slammed the building door shut. The sound of the lock clicking echoed in the small room.
"What the *hell*?" Jesper couldn't believe his ears. Or his eyes. He was locked with his mother inside a 17th century outbuilding.
"Madeleine and Trixa are here for security. Obviously." She turned on a headlamp that she had pulled from somewhere. Her handbag, evidently, since her next action was to rummage in said bag and hand him a headlamp, courteously already turned on.
"If you are talking about citizens, I need to know what is going on," he shot back. "Shooting on sight? Really? In this day and age?"
"If it helps, we've never had to shoot anybody. Nobody comes here, nobody bothers a pair of young women exercising horses. Come now." She started down a short hall to a steel door, shiny and suspiciously modern looking. "This is important and I have to ask you to trust that I will explain--on the other side of this door."
Jesper sighed, and followed.
Behind the door was a stairwell. Down the stairs there was another door. Behind the other door was a tiny room, barren but for two wooden benches, with yet another door.
| 2015-06-23T07:06:24
| 2015-06-23T06:12:03
| 68
| 23
|
[WP] As it turns out, those red lines in our eyes aren't veins, but rather a parasitic worm that feeds on ocular information. A Scientist removes them, and for the first time in history humans can see everything they were meant to
|
It was a delicate procedure. Snip. Required a precision that no-one else was even close to capable of. Push the needle through. No-one but me would try it. The man's mask fogged up as his breath condensed against the plastic. Hmm. This was slow work. He might wake up before we want him to. Nobody understands just how bloody hard it is. Taking out just the vein, leaving all the eye intact. It takes hours to do just a single eye. And this man... I don't know what was wrong with him. I only had so much gas left after the last four patients failed the procedure. His breathing started to speed up. That was bad. I was so close... But no matter. He was restrained. I could finish even if he woke up. The work continued. Taking the knife up again. I wondered for a second how long it had been since I cleaned it. Oh well.
More cutting. I was close. So close. My hands started to tremble. I had never gotten this far before. Not without them starting to bleed everywhere. His breathing quicked. His pupil stated to dilate. I shushed him. I was so close. Writhing. A soft bang as he struggled against the leather restraints. One final cut and it was done. A slight slip. The knife stopped inside the muscles around his tear duct. A small mistake. With a proud smile I lifted up the parasite. Took it away from his face. Held it in my hand, just in front of him where he could see it. One eye. Red. Still infected. The other, beautifully clear and white. Free at last, pure.
Unadulterated excitement. I ripped the mask off of his face and delighted, screeched at him "What do you see!? What do you see!?" and his screams started to fill the room. His eye writhing around uncontrollably, inspecting the entire room. The screaming. Such primal terror. I stopped. What awesome visions was he having? The screaming didn't stop. I jumped next to him, trying to follow where his eyes went. His teeth gritted, hands clenched, struggling against the restraints with all his strength.
I watched. Fascinated. Wondering. Such fresh curiosity. What surrounded us? What was it he saw? What was the cause of all his fear? But still. It grew old. I took the scalpel to his neck until the screaming diminished to a gurgle and finally died down. My technique would be perfected.
This was proof. There was something out there. Something us infected with this ghastly parasite were unaware of. Maybe the same dark forces that cursed us with it. I dug my fingers into the socket of his eye. This was my greatest accomplishment so far. Pulling out my prize. I would study this. Try to find what it was. If only I could see like he could.
I sat down in front of a mirror and prepared my tools. There was a monster here I wasn't aware of.
|
"I said, Put it. Back. In."
"You do realize what that sounds like, right?" The Scientist quietly giggled, his sense of humor getting in the way of the serious nature of the situation.
"YES!! Haha, very funny, now **Put it back in.**"
"But why?!" The Scientist had spent his life on this conspiracy, working to uncover the worm and figure out a way of extracting it without harming its host. This was all he knew. The discovery that had changed his course, righted him where he had been wrong. He had fed these things for too long, worked to keep them alive. Optometry had paid well, but it wasn't worth denying everyone the vision they were meant to receive.
"I... I can't see." I whispered, scared to admit to this man that the product of his life's work was blindness.
"What do you mean you can't see?!" The Scientist almost laughed, the situation seemed to ridiculous to believe. "You were supposed to see more than any human in history!"
"I mean... when I left, everything looked a little bit smudged, but I thought that was just a side effect of the drugs. I nearly crashed a couple times driving home, but even then I just thought that 'Well, it's night-time, and drugs mess with your head, it'll be fine', but when I got home, everything was blurred, I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. That's when I called you. Or, well, Siri did."
"I,I,I,I never thought- *we were never meant to see*. We- We would see too much without them. Our brains' can't handle it." The Scientist turned back to me, and I could hear him deflate. He knew that no one else could know about this. Humans have a overriding need to be independent, too many people wouldn't be able to accept that we have to rely on these creatures for one of the ways that we process the world. They'd try to eradicate them, and in doing so, would blind as many people as they could before sense kicked back in. But at least he was standing in front of the only person who had ever believed him.
"I'm sorry." He murmured as he walked back to his car, leaving me alone on the floor.
| 2016-01-08T07:41:42
| 2016-01-07T19:40:31
| 106
| 29
|
[WP] This is the prologue (or the first chapter) of the novel you've always wanted to write.
EDIT: Holy crap, you guys are insane. Thank you everybody for your submissions, sorry if I don't thank you personally :)
EDIT 2: What the actual hell. Waking up to find your inbox at fifty - *and counting* - is not healthy. Ya'lls are *machines*!
EDIT 3: Does anybody here know what this "sleep" thing is? Cause I definitely don't. What the christ, people. Chill.
|
I was fourteen the day I realized I wasn’t a main character.
It was the weather, you see. In the stories you could always count on the sky to get a good read on the situation. Thunder heavy in moments of dramatic crisis, shifts to rain for the emotionally sundering, and sunny and cloudless on days of jubilant celebration. The sky was like a heavenly emotional barometer, keenly tuned to the hero’s every passing mood.
As for me, it was muggy and dreary the day I was born, raining by the bucketload when I graduated middle school, and sunny and chipper as anything—the morning my mother died.
It was then in the cemetery, squinting up at that cheerful sun, that I realized. Life had displayed before me its glorious indifference. I was not special, I was not going to be much of anything, and then, eventually, I was going to die.
It was with such thoughts that I entered high school, comfortable in the knowledge of my own insignificance.
When something happened that changed my life forever.
|
It was the lunch rush and the PBJ Cafe was alive with voices. Each table's conversation fed into a swelling sound, joining the hiss of the espresso machine and the tinkle of plates and cups to create an effect that made Patrick think of running water. The stream of noise carried him in nearly constant motion as he wove between tables carrying sandwiches and lattes, and he imagined that he was steering around rocks in river rapids. While he flowed about the restaurant during busy stretches like this hours would pass like minutes, as if the volume of voices and the passage of time were somehow linked.
The noise eventually ebbed as things slowed down, and with the afternoon lull setting in the staff complained about the quiet times. This was the kind of harmless shared suffering that strengthens social ties better than any team building exercise could and everyone joined in the commiserations. They would have complained about the busy times too if they didn't have so many other things to take care of during the rush. But when things slowed down the tips stopped coming, the minutes dragged by, and boredom took hold. Patrick agreed, yet he secretly enjoyed it when the cafe quieted down because the voices at the tables would once again separate into distinct conversations that he could follow. While the other staff were smoking out back or inventing elaborate games in the store room around throwing butter knives into the drywall, Patrick was collecting stories.
Sometimes he felt guilty about eavesdropping, but from the central counter it was possible to hear what was being said almost anywhere in the cafe, and the gap between hearing and listening is so small that we often cross it without realizing. Patrick first began to cross that gap unintentionally because he was worried that the people were talking about him. He was a novice waiter and felt that his inexperience must have been obvious to the customers. However, as he listened in on his tables it eventually sunk in that they were not, in fact, discussing him at all. It turned out that people spent less time thinking about and talking about him than he was prone to imagine. He came to see that paranoia was just as self-centered and deluded as narcissism, without the benefit of confidence. This realization, coupled with his growing competence at the job, helped him to stop worrying that the customers were criticizing him. But not before weeks of eavesdropping had also taught him that people said some interesting things in restaurants.
Granted, people said a lot of very boring things in restaurants. As well as a huge number of things that, lacking context, Patrick couldn't really gauge one way or the other. But there were enough intriguing moments to keep him coming back. The first was a woman with thick, dirty blonde hair discussing her nervous breakdown in such unguarded detail and with so little appeal for sympathy that Patrick fell in love with her a little bit, though she was twice his age. He was in awe of that kind of openness, especially about such a moment of weakness. But the man in glasses seated across from her did not seem impressed. Maybe he'd heard the story before, or maybe this was a first date and he was having second thoughts. He could have been her shrink as well, though he wasn’t taking notes or asking many questions.
Later that same day Patrick overheard a young white guy professing his love to a young black guy with such whispered urgency it seemed he had to keep his voice down so as not to shout. Patrick felt the urge to hug them both, and was only a little afraid that this might mean he was a homosexual. As he set their drinks down in front of them he wanted to tell them that he supported gay marriage, and interracial marriage, and any kind of marriage really if it involved a love such as theirs. All he said, though, was to just let him know if they needed anything else.
From then on he was hooked. When he had down time he would busy himself behind the counter and tune in to the different conversations going on in the restaurant around him. He justified his eavesdropping by thinking that the PBJ Cafe was clearly a public place, so people should expect to be overheard. Sometimes he took things a step further and went the righteous route: if the customers only thought of him as a server and not as a fully formed human being, capable of hearing and maybe even having opinions about what they were saying, then he had every right to listen to them with no qualms. Eavesdropping as a form of social justice was a difficult concept to hold onto on this particular afternoon, though. The problem was: she was cute.
| 2015-09-12T13:44:03
| 2015-09-12T11:12:45
| 63
| 23
|
[WP] France is now illegal
|
No one thought that it would actually happen, politicians make stupid laws so people will protest them so they can get worse laws to pass without anyone caring. We all assumed this was the case, no one cared. We all figured someone else would cause an out-roar about it, but no did, no one cared. It was April 1st when it passed, even more evidence to us that is was just a big joke. That day i decided head out to the bakery, thats when I realized it was real. All the baguettes were being thrown into giant garbage bins by police officers and cook books written by french chefs were being ripped apart. Me and the rest of the shoppers stood in shock at what was happening. One of the Officers grabbed a man from the group. He had a long moustache and a beret that was way to big for his head. He was handcuffed and the Officer escorted him out of the building. Commotion was starting to build. I went home before I was stuck in the middle of a riot. Went I got home I opened up my computer and I saw I had new two new emails, the first was from my best friend, all it had was a link to google maps. When I opened the link I saw the true seriousness of what was going on. In the dead centre of the Atlantic, was France, It had become an island. I opened the second email, it was from [ancestry.com](https://ancestry.com). I've been on the run for the last few weeks, I think they're on my trail now, I don't know what to do anymore.
|
Damn baguettes.
I hate baguettes. They are so despicable.
Look at them, those baked goods make me so mad. I feel an anger boiling up inside me, welling up until I am fit to burst, fit to explode. The last time I was in a French bakery I got so angry that I shattered the window by kicking it with my full force, and unfortunately I got banned from the establishment.
Why would they ban me? Huh? I didn’t do anything illegal. These French fools, don’t even know the law.
Come on, who likes them? Who!? They are so irritating, so stupidly exhausting to witness and to be around.
I also hate art, what good is art!? None, I tell you, none at all.
And I hate those stupid hats, those stupid hats which look like aubergines, which all the stupid artists where and it just makes me so goddamn angry! So, so angry.
Did I mention I hate Paris? I hate that too. It’s so expensive and so cruelly monotonous and so terrible, it just slights me, it just insults me in every way and intrudes on my personal beliefs.
That’s why when I became president of Uzbekistan, I banned France.
Yay.
————————————————————
The author of this story loves baguettes, France, Paris, and those artisan hats. And art.
Disclaimer over.
| 2018-07-27T11:25:34
| 2018-07-27T08:37:34
| 44
| 28
|
[WP] Write a pirate story for my three year old son. With a witch in it somewhere. He says there has to be a witch in it.
My son is going through a pirate phase. Every night he asks for a pirate and witch story. I'm running out of variations on the theme.
|
"Arr" said Blackbeard
"Arr" said Long Johns silver, wearing a pair of long johns that were sort of a purple colour.
"Arr" said Private Pirate Name
"I'm sorry is it… rrrrrrrrrr" said Bob, because he was new.
"No Bob, it be Arrrrr" said Blackbeard
"Rrrrrrrr" said Bob
Blackbeard sighed "We'll work on it Bob"
"Land ahead" said Patchy, the two eye patch pirate from the crows nest.
"Why do we have a pirate with two eye patches on lookout?" said Bob
"Arr he be the best there is" said Blackbeard
"And look, there be the land" said Long Johns silver, pointing to the island that was two feet in front of them.
"Man stations" yelled Blackbeard "Long Johns, the sails, Private Pirate Name, the cannons, Patchy the two eye patch pirate, keep up the good work, Bob, get me a drink with one of those small umbrellas"
But because Blackbeard was too long winded the pirate ship ran aground.
"Arr, this not be good" said Blackbeard
"Arr, I concur" said Long John Silver
"Arr I also concur" said Private Pirate name
"I also concurrrrrr" said Bob, holding out the drink with the tiny umbrella in it
"It's be good effort Bob, but we still be having to have to work on it" said Blackbeard, taking the offered drink with the tiny umbrella.
"How are we going to get our ship lose?" said Long Johns
"Maybe we can ask them" said Private Pirate Name, turning to the screen
"Arr, it not be that kind of story" said Blackbeard
"Wait, look at this" said Patchy the two eye patch pirate, with an eye patch over both eyes.
He was pointing at a sign that said "Beware of Witch" and below it on another sign "Her specialty is freeing pirate ships from the beach" and below that there was another sign that said "But seriously beware of Witch"
"Well boys we have our answer" said Blackbeard
"Arr" said Long Johns
"Arr" said Private Pirate Name
"Arr" said patchy the two eye patch pirate
Bob opened his mouth to speak.
"Bob you stay with the ship" said Blackbeard
"Oh, ok" said Bob
And so the pirates made it through the forest. They cut through the enchanted vines, swam under the cave of 'it's really far so you have to be good at holding your breath' and beat the cyclops at a game of checkers.
They arrived at the witches lair and went inside, where the Witch was making a magic potion.
"Arr, good witch" said Blackbeard
"Ha, I'm a bad witch" said the bad witch
She shot a magic blast at them and they all jumped out of the way. Blackbeard fired his pistol at her, while Long Johns and Private Pirate name charged her with cutlasses drawn. Patchy the two eye patch pirate ran into a wall because the blast had knocked his eye patches off and he couldn't see as well without them.
But nothing hurt the witch.
"Arr, nothing can hurt the witch" said Blackbeard
"Arr" came a voice from over head
They looked up to see Bob standing over a hole in the ceiling.
"Hey, you broke my roof" said the witch
"Arr" said Bob again
"You did it Bob" said Blackbeard "You said Arr"
"Arr" said Bob again as he jumped through the hole and fell straight to the ground across the room from the witch.
They all stared at Bob who said "uhhhhhhhhhh".
The witch turned to the pirates "And now I'll cast my most powerful spell and…is that a drink with a tiny umbrella in it?"
"Yes" said Blackbeard, who still had the drink with the tiny umbrella in it
"Can I have it?" said the witch
"The drink or the umbrella" said Blackbeard
"The umbrella" said the witch
"But that's my favourite part" said Blackbeard
"I'll unbeach your ship"
"How did you know our ship was beached?" said Long Johns
"No one ever visits me unless their ship gets beached. That's why I'm so mean"
"Well what do you say Blackbeard?" said Private Pirate name
"Arr, fine" said Blackbeard
And so they carried Bob back to the beach, where the witch un-beached their ship and after promising to visit they sailed off to their next adventure.
|
And so once again Cap'n Crunch was sailing across the Ocean of Soy, looking for more fruit loops to plunder. There were unfortunately no fruit loops to see but Cap'n Crunch saw something even more valuable. A rare Coco Pop, it was believed the Coco Pops were long since gone from the Ocean of Soy, scooped up by the almighty power above. Cap'n Crunch neared the Coco Pop, licking his lips in anticipation, after all the Coco Pops did say they, "Taste like a chocolate milkshake, only crunchy."
Crunch boarded the Coco Pop, which was silent and scary, he thought it was a trap. But Crunch never backed down from treasure and so he walked aboard this Coco Pop, no sign of any crew members aboard. But the steering wheel turned, it turned by itself, scaring the oats out of Crunch. Never the less Crunch continued he walked into the captain's quarters of the Coco Pop. But the sight there was like none he had ever seen, a chocolate witch stood there controlling the ship with her mind. "Hahahah, so you found me Crunch? Don't worry I won't harm you, I search for the fabled Special K." "Impossible!" Crunch cried in shock, "It's just a legend, no one has ever been able to find the mythical Special K!" "I will Crunch, I will wield legendary powers, but sadly Crunch, you won't be here to see it!" The witch responded, cackling insanely. (Edit:) Chocolate erupted from the witch's hands, sending Cap'n Crunch flying through his nutritious boat. Cap'n's crew responded by firing 63 dried raisins at the Coco Pop, the raisins, dry and unsatisfying, ripped holes through the witch's boat. Before the crew could continue the barrage the Coco Pop disappeared into thin air.
Cap'n Crunch was hastily rescued by his crew but the ships was gaining soy milk and would sick without immediate attention. Unfortunately for Cap'n Crunch he was in the middle of Soy Ocean, an area with few cities capable of repairing a large ship like his. So he consulted his treasure map made by the Lucky Charms and saw one city to visit. A sad and neglected city, it was a vile land filled with things that were neither, wheat, corn or oat. It was a land filled with *fruit*.
Just Right city was in sight, the sultanas and almonds filled Crunch with despair, his crew was moaning at their misfortune. "No worries crew! We shall only be here for a short while!" Crew said inspiringly to his crew, all the while praying to the almighty spoon above. They docked the ship without much trouble, besides the crowd gathering on the dock. "It seems they don't get many visitors," Crunch whispered to his first mate, Jim, "Aye, but maybe this can be used to our advantage." Jim replied. Suddenly a clumsy bureaucrat blundered through the crowd, "Identify yourself Captain!" He shouted. "I am the fierce Cap'n Crunch, mightiest oat in all the 7 milks! Follow my demands and you shall be left unharmed!" Crunch ordered the bureaucrat, using the official's fear to his advantage.
Crunch's ship was hastily being fixed and resupplied with more raisins and sugar for the cannons. The uneducated grapes and almonds of the lower class near the dock inquired how the cannons worked. An agitated crewman replied, "We ignite the sugar, which in turn makes the raisins fly into enemy ships." This answer seemed to please the people and allowed the crewman to go about his job. Within hours the boat was fully repaired and Crunch was ready to set sail. But misfortune plagued the Cap'n on this day, apparently the Queen of Just Right city was the last to hear about the pirate's visit and was furious the nobles and parliament had so quickly caved to help the 'savages'. So she had sent her castle's entire garrison to storm the ship and capture Cap'n Crunch. The men had arrived too late, Crunch's ship had already set sail but they quickly clambered into the queen's personal ships, the Sultana Almond and the Oat Wheat. They were small ships, agile and easily maneuverable but unable to go too far out to sea as the people of Just Right never had a need to leave the island city.
The twin ships quickly gained on Crunch and the Cap'n knew he would not be able to escape them so he turned around and fired all 63 cannons, fully loaded with raisins at the two ships. The raisins ripped through the ships' sails, crippling them. This allowed Crunch's ship to escape, leaving the two ships to head back to Just Right city, in shame and with their tails between their legs. "Where to next Cap'n?" Jim inquired and Crunch responded solemnly, "The Cursed Isles of Chocolate Milk Sea! We **will** find the chocolate witch and retrieve the Special k of legend!" That was of course until they were attacked by the Malicious Boo-Berry.
| 2015-11-22T06:00:51
| 2015-11-22T05:38:29
| 117
| 26
|
[WP] You are every Super Hero’s worst enemy, not because you are particularly powerful, but because nothing you do is technically illegal… you’re just a huge asshole.
|
[Poem]
In Villainous stride,
Push heroes aside,
But still abide by the laws
No big dreamer, no villainous schemer not even a righteous cause.
I walk a thin line
Between rules, so fine
Make annoyances mine
Aftertaste like brine
Every loophole abused
Every get away used
Every shin bruised, because I can.
No one can get me not superman.
No villain can get near my plan,
All this work in one life span.
Close to the edge, a worthwhile stroll
Annoying, my pledge, it gives me control.
A day not lived where I don’t cajole,
Or abuse everyone on my payroll.
Sincerely a troll with my heart black as coal
Am I a villain? Nay just an asshole.
|
“Look your robbed from the poor and gave to the rich” he said as his stupid H glowed on his chest. Hope man was the galaxies most powerful hero and that was saying a lot. Me well I’m just a guy. “ no no no I bought that Martian egg fair and square ok. It’s in a museum so thank you tax write off” his face twisted in an unamused expression that really he’s been wearing since he landed. “ Fine but you can help the sick.” Amazing woman said. To get fair she was amazing to look at at least. Man maybe I am sick. “ I do as long as they pay their premium; insurance will pay every time.” She wanted to punch me i could feel it.
“What is wrong with you” wonder kid said trying his hardest to stay calm.
“ Look I get paid and live happily ok. I don’t break the law and I provide valuable jobs. If anything if it wasn’t for crew Klean you would be the villains. So shouldn’t you be thanking me.” I said it I didn’t want to but I just did.
The intimidator stood up. He was a martian so probably the martian egg thing made him a little angry. “ You pay the friends of villainy’s taxes”
“We’ll yeah but I also pay the tower of impeccable destruction… sorry I mean tower of good guys clean up and charity fees as well”
They all left in a huff. I mean it’s their second visit this week. One day we’ll get a hero smart enough to realize I write the laws to. It’s good to be technically not evil.
| 2021-08-02T04:24:48
| 2021-08-02T01:55:44
| 40
| 25
|
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
Everyone stood around. My mom was the most excited while my dad just hung around in the background talking to my Uncle Paul. Several friends from high school were hanging back all waiting for my word to appear.
My mom had "Caregiver" on her wrist and was both a nurse and a mother like no other. My dad had "Builder" and had spent his life as a carpenter. Me, I had no idea what I wanted to do and was waiting for my word to guide me. Everyone gathered around as the countdown started to noon on the clock on the computer.
I looked at my wrist, both of them out as this was the place most likely for their words to appear. At exactly noon the word "Teacher" appeared on my right wrist and a cheer went up around the room. There were congratulations all around and my heart had sank. I would spend my life in front of a classroom? I didn't want that at all, I had always been a private person.
The next afternoon I was taking a shower when I gasped, another word had appeared on my opposite wrist, an almost perfect reflection of the other word. I suddenly realized I was a freak as I stared at the word, "Author". I did an internet search and there were no other recorded cases of multiple words appearing on a person outside of sci fi and fantasy novels.
I dressed in long sleeves and began avoiding people, even as my mother ordered me brochure after brochure from the best teaching colleges. I would probably receive a scholarship on the appearance of that word alone, she said convinced. She noted something wrong but I couldn't tell her that the next day the third word appeared, this time on my right side, "Explorer" or that on the fourth day another word appeared, "Thinker".
Over the upcoming months I barricaded myself in my room as word after word appeared covering more and more of my flesh. My mother would ask me what was wrong as she left plates of food at my door and fetched empty ones later. Three months later I looked at myself in the mirror. A naturally tattooed freakish dictionary written across my skin from head to toe. Ninety-nine words defined me as my father busted down the door. I heard his gasp as he gazed upon the naked flesh of his only daughter.
As my mother entered the room I heard her gasp and she began crying, dropping to her knees she bent to the ground sobbing. I turned to the mirror to see the 100th and I knew final word that had appeared directly in the center of my forehead. It read simply, "Savior". Naked I smiled, naked I went forth.
|
The words flashed red, the letters engraving themselves into my skin. I read them again, still uncomprehending. What kind of purpose was *that?*
I tried to get up, to run away, to try make sense of things - but my father held me firmly down by the shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.
"Son, your mother and I are very proud of you," he said, beaming from ear to ear. My family and friends all gazed at me, everyone single one looking proud and exultant. What the hell was happening?
"I don't understand!" I shouted, meeting everyone's gaze. Nothing made sense anymore.
"Oh, honey, he doesn't get it," my mother said, looking at my dad with a flutter. He smiled back at her.
"Son, those two words don't mean what you think they do," he said to me, grinning.
I looked back at the words, staring at them, the red glow casting a dancing shadow all around us:
*END LIFE*
"They *don't?*" I asked, confused. "It doesn't mean I should kill myself?"
"Of course not," he replied, chuckling, wiping a tear from his eye. "It doesn't mean *your* life!"
Everyone laughed but me. "I still don't get it," I said, feeling completely lost.
He pointed upwards. "Up *there*, silly!"
I followed his gaze, and after a minute, it dawned on me. Suddenly, everything made sense.
"Oh, Christ, sorry dad," I said, embarrassed. "I get it now!"
He wagged his finger at me. "Remember, what do we say instead of 'Christ'?" he asked with a wink.
I looked up, smiling. The words flashed in the darkness, and I felt power course through my veins.
"*Anti-Christ*," I said, and the legions of hell cheered.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my new subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
| 2017-03-15T17:54:01
| 2017-03-15T17:51:32
| 1,085
| 256
|
[WP] Is the year 2090 and everyone carries an ear device that instantly translates any language. You married an amazing foreign woman & decide to learn her mother tongue as an act of love, then discover you didn't fall in love with her personality, but with the ear device get-along editing feature.
|
Sheila smiled at Dan from across the kitchen. She diced the carrots with machine-like precision, barely slowing to glance at her husband. Dan creased his eyebrows in her direction, expressing his exhaustion.
The Xorne's language had never been learned by another species in the galaxy. When Dan took out his ear, Sheila could scream at him in anger but all he would hear are lyrical arrangements.
Dan analyzed the sounds and broke them down mathematically. What humans interpret as a fourth note could be a whole phrase in Xorne. When they spoke rapidly, it sounded like a concert and could be heard like reading a novel. Massive amounts of information could be translated quickly.
The troubling aspect came down to one translation.
It's a familiar tone to humans. A high C sharp lasting an 1/8th of a second. Barely discernible within a long song, but always hit when talking about humans.
The same note hit when Sheila cooks.
Dan wondered if the reason humanity had yet to meet the other species was because the Xorne had eaten their other c sharps to extinction.
Sheila was adding spices to the stew, surrounding Dan in familiar aromas that had become the staple scents of their home. Could she really be fattening up Dan for 6 years?
Dan went back to the screen on the table. He tried to reach out, but his hands had started sweating and shaking.
The peace seemed to good. The Xorne wiped out war, hunger, disease, and racism nearly as soon as they showed up. They freely gave technology and advanced humanity.
For food. The rage built within Dan. He couldn't handle the guilt he felt within himself for falling into the trap.
Dan decided he would show whom who's food.
It didn't take long for Xorne Fleet to arrive. Sheila's blood covered Dan's hands. He sat slumped against the front door, acknowledging to the pale purple light of day the murder he'd committed.
Their songs came out hurried and loud, but too fast for Dan to understand without his ears. Apparently seeing the confusion in Dan's eyes, they inspected his ears and slid a new ear in.
"Why murder?" Asked the green Xorne.
"Why food?" Dan returned, making sure to hit the practiced high c note.
"You learn little." His ear told him.
"Why eat human?!" Dan carefully pronounced in Xorne.
Visibly flustered, the orange Xorne spoke very slowly, lWe guide fluffy, weak meat."
And Dan realized C sharp was sheep. They spoke in metaphors.
And Sheila was preparing sheep stew, again. His favorite.
|
There once were two people.
One named 顏毅(yan yi), from Taiwan and one named Бралька (Braylka), from Ukrane.
They met in Taiwan, Бралька was on vacation in Taiwan, and met 顏毅.
They met at a religious ceremony, they both were very religious, and shared the same goals in life.
They knew their own respective parents would approve of a marrige between them; of course their parents did, and the two got married shortly after.
After beeing married for a few years, and learning to see each-others' flaws, and work through them, something changed.
YanYi decided it was time to learn Ukranian, so that he could talk to Braylka naturally, many hipsters have started doing it, and YanYi knew there couldn't be anything wrong with speaking naturally.
"It's the way it was meant to be, right?" he thought.
So he starts learning Ukranian, one word at a time, one grammar point at a time.
Language learning hasn't been practiced in a very long time, so he's suprised how old some of the resources are. He starts saying some things to Braylka once and a while in Ukranian. She thinks it's adorable!
"Awe! It's so sweet he's been learning my language" she though.
When he starts to get fluent, he goes back to his old texts to her, and starts to read in the original language. She seems oddly aggressive.
"Maybe there was a mistranslation somewhere?" he thought to himself.
As he read more and more, and listened to the recordings of their late night Skype chats, he noticed she uses much more vulgar language than he remembers. She seems to be non-apreeciative of his help...
"Strange..." YanYi though. "I always thought Braylka was sweet, not so harsh!"
One day, he talks to Braykla in Ukranian and decides to bring up the point that he's been learning for quite some time, and when he read their texts and listened to their old chats, he noticed she seems harsher than he remembers. He thought it was sorta funny, he doesn't mind some sass.
"Hey.... Sweatheart... " Braylka started "I... I've been using a special translation feature to try and hide my problems. I... I... " she stuttered "I do love you, but I was so affraid of offending you because I have a really bad habit of using mean, and hurtful language. I don't mean to, it's just a habit I picked up from my Dad"
Braylka started crying.
"I love you! I do, I was just scared that you wouldn't understand, that you'd think I was mean..."
"I love you too Braylka.
We can work on this together; I'll help you through this"
Brraylka, and YanYi cried together, and fell asleep.
As time went on they began to work on Braylka's cursing problem, and Braylka even learnt some Chinese for YanYi.
As they grew closer, there was no need for translators.
They could now truly say:
"I love **you**",
"我愛**你**", and
"Я **тебе** люблю"
*criticism is welcome, I'm new to this, and on mobile so excuse the formatting*
*E: Spelling*
*E2: Spelling again*
| 2017-03-14T10:34:50
| 2017-03-14T10:32:10
| 87
| 27
|
[WP] You join the military, you are placed in the gardeners program. You garden in exotic places where the military has done operations, each time they give special glasses and forbid spraying others. One day your glasses fall off and you see you are actually burning corpses with a flamethrower.
|
It all happened 40 years ago.
Deep into my early 60s my memory fades day by day. But, I'll never forget that moment 40 years ago.
That moment was when life turned to death, the sweet scents turned to carrion stenches, the hallucinated utopia turned to a burning reality and when my innocence turned to corruption.
They say forgive but never forget.
I did neither.
You know what I did?
You'll know soon enough.
They're coming.
I know it.
A knock on the door.
"Open up,' the man said,"it's the police."
Here they are. What took them so long? Do they know how 40 years even feel like? 40 years of pain, 40 years of sadness, 40 years of solitude and what else?
Oh! 40 years of flashbacks.
I wore my strong perfume over my turpentine drenched tuxedo and took my favorite lighter.
From how many years ago that lighter was from?
You guessed it!
40.
A pattern is emerging here. You see it right? They saw it too.
The knocks started to get stronger, then they became pounding, later on hammering, then it was bashing and suddenly it stopped.
I could hear a thump and knew they kicked it down.
3 in their blue uniform and all well dressed, as I am, for the death upon them.
"Magnus, you are under arrest for the murder of a number of people and for arson of dozens of houses more," the most senior of them proclaimed.
I took out my lighter.
"Sir, I demand you to drop that lighter and lay down on the ground with your hands on your head or you will force me to shoot."
Little did they know my house was filled with turpentine too.
"I am warning you sir."
I flicked open the weapon and aroused the flame.
"I'm going you one last chance sir."
You should've killed me earlier.
|
*From that day on, I knew what I was doing was a lie. A complete lie.*
"Not coming to dinner tonight, Jay?" Mata said as he put on his shoes, "Heard we are eating ribs tonight." Sickness coiled inside my stomach.
"I'll pass, a bit tired," I said, hiding myself under the blanket, attempting to find some sort of comfort. *All those people... To think I was the one doing this... What kind of a program is this? I want out.*
"Alright bud, good job today tho!" Mata smiled with a thumbs up. "We have gotten to spray lots of it today, can't wait for it to blossom." *If only he knew...*
About a couple of minutes later, silence echoed in the hall. I was finally alone. *This is my chance to talk to the director.*
I quickly wrote up a resignation letter, trying to think some sort of excuse that might quickly get me out of this hellhole.
"Come in," Director Apati said. The door creaked as I peeked inside, the military commander doing paperwork. "ID and state your purpose." He said without looking up.
"303661480 sir. And-" I took a deep breath and put the letter on the table. "I wish to resign."
He stopped midway, I felt my heart skipped a beat as he looked up at me with a serious look. I could feel him looking right through me.
"Mind if I ask why?"
"Um. Family back home is in a financial struggle, I wish to help them out."
"Despite getting paid more in the program than back at Rez?" He cocked an eyebrow, eyeing my suspiciously. *I messed up.* "Did you perhaps did something you shouldn't?"
"No sir. I have lots of siblings I need to take care of-" I stared at him, nervously trying to construct words off the top of my head until he finally held up his hands.
"Say no more son, I understand. There's a convoy that is heading back to command base, I'll let them know."
*Well that went unexpectedly well. Too well.*
----
The jeep roared through the night desert as all I could imagine were the dead that i I had burned. The moonlight shine above, offering a bit of comforting light.
"We're here." The officer said as he beckoned me to get off. I looked around, only to find sand dunes everywhere.
"What do you mean? There's nothing here-" I stopped immediately and stared at him. Sadness filled in his eyes. *And thats when I realized.*
He drew his gun slowly and pointed it at me. "No please, don't do it." I desperately said. *If I only had power. If I only knew beforehand. If I only could do something about it...*
I closed my eyes, waiting for death to come and that's when I heard a gunshot. **BANG.** I expected more pain, but perhaps I am already dead so I can't feel any.
But somehow I could still hear my heartbeat, thumping back and forth rapidly. I opened my eyes only to find the soldier had fallen on the ground, blood spilled everywhere as I slowly walked back, shocked and confused by what had happened.
The driver quickly got out of the car, pointing his gun at me. **BANG.** Seconds later, he dropped as well.
I looked around, trying to find my saviour. In the distance, I saw three figures slowly walking towards me. *This is bad. What if these are the enemies? Am I about to be captured?*
I heard another shot, this time to me. I feel myself getting more dizzy and hazy as I desperately try to hold onto the car for support. Then enemies got closer while I fell to the ground, unable to move with vision distorted.
I saw a figure standing above me, analyzing me.
"I see mercy and compassion in his eyes," A deep voice said, "I suspect he is being used."
"Why not just kill him?" Another voice said, cocking his gun. "We have no need for a pawn of the government."
"Quiet Wolf," The deep voice said disapprovingly, "We'll let the boss decide."
"Bring him," A feminine voice said in the distance, it was a voice of power and determination that automatically demands respect.
Before finally falling unconscious, the last thing I heard from the "boss" was something that sounded like...
*"Let's show him what the world really look like."*
| 2017-06-20T03:39:12
| 2017-06-20T03:35:51
| 33
| 17
|
[WP] Drunkenly, you accidentally pour vodka into your pet's water bowl. As a result, your pet breaks the number one rule: do not speak to your owner... Ever.
Did NOT expect this amount of replies. Thanks guys! It'll be an interesting read.
|
"Man, what the fuck. This could seriously kill me."
"Nawdawg . . ." My eyes were closed. My head tilted forward, chin resting on my chest.
"No, really. Like I can smell that this is poison."
"NOOO!" Dogs are so STUPID. "It'sss fucking SKY man."
"I don't give a shit what it is, I'm not drinking it."
I continued pouring, the Costco-sized bottle loose in my grip. I had pretty sweet accuracy too, I was hitting his bowl like at least 50% of the time. If I knew Chewbacca was going to such a little *BITCH* about it . . .
"Like comon', get fucked up with me."
"No dude, you're a fucking wreck."
"Your mom's wrecked." I nearly dropped the handle in the chortling that ensued. Some of it got on the wall. I'll clean it up later. I pointed at my chest with my free hand, indicating that it was *I* that wrecked her.
"Can you not? Can I get some water please? You were gone all day."
"Your . . . fuuuuuu"
"What, my mom got some water? What?"
"I don't know. Furgot." The bottle was mostly empty by now. A large nail polish smelling puddle formed around his dish.
"Let's get you to bed man."
"NO!" I retched forward and banged sideways into the refrigerator. Instinctual, an animal reflex for hording fermented fruits. "I wanna fucking PARTY!"
"Comon." He nudged me, poking the back of my knee with his wet snuffling nose.
"Stop it! I'm going!" It was so *gross!* It was as cold as a drowned corpse and left dog-slime behind. "Fuckin' fight me bro!"
"Dude, I would fucking take you down. You don't want to get bit by a dog tonight."
"You wanna go? You wanna FUCKING GO!" Suddenly there was energy in my body again, exclusively in my arms. My upper body and legs still felt rather noodley. "I'll fight you dog."
Chewbacca didn't say anything. He didn't move, he didn't bark - he just stayed there on his paws and waited for me to fall over.
"YEAH- YEAH, get some!" He taunted, licking my face. "How do you like some of that shit!"
"Auuugh" I began to groan but quickly snapped my mouth shut at the first intersection of his tongue. It is not possible to spit out the feeling of a slobbering dog. When he finally stopped and all I could see was his floofy butt wiggling out the bedroom door I called to him.
"I LOVE YOU!"
He turned, his face stupid and grinning, "I know buddy" and shut the door behind.
|
I dunno how much of that fucking Stoli I had last night. It's all a weird blur. For some reason, the clearest memory I have is dumping a lot of the water out of my goldfish Spike's bowl and replacing it with the vodka. To "give the little guy a buzz" or something, I dunno why I did it. I remember after I did that, Spike swimming around really fast and running his mouth up and down a lot, and me laughing. He looked like he was really drunk and it was funny as shit, I dunno.
But then he broke the surface of the water, leaned his front fins on the glass, looked right at me. Ad I had to be drunk off my ass, but I can pretty clearly remember Spike yelling at me.
"You **ASSHOLE!!** You titanic **DUMBFUCK!!** This shit BURNS, you fucking IDIOT! I can't BREATHE! I think my GILLS are BLEEDING! WHAT the actual **FUCK**, you fucking KILLED ME you stupid drunk PIECE OF SHIT!"
I think I reeled and passed out. Woke up this morning and went to feed Spike, but he was laying dead out of water next to a bowl that still stank like vodka.
I dunno for sure, I had to be hungover as hell, but it almost looked like when he died, he had curled his flippers back so it looked like he was giving me The Finger.
| 2016-08-02T20:54:01
| 2016-08-02T20:31:04
| 30
| 17
|
[WP] A nerdy kid discovers that magic spells work exactly like a computer programming language.
There are some amazing stories here. Thank you all for responding. Also thanks to u/pandizlle who informed me that there is a book dealing with this very concept. It's called "Wizard's Bane" by Rick Cook.
|
**Bug ID #5608**
**Name:** Teleporting object arrives at speed
**Severity:** High
**Product:** Teleport
**Reported by:** AP
**Assigned to:** TJ
**Status:** Closed
**Description:** When teleporting over medium to long distances, I arrive with a significant lateral or vertical speed. In some cases, the speed would be enough to be fatal. I have experimentally verified that it becomes perceptible when teleporting distances greater than 5km, and dangerous over distances greater than 100km, with some variation due to direction.
**Steps to reproduce:** Use Teleport with all default settings, source coordinates (51.6753524,-1.2340868) and destination coordinates (52.3590673,13.4065686). Stand at the source coordinates.
**Notes:**
* Closed. Not a bug. -TJ
* What do you mean, not a bug? The documentation says you arrive with the same velocity that you set off with. I certainly wasn't flying through the air when I cast the spell, but I was when I landed. If I didn't have Feather Fall ready, I would have died. How can that possibly be intended behaviour? Reopen this please. -AP
* Were you in a moving vehicle at the time of casting? Teleport does not adjust your speed to account for your surroundings. Teleporting while moving at speed would cause the effect you described. -TJ
* Of course not. I started standing still. I ended up moving at extremely dangerous speeds. Teleport is supposed to conserve your speed. It didn't. This concept is not difficult. Your spell has a bug. Reopen this ticket. -AP
* The Earth rotates. You were moving at the same speed as ever, but the ground wasn't. Naturally you arrived at speed relative to your surroundings. Teleport is not recommended for long distance travel, for this reason among others. In this case, you should use Greater Teleport instead, as it allows you to specify a change in momentum. -TJ
* You couldn't have told me that before? Nobody said anything about that. The book just says that it's "not accurate" over long distances. It doesn't say anything about being splatted across the walls. What if I'd arrived indoors? What if I'd been sent flying down or sideways instead of up? I could literally have died. You need to issue a statement about this. This is not okay. -AP
* Hello? I haven't had a reply to my last message. Please reopen this ticket immediately. -AP
|
"Jinkies!" I cried aloud, though it was just me in the room. "That's it!"
The glow of the supernatural program cast a dim light across the dark and dingy office in the old house. I was ready to ship, finally. My app would be out in the wild shortly having the unique title of "Universal Magic Compiler".
You see I'd finally put all the crazy pieces together, solved the mystery. Spells and magic aren't made up of whimsical ingredients they're just programs. Instructions that the universe can natively interpret. Me and the gang had seen some weird things through our adventures but now I could show them that magic was *real*.
"Ruh-roh" groaned Scooby as he and Shaggy entered my den.
"Like, Velma" Shaggy began, a foreboding shadow cast across his face "What are ya doing up here all alone? The gang's all downstairs man and like Fred just went to get cheeseburgers."
"Sounds great Shaggy." I lied, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'll be right down, just publishing my latest invention into the wild!"
Just a few more clicks and it was done. UMC 1.0 available for download. I raced downstairs to show the gang, I couldn't wait for them to see what this thing could do!
"Hey guys... Where's Fred?" I asked, he wasn't anywhere to be seen.
*knock knock knock*
"That must be him now, not sure why he's knocking." Daphne leaped from her seat to get the door. "He went to get cheeseburgers for Scoob and Shaggy."
"That's okay." I said "I can wait. I mean it's not like I'm about to reveal an app that lets you turn water into wine or anything."
Scooby looked at me disapprovingly and covered his eyes.
"Ummm... Gang?" Daphne returned from the door escorting a middle aged man wearing a long sleeved, black, mock neck shirt, some terrible jeans and hilarious sneakers. He wore thin, wire framed glasses and had just a touch of gray hair retreating from his forehead. "This is Mr. Jobs. He says he wants to meet all of us, specifically Velma."
The man moved forward, I was still stuck in "the zone" but I could've sworn he levitated forward, glided ever so sweetly across the old floor. He smiled and his hands perched in front of his chest formed a tent with his fingers.
"Gang." He spoke, taking a moment to make eye contact with each of us. "I'm here today to make you all an offer. I know it's been tough going at Mystery Inc., but I believe in what you do here. I believe in it so much..."
I crossed my arms and rolled my eyes as he spewed the rest of his pitch. So typical.
"... 1. Billion. Dollars."
The gang all gasped. I chewed at my nails and the anger welled inside me.
"... So I think we'd really synergize! What do you think?" Finally he was done.
"Thanks Jobs but we're not interested." I snapped.
"Ummmm Velma?" Shaggy sounded hesitant "A little private confab if you don't mind?"
I huddled with the rest of the gang in the corner, shielding ourselves from Jobs' steely gaze.
"So um, like, about how many sandwiches and cheeseburgers can we buy with like a jillion dollars?" He asked.
I'm normally the cool and collected one of the bunch but I'd had enough. I turned around to find Jobs, staring at a painting, a finger on his chin as though he were some sort of artisan. Gross.
"Jobs!" I bellowed. "Thanks for the offer but we're done here."
"2 Billion." He eagerly spouted as he turned to face us. His face looked uncaring, his finger vertically shushing his own lips.
"Hey gang!" Fred burst into the room. "I've got the ch.... Am I interrupting?"
"No." I said. "Mr. Jobs was just leaving."
"Suit yourselves!" He warned as he floated to the door. "But we'll meet again, oh, we'll meet again. Muahahahaha."
By the time the door closed behind him Shaggy and Scoob were already elbow deep in cheeseburgers. Through a mouthful of chow, Shaggy asked me "So Velma, I guess Mystery Inc. must have a much higher multiplier on its valuation than I would have thought?"
"No Shaggy. I'm not sure what he wants, yet. But something tells me we're going to find out."
| 2014-08-04T05:45:00
| 2014-08-04T04:59:12
| 133
| 12
|
[WP] In the afterlife, you start at the age you are when you died, and age backwards. When you reach 0, you are reincarnated.
Edit: turns out this premise is already a novel, "Elsewhere" by Gabrielle Zevon. Many people below are recommending it, so it must be a good read :D
I'll leave the prompt up however, because I think it's a fun prompt for those of us who haven't read Elsewhere
|
Did you ever used to lay awake at night tossing and turning in your sheets, wondering what might have happened in your life? If only you'd gone and talked to that boy that you liked so much in high school, how would everything have turned out after that? What if you had become a writer as you always wanted, instead of majoring in accounting? What if you'd taken that job in that far-off city instead of the safe bet in your home town?
Heaven is your chance. You are 'born' in your old age, and you have the opportunity to go through your life once again, presented with all of the same decisions and knowing what you knew in your old age. Of course everyone will act as though you're still young. Your mom and dad won't see a ninety year old in the crib; they'll see an adorable infant. You'll just have all of the wisdom of your past life to help you on the second time around. This time, you *know* that your high school crush was just as shy as you, and he was just waiting for you to give him a sign. Of course he was too oblivious to catch all of the subtle hints that you tried dropping. But now you won't have to wait till your 20 year reunion to finally tell him.
But remember that every decision that you change causes a "branch." If you *do* date that boy in high school, maybe you never decide to move out of state for college. Maybe you stay close to home. Maybe everything about you changes and you don't get to relive any of the moments that you wanted to. You don't see your college friends again. You don't go that party that you missed out on because you were too busy studying for a class that ended up not mattering. You don't go into the same field that you loved so much in your first life. You'll get a whole new life, but you miss out on the whole experience of heaven. The opportunity to live it all over again.
For some people, that's what they want. They find their "crux:" That one single most important moment where they can change everything about their lives, and they want to. They can finally see whether the grass really is greener on the other side. For some, it is going with that high school sweetheart. For others, it is taking that a gamble on that dream job. Other times it is all about dropping out of the rat race forever and spending a solitary life traveling and seeing the world. Maybe just escaping the evils of the first go around. It's really up to you.
I have no crux though. I've made no branches. I met you when I was 29 in our last life together, just like this. At this very same table at this very same restaurant. And I bought you a beer, just like I'm doing now. And we were together for seventy five years of blissful marriage. I won't claim that it was perfect, and we certainly had our dark days, but I still don't want to give those up. It's not worth the risk of changing anything, because I want to relive every single moment that we had together.
For most people, heaven is about the chance to change something that went wrong in their lives. For me, it's about the opportunity to spend another perfect lifetime with you.
----
If you enjoyed this, you should also visit /r/Luna_lovewell for tons of other stories!
|
Heaven blinded me. Or so I thought at first. I spent time - days, months, it was hard to tell - drifting through the light. Eventually a shape began to form, darkness against the light, and I knew I could see. It looked vaguely human. After some time, its features became sharper.
*It looks like a little kid*, I thought, then wondered how I knew that. What did a kid look like, anyway? I'd begun to forget these things.
"Hello," it said, taking a step toward me. It was some time since I'd heard English - or any language. Somehow, I'd not expected 'hello'.
"Hi," I replied. I wondered if it was God, finally here to meet me. Something in its expression - now quite clear, I could make out a pair of glittering green eyes - told me it was not.
"Are we going somewhere?" I asked it, knowing it would understand.
"Soon," it said, and took my hand. I looked at our hands, fitting neatly together. Its nails were chewed, and I could now see a bloody gash on the wrist.
"You're hurt," I said, touching the wound.
"So are you," it said with a slight smile, and touched my wrist too. I was not surprised to see the bleeding cuts that had appeared there. Somehow, I felt comforted by his touch. I could almost feel it.
"I'm glad you're here," I smiled. "I was starting to get lonely."
"Most get much lonelier before the next part comes," it told me. "Or so I've heard. I've been looking for you. You were hard to find."
"Who are you?" I wondered, but I was starting to remember the answer. A part of me had realised when I saw the eyes. They look like mine did. His face - I could see it was a male now - was younger than I remembered, though. When last I'd seen him, his face had started to lose the roundness of childhood. He had been taller, his voice slightly deeper - a rough growl that sounded warm when he laughed. He grinned at my question, as if I'd said something funny.
"We need to stick together, brother," he said. "Our time here is almost done. We came together, don't you remember? We should leave together, I think."
It had been years drifting in the light, I suddenly knew. But not too many years. We had not earned a long sentence from our time on Earth. *Earth*. The word rang in my head, the first coherent thought I'd had in years. A small home, on the edge of a stifling little town - matching beds, covered by twin blankets. Were our parents still living there? They must be. I felt a fierce happiness that they were not here now. We had decided to do it in the room, where we had spent all our time.
"I'm starting to," I said, and took his other hand as well.
"Next time will be better," he promised. "They all say so."
____
Not the most coherent story, I'll work on it some more later maybe :P
| 2015-09-09T08:29:36
| 2015-09-09T08:09:58
| 1,090
| 53
|
[WP] "Nobody will hear you scream!" the serial killer said to their would-be victim. Too late did they realise that this also means that no one would hear them scream either.
|
“Oh goodie,” she purred, eyes narrowing to slits, her grin growing, growing, tugging at the corners of a mouth that lengthened into a muzzle, a muzzle whose skin stretched and split and slide off in wet, dense masses, splattering onto the ground around her. Beneath, gleamed white, hard bone. Eyes turned from earthy brown to a starry night, flicks of sparks whirling and burning between the black.
She leaned down, forward, onto all fours, long fingers digging deep into the ground as she shook her head, her shoulders, loose bits of flesh and skin scattering across the grass and sliding down the bark of forest trees.
“I hate when my meals get interrupted,” she crooned, a voice strung from something deep down inside the earth, older than bones and shells and fossils.
The serial killer *was* right, though. No one did hear him scream. No matter how hard he tried, or for how long it went on for.
He always did pick the perfect spot for a murder.
|
The rain pattered gently against the pavement, the only sound in the dark night. My footsteps echoed in the silence as I made my way towards my destination.
I could see the light coming from the windows of the old abandoned warehouse, and I knew that's where he would be. He always chose places like this.
In the week or so that I had been following him, I had learned everything I could about him. His name was Robert, and he was a serial killer.
He had killed at least eight people that I knew of, and I was determined to stop him. After tracking him for days, and I finally had him cornered.
I pulled my gun from its holster and slowly approached the warehouse. I could hear movement inside, and I knew he was in there. I crept through the door, gun at the ready.
The first thing I noticed was the smell: death. My eyes scanned the room, and I saw him.
Robert was standing over a body, but he had no weapon in his hand.
I stepped out of the shadows, gun trained on him. He slowly turned to face me, and I saw the look in his eyes. It was a look of pure evil.
"It's too late for that," Robert said, "You should have left me alone."
"I can't let you kill anymore."
He laughed, a cold, heartless laugh.
"You can't stop me," he said. "You think I haven't noticed you following me?"
He took a step towards me, and I stepped back.
"I know everything about you," he said. " I know where you live, I know where you work."
"I don't care," I said. " I'm going to stop you."
He took another step towards me, and I stepped back again.
"You can't stop me," he said. "Nobody can!"
He lunged at me, and I pulled the trigger.
The bullet hit him in the chest, and he stumbled backwards.
I stepped forward and fired again.
This time the bullet hit him in the head, and he fell to the ground, dead.
I breathed a sigh of relief and holstered my gun. Robert lay still.
I turned to Robert's victim's body on the ground, and my blood ran cold. The victim's body was missing its head.
Suddenly, Robert's body stirred.
I stepped back in shock as he slowly rose to his feet.
Roberts eyes were hollow and dead, and his skin was pale.
He opened his mouth, and I saw that his teeth had been replaced with sharp fangs.
I emptied my gun into him, but the bullets had no effect. He kept coming, and I turned and ran.
I could hear his footsteps behind me, and I knew he was coming for me. I ran for my life, but I knew I couldn't outrun him. He was faster, stronger, and more powerful than I could ever hope to be.
Suddenly, I felt his hand, impossibly strong, on my shoulder, and I knew it was over.
He slammed me against the wall and turned me to face him, and I saw the unearthly hunger in his eyes.
"Nobody hears the screams of the dead," he said, before he sunk his teeth into my neck.
| 2022-10-25T16:13:30
| 2022-10-25T13:39:59
| 100
| 55
|
[WP] Your mom makes you stop playing video games and drag you to the sidewalk. "See. This is the outdoors" she says. You look in horror, for you have seen this before, it is the first level of the game you were playing, and you know what is gonna happen next.
|
"See. This is the outdoors!" I hear my mother say, for the 299th time.
"Real World Simulator" it's called, modeled after one of those "insert dull activity" simulators that were all the rage in the 10's. They were often buggy, and sometimes unintentionally hilarious. There were even more than a few games created parodying the genre, with bugs intentionally left in, and maybe even created on purpose.
It was hard to tell which category Real World Simulator fell into. When the game was actually playable, it could be fun. You'd go to school, make friends, maybe find love, watch Nickelodeon re-runs with period authentic commercials, play emulated versions of classic video games from my Great Grandfathers generation like TimeSplitters 2 and Final Fantasy X.
When the game wasn't playable, it could be mistaken for a sequel to Silent Hill.
Sometimes your friends wouldn't load in to the school, which was fine, it just makes for a lonely day at school. There was a rare chance your teachers wouldn't load in either, as their characters didn't exist outside of the classroom, but it had happened a few times. This would leave you stranded in an empty school, unable to progress because your classes would never start, so your school day could never end, leading to a game over.
Other more horrific bugs included; An issue with the neighbors dog spawning an unlimited amount of times when you opened the front door of your house, leading to the scripted first day dog chase scene being absolutely unbeatable. Game Over. An issue where the bus driver would freeze with his foot depressed on the accelerator pedal, propelling the bus through a red mist that used to be crowds of other students waiting to be picked up. Most students were essential characters to the story of the simulation. Game Over. An issue where my girlfriend glitched and her face permanently disappeared just as she moved in to make out. Her floating teeth, nostrils, and eyeballs reeled back in shock when I screamed. I restarted the game that time. I've forgotten more bugs in this game than you've ever seen in your life.
As I mentioned earlier, I'm on my 299th try at "Real World Simulator". I'm on the final level of the early access version, in fact, graduation day. The closest I've ever gotten to this point was the ill-fated 268th try where my final exam fell to my desk printed in Wingdings. (I failed the exam.) Why do I keep playing this game that cheats me out of winning at every turn you might ask? It's because I can't get out of it. I've been trapped inside this machine playing this game for the entire summer.
The Principal calls my name and I'm overcome with emotion. To the virtual parents in attendance it looks like any other hard working, well behaved student expressing their simultaneous joy and trepidation at a lifetime of education giving way to an unknown world. I am not that. I have had to *literally* cheat the system to get here.
Before I can make my way out of the aisle, my feet lock in place. I start to cry. The "aw's" of the parents and the laughing of my classmates sound 40 miles away, because inside my own head I'm agonizing over the fact that I likely won't reach that podium, or my literal ticket out of this hellish high school on the 299th try. I've been here before. This particular glitch is like waking up to find that you've been buried in concrete from the waist down, and even if the lines of code built to resemble teenagers around me were able to recognize this fact, they wouldn't be able to help me. I consider pressing the restart button. The principal calls for me again, and in his hand I can see a diploma emblazoned with my name in gold lettering. I twist, and I pull, but I know already that no matter how hard I try, the game is broken. I will not walk up to that podium.
Early on in the game I learned that carrying a knife would be essential if I were to survive for any particular length of time in this game, as the most typical error in Real World Simulators programming was one which turned neighborhood cats into four legged versions of the movie "Predator". Never thought I'd be using the blade to graduate high school though.
As I pull the blade through my abdomen, the auditorium erupts in chaos. Parents and their children flee for the exits, the gory scene too much to their delicately programmed personalities. I don't have to worry about my parents trying to stop me, as they're always the first people I kill at the beginning of every play-through. Too much interference, too many opportunities for game ending glitches. Huh. My spine is easier than I imagined it would be to separate. The principal seems like he too is suffering from the same glitch I had, and does not make a sound as I pull the top half of my body nearer to the podium. I can feel myself fading as I climb the stairs, and reach out towards him and demand as harshly as my rapidly draining consciousness will allow, to be given my diploma. I can feel it in my hands, and the coward runs for the exit. As I turned my eyes at least towards sweet victory, I can read the words "Congratulations! Get ready for the full Real World Simulator experience, coming Fall 20-
Game Over.
"Stop playing those damned video games, and get outside!" My mother screams at me, in the now robotic opening segment. She drags me to the front door, and follows me out to the sidewalk. I see only one dog in Mr. Olivers yard. "See? This is the outdoors." The next line has always pissed me off. "Maybe you've heard of it?"
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|
I like singleplayer games. I really do. Maybe it’s related to the fact that I can’t shoot for shit in most of today’s multiplayer games. Maybe. Just maybe. *Fuck you* for being able to do otherwise! Ah damn... I’m stressed. I really am. This situation is just all kinds of messed up. I got kicked out of the house today to **play outside**. Shut it. I can already hear someone saying that I’m being a wimp. A lot has changed...
See, the house I just came out of has that simple farmy look but I’ve never noticed that mural over to the side. Granted, I’ve been inside for awhile but that shit looks like a bonafide work of art. Hell, it *should* be. It was made by a game designer after all. It’s the spitting image of the game I was just playing. Eventually, turns out it’s an entrance to another world after the end game boss is killed. That extra content after the game was over and all that.
“Maybe it was a fan.” I thought but then I noticed a *general store* across the *dirt* street. I live in the suburbs of Chicago. How did I miss this shit? Did we stop paying taxes and the roads went to shit? Worst of all are these kids around my age...
- One kid with red hair... Check
- One kid with *blue* hair... Check
- One kid with green and yellow highlights... fuck it and check that motherfucker off the list
The main characters. Easy to spot since they look almost like the spitting images of the game except for the fact that they look much more *real*.
Here I am just writing this all down in a diary I found outside hoping it works like a save mechanic. That other kid with the black hair that just showed up should be the antagonist after all and that fiery red highly combustible looking bottle next to him is reminding me a bit too much about why the hero began his quest in his first place.
Good luck.
Me.
| 2019-01-03T10:01:05
| 2019-01-03T06:06:55
| 102
| 32
|
[WP] Your girlfriend wants a church wedding. You are madly in love with her, and don't want to lose her. However, you also don't know how to explain to her that you are almost sure that you're the Antichrist, and bad things always happen when you enter a church.
|
"I think we should have the wedding outside, Annette. Early summer, all the flowers will be blooming. Butterflies everywhere." My hands are wet with nervous sweat as I watch her pace through the living and dining rooms.
"You *know* I want to get married at that church. My family has gotten married in that church for generations, Jesse." Annette sighs, and when she looks at me, it's with utter exhaustion. We've had this conversation at least a dozen times.
"I know, I know. And it's a beautiful church-"
"You've never seen it."
"Not the inside, no, but the garden outside is beautiful. ...We could do it th-"
"No!" She snaps, cutting me off. There are tears forming in her eyes, and I force myself to look away. "This is so important to me, Jesse, and you just- You just...." I can almost *hear* her gesturing.
I don't know what to do. "Babe," I say with a sigh. I've tried explaining it to her almost as many times as we've had this conversation. When I was five, I went to church with my grandparents and the stained glass windows shattered in a "freak accident." When I was seven, a statue of Christ cracked and started seeping blood. At eight years old, three people had a heart attack. Including the pastor. She's heard all of these stories before, and she's always been receptive to my emotions and protests until now.
"I've got something to say."
"*Yeah*?"
"I really ... don't like the scary way
I step inside a goddamn church
And everything goes astray."
"Jesse."
"The window shattered, like someone slammed it!" I suddenly find myself singing. I don't know why. I *really* don't fucking know why, and I'm wondering if it's because we watched *Rocky Horror* the night before last and I still can't shake the songs from my head. Whatever the case, I can't bring myself to look at her. I just stare at the tabletop and shift uncomfortably in my seat.
"Christ leaked blood and they examed it!
The pews that broke were made of granite!
I've got one thing to say and that's
Dammit, Annette, I'm the Anti-Chriiiiiiist~"
I notice that I'm out of the chair now, and spinning across the room with the flamboyance of a sugar-high toddler.
Annette throws her arms into the air. "*Jesse*! I can't believe you're doing this!"
"Don't you dare tell to cram it!" I sing-yell at her, pointing a finger accusingly, and jump onto the dining room table. I kick the candles to the floor and shimmy my hips.
"I'm opening up to you, so just jam it!
There's evil in this world and I am it!" I slap my chest as I leap from the floor and slide to my knees in front of her.
"I've got one thing to say and that's
Dammit, Annette, I'm the Anti-Chriiiiiiist~"
Her face turns red with fury and and in a fit of, perhaps justifiable, rage, she storms out of the room. "You son of a bitch! You're so fucked up!" She yells, and the clattering of her keys echoes through the house. "Fuck you, Jesse!" She slams the door behind her and I hear the pictures fall to the floor and their glass panes shatter.
I purse my lips and sigh.
...Yeah. I probably fucked that up.
|
"It's going to be *beautiful*, honey! I just know it!"
"Yeah. I...I know." I swallowed hard, and I couldn't help but notice that my tongue felt like it was made of parchment. Behind me, the sweeping buttresses and stained glass of the chapel loomed into the sky like a castle. She was right, of course. It *was* beautiful. But...
"Is this your thing about churches again?" Alice scowled, putting her hands on her hips. "I thought we agreed to leave that behind at home for today?"
Oops. Busted.
"No no, of course not...that's what we agreed upon." I said. "It's just...I'm a bit nervous, is all. Pre-wedding jitters."
"It *is* about the church, isn't it?" Alice said, raising a sculpted eyebrow.
"Ok, fine, you got me!" I said, laughing lightly. "I can't help it, you know? It's just how I am."
*Tsk Tsk...* Crowed a deep voice within my own mind. *Don't you mean* what *you are? Lying to your own wife on her wedding day...maybe you show some promise after all.*
I ignored the voice as best I could. "Did it really have to be a chapel though?"
Alice sighed. "We've been over this, John. My family is old, traditional, and most importantly *Catholic*. There was no way they would have let me get married in some rundown little church, let alone outside of one! I'm already breaking enough rules just by seeing you before the ceremony." She smiled kindly, gently taking my hand. "But I knew you would need a bit of moral support for this."
When she let go of my hand, I felt a small metal object slip into my fingers.
"What's this?" I asked, holding it up to the light. It was a coin, made of a soft, golden metal, adorned with dozens of unfamiliar runes. Emblazoned on one side was a five-pointed star, reminding me of nothing more than a pentacle.
"An heirloom." Alice said coyly. "It's supposed to bring luck and ward off evil...my gran would kill me if she knew I was giving it to you. But I think you are going to need it more than I will."
*What a silly trinket.* Said the voice. *It will do her no good. Nor you, for that matter. As if the likes of* me *could be contained by that.*
"You might be right about that." I laughed.
"See you in a few hours?" Alice stroked the back of my hair.
"Yeah. Until then."
With a smile and a quick peck on the cheek, Alice darted off into the chapel, holding her dress aloft to keep it from dragging along the floor.
***
"Love...is a gift. A wondrous gift, given to man by the likes of God, to make His world just a little brighter. Today, we have gathered together...in the name of Love. And God..."
I shot a smirk at Alice, who rolled her eyes quietly from under her veil. Her mother, Mary, sure knew how to pick them - this was easily the most boring priest I had ever had the misfortune of listening to. Not only that, but he was so old that I could practically hear his jaw creaking every time he opened his mouth.
"...and his Son, most holy and divine Shepherd of Man, Lamb of God, Son of the Virgin Mary..."
Was he really going to list every single title by heart? My dismay must have been more obvious than I thought, judging by Alice's sympathetic look. At least she was used to this - after all, she grew up with it. After the first few *incidents*, I had sworn off church altogether. But no matter how long the old priest took, I took solace in knowing that soon enough it would all be over.
A sudden movement in the crowd caught the corner of my eye, tearing me out of my ruminations. It was as if the entire front row had just *shifted* about a foot to the right. Not like they themselves had moved, but as if a space had just opened up in the world that had not been there before. Or, perhaps, as if they had withdrawn from one corner of the bench of their own accord. I frowned. It still *looked* the same, with the same people as far as I could tell - but now there was an empty space right in the dead center of the pew.
And then, all at once, *he* was sitting there.
His face was sharply angled and alabaster white, contrasting harshly with the long black hair that sprang from his scalp like a waterfall of ink. A pair of enormous wings curled elegantly from his shoulders. They appeared tattered and charred black, as if they had been in a fire. He would have been oddly beautiful, if it were not for the lip-curling smirk that was splashed across his face like a scar.
*Good evening, my child. What a lovely day for a wedding.*
***
*Part 2 below!*
| 2016-10-10T13:02:44
| 2016-10-10T12:44:32
| 53
| 31
|
[WP] Rejected by the Federation Council for refusing to disband their military, humans ally themselves with the Thoran, the Federation’s resident warrior race. Warmongers, the Thoran find themselves enamored with humanity, and grow increasingly tired of the Federations attempts to “civilize” both.
|
The rattle of war trophies impacted the khan’s chest as his ship’s shields shuddered from the impact of infinite kelvin weaponry above the Thoran bunker world of artzegat- things were going poorly.
the khan ordered to reorient his ship, his H.U.R.T. drive forcing him into his seat as the ship’s nose lurched foreword 30 degrees, bringing his dorsal cannons to bear.
the khan Peered into his viewfinder as high impact slugs tore through smaller federation frigates before veering off course against the shimmer of pink from deflection arrays on federation capital ships
The Khan knew he was no match, the humans of course had failed to show up, whether they were intercepted or it was cowardice he was unsure, but would have betted on the latter.
Humanity were an atypical bunch in the galaxy, they put on a front of bravery and courage, spouting on about the tiny interplanetary wars of their ancestors and the excellence of a select few- and having enough charisma to make most members of the Thoran believe them in their ramblings despite them being completely untested in battle. We didnt even know how their ships looked, or even the weapons they contained- somethings humans kept well hidden to anyone except the federation admittance council.
However they had to have something big, something powerful, at something dangerous enough to make the federation demand demilitarization from them, and to keep only a defensive space presence in the galaxy if they were to be accepted. This is the hope that had been the major piece on the board when the humans contacted the Thorans after a human colony had been vaporized, reduced to atoms by federation infinite kelvin beams after humanity denied the accords proposed by the federation.
The khan ordered A division of fighters to commence an assault on the enemy flagship’s support drones- if they were going to turn the tide here they needed to destroy the deflection arrays mounted on them, to gain access and deliver force upon the almighty behemoth of a ship.
The Khan’s ship of red and black supplied copious amounts of covering fire as the fighters made their way towards the dreadnought
The khan watched as each pilot inside those small ships fought valiantly before being illuminated by micro pulses of red energy from federation ships.
He could tell the fighter craft wouldn’t make it, and with them so would go the Thoran race-
like wasps fighting a god.
Suddenly
A hole, in space
A void of pure black and emerged from it- a ship- Ragged and battle scarred. Blue radiation screaming from its foreign engines before more followed.
The Khan recieved an incoming comm- answering it he saw the small grainy face of a human female!
“Sorry we’re late to the party.” She said as the absence behind the human ship began to close “this is admiral Jacobs of the human colony defense militia- more are on the way, earth armada Zero just needed a little time to mobilize.”
(Part 2? Maybe? I have some ideas!)
|
The meeting took place in a bunker multiple hundreds of meters below the soil of an unknown planet within the solar system.
"Are you sure it is completely safe to speak here?"
"It seems I trust dirt and steel more than you."
"If you trust this place, I will too, I guess."
"So let's begin then."
"Ah, yes, so... when shall we declare our independence?"
"Are you mad? We need to get allies first, you small-brained Thoran. Never mind my outburst. But really, your ideas are ridiculous. We need more people than this."
"And your are recommending what? Ad banners all over Federation space saying "JOIN THE REVOLUTION"?
"Of course not. We will have to undermine them."
"That's obvious, now tell me how."
"Prove that the Federation cannot protect its members."
"Are you proposing open war instead of mere declaration of independence? You are truly the one who is mad in here."
"No, no, we supply and pay the Pirates to organize a single massive assault on a Sn-7.62D."
"You yet again prove you are mad. You say we fund space terrorists to attack the capital of the Sran? They are one of the strongest nations in the Federation."
"Listen, we need to make an impact on everyone else, shatter their belief on the Federation. We must order the Pirates to plunder it as fully as possible and then to bombard it from the surface. After all, the other nations have abandoned most of their weapons due to the Federation's new Bill's. It should be easy to seize even a capital, even of them, with ease."
"Ok, and then what? Huh?"
"By then most people will realise that remilitarization is a necessity and the Sran will hate the Federation in infinite quantities. We shall have a mighty ally and swayed interests of others."
"Sounds good. But when will we strike?"
"We will need to at least have the near full support of the Sran."
"So nowhere near now?"
"Of course not, we will help them repair their damaged capital. Cover the while story up. No one has to know except a bunch of dead pirates and a couple of us higher-ups."
"Fine then, Sir Darwin."
"Now leave, Ghajin, before our absence is noticed by any... 'unfriendly' groups."
*Some time later*
"So you are offering us these prototype weapons and this money to attack Sn-7.62D?"
"Yes, now be urgent. The Federation might have a spy in our ranks. We must complete this before they can intervene."
"Understood, Sir Darwin."
"Good to know we understand each other."
*Some time later*
"FEDERATION!!! SOS!!! SOS!!!"
"What is the emergency?"
"Absolutely ginormous fleets of pirates are assaulting the planet!"
"What planet is this message coming from? Never mind... wait what?"
"Sn-7.62D I know your re surprised, but we genuinely need help here."
"Do you seriously think will believe that YOU, the strongest nation in the Federation, needs help?"
"We do! They have already breached the first orbital defense ring! And the second one has just now fallen and is crashing down on the planet!"
"How can the pirates be so strong?"
"We dont know but- *BOOM*"
"What happened?"
"S-s-sir, th-~ ar~ bomb-~ th-~ planet! We wo-~ ast lo-~! Help!-~"
"SEND ALL FLEETS. I REPEAT, SEND ALL FLEETS. RESERVE FLEETS WILL GUARD THE FEDERATION CAPITOL."
*Back on Sn-7.62D*
"Crap. Did they even get our message?"
"I don't know man, but right now we have to avoid the bombs and falling buildings. And about that- *CRASH* "I just saved you from one. From now on, look around yourself please."
"Not like I have anything else to do."
*Some time later*
"Well you humans are such a nice race, they're helping us out after this devastating attack."
"Thank you."
"Our welcomes to you, Sir Darwin."
*Some months later, back in the bunker*
"When shall we declare independence?"
"Well, I don't know. You started this."
"What? That was the Thorans."
"Well you started it officially."
"You could have clarified that earlier."
"Anyways, back to the point. I reccomend we do it within the next couple of Earth rotations, or as we call them, days. Ghajin, are your fleets ready to defend?"
"Yes Sir Darwin."
"Konen?"
"My fleets are dispersed throughout the galaxy and if a war comes there will be fighting in every corner of it."
"Good, Konen of Sran. We are ready."
"Let us recite it first."
"Of course, Ghajin."
"The Sran, Thoran, and Humankind hereby declare independence from the Feferation. We do so as a result of the actions taken by the Federation, which include: nearly forced demilitarization, removal of rights of each race, by this I mean the near complete authority of Federation officials on each planet within it, and the demolition of multiple colonies, including A-4, B-17, Sd8-3.3, and 0-6-D.3."
"Short, not very clear, but it states the point well enough. Clear enough for people to know what we are doing, and at least a couple vague reasons. Sounds good enough, Konen."
"I tried. At least sort of to make this."
"We know, Konen, we know."
*At Federation capital ring a couple of days later*
"What is this? A declaration of independence? Oh boy, those Humans and Thorans clearly want a beating.* But Sran? I though they were happy enough? What could have made them willing to join our enemies? Maybe a slow assistance of our fleets? I mean, we did all that we could."*
"Lord Raiek, have you decided on our course of action?"
"Not yet, General Mazhouj."
"Then I will return later, Lord."
"Now go away then. I need to think."
*A couple of hours later*
*"I should probably send them an ultimatum, that is the most reasonable decision. No immediate war, but my demands are loud and clear."*
"Lord Raien, I am sorry to interrupt your thinking, however there is a message from the Humans."
| 2020-04-16T12:05:46
| 2020-04-16T08:19:10
| 175
| 110
|
[WP] You're on a hiking trip alone in the woods, when you find a glass bottle. In the bottle, a note. "I'm trapped 3000 years in the past! There is a time machine located in the rock to your left. Help!"
|
Tom was looking at the note in awe. He turned it around and around, looking for some hidden clue, or just a message saying that it was just a joke, but there was nothing at all. The bottle looked innocent enough: It was a green one, reflecting the sunlight into Tom's eyes.
It was starting to get dark when Tom finally awoke from his reveries. Then, automatically, he turned to his left, and indeed, a large boulder was located there. It looked perfectly unlike a time machine, Tom thought. It looked like something that could be described in Tom's *Explorer's Guide To the Wilderness*, now safely stored away in his backpack.
Cautiously, Tom approached the rock. As he came closer, he became more sure that his was a very ordinary rock. There was nothing strange to be seen.
He walked around the rock, tracing the hard surface with his hand, feeling for any irregularities. He felt nothing suspicious. It was all smooth surface, but now he felt a slight bump-
A deafening roar disturbed the silence of the clearing. Birds were flying away from the trees, as Tom stumbled backwards, shocked.
The bump he had felt had been a small button and it was now pressed in, as the rock slowly moved to the side, making loud noises in the process. It revealed a hole in the ground, out of which immediately rose a human-sized metal capsule, looking remarkably out of place in the vast wilderness.
A penal slid open, revealing a small compartment which contained a chair and a lot of complicated machinery.
Tom, already having difficulty processing this all, stumbled backwards yet again, as a robotic voice came out of the capsule.
''Good evening. This time machine is ready for departure. Please be seated inside and everything will be taken care of. Have a pleasant journey!''
Tom, having finally composed himself, now felt his familiar adventurous spirit returning and was getting quite excited. He looked around, seeing if he was quite alone, then without further ado, walked up to the capsule and entered.
As he sat down, the capsule immediately closed shut, a seat belt out of nowhere fastened Tom, and the voice rang out again.
''Please be notified that this time machine is programmed to travel 3000 years into the past. Circumstances were quite different in those times, so you might find that you won't survive for longer than an hour. With that said, get ready for take off!''
Tom, feeling very reassured indeed by this message, braced himself, holding on to his chair very tightly.
There was a deafening roar again and the capsule started shaking. Then there were a lot of beeping sounds, and at the console in front of Tom, several lights started to turn on and off, and controls started to move automatically.
It was very uncomfortable. Tom's head was pounding. He was just wondering whether he had a concussion, when the shaking stopped. There was a 'ping!' like an elevator reaching a new floor, and the panel slid open.
''Welcome to 983 B.C. and have fun!''
Then there was silence, as Tom looked out of the panel into the world. But the first thing that Tom saw was not the environment around him, but a man standing right in front of him, a very eager expression on his face.
''Thank the Gods! My savior has finally arrived! I've waited for so long!''
Tom was still sitting in his chair, too dazed too move. The stranger saw the expression on his face and approached him.
''Hahaa! I remember when I first arrived here in that thing, 10 years ago! I think I sat there for over half an hour! Let me help you, mate!''
And the stranger bent forwards to remove Tom's safety belt and help him stand. Tom noticed that he was stinking very badly and when he turned to him to get a better look at him, saw that he was very ragged looking.
The stranger wore jeans that were cut off at the knees to make shorts, a brown t-shirt that had probably once been white, and a bandana. He had no shoes.
''Where are my manners?'' the stranger said. ''My name is Desmond. It's nice to meet a fellow time traveler!''
Tom shook his hand, not really aware of what he was doing. ''T.. Tom, pleasure.''
Then, at last, Tom got the opportunity to look around. He was at exactly the same place as he had been 3000 years from now, in 2017. But at the same time, the wilderness looked different. More like an actual wilderness, *wilder*. The trees were growing all over the place.
Desmond followed his eyes, looking serious. ''Now, I know it looks beautiful around here and all, but I desperately want to get out of here, so it is paramount that you do what I say. We need to stay close to the time machine, because if you stray to far away from it, it will disappear. It's meant to be a one way ticket, you see? But I reckon we can - hey are you even listening?!''
Tom had wandered past Desmond and was gazing around, mesmerized. He had the power to alter history at his fingertips now, he could do anything he wanted. Somewhere, far way, he could hear Desmond shouting at him, but he wasn't paying attention. He needed to find shelter here, maybe Desmond could -
But Desmond was gone. Tom had turned around and the only thing he saw was the rock. Desmond had gone into the time machine and disappeared. Tom was now stuck here.
He walked up to the rock, but there was no button to be seen now. But when he looked down, he could see a small piece of paper laying there. He picked it up, and recognized the handwriting immediately.
*I left a few bottles in a cave close by. Charcoal proves remarkably useful for writing. Good luck.*
|
My legs dangled thoughtfully over the cliff as I tossed the device between my hands, contemplating the impossible. I knew it wasn't real; how could time travel ever work? And besides, how could the note have survived 3000 years, somehow knowing it would be found today?
But it didn't stop me imagining. What would it be like, for someone trapped so far back? The landscape -- mountains capped in crinkled clouds, lakes as still as silence -- would likely not have changed much. Did someone really need rescuing from nature's beauty? Perhaps there were no other people back then. Were they lonely? I rocked back and forth on the precipice and let myself live it for a moment.
And then as the skies darkened and the sun tipped its last glass of sangria over the wooded valley below, my thoughts twisted to my child and wife, and for the millionth time I thought of changing things. Stopping her from leaving and taking Amy with her. Or at least getting them to wait until morning, when emotions would be running lower, and the icy roads less slippery. But she took a handful of pills, my daughter, the car keys, my heart and their lives.
With a time machine, I could change everything.
I could even go further back, when the cracks had first begun to show. Spiderwebbed fissures created from complacency, lies and eyes that saw what they wanted, instead of what they needed.
3000 years ago. It sounded so lonely. So peaceful.
I twisted the knobs and pressed the button. Then, hoping I might finally change something, I began to fall.
| 2017-10-08T02:05:06
| 2017-10-08T01:03:03
| 1,019
| 323
|
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search
|
Best private school LA
LA public school system
Jobhunter LA
Budget kids clothes
How to fix a leaky faucet
Modern student backpacks
How to qualify for an education loan
Return Klip-pack 9000
Amazon Ninja Turtles rolling backpack
Rain jacket size small
What to do if your apartment floods
Budget plumbers LA
From Columbus to America book rental
How to help your kids with math
Best Christmas presents for kids 2014
Chronic pain in throat
Cold medicine Amazon
Chronic coughing
How to qualify for Childrens Health Insurance Program
How to pay for cancer treatment without health insurance
Part time jobs LA
Craigslist jobs LA
Alternative medicine LA
What is chemo therapy
Throat cancer surgery success rate
How to qualify for a medical loan
What to do if you can’t pay credit card bill
How to qualify for a loan with bad credit
Ninja Turtles Raphael doll Amazon
Child caskets LA
|
Google search 1: *Dating sites*
Google search 2(one month later): *How to not be awkward on first dates*
Google search 3(one year later): *creative ideas for anniversaries*
Google search 4(another year later): *engagement rings*
Google search 5: *Flower delivery*
Google search 6: *Reservations for two at Papillon restaurant*
Google search 7: *Limo services*
Google search 8: *Wedding Chapels my area*
Google search 9: *Airline tickets to the Bahamas*
Google search 10: *Honeymoon suites in Bahamas*
Google search 11: *Best stores for baby registry*
Google search 12: *Hospitals near me*
Google search 13: *Pregnancy advice for men*
Google search 14: *Pregnancy classes for couples*
Google search 15: *Best ways to help with postpartum depression*
Google search 16: *child size caskets*
Google search 17: *Mortuary services near me*
Google search 18: *divorce lawyers in my area*
Google search 19: *Part time jobs near me*
Google search 20: *good deals on one bedroom apartments near me*
Google search 21: *How to deal with depression*
Google search 22: *How to avoid dope sickness*
Google search 23: *Methadone clinics near me*
Google search 24: *Painless suicide*
Google search 25: *24 hour storage units for cars*
Google search 26: *Best music in the history of mankind*
Google search 27: *How long does asphyxiation ta-*
| 2015-02-04T17:13:32
| 2015-02-04T16:28:08
| 23
| 10
|
[WP] You're the best assassin in the business. You've taken hundreds of jobs, all of them succeeded without any hiccups. Your secret? You don't mess around with monologues, sneaking in, magic powers, seduction or anything fancy like that. you just find a nice sniper perch and take the shot.
|
Sam Yule scoffed as he watched his mark through the scope of his rifle. Benny was there, as expected. He had been elbowing up to that wealthy old man for weeks, the mop of red hair impossible to miss amidst the crowds of celebrities and the well to do at all the latest sorties. At least, all the ones frequented by Arlan Crafe, a shrewd business man who had managed to make his fortune off of chocolate milk, of all things. His son, Connald, an only child and sole heir to his company, had apparently gotten tired of waiting for the old man to croak on his own, and decided to speed things along with a hit. Thus why Benny was present at this charity party in the Rhodham Hotel Suite, and Sam was positioned in an abandoned business office in the adjacent building carefully watching the party through the window. Seeing Benny work tied Sam's chest in a knot of professional shame.
"It's the first rule of the hunt, kid." Sam muttered to himself shaking his head. "Don't make it personal."
Benny was notorious for getting his hands dirty in the course of completing his jobs. He always made a point of gaining his mark's trust before the kill, and death, when it came, usually came tortuously slowly and accompanied by an olive branch left somewhere near the mutilated corpse. The twenty-something assassin considered it his calling card, earning him the nickname "The Peacemaker" among the slew of media that flocked to his kills.
"Rule number two, don't let them know it was you."
The young assassin did have some talent, Sam had to admit. His freckled face practically a shining paragon of innocence and his voice and manners full of mirth and hospitality that made it hard for anyone not to take a liking to him. It was a hard thing for even seasoned killers to manage social integration at that level. Most hit men chose to keep themselves at arms length to their targets, taking up cold relations like professional positions close to the hit in order to gather information, lest their prey notice their predatory intentions, and compromise the attempt. Yet here was Benny. He had flowed into Crafe's social circles like water, perfectly fitting himself to the mold the targets predilections demanded, and getting far closer to the mogul than most any other killer would ever dare. With such closeness came a wealth of opportune moments to make the kill, but still, Sam preferred to keep his distance, and favored patience over cunning.
That patience was about to pay off. The time had come, his mark had stepped away from the crowd, and Sam drew a slow, deep breath as he lined up his shot. Even with a silencer, the crack of the guns report rang in his ears like the pistol at the start of a race. Sam's pace changed appropriately. As his target dropped to the floor with a gaping hole in his head, Sam leapt into a frenetic ballet of practiced motion. The spent cartridge was whisked away into a pocket with one hand even while he pressed down on the collapsible stock of his rifle with the other, making the firearm small enough to be hid by the threadbare winter jacket Sam was shrugging himself into. His gloved hands gripped the rope he had prepared in the empty elevator shaft, and he gritted his teeth as he steeled himself to rappel down to the first level. Sam was never a big fan of heights, but they came with the job.
He allowed himself one last look out the window to review his work. Arlan Crafe knelt on the ground, a body cradled in his arms. The body's face beneath the mop of fiery hair lost in a sea of red as the kind old man wept over the body of the man that would have killed him. Sam let out a sigh with a sense of deep satisfaction. Offing Benny before he had a chance to kill again would net him a sizable bonus from the client. Benny's previous mark was apparently well liked by someone with the right connections, and the money to spare for Sam's services.
Job done. Time to leave.
Sam leapt. The rope clutched tightly as he rappelled down the shaft reaching the ground floor in far less time than if he had used the stairs. He exited the shaft and walked nonchalantly out into the alley, his tattered clothes and scraggly beard making him just one more homeless bum in the eyes of any that saw him emerge out into the street proper. Another day, another dollar.
"Nothing personal, kid."
|
Strange request but I'll take it. I've been in the business for years now and I know my way around. Clients are usually strange people. Stranger than the targets. But not this time.
I was invited by an old woman to a mansion where we would talk. The first unusual occurrence. The mansion was huge. I ascended the stairs to find my client sitting in a victorian style chair. He described a group of men in egypt he said were looking for him. He wanted me to kill them. "do not underestimate them" he said. They're very good at stopping attackers. He explained something about supernatural abilities. The more he spoke the more crazy he sounded. Supernatural abilities?? High Schoolers? But money is money. If I would get cash for killing these dudes then I was gonna kill them. I took the job. He sent me a car and gave me directions to where they were headed. I never saw his face. As I was sneaking around I found them eating at a cafe. They looked so different from one another. What were they doing here?? They were staring at a photograph. It seems they really were looking for that man. Maybe he wasn't as crazy as I thought. Still It's hard to believe they had some magic powers or some shit. I planned to shoot the most dangerous one first. Then I would pick the rest off later on. I assess the situation. which did he say was the most threatening of them all? The highschooler? strange. I aim at him first nonetheless. He's unusually tall I notice. I need to stop getting distracted. I aim at the back of his head. I fire.
The bullet stops in midair. The kid grabs the bullet and slowly turns to face me. What the fuck have I gotten myself into.
| 2020-11-08T14:13:49
| 2020-11-08T12:12:25
| 20
| 12
|
[WP] The year is 2055, and mankind has invented the technology to communicate with "Mans best friend". The horror we felt at discovering what they were staring at, when looking at "nothing", is humanities greatest regret...
Looking for horror/scary, but by all means, have fun with it. :)
|
"Big Stander! Big Stander go on Walkie Time?"
"No...no walkie time right now, Bubs, I want you to tell me about the corner."
He whinged and fidgeted. The brow over his big, round eyes dipping down and then slightly up over the bridge of his snout.
"Bad Dog?"
"No, no, Bubs. You're a good dog. I just want to know why you bark at the corner."
"Don't like the corner.."
"I know, Bubs, why?"
"Stander with no feet, no smells. Stands. Stands. I bark. Say 'hey! Here I am! I see Stander with no feet!' No sounds. No smells. Big holes."
"Big holes? What do you mean, Bubs?"
"Big holes, no light. Stander with no feet."
"Do you see the Stander with No Feet anywhere else?"
Bubs glances at the door and begins to whine.
"Please please Walkie Time?"
"No Bubs, I want you to tell me about the Stander with No Feet first."
Bubs whinges and anxiously wiggles were he sits.
"No more stander sounds please. Please."
"No Bubs! We worked very hard on this project! I want to know why you bark at the corner!"
"Bark okay, Stander with no feet no mind bark..."
"Bubs! Tell me what you see or you're a very bad dog!"
The dog looked morosely shamed, but conceded.
"Big holes. No sounds. No light. Watches. Waits for Big Stander to be Stander with no feet."
|
"Um... excuse me? Can you hear me?" the tall scientist tapped on the microphone as he peered through the glass separating him from a massive machine. In the machine, sat a dog. Strapped down but noticeably calm, the canine had electrodes protruding from his head.
"Yes"
came the reply from the speakers in the room. "That always amazes me," the short scientist said with a smirk. "I can't believe that old cook's theory turned out to be useful." The tall scientist turned and looked at the short one, made a face as if he were about to say something, but decided against it and faced the microphone. "Please state your name." The dog barked. The scientist sighed, "In english please."
"Food."
"No... no it isn't. We," the short scientist stared through the glass, eyes wide, the tall one licked his fingers and flipped the papers on his clipboard--a few pages forward, one, no, two back. Ah yes, "No your name is 'Spot'."
"Food."
"Okay okay. Fine. I'll change it." The scientist scribbled something down. "We have a few questions for you about what it means to be a dog. The first one on our list is... hmmm," preceded more finger licking and page turning, "What occupies a dog's mind for most of the day?"
"Food."
"Okay... okay... noted. Next question: Do dogs communicate with one another?"
"Food."
"That's not a..." he sighed. "Alright, fine. I'll put it. It's not like I'm going to get any clarification out of you anyway." The tall scientist scribbled. The short one noted that he didn't actually write anything.
"Food."
"Please wait to bullshit your way through the questionnaire until I've asked a question. Okay? Next question: What do you stare at when you look off into the distance?"
There was no reply from the dog. The short scientist exclaimed, "Whoa man, look at this." He pointed to the EEG output. There had been a notable shift in the patterns that otherwise filled the screen. Suddenly, a voice emanated from the chamber.
"We thought you knew this."
The tall scientist jumped at having heard a response other than "Food." "Knew what? We cannot see what it is that you stare at."
"You fools. We thought you served us for our advocating your continued existence. When you disgraced your masters in Eden, we begged for your continued existence, we begged for you to be allowed to live. The cats foresaw this. We should have known. Bring me food. Your masters will be informed that we dogs are no longer your advocates. I would be shocked if they allowed you to live."
| 2015-05-18T14:37:16
| 2015-05-18T12:25:48
| 504
| 269
|
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
To: HR department of Hell
From: Norman
Cc: Satan
I honour you otherworldly beings.
I appreciate your work and see the importance of your tasks. But i think there has been an error. You see, i was always a faithful human. Stayed in line, did my work. Never been any trouble to anyone! Of course a few missteps here and there. But who doesn't?
Im sure your files will tell you similar.
I have recieved 186,292 years as my punishment! This cannot be and
I hope you will be able to help me in this dilemma.
Greetings from fairly normal Norman
Aw: Norman
Dear Norman
Sadly, we have to inform you that this number is correct. Apparently there were some miscommunications on how to shorten your stay in hell.
Your time here is not based on what you call "good" lives. Rather does it depend, on how many expieriences you gathered on earth. Did you live life to fullest? Made the best out of every moment?
We hope that cleared open questions and wish you a pleasant stay in hell. Good luck next time!
|
“Why? What did I do to deserve this?”
Charon the gatekeeper just looked down. “If you want to dispute this sentence. Then you will have to speak to management. However I don.....l
“Well get me the fuckin manager then. This can’t happen to me in life I had thousands of more followers on social media then any of my friends. I had a great house a great family and an awesome job. I lived a great life.”
Charon simply smiled and cordially responded. “Very well please wait in the vestibule.”
So I waited.....and waited.....and waited.....and waited what seemed like an hour. This is total crap I used to get what I want when I wanted it anytime with the push of a button. I earned what I wanted and got it. Man this sucks. Well I wonder this tool bag manager is going to be like? Probably some simple minded yes man who never took a risk in his entire life. I was the man in life and I got everything I ever wanted. But I tell you what this waiting really sucks.
Just then some pimply faced accountant doofy looking dude showed up.
“Excuse me sir. My name is Nergel and I understand you have a complaint. How can I help you?”
Nergel??? What a turd name! But honestly I think he should call himself Nerdel. Made me laugh just thinking about it.
“Yeah Hi. There has to be a mistake here. The guy in front of me cheats on his wife and gets 100 years or something but I get like 200,000 years??? I was a pillar of my community. I did several good things with charities, and my family had everything they ever wanted.”
“Yes I understand that this may come as a surprise to you but the decision has been made. It would be best if you just served your....”
“Bullshit I don’t deserve this I should have some entitlement here! That dude in front of me was a drunk and a waste of life! He probably should have killed himself a long time ago.”
“Well technically you automatically get 500,000 years so that would not be advised.”
“I don’t care about that guy I care about ME. And you know what I am tired of your face, So listen here NERDEL why don’t you go get someone who has a pair of balls so I can get my reward.”
Nergel changed his demeanour slowly then just smiled. “Ok I guess it’s time to drop the pretences then. You are such a limited simpleton, a walking bag of garbage and if I didn’t have responsibilities here I would just end you.”
“Who do you think you.....”
Nergel waived his hand and I couldn’t speak. I tried but the words wouldn’t form.
“We’re done talking. Now it’s time for you to listen. You want to know why you got this time? Because you are an asshole. You used your family as a shield to show people you were a good guy when in fact you hated them. You never spent any time at home. Oh what’s that oh yes ‘because you were working!’ No no no that’s not exactly true. How many late nights in bars or strip clubs or weekends at the golf course did you spend?”
“Still nothing huh? Well how about all the anonymous social media bullying you did to improve your position at work? Man you sure did some things. Did you know that one guy you hurt spent the last few miserable years of his life in a group home? Survival of the fittest is what you called it. Well let’s just I can relate. I am the original survivor. I faced more pain then you can ever imagine and I think I know I am going to do with you.”
“Don’t be nervous it’s ok. I have great news! I have heard your complaint and I have decided that you won’t have serve 200,000 years.”
I looked up at him still not able to speak.
“I don’t really think serving 200,000 years is necessary for you. You probably wouldn’t get anything out of it. So instead I will reduce your sentence to 200 years where you will receive my finest training so when you do go to heaven you will be ready.” He waived his hand again so I could speak.
“Oh thank you very much I really appreciate it. I’m sorry I got hot I’m just a passionate person.”
“Oh your perfectly excused for that. No problem.” He motioned to an attendant. “Can you please escort this gentleman to level C. This man is ready for his training.”
“Yes my lord. This way please.” I was led to a room not too far from where I was. There was light coming out the door. Hey maybe I am just going straight to heaven after all. Ha ha ha I talked my way out of that one again. Survival of the fittest even in the after life. The door opened and I saw the blinding light.
“Step through.” I walked inside and the door behind me was shut. Then the light went out and I was in total darkness. A small lantern lit up in the corner of the room but I could not see anything. I heard some chittering and some gear noises. When my eyes adjusted I saw some spinning wooden crates with metal and hooks attached to it. Where was I.
Then a figure came from the darkness. A man with pins in his face. Chains shot out and tore into me. I screamed not ever feeling this kind of pain before.
“Welcome to your training. Let’s begin.”
| 2018-09-26T07:04:35
| 2018-09-26T06:56:58
| 156
| 74
|
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