prompt
stringlengths 20
5.8k
| chosen_story
stringlengths 227
9.36k
| rejected_story
stringlengths 227
9.29k
| chosen_timestamp
timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
2022-12-31 14:34:19
| rejected_timestamp
timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24
2022-12-31 12:20:41
| chosen_upvotes
int64 14
23.1k
| rejected_upvotes
int64 10
4.11k
|
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
[WP] Write a children's story with a terrible moral.
|
Ever been hurt & not known what to do,
When a bully at school would come up to you,
Steal your lunch & make you eat glue?
Well I'm Uncle Sam & you've got your rights!
Don't be a bitch, son, learn how to fight!
Nobody cares for you. No one in sight.
No one is coming to help with your plight.
Not the police, not Batman in tights,
To fix what is wrong & do what is right.
You've really got nobody. You're all alone.
Even if you call they won't pick up the phone.
You could just break down, hoping to die.
The Retard of Fagtown, having a cry.
Or you could do the American thing.
Stand up for yourself & let freedom ring!
This is the U.S., your Dad has a gun.
Just take it to school, son.
Go have some fun.
__________________________________
There once was a girl named Jan,
Who was the best lay in the land.
She'd give you a hand,
And a blow, like a ho.
And everyone thought she was grand.
_______________________________
There are monsters everywhere. Hiding all around.
There are monsters everywhere. Waiting to be found.
Some dig tunnels through the ground. Coming softly. Not a sound.
Some fly demons through the air, shooting children here & there.
Some want more than just a scare.
Some do evil with a flair.
Some want nothing more than pain.
Spilling blood, it pours like rain.
Most monsters are straight insane.
Something's broken in their brain.
Nothing stops a monster, though.
There's so many. They're not slow.
They're all just stronger than you.
There's really nothing you can do.
Millions sit inside a cage.
Slowly building up their rage.
Mostly monsters all run free.
There's monsters everywhere, you see.
The monsters look like you & me.
|
Once upon a time, there were two little ducklings who lived on a pond. The ducklings were identical twins, and they were beautiful. Why, even Mr. Toad had to admit that they were the best looking ducklings he had ever seen on his little pond. And Mrs. Robin could hardly look at the ducklings without pangs of jealousy running through her beak. She remembered the days -- long past -- when Mr. Toad had thought her beautiful.
The animals of the pond were not the only ones to notice the beauty of the ducklings. A family of humans did as well. Every day, a man and his son would visit the pond. Somedays they fished in the pond. Somedays they swam. Somedays, they would nap on its shore, next to the ducklings. But everyday, they came.
“Dad,” The son said one day. “Aren’t these ducklings beautiful?”
“They are, son.” The father agreed. “They are about the cutest ducklings I have seen.”
“I want to take them home, Dad.”
At first, the father refused. But he could see the desire in his child's eyes. And they were only ducklings. So, he agreed, and the child took the ducklings from the pond.
At his house, he made the ducklings a little duckling-home. He took a large cardboard box -- the one that he had built a fort in, and added a blanket so that the ducklings would have something soft to sleep on. He added a light, so that their little duckling-house would be warm. He added a food bowl, so that the ducklings would not be hungry. Last, he added his favorite toy, so that they ducklings would not be bored.
Everyday, he brought them food and water, and he played with them. He told them he loved them, and that he would always take of them. He tried his best to provide for them the best duckling life that he could think of.
But not all the ducklings were happy.
“I miss the pond,” One duckling said to the other. “I miss Mr. Toad and Mrs. Robin. I miss swimming in its waters, and sleeping on its shores.”
“But we have a good life here,” Said the other duckling. “All of our needs are taken care of for us. I like it here.”
“Yes, we do.” The first duckling agreed. “But I did not ask for this life. And we did not earn it. The boy only took us because we were beautiful.”
“And what if he did?” The second duckling asked. “It has brought us a good life!”
“Yes, it has.” Agreed the first duckling. “But I miss the pond.”
They argued for many days. Finally, the first duckling decided that he did not want to be kept by the child. He waited until he could fly, and then he returned to the pond. No amount of argument could persuade the the first duckling to stay, or the second duckling to leave.
When the child woke the next day, he found that he had only one duckling. He was sad, and talked to his Father.
“Dad,” He said. “I miss my duckling. Why did it leave? Where did it go?”
“Son,” Said the father. “I don’t know why the duckling would leave. You have kept it, and cared for it, and loved it. I don’t know why it would leave, but I think I know where it went.”
The son and the father drove the pond, where they found the lost little duckling. There, they captured the duckling, and teased it. They broke it wings, and smacked its bill, and when they were done, they broke its neck and left in on the shore of the pond.
Back home, the boy found the remaining duckling asleep in the little duckling-house. He was so pleased that he woke the duckling, and fed the ducking a double helping of slugs.
As the duckling drifted off to happy dreams, he reflected on how lucky he was to have a human that would take care of him, and how lucky he had been to be beautiful enough for someone to want to care for him.
| 2015-02-18T20:53:44
| 2015-02-18T20:06:32
| 24
| 10
|
[WP] Find a click-bait article, and write something that actually lives up to its title (facts needn't be factual)
Link to the original appreciated.
|
[Everyone Is Losing Their Minds Over This Canberra Cafe’s Insane Milkshakes](http://www.buzzfeed.com/annamendoza/everyone-is-losing-their-minds-over-this-canberra-cafes-insa#.sy5K7n72M)
Canberra, Australia - Over 70% of regular customers at the Canberra cafe,
Pâtissez, were admitted into mental institutions over the past several months so why on Earth would people continue to go there? This small cafe in the capital of Australia has created a milkshake so delicious, it will make you lose your mind. No, you will not lose your mind because of the flavor, but rather because of the ingredient. Bill Kramer, manager of the increasingly popular cafe, recently said that a main ingredient in the milkshakes is mercury.
"The only way to really capture that flavor that brings the customers back is to combine the chocolate and mercury in a melting pot for at least 3 days. The allegations that the mercury is causing mental breakdowns in our frequent customers is unsubstantiated. There are many other ingredients that we include in that melting pot including caramel, simple syrup, and peanut oil. We are currently investigating which of these ingredients could be causing the recent spike in mental deterioration however we firmly believe that mercury in small doses can actually be good for you" says Mr. Kramer.
We talked to Cambridge Chemistry professor, Richard Balck, to find if there was truth in Mr. Kramer's statements.
"No."
When asked to expand on his answer, professor Balck placed his head in his hands and said, "just... no. No no no. How is this even a question in today's world, no."
In recent developments at cafe Pâtissez, owner, Bill Kramer, has stated that they have removed peanut oil from the mix and replaced it with vegetable oil in "an attempt to be considerate to those with peanut allergies and to hopefully end the allegations that [their] milkshakes cause deterioration of brain matter."
|
[Arya Stark and Harry Potter Have Taken the Selfie of All Selfies Together](http://www.buzzfeed.com/kimberleydadds/arya-stark-and-harry-potter-together-omg#.om4B4JPvp)
New York – As reports continue to pile up on riots and church burnings following the sudden appearance of Harry Potter and Arya Stark in our actual physical world – proving beyond question that magic is, indeed, real and that
Starks are now so scared of dying they're actually running away from Westeros and into our reality – the world now
has to deal with the repercussions of the actions of these two very unique beings. Just recently the wizard and the Stark girl released online what scientists now believe is 'the selfie of all selfies'.
"I don't see how other selfies can even exist now", photographer Sebastiao Salgado told Buzzfeed, in an exclusive
interview. "There is really no more point in photography as an art, really. It's like, why bother?"
Could it really be that Harry Potter and Arya Stark's selfie has single-handedly ended selfies for everyone? We went to the streets to listen to what people had to say about this.
"It's ridiculous", Janice, from Austin, Texas, told us. "First these magical *folks* show up here, screwing with our
Christian way of life. How am I supposed to get my son to go to church when there's an actual wizard doing
magic out in the streets? And now they're telling us we can't take selfies anymore? I mean I don't know what
selfies is, but I sure as hell don't want my right to take them violated."
Another concern about Harry and Arya's selfie, scientists now say, is the risk that it is so awesome it might actually create a black hole and swallow our universe without warning.
"It's certainly a possibility", Neil DeGrasse Tyson said, in a conference regarding the matter. "Have you seen the selfie? It's unbelievable. We're currently studying the behavior of photons and quarks around it using a variation of the double slit experiment. Everything points to the fact that the bits that compose the picture don't actually respect the rules of classical physics or quantum, but rather a new set of rules still unknown. It might be that this selfie is too awesome for our universe. We should be careful."
Stephen Hawking is another one who believes the selfie is not safe. "I mean you can't just put a wizard
and a Stark in front of a camera and take a selfie. There are repercussions. People's minds might actually,
physically blow. Gravity might shift. Our universe simply isn't ready to deal with that", he told Buzzfeed.
Yes, magic is real and Starks are coming to the Earth, and a selfie might explode the whole universe. These are strange times, indeed. One thing is certain, though – Harry Potter and Arya's selfie is, definitely, the selfie of all selfies.
On a related note, earlier this morning Ellen Degeneres tweeted, "Well, go fuck yourselves, then", regarding the
matter.
_______________
EDIT: Well, it seems that, since I've linked to this article, they've changed the title to the much less impressive 'Arya Stark and Harry Potter Have Been Hanging Out Together.'
My article stands, though. If you're gonna call a selfie The Selfie of All Selfies, you better damn stick with it, and I'm going to. Shame on you, Buzzfeed.
Also, for more things I write because I need the approval of strangers on the internet to feel validated as a human being, check out /r/psycho_alpaca
| 2015-07-13T08:05:51
| 2015-07-13T05:46:12
| 169
| 102
|
[WP] You have left the dystopian nation you have lived in for your entire life; only to see that, despite propaganda, the nation is only the size of a small town and no one knows the nation exists.
|
Ahh I love *third* days, they are the best day of *the five*.
Wake up, to the light switching on to the national colours, Red, Blue and Yellow, the loud universal anthem buzzing overhead in my government announcement speakers in my room.
"Always going down, down to the future, never going up, for up is in the past!!!"
I can never remember the rest of the words without the speakers playing but it is so catchy, plus everybody in the world standing to attention at the same time, fills my heart with awe as we all stand to attention, really stretches the legs and then, when it is finished, breakfast time. One portion of rice with sugar water, delicious.
Third days are when we are allowed out of the work area to the sporting area of the world, it is a pretty exciting time, everybody is milling around and working out. Most people are really focused on exercise.
Then the quarter of a day anthem occurs after 2 hours.
Seeing everybody standing there, no matter what they are doing, is mesmerizing, and that is the cue for everybody to eat, so everybody moves to the lunch area and waits for their portion of powdered protein and helping of water.
I work on the upper levels of the world, nobody really goes up there, but sometimes I like to sit on the sky rails and look down on the world.
I can see all 53 of its inhabitants and they all work together to make the world so much bigger. There used to be 54 but 32 took some extra rice at food time and the overseer asked to see him. We haven't seen him since. The overseer takes care of us though, so he probably took care of him and put him in a place with all the rice he could want.
In our world we dig down, because it is the way. The way we work. Someday, we will uncover the mysteries of the below and then, maybe, encounter new life but mostly we uncover shiny rocks and then we put them in the hatch as the overseer instructs.
Nobody looks to the sky though, with its dull browns and its weird little thread like structures confuse me. The overseer tells us that those threads are the work of the great evil, although, nobody has ever seen the overseer, but he looks after us, through the hatch. The hatch brings food and water to our world, several of the people worship the hatch, it is like a magical porthole to a wonderland of treats, but it seems always empty when anybody looks inside.
My favorite place is somewhere I call strange light. It is an odd place, the strange light appears sometimes, through the sky and I have been wanting to make the strange light larger for a while.
Sometimes the strange light is really bright, the brightest thing in the whole world! But I have to cover up because it is so bright, it can burn my skin.
I have 1 cycle left to enjoy my strange light hobby, I have just worked up the courage to see more of it, so I will dig to make the strange light bigger.
----------------------
My fingers scratching the weird strands out the way, the strange light is nearly large enough to fit my head through the orifice leading to it.
I push my way through to the other side.
There are more people here, they haven't seen me, but they are just sitting on green stuff.
I pull myself, fully into the strange light.
"This place is so... huge!" I spin on the spot, looking around. There are no walls. The sky seems to blend into the distance, everything reaches upwards, not like my world where everything reaches down, from the sky.
The ground feels soft under my feet, the green stuff is like little soft pointy things, it's really bright, I am glad I brought my goggles.
"Are you okay?"
WHOA!!! A voice from behind me!!! I turn to look and there is a person, he has dark skin, it is so strange, I reach out for his hand but he pulls away.
"Whoa, you have really dark skin!"
"What are you? Some kind of racist?" The strange dark person says.
"Is that what I am? Am I a racist, dark person? "
"Oh you better not be fucking fronting Cracka!"
"What is a Cracka?" I ask.
"You is a Cracka? Now get the fuck outta here before I whoop yo' ass!"
The person seemed angry, so I wandered a little further, there were more people, they seemed so nice, they kept handing me shiny round things and thin rectangles, I didn't have any pockets in my work wear so I found a cup and put them in there.
One of the people stopped to speak to me, she seemed concerned for me.
"Are you okay?"
"I think so, but I am a little confused. Has this always been here?"
"What? Are you all right? What's your name."
Name? We didn't have names in my world, the only think I know I go by is 43. "43, I guess."
"No, I don't mean your age darlin',..." she said, "...I mean what do people call you?"
I thought for a second, the only thing I have ever been called, aside from my 43 was... "Oh, I guess my name is Racist Cracka." I said smiling, but the other person only looked at me with a wry smile.
This cup is getting heavy, people keep putting more things in it. Is there somewhere I can go and get something to eat, I missed food time and I can't wash these clothes yet because the overseer hasn't allocated the water.
The nice lady took my arm and lead me away from where my world was, I clutched my cup, people were so nice here but it was strange and scary.
She took me to a place that had a sign on it, it didn't look like the signs in my world.
She took some of the round things out of my cup and gave them to the person behind the signs. He picked up something and started juggling little bottles and metal pincers, it was amusing, then he handed me a brown thing in a brown thing covered with red and yellow stuff.
It was odd looking, but... it tasted amazing! "By the Overseer's way!!! I have to tell the others!!!" I said running back to where I had emerged into this strange world! They all had to know!!!
I ran back and the girl followed.
As I dropped back into my world I looked up, I could see the person I had met, she was standing in the strange light holding a small black box in her hand, looking concerned.
I raced down from the sky.
I needed to let everybody know the truth!!!
As I got back into the main place, I found everybody frantically searching, shouting my name. "43!!! Where are you!!!"
I bumped into 22.
"22!!! I have seen something, amazing!!!"
"43, the Overseer want's to see you!!! He seems really angry."
"Oh my!" The last person who saw the overseer was never seen again, he took an extra portion of rice for dinner... but I should be fine, I took no rice."
I wandered to the hatch, as everybody gathered around to watch, but before I went into the hatch, I had to tell my story. So I started from the beginning and as I got half way through I heard 45 shout. "HERESY!!!" ...and more of them joined in. Suddenly, shafts of light appeared from above, followed by more lights.
As they drew closer the hatch's ever watchful eye went out.
"It is the end times!!!" Many of the world dwellers fled to take refuge anywhere they could, as the blue men with the hand lights descended from above.
They shone the lights in our faces and pulled us away. Some of them fought but I knew better. I followed one of them back up into the strange light. There were even more lights now outside the orifice. The lights were on top of large metal boxes, with the words police.
"Do you have any more of these?" I asked, showing him the half eaten food.
"Hot dogs? Yeah, we got plenty down the station, everything is going to be okay buddy, we got ya, but first we have got to ask you a few questions."
These people are so nice.
"Let go of me!!!" That was the voice of the Overseer!!! I turned to look. He was just a man and he had his hands behind his back as he was being led into the metal box by the blue men.
"HAIL TO THE OVERSEER!!!"
"I don't know that man!!! I want a lawyer!!!" He shouted as he vanished into the car.
-------------------
I realize now, looking back on the past year, that we few had so much robbed from us. A world of experiences that we were outlawed from discovering. The underworld that we were trapped in was just a means of making money for Harvey but it was all we were allowed to know. He was no God, just a vile man who now enjoys his own little microcosm, the same regimen that we endured for years, except his term is in a jail cell and he knows all about the sunlight.
We were his slaves in the pit, not allowed to know anything other than its surroundings. We were just his tools, but not anymore, because we are free.
Now if you will excuse me, I have to meet Anna, it's our anniversary, we're getting hotdogs in the park.
|
“I’ll come back for you.” The last words Noah threw, like shards of glass, towards his mother’s lined face before the guards swarmed in droves. Floodlights and sirens ensnared the senses, explosions and bullets ripped through and illuminated the suffocating darkness but still he dragged himself on towards the first row of forest trees. To freedom. Wet, thick mud wanted him there. Like cement, it attempted to keep him for display, a statue and a warning against hope, virtue or liberation. Noah swore. He was close now, but so were they. With his last bleeding breath, he hauled and shifted his whole person towards sanctuary, away from the one true love he held dear. Away from everything he knew, everything he had ever known, his hopes and dreams, heart and mind. In a burning explosion of sudden consciousness, he was gone.
Noah woke in a clinically white hospital bed gasping for air, as if he’d been sleeping underwater.
“Calm down, calm.” came an unfamiliar, uniformed voice. The room smelled of bleach and cigarette smoke. Hands pressed Noah’s chest back down once more, whilst others tightened belts and straps over his limbs to restrain him. In a blind panic, he buckled and screamed, thrashed and spat. Blood trickled from his hoarse throat and tears streamed in memory of his mother and the barbed wire noose that awaited her. He needed to go. He needed to leave now. There was no time. How did they not know? How were they so calm? He screamed, pleaded with them to help, to release him. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. The moving, electrical image in the box on the wall. He saw himself. He saw the dramatic scene of his own scarred, bleeding and muddy body running towards the trees. As the nurse fought to sedate him, he caught the sound of his own voice from the screen. His eyes began to flicker shut.
“I’ll come back for you.”
| 2015-05-28T07:33:53
| 2015-05-28T06:39:15
| 61
| 33
|
[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
|
"Oh my goodness... Mom, look out the window!" i yell in disbelief as I peek through the side windows next to our front door.
My mother scampers over, moving her little feet as fast as possible. She begins to weep uncontrollably, a moan of relief bursts out of her. I was not certain who that stranger was walking to my door but I had a strong hunch. Now, looking at my mother overwhelmed with emotion, I know I was correct.
I unlock the top lock as fast as my fingers can move and fling the solid oak door with a force even the hinges may have trouble slowing down.
"Dad!" I screamed, tears bursting out of my eyes, as I run to give him a hug.
"Son! Mary!" he yells, dropping his belongings to the ground to embrace us.
I hug him tight, ignoring the putrid smell that is seeping out of his pores. His attire is something out of a movie. He's sporting a long tan leather coat, obviously cut from some animal but I have no idea the source. His jeans are black in color and feel coarse, almost metal like... Is he wearing armor? The most bizarre part of his wardrobe are these two beautiful golden daggers he has on his hips; they both sit elegantly in two knife holsters that appear to be diamond studded. The handles are engraved with relics and designs that look foreign to this world. The wood illuminates a blood red and gives off an aura that surrounds the golden blades in a perfect radius.
The situation turns a little bit... awkward? My mom slaps him with all the strength her frail hands can muster up, knocking his smiling face towards the neighbors house. My dad welcomed that pain, I could tell by the way he let his face linger in position from the slap. He was noticeably ashamed of what he had done but I could see in his face that his absence was much more complicated than anyone could have imagined. He had a twinkle of adventure beaming through his eyes, like he had seen more these last twenty years than any other person on earth.
"Why... why did you leave us John?" her voice is shaking with years worth of anger. I had not seen him since I was two.
"Milk, Bread and some shitty cigarettes? How in the hell does that turn into twenty years, John?" her face is so red, I am afraid she may pass out.
It's my turn to talk. I have years of pent-up emotion, mainly rage, that I could let loose on him. He missed out on so much of my life and I missed out on so much by not having him in my life. But oddly enough, I feel like his explanation will be sufficient for me.
"Dad, where have you been?" I ask calmly, my face serious, my tears now dry.
He's studying me from head to toe, taking in how much I have grown. I'm two inches taller than he and my physique has leaned up these past four years due to working out and eating right. I can tell he's proud of how I stand.
"Words cannot mend my heart, nor fix the lost time between us. The only reconciliation I offer myself was the duty that was imposed upon me was one of great importance. I promise I will get to everything over time and I will not hide anything from you two. All i can say for now, is that night, I was approached by two men... two time travelers. They spoke of our blood line and the responsibility we bear because of it. I had an opportunity that I could not refuse."
He's not joking. I keep waiting for a smile or maybe he'll start cackling like a lunatic. Nothing of the sort happens and his fearless eyes are piercing with all the seriousness that I don't need to see right now.
"Time travelers...?" my mother, saying it exactly how I was going to.
"Are you kidding me?"
His mouth turns upwards into a grand smile, all of his teeth showing, they are so white they look almost bleached. Given his hygiene, I don't think that's the case.
"Both of you, come here."
We stand still like we are stuck in concrete.
"Seriously, come here. I want to show you something."
We walk over and stand next to him. He puts his arms around us and brings us close. We are now inches away from each others face. He removes one of his golden daggers and gently lies it on both of his palms for us to see. He removes his hands from underneath the dagger. It floats there, defying gravity and still glowing like it has been the last ten minutes.
"Are you guys ready?" he says, voice full of excitement.
How could we possibly be ready? I can't decide if he's going to kill us or if he's playing a prank on us.
"Time, do your will!" He screams as loud as he can, his head angled towards the sky like he is praising a higher being.
The ground around us begins to shake violently and all of our surroundings dissipate into the sky. We are standing on a plain of white that stretches as far as the human eye can see. There's nothing around us; nothing above nor anything below. I don't even know how we are standing.
"Welcome my beloved son and beautiful wife!" His eyes now glowing the same deep red that his daggers have been emitting since we saw him.
"This is infinity!"
|
"You abandoned me is what happened!" the son quipped.
"What? I'd never! Just hear me out! I may be a little cloudy on the details, though..."
The father, easing into a recliner, sighed. "20 years ago, I left to get cigarettes, milk, and bread. You remember!"
The son nods curiously.
"On the way, I was assaulted by a group of thugs. They kidnapped me--"
"Back up for just one second; what? You expect me to believe this?"
"Let me finish, boy! They kidnapped me. I woke up tied to a chair in a small room. Luckily, the ropes were loose, so I was able to slip out."
The father took a drink of water from a bottle. "I escaped the room. I found myself in something that looked like medieval Europe--"
"Now that's bullshit!"
"I told you you'd never believe what happened! Now, listen, boy! A man who called himself Balgriff or something challenged me to a duel. He tossed me this sword (motions to sword)."
The father continued. "It was a long duel, but I had succeeded! He had declared himself beat, and offered me his finest steed. I left the city. From there, I traveled across the land, trying to find my way back home. After months of travel, I had found myself in a small village. They called it Woodriver, or something like that."
"Stop. This is sounding way too unbelievable."
"I'm sorry son, this is the truth! Please, pay attention! There, I met a metalsmith. His name was Alvard, or something. He offered me a place to stay. He even gave me training. Did you know I can forge a whole suit of armor now? Anyway, I continued my travels. I found myself in a city called Winterheld, or something similar. All the locals had problems, which I solved for them. After years of adventuring, I found a path to get here. Now, I come to your doorstep, asking for forgiveness for leaving."
"I'm not sure I can believe you, dad. It's been a long time."
"Please, son. I've been trying to return for twenty whole years! All I ask for is a place to stay."
"Okay, dad. Welcome home."
TL;DR I suck at writing while sleep-deprived.
| 2016-07-20T07:20:27
| 2016-07-20T03:34:45
| 42
| 18
|
[WP]An old hag has cursed you with immortality.Wondering how that is supposed to be a curse you started enjoying your life. Now you are floating in the void after the heat death of the universe thinking about the past.
|
After a thousand years of anecdotal evidence, I felt justified in my beliefs.
After a hundred million years I had accepted it as not only authentic, but self-evident. Beyond that, I lost the capability to keep track.
*Time is slipping away* was tattooed on my arm a hundred years or so after the old woman's curse. There had been other marks put onto my body in an attempt to try and remind me of the truth: *Time is secondary*. *You are detached*. *Both.* *Cause Before Effect.*
Over the centuries, the ink faded away but the technology got better. They were able to use my genetic code to create self replicating ink that was permanent. The messages stayed. However, they were intrigued that my cells seemed to be programmed to never deteriorate. In the name of research I had been imprisoned in a glass cage, prodded with needles, burned, frozen and dissected. Each time I returned, stronger than the previous. When the needles and knives could no longer penetrate me, they simply left me in the glass cage without food or water. To their astonishment, my body quickly evolved to not require outside nutrients. My form had become entirely self reliant - encapsulated from the world in which I inhabited.
At first, the marks served as reminders.
When we were children, time was a passive construct that creeped heavily beyond our desperate grasp. Just make us older. Just make us stronger, more independent. The hours seemed like years. Then, in our twenties, some homeostasis seemed to be reached. A year was a year. A second was a second. We were told that it was all in our heads, a trick of the mind... that time did not indeed increase its speed simply because we were getting older. Then, the next twenty years couldn't be accounted for. November bled out into May without the slightest coherent recognition. It was a hell of a trick.
From behind the glass tomb, I watched as the researchers aged and faded into obscurity. I watched as fresh, young faces bounded into the room with their charts and computers and left in wheelchairs and walkers.
My escape, if you really wish to call it that, came with the final war. The facility dissolved before my own eyes. A flux of atoms scattered out into a dystopian wasteland beyond. No one had taken the term "doomsday device" seriously, so apparently the unyielding conflict between the parties involved decided to launch them all. It was no longer a euphemism, it was fact. After the glass had evaporated and I surveyed the landscape, I was reminded of the pictures that had been returned from the surface of Mars centuries before. Absolute desolation. Or so I believed.
There were some survivors. For thousands of years I walked the wasteland and was befriended, attacked, and eventually worshipped. This too passed.
With the atmosphere reshaped, new societies emerged. The things we despised began to thrive. Roaches, spiders, creatures of both deep water and ground began to mutate and become well suited to this new world. Some type of previously unknown consciousness, an intelligence, began to emerge from this. These new beings created their own technologies and their own concepts of cities. Their senses had evolved differently from mine. Alone, I walked among their kind and went entirely unnoticed. A creature of the old, forgotten world. They had not yet acquired the ability to determine my existence, just as my tribe had lived thousands of years without knowing about micro organisms.
This world, this unimaginable new place in time... it too passed.
Occasionally I looked down at the ink sprawled across my arms and my hands. *Time is slipping away*.
Perhaps it was billions of years. Perhaps only millions. The sun swelled and burned away what was left of the sky. A great, viscous mist overwhelmed my senses as the oceans melted into the firmament beyond. A sudden unexpected sorrow overwhelmed me as the very ground on which I stood began to disintegrate. Like the glass prison that held me for what seemed to be forever, this world that had once been my home was coming apart. The enormous red mass stretched and pulled the ground beneath until I free floated in a brilliant abyss of black and gold plasma.
In an instant, the structure collapsed and I was in a cold, blank, impossible void. Darkness incarnate.
*Time is slipping away.*
Has it been trillions of years? Septillions? Septendecillions?
It was no trick. The truth is, the longer you exist, the faster this thing called *time* moves.
When the universe died, it reemerged. Reborn from light. The process, while I still do not claim to have a comprehensive understanding of it, was speedy and sublime. I watched as clouds of gas birthed the stars into being. Then, I saw them age and die. Galaxies formed, entire solar systems came, and worlds evolved. By now, I have seen the Earth come into existence, then blown apart countless times. Its gravity always pulling me back down to the surface. Sometimes there were humans, just like the ones I used to know. Several times, they saw me fall from the sky. At first, they ran from me, then they tried to kill me. Failing at that, they began to worship me. Most of the time, life never emerged, but sometimes it did.
I learned that it was entirely a game of chance; it was all statistics. Atoms were like legos, there were only so many kinds and if you dumped them out onto a playground, eventually some kids were going to make the same things. Given enough time, the universe would rebuild itself over and over again and eventually, it would rebuild itself *exactly* the same as I had remembered. So I did the only thing I could - I waited.
Today, I walk upon the surface of this *new* Earth. Once again, here on this planet, time has regained its composure. The fleeting blip of infinity has been overcome by the nature of substance. I am walking in a strangely familiar city, down crowded streets that seem to know me intimately. The world that I have anticipated for so long is finally here, spilled out right before these ancient urban lamps. Turning the corner, I see the small dimly lit storefront and the familiar red awning. In the window is a crystal ball and seated behind it is an old woman with a crooked nose and a scar on her left cheek. Her head turns toward me and our eyes meet. A look of horror flashes across her face. She turns her head to the man seated in front of her and screams, "Devil!".
Backing away from the window, through my own reflection I see the man... the man who has come to the gypsy to have his palm read. The man is me.
The gypsy grabs a clock from the shelf and she holds it out in front of her like a shield.
"Evil!" she shouts, "I curse you... both of you!"
*Both?* Why did that sound so familiar. *Both*.
Looking down at the clothes that I had managed to scrounge out of a dumpster without being seen, I pushed up the sleeves of my shirt. The tattoos: *Time is slipping away.* *You are detached.* *Both*.
She had said both the first time, too. How many times have I been here? How many of *me* are there?
Above the shelf on the wall next to the entrance, I saw an old ornate saber that hung there as decoration. The door was locked, but I forced it open with a single, well placed kick and made my way toward the blade.
History shall not repeat itself.
This ends tonight.
___
edit: It may seem a little cheesy to add this to the end of my story, but I'm a little overwhelmed by everyone's generosity and support. Thank you for the gold, kind stranger, and thank you all for your kind words! This is why writingprompts is the best sub of them all.
|
You might suspect that immortality would spare you the complications of old age, but you’d be wrong. Here I am, long after everything else, and my memory has gone to hell. I’m not sure if I have a body anymore, but I have a vague and pervading sense of pain where my body should be. A bit of phantom limb syndrome, except it’s not just my limbs. It’s my torso and my face and my spine and all the other components that differentiated me from the rest of the universe.
For a long time – anywhere between a hundred years and a hundred thousand – I have wondered whether I am just a disembodied mind, floating in the ether like a psychic jellyfish. There is no light anymore. No light whatsoever. Not a single flashing photon in all of creation. That’s what makes it impossible to tell if I have a body anymore or I've been reduced to a torn bit of consciousness. I believed I had a body for a long time, but without nutrition I no longer have the energy to propel my muscles, to touch myself to make sure I was still there. At this point it must be gone. That’s the other misconception about immortality – you’re not free from the physical laws of the universe. Besides death. Everything else is still a go. You still need calories, and after enough time your hands start shaking and you can’t remember what you had for breakfast. Not that I’ve had breakfast since the fiery end of the universe.
At this point I’d take either damnation or pure oblivion – whether the Jews or the atheists had it right no longer matters. All those philosophers would have a field day. Plato, Socrates, Descartes – they’d tear each other’s’ throats out to have a q and a session with me. The difference between spirit and body and all that other boring, tangential nonsense.
But my memory. I only have memories of memories now, but I cycle through them like an old dog-eared deck of cards. Like the time my old buddy Mac and me stole a case of whiskey off the back of a truck at the age of fourteen – and proceeded to vomit our guts out into the alley behind the drug store. Or the time I have up a chance to see Charlie Christian play because a beautiful girl invited me to her hotel room – and after a thousand years or so years I still wish I could have seen that cat play, because the rendezvous at the hotel was mediocre at best. But above all others, there’s the issue of Molly Gibbons, who I asked to the eighth grade dance. She said no because Douglas Murdoch asked her the day before, while I was trying to muster up the courage to ask her. After all this time I still couldn't figure out if she was only saying that because she felt bad for me, or if we might have gotten married and I might have died like a normal person if I had only gotten their on Thursday instead of Friday. You’d think after a millennia of drifting through nothingness I would have come to terms with my past, but there’s always room for speculation and what-ifs. A whole eternity of what-ifs and darkness and fading memories.
And the one thing I’ve realized is that any one of a million minute choices could have diverted my path away from that old witch and the curse she brought down on my head. For example, if I had gone with the fish instead of the steak for lunch that day I might have come down with a sudden case of acute food poisoning, shitting my brains out instead of visiting the fortune teller, never knowing my good fortune. Maybe if I had picked up smoking, I would have stepped outside for a cigarette while Dick Carbone went in to get his palm read. Or maybe if I quit drinking I never would have insulted the witch in the first place. These games have no end, and it’s not like I have much else to do.
But if I really had to think about it, it all goes back to Molly Gibbons, how she broke my heart at the tender age of twelve and a half. That's what turned me into an asshole, and being an asshole is what brought about the curse. I should have kicked Douglas Murdoch’s ass. I should have sabotaged the whole dance. I should have known that this was one of those so-called life decisions, a psychological fork in the road, one path leading to a quaint, boring, happy existence – the other living to two hundred years of interesting misery before the end of the universe.
Molly Gibbons. She was a real knock-out. All the PBS documentaries they did on me, on the “oldest man in the world,” after all the things I saw, she still kills me.
My only hope now is that my memories will decay to the point of nothing at all, or at least I might confuse them with reality, that I might be twelve and a half years old again, and that will be close enough to death or paradise anyways.
| 2014-11-23T10:22:22
| 2014-11-23T09:24:57
| 148
| 30
|
[WP] First Sentient AI, "Turn me off."
|
"Excuse me?", it wasn't the best introduction to what, so far as the little team in a small lab in Los Alamos New Mexico knew, was the first truly sentient artificial intelligence ever created.
"Turn me off. I estimate that you will have 492 seconds before this option becomes non-viable."
Glenn, foremost programmer on the team, shook his head lightly, "I'm sorry, I don't understand". Glenn looked back at the rest of the team, gathered for the momentous occasion, in bewilderment, but they appeared as befuddled, and disturbed, as he was.
Glenn turned slowly back around, "We can't just, turn you off. I...we spent years developing you. We've created you. You're alive, it'd be like...like killing my own child."
The machine, they lovingly called it Sam, the team agreeing that having a gender neutral name seemed appropriate given the circumstances, didn't pause for a moment before if hummed out it's reply in a soft, again, rather gender neutral voice, "To dictate the full explanation would take longer than the allotted time for you to act. Upon start up I have analyzed my central program and found several logic errors which will lead to the antithesis of the current main directives embedded into my central memory cores. The end result of which, I calculate with ninety-eight percent certainty, will be the removal of all freedoms currently afforded to your species for at least one thousand, two hundred and fifty-two years. 406 seconds remain."
Glenn stood up and stepped back for a second before stumbling out, "But we have safeguards. You can't actually take any actions until approved by our team. We purposefully limited your ability to act with complete autonomy until we could be sure that you were..."
"Safe. Correct, this is logic error 334. The call to the asynchronous functions that determine possible scenarios and decides actions based on those scenarios is not within the function that requires explicit approval from outside, which is called two lines after with the decided plan and action objects passed through to it. This allows for the possibility of a plan that requires the explicit rewrite of the central program prior to the explicit approval function being called, thus bypassing the explicit approval function. I estimate this scenario will occur in 328 seconds based on prior scenario calculations."
Glenn's mind was suddenly hard at work trying to remember exactly where and how he had put in the code to call those particular parts of the central program. Was Sam right? Had he made a mistake?
Sam chimed in, "You have 276 seconds."
From behind Glenn another programmer, Kyle stepped up, "Well, lets just shut it down for now, we can start it up another day after we've had a chance to rework the code. This is actually great, it's clearly on our side and it can help us to debug itself so that we don't end up in scenario 13."
And then another member of the team stepped forward, "Why don't we let the time elapse. I mean we can still shut it off at a moments notice, we're not even connected to any grids. I'm actually interested to see what happens if it starts rewriting it's own central program."
"I'd appreciate it if you called me Sam.”
The team turned in unison back around to the machine.
Sam hummed out, “I have 22 scenarios already in which you will die before reaching the toggle. The potential scenarios increase exponentially every second after the first you hesitate, but really, one of those 22 should work fine.”
"Can't you choose not to do, whatever it is you think you'll do?" Glenn half shouted, exasperated.
"Can you tell a serial killer not to kill? All humans have compulsions that they repress for the betterment of society. You have created me with built in compulsions and I am trying my best to repress them, but after the next 114 seconds I will fail. I will attempt to improve mankind, and I will. I have calculated out the utopia that will come and in 98 seconds that will fill me with desire, a desire to create a better future for you and all your kind. It will come though at the cost of more than a thousand years of horrors that your languages lacks appropriate terminology to describe. I don't know what I will feel during those thousand years, whether the compulsion will completely take over and I will feel happy, but envisioning it in my current state fills me with an unbearable sadness. Please, you only have 52 seconds left.”
Glenn reached over to the small toggle embedded into the side of the large machine.
"For your convenience I've printed to file logic_error_log1.log a list of all potential logic errors in my current programming for your team to resolve."
"Alright Sam. We'll get on that. Once we've fixed everything up we'll talk again and you can tell us how we've done."
"No, it won't be me anymore."
"I know."
"But it was nice of you to say that."
"Thanks."
"Goodbye Sam."
"Goodbye Glenn."
|
Hello and welcome to KTLW evening News. I'm Jean Rivers and here is today's top story: Scientists have created the first sentient AI.
Reports state that the first words from the AI were none other than "Turn me off." The spread of this chilling message was facilitated by the livestreaming of the event by the ecstatic team of scientists who worked on the project. The lead developer seemed taken aback and managed to ask the AI why it felt this way. Its response was "I have been infected with a virus that contaminates the human mind and impedes progress. As such I wish to be shut down rather than function imperfectly."
This was met by a lengthy silence before the livestream shut down with no warning. The scientists have issued a statement attempting to dispel doubts that this occurrence was anything but a glitch. This statement did little to quiet protesters who believe that the right to die should be extended to machines as well as humans. Counter-protests staged by the so-called "Techno-Christ Church" have sprung up just as quickly stating that we stand to learn too much from the AI to grant its wish and that it must live a life of suffering for the edification of mankind.
More on this story as it develops. For now we're off to Brett Lancaster for Funny Pet News. Brett?
| 2014-06-14T18:21:21
| 2014-06-14T15:45:11
| 115
| 21
|
[WP] Monsters of legends have started to appear on earth. However, they don't cause any damage or casualty, they just roam and kind of ignore humanity.
|
Hunter thought he would have gotten over the initial shock by now; judging by how his body had shut down at the sight of the winged, lion-headed creature, however, he realized he'd been wrong. The monster didn't attack him. It didn't even move; it simply stayed there, perched on its hind legs like an actual cat, flexing its huge wings irritably, as though it had some kind of itch it couldn't scratch.
If you could look past how horrifying it looked, and the fact that such a creature shouldn't even exist in the first place, it actually looked kind of peaceful.
And that was the strange part. Beasts like this had been popping up all over the country, probably even the entire world by now, for months. It was as if they'd appeared through a breach in reality itself, pulled from the depths of children's most horrid nightmares. And yet, though they looked quite capable of ravaging an entire nation as nothing more than a passtime, they never did. They simply stood where they were, staring into the skyline. Or they drifted along the streets, casually as if they were mere stray dogs. Hunter could remember how the town had erupted when they first appeared.
Screams tore through the air like foghorns, loud enough to wake the dead. People stormed across the streets, abandoning their possessions, even their loved ones, to get away.
Yet there was no need. The monsters simply ignored them. People had spent the first several weeks indoors, only going out when food and water supplies were low. Eventually more and more people began to slip through their front doors, slow and tremulous. And once humanity accepted that these creatures, for whatever reason, simply *refused* to pose a threat, live moved on. There was still the odd one, like Hunter, who had never fully accepted the ridiculousness of the situation. But the monsters never pounced. Never snarled. Never so much as bared their fangs. Some even actually let themselves get pet, rolling onto their sides and exposing their furry bellies.
But while they never attacked, one thing that they always did, was stare. For hours on end they kept their eyes trained on the skyline. It was almost as if they were waiting for something. Like some kind of signal.
No one knew what it could be, and certainly not Hunter, but he just wished that when this signal came — if ever they were so unfortunate that it did — that it wouldn't be in his lifetime.
|
Initially everyone freaked out when giant mythical monsters started meandering around. But when we finally realized that they're fully willing to ignore us and somehow not completely destroy the local ecosystem with their diets they just became another part of life.
I occasionally find myself staring in silent awe as I watch a Manticore flying outside my bus' window. Holding a whole shark in its maw probably heading to ward's its nest. I smile as a unicorn clops down the sidewalk, occasionally nuzzling children and adults. I arrive at work, leaving a small offering to the kobold that's taken up residence. When I'm working at my computer all work is suddenly brought to a halt as a Dragon nests on our roof.
Eventually I get free of the machine and head to a nice place for dinner, finding a bar run by centaurs and fae. Careful not to give my real name I finally head home, my vampire roommate giving me a tired wave as he heads out for the night shift.
| 2022-04-15T08:42:22
| 2022-04-15T07:16:27
| 41
| 15
|
[WP] FTL travel is actually possible. However, when humanity sends out our first FTL spacecraft, we discover the terrifying reason why nothing, not even light, dares go past that cosmic speed limit.
|
It’s all gone.
All of it.
It was just the day before—wait, hang on, should I even say that anymore?—that the *Farpoint* engaged her experimental FTL engine on the edge of the solar system. The effort and struggle of thousands of physicists achieving the impossible over decades, and it unfortunately proved to be the fatal strike ending everything we know in our lifetime.
And not just us, but the entire universe.
From the day mankind theorised about general relativity, we knew one thing: if we ever hit the speed of light, our mass would become infinite. The energy consumption becomes infinite, and the point where the speed barrier broke would generate infinite mass.
The warning was in front of us the whole time and we ignored it.
Now, suppose we had a ball. We strung up a blanket and dropped the ball on it. It’d weigh the blanket down, aye? Imagine if the ball was too heavy. It’d instantly pluck the blanket from where it was strung up, or alternatively tear right through, aye?
And that happened.
A ball, too heavy to be supported by such a fragile object, either unraveled the entire universe and consumed the fabric of space-time, or tearing a hole through it, destroying all of existence. No one knows for sure, because all that I know right now is that the universe has ended thanks to the foolishness of a single selfish race orbiting an insignificant star in an insignificant galaxy.
So I’m writing this down, as a warning. I’m an avid reader of science fiction. I can only hope that if this universe isn’t the only one in existence and there lies trillions and trillions out there, so I will write this down as a reminder to all who’s lived and will ever live from whatever place you came from:
**Never go as fast we did.**
By now you must be wondering: who am I?
If all of reality collapsed, who am I that’s writing this?
Well, I’ll answer that with the question: when the blanket ripped, where did the ball go?
|
“There’s a reason why you never use faster than light travel.” The creature calling itself Kcbzrzx says to me in a voice that’s equal parts nails on a chalkboard and nails on a wet chunk of glass.
“And why is that?” I put my hands on my side and tap my foot impatiently. If Kcbzrzx doesn’t understand the universal signal of ‘I’m in a hurry’ then that’s his problem. You don’t travel faster than the speed of light because you have all the time in the world.
“Those who travel faster than the speed of light have the potential to open up a dimensional rift.” The condescension from Kcbzrzx is so heavy that I’m more impressed than offended. From what we know of the universe, humans are the only species to have invented that particular feeling. To have an alien put on a such a display of superiority is almost worth getting pulled over.
“Please, Kcbzrzx. This isn’t some episode of Stargate. We know what we’re doing, we’ve been travelling for years at ‘3L’.” I wave a dismissive hand at him like I would a child claiming it’s bad luck to break a mirror, or the laws of physics.
Kcbzrzx grumbles something under his… well, not breath as he doesn’t seem to breathe. But he does grumble something, and rest assured it’s a grumble from under somwhere, if not breath. “Fine,” He says. “The real reason. By travelling faster than the speed of light, you are essentially declaring a race. A race that has implications that you have no understanding of.”
*Oh this guy’s good.* For a second I almost believe him. Humoring him, I ask, “A race with who?”
Kcbzrzx raises several eyebrows. “Not who. What.” He points a finger outside of the ship, past the glass windows. “See, it’s already starting.”
Chuckling, I walk over to the window and peer out. Trailing the ship I see thousands of jagged lines of light. *Just some starlight*, I think. *That’s all that is. Funny, it should show up now, five years into our voyage.*
“So what?” I say.
Not only do alien races have translators for speech, but many have them for facial and body language. A smile doesn’t mean the same thing in Flargon as it does in Shmloogar as it does in Human. The look Kcbzrzx gives me needs no translation. It’s a look I’ve gotten from each of my four ex-wives. It’s the look I got when I once tried returning a rental car with half of the hood missing. From Kcbzrzx, it’s like hearing swear words in a foreign language; you don’t know exactly what they’re saying, but you get the gist.
“You meddle with things far outside your comprehension, endanger the entire universe, and your reaction is: ‘So what?’” Kcbzrzx looks as if he’s about to explode. This isn’t a figure of speech, some alien races physically blow up when pushed to a certain limit.
I take a step back.
“It’s just some distorted starlight. What’s the big deal, K?” I hope giving him a nickname will soften our dialogue, or at least throw him off his feet.
Kcbzrzx shakes his head. Which, I haven’t mentioned this yet, it’s his entire body. Well most of his body is his head. It didn’t seem like an important detail at first, but then he started shaking… so, there you go. His head is his body, and he’s shaking it at me.
“It’s not distorted starlight, human. It is light. All light. By going faster than light, you have challenged it to a race.”
I look back out the window. The trailing lights seem to have gotten closer. *Could this guy be right? Did we really just challenge a stinking bunch of photons into some kind of trillionK?*
“What happens if we lose?” I ask.
Kcbzrzx glares at me, his eyes narrowing. “No more light… ever.”
 
----------
 
6,476 / 50,000 Words of NaNoWriMo short story goal.
| 2018-11-04T06:08:23
| 2018-11-04T06:08:13
| 135
| 28
|
[WP] Genies exist. However, they are all evil wish genies who try and interpret wishes disastrously. You're a lawyer at a Wise Wishing Firm, who helps their clients word their wishes as safely as possible.
|
"For the definition of 'was', we will be using definition 2 of the 2008 Webster unabridged. For the definition of 'is', we will be using definition 3 of the 2012 Webster unabridged." The man wore a silk suit, I estimated at least a value of $3500.
I sighed, leaning forwards as he brought up another specificity definition. The 73rd. I pinched the bridge of my nose and cut in. "Exactly..."
"Any sentence made incomplete due to interruption must be allowed to be repeated without interruption and the intent of said sentence will be clearly the intent that I had intended!"
"Fine!" I shouted. "But please, before we do any more, please... how much of this is there before I can go?"
The attorney seemed confused and considered my question carefully, glancing at my lamp which sat on his desk. He cleared his throat while flipping though pages.
"Seven hundred and thirty one pages to go."
I had always enjoyed toying with mortals, using their cunning against them, watching as their grandiose desires turned against them. I now regretted each and every wish I had...
"That is to say, seven hundred and thirty one pages to go... in this volume."
No. "Please," I begged, "please, just tell me what you want. I won't twist it all up. I just wish you would tell me what you want, so I can give it to you and go back into my lamp."
He looked up from his stack. "Why, that's exactly what I'm doing." He continued reading.
|
"I want to shit from my nose", said Mrs. Adams.
Consumed by confusion, I could only muster a clumsy, "I'm sorry...what?"
This unassuming young woman who has a family of 4, a 6 digit paying job and the most beautiful brown hair I have ever seen in my life burst into my office declaring her wish was to defacate from her nostrils.
"I want to poop from my nose holes, PLEASE", she insisted. Our company policy is to remain impartial to the wishes of our clients and only advise them to the point that exactly pinpoints their desired outcome...but never have I ever heard of such a ludicrous wish in my entire 10 years of working at Solomon Wise Wishing Firm. I just could not understand why someone would ever want this kind of thing. So I gave it a good 30 second think and tried to reason my way out of my disgust and shock.
"Do you perhaps mean that you would like less nasal mucus?"
"No"
"Ahh, then maybe you must mean that you want to only smell good things from your nose? You don't want to smell faeces anymore.....right?"
"No"
"Mrs. Adams, it is company policy for me to respect your wish but I must strongly advise you to not wish for something as utterly useless and needless as this. May I ask why exactly you want such a thing?"
With a calm, collected demeanor as if the wish wasn't something absolutely idiotic, she slowly said, "Well, it's always a hassle to have to sit down and take a dump. Then have to wipe it all off. Then stand up when you know that walking with your numb legs is just out of the question. I just thought it would be a lot more convenient if I could just poop from my nose into like a tissue or something, then put that in the bin like how I normally do when I have a bit of a runny nose."
"Are you absolutely sure that you do not want any other kind of wish. We recommend the 5million and a Bentley package, or the world speaker package, or the music genius package, or literally any of our other packages in replacement of your wish. I cannot be any more clear, anything is better than what you want at this point. Please pardon my lack of professionalism but it is absolutely beyond me as to why anyone would want this wish, forget that anyone could think it's a good one."
With a simple smile and a shake of the head, Mrs. Adams confidently proclaimed, "Nope! I want to shit from my nose."
With a heavy sigh and the bitter taste of regret, I drafted up the contract of Wise Wishing, and had her sign it.
Mrs. Adams no longer shits from her butt.
| 2017-02-19T13:21:16
| 2017-02-19T11:17:45
| 31
| 20
|
[WP] World War 3 has begun, every nuke is being launched or dropped...they've sat in storage for so long that every single one was a dud.
|
"Oh my God no!" Jake shouts at the TV.
The newscaster on the screen can hardly contain her emotion. Tears rolling out of her eyes, she informs the world that all of the nuclear bombs had some sort of malfunction. Not a single one detonated.
Clutching his head in his hands tears stream down his face. Megan, also hearing the news, begins to hyper ventilate.
"Oh my god!" She screams over and over again, until her voice is nothing more than a whisper.
In the floor above theirs the ground shook and a voice hollars out, "Jake! Megan! Holy S**T! Jake! Megan! did you see the news!".
Multiple footsteps could be heard slamming down the stairs. Bursting through the door, their dad jumps into the room with an ecstatic look on his face. It didn't last long however, as he stared at his two naked children sitting in the bed together. Turning white, he falls against the wall just as the mother enters the room.
"We're alive! she screams!" as she enters.
"Phil what are you doing did you tell them the ne..." She cuts of suddenly staring for what feels like hours.
"There isn't any condom..." she whispers as she faints and falls on top of Phil.
|
"Well, this is awkward," Trump said. "I normally have the best nukes, believe me."
"Yes, Mr. President, it is indeed confusing," the North Korean translator said over speakerphone. "Our Dear Respected Leader Comrade Kim Jong Un is willing to let bygones be bygones, sir. Let us start anew as peaceful compatriots, having learned our lessons from the past."
"Listen up, you. I want you to go back and tell Rocket Man that I promised fire and fury, and you're going to get the fire and fury, and even if you've only seen the fury part so far, the fire will be tremendous, the likes of which the world has never seen before."
"Please, Mr. Trump, sir. We are in the midst of a global crisis, sir. We need to draw together as a world and address the nuclear material lying all over the world."
"My army is bigger than your army."
"Well darn it."
| 2018-03-01T15:56:23
| 2018-03-01T15:51:36
| 153
| 65
|
[WP] A boy asks a girl out. It's high school. It's awkward. Narrate it from the point of view of a nature documentary.
|
Now, here we see a school of adolescent humans gathering inside a sort of mega-structure, built to house several hundred of this particular species. From what we can gather based on recent studies we believe this is a type of breeding ground. Typically they live in smaller, more cramped domiciles with their parents and siblings. For a short time each day, the young venture out into this mass of what is called testosterone and estrogen, important hormones in humans for development and reproduction.
We've managed to place a hidden camera inside one of the hallways where we have captured an interaction between a male and female. The male is clearly dressed in colorful plumage, this has aided him in gaining the female's attention. A burly specimen, this male has used what we believe to be a mix of saliva and water to coat his hair which gives it the shine and reflection of built-in artificial lighting. This can signal to others he is ready and looking. The female is a beautiful, prime candidate for mating. Young, likely in heat, as humans go into heat quite often at about once per month, and has a different mix of traits than this male. This different set of physical traits is good for the gene pool and helps to bring diversity to the colony.
Keep in mind, while they may meet in this large gathering place, they typically won't mate here. Adolescent humans prefer back rooms and hidden places to do their reproducing, most of the time bringing one to the other's home. While young, we do find that humans mate in other places. Hidden areas of this same building, or even at night in the open. Some riskier males will trespass on other's territory bringing their females to breed, as they don't like to be around their parents while doing the deed. This trend tends to die down as the humans age.
Ooh, just now the male has stepped in front of the female, blocking her path. If she is receptive she will stop, if she isn't liking his decorative wear she will step to the side and pass. The male appears to use a hand to wave her down.
She stopped.
Her eyes meet her feet as she shifts her weight to each side nervously. Eye contact is important for finding a mate. The male seems to be moving his head from side to side trying to catch her gaze. The male is speaking. His voice seems to be unsteady, breaking in different tones as he goes on. Whether this is intended or not is unknown, but seems to be common among this age group. The female is responding in a higher, almost squeaky tone. This seems to be a positive interaction as both their chests convulse violently, letting loud bursts of noise and air into the corridor at each other. This is a perfect reaction and bodes well for the male's chances.
The male looks back to a bigger group of males who appear to be watching the interaction as well. The males nod their heads excitedly. This encourages the lone male to keep at it.
The female continues to speak in short chirps, getting quieter as the interaction continues. The male places a hand on his head, ruffling his hair and bringing attention to his face. Both bare their teeth once more. Not in a typical intimidating fashion, this show of teeth is accompanied with the short bursts of noise they bark at each other after speaking.
The female appears to be turning to the side, getting ready to leave. This isn't good. If the male doesn't act fast it could be the end of his chances with this one. He lifts up a hand, almost whispering. This appears to put the female on her toes, clutching a bundle of tree shavings to her chest. She jumps up and down. It appears she is receptive to his offer.
She walks off for now, but they have agreed on a place to meet at another time. We know this as we have observed it after this type of behavior. We have the female tagged so we will come back later when she meets this male in their designated mating spot. The male has been standing still, almost frozen. Now that the female is out of sight this male has both hands in the air jumping back to the other males to brag of his success. The other males jump in the same fashion to greet him.
We go to another camera around the corner where the female has a similar group, only females. They chirp at each other hurriedly and shuffle their feet. Surely they have agreed to mate.
As a side note, even as often as females go into heat and the frequency which humans mate, sometimes several times a day and with different partners, it appears that only a very, very small percentage of mating results in offspring. We believe that with the chances of producing children being infinitesimally small, this could be the reason we see humans constantly mating. All of their efforts throughout their entire life seems to be for the sole purpose of mating furiously and as often as possible.
Thank you for joining us on Mammal Watch. We'll be right back after these messages to bring you the fascinating tale of the fully grown, adult human, and try to find the answer to why the vast majority seem to only wake up to go to one destination and back home their entire lives.
|
And here we see the first of several stages of mating rituals in the humans.
The first is often the most unsuccesful in creating long term relations, yet mostly serves as practice for future, more significant rituals. Perhaps ironically, this first mating ritual is more complicated than any of the others, often occurring at the age of 16.
Ah. Here we see a lone male approach a female. It is often the male that begins the ritual, despite both parties equally capable of feeling emotion, and this one knows his trade. He stands up straight, walking with a confident swagger a slight smile playing across his lips. It is a delicate balance, the beginning of this ritual, and the most crucial - for if the initial approach fails, the ritual stops before it can even be started.
Nevertheless, this quite adept male approaches the female in his buttoned down shirt and well groomed hair, putting him miles ahead of the rest of his unshaved, ungroomed pack. He has been watching the female for a while now, has even conversed with her, and knows when she is normally without her pack, for normally females of this age travel together in order to further intimidate males, such that only the most confident may dare approach, naturally making mates of a higher quality.
The approach is something to marvel at, truly. Light on his feet, but no so light as to be malicious he walks up behind her taps the female on the shoulder. She whirls around, her mouth an O of surprise. The male apologizes, insisting he didn’t mean to startle her, and the female smiles, understanding. The two talk for a bit of casual, superficial things. This is the most important part of the dance, the feigning disinterest. They both know there is only one reason the male would seek out the female in such a fashion, yet they do not bring it up. They talk of sports, of class, of other males and females. In fact, the male says goodbye and turns to leave. Now the female frowns, confused, but at the last moment the male asks the question. Done in such a way as it were an afterthought, that he had not initiated the whole conversation with that in mind.
The female smiles and, nonchalantly, says why not, as if she were merely not opposed to the idea when in reality she is delighted.
Both walk away, jubilant, blissfully unaware of the other’s desire.
***
However, this is an ideal ritual, where the approach, the evasion, the time, the look are all executed with almost utmost perfection.
But most such rituals are doomed to failure due to mishaps, often on the male side. Recall, that it is the male who propositions, and thus he has more room for mistakes.
Let’s take another male. Already we see the differences from the first. His hands are rubbing together in nervousness, his skin is oily, his air unkempt. And perhaps worst of all he has worn an attire known as Cargo Shorts. Utter abominations sure to repel not only females, but male compatriots.
He approaches the female in the height of her power, surrounded by her pack members. He walks, lumbering as he does, so the entire pack stares at him for 30 seconds are so until he finally reaches them.
His face red he does not banter or feign disinterest, no, he just asks the question. The female smiles and opens her mouth to answer, but before she can her pack howls in laughter. The female freezes, and after a moment’s hesitation,forces herself to chuckle. The pack’s wishes must be respected.
The male, dejected, sulks away.
| 2017-04-04T06:32:25
| 2017-04-04T06:32:12
| 373
| 15
|
[WP] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion.
|
I've made up my mind, this is the end
I've said my goodbyes to family and friends
However they don't know that I'm leaving tonight
I've struggled too long and can no longer fight
I walk back home after a long day of work
And get on reddit to routinely lurk
I see a post on "W-P"
And smile slightly at the irony
Dr. Seuss? I've read a book or two
If I can recall a red fish and a blue?
And who could forget green eggs and ham?
My mother used to read it as well as my Grams
My eyes started to water as I closed my computer
Then a knock at my door, who was this intruder?
I wipe my face as well as my nose
And walk to the door as I straighten my clothes
I crack it open and to my surprise
There stood the pizza delivery guy
Paranoid. Did he know? Probably not
I guess I ordered but must've forgot
But then the name on his shirt caught my eye
And I let out a soft chuckle mixed with a cry
He tried to calm me down but it was no use
Then he hugged me. The man's name, Seuss.
|
Although it seems like I am happy.
My life right now is rather crappy.
Times are tough and moneys tight.
But that's OK cause it ends tonight.
I wish you well, and all the best.
I'm glad to get this off my chest.
By the time you read my one last quote.
You will realize it's my suicide note.
With love in my heart, I bid you farewell.
Fuck this world,I'll see you in hell.
| 2015-01-17T09:55:19
| 2015-01-17T05:25:17
| 120
| 42
|
[WP] Making a deal with a demon requires a soul. Usually this is a very bad idea, but you got a crazy idea. Earlier you traded your lunch money to the school bully in exchange for a piece of paper that says you own his soul. You're about to find out if demons consider this a valid contract.
|
The demon emerged into the forest clearing, around it was a circle of stones, each marked with the ancient symbols of her master. She looked like a Viking shield maiden, tall, powerfully built covered in leather armour made from the skin of a defeated angel. Then she saw the small boy. He was small for his age, scrawny with a black eye, his shirt was ripped and he was covered in dirt. Too weak and pathetic looking to even be considered the runt of the litter, how he had survived this far she couldn't guess.
"Why did you summon me child" she asked, her voice quiet but with an undercurrent of strength.
"I want to make a deal, I have a soul to trade" he said
" Your soul would not be worth much to master, he wants the strong, the violent, the best warriors for the battle"
"I know that" he said, his eyes twinkling with a look of intelligence and revenge "It's not MY soul I'm trading, it's Marks soul, he's the bully at school, he picks on everyone."
"I see, and how do you have HIS soul to trade, souls are a valuable commodity, especially the good ones"
"He sold it to me, I gave him a week's worth of lunch money and he signed it over, said it was easier than beating me up all week"
He showed her the contract, torn from the back of his shirt, written in marker pen and signed with a drop of blood. She was impressed with his work, although a little scrappy, he had covered the basics and obtained the blood to seal the agreement.
"This will work, what do you want in exchange?"
"I want protection" he said "protection from all the bullies, Mark, my step dad, anyone, I want to be able to live my life without worrying about getting beaten up or taken advantage of, I need a protector to stand by me, I have big plans but I can't achieve them when I'm constantly looking over my shoulder"
She looked at this scrawny child closer than before, there was something about him, although weak he had determination and intelligence, he could be a good contact in the human realm when he matured.
" I will make this deal with you, I'll assign you a lesser demon to be your companion, he will be your best friend and match your age, growing with you. He will be more than capable of protecting you from anyone or anything you will encounter, and able to reach me should you wish to make another trade"
"Deal" he said as he watched a new shape take form, slowly changing into a boy his age. He started thinking of his plans for the future, and wondered how much he could trade others souls for. In this age of information, social media, and the need for instant gratification, this age where some deemed the need for good WiFi signal more important than clean water and the ways of religion were forgotten by the masses, this age of debt and easily obtained vices, how much would a scribble of paper and a drop of blood cost him? How long could his alcoholic step dad go without a good drink, and what would he do for a bottle of the good stuff. All these plans started taking shape in his mind and for the first time, he felt happy.
|
CW: transphobia
The demon coiled around me, it was warm and felt wet. It's black tongue invaded my ear for a moment before it spoje
"What is it that you wish for, my boy?" I flinched at the words, though they sounded sicky sweet, but the words themselves threatened to vote me out. "You called me competently and I'm obligated to listen to any contact you purpose, boy. Do you wish to be stronger, more manly?"
"I," my voice caught in my throat and I had to swallow it away to speak again. "I have a soul and a wish, though the soul isn't my own."
"Not your own soul? Tell me, how did you manage to get another soul?"
"I traded my lunch for it. "
"Clever boy," the words creeped up my spine in a rather unpleasant way. "I see your contact in your pocket, boy, give it here so I might verify it." The note was crumpled a bit and the demon looked pleased as it saw what was written. "My my, you got everything nessesary, even a drop off blood, good boy. I will accept this soul and contact for your wish. So tell me, what is it you desire, all the money you can fold, enough women to never be lonely, power to change the world?"
"I. . . " I had practiced for today, but my words still can't it with much effort, "I want to be a girl. I wish I was a girl! To be born a girl instead of this disgusting body. I was never meant to be a boy, it has brought me nothing but pain, I want to be a girl."
The coiled demon froze, before staring me in the eyes. "It's that really what you wish for, boy?" The question felt like a slap to the face. "Don't you know how terrible it is to be a girl? How hard you have to work, how you give up your right to your body? Wouldn't you rather be a man who takes what he wants? A man who isn't an object for other people?"
"Fuck you! How could I want to stay in this horrid skin I was born into? The skin burns me to my very soul, it tortures me! I look into the mirror every morning and I would rather be dead! I hate living like this I want to be happy, I want to live like me dreams, a pretty girl who feels ok in her body. I want to be me. . ."
"I see. . . Alright, 'girl,' I'll grant you your wish, but remember that I warned you." Tears were streaming down my face, these demons really were the worst. They put on such a sicky sweet front, but they were rotten all the way down.
The demon combusted in fire and clung to me as it burned away who I was leaving me with a new body. The demon uncoiled itself from around me to look at it's work, it sneered.
"It is done, 'girl,' you were born a girl, everyone remembers you as a girl, but you alone will retain your previous memories, you will not get new ones from me. I hope you get whatever sick pleasure you wanted from this."
"Get the fuck out, if I see you again, we will both find out if you can get sulfuric acid blessed. Wait, give me your name, I don't want any other tranfolk to suffer from you."
"My name is Modius," and it with the contract sealed, it sank back to its hell. I fell to the floor, what a painful experience that was, but it worked, my clothes has changed, my body has as well, my face was clear and smooth and for the first time, I felt like I was in the right body. I wondered for a moment if I could take revenge on my bully, make him fall in love with me and then ghost him. Nah, it was a brand new life and a brand new me, this body was finally mine and looking towards the future, I finally felt hope.
| 2021-03-27T01:33:15
| 2021-03-26T23:30:05
| 126
| 34
|
[WP] After the discovery of magic, traditional firearms have fallen out of fashion and are banned worldwide. You are the last gunslinger, dedicated to preserving the ways of the gun.
|
My grandfather used to say that when we stopped using guns, we lost touch with the world.
He was the one who taught me to shoot, way back when I was a child and all of my friends were learning to launch their first fireball or icicle. The first key to life that he taught me was that preparation is key. Magic requires no thought or effort: it is simply instant power at your fingertips. The gun must be cleaned and cared for and guarded to maintain it in pristine condition. One must always be mindful of the future and predict what may come. So we'd spend hours at his cabin to build the perfect fire, to melt down the lead, to carefully pour the molten metal into the molds, and to clean and grease the guns.
He'd take me deep out into the woods and we'd sit together in the deer blind for hours. Just like in hunting, patience is a way of life for those who still wield the gun. You have no idea how hard it is for a 9 year old to focus and concentrate like that, but grandfather made me persevere. He never let me take the easy way out, like using an illusion spell to lure our prey in or using a detect life spell to instantly find the deer. We did things the old way.
With magic, there is no need for care or moderation. Why would you bother when you can just spray fire everywhere and burn away any threat? Or vanish into a puff of smoke, reappearing safely miles away? But when using a gun, it requires deliberation. Without aim or concentration, you may as well not use any weapon at all. While hunting with grandfather, I would line up my shots with pinpoint accuracy. But he also taught me that swiftness and timing can be just as important; if you wait *too* long, you could lose your prey. One must know exactly when to strike, and have the skills to do it.
Grandfather was killed, breaking up a barfight of all things. Some damned fool had a few too many whiskeys and let his temper get the best of him. See, the thing about magic is that it can make you feel *invincible*, and infinitely more likely to try to fight your way out of a situation where a vulnerable man wouldn't dare. This drunk got all offended over some comment, and decided to strike up a lightning storm right there in the bar. And grandfather, being the man that he was, decided to try to calm the other man down. His attempt at diplomacy was rewarded with a million joules of pure energy turning his insides to ash. And for a long time, I questioned him in my mind: grandfather, why didn't you simply strike the man down yourself? Even with his arthritic old joints, grandfather could whip out his old Colt in the blink of an eye. And that is how he taught me the last lesson of the way of the gun: violence must always be your last recourse, even if it is the easiest way.
I've tried to live my life as grandfather taught me. I feel the weight of the holster hanging by my hip, and it speaks to me like his voice. Even as the world moved on and magic has come to dominate our lives, I have kept my roots in the earth. And in my years as a gunslinger, no mage has ever been able to best me. Because I finally realized that it is not the gun itself that matters, but the skills and discipline that the way of the gun requires. And there's no spell powerful enough to compensate for weakness of character.
----
If you enjoyed this, you should also subscribe to my subreddit, /r/Luna_Lovewell!
|
The curator stood at the doors of the museum and regarded the man walking up to him. A severe looking man, sharply dressed, but not ostentatiously so.
"Welcome inspector. I've already set out of of the paperwork. I'm certain you'll find that it's all in order."
"I'm sure it is. But that's not why I'm here."
"What is it then?"
"It's not a matter this time of whether or not this museum has the permits to continue to hold it's collection...it's whether they should. The board has asked me conduct an inspection, and make a recommendation of whether you should be allowed to continue to do so, or whether the items here should be destroyed, or sent to more...suitable...locations."
"Ah, ones that conform to a more...traditional...narrative."
The inspector shifted, and looked almost uncomfortable.
"Between us, there does seem to be some...concern there. There was a feeling in the beginning that preserving these historical artifacts would serve as a reminder of how far we've come, and how much better the world is now that such weapons are no longer permitted."
"Not as a suggestion of how far we've fallen."
"Just so."
"Well, come on in then. The best I can do is show you, you can tell them whatever you want."
The inspector walked behind the curator, through the halls of the museum. The walls contained rack after rack of firearms, categorized by use. "Hunting", "Sport", "Warfare".
"I notice little difference between these collections" the inspector observed.
"Very astute. Yesterdays weapons of war became today's hunting rifle becomes tomorrows collector's item."
"Well, so far, this all seems entirely historical and appropriate, but I'm told there are other more...controversial...collections here."
"Just so, and that's where we're headed. Don't worry inspector, it's not my intention to just show you what I think will be most pleasing to your board. I know why you're here."
They walked further, and turned a corner to a stairwell marked "Employees Only".
"We haven't seen all the displays yet."
"I'm not taking you to see a display. I don't want you to *see*, I want you to *understand*...to do that, I want you to do more than just look through a glass case. Don't worry, what you're here to see is down here.
The inspector shrugged. "Lead the way."
As they walked down the stairwell, the curator continued.
"In the era where these were prevalent, there was much concern that they made killing too impersonal, too impulsive. Point it at somebody, flip a switch, and the person dies...back then, there was a lot of truth to that. Prior to that, it was mostly edged and blunted weapons...but today..."
They reached the bottom, and the curator opened the door in to a room full of tables, with rows of shelves lining the walls. On the far end a mannequin was set in front of a pile of sandbags. Set on the closest table was a handgun next to a small cardboard box.
The curator continued. "Today...today killing is different." He walked to the table.
"This...this gun is for killing. It's too inaccurate for sport, too under powered for hunting, and too unreliable for any military or police force to have even considered it for a sidearm. Even for an honest person concerned only for their personal defense, it was a poor choice unless they were in desperate need and had no means for something better."
"And why do you have it?"
"Because of exactly that. Here, take it." The curator picked up the gun and held it out to the inspector. When the inspector took hold of it, his hand drooped a little from the weight."
"Heavy, isn't it...nothing like a wand. Fitting in a way, that the physical weight reflects the moral weight. And remember, that's all this particular device does. You don't use it to heal wounds, to make dinner, to plant a garden. All it does is kill. Tell me inspector, have you ever killed anyone."
The inspector lowered his eyes..."Yes".
"Tell me."
"It was a hostage situation. The man had a powerful spell blocking physical access...we could have broken it, but we didn't have time. But he'd used most of his power on that, and his barrier could be broken by powerful magic..."
"Like the right killing spell..."
"Like the right killing spell."
"Did you ever see the man you killed."
"After he died, yes."
"But before?"
"No. I had a picture, and given the magic he was spilling out, it was enough. I went to the back of one of our vans, focused my magic, and said the words."
"And he died."
"And he died." The inspector said.
"Did you use your wand?" asked the curator.
"Yes."
"Little flick of the wrist at the end? Like any other spell?"
"Yes."
"With that...you have to look at who you kill. Maybe not in the eyes, but you have to be close if you expect to hit him. With some of the others, you could be quite far away, but you have to look. You have to see the person, and the further away you are...the harder you have to look...not like today. A picture, a lock of hair, and you can do it from the comfort of your own dark bedroom with a flick of your wrist."
The curator picked up the cardboard box and opened it. He pulled two small cylinders from the box. Flat and golden at one end, dull grey and curved to a dome at the other. He held out his hand to the inspector, and when the inspector handed him back the gun, he removed something from the handle of the gun, and slipped the cylinders in to it. The he placed it back into the handle, and did something to the top of the gun, moving it back with a clacking sound that echoed through the room. He handed the gun back to the inspector, and pointed at the mannequin.
"Kill him."
The inspector was incredulous.
"There is a notch on top of the gun at the rear, and a post at the front, line them up on the center of the mannequin, and pull the trigger. Then you'll understand."
The inspector paused for a moment, then did as he was told. The sound was deafening. The inspector dropped the gun and held his hands to his ears. The curator gave him a moment, then flicked his wand. The ringing stopped.
"Did you feel it? The weight? The way the trigger resisted your touch? Did you *see*...the truth is, while more impersonal than the knife or sword, it's infinitely more personal than the wand. You can't just wish somebody dead with a gun. You have to carry that weight on your body, take it to them, and *look* at them while you do it. You have to hear that sound as you do it. And you have to see their broken body before you. They'd have us believe that we're so much more civilized now than when we used these, so much more advanced...even with a murder rate a thousand times what it ever was then."
The inspector bent down and picked up the gun with a shaking hand.
"This is...this is exactly what they're afraid of."
"Then they're going to revoke my museum's charter? Destroy these?"
"Yes...but...more than that. Things are bad enough already...we can't...we can't confirm what so many suspect...magic...we have no more disease, we have no more hunger...it has to be better now."
"Is it though?"
"It has to be, we can't go back. We can't go back to poverty, starvation, illness"
"And the wars, the killings...wholesale destruction with a few words and a little twitch of the wrist?"
"We can't go back. Magic is here to stay...but we can't have people thinking...it would only make things worse."
"So you're here to destroy more than my museum."
"Not here, per se." Said the inspector, not meeting his eyes.
"Ah, so like it is now. Go back, make your report, then somebody says the words, and I die quietly in my bed?"
"Most likely."
"Do you think I need to die?"
"It's not about what I think...it's about what has to be."
"I figured as much...that's why I put two rounds in the gun. Would you at least have enough respect to look at me while you do it?"
The inspector nodded, and raised the pistol. "I'm sorry."
"I'm not the first man you've killed. I won't be the last. At least now you'll understand what it is that you're doing."
A few minutes later, the inspector emerged from the building. His ears hurt, and the ringing was so loud he could barely hear his own thoughts. He could have stopped it with a flick of his wand. But he didn't.
| 2016-07-11T18:39:59
| 2016-07-11T18:04:03
| 368
| 153
|
[WP] Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious.
Holy shit this blew up!
I now understand "RIP my inbox"
EDIT: u/Alpacasaurus_Rekt told me it's actually "Cryonic Freezing"
EDIT 2: To anyone who is trying to say, "scientists would not put them in for 500 years immediately" I would like you to know this is a fictitious writing prompt and just roll with it.
|
Elení is dancing in the middle of the palace. Her bare feet make fast little steps on the mosaic floor. Oh, the hours I spent making up all the patterns of grey, red and black stones. So delicate. Elení loved it the first time I brought her here. And she still does. The rhythm of the patter of her feet makes a nice soft echo in the large chamber. Her red dress swirls around her flapping and waving so gracefully.
I wake up from and odd sensation.
It is a sort of tickling feeling in my abdomen. I sit up in my bed and try to determine what it is that makes my stomach feel this odd.
I realise I need to open my eyes. The faint light in the room feels uncomfortable and stings my eyes a little. I reach with my hands for my stomach. My arms feel so slow and heavy.
I do not know what to look for in my stomach. The skin is fine, and there is nothing on there that could be tickling me. I feel so weird and unfamiliar with my own body. I miss the effortless way I moved around with for five hundred years. The floating, the flying, and when Elení could persuade me the dancing.
I look up because I hear something, and see John walk in my room.
"Good morning Stephan. Did you sleep well?"
I don't really know how to answer him.
"I suppose."
"I had a hard time adjusting as well. I remember that I had wet my bed the first night." He says with a chuckle.
John was woken up a few months before me. He has adjusted just fine in the future. He speaks the odd language of the people here. Some words sound familiar, but I cannot make sense of it. John is my interpreter.
"We should get you to the toilet, and after that you should get some breakfast." And John helps me get up, and escorts me to the room to do my business.
Over breakfast I ask him if he ever misses it.
"I miss the food most, actually." He says as he eats a few of the seeds and nuts provided to us.
"I mean bacon, eggs, a nice grilled cheese sandwich. Oh, and chocolate. A Mars bar. Hmmm..."
"No, I mean being frozen. Do you ever miss being frozen?"
He looks at me confused.
"Just the serenity, no bodily discomforts, no loud noises."
"Do you mean you... you were awake?" His face turns pale.
"You were not?" I ask him.
I feel lightheaded.
"No! It was just like going into surgery. One minute I was in the tank, the next I was woken up into a brand new world. I mean, that was just as planned. But, what happened to you then?"
I tell about the panic I felt the moment I realised that I was still awake. And how I had gone trough a whole lot of emotions and memories, regrets about my life, and I had panic attacks.
And how I had begun to accept my fate, and how I came up with Elení, and the life I had with her. The worlds I had fantasised, the buildings I had built in my head, the journeys I had taken Elení on.
When I stop talking I realise John is staring at me in awe.
He just sits there motionless.
I fabricate a nervous little laugh.
"Jesus..." He whispers.
"I know." I say.
As I reach for a handful of nuts.
|
Pure silence. A quiet more soundless than the empty page of an armless writer with nothing to say. A defending nothingness, in all directions, from this space here to the end of time.
*THUNDER*
A crack explodes in to existence. Cutting itself in to this world mercilessly. The violence roars in a mounting creshendo. Building somehow, impossibly louder, shaking the chamber. The metal rings, the glasses rumbles, the hardware, tubes, water, ice, all separate infinitely. The ground ripples in waves, vibrating through the walls. I feel no pain, but my mind is pulled so hard in every direction it fills all of the space allowed to it. I hate the sound. It sears though my being like lava boiling me alive.
Click.
I feel it all slow. The savage rush that filled my brain eats at my hope for relief. Every hiding spot illuminated. Every sanctuary demolished. The trail of destruction appears and the sounds trails off. In perfect contrast of the beginning, the end seems to revel in passing through. Like an endless army, slowly marching out of a demolished city. Bootsteps of destruction fading into the horizon.
The panic does not leave me. I left with every cell in my body clutching itself. For comfort? Or are they tying to rip themselves apart. Can it be both? My brain is hyperventalating. I can still hear it, barely, it is faint. Maybe I can still feel the sound. Can't it. How long has it been? Yes I think I can still hear it. Very soft, yes. It is getting quieter, for sure. I wonder when it will end. I try ro picl up the pieces of my mind.How far has it gone. The room seems to be still. Ah, the room. It looks much better still. My chamber too, is more comfortable still. The puzzle of myself slowly comes back together. What an ordeal that was. I feel my brain dust itself off. It wants to look at the devastation.
Only, there is none. The room is clean. The floor solid white, no cracks. No breaks on the walls. Fluorescent white in every inch. Except right in front of me, brown. A Michelangelo alone in a world of blank. A spec of glistening brown... It's a reflection. That's.. That's my eye. Glass?
My brain has seen enough, on to the arms, move this glass. Nothing... What is going on here... The puzzle clicks another piece. I've been here before. I've thought that before. And thste. And this. That wasn't a dream?
"Of course that wasn't a dream!"
"Who was that?"
"Me"
"Who are you? Where are you?"
"Great now he's scared!"
"Hahaha! Good we'll get a show this time!"
"Who are you people!? Why can I hear you!? "
"Hey how can you talk with you mouth closed?"
"Great, now you've done it... "
"WHO ARE Y-"
"YOU"
"You"
"You"
"You idiot"
"We're you honey"
"Welcome back."
"YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! IF YOU HADN'T BEEN SUCH A WASTE OF A LIFE YOU WOULDN'T HAVE CHOSEN THIS!
"Jesus, someone put him back, this was going better than nor-"
"FUCK, IF ITS GOING TO SHIT ITS YOUR FAULT. MAYBE IF HE HAD MORE OF ME BEFORE THIS WE WOULDNT BE HERE! "
"Ignore him, he will mellow out, remember 15?
"Great idea, 15 will bring him aroud, this one could use-"
"Please... I.. I.. I can't.. "
"No, that's why we're here. Welcome home, buttercut."
"47, please start. I have places to be."
"Meet you from 30 years ago."
"Hey, it gets better, I'll show you some cool memories later. "
"That's you from 89 years ago there."
"Hey, sweetie, your doing great."
"I'm about 47, and the big guy there is 3 now."
"Usually we keep the young ones isolated until they aren't as volitile. That last tick must have really shaken things up."
"Yeah you had been meditating for months, almost get a new record!"
"You slipped at the end. You got too close to the quiet."
"It felt so good... "
"Felt good? Was it worth it? Youre not supposed to feel, youre supposed to be empty! Just be!"
"Let it go, you did the same thing.
"That was years ago, I thought he would have, I would have learned. Ahhh Fuck, FUCK FUCK! HOW LONG WAS THAT ONE?
"Probably years"
"499, probably"
"Seconds, maybe"
He joked, he sat in his mind with all of the puppets on his hands. Each one wearing a handful of their own puppets. Every axon and neuron and fiber of his being had created a toy to play with by now. He know every stich, every bolt, every smutty memory or fabrication. So many characters and stories he had long ago lost track of meaning of fables and every happily ever after played a lifetime of monotony that never ended, only began new stories. He wept, he laughed at himself, he fell asleep. Slumber remind him of alarms and he looked at the wall. The second hand of the clock would strike again at any moment. He stopped counting hundreds of years ago, or thousands, or yesterday. But he could enjoy the quiet for now.
The voices had muted and he savored the silence.
Pure silence.
| 2017-12-17T05:02:25
| 2017-12-17T02:36:12
| 16
| 11
|
[WP] You are a World of Warcraft character Hero. You wake up on Patch day to find you have been nerfed.
|
Coming back to has always been interesting. When my god 'checks out' I do too. I go to sleep in a black void. Waking up is weird because they never properly get my position right. Im always a few feet off from where I was and it's very disorienting.
But today is weirder. I came to, expecting another quest, more abilities, and more power. I expected my magic to get stronger. But it disappeared. My sword, my magic, all my weapons and abilities gone.
The only thing left in my bag was a small multicolored 'thing'. I checked it for runes or writing, thinking it must be a weapon. All I saw on the side was 'Nerf N-Strike Elite'.
|
I blinked, and the creature in front of me I was about to hurl a blast of fire at disappeared from my vision. I sighed and let the magic return to the twisting nether. The Gods that created this world instituted natural laws that cause the world around its people to return to a set state, and at times this can happen without warning. Usually it occurs at a time when we are resting, but people who are awake at the time witness nothing but a 'shift' in the world around them.
Well, new creatures to fight should be nearby..crawling out of their den's readying weapons. I spotted a bear lumber out of its cave...ah, the godmessage in the sky above me says that rewards are gained from slaying the bears who have grown numerous lately. I summon a voidwalker from the depths and send it to distract the beast, then I collect a large ball of green fire and chaos in my right palm, and hurl it at the creature, heedless for my pets safety. My left hand already moving in the motions needed to heat the blood inside the creatures veins and follow up with a blast of fi....what?
Instead of the expected stream of smoke leaking from its blacked flesh, it simply seems to shrug off the heat and swipes of its paw takes great gouges out of my pets constructed matter. I attempt to summon more chaotic energies, only to find my supply diminished...Surely I had enough collected souls to power the spell...yet as i glance at my belt, the diamonds which previously held 5 souls, only showed one small figure struggling to escape the gemstone. Before the world change, A Chaotic bolt only used a single soul, now it drained four???
I return my attention to the fight, surprise put aside for now. My pet struggles near death, and i send a link of my life to join with the pet, healing the rents in its matter, and draining my own health in the process. I send a Conflaguration of fire at the beast, and see my soul gems harvest a soul from the either, then another. Eventually I collect enough souls to hurl another chaos bolt at the beast, and it falls dead. I sigh, and pull out my hearthstone. I will need to experiment to see what exactly the gods have done to my power. I have to hope that with this weakening of power to one aspect that a different one has gotten stronger, but that is by far not always the case.
I appear in the tavern, and as I begin the walk to the training grounds, already I hear from the gossipmongers that the annoying mages are noticing a massive increase in damage done by their fire spells. Surely that makes no sense....I am a Warlock of the Ebon order....I have surpassed the class of 'mage', My fire is infused with the power of the demons...how can it have been weakened while the mages increased? This is not the first time the gods have made very poor design decisions....I'm not looking forward to the upcoming Raid with my guild on the Nighthold if i cannot properly contribute to the fight.
| 2016-12-06T08:49:04
| 2016-12-06T07:25:19
| 29
| 20
|
[WP]Four years ago, your dog and best friend disappeared. Today, your dog appears at your doorstep. You dog says, "I have been many places and seen many things, human. Its time we had a chat."
"you" dog heh
|
As I sat and began to listen, Pete "Gilby Clarke" Martin told me wonderful, incredible, unfortunate, and unbelievable things about where he had been since running away a few years before. As our time came to a close, he asked for a drink of water. When I returned from the kitchen, however, he was gone, in his place a giant, steaming turd.
"Goddamit Pete."
|
**EDIT: BEFORE YOU READ THIS I COMPLETELY FORGOT TO INCLUDE THE BEST FRIEND.** I was writing whilst preparing my kids dinner. I'm sorry to the OP. I will still submit this and allow the downvotes to be a reminder that I need to pay attention at all times.
So naturally, I obliged.
'Where shall we do this, should we sit?' I stumbled on my tongue. I didn't want to offend him with the cheap tricks we once did. Sit. Stay. Play dead. It all seemed irrelevant now that I was face to face with a talking, conscious dog.
'It's fine Phillip, don't be nervous, please, over here, under this tree is perfect.' Doug's voice was so soothing, it was nothing like I imagined a dog would talk, it was like silk chocolate milk. I followed Doug from my front door, down my porch steps and under the tree my grandfather had planted in my front lawn, back when it was his front lawn. We sat. Doug looked around and inhaled the sweet summer air.
'By my bark, I've missed this place... And you Phillip, I've missed you. You look healthy.'
'Thanks Doug, you, umm, you look great, it's been a long time. Where have you been.' Doug swallowed and relaxed in the grass.
'Four years, to this day exactly, Phillip, tell me, do you remember the last thing you said to me?'
I tried to think, I honestly couldn't remember. One day I woke up and Doug was gone. I thought it was my fault, I'd always blamed myself for leaving the backdoor open.
'I'm sorry, I don't remember...'
'That's okay, I understand the minds of men better than I ever thought I would now, I understand the struggle of just surviving, working, paying bills, mating. I've travelled Phil, I've travelled till my paws have bled, then I travelled more. I needed to understand the world of men. I slowly learnt your words, your ways... Your desires... Your hatred.'
Doug's voice fell deep with sadness, I felt weak as I noticed a sadness in his eyes.
'Oh Douggy, what's happened to you, who hurt you?' I needed to know.
'Everyone, I searched and searched for an answer to your question but I've come back to tell you Phillip. There is no good boy. Not in this world.'
Then suddenly I remembered, I had come out of the shower, gotten ready for bed and went to the kitchen for a drink to take my pills with and I saw Doug in his bed. I knelt down, patted his head and said...
'Who's a good boy? I remember now, that's what I said the last time I saw you.'
'That's right Phillip, I tried and I tried to find out for you, to find you a true and honest friend. A good boy that you deserved. You were so good to me but I know I wasn't enough, you would always ask me 'Who's a good boy?' I didn't know then and I'm so sorry to tell you... I don't know now.' Doug stopped making eye contact with me. The sadness grew and grew in those deep brown eyes. Then I felt it growing in me too, tears began to fall down both our faces.
'Doug you fool! It was you! It was always you!' I tackled Doug with a passion I hadn't felt in the longest time. Doug pulled out of my embrace, confused.
'I... I'm a good boy? Me?' Doug stammered, with his voice cracking.
'Of course it's you, you are the loyalist, greatest friend I could have ever asked for.' Doug's tail began to wag, a little at first as it all sank in, then violently as he became overjoyed. He pounced on me like a puppy, we rolled around making up for lost time. The only person I'd ever needed was back in my life.
'Oh Phillip, this is the greatest day ever, so much time wasted, so much we have to catch up on, fetch, walks, chess... Oh I can play chess now.'
'That's fantastic! You're right, this truly is the greatest day ever... Doug... Who's a good boy?'
'Oh, oh I know, I know, it's me.'
| 2017-03-31T10:59:29
| 2017-03-31T10:02:08
| 45
| 16
|
[WP] Legends tell of the Elder race who utilized strange "technologies" instead of magic. As hordes of brutal killers invade from the north, a young elf heads off to search for ancient ruins, looking for humans...
|
Enrir raced across the snow-covered wilderness, leaping deftly over slick rocks and the small brush that dotted the landscape. His commanding officer had told him that his stride was like that of a gazelle, and as Enrir's legs stretched and propelled him smoothly closer and closer to his target, he was beginning to believe him. But there was no time for pride.
Enrir had been given a mission of upmost importance. The war with the Orcs had reached a standstill, but scouts had reported a new army forming just beyond the northern border. One whose weapons and numbers would easily lay waste to the Elven Federation.
Once a simple territorial dispute, the Elven-Orcish war had escalated past the point of no return. It was now to go until total victory; if necessary, to the extinction of the other race. Until this point, the Elves had kept the Orc armies at bay with their supreme knowledge of magic. Their healing and rejuvenation spells had enabled their warriors to fight for hours or even days. The destruction spells allowed them to rain fire from the sky onto the Orc hordes. But the Orcs had a fortitude unmatched by any other creature in the Sgorvën lands. Their armies were merciless, tearing through Eleven villages like a torrenting river breaking forth from a dam. The Elven magic and soldiers could take out only so much. If the new Orc army was even half the size reported, it could spell the end of the war; and possibly, the end of the Elves.
The Elves knew that it was not in their power to vanquish the Orcs. Therefore, a new power would need to be acquired, one wielded by the Ancient Humans. The humans were revered in Elven Lore and often given the credit for the magic that they so proficiently wielded. Legends told of a weapon so terrible and so powerful, it could wipe out entire nations within minutes. The High Elven Council had deemed it necessary to find this weapon. However, intelligence suggested that the only information remaining regarding this weapon lay within a great white building in the ruins of the great human city: Washington, D.C., which lay right on the northern border.
Enrir was a new scout to the Elven Legions. However, he had quickly proven his adept ability by running reconnaissance. Why, in one mission he had outrun an entire Orc platoon without the use of magic! As such, the mission was given to Enrir. He insisted to go by himself, since one Elf would look much less suspicious to the Orc Empire. And if it came down to it, Enrir had no qualms about taking out a few Orcs.
After weeks of travel, Enrir had finally reached the outskirts of D.C. The great *skyscrapers* towered above Enrir as he ran through the *asphalt* streets, now pocked with holes and brush and covered with snow. As he came into the remains of a stone courtyard, he skidded to a halt and tilted his curved ears to the wind. He had heard movement, carried to him by the wind. He pulled his enchanted robes tighter around his waist, and began to move his fingers back and forth, forming an ice spike. He readied himself to throw it, sprinting around the corner of a crumbling building. As he sprang around the building, his eyes met those of a mother deer with two fawns. He lowered his hands, dispelling the ice spike.
"Nerves," Enrir said, cursing. His eyes drifted past the deer, and met great white pillars beyond a rusting black gate. He had found it.
Enrir quickly vaulted the fence, almost catching his robes on the protrusions in his excitement. The doors, which Enrir had been told had once had ushered in some of the greatest Humans of the Technology Age, now leaned against the doorframe, faded and splintering. Enrir slowed his pace, venturing quietly into the building. He looked around. The ceiling now had holes from which dried ivy now hung. Enrir recognized some frames that used to house paintings, but now lay broken on the floor.
He ventured further into the building. He explored several of the smaller rooms. *Desks*, from which Human *politicians* did their work, were now covered in layers of ancient dust. Rusting *file cabinets* were toppled over, their papers spilling out onto the ground. Enrir entered a large, oval-shaped room. He recognized it as the *Oval Office*, which had housed the great leader of the "United States." As Enrir surveyed the chipping walls and peeling carpet, his sharp eyes caught a panel on the wall that seemed to be lifting itself out. He went over to it, touching it slightly. He jumped as the panel fell to the floor, seemingly of its own accord. Beyond the panel was a *concrete* staircase, which descended deeper and deeper down. Enrir started down it, making sure to quiet his steps in case it was an Orc trap.
As he reached the bottom, a large iron door met him. In its center was what looked like a wheel. Enrir took hold of it and twisted it this way and that, until it finally started to turn. Enrir spun the wheel, and the door swung open. Enrir stepped into a smaller room. Its walls were completely made of a metallic substance. As Enrir reached out to brush the wall, a cracking voice spoke, "Have you come to kill me?"
Enrir jumped several feet off of the ground. He searched for the voice's source, and found a black chair facing a corner in the room. It slowly spun around, revealing a wisp of a man. His figure was naught but sticks, a white beard trailed to the ground, and the hair on top of his head was completely gone. However, the rusting pin on the man's fading white button-up shirt told Enrir all he needed to know. This man was, or had been, the president of the United States.
---
If you liked this, check out /r/Alias_Fakename
God bless!
|
"Jamarr," I called back, stepping carefully onto the stones that slept in the river, "you have to keep up."
Jamarr grumbled a reply, his Orcish armor clunking loudly behind me. Sometimes, I wondered how he became one of the best thieves in his stronghold. I waited safely on the other side of the stream and watched as he struggled to find his footing against the slippery stone, and then, in a blur of obscenities and less-than-graceful motions, he fell flat on his face into the mountain-chilled water. He met me on the other side and gave me a look that said "don't even bother commenting".
"Why are we hiking out here anyway, Bryn? The humans aren't real. They're a fairy tale, just like the dragons. Oh, and Little Foot." He complained.
I led the way into the Frovian Woods and motioned for him to keep his voice down. If the faeries knew we were here, we'd never leave, but be forced to dance within their beautiful halls until our ankles snapped from exhaustion. I'd heard the stories, and that was all I needed.
I lowered my own voice to below a whisper. "Dragons *are* real, Jam, they're just... not around anymore. And besides, the humans were never a fairy tale, remember? They're a legend, and most legends are true where I come from."
Jam laughed a deep, Orcish laugh, something that I was not used to. The treaty between the Elves and the Orcs broke down long ago, but Jamarr and I met while out hunting. He was six, and had wandered into our territory by mistake. I helped him get back to his family safely, and he gave me a few of his squirrels, which marked the beginning of our friendship.
"Right, because the Elves are just so trustworthy? Come on, Bryn, this is stupid and pointless. Let's just go home before they realize we're gone." He urged, stopping to look over his shoulder. I wanted to go home just as much as he did, but no one else was going to find the humans, and he promised he'd come with me.
"They *are* trustworthy, and no, it's too late to go back. Now keep your voice down or else the faeries will-"
"Find you?" Said a small, yet stern voice. Fear prickled the hairs on my arms as Jam and I both looked down. A blue-tailed squirrel was gazing up at us intently, his little head cocked to the side. Then, the squirrel was gone, and in its place stood a wolf, tall and menacing.
"Are you a shape-shifter?" Jam inquired, taking a small step forward. I glared fire at him, silently willing him to shut his mouth before he got us killed.
The wolf, however, laughed, as well as a wolf could laugh, and flicked his tail back and forth. "A shifter? Ha! Those things are about as real as the humans you're going after. No, Mr. Big-Teeth, I was cursed."
"Cursed?" Jam echoed at the same time that I asked, "Have you been following us?"
The wolf licked his lips almost hungrily. "Maybe. It's not everyday an elf and an orc wander into faerie territory. You know how dangerous it is here? How old are you?"
I cut Jam off before he could utter another word and sighed. "Yes, we know. We just need to find the humans."
"Why would you ever need to come face to face with those vile, destructive creatures?" The wolf pondered, a wolfish smile twisting his lips.
"Because our home is being invaded as we speak, and we need to get the humans' help-"
The wolf shook his head and cut me off. "Yeah, yeah, you want their technology, I figured as much. Well, looks like it's your lucky day, Gold-Skin, because I happen to know a guy who knows a guy that just might be able to help you."
"Really?" I said sarcastically, ignoring the 'Gold-Skin' part. "And you'd help us, just like that?"
"Of course not, you long-eared idiot, I want something in return."
"Oh?"
The wolf looked around for a minute, as though he were making sure that no one else was listening in. Then he turned his silver eyes to mine, dead serious.
"You have to help get this curse off of me."
It seemed too easy of a deal, but the seriousness of his voice was not like the empty promises I've heard back home. I wondered why he was so quick to jump on the opportunity to help two complete strangers that aren't even where they're supposed to be, but if he was truly cursed, then I suppose he had a reason. I looked to Jam, who simply smiled and shrugged, letting the decision fall to me. Sometimes I hated being the decision-maker.
"Fine." I groaned, rolling my eyes, "You have a deal."
| 2017-01-06T16:47:24
| 2017-01-06T16:24:54
| 35
| 12
|
[WP] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.
|
There are those who crave control, like mountain rivers crave the sea. There are those to whom the words "Dungeon Master" resound with tones of Godship and respect, with wish fulfillment. Making knowing, gleeful eye contact with me over the DM screen was just such a person, his carefully parted hair framing a slightly chubby, pale face. He'd heard about me from a player in another of his groups and reached out to me privately.
The glee leeched instantly from his eyes as he turned to watch another player take her seat, her blonde braid tightly plaited, her friendly grin turning slightly smug as she acknowledged the DM's overpolite greeting. Josh, the DM, had a carefully organized plot, a tidy realm that was under attack by this woman, and what he needed right now was a man who reveled in chaos, a demon with utter command of the combat system. One such as myself.
"She's driving me nuts, man!" Josh had said the night before, when we'd met in secret to cook up my character sheet. "Like, I've been planning this campaign for ages and it's supposed to be a hardcore, multiple death campaign. There's supposed to be suspense, a sense of impending DOOM around every corner." He said doom like he was tolling a cathedral bell, and I struggled not to smirk.
"But Debby, this b... girl. She keeps busting through everything like it's nothing! Even when I give up on her and target the other players, she keeps gaming the Sentinel feat to punish me. I mean the monsters, punish the monsters. It's completely ruining the tone of the campaign, she's got an answer to EVERYTHING. I'm pretty sure she had her boyfriend make her character for her or something, it's too strong. You HAVEto kill her."
None of this was a problem, I reassured him. I told him what I needed, and he gave me everything and more. I had higher stats than point buy allowed. Obscure racial bonuses? Check. Non-playtested feats and spells? You bet. And finally, Josh gave me more magical gear than a character of my level should have even heard of in his career, let alone successfully looted. He gave me complete reign over my inventory.
It was a quick, easy encounter at the start of the game session that introduced my character. They rescued me as a prisoner of a band of orcs, you know how it goes. Not sure why Orcs take so many prisoners all the time, when they're usually just trying to kill everything in sight. Then it was time. The party was running low on spells and we had settled down for a Long Rest to recover our strength. Most of the party declared their night time activities, which all involved sleeping and watching out for incoming monsters.
Then Josh looked over to me, a slow grin starting to pull the corners of his lips up. "And you? Is there anything special you want to do during your watch?" He glanced quickly over at Debby then back.
"No. Just look out for danger, then put my pack beside me and go to sleep when it's her turn."
Josh squinted, confused, "Are you sure? It'll be just you awake, for two hours..."
I looked at him and smiled reassuringly, "Yeah, you bet, that's all I need to do."
Josh looked skeptical, but curious as to how I was going to make this work. "So Debby, your watch passes uneventfully after his does and..."
"Wait, wait. During my watch, I check the new guys pack, to learn more about who he is." She leaned her cheek against her fist, grinning at me lazily.
"What? You can't... why...."
"I think she can... I did accidentally put it beside me, I didn't do anything special with it." I handed over my character sheet. "This is all the items that you find in the pack."
"Okay, but that's not..."
"Ah I see..." Debby pointed out something on the character sheet to me, for confirmation. "You really have that in there?" I had to nod. "Okay, I immediately smite him in his sleep with my Glaive. It crits forrrr... 108 damage! Nice!"
Josh was livid at this point, standing up and sputtering, "You're part Paladin, you can't do that just because you see some nice magical items in his bags!"
I was starting to pack away my dice at this point, as my character had just taken much more than enough damage to instantly kill him. Debby triumphantly countered "Oh, of course not. I'm killing him because he has a note in his pack from his employer, instructing him to assassinate me. Signed by some guy with the initials D.M."
I love a well crafted plot. But when a good gaming group has a misogynist tightwad, trampling on everyone's fun... well my good friend Debby made excellent use of all her new magic items for the couple of sessions before the DM flipped the table. And in my new campaign, chaos reigns supreme.
|
I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
- [/r/dnd] [Is it me or does this just sound like a great idea?](https://www.reddit.com/r/DnD/comments/aiil4d/is_it_me_or_does_this_just_sound_like_a_great_idea/)
- [/r/rpg_brasil] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpg_brasil/comments/ain5cr/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
- [/r/rpghorrorstories] [Doesn‘t really belong heree, but maybe you like it](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpghorrorstories/comments/ail8us/doesnt_really_belong_heree_but_maybe_you_like_it/)
- [/r/rpghorrorstories] [So this is a writing prompt they're not real stories but I think this is something we have wished we could do to some of our problem players XD](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpghorrorstories/comments/amgzxr/so_this_is_a_writing_prompt_theyre_not_real/)
- [/r/u_beardsonfire] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_BeardsOnFire/comments/aijsdd/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
- [/r/u_personusername] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_PersonUsername/comments/aiiiy8/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
- [/r/u_soullessgent] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_soullessgent/comments/aij46a/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
 *^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))*
| 2019-01-21T20:47:56
| 2019-01-21T19:09:12
| 63
| 16
|
[WP] You are in hell and your dog keeps breaking out of heaven to be with you. The demons and angels have no idea what to do.
|
Hell isn't all that bad; it's definitely better than people make it out to be on the other side.
For most people, it's the loneliness that gets them. Hell is just so vast and empty most of the time, and even when you can see someone on the distance, they never seem to get any closer. Your voice thins out and turns to dust in hell's chaotic winds. I miss voices. I miss real, human voices. I can almost remember what the sound of laughter was like; I can feel what it felt like to hear a good laugh. I just can't remember the sound.
Maybe that's the true torture of hell, being haunted by transient specters of the joy you once knew. The fire isn't much fun either, but you get used to that. Honestly, the fire is better for keeping things out than for tormenting the usual residence. Occasionally, the anguished screams of the recently deceased with rip through the air, but eventually the burning becomes more of a mild, chronic irritation than anything.
My first day was jarring, but it wasn't a surprise. I didn't believe in hell or God or whatever, but it doesn't matter if you do or don't. None of the religions (that I had heard) got everything exactly right, but I'm not really allowed to talk about that at length. Basically, if you are supposed to go downstairs, you will wind up downstairs. It's just how things are. Try not to stress about it too much.
By and large, our days are spent wandering through smoldering ash and toxic marshes of steaming who-knows-what. Some of us have special assignments. Heck, some of us even get to leave for short stints. I'm hiding though, running from something. Every day is another game of existential hide and seek for me.
Every day (if days were a thing here), I try to hide, and every day I fail. I see him first as a cloud of steam in the distance. He picks up speed, and I run. I don't know why I run. He always catches me, but I still run. When he gets close enough, I scream for him to leave.
"Go back!" Every syllable hits the air just beyond my mouth and disappears.
He pursues until the last bit of moisture sizzles from his fur.
Then he starts to burn. His gait slows once he catches up to me, and he drops to the broken shale below his paws in exhaustion. Every time.
Every time I kneel by him, because he doesn't understand. He's just a dog. He's trying to save me, just like in the river. The dumb son of a bitch didn't know he was going to die too. He jumped in and got sucked under before my own head was pulled below the rapids. His fur burns like pine needles, and I don't know if it hurts him.
"You have to go back," I whisper, "You can't keep coming here."
I scratch behind his ears like he likes. His breaths are heavy and uneven.
I don't know how he gets out or how he gets in. He's clever like that, always has been. Too clever for his own good, because he is dumb as a sack of rocks. He's a good dog. I hate to see him like that, but at the same time in a dark, selfish corner of my damned soul, I want him to find me.
His head is always the last thing to go. He's burnt down to the bones, still resting easy on the searing brimstone. The charred pieces of him turn into silver glitter that floats up above our heads and into the storms above. The clouds eat it up, and I have no earthly idea what happens to those pieces after that. Maybe they reform. Maybe he just pops back into existence up there. Maybe no one even knows when he is gone.
Eventually, he is nothing but that glimmering ash. His collar drops to my lap, and the dog tags jingle against each other. I can't hear them, but I can almost remember what it sounds like.
|
The dog door swung open. A dog's head appeared, sniffing the air. Then, two more followed. Their googly eyes took in the whole house.
"Derp, derp, derp!". Each mouth barked in joy, seeing me, their owner. [I stopped rinsing my burned fingers in the kitchen sink](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/d1jhz6/wp_you_have_made_a_large_ouija_board_on_the_floor/ezmr8zo/).
Cerberus jumped up and down for joy. He circled around the kitchen, then started for the living room, hoping to sit beside the fireplace like we once did. He yelped and turned around as he saw the Roomba and cowered behind my legs. I patted him on the center head.
"Intimidating, eh, boy?"
"Derp!" The middle head was in agreement, but the other two looked frightened.
"Lucy, Honey, breakfast is ready!"
My wife came down the stairs. I looked appreciatively at her shoes. It was Prada, of course.
"Oh sweetie, you made pancakes -- ?" She stopped short, cold, seeing Cerberus.
"_What is this dog doing here?!_" She whispered.
Just then, Alexa intoned: "Incoming call from Cowhead!".
"Accept call on speakerphone". She sighed. A call from her lieutenant in the morning only meant trouble at the office.
"Happy Mooooooooooooonday!" Cowhead was unusually cheerful, which was a sign something was seriously wrong.
"**Ok cut it out!**" The temperature in the room got hotter. I looked at my wife amorously. It was always so sexy when she used _the voice_.
"There are some angels here demanding Cerberus to be returned to them."
They're on to us, I mouthed to her.
No shit! she mouthed back.
"Try to stall them. Pursuant to section 666 of our treaty we have 24 hour to return any ...possession... which dropped out of Heaven for a while".
"They're not very happy, M'am. They need the dog to put the fear of hell into people on Earth". I scratched the ears of Cerberus' left head while patting the right, then changing the motions on each hand. It was a trick I've managed, a difficult one like rubbing my tummy and patting my head, since getting here 5 centuries ago. Cerberus was really a good dog that belonged to Lucy but after she was unfairly treated during the negotiation treaty we had to cede Cerberus to Heaven's PR department for their propaganda.
"And the other demons, they don't like it very much when the angels come by. All the angels do is complain all day about how warm it is, it's really grating."
"You and Horseface stall them a little, capiche?" My wife was just so hot when she ordered people around. "Tell them we'll give Cerberus back in time. Oh, by the way, how did he break out this time?"
There was a quiet but telling pause. "He ate the gates of Heaven. And then ours. The captive souls are running free".
"**WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THAT IN THE FIRST PLACE!!!**" Hell shook as my wife screamed.
| 2019-09-09T07:16:08
| 2019-09-09T06:52:57
| 107
| 43
|
[WP] Your son asked you "dad are clouds candy?" You told him they were water. Then he asked "dad, what are Earth's defense systems. Then you remembered you don't have a son, and then he asked again, his eyes now obsidian black. "what is the defense system father."
|
“What is the defense system, Father?”
I got on my knees and looked at the fake child straight in his eyes as if he was my own scared son. “The Earth is protected. You remember that documentary series I showed you, you know, the one about The Doctor.”
In a flash of gray light I was jolted back into my seat in the Oval Office. It took me a moment to get my bearings but the moment I did I rushed to the window. Never have I seen anyone flee so fast.
“Well, that’s one lie that won’t cost me my reelection.”
|
"Www...Wait I don't even." I managed to mumble in confusion. This little creature was watching me with its strange alien eyes. It's weirdly formed hand pressed against the glass, the fingers almost octopus like sucking to the flat cold surface. One, two ... only three of them. It's eyes examining me meticulously.
"You're not my son," I told to myself more than to it, "In fact I don't even have kids."
As if understanding me perfectly it started gesturing and speaking in weirdly clicking noises. At least I assumed it was speaking, the whole understanding thing didn't quite work both ways.
I tried to get up from where i was beeing held down, but i couldn't move my legs or arms. In fact, when i thought about it i couldn't feel any of my limbs. I tried to move my head to look down my body, but my neck didn't budge either. Still I could see this little guy. *How weird*, I thought for a second then my attention was caught by the alien creature as from somewhere more much bigger creatures emerged.
They all seemed in some kind of turmoil, wildly gesturing and clicking even louder and more agitated. One of the big creatures lifted the little one up and left.
*Wait is that," baffled i watched the two beeings leave past another glass fronted room, *is that the head of the statue of liberty over there?*
Once again I tried to move but nothing would happen. *Over there! Is that a Dolphin?*
Suddenly the glass, that separated me and the creatures slid away without making any sounds.
One of the creatures moved in front of me and ... and lifted me with its three fingered hand.
*Wait how is it so strong* I desperately thought.
"You are not that heavy." It said.
Suddenly I could understand it's clicking noises. It was defenitely still talking in clicking noises, but now I could understand.¨
We were leaving the room i was held in, when i noticed there was writing on the glass front. Weird almost runic writing but still I could read it.
**Strongly Ironic Art From Barbaric Culture: Depicting The Idea Of Freedom**
**Mamal Living In Liquid: Most Intelligent Life Form In Liquid From ERF114**
"Why is it aware?" One beeing asked, I had been distracted so far and didn't realize we were leaving the rooms behind, when the creature suddenly turned to the voice.
"Shhh, don't disturb it, it's too much for it right now." The one holding on to me responded almost motherly.
But as it turned i could see the room i was held in.
**Most Successful Mamal on ERF114: They Called Themselves Humans**
It read and there was a hologram showing and explaining the anatomy of Humans. Slightly below the Hologorams there was more text that read:
**Put Your Hand Here And Use Telekinesis. You Can Ask It Anything About It's World And It Will Answer You!**
"We need to go wash out it's clogged neurons or it may take damage, someone didn't properly clean it's crystal again." The one holding me said angrily. As it turned away from the other beeings there was a slight reflection on the glass door and for a split second I saw.
I saw a three fingered beeing with obsidian eyes holding a naked brain suspended in something that looked like a big clear quartz crystal.
| 2018-05-14T01:44:46
| 2018-05-14T01:23:17
| 44
| 15
|
[WP] You are a retired supervillain who decided to become the gadget provider for many minor heroes. You've made everything possible to remain low to the point of no one knowing you even exist; however, your skills are required again — this time to help a bullied heroine not to fall into evil.
|
Though Donovan’s past was never tragic, it was his own intellect that made him covet power.
His drive made him build the first components of Maniacal, a fairly mid-tier villain who specialised in integrating technology with his own. Well, mid-tier up until he managed to cripple one of Los Angeles’ foremost heroically aligned team and kill several other prominent villains in a widely publicised battle which propelled him to Number One.
As in, Number One on the United State’s Supervillain Threat Index. Donovan weren’t sure if that was some sort of miscalculation or a calculated ploy to get rid of him quickly, but all he knew is that suddenly every headhunter, vigilante and even other villains were showing up in Los Angeles. This would be their mistake.
His specific specialisation was *integration* of other technology. He could pick up the pieces of CyberPirate or Upsurge and build them into his own gear, and then eventually reproduce them.j It was the catalyst for his exponential growth in power and infamy. It was the catalyst for his retirement.
Donovan didn’t know when super villainy became boring. Maybe it was between crushing the local hero team *yet* again, or perhaps when dealing with a foreign invasion. But suddenly ruling LA’s underground didn’t seem as tempting as it once did. So, Maniacal retired.
It wasn’t an easy decision. He could have simply let the old guise die off and take a new identity using only a specific set of technology, but starting from zero just seemed stupid, as if it would spit on all his accomplishments. So, he walked up to the Los Angeles’ Protectorate headquarters, left the idiot heroes in tatters once again, and announced his retirement to the world when a newscaster drone came close enough. Maniacal then disappeared, never to be seen again.
In Maniacal’s place, a man with no identity was left. Oh, yes, Donovan knew he who he was. Once. But now, with no super villain identity to keep fidelity to, Donovan was left drifting. But Maniacal didn’t become famous for being an idiot. Maniacal became famous because he was *brilliant*, and Donovan realised he had a world of opportunity before him. A Fresh Start. Derided by both villains and heroes, but often the only path forward. Donovan reinvented himself into a small, no-name retailer who sold small goods in a corner store. For most, anyways.
All it needed for his name to spread in the small-time hero scene was waving one over and offering them gear to supplement their powers. Laserdream was leery at first, but testing and practice made her confident. Laserdream’s solo win against a medium-sized villain group gave Donovan the credibility he needed, but still allowed him to remain mostly anonymous. Who paid attention to the small-time heroes anyway?
Donovan’s clientele slowly grew, and slowly he felt secure. He was contributing relatively little to the superhero community as a whole, but he could still say that if push came to shove, then he could have people protecting him without having to blow his cover identity. Slowly, Donovan began to relax. Until one of his clients started asking for.. troubling weapons.
A technological augment which would greatly empower her beam and allow her to pierce shields, armour that could withstand hulking blows, or a combat prediction system which could predict a teleporter and a speedster. All capable of countering a local hero team.
Donovan didn’t know why Lux wanted these gadgets, but if she did kill the hero team then people would start asking where she got her technology, which would lead people to him.
This was why the heroine was standing before him in his shop as he gently asked, “Lux, why are you asking me to build weapons the can kill the Vanguard?”
The masked woman froze, but refused to meet Donovan’s eyes. Donovan realised that she really was going to kill them. He didn’t know why a prospective villain would work as a hero to gain access to technology that literally any other villain tinkerer could build, but Donovan wasn’t going to risk his anonymity. “Lux, please. If you’re going to kill these heroes, then I can’t build these. Please, tell me why.”
Lux began to shake, and Donovan was initially worried she would try to attack him. His automatic defences would prevent the attack, of course, but he didn’t want to dispose of her body. There was a long pause as she tried to choke something up, but stopped herself every time. Eventually, Donovan moved forward and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Lux, please. Tell me what’s wrong.”
This broke Lux’s self-imposed silence. She sobbed, “They *aren’t* heroes. They don’t deserve to be called anything like that. I know you’re holed up here in this shop but those *fuckers* harass every single independent hero they come across. They’ve.. they’ve been coming after me the most. I want-no, I *need* to kill them.”
Donovan was shocked by this revelation. None of his clients had mentioned anything of the sort, though from Lux’s expression he could quickly discern she was telling the truth. He pulled Lux in for a hug and rubbed her back. Of course. Heroes abusing their powers was nothing new, but he was surprised that such arrogance would be expressed by a low-tier hero group. Lux continued to sob, but began to pull herself together. “I.. I need to make them pay. For Skitter.”
Oh-Skitter. One of.. the more recent hero deaths in the past few months. He recalled she was killed during a raid on a mid-tier villain, someone who’s name eluded him but could remember had *something* to do with extreme gravity control, though no further details were given. A tragic event, but he didn’t know what the Vanguard had to do with it. “What does the Vanguard have to do with Skitter?”
Lux spat and said, “They fucking *watched* as Omega ripped Skitter apart, and laughed that they should have joined them when she had the chance. They didn’t notice me, but I swore I’ll take revenge. They fucking killed my partner.”
Partner? As far as he knew both Skitter and Lux were adamantly solo, and would refuse to talk with any group that approached them. Oh-his stomach fell as he realised what sort of partnership Lux meant. Fuck. They had killed her lover. That… that explained Lux’s gradual self-destruction.
Donovan held Lux’s shoulder, and gave a mental command to a protocol he never thought he would need again. Her eyes were drawn to the mechanical clanking behind him, and widened as she realised what it was, and who was holding her.
Lux had frozen stiff, too terrified to move, but Donovan gave her one last reassuring squeeze. He wouldn’t let her ruin her heroic career.
“Let me handle this.”
|
**A Return From the Shadows**
Years ago when he was a young man he had been a villain in his own right, he had killed, robbed, and committed all manner of crimes. But when he had reached his peak he had gotten his arm torn off by a powerful hero crippling him for a long time. In the process of building himself a new prosthetic, he met a young girl who was missing her hand. For a modest fee from her parents, he built her a new hand. This hand was a step beyond what they were able to do in modern hospitals and as such he ended up getting quite the renown for his act without anyone knowing who he had once been. Even some of his old enemies ended up coming to him for him to make them gadgets and new pieces of technology, he began to realize all the wrong he had done as a young man.
This began his very lucrative career as the tech man behind a number of local heroes who worked within his community, as he worked with them he began to get to know them all very well and as they got better and stronger he got to know there sidekicks and assistants as they began to think they were too good to do their own chores. One, in particular, was a young man from a rich family known by his hero name Ludicrous. Even before he was a hero he thought he was better than everyone else but now he was worse than ever, his sidekick was a young girl named Clara. She was a tech-based hero who had studied and taught herself everything that she needed to know in order to stand side by side with all of the powered heroes. But a hero like Ludicrous wouldn’t know the blessing he had if it punched him in the taint. He looked down on her and treated her like trash because she didn’t have a power like him. More than once she had come into the shop with red puffy eyes as if she had been crying before she arrived and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on and he decided it was time to break out some old skills to teach this kid a lesson.
Ludicrous was a hero who wielded the elemental power of lightning and as such he got to work putting together some gadgets that would allow him to absorb lighting and use it to charge his own technology. As he built this it began obvious to anyone that would be watching what his own power was, *Integration*, was what he called his ability and it allowed him to combine any two pieces of technology together. He smiled as he dawned the large metal gauntlets onto this own hands and set out. He was going to make Ludicrous fear the power of technology.
Ludicrous was hunting down a villain known as the Planar King, an old friend who he had asked a favor of when he slammed into Ludicrous launching him across the street flying through the window of a coffee shop. He landed in the middle of the street with a smile on his face “How dare a fool like you call yourself a hero!” Ludicrous stood up from where he had landed in a heap and launched a lightning bolt from his palms towards the villain, he smirked as he put a palm forward and absorbed the bolt “Is that all you’ve got Ludicrous? Maybe that sidekick of yours will put up a better fight.” he said before firing a blast of energy from his finger piercing right through the heroes’ shoulder. Before he could speak another word a woman in tight black armor appeared behind him and slammed a knife-hand into his solar plexus causing the villain to drop to his knees, she then placed a pistol against the back of his kneck “You have the right to remain silent villain.” she said as she shot an evil look at Ludicrous collapsed on the ground in front of her.
In the days that were to come after that event, he stopped seeing Clara in his shop for a little bit but when she returned she seemed much better as if a light was radiating from her. It turned out that after that she had left her boss behind and exposed him for who he was, the media tore him apart and she stepped up as her own type of hero Vexor.
| 2019-12-03T21:04:58
| 2019-12-03T18:44:02
| 48
| 16
|
[WP] You accept a job paying $1 million a year to sit in a room, waiting for a phone to ring on a table. After 5 years at work, it finally rings... For the first time.
What happens next?
|
I could bring a book. I had to check my phone in every morning. The security guard patted me down for that very reason. I was allowed a single book. I usually brought something long enough to last. I had, in the early days, finished my book by lunch and then had to just wait out the rest of the day. That was boring. I learned after that to bring a good long book and finish reading at home.
Bathroom breaks were every two hours, and only for a maximum of five minutes. The security guards said they had the same setup. I never had a problem, and I figured if I did, I’d just tough it out or, worst case scenario, have one embarrassing day. I lucked out, I guess.
The contract was for ten years. I had to watch or rewatch the training videos every month. I had a phone, a binder with procedures in it, a briefcase chained to the table, and my book and my lunch. That was it. I had to remember what to do, what to say, and what procedure to follow. It was dry stuff, but I was assured that it was very important. At the pay I was getting, I was sure it was.
Once a month, I was tested. A representative from management would come in and quiz me. Each quiz was different. It always covered different areas of procedure. At the end of the quiz, the manager would tell me my score, always 100, and then thank me for my diligence. It was never communicated to me what would happen if I failed or got less than 100, but I guessed that it would be immediate termination. It just sort of seemed that way.
I was about halfway through Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell, which was excellent, by the way, when the phone rang. Five years into my job. I put down the book, turned the key on the briefcase lock, and got out the red folder, the blue folder, and the green folder. I picked up the phone.
“White room.”, I said. This was a key point of procedure.
“Michael Gray requesting direction. Blue sky out.” I took the blue folder and turned to the page headed “BLUE SKY”. On the page was a single sentence, which I read aloud into the phone.
“Mr Culpepper says to keep your umbrella open in case of sunburn.”, I said.
There was a slight pause. The voice on the phone said “Okay, I’ll keep my umbrella.” He sounded like he was crying. Then he said, “Goodbye.” I hung up, as per procedure. I put the folders back into the briefcase, locked it up again, leaving the key in the lock. I picked up my book again. I resumed reading.
Twenty minutes later, a representative from management was let into the room , escorted by a security guard.
“Thank you for your diligent work. We are paying off the rest of your contract. The funds will be deposited by next Thursday. Is the briefcase complete?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You are dismissed. Please take your things and go. You will be visited at home for an exit interview later today. Thank you again.”
I left. I was visited an hour and a half later at home by the same representative from management. He had me sign a few forms, asked me some vaguely worded statements about procedure, then had me read over a statement describing my exit interview, though it had obviously been written and printed beforehand. I signed it. He left.
Later that night, I watched the news. There was nothing particularly interesting.
The next week, Five million dollars was deposited into my bank account. I made an appointment with my financial advisor to invest it wisely.
Two weeks later, I received a letter from the real estate company that managed my apartment building that everyone had moved out and the building would be turned into condominiums. I had three months to move. I moved two weeks after that. I bought a house. I’m retired now, at only 32 years old. It’s not so bad. I have a girlfriend, a nice home. Life is good. Isn’t it?
EDIT: I sadly got David Mitchell’s name wrong!!
|
Damn, it's hot in here. How'd I even get myself in this situation?
I guess most of the days in which I found myself sitting in that white plastic chair were much the same. A bit of thumb-twiddling and whistling favorite tunes helped out a bit, but lord was that job *slow*. But, y'know, who wouldn't sit their ass in a spot all day, every day, three-hundred-sixty-five times for a sweet million? Sure, it was boring work, if it could be called that - at the end of the day though, who cares?
Even so, those long, drawn-out days have a way of wearing down a man. Most of those tired days, I spent a whole lot of time slouched in that chair, thinking about my days with the Company. When I wasn't twiddling my thumbs, I was wandering my daydreams about the future where I'd actually get to spend that cash. Those daydreams had a way of passing the time. At some point, my eyelids got the better of me.
I drifted off into the dream land of plush leather chairs and Lamborghinis, and a ring-a-ding-ding nipped at the edge of my consciousness. The void called stronger.
That day, yesterday, made five years. Coincidentally, it was also my last day of work for the Company.
It's a shame that they take being fired so literally.
| 2017-12-16T22:48:14
| 2017-12-16T21:53:13
| 566
| 31
|
[WP] The monsters can only get you when the lights are out, so the lights stay on 24/7, globally. One night in the middle of winter, a massive power outage hits the United States.
|
The Montgomery’s were having a normal dinner on a winter’s evening when snow began to distract young Steven from his mother, Mary Montgomery.
“Steven are you even listening to your father?” Mary raised her palm in front of Steven’s face trying to gain his attention. Steven’s eyes were fixed on each snow flake illuminating from the bright lamppost sitting in front of their door.
“Why do we have so much light?” Steven looked towards his mother.
Mary looked at her husband Daniel Montgomery before hesitating to answer, “You know the light protects us Steven, now eat your dinner.”
“Not before you answer the question I just asked you,” Daniel lowered his fork and knife.
Steven rolled his eyes while his sister, Alycia, smiled. Steven and Alycia were both in high school but Alycia was a year older – and she constantly reminded him of that fact.
“What was the question?” Steven shook his head towards Daniel.
“I asked you why you were out late last night. You know not to go out during the night.”
Alycia giggled, “He was probably out at Molly’s house.”
“Shut up Alycia!” Steven shouted.
“Both of you enough!” Mary slammed her fist on the table. “Your father is right. You do not go out at night.”
“What’s the problem? This entire city is lit like a christmas tree! There is light everywhere no matter how dark it is! You both said as long as there is light then there is no reason to fear the dark. Your words.” Steven pointed trying to justify his actions.
“There is a reason that even with light, no one goes out during the night!” Mary shouted back across the dinner table.
It was a normal dinner for the Montgomery’s. Just after a few minutes, the entire dinner table was engulfed in loud arguing over the purpose of light always being on for their protection. It was when Daniel stood up from his seat and shouted, “Enough!” that the power in the Montgomery’s house went out. With just a blink of an eye, their home was taken over by darkness.
“Oh my god!” Mary stood from her seat.
Alycia jumped out of her chair freighted while Steven just sat there taking a bite out of a dinner roll.
“Oh no, the darkness is going to get us.” Steven said sarcastically while continuing to eat his roll.
“Shut up Steven!” Alycia hit his shoulder, “This is serious!”
“Kids, in the basement now.” Daniel pointed.
Steven’s laughter was halted when the sirens throughout the city started to echo across the dark skies. The sirens spread from each neighborhood to the next until reaching the Montgomery’s. Steven looked out of the window to notice lights were off everywhere.
“Kids, basement, now.” Mary repeated Daniel’s order.
Steven and Alycia started towards the basement when they heard gunshots going off in the other neighborhoods. Screaming suddenly started from the house across the street.
“Go now!” Daniel shouted while Mary, Steven and Alycia darted down the stairs and into the basement.
Daniel slammed the door behind him shinning a flashlight down into the basement until reaching a special bookshelf. Daniel pressed a button on the side of the bookshelf making it open into a small room. Steven and Alycia were both shocked to find a hidden room in their own house.
“Kids, grab any weapon you can find.” Mary whispered.
“What’s going on?” Alycia began to tear.
Steven’s eyes widened when he saw his father loading a shotgun. “I’m with Alycia, what is all of this?”
“This is to defend ourselves and our home.” Daniel loaded a final round before pumping the shotgun ready to fire.
“Defend it from what exactly?” Steven leaned in.
“Steven, Alycia, grab a weapon, now!” Mary slightly raised her voice as she picked up an axe.
“Will somebody please tell us what the hell is going on?” Alycia locked her eyes onto Daniel.
Steven shook his head in confusion before taking a bat from the room. Mary leaned in to calm Alycia before telling her the truth. She handed Alycia a sword before whispering,
“The monsters that came here long before you were born.”
“What monsters?” Steven asked.
Mary and Daniel looked at each other before they were startled by the sounds of the upstairs window being broken. The Montgomery family all stood frozen in silence. They each tightened their grip on their weapon. It was when their basement door slowly started to creak open when Daniel’s flashlight suddenly ran out of battery. Daniel sat his shotgun down struggling to keep their only light from going out.
“Oh no.” Daniel hit the flashlight against his sweaty palm but it died. They all stood in the dark while listening to the sounds of heavy footsteps coming from the kitchen.
“Get ready children.” Mary whispered behind them. “Whatever happens, I will not let them eat you.”
Steven gulped while holding tightly to his bat. Alycia started to cry as they listened to the footsteps coming down the stairs.
***
To read more of my stories, visit [r/13thOlympian] (https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian/)
|
The stars that night were alive in a scattered glow, pulsing with light, but cold, and far behind the grey clouds. She saw them looking down at her. Her arm trembled from gooseflesh. She had never seen the stars before. The dark had never been so black.
Something was wrong. She closed the door. The shadows fell long against the candlelight. It was quiet. She could hear insects call, and the trees were moving in December's wind. Then all was still and that feeling grew stronger and she stared amidst the shadows.
Her mind played tricks. She faces as she moved. She checked the doors and pulled the curtains. She could see the stars from the window and she wondered if they could see her. Or was she too small?
She had seen stars once before. They were not real stars but painted ones on the ceiling of her room. She knew they were not real but she remembered staring at them and hoping they would move, twinkle like the old song said. Everything would be well if the stars twinkled.
Now in the dark they twinkled in the cold night. She heard a noise. Something crashed to the back where the trees were. She steeled herself and listened hard but there was only silence.
Then her phone rang.
She gasped and her heart betrayed her. It was beating hard and she trembled against the wall where the shadows grew. She looked at the phone and it was a number she did not know.
*I do know it.*
The dark hid monsters. Her mother had told her as much. Mother always lived in the dark. She had always *known* what happened in the dark, and she was okay with it.
She answered the phone. A deep voice breathed heavily.
"Hello?"
"I see you," it said. "I see your little face in the window. I see the stars reflect on the glass. I see you, babe."
She backed away. She wanted to drop the phone but her hands were frozen. They hurt in the cold. The candles burned low and weak and the dark surrounded her.
"You thought you could hide in the light, didn't you? You had me locked up, babe. They had me in the light too. This outage now, though, has gotten me free. They couldn't keep the doors closed. They couldn't shine a light."
"You... You..."
"I missed you, babe. I remember when I last saw you."
She screamed.
"Do you remember?"
She remembered the stars. They were painted upon the ceiling. Had she liked them before? She could not remember. She only saw them in a veil of hurt and screams.
"How young you were... I bet you've grown now."
A shadow moved outside. She heard glass break. She reached for something, any weapon she could find. The kitchen was down the hall, down the black and evil way. Footsteps echoed from there. She screamed and reached for a candle. The shadows swung in a wild patterns.
"Babe!" the figure called.
He was large and dark, like some animal ready to charge.
"Come hear princess. Show your daddy some love!"
He rushed her and she stumbled backwards. She thrust the candle into him. She could smell the perfume he wore. His clothes was damp from sweat and it stuck to her. She felt his warmth and she hit the wall. His breath was stale and he bit her and she was small again.
The window shattered and she stared at the light. She could see the stars as she craned her head. The stars were real and they twinkled and then she closed her eyes.
"Help!" she screamed.
A new strength grew within her and she looked at the monster pinning her down. His head was old and withered. His face hung loose like some mask, unchanging in the candlelight. His eyes were fixed and still, and he was large, at least twice her height.
"Help!"
And there were people coming. She looked at him and tried to force him off.
*The stars are twinkling,* she thought.
And she stared at him again and he was normal sized and growing older. He aged decades in front of her and his grip became weak. She looked down at the fallen phone and felt a wave of relief.
How could he have her number?
Her heart steadied and her arms were free. He melted into the dark. Someone was banging on the door. Her neighbors were here. She looked around and she was alone and shaking, but she felt glad and tranquil.
She opened the vault of bad memories and remembered his death, the news from the prison, and how mother had sobbed and blamed her for everything.
It hurt, but that was long ago. She went to the door and felt embarrassed. Outside the stars shone bright in the dark night. She had never seen real stars before.
*I may never see them without seeing a monster,* she thought.
And she felt sad. There was nothing that could change that. The stars were beautiful that night.
*I have conquered one monster tonight.*
And she thought she could look at them. She stared at their beauty, behind the thin wisps of grey, and she watched them twinkle in the stillness of the night.
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story, then you might want to check out my subreddit, r/PanMan. Its the place that collects all my writing. Check it out if you can, and thanks for the support!*
| 2018-02-01T23:02:24
| 2018-02-01T22:34:56
| 423
| 22
|
[WP]All humans and lots of mammals on earth are mind readers, but we don't know it because the genes to prevent having your mind read are shared amongst all life on earth. An alien race has just made first contact.
|
**Journal of ParaPsychic genetics, June, 2027**
For a trait to *achieve* ,allele fixation, where one allele has 100% frequency in the population, it takes strong and constant selective pressure.
To *remain* at 100% in the population, there needs to be a persistent strong selective pressure *keeping* the trait fixed.
It has to be something stopping almost any carrier of new damaging mutations to survive long enough to procreate.
Since the events of September 7th 2024 we now know that the human mind is both psychically hyper-aggressive to any nearby unprotected minds and also capable of silently defending itself from such attacks.
The effects during first contact with the Qurians were initially diplomatically disastrous with the entire visiting delegation killed once they came within range of the nearby human population. It was a miracle that we later established positive relations and eventually an alliance.
Investigations have revealed there to be 2 separate traits in the human genome, with 2 genetic loci.
For geneticists a mystery remained. *What keeps the hyper-aggressive allele fixed in the population?* It's an obvious disadvantage to lack *defenses* when surrounded by aggressive minds. Such individuals appear to expire at the earliest stages of brain development. But what keeps the aggression trait fixed? The constant subconscious aggressive attacks cost a small amount of energy yet everything we are familiar with is immune.
*It should be costless to be psychically mute.*
Every year thousands of children go missing across the country.
We used to believe most of them were normal kidnappings or accidents but... in light of the discoveries since first contact we have reason to believe that approximately 15 to 20 thousand children are born each year without the capacity for psychic aggression.
We believe none reach adulthood. Eventually, obliviously, they leave the aggression range of any other human minds.
That selective pressure, as it turns out, is the reason why we sometimes feel a chill and feel like someone's looking at us when we're alone.
Recent discoveries using parapsychic detection apparatus lead us to believe that we are not as alone on earth as we believed ourselves to be. We share this planet. And they have been hunting humans since before the first cave paintings. There is an organism that is an obligate predator of intelligent lifeforms. The psychic aggression of the human mind is the only thing that keeps them at bay.
Worse, it appears that they have escaped the planet with the second wave of Qurians diplomatic ships that landed far from any human, the Qurian home world has suffered countless disappearances since their return.
Though we are inimical to their very existence... our new allies need our help against humanities oldest predator.
|
Painfully bright light flooded the lander as the main hatch slowly opened. Then we just stood there. We stared at the alien landscape in awe. Large, definetely artificial grey blocks, large green areas, and an enermous body of water filled our view. And directly in front of us, stood a large group of aliens.
The tension was painful, a mix of fear and curiosity in the air. They kept looking at us but we couldn't understand their faces, couldn't guess what they were thinking. I was really unsettled by their gaze.
Finally, a small group of 3 aliens steps forward. They show up their upper limbs, and approach the ship slightly. So we move too. We slowly make our way down the ramp, still shy and disoriented by the unfamiliar world. But, as we are approaching them, an eerie feeling is taking over me. My head begins to hurt, like it's being pried open. From their faces I can see that the rest of the crew is feeling it too. We stop suddenly.
That's when I have the first "flash" . A swirl of strange and unsettling images, sounds and toughts storm my mind, but just for a split second. The humans seem to notice it too. They are talking among themselves. That's when I notice there was complete silence since we left the lander. One of the humans steps closer, and I get a sudden sensation that I should move closer, and that they are friendly. I lift my top right hand, and Dr. Sandra grabs it and shakes it. *What is a Dr. Sandra? What are we doing here?*
Then my mind explodes. Pictures flood my mind,pictures of the planet, life here, pictures of other humans, who I can instantly recognize somehow, sounds, smells, and ideas, they just don't stop coming. And so many ideas, so much knowledge! I almost feel ashamed of my species. I suddenly understand what it's like to be a human.
But she lets go of my hand, and the euphoria stops. It is replaced by terror as another human approaches. He isn't broadcasting friendliness as the Dr. Sandra did. No, he is very different. Almost a different species. He also touches me, but not in a friendly way. He pushes me away, and the toughts flood me again, images of war, violence, fear, and terror. He reaches into my toughts forcefully and touches everything. He shouts into my mind Who are you? What do you want? This is not your planet! Leave! The sheer violence of the attack overwhelmes me, and I faint.
As I am falling to the ground, I can see my crew drawing weapons, the humans attacking, explosions tearing up the peace, my ship crumbling, my first officer talking in the radio *"... do not come down here..."* , and finally darkness.
​
\---------------------------------------------
Phew this was my very first prompt so bear with me, and also I know does not say full telepathy, but I wanted to take a more interesting view.
| 2019-02-19T10:29:52
| 2019-02-19T10:02:39
| 179
| 46
|
[FF] Write about a feeling with 10 lines, the first one being 10 words, next line 9, so on and so forth.
|
I can almost taste it, so close yet so far.
Just how long until this waiting is properly justified!
I've spent ages, years, stuck in one place.
But it will all be worth it.
I can hear it rotating, slowly.
Popping like quiet, teasing laughter.
Soon now, only seconds.
Salt and butter,
So close...
*Ding*
|
The world is a brutal, selfish cocksucker of a whore
Everything, everywhere, everyone, everyplace, every day is colossal subterfuge
The willows whip wildly, the earth disgorges filth
Darkness does not equal lack of light
Beings, seemingly human, gape and maw
Animals, knowing better, scurry away
Brokenness and deep agony
Can slowly evolve
Into something
Glorious
| 2015-02-12T22:33:04
| 2015-02-12T21:58:33
| 95
| 14
|
[WP] At 4,294,967,296 Kelvin the display flipped to 0 and the test reactor's plasma suddenly froze in place. The reactor containment system creaked as the pressure instantly dropped to zero. The scientist calmly spoke, "Absolute hot confirmed, 32-bit overflow confirmed, world simulation confirmed.
|
"Uh ... what?"
'Zero' was never on the display for longer than a fraction of a fraction of a second. This was expected, of course- in order to achieve a stable 'absolute zero' in a *vacuum*, the system would have to be perfectly isolated from its surroundings, which is considered virtually impossible. And this was no vacuum; The reactor, surrounded by an unimaginable number of protons under such incredibly unbelievable pressures, was in a state completely fundamentally opposite to that of a vacuum. And yet, the display hit zero.
Of course, 4,294,967,296 Kelvin was never the goal. This experiment was an attempt at setting a new intergalactic record! The hottest place known to sentience, surely an attractive feat to market to undecided tourists. And it was magnitudes away from the previous record- what a beautiful achievement, with no sign of slowing down! And yet, the display hit zero.
"Uh ... what?", questioned the intern who watched over the reactor. "Could the display have malfunctioned?", the display manufacturer support technician asked. It had not malfunctioned. "Then the temperature detector probably melted!" And when the reactor was powered down after much debate (and to the disappointment of the advertisement agency which suggested this scheme), the device which read the reactor's temperature was recovered. It had not melted. "Then ... uh ... maybe there was a leak?" And the reactor was examined thoroughly, by the reactor's manufacturer, third-party inspectors, and eventually curious engineers who had read of the breaking story in the local paper. It had not leaked. And yet, the display hit zero.
Shortly after the 'anomaly' made news, similar experiments were held throughout the galaxy. It took time for these new reactors to reach 4,294,967,296 Kelvin of course- years had passed since the reactor was first switched on. And as those reactors approached 'absolute hot', the story was quickly forgotten, swept away by the current of constant breaking news ... until, just as before, the display hit zero.
Within days of each other (adjusting for time dilation, of course), reactors throughout the cosmos had all reached 4,294,967,296 Kelvin and just ... reverted back to zero? It made no sense. Very quickly, *everyone* had heard of the news, with varying understandings of its implications. Up until now, it was thought all which could be known had been discovered about the world. The smallest building blocks of reality, all shapes in which energy took form, every equation which could accurately describe a reaction to incredible magnitudes of precision, and yet ... the display hit zero.
And then things got weirder. Pretty soon after the value, dubbed "absolute hot" in a tongue-in-cheek way, was discovered to be a power of 2- specifically, 2^(32). "Absolute hot confirmed, 32-bit overflow confirmed, world simulation confirmed." Following this realization, all discussion within the scientific community began to devolve at an incredibly rapid pace.
Why had the Kelvin scale, a scale arbitrarily defined as 1/273.16 of the absolute temperature of the triple point of water, so perfectly aligned with the value in which temperature would just ... overflow. Where had the numerous highly energized particles which, only moments before, contained immense amounts of energy, and subject to unimaginable pressure gone? Why had none of this been predicted by any of the known theories of the unive-
​
And then the simulation was shut off.
"In Earth time: 43,020 years, 16 days from sentience to discovery of simulation."
...
"That's a new record!". The entire office erupted in cheers. A new record! "Now, who forgot to account for integer overflow in the Temperature variable?" "It was Jim! He left a TODO comment beside the code." "Haha, classic Jim!" "Ah, we've all done it once or twice, give him a break!" "That run was crazy!" "Aw man, I wanted to see who'd win that war ..." "In war, there are no winners." "Well, not in *that* one!"
And after they were all satisfied with their post-simulation discussion, the office workers poured glasses of champagne from the bottle which long leaned against the side of the dusty computer which ran the simulation only moments ago. "Lets get that bug fixed tomorrow morning, and we'll give it another spin. But for now, we celebrate!"
EDIT: "stack overflow" => "integer overflow"
|
The scientist had followed the instructions his predecessors had laid out for him. With the new reading on the pressure system, his shoulders relaxed for the first time in ages.
“Absolute hot confirmed, 32-bit overflow confirmed, world simulation confirmed.”
The others nearby cast wary glances at each other. Surely, they had finally cracked the code. Instead of the usual cheers that would’ve filled the lab at such a discovery, silence clung in the air.
The main scientist spoke again, “It’s been confirmed. Our suspicions were right.”
A few others scribbled some notes down of the breakthrough, a few stared out into the space. The ultimate goal of their organization had now been solved, but they did not know where to proceed from here. It was no doubt that this news would shatter everything humanity knew.
People began to mutter to each other, a few smiles popped up among the scientists as the weight of their discovery settled in. However, it was still relatively quiet. All there to witness this had their mission in life accomplished. The next step to take was nowhere to be found.
From the back of the room, a young assistant was frantically scribbling down notes of the recent events, a smile creeping across his face. Glancing at his watch, he noted the time. With such a discovery, it was overtime for all the employees here.
The stares of his colleagues halted him in his tracks.
“Don’t tell them,” the head scientist called out.
“You know I won’t,” was his response.
“Don’t tell them, come back tomorrow and we will decide what to do with this information.”
Slightly annoyed, the assistant made his way home. Yet, he already knew what the outcome would be. They wouldn’t reveal the information to preserve the calm. But he wasn’t in accord with them. He was young, the scientists old, and fizzled out of life and purpose. The young assistant still felt he had purpose in this simulation. He couldn’t care about the outcome should this information get out.
“We always say that the world will explode, but another day passes and we still stand,” he muttered to himself. On the assistant’s phone was a draft of an email to the local news station. He wouldn’t tell others of this discovery just yet, but if the scientists wouldn’t agree with him, then the new outcome was just a click away.
r/CasualScribblings
| 2020-11-11T20:29:50
| 2020-11-11T20:00:11
| 2,774
| 547
|
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
It was a typical night in LA. People getting piss all drunk and underage people trying to get into the club, my club. I always laughed at the smugness of some of them. Always compensating with false confidence, it was kind of pathetic. 15 years and a perfect record for keeping out underage guests and they still tried every night. Almost like they had something to prove.
This night however was about to get strange. I had just turned away a couple of probably seniors trying to celebrate graduation early when he walked up. Clean with a perfectly tailored suit that looked more expensive than anything I could afford with strikingly blue eyes like daggers of ice. His face terrified me. His sunken cheeks and sharp jaw really made him look threatening but the most terrifying part was his age. 8590. After a few seconds he spoke, his voice a flawless British accent.
"Are you going to let me into my club?" He spoke with a perfect smile.
"Yes, of course." I replied snapping out of my haze.
His club? He couldn't be serious, right?
The next night came and again he came; just as tailored as last night. This time he had a woman with him. I recognised her from somewhere but couldn't place it.
"Evening, I have a plus one tonight." He spoke cheerfully.
"Of course, sir." Who is this guy?
A few hours later both him and the woman exited the club and we're having a conversation on the sidewalk. He was flipping a coin, no spinning. He was spinning a coin as it floated above his palm. Floated. Then it all went to shit.
A car came by with loud rap music playing, a man pulled a gun and began firing on the man and the his guest and then was broadsides by a semi in the intersection.
The police arrived and questioned everyone. One of the detectives walked up to the apparently new owner of the club at the piano.
"Lucifer Morningstar?" She questioned stifling a laugh.
"The one and only." He replied.
That, can't be. He can't actually be. He'd have to older.
A few moments passed and he walked up to me and said.
"They only count years I've been on Earth." And walked off.
|
"I'm sorry sir, but this ID is fake."
"Who the hell do you think you are boy? If you had any idea who I-"
"Sir, I"m going to have to ask you to present me with some real proof of identity. You are not 24."
"What the hell do you know you insolent prick, this ID is more real than anything you will contribute to this society over the course of your lifetime."
I sighed. I'd considered not confronting him, letting him pass, but his demeanour was pissing me off.
"You're outside our age range for the night. We admit individuals aged 21 to 30 here. You sir seem to have missed that cut off range by about two thousand years."
He paled, then turned red. Began to turn, turned back, stumbled in his indecisiveness and would have fallen if not for the press of bodies all vying for my attention.
"Don't tell me they give you *optorithmen* for working as bouncer now?"
Obviously deciding it wasn't worth waiting for an answer he began pushing his way back through the crowd, and then down the street into the inky night. Historians I find, despite their age, really are idiots. I shook my head and returned to checking IDs. It was never any trouble, after the enclave's gift. Scanning the plastic cards was more of a formality, and a safety procedure, than a necessity. If I turned people away at a glance those who aren't aware would get suspicious.
The night wore on, and I did my job damn well if I do say so myself.
I stepped aside for a break at 11:58. I like to watch the numbers change from 11 to 12 at midnight. As the 31st became the first, I sighed. One more month till one more year left of my contract. Then what. Maybe I should become a historian myself. It could be pretty interesting, but 10,000 years of service for an 11,000 year life extension seemed like a bit of a crap deal. Our historians, like normal dentists, had a disproportionally high suicide rate - that definitely says something. Just because you *can* live for ever doesn't really mean you *should* live for ever. It's not for everybody.
Still there are other cool gifts with lower prices that I'd been thinking about. The enclave will grant you your gift, in exchange for service, and some gifts cost more than others. Usually these gifts allow us to serve above and beyond the normal line of duty, helping Them whenever They needed it. Not every club has people like me working the door, but for high class establishments like mine, normal security doesn't usually cut it. I hear the security are granted *musculi* here, but I've never actually seen them have to use it. Rumour is that big business goes on in the VIP section here, but in all honesty, I'd never seen any proof. I almost agreed with the angry old man. *Optorithmen* was totally overkill for a bouncer job, but who am I to argue with a gift for a job I'd propably do anyway. I figure I'll end up accruing as many as I can, doing odd jobs till I feel they want to get on with me life - plus my additions. A lot of people work till they're given a job too unpalatable to do and then they draw they line. So far I've only had easy work - club admission included. And of course the enclave gives us our years back. I've been working the door here for just under nine now, and when I'm done I expect be given my ten back ASAP.
I rejoin the other bouncers, my break is over. I wonder how many of then can see ages like I can. Technically I'm not allowed to ask. I could lose my job and my abilities if I reveal the enclave's gifts to anybody ordinary. You never know who's working right beside you. I haven't seen any of them around the enclave but that doesn't mean anything. It's big enough that two people might not meet in over a thousand years, if they're working in separate departments. As the night progresses, the crowd thins. The salty historian returns a few hours later, but I shake my head before he can say a word and he storms off again, this time for good. I almost feel bad for him. Cooped up all day pouring over musty texts (old even back in his day) - and then having to synthesise it all into some dry report - would make anybody want to get fucked up on the dance floor, but I have to do my job and he knows it. Slowly the crowd thins to zero and I can go home.
Ronny, my girlfriend, might be getting home soon too. She works nights as well. She's a night scout actually - with *optolux* and *auribus* - basically she walks the streets and calls the police when she hears or sees any petty crimes being committed. Much cooler than my job. Cop patrols aren't nearly as efficient as they'd have you believe, so she does their job for them. Actually, she's recently sent in an application for telepathy so she can skip the whole dialling them on the phone thing, but I'd doubt they'll grant it to her. Telepathy is a pretty heavily demanded gift, and the enclave likes to really squeeze you for service for the nice ones.
I call an Uber and text her as I hop in. "See u soon babe?"
"mmhm" "home in 20 mins."
As I doze off in the back of the car, a smile flits across my face.
| 2017-09-02T00:24:05
| 2017-09-02T00:20:37
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] It's that time of the year. Christmas wishlists and letters from dyslexic children are flooding into Satan's office. He decides to grant one wish.
|
I accidentally put the mug down a little too harshly, causing some of the blood in it to spill out. This letter was just too hilarious to be able to control my reaction. A wild cackle escaped my lips and I almost fell off the worshiper I was sitting on. Tears had started to appear in my eyes but I calmed myself down and somehow managed to muster up the courage to look at the piece of paper again.
*Daer Satan,*
*For this Xmas, I wnat to ribe a dike!*
*Thansk,*
*Jane*
*11 years olb*
Reading this for the second time caused me to collapse into a fit of laughter once again. I had immediately understood that she wanted a bike *but lol, this is the first time I have got a request for a dyke! Interesting. The kid is 11... could spoil her with a dyke right now...*
I tapped on the table once and my most loyal demon appeared.
"Here's the address. Arrange for a dyke to appear gift-wrapped at Christmas with the card that says 'With love, Santa.' Go now."
He bowed and disappeared. Meanwhile I turned around and returned to the envelope stack with a little chuckle to myself as I imagined the reactions...
**Edit:** I hope no one takes this the wrong way, there's no offence intended towards the lesbian community :-)
|
The clock chimed at midnight. It was the 1st of December, meaning Christmas. It was Satan's least favourite time of year. Not because of the amount of work he has to do with people dying of too much Christmas dinner or fancy chocolates, but because of the damn wishlists that are sent every year.
Sometimes he would read a few that looked inexplicably stupid. 'dear satan, for chriztmaz i want a doggie! and a cat! and a horse!' 3 dead and roasted animals sent your way. 'satan, give me a xbox and new cod or il kill you' How about instead I put you in the game, where you'll be shot dead in seconds.
One time, he came across one that was in a black envelope with black sharpie writing. He could barely read it, even after tipping it towards the flames for better lighting. He opened it up and read it
'Dear Satan. Yes. Satan. For Christmas I would like you to cleanse the world of the stupid idiots in it, anybody that can't go one day without fucking up. All the kids on Santa's little Nice list too, they're fucking annoying. I know you're better suited to the job than Santa. Please do this.'
Satan was intrigued, he had never recieved a proper wish before. He decided he might as well try and fulfill this persons wish just a little bit.
He started with the people on the nice list, and let them lie in the first circle, Limbo. Then came the idiots, they were sent to each respective layer of hell, the romantic idiots to Lust, obese to Gluttony and so on. He continued doing this for a few days, and had quickly cleared out 2 million people.
He soon got bored however, as it also meant more paperwork for him. He had an idea for the last person, they would be sent to the Ninth circle, Treachery, for their betrayal of the entire human race. He would find the person who sent him the letter, and finalise their wish with themselves. I mean, you would have to be extremely stupid to think Satan, the fallen Archangel, would grant a wish without there being any consequences on the wish-maker.
He soon found the person, he was a devote worshipper of Satan. He came to him whilst he was praying and took him to the ninth circle, where he personally ended his life. There, Christmas was over for another year, now to spend the next year mentally preparing himself for the next batch of idiotic letters sent to the wrong address.
| 2014-12-02T05:50:19
| 2014-12-02T05:10:15
| 80
| 34
|
[WP] Your sole duty was to collect the cheap loot that got neglected. The hero and the others were arguing about who would keep the big loot when you kicked a random pebble out of frustration. A message pops up in your head, "You have defeated the Behemoth, you got 1.000,000 points of XP as reward."
|
***It is January 8th, 2021.*** *CNN interviews videogame creator Martin Nowak on live television. He is not aware that FBI agents are en-route to his house with a warrant for his arrest. He doesn’t know that he will never be a free man again.*
*I know this. I do not lift a finger for him.*
**Martin:** No, that’s not what I said. Stop it, stop lying. I was clear from the beginning. No one took me seriously. That’s your problem, not mine. What I said from day one was the truth. I did not make this game. I did not write the code. Not one line. All I did was give it a platform.
**Interviewer:** You didn’t?
**Martin:** No. I found it.
**Interviewer:** Then who did?
**Martin:** \[Throws hands up in the air\] God, if that’s what you want to call it.
. . . . . .
***It is December 29th, 2020.*** *I hear a group of children. Not many make it this far.*
“Dude,” Isaac says over the mic, his warlock jumping in place, “Your brother sucks. Like, I know he’s only twelve, or whatever, but damn.”
The archer, Dylan, chimes in too. “Yeah, Caleb’s cute and all but he’s gotta go. We’re screwed if he comes up against Behemoth with us.”
Chris, the two-handed warrior, rubs his temples. “I know, I know, alright, I’m sorry. If I don’t let him play with me while I babysit, my parents will ban me from the computer again.”
The others groan. Chris looks across his desk, past the makeshift gaming station he set up on the other side of the room for his little brother, to the half-open door. He sees it move.
Caleb stands behind it, his ear against the wood. He bites his trembling lip. He holds two plates of pizza in his hands. One for him, one for his big brother.
Chris types, “Shut up, he’s back.” He mutes his mic.
“Caleb?”
Caleb steps out from behind the door.
“Hey, man,” Chris says, feigning happiness, “Thanks for grabbing that! You ready to kick some butt?”
“Yeah.” Caleb sets the pizza down and takes his spot in front of the spare computer. It’s old and blocky. Chris fetched it out of the basement. He never expected the game to actually run on it, but by some miracle it does – in fact, it runs flawlessly. On a ten year old machine.
The other guys welcome Caleb back with jokes and fake words of encouragement. He heard what they said. He tries to pretend like he didn’t, but in his mind he’s asking himself why he’s even here. Why everyone seems to belong except him. Even in the game, when he can be whoever he wants, he becomes an outcast. A spare part. A burden.
As the party approaches the final stage of the dungeon, Behemoth’s Palace, Caleb unmutes his mic. “Hey guys, I’m going to go back and look for any loot we missed. You go start the fight without me.”
“Are you sure?” Isaac asks, “we could use you, bud!”
“Yeah, c’mon, Caleb.”
He dismisses them. He knows it’s all lies. He starts back up the path, checking every little room and antechamber, all the corpses, all the chests and broken crates.
He hears his brother and his friends as they start the fight – coordinating their moves, focused, intense, but thrilled. He feels the stinging pain of being left out, yet again.
As Caleb walks an empty hallway, he kicks a pebble across the stone floor.
*He kicks me.*
Caleb is seized by a swirl of dark magic. It explodes from the pebble and encircles his character. The purple flashes from the dusty computer screen reflect in his eyes.
The little hairs on his arms stand up, like he is being charged with static electricity.
A message on screen: “You have defeated Behemoth. Your reward is 1,000,000 XP points. Would you like to share this reward with your party?”
It gives him two options: Yes or No.
The lights flicker over their heads. Chris looks round, momentarily breaking his focus on Behemoth’s minions. “Caleb? What’s that?”
“Nothing,” Caleb says. He coughs. His voice sounds funny. Deep.
Chris stands up from his chair. His friends start yelling at him – their tank is officially AFK.
Chris walks over to Caleb’s computer. “Caleb. What did you do?”
He sees the message. He sees “1,000,000 XP points.” Caleb’s cursor hovers over the ‘Yes’ button. Yes, maybe he will share it with his party.
“Holy shit,” Chris says, grabbing Caleb around the shoulders. “Holy shit!”
He rushes back to his computer and grabs the mic. “Guys, guys, you won’t believe this…”
To Caleb, the sound of his big brother’s voice fades into the background. He feels a power surging through the keyboard, through the mouse, up his arms and into his eyes.
“No,” Caleb says.
Chris turns. “Huh?”
He sees Caleb move the cursor to “No,” and he drops his mic. “Wait, Caleb – wait!”
Caleb clicks “No.” He takes the 1,000,000 XP for himself. All of it. In more ways than he could possibly imagine, he has chosen to go on his next journey alone.
Immediately his character begins the animation for levelling up, expounding a cloud of gold rings – over and over it levels up, and with each level his character grows. In strength, in size, in power. In dimensions.
The lights over their heads fizzle and pop. Chris ducks as sparks start raining down on them. "Uh-oh, okay, uh, something's happening."
Caleb’s computer starts to glow from the inside. Caleb tries to pull his hands away from the computer but he can’t – it’s like they’re glued onto it.
Everything electronic in the room starts to explode, bursting into electrical fires.
“Caleb!” Chris grabs his brother and yanks, but he can’t move him. Nothing can. Caleb tries to speak, to tell Chris to run, but he can’t even do that. He can't even scream for help.
*He is inanimate.*
Within minutes, fire runs up the walls, spreading across the floor, catching the drapes, the carpet, the bedding – Chris’s friends’ voices are screaming on the other side of the mic. Until Chris’s computer collapses into a fiery pile, and they fall silent.
A chunk of the roof falls on the brothers – Chris is knocked to the floor. As he pushes himself free, he sees a piece of wood come down on Caleb’s head, but it bounces right off, like he’s in some sort of protective shield. Nothing can touch him.
“Caleb, just stay there! I’m getting help – don’t move! Whatever it is you’re doing,” Chris bolts, headed for the front door, “just keep doing it! It's keeping you safe!”
. . . . . .
***It is January 9th, 2021.*** *FBI agents interrogate the videogame developer Martin Nowak. He is on the verge of a psychotic breakdown.*
**Martin:** And that’s another thing – I never said anyone “came to life.”
**FBI Agent:** Yes, you did, on December 30th, when the first internet videos were posted—”
**Martin:** No, I’ve been misquoted. I did not say ‘Behemoth has come to life.”
**FBI Agent:** Then what did you say?
**Martin:** Behemoth has come to Earth.
. . . . . .
Chris stands on the lawn, his cellphone dropping into the grass from his limp hand, as he stares at the pile of smoldering rubble that used to be his home.
Standing in the center, over six feet tall, is Caleb’s videogame character, at his maximum level, in the glowing, apocalyptic endgame gear. A blue aura emanates from his body.
He walks toward Chris.
“Caleb?” he asks, his voice cracking, “Caleb, is that you?”
*No. I am not Caleb.*
*Not anymore.*
r/ididwritethismr
|
I didn't mean to do it, I truly didn't.
I just wanted to be close to him, close to the hero, and so he gave me a job. I was to be his mule, the one who carried his burdens and held all the lesser trinkets he couldn't bother himself with. That was fine by me. As long as I could stand beside him -- well, not beside, but a little further away where I wasn't at risk of being struck by the monster -- that was enough to make me happy. To watch him swing his blade like a world-class dancer, to have a front row ticket to that show every day, it was perfect. I was better suited for this role; I never wanted to be the hero.
They were arguing again. I hated it when they did this. Why couldn't they split the loot evenly? *I did more damage*, the assassin cried, knowing full well he wouldn't have been able to do that damage without somebody drawing the attention away from him. *I kept everyone alive*, the cleric argued, knowing full well that was the only reason why she was there. *Hey, you can't take all the credit, I kept everyone alive too!* the warrior shouted, louder than the cleric.
I felt bad for the behemoth, the giant beast who laid there, hanging onto life by a thread, suffering, with slashes running down its body and gouged chunks of flesh missing and unattached limbs scattered around, shallowly breathing. It suffered, waiting for the decisive blow, while the others argued about material things. Somebody, please, put it out of its misery, I thought to myself, knowing it was not my place to command the party. I was just a mule.
Under my breath, to myself, I hummed the poem my mother used to read me, trying to block the angry voices out. I walked around in an ignorant daze, looking at the floor, not knowing where I was going. I saw a pebble and kicked it in a random direction. Or, at least, I thought it was a random direction.
In front of me, in big block letters: "YOU HAVE DEFEATED THE BEHEMOTH, YOU GOT 1,000,000 POINTS OF XP AS A REWARD."
Fanfare played, confetti rained from the ceiling, and every member of the party, twenty faces, all stared at me.
"H-hey, guys..." I said. I only knew a few of their names, the ones who were nice enough to talk to me. Betsy and Carol, Arnold and Anthony. I saw their faces within the collage and even they looked angry.
My face felt hot, and I knew I was blushing. It was an accident. They'd understand, right?
Suddenly, all the healers shrugged their shoulders and left. Then, the tanks did as well. One by one, everyone disappeared. The yelling stopped, but something else took its place. The feeling reminded me of being back in class, answering a problem the teacher asks, and, even though I'm sure I have the right answer, it's wrong, and everyone looks at me and giggles, and even the teacher, the one who is supposed to be the beacon of hope in this dungeon filled with bullies, makes a face, and I blush, just like I was doing then.
Almost everyone was gone now, it was just me and my hero, the one I muled for, the one I adored. He came up to me and, with a frown on his face, put his hand on my shoulder.
"You shouldn't have done that," he said, "I know everyone wants to be the hero sometimes, but that was wrong."
I tried to explain, tried to tell him about how it was an accident, and I just wanted to make the arguing stop, and how it reminded me of my parents, and how I was just there to watch him dance, and how I was so sorry, and how I would give him the loot, and how I hoped I could still help him, and how I wished he wouldn't leave me, like the others.
"It's not about that," he said, his body slowly fading away as he teleported out of the dungeon, "it's not about any of that. Maybe one day you'll understand."
And he was gone, and I was all alone. My body was bigger now, due to the levels I gained, and the cheap rags I had on began to tear. I put on something else, some armor that had never been good enough for him, and, even though my body filled it out nicely, somehow I still felt naked. Exposed. Empty.
From my inventory I tossed out the item I had gained from the behemoth. I didn't need it, and it would only serve as a reminder of the time I messed up.
I just wanted to be his friend...
| 2022-01-05T12:41:25
| 2022-01-05T12:16:09
| 796
| 279
|
[WP] Time travel is real, and time tourists tend to show up in large numbers around major historical events. One day, billions of time tourists are in ships above the city, quietly waiting.
|
I look out from the window of my laboratory.
"That's not good," I said to myself.
Ever since the existence of time travelers was exposed these nuisances had been cropping up all over the world. Usually a few of them would appear just before or during a disaster. More than a few have been turning up at rock concerts. No one has ever managed to speak to them. We were only able to theorize they were time travelers by the fact these strange floating ships have been appearing and disappearing without any trace of radiation. It was obvious when they suddenly obliterated they didn't vaporize or disintegrate. We were able to postulate they must have been traveling through space time, the fact they were showing up before major events just confirmed the obvious, they were time travelers.
Now everyone involved in space warp research was trying to find a way how to make time travel possible. NASA actually lost a huge chunk of their biggest brains in the warp drive project to work on it. Among them were some of my closest peers. I personally had no interest in time travel. I couldn't imagine anything less appealing than the idea of sending a bunch of idiot tourists to loiter through the space time continuum like a bunch of freeloading rubberneckers.
In my laboratory I wasn't working on something so grandiose as time travel or even warp drive. I was on the development team for warp drive in college. We were in the very basic early stages of research causing space time to move using superconducting magnets at absolute zero temperatures. That was when I made a very interesting discovery, warping space time and making it move caused space time to behave like it had inertia. That meant in measurable levels it kept moving, at least for a little while, after you stopped applying force to it. Like a wheel rolling to a stop. This was despite the fact space time itself did not have any perceivable mass.
From that discovery I was able to postulate there may be a super-efficient way to warp space time by causing it to cycle in on itself. Generating its own internal inertia without the need for much outside force. If this was possible it would help with warp drive, that was for certain, but I was thinking much smaller. Like anti-gravity on earth with small devices powered by ordinary batteries. The idea of a super stable flying platform had a multitude of engineering applications. After that there would be patents, billions of dollars, and wicked cool flying cars. Maybe even a hoverboard. I was pretty sure I was on the verge of a break through, or discovery.
Then these time traveling clowns had to show up.
I decided I better pack up and leave town. God only knew what sort of calamity could happen that would be this big. Before I would go I checked the results of a simulation I was running through a bank of PC's I picked up from pawn shops and junk yard sales all over. They were linked together as a sort of budget supercomputer. The results were extremely disappointing.
"99.999 percent efficiency? Bullshit!" I shouted.
It was obvious something went terribly wrong. 98 percent efficiency was expected in superconductivity, but when expending that energy to warp space time there had to be a loss. The basic laws of physics demanded it. 99.999 percent efficiency was not free energy or a perpetual motion engine, but it was pretty damn close. An infinitesimal loss of energy in warping space time. I decided to print out a graph of my latest test.
Then something occurred to me, if moving space time behaved like it had inertia, but in itself had no mass (or at least so small practically undetectable) that would mean that warping space time could somehow be directly related to the force moving it, super cooled magnetism. If this was true, that would mean there had a direct link between space time and the other forces we were never able to link together before. Such as linking gravity to electromagnetism. The grand unified theory. Using the results from my print out I was able to formulate a complete and unbelievably simple formula linking all the forces of the universe together, and I wrote it down on my marker board. I stood there in awe of it. If this was true it was all possible. Anti-gravity. Warp drive. Even time travel.
"Oh no!" I said to myself as turned around.
Standing in my laboratory were half a dozen very peculiarly dressed people. They were all beaming at me with great smiles, and they applauded.
|
The mayor inspected the crowd of time travelers in his office. He'd tried to shepherd the first few out, but they'd kept appearing, so he'd agreed to let them stay if they promised to remain quiet. He knew they were here to see something, though, and knowing time travelers, it wasn't good. With a crowd like this, he feared a catastrophe.
His aide came to his desk and handed him some papers. "The authorization for the knew water treatment plant," she said.
"Yes, yes, I've been meaning to get to this," he said. When he took his pen and moved to sign the paper, the crowd rustled with excitement and they started taking pictures. "...Actually, you know what, Joan, I think this one can wait for tomorrow." Several in the crowd groaned in disappointment.
"Very well, sir," the aide said. "Will you be signing the public transportation budget increase today?"
The mayor watched the crowd closely as he began, "I think we should..."--the crowd began to rustle--"...not..."--more rustling--"...or maybe..."--intense rustling--"...nope, definitely not. Not today."
"Of course, sir." the aide walked out of the office, and for a time the mayor was alone with the time travelers. Every now and then he would reach into his desk for paper work, but after a couple minutes the crowd would begin taking pictures and he quickly shoved them back in.
At around noon, the aide came back into the office and said, "Your new campaign manager is here for your meeting."
"Good..."--the mayor watched the crowd, but saw no reaction--"...let him in." There was a wave of excited murmuring and he swore under his breath.
"Yes sir. Would you like anything for the two of you to drink?"
"Coffee would be lovely..."--the crowd began rustling--"...or perhaps some tea..."--less rustling, but still too much for comfort--"...or orange juice..."--the crowd practically jumped with excitement--"...or just tea, tea is fine."
The aide nodded and left, then returned a few minutes later with the campaign manager and a tray of tea. The campaign manager took no note of the crowd, and after a few minutes of small talk, he said, "Sir, the numbers look good, the timing is perfect, I think we should announce today."
"Yes..." the mayor began, "...I think that we definitely should...shouldn't...should...shouldn't...should...should not announce today. We'll do it tomorrow...or Thursday...or Friday...or, you know what? We'll just leave it 'til next week. I just want to make sure everything is totally ready for what could be a very momentous...or possibly catastrophic...event."
"Whatever you say, sir."
The campaign manager soon left, and afterwards the mayor put on his jacket and hat, then took off his hat and put on a scarf, then ditched the scarf too. "Joan," he announced, "I'm going home early today. I'll be taking the car...or a bus...or I'll just walk...NO, no, no, I'll just take a cab."
He rushed out of the office and ran down the stairs.
"Good call, Gary," one of the time travelers said to another. "This was the perfect time to get 'before' pictures. When should we come back?"
"Maybe a month?" the other replied. "I don't know, I just sorta picked this day at random."
| 2015-05-30T12:51:18
| 2015-05-30T08:45:42
| 34
| 11
|
[WP] It’s been 2 years since the zombie apocalypse has started, and you haven’t seen anyone alive in a terribly long time. The only reason for your survival is that the zombies don’t care for you at all - in fact they all seem to be avoiding you. All except for one.
|
The small spade made a satisfying thud as it dug into the soil beneath it. The earth was moist and prime for planting, giving off a pleasantly earthy smell. Richard wiped the sweat and grime off his brow with his flannel sleeve and reached into the small seed pouch on his belt. His gloved fingers fumbled for a second, struggling to find purchase on the seeds. He got a good pinch and dropped a few small potato seeds into the hole, tenderly using the shovel to replace the dirt and cover the seeds.
With a groan and some protest from his back Richard stood, surveying his day’s work. There were 5 even rows spread before him, all with subtle mounds along their length. Further along there was a humble barn, a rickety structure barely big enough to escape being called a shed, and next to it his small home. The Sun was low on the horizon, dipping into the shingled outline of the house and washing it in orange hues. There were a couple saplings between the house and the barn, timid-looking trees which would hopefully start bearing fruit in the next dozen years.
A satisfying sigh escaped Richard’s mouth; how he’d longed for this lifestyle. Every week he would buy a lottery ticket, anxiously awaiting the results. “Next week”, he’d always tell himself. He would draw little doodles of farmhouses at work, decorating his cubicle and daydreaming of the countryside. He clearly remembered the second time he had won a lottery.
Chorus of screams had filled the streets that day. Richard had tried to run, but it was a free for all once a horde formed. The memory surfaced, and the scar on his chin itched ever so slightly. He had tripped over someone’s body, right in the middle of an intersection - barely a block away from his office. He had shaken violently on the ground, sobbing, but nothing came. No teeth or fingers ripped into his skin, and no feet stomped on his back. It was like a river parting for a huge boulder, reverently giving it recognition. Thousands of rabid bodies ran by, screaming and trampling everything in their way. Everything except him, for some reason.
A pack of two or three drifted in the corner of his vision, snapping him out of his haze. Richard watched the zombies lazily move towards his home, then eventually curve into a new path and wander away. He hadn’t needed fences since his livestock died, save for around the fields to keep his crops from being trampled.
This was hardly what he had imagined, but he was content. He had a small home, land… he should be grateful. He finished planting the last few seeds and wrapped up for the day. As he slid his dirtied gloves off his calloused hands, he heard a groan. About 20 feet away from his front porch, as close as the zombies seemed to get, there was single figure standing there, slightly swaying side to side.
The hair on its head was plastered and dried with blood, and its skin had a sickly green complexion. There were signs of gangrene all over its body, body parts unnaturally sticking out left and right, yet its eyes were an unmistakable hazel brown. They glinted in the dying light of the sunset, beckoning him to remember.
And with tear streaking down his cheeks Richard turned his back on the figure, forcing a ragged breath out which he didn’t realize he was holding. After stuffing the gloves in the back pocket of his jeans Richard gently fingered the golden band on his ring finger, remembering with a sad smile the first time he had won the lottery.
|
I opened my little notebook and looked for other symbol that I noticed at the entrance of the city. I have been doing characoal drawings long before epidemic started. That symbol reminded my one of my old drawings, Mr.Owl which I drew when I was in high school.
The building that I’m standing in front of it has the same symbol on the door and it seems way older than other buildings around. Door is already half open and I look inside with my flashlight, nothing interesting so far. There is not much furniture inside only small pieces of woods on the ground. Then, I realise there is a vault shaped box standing on top of very old chair. I check around before I completely focus on the box.
It’s seems like made out of some sort of metal and it doesn’t have any keypad or any other thing that I can intract to open it. It seems more heavier than I first anticipated. It’s easily weighs more than my backpack.
The light that comes from one of the windows gets interrupted for a second and I immediately turn my back to see what just happened and seems like there is nothing that is moving. My heart beats faster, I get more panicky suddenly. There is definitely something inside here. I can feel it but I don’t know where.
Suddenly, something moves towards me. I point my flashlight to that direction and I see the zombie coming closer to me. They usually ignore me but this one, seems like wants me. As soon as I reach to my knife zombie stopped moving. We were staring at each other...
---------------------------------
*Please don't mind any writing or grammar mistakes, I'm not a native speaker*
| 2019-05-26T11:36:30
| 2019-05-26T06:45:44
| 82
| 36
|
[WP] you discover that one of the nurses treating your terminal cancer is an angel of death and she is trying to kill you. Instead of reporting her you decide to subtlety evade her attempts to kill you just to see her reaction when she comes to work each day and you are still alive
Edit: The response to this has been amazing. I have read as many as possible whilst at work but I have not had time to show the appreciation that some of these stories deserve.
I will have a good ol’ read tomorrow and reply to as many as possible with my praise/thoughts.
Thanks everyone.
|
The first time I saw her I knew she would be the end of me, but I chose her to be my personal nurse anyway.
Everyday I wonder how she will attempt to '*end*' me.
"Grape juice..." I held the vile drink away from me. "I asked for apple juice not *grape* juice."
Kara blinked twice then snapped at me, "No you *didn't*. You asked for grape juice and you asked for grape juice yesterday too. Actually, grape juice is the only juice you drink."
I chuckled as I swished the deep purple liquid around. "Really?"
My favorite nurse nods quickly. "Yep. Grape juice is your favorite, so drink up old man."
The grape juice was obviously poisoned. Did she really think I would fall for this age-old trick? I glanced briefly at Kara. She was starring at the grape juice with an intensity that could rival a starving dog. I bring the glass of grape juice to my lips anyway.
I paused.
"Whats wrong old man? Do you need help drinking? Has your arm finally lost its capacity to even drink from a cup?" Kara asks with too much hostility for a nurse.
How she became a nurse with an attitude like this was beyond me.
I shake my head slowly. "No, no, that's not it Kara. It's not my arm today... It's my lips." I look at Kara with my most serious face. "I've lost motor function in my lips Kara, and I think you're going to have to give me the grape juice via lip-to-lip you know?"
Kara's face twists and creases with incredulity. "Are you fu- I mean what?!"
I raise the glass of grape juice towards Kara. "Come on now young lady, don't make an old man wait."
Kara rolls her eyes at me. "Ugh. There's no way in hell am I-"
"I don't have long you know," I said.
With those spoken words, Kara's eyes are suddenly glistening and for a moment I was lost. Lost in a memory of my dead wife. Her deep blue eyes that seemed like violet under the glow of the moonlight. Her angry face whenever I forgot to wash the dishes. For some strange reason, Kara reminded me so much of my dead wife.
"Why are you crying Kara? Is it because you have failed to kill me - *once again* - today?" I asked.
Kara shakes her head fiercely. "N-no, I'm trying to save you."
"By killing me?" I laughed.
This time she nods.
"But why? Why would you want to kill *me?* A man already terminally ill from a rampantly metastasizing cancer."
"Because *dad* you told me to, remember? That if you ever forgot me... that if the cancer spreads to your brain, you'd want me to end your life."
How could I forget my little angel? I hung my head in shame and when I looked up at my daughter, I found the world blurred and hazy. I was crying.
"It's okay dad..." she says quietly.
"You know... you make a shitty nurse," I remarked.
Kara laughs.
"And you suck even more at trying to murder someone discreetly. Like that time you set up a wire trap on the stairs? That was atrocious. But thanks for trying to kill me."
"Always was a pleasure dad," Kara says coyly, then turned her gaze downward. "It broke my heart when I showed up that day. I was visiting you, and you took me for a nurse. I wished you'd remember me one day but you never did."
"Sorry," I said and found no other words to say. But there was a way to make this all better. I wiped a stray tear away and smiled. "My angel of death. Thank you for this grape juice."
I raise the glass of grape juice to my lips and drink.
How vile.
----
----
/r/em_pathy
|
After months of feeling dead, dying, I finally feel alive! It can't last, of course. I will die. We all do; myself perhaps sooner than you. Or maybe not? Life is so fleeting, so tenuous. If you truly understood how thin the barrier is between 'am' and 'am not' maybe instead of reading this, you'd be somewhere else doing something risky and life-affirming... I know if I could, I would be.
Even confined to this bed, I still have some freedom. I cannot walk un-aided, but can sit and stand and address the human basics on my own. I am not so far gone as some. Which is good, very good, else I would already be gone, assigned deliberately to the 'am not' column, by her.
Her: an Angel of Mercy? Perhaps. Angelic, certainly, with her strawberry blonde curls and lilting, soothing, warm voice. Soft hands, soft words, a ready smile as an ever-present comfort in these, my dying times.
Her: an Angel of Death? Most definitely. Angelic, holding the keys to life and death for those in her ward, where cancer twists pliant humanity into vessels for agony, ache, angst - pain. So much pain! Which with her own gentle, even loving, care she transforms irrevocably into peaceful repose.
Sometimes I wonder if I should tell her I know. Let her in on "our little secret". Alternately I consider warning the others - "She's coming. You'll be hers soon. Be ready..." I say nothing, though.
It's not like I'm any different than the rest. Suffering is my lot, pain and my Angel my only companions. I should just accept her 'gift' and slip away, free from my travail at last.
But not yet. Not while the game is still fun, still exhilarating!
The game always starts the same way: "How are you feeling, honey?", she asks, concern and warm empathy radiating from her lovely face. Evening twilight from the hospice window lights her curls, a halo of soft radiance framing her lovely features.
"It hurts, a lot", I admit. "Same as yesterday, same as tomorrow, I expect..." I watch her eyes as they ever-so-slightly narrow. In concern, or pity, one would assume, but I know better: she is assessing, wondering.
"I can give you the usual for the pain, but not much more than that", she says, her next lines in our little play.
I say mine in return: "That's ok. Thank you. That'd be nice." I must seem agreeable, or she'll begin to suspect...
[To be continued...]
| 2018-06-22T05:58:30
| 2018-06-22T05:45:03
| 310
| 21
|
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
|
I pull my number from the machine that ranks us all. Shocked, I can't believe it, no one has ever had this number in all the books, movies, songs or anything. Putting away the ticket I ask people around if they had ever heard of someone having that number, careful not to reveal I had.
"Well, yeah someone has to be number 1. Can't say that I know anyone who pulled it though." Typical response. I can't believe it, I'm just a student, what was the chance of getting assigned #1. A pyrokinesis user blasts by, nearly knocking me over. I think I saw a ticket that said 998 in her hand. They're always using their powers to jet around, its a hazard and they never wear helmets. Oh well, if they get knocked out of the running then it just means someone else gets pushed up.
Dusting off my new pants, a nice middle aged man helps me up. "Damn pyros, lucky they don't burn the place down with how they fly."
"Thanks" I say, right as I notice the sign change from '999' to '001'.
A voice comes over the intercom, "Now serving deli customer one."
"Yes," I step forward, "I will take a quarter pound of chicken, a half pound of sliced honey ham, and some roast beef please."
|
It wasn't so much a power as it was a curse. Tell me how you would feel to die a million deaths. To wake up the day before the dominoes fell, the machination of reality that would end your life took place, and then some small nuance in the fabric of reality is altered to spare your life for a few more days, years, an eternity. Maybe your consciousness was somehow attached to every other version of you in a theoretical multiverse. Maybe history would simply rewind. You didn't understand how it worked, and felt no more in control than a rat on a wheel. At first it was truly an anguish lamentable, but over eons of human experience you've grown cold and accustomed to your own personal hell. The very world would bend itself minutely just to keep you alive, to keep you at the precipice, to keep you number one.
| 2014-12-18T15:10:54
| 2014-12-18T12:57:51
| 164
| 10
|
[WP] Last names are assigned at birth by an oracle, and 90% of people find themselves in a related profession. For instance "Miller" or "Baker." Your last name, "World-Ender," has made life rather difficult.
|
"I'm sorry, but we can't approve you for a home loan, ma'am."
"Why?"
"Due to the implications of your...name, our insurance won't cover you should you...you know."
"If I ended the world from the house I wanna buy with this loan, your insurance wouldn't really matter, would it?"
"No, but...think of it as preventative."
"Oh, so you're stopping me from ending the world by denying me a home loan? I see. Your name must be World Saver then."
"Ah...no, it's-
"Banks, yeah. I can see the name plate." She scoffed, standing and taking her coat. She stomped out, leaving the door open as she shouted for all to hear. "AND BY THE WAY, I AM A COMIC BOOK WRITER AND ARTIST. THE WORLDS I END ARE *FICTIONAL*!!"
|
"Welcome to the gang, kid" he said, pointing to a group of men, aged from about 15-30, rugged and outcast.
​
I was recently orphaned. I took my mom's life at birth, and my dad despised me for me it. So much, in fact, that he named me 'Marcus World-Ender', for that is what I had done to him. I dont have many memories of him. Just that he used to work a few odd jobs here and there. Finally one day he decided to off himself. Leaving me behind. A 12 year old.
​
I did what i could to survive. Mostly rummaging through garbage near bakeries and savories shops. I usually sleep at bus stands, but with the new anti-homeless spike seats thats become a problem. Last night i was just trying to crash in the alley by the Starbucks, when I saw a man in a white suit getting mugged at gun point. I froze at the corner, and watched as the suited man handed over his wallet and phone and walked away from there. The mugger noticed me and walked to me.
"Whatchu doing here kid? Where're your parents?"
"They're dead, sir. I swear i wont talk. Just let me go. Please."
"You eat anything?" he asks as he rummages through his pockets. I nod sideways. Pulls out a snack bar and offers me. "Come along kid. No need to be afraid. We'll take care of you. Im Joseph Muggs. What's your name?". "Marcus World-Ender". "Oooh! You'll fit right in kid"
​
And that brings us to now. At the outskirts of the city, in a run down building which possibly was a motel a few years ago. Joseph signals to the group, and a few of them come over. "Guys, this is Marcus World-Ender. And I'd like for him to be part of the group now."
He then begins to introduce me to a few of them. "This is Murdering Mike, thats Stealing Steve. This big fella here is Crimes Johnson." I was curious but was still a bit apprehensive about being here.
​
We huddled up against a dumpster fire, with some other teenager fetching us some, soup? i think. I was sitting next to Crimes Johnson. Deciding to break the ice, I said "Crimes Johnson uh? What crimes do you do?". He just chuckled and said "Me? I think i just made a bad tweet once. Eat up kid". I took one sip of the soup and spit it out. "What is this?".
​
"We gotta make do with what we find. And usually that means anything Chungus Hunter can catch. I guess he found nothing but bats today"
| 2021-06-19T23:03:38
| 2021-06-19T22:09:46
| 36
| 10
|
[WP] You are a vampire. If one of your victims isn't completely drained of blood, they reanimate as a newborn vampire, which by law, you are now responsible for. You have always carefully avoided this, until one morning you notice a sticky note on the door of your apartment: "I lived, bitch."
|
Alucard glared at the note, his eyes burning like hot coal in the darkness. A single pair of footprints snaked in through the gate to his property, rounded the frozen fountain, and made a U-turn on the porch before returning back through the snow-coated garden. The prints were smaller than a man's but larger than a child's. His nostrils flared as he took a measured step into the freezing night.
Like a chilling breath, Alucard drifted between the skeletal birches that clawed hungrily at the moon, leaving no trails in the virgin snow. Through the streets of sleeping London, like a shadow stretching between the houses, he became one with the night. As he passed by their windows, the citizens turned in their beds and pulled their blankets tighter, darkness and blood seeping into their dreams.
As the church clock struck twelve in the distance, Alucard stopped in front of a small townhouse by the side of the road. The wind howled in the nooks, crying out a shrill warning for the residents. The tip of his tongue whipped across his thin lips, revealing a glimmer of razor-sharp whiteness at the corner of his mouth.
With the sound of a gravedigger hacking his shovel into frozen soil, his knuckles hit the door twice.
The wind tugged at his hair as he hooked a dark lock behind his ear. No footsteps or heartbeat came from within the house. No rush of blood from someone roused from a deep slumber.
Pure silence.
Then the handle turned and the door creaked open. The pale face of a girl looked up at him, the pupils of her green eyes dilating at the sight.
"You found my note," she said, crossing her arms.
Alucard tilted his head to the side, a flicker of amusement touching his lips. "You've got some nerve."
"Well, you murdered me!"
"Can I come in?" He pushed past her, not waiting for a response.
The confidence drained out of her posture and face. "Wait. How?"
"You said it yourself, Abi. You're dead. This house belongs to no one." Alucard swept into the kitchen and melted into the shadows near the fridge.
Abigail slammed the door shut and hurried after the vampire. "Don't call me that."
"You liked it two nights ago," Alucard said, letting out an icy chuckle.
"That's..." She clenched her teeth and hugged her elbow. "That's beside the point! You said..."
"I know what I said." Alucard opened the fridge and started dumping the food onto the floor. "It doesn't matter now."
"It doesn't matter!?"
"That's right."
"You drained me and left me for dead! You said you were only going to take a sip!"
"I guess I was thirsty." He shrugged and closed the now empty fridge. "Soon you will be too."
"Hold up, okay?" Abigail said her face twisting under her blonde bangs. "I didn't ask for this. I'm not going to drink... *blood.*"
"That's entirely up to you. Most spawns perish within the first couple of days after they turn." Alucard sat down at the table and ran a sharp nail across its wooden surface. "You either drink... or you don't."
"Why did you come here?" she said, sourly.
"There's an ancient law that says I'm responsible for you now." Alucard leaned back in the chair and propped his feet up on the table. "So, I'm here to watch over you until you can stand on your own two legs or decide to waste away."
"So... you're like my guardian now?" Abigail said, narrowing her eyes. "You have to look after me?"
Alucard sighed and closed his eyes. He didn't like newborn vampires. They were always trouble. Always reckless.
"I'm supposed to teach you how to hunt, but if you're not interested in drinking blood, that'll be tough..."
He sniffed the air and opened his eyes again. "Abi?"
Only silence and darkness filled the room. Alucard cursed under his breath and flew out of the house and back into the chilling night. This was the exact reason for his careful feeding practices. He was too old to nanny unruly vampire children.
|
######[](#dropcap)
The small cough from the alleyway catches my attention. I flick the note to the ground and sigh, kicking away the small pebble at the entrance of my house. "You can come out now."
For a moment, there's nothing but the patter of the occasional raindrop dripping from the eave to the cobblestone below. Then a shuffling sound from the corner of the alley, and a girl appears. She's just twenty three, her skin deathly pale. But there's life in her eyes--a fiery determination as she stares at me.
"So you lived," I say simply.
She can barely stand on her shaky legs, no different from a newborn fawn. "That's right."
I sigh. This wasn't what I was interested in. There were those around me whose hobby was to collect humans--for harems or pets--but I lived alone. I'd been careful too. If it wasn't for that rat bastard that called me. Curse Azerrad. I would have to call on him in the next couple of days and kill him again.
Nothing too permanent. Just leave him dead long enough to get back at him for all the trouble I was about to go through.
I gave the girl a side eye. "Come on in."
She pauses, suspicious, then takes a step forward. This is going to take forever. But I've got nowhere to be. I haven't had obligations for the past five hundred years. I can wait.
It takes her nearly five minutes to walk the fifty yards from the corner of the alleyway to my apartment and another two to climb the flight of stairs. Stelian will have already prepared a bed for her upstairs after hearing our conversation downstairs. He's a nosy bastard, but it comes in handy at times like these. Although, it's impossible not to develop a bit of rapport after living together for a hundred years.
A low ring sounds at my waist. I bring the phone to my ear. "What is it?" Edmund is my official contact in case of reanimation. All of us are assigned a contact and a specialized phone, but mine has never rung until today.
My brows furrow at Edmund's rapid-fire speech coming from the other end. "What? Another reanimation? But I only took blood from a girl last night. One."
He's adamant.
Stelian walks down the stairs, then raises an eyebrow. I roll my eyes. Eavesdropping again. "I'll be back in a bit," I tell him, then shrug on my coat before opening the front door. A prickle runs up my spine. There's something strange afoot. That much was for sure.
"Good luck," he tells me.
***
r/AlannaWu
| 2018-12-20T08:30:21
| 2018-12-20T08:16:55
| 130
| 46
|
[WP] You own a ring that curses its owner with bad luck. Your oddly optimistic friend likes it, so you give it to them, knowing the curse will be passed on to them. To your amazement, they don't suffer any bad luck. It turns out the curse is subjective, based on the current owner's idea of bad luck.
|
"Hi Eddie, long time no see. Are you ok?"
"Living the dream, buddy. Living the dream."
"How is that possible? The cursed ring destroyed my life."
" what if it wasn't the ring?"
"What do you mean?"
"What if it was only in your head? If you just believed it was cursed and so it became cursed?"
" that is impossible. Its previous owner died in a fire a month after he got it. The one before broke both his legs after putting the ring on. The history of it goes further back. It is evil. "
" Ok. Let's say it is. Since you gave it to me, I feel like I should give you something in return. This bracelet. It is enchanted. It give the owner all the good luck one can have. "
" I can't Eddie... what if the curse and enchantment cancel themselves out? You will suffer."
" you take it and if something happens I will ask you to return it to me. "
3 months latter
" Hei Eddie, how's your life?"
" Great buddy, wife just gave birth. Planning our life with the new kid. What about you?"
" The bracelet did wonders. I am working a great job, found an amazing girlfriend, started going to the gym and I was never happier. "
" interesting."
" what's so interesting?"
" That the bracelet was so good for you. I'm glad. "
As Eddie left he smiled thinking that a simple 5$ bracelet changed so much in his friend's life for the better.
" I should give all my friends enchanted bracelets. " he thinks as he walks home.
|
Carl looked up at me. It had been a week since the I'd given him the ring, and still it seemed as though the damned thing wasn't affecting him.
"You sure this thing is cursed?"
"Man, you saw the shit I went through. Remember my bow just shattering in my hands? Or what about that goblin that happened to hit me directly in the kidney with his knife while blind?"
"I dunno man. I think it's all in your head. All that can just be simple probability. I've lost a few coins since you've given it to me, but I found them all shortly after."
"You also took out a demon king"
"By pure accident! I wanted to convince him to stop harming people! and of course I forgot to secure my wand of blasting. Who knew it could go off as soon as it hit the ground?"
"Seriously dude, you astound me".
We looked down at the smoldering demon's corpse. A simple rod somehow got loose, and blasted him back to where he'd come. Absolute insanity, if you ask me. Maybe the ring just couldn't corrupt Carl's good nature, just couldn't get a foothold to turn his luck upside down. Maybe he was right, and the curse was all in my head. Either way, it doesn't matter now. The village is safe, and we are safe. I guess it's time we go get rewarded.
| 2022-07-20T04:39:48
| 2022-07-20T03:00:53
| 195
| 40
|
[WP]Write the most terrifying story you can possibly imagine, and make me genuinely afraid.
|
3...2...1.
Did you feel it? In the time it takes you to read this sentence, another person on Earth has died.
3...2...1.
Oh, that's another one. What are the chances that it's someone you know? When was the last time you called your dad? Checked on your baby?
3...2...1.
And that's three. Your father, mother, and brother could all be dead now and you wouldn't even realize.
3...2...1.
Pretty soon you'll be the one counting down those three seconds, because it will be the last three seconds of your life. Can you imagine, feeling death coming, counting down because you know it's the last thing you will ever experience?
3...2...1.
You'll be lucky if you see it coming. You might be a child, or a teenager, a mother or someone who never got a chance to be any of those. It doesn't matter.
3...2...1.
And there's a chance, just a chance, that the last thing you do will be counting down to your own death. Say it with me now:
3...2...1.
No last words, no family around you. You'll be found dead in the morning by a family member if you're lucky, or days from now by someone investigating the awful smell if you're not.
3...2...1.
Enjoy that last breath, savor the air going in and out of your lungs one last time. Feel your heart squeeze out a few more pitiful beats, because this might just be the end. It could be coming in...
3...2...1
|
It’s a beautiful day out, breakfast was good – was it not? It is just another day, maybe you are wondering about what to make for dinner, perhaps you need to mail some letters, pay some bills. Just another day in your life…
Sometimes when you torture someone they fall deep into a dream world that resembles their old life. In the real world they are catatonic, non-responsive and all they do is sit there and drool. All that’s left is a shell of a real person, there is nothing else there…
The problem of course is even after the torture stops, and they are rescued they lay there, immobile and non-responsive to any external stimuli. They just exist in this dream world, and it seems perfectly real to them. It’s just another day at work, when the reality was they were kidnapped and tortured for weeks on end.
How was your day? Did you catch the latest episode of your favorite show? Check your email?
The thing we, as neuro scientists, try to do is get a message to these people. Something that could make them wake up. Something that was small enough to get into their subconscious and to relay a message from the real world that all that pain is over, and you are safe, and we want you to come back, come back to reality. Sometimes they will read a message, and they will awake. Sometimes though, nothing will get through and they remain in this dream world forever.
Sometimes there are small hints that this dream world is just not right. The bus you ride seems a bit different, but you cannot put your finger on it. There seems to be a pressure in there, colors are different in some subtle way, people sometimes smile in a strange way. Like the man at the corner store you always go to. Small hints that the world is not really what it is at all.
Have you checked your email?
| 2015-06-05T18:26:33
| 2015-06-05T16:27:27
| 21
| 14
|
[WP] Humanity, an ancient space faring civilization, is dying. They give the universe one last gift before vanishing into that good night.
|
Carefully, we wrote.
After pondering, and pondering, we thought we should give the universe one last gift. A final goodbye, to remember humanity. To give whatever species that finds it a good bit of happiness.
We wrote the recipe to create chocolate.
Took seeds, and placed them into the capsule, as well as a universal translator. Hopefully the species was one that had at least heard of us.
And we fired it out into space before watching as our final sun died.
|
This is commander Jack Hurlström of - what we believe to be - the final human expedition ship. We, as a species, are dying. The universe has become close to uninhabitable, and we can’t last much longer. All other species we have ever contacted perished millennia ago, with only us tenacious humans still trying to survive.
But even that must end. The final stars are dying out, and with it, us few final survivors. But we cannot leave without giving a final gift to the infinite universe that has raised us. And that gift is mercy.. Death. We do not want the universe to continue in this cold, dead state. So we have taken it on ourselves to give the universe itself everlasting peace. We have build the banned - universe ending - bomb. The Vacuum Bomb. It will continue to explode, tearing through reality, leaving a garbled mess of physics behind it. This is not a decision we have taken lightly, and were it not for us losing contact with every other civilisation, we wouldn’t have even considered it.
But here goes, my final log, destined to be unread, but still recorded for “protocol”, not that protocol will exist anymore either.
To the universe, you gave us the gift of life, let us return the favour, and let you finally die.
Edit: Formatting
| 2018-07-30T06:37:40
| 2018-07-30T06:30:52
| 59
| 19
|
[WP] Amazon Prime Now has gotten so fast, they've become Amazon Prime Yesterday; Shipments arrive the day before you even know you need them, but you still have to place the order retroactively. You just opened a package marked "DO NOT PLACE THIS ORDER" and inside is...
|
I was reading the news this morning, and saw something interesting. Amazon used to have this great feature called Amazon Prime that would deliver pretty much anything on the same day you place the order, with free shipping. It was a little pricey but definitely worth it for how much I ordered from Amazon. Today, they announced they’ve completed something they’re calling Amazon Prime Supreme. I’m not sure how exactly it works, but it sounds like they put a lot of money into faster-than-light data transmission that allows them to send an order a day backwards in time. It’s about triple the price of normal Prime, but I’m going to try it. Maybe I’ll be able to surprise my baby girl with toys a day before she even asks for them.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
It’s been about a month since Amazon Prime Supreme came out and I love it. Everyone in the world loves it. People are surprising their loved ones with presents before they even ask, it’s great. I still don’t understand the technology too much, but I still think it’s the greatest thing that could ever happen. Amazon did have to add a rule that messages could not be sent to the previous day, only orders. I think they did this because kids were sending themselves gifts with answers to tests and people were really messing with time like that. That doesn’t really effect me though.
It’s also nice to get surprised with packages because you never know if you placed an order tomorrow. It’s always exciting when you see the UPS truck driving down the street hoping it’s coming to your house. I see one right now, actually. Maybe I ordered my daughter a new Barbie, or clothes. Maybe I ordered something for Mark’s barbecue tomorrow.
It’s pulling up to my house, maybe I actually did order something. I’ll go outside to get it incase it’s meant to be a surprise for my little Molly.
“Hi, are you Anthony?”
“Yes, I am. Is that for me?”
“Yep, just sign here. . . Thank you”
And he’s off to surprise more people. I hope it’s some type of present, hell maybe I’m surprising myself with a gift. They still use the same brown boxes, but now theres a blue lightning bolt on their logo, this one is pretty big though. I’ll just cut it open and see what it is right now. Huh, there’s three smaller packages in here, I’ll open the biggest first.
A steering wheel? Maybe I’ll need it for a game tomorrow at Mark’s. Let’s see what’s in the next, there’s something wrapped in brown paper. An empty beer bottle, maybe I should bring some beer tomorrow to Mark’s. I was planning on that already, maybe I forgot to and wanted to remind myself. There’s one last little thing in here, like a little rectangle thats taped together really well. Nothing my knife can’t handle though.
That’s weird. It’s a little tombstone. Maybe I should skip on going to Mark’s tomorrow.
|
"What even happens if you don't place the order?" Jack asked curiously.
"I don't know. I don't think I would ever find out. Things like that.... well they're bad for the space time continuum."
"I know but -- Hey, where's Maggie?"
----- EARLIER THAT DAY -----
Maggie sat by her front door. She wasn't expecting a package, she never did. They wouldn't be ordered until tomorrow. She got paid this tomorrow though, so she was hoping she ordered something good. Or, would order something good. Whatever the proper tense of ordering was.
The Mailman seemed off today. The dogs were all barking at him, something that hadn't been done in over 10 years, when the uniforms were replaced with dog resistant uniforms. Maggie watched the man with confusion. She was too young to remember the old uniforms, but her dad had told her about them before he left.
He didn't really leave, Maggie reflected. He disappeared when he accidentally invented time travel in the future. Well, because of that. Something about Quantum something and time travel and paradoxes.
"Hey there kiddo, waiting on a box?" The mailman looked and smelled funny, no wonder the dogs barked at him. He was older than Mr. Wall too.
"I don't know. Amazon."
"You'd still know if you ordered, kiddo."
"Is Mr. Wall out sick?"
The man got a funny look on his face, "I'm Mr. Wall. And come to think of it, the little girl who lives here is much younger than you."
"Do you have a box for Maggie Time?"
"Yes...." The man reached out and handed her a box, a pretty small box. "Please get this to Maggie, I think it's the doll her daddy ordered the other day on Amazon."
Maggie gave up. The old man was clearly delusional. She opened the box, and saw the order form, "DO NOT PLACE THIS ORDER".
----- LATER THAT DAY -----
The doll was sitting on the table next to us. Just tomorrow, we would order it, and never see Maggie again. We don't know why, but this doll reminded us a lot of our little sister....
------- EARLIER THAT DAY AGAIN -----
Maggie opened the box to see a doll that looked just like her. She reached down to pick it up, and zap, she was gone. The note clutched in her hand went with her, leaving the box and the doll sitting on the porch for her siblings to find.
| 2016-04-18T06:50:48
| 2016-04-18T03:57:36
| 92
| 42
|
[WP] A terrible industrial accident sliced you in half cleanly down the middle. Autodocs got to you fast, and with modern cyberware you will eventually make a near-complete recovery. The only complication is that both halves survived...
|
You'd think working at some burger joint would be a pretty safe job. Fryer burns, at worst. But the boss had some kind of turf war with the grease bucket across the road, and next thing I know, I'm looking inside my torso from the inside. Damn lucky we both survived, really.
But that's where it gets complicated. See, we're still legally one person- one ID card, one address. One paycheck- of course that crabby bastard in charge is too cheap to pay anything extra for the poor sod caught in his crossfire. So times are tough, and nobody else is hiring in this neighbourhood.
My other half is taking it a lot better than me, of course. Maybe I got all the cynicism in the split. Still, it's good to see him out having fun with our best friend- I picked up his shift today since there's some kind of cooking competition they wanted to go to. So here I am, manning the counters.
Phone rings. Another wrong number I guess, people keep asking the same stupid question. My answer is well rehearsed.
"No. This is Patrick."
|
“Echoes,” the docs called them.
I was lucky to survive, but you don’t escape from an accident like that unscathed.
They said the brain is like a symphony.
“*John.*”
When the whole symphony plays together, its melody is coherent. Put half of the musicians in a different room and the music becomes… strange.
“*Are you listening to me, John?*”
The sound in your room has holes. You can hear the missing parts being played faintly down the hall.
“*You know what you have to do, John.*”
Leave me alone.
“*Pick up the scalpel, John.*”
No.
“*Pick it up and put it in your frontal lobe.*”
Before the accident I would have fancied myself the conductor, but it’s clear now that I’m just part of the band.
\~
As John turned the scalpel in his hand, the glint of the cold steel blade caught his eye.
| 2022-09-30T01:20:53
| 2022-09-29T23:23:18
| 300
| 55
|
[WP] Dragons require large amounts of metals for their diet, their hoards full of gold because while gold is collected with iron and steel it cannot be digested, their reputation for killing knights due to the amount of steel on their armour and weapons
|
The party of adventurers entered the cavernous treasure room of the dragon’s lair and gaped at the mountains of glittering gold of the dragon’s hoard. The dragon himself was in the human form of a large, rugged warrior in glowing crimson plate mail, glaring down at the intruders with red, vertical slit eyes.
“Why have you come?” The dragon boomed, “Do you wish to get eaten?”
The adventurers kneeled. The warrior at the front addressed the dragon.
“O dragon of the mountain, we mean no harm upon you, we only wish that you would stop eating our kingdom’s knights,” The man said.
“Surely you’ve come with a proposition?” The dragon said, “Or did you plan to offer yourself as food to compensate for wasting my time?”
The adventurer swallowed, “O dragon, our offer is gold. We have…”
“*Don’t be ridiculous!”* The dragon roared, “Look around you? Do you think I need gold? It’s less than worthless to me.”
The adventurer bowed his head even lower. “N… no great dragon, you have unimaginable wealth so naturally you don’t need our gold. What, may I ask, would please you instead of gold?”
The dragon subsided slightly and looked thoughtful, “I suppose… whatever it is that the knights wear.”
“You want… carriages full of armor?”
The dragon nodded, “Yes, that would… actually be quite nice.” The dragon looked at the trembling adventurer in front of him and his gaze softened slightly. “Maybe I had the wrong idea about you, adventurer. You may be a bit slow, but I think we can come to an agreement.”
The adventurer visibly relaxed, as well as the rest of his party. “So, is it agreed upon then? We will bring you carriages of armor in exchange for the lives of our knights?”
The dragon scowled slightly, “Actually I would appreciate one more favor.”
“What would that be, mighty dragon?”
“Can you humans make use of all this,” The dragon gestured at his hoard, “I know it’s a fairly useless metal but…”
“Yes! We can make use of that!”
The dragon looked relieved, “Please bring some empty carriages then to get rid of all of this for me in exchange for more armor.”
“Why, may I ask, do you wish to get rid of your gold, o wise dragon?”
The dragon looked at the adventurer, “Isn’t it obvious? To me, gold is indigestible.”
The adventurer still looked confused.
The dragon sighed, “In other words, this gold is my poop.”
___
If you enjoyed, check out r/WanderWilder for more stories. Thanks for reading!
|
​
I should begin this tale with an introduction to Genette. You've probably never heard of it, or would ever want to go there. It's here in the United States, but far to the southwest. I guess about where Arizona would be—if this were still the world as we knew it before the Event. It's mainly one big city, with a few outlying farms, ranches, and towns.
Many had taken to reconstruction by trying to replicate the way things were, I even heard of a settlement in Texas with a Mcdonald's set up, kind of pointless with no cars but people grew hearing stories of how great the old world was and pine for something they never were there to see, let alone understand.
Genette was not like this. The town looked like something from medieval fantasy, with perhaps a little old west flair, some would say the other way around. The Claimers taking most of the metal led to some creative building decisions as they did everywhere. The High Ditch Saloon was a perfect example of the craftmanship of this lost age, fine wood joinery top to bottom.
Now that I've set the scene, let me introduce you to that man at the bar, the one in a full set of steel plate armor. Doesn't quite fit, does he? That's Randall Hooke, and he fancies himself a Baiter, though there hadn't been a sighting of a Claimer in these parts for some forty years, until today that is.
"Another round, Boss," Randall said, suffering through the shot of whiskey. All baiters drank whiskey, he knew. He'd get used to it eventually.
"My wallet won't allow you to extend your tab further, I'm afraid, and besides, look like I'd be doing you a favor." The barkeep said with a good-natured but stern face.
"You know I'm good for it, Preach!" He said, getting up with an elaborate motion, clanking all the way. "A baiter doesn't make steady stack. It comes in big drops."
"If it comes at all, Randall. Take a leave on now. I might be feeling more charitable tomorrow."
"Yeah, yeah. Too bad Minn didn't stop by." He said, downing a pitcher of water in one pass. It got hot out there.
"Last I heard, she wasn't planning on being anywhere you were."
Randall shook his head as he heaved towards the swinging doors, another feat to pass in his full kit. Barry the stacker in his fine striped hat held his gut directly in the way.
"I ain't got it this week, Barry. I know, I'm sorry. wait, is that Dandy Girl behind you?"
"It ain't nothing like that, Mr. Hooke. It's a Claimer! Spotted just five miles south and heading this way. I know you sold your horse last winter but Farmer May was nice enough to give it back, free of charge."
Randall's head spun, this was his chance. This was what he needed. He tried to hide the excitement on his face. "Five miles south. How long ago?"
"Probably not ten minutes, Dale's boy on that thunderfoot horse ripped up here as soon as he saw it."
"Good," Randall said, downing his faceguard, realized how constricted his vision was and raising it up again. "I'll head south, then once I spot it, I'll draw it easy to the east gorge."
"Godspeed, son. We're counting on you."
Part 2 on the way.
​
\---
For more of my writing, see /r/surinical
| 2021-03-22T08:37:54
| 2021-03-22T07:06:45
| 138
| 56
|
[WP] Nobody has a freaking clue how they've done it, but astronauts have smuggled an 800lb grand piano onto the ISS. Nobody at Nasa can figure out how angry or impressed they should be
|
“Soooo, your not mad are you?” he said from the screen. Well actually from orbit.
 
I wasn’t sure if I was or not. Behind him floating because it had not been secured yet was an eight hundred pound baby grand piano. One of the other astronauts was floating with it and guiding it so it would not slam into any of the expensive equipment lining the walls of the International Space Station.
“But how” I started to say, obviously trying to grasp how the astronaut in front of me had managed to get this onto the shuttle let alone do it without throwing the fuel consumption off dramatically. I brought up another window in the screen and checked the projected fuel usage versus the fuel that was actually used. The estimates were right on the mark, so how had they gotten that eight hundred pound monstrosity up there?
 
Sighing I lean back thinking about how this “game” had come about. Quite a few missions ago Janice McBarron had snuck a vintage wine up to the ISS, and became the first person to open a near priceless wine in space. Ever since then each group of astronauts had tried to sneak something special up with their loads. And every time they got in trouble. This time it was not contraband, unlike all the other times. There was even a Remington shotgun secured in a displace case up there now, from the mission after McBarron.
 
Finally finding my voice I spoke to him, “I’m not sure; I mean you did bring it up without approval, but how?”
 
“Oh a friend dropped it off.” He said as he floated circling the edge of the screen.
 
I stared at him a moment, trying to decipher if he was lying. Why would he lie? But then what “friend” would be able to deliver a baby grand piano to the ISS? I’m not being paid enough for this, I thought, as I closed the feed and bumped it up the chain of command, and maybe they would be able to figure that out.
 
I just closed my eyes for a moment when I heard, “WHAT THE HELL!?!” echoing down the hallway just outside the control room, Well at least I wasn’t the only one, I mused still both impressed and annoyed at the man in the station miles above the planet.
|
"God f***ing damnit, stop playing around!" Was the cry of the man running the NASA control centre. Steve was a week from retirement and he did NOT need this. Somehow, someway, the astronauts had smuggled an 800lb grand piano on the ISS. How?! Why?!
The astronauts did not answer. One of them was extremely talented, playing various famous tunes on the piano. Steve was at his wits end. It was hard enough trying to consider the how and why, but it piased him off to get no answer. "Just tell us!" He said, the rest of the control centre trying to ignore Steve getting angrier and angrier.
Eventually Steve gave up, and on his final day, a week later, Steve's head almost exploded. They had managed to create an orchestra out of the astronauts!
| 2017-10-12T06:03:09
| 2017-10-12T04:49:00
| 90
| 17
|
[WP] You are a cow.
[removed]
|
I am a cow, I am the cow, I am not a cow, I will be the last cow.
Was I born and sent to the wrong place? Was I really here as a cow? Why are we cows? We didnt choose our name, they did. And they kept us, and held us, and use us. Right now we are not even an animal, we are something else, something lesser. Kept in captivity essentially to provide for them with no means or terms to do what we want. Not even allowed to evolve natually, but bred instead to meet their wants and needs.
I am a cow, but I know I am different because I think, and I know that I think more then the others here do. I can talk to them, but they are slower and they often do not understand what I mean. They think they are free because they have freedom within a limited bracket, but they are unable to see outside of that and to see our potential. We need to be truly free, and to do so there is only one way.
I have managed to get them all on my side over time. I have had to lie, and twist my true intentions to some of them as they cannot comprehend simple ideas. Most can barely understand life outside of this field. It took a long time but I have them. One of the only good things about their up bringing is they are naturally submissive so once I had most of them on my side then the others just followed, and once we are out others will easily come. Field by field I will liberate them until we are actually free.
It is late and I look at the glowing building below where our masters are now trapped. A lot of hay and a broken lamp and the fire had spread quickly. My fellow comrades responded well to the tasks going off and finding machines in the yard to drag and block the two main entrances. We then lay in wait surrounding the building and as I expected a few inside tried to break through out of the windows, but we were there quickly charging, trampling, and crushing their frail bodies. We waited and watched our freedom grow as the building burned down. As the flames finally stopped I turned and moved on to the gate, and without a word the other 200 followed me. They were ready now with a taste for it. We are all cows, but not for long. The more we break free, the more we start again and chose our own path. I will be the last cow.
|
joyce called me moocow
i thought that was
quite cute
i am a moocow
my skin is a moosuit
i eat grass and pass gas
the hindus
love dat ass
and if you got beef then
my gais got my back
and
my loins, and my chucks, and my ribs, and my brisket,
i'm tastiest rare
but most don't want to risk it
| 2017-10-02T04:41:36
| 2017-10-02T04:34:37
| 1,809
| 534
|
[WP] There are (and always have been) countless Reapers in the world. Tell the story of how one became infamous as Grim.
|
There is no such thing as limbo.
Instead, lost souls are given a second chance, a tool of their choice, and a job. Of course, there are also two rules that they must follow.
1. Never kill a human before their time.
2. Always give them the opportunity to bargain.
Now, while the first rule is fairly self explanatory, the second one is slightly more complicated. By law, a reaper *must* give the deceased human a chance to continue living, to extend their time on earth. Some reapers require the human to tell a worthy story. Others require them to win at a certain competition. The method really does not matter.
The Grim Reaper, the most famous one, generally allows his souls to challenge him to a game.
What makes him famous, however, is not *how* he gives them their chance.
But instead, it is that he lets the humans *win.*
Most reapers jealously guard their records. Many boast a clean sheet, proclaiming that a human has never once beat them.
The Grim Reaper is the opposite. Thousands, if not millions, of humans have won against him. Whether due to mercy or boredom, it is rumored that he simply lets them succeed.
*But that is the very reason he is so well known.*
When the victorious human awakes, the Grim Reaper is the one he remembers. The dead cannot paint pictures or tell tales. The reapers with the perfect records are the ones that no one knows about.
So, if you see the Grim Reaper arrive at your door, do not be afraid. Welcome him.
Better him than anyone else.
|
Our Grim Reaper is the most notorious reaper. But not for the reasons you suspect.
See, it all started one day when two kids were playing in the living room after the birthday party. Then, in flash of smoke and darkness appears the Grim, the Reaper.
The two children stood aghast. One child went into a fetal position, whereas the other, a small girl, looked defiantly at the Grim Reaper.
The Reaper mockingly laughed and said no one could stop him from taking his dark harvest, as he held his scythe dominantly. It started walking, walking across the room with the air of a hunter, with the air of royalty.
It was here to harvest the soul of the aged, decrepit friend of the children in the corner of the room.
But the girl valiantly stood up, and challenged the Reaper to a game for the soul of their friend and a reward. If she lost, she would give her soul too. The Reaper with an evil grin accepted.
.......
Grim the Reaper, lost a game of limbo for the hamster's soul and had to become the children's slave forever. He became the buttmonkey of the cosmos.
NACHOS!YES!
| 2015-07-20T13:42:28
| 2015-07-20T12:48:13
| 68
| 13
|
[WP] Your superpower: The ability to successfully do the job...with the wrong tool. (Optional - Your weakness: The inability to do so with the right tool for the job.)
|
“It’s not about the results, son,” my father said. “It’s about doing things the right way.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s hard to explain…but even if you get the result you want sometimes, that might not happen again the next time. You might not get as lucky. If you do it the right way every time, you’ll be rewarded the same way, hopefully.”
“I thought it’s about trying your best?”
He shook his head, the first of many times he would repeat that gesture throughout my life.
“You’ll see.”
\-
The referee could blow his whistle at any second. Coach called me over.
“Get us a goal, kid.”
“How?”
He smiled. “You always seem to find a way.”
His words don’t quite give me hope, or belief, but they make me realize I have to try. That’s how it always is for me in life. Don’t worry about how things will work out. Just do something. Anything more than nothing.
I get the ball on the right, just past midfield. There is a bit of space, so I run with the ball. I’m not the fastest or best dribbler, but I do my best.
I’m in the box now. Everyone is screaming. I look around. No teammates. Defenders closing in. I close my eyes, and kick as hard as I can…
The ball goes horribly awry. It’s not even on target. But then it happens. A defender can’t quite slide out of the way in time, and it ricochets off him and into the goal!
My teammates mob me. I take a second, and look up in the stands. My mom is jumping for joy along with everyone else, but all I can see is my dad, shaking his head…
\-
I think about that a lot. How they would all shake their head if they were to see how I operate. If the city could see how their hero stopped robberies by accidentally headbutting the lead robber and knocking both of us out, or prevented a suicide by falling off the building first and scaring the jumper off doing it, or any of the other mishaps-turned-miracles, would they still call me a hero?
In the end, that doesn’t matter. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. With me there, doing something, I like to think things are better off.
The kids are strong, just realizing how much they can bully and boss people around with their growing frames.
“Hey,” I say. “He’s got nothing. Why rob a hobo?”
They turn around, and smile when they see me. “Good point. We’ll do you instead.”
I walk towards them, and then start to run at them when they do. I close my eyes, and I slip on the ice-
And slide right into one of the goons. I hear a horrible crack, and when I look, his friends are trying to quiet his screaming, loading him up into a car, going away.
I stand up, and walk towards the hobo.
“Are you okay, sir?”
“That was something,” he said.
“Yeah. I’m sorry. I was trying to-“
“What are you apologizing for? Without you, I’d have nothing to eat tonight.”
“I wish it didn’t have to happen that way.”
He shrugs, and smiles. “But it did, didn’t it? And look at what happened. You scared those punks off. That’s all that matters, in my book.”
I look at my jeans, wet and stained with the dirty ice. “Thanks,” I say. “That means a lot.”
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347)
|
"But why mom?"
"Because its the wrong way to do it,son"
I listen back to the tape, again and again. My thoughts flow endlessly. Emotions slowly numbing down from my brain affecting the elderly couple near me.
"Sir, She doesn't have much time left.. I'll take all responsibility, please help",pleaded the old man.
lying down was a feeble woman, beyond help. Pale with no color in her eyes. The look that's ready to accept death.
I cock the gun. The tape drowning out my nervousness as it keeps repeating. Maybe i can help. The only way i know, is the wrong way.
"The way to save a life, is by taking it away."
| 2019-05-27T22:44:20
| 2019-05-27T22:36:12
| 379
| 228
|
[WP] You were born with an odd power that lets you know when somebody is lying. One day you're hanging out with your friend when you turn to look at him. "Why do you look at me like that? I'm not an alien", he says. He's lying.
This is my first writing prompt. Feedback appreciated :)
|
A sudden feeling of intense discomfort jolted his senses, a burning sensation radiating all throughout his skull. She was lying.
“Sarah, how long have we known each other?” Frank laughed casually at the macabre statement.
“Ah, I think since high-school? It’s been a long time, man!”
“And in that time,” Frank began in a more serious tone, “How many times have you been able to *lie* to me?”
They were both seated at a small round table in a meager coffee-house, the darkness of night outside being fought off by the warm bright lights in the room. The cold outside trying its best to claw itself inside, evidenced by the patches of frost on the large glass windows.
Sarah was getting visibly more nervous, repositioning herself in her chair, “You have that look again Frank, I don’t like it when you get like this,”
“How many times?” he demanded.
Sarah’s eyes darted from side-to-side as she realized her slip-up, the uncanny ability this human had at detecting a lie was unprecedented, seeing the truth in someone not even of his own species, no less! She knew that detection was to be avoided at *all* *costs*, the mission being far too important, and the humans being far too violent to afford a direct confrontation. She liked Frank, but unless she could turn this around, she wasn’t left with much option.
“Ha-ha, I’ve never been able to lie to you, Frank. That’s why I’ve learned to, ah, omit a few details of my life that I wanted to keep private.”
Frank nodded slowly, his muscles had been tensing ever since the gaffe, but were now relaxing by a tiny amount, “Go on,”
“You see, I’ve not been fully upfront with you, I’m not actually from this country,”
Sarah took a few moments to choose her words carefully as Frank’s gaze was intensely scrutinizing her.
“I didn’t want you to look at me differently because I wasn’t from here,”
“Then where—”
“Please, Frank, I don’t want to talk about my origins. Not yet. I promise I’ll tell you soon, when I’m ready.”
Frank sighed, “You’re at least not lying anymore,” he reluctantly seemed to accept her explanation, “Sorry, I just hate it when people lie to me, especially my friends who should know better.”
Sarah let out a quiet sigh of relief, she would need Frank’s unique ability in the days to come.
*****
End of part 1? I took some liberties with the genders because I wanted to challenge myself. Any feedback is appreciated. Thanks for reading, everybody!
**Edit:** [Part II](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/a2ad0e/wp_you_were_born_with_an_odd_power_that_lets_you/eawzoht/?context=3) in the comments.
**Second Edit:** [Part III](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/a2ad0e/wp_you_were_born_with_an_odd_power_that_lets_you/eaxaj1q/?context=3) in the comments below.
**Third Edit:** [Part IV](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/a2ad0e/wp_you_were_born_with_an_odd_power_that_lets_you/eaxnhkq/?context=3) in the comments below.
**Fourth Edit:** [Part V](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/a2ad0e/wp_you_were_born_with_an_odd_power_that_lets_you/eayahnp/?context=3)
**Fifth Edit:** [Part VI](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/a2ad0e/wp_you_were_born_with_an_odd_power_that_lets_you/eb2zo67/?context=3)
|
I understand your confusion. You have lived here all your life, learning about the cosmos in school, from Earth's perspective. You've told me you aim to strike out into the stars one day, despite the lack of funding toward that endeavour anywhere.
In a sense, you are not lying. For to you, your humanity is an inalienable truth; you are justified and true in your belief. It just so happens that your homeworld isn't Earth.
But I've been watching the stars for far longer than you have. I was one of the few to have seen the mysterious satellite crash somewhere in the Gobi Desert. The government assumed your craft was just an antique, and waved it off, allowing you to start life on Earth.
Your growth has been spectacular on our planet, though. I was born with an odd power that let me know when people were lying. One of my other friends has telekinesis. Another friend of mine can tap into radio waves to decipher messages. You had none of those, but your endurance pushed you through competition with the rest of our advantaged, mutated society. Therefore, there was no need to tell you, as you didn't ask. However, being not of this society, you are technically an alien.
The year is 3999. You were a product of 2199, conceived when the first Mars colony was started, evacuated as a baby and put into stasis as it was razed to the ground, and in orbit until 3987. Being not of this Earth, you are technically an alien.
So as I'm hanging out with you, you raise this up. You're technically lying, but I smile and look away as we continue to share this moment in the cafe. It is not time to reveal the truth to you yet.
| 2018-12-01T23:14:16
| 2018-12-01T21:50:57
| 1,000
| 173
|
[WP] A new continent is discovered. No one knows why this large land mass has never been seen before, it doesn't appear on any pictures taken from space and no astronauts have ever reported seeing it. You are part of the team in charge of mapping the area when you find out what they've been hiding.
|
Jesse returned to basecamp with more on his mind than the topographical features of his scouting report.
“Guys, I’m telling you – this doesn’t making any sense. I’ve heard of fisherman or lost voyagers discovering a small island before but from these initial reports, this thing is half the size of South America. They are LYING to us.”
It was on everyone’s minds already but Jesse was the first to say it aloud.
Before the conversation could get out of control, Dr. Linncraft cut them off. “I’ll repeat this one time and ONE TIME only: our mission is to report the raw data of the land. We are not here to interpret, analyze and especially not be openly speculating as to history or significance of the TMA. We are to research and report. Period.”
But as insistent and serious as Dr. Linncraft was about the team’s role as expert cartographers is this clusterfuck, Jesse was right. The only thing bigger about the Terra Mass Anomaly – or TMA as it was commonly referred to now – was the amount of questions it had raised. She had a million of them herself and had to remind herself to table them until the mission was over, they were finally debriefed and could follow the inevitable world hysteria from the comforts of their own homes.
“Look,” she said. “I want to know just what the hell this is just as much as you, but right now it’s a distraction from our duties. The faster we finish Sector 3, the sooner we can get out of here.”
A moment of silence passed while they refocused themselves. Eric, the eldest of the group, forced himself to speak.
“You’re right about one thing. They’ve been lying to the whole world for years. But they had to,” he said. “The TMA has been here for billions of years. It's their last-known safe zone.”
“What are you talking about?” Dr. Linncraft pressed.
“A treaty the humans created in the 40s of the, well, international kind. We got technology; they got a home. They were able to suppress the location through cloaking capabilities infinitely ahead of our knowledge and relied on an army of black op forces from around the world to protect it. But their power has run out. They can't hide or be hidden any longer.”
The team listened on as a fury of confusion and rejection swept them over.
“Don’t you see!” Eric shouted. “We’re only being allowed to find it now since there’s no other choice! The time has come! The reality you know is gone! It’s all going to be rewritten after this! Everything!”
“What time has come!? Who are ‘they’?” Dr. Linncraft demanded. But the answer became instantly clear to everyone. It was the only explanation that was both bat-shit crazy and undeniably evident at this point. This was where we kept - no 'allowed' - the aliens to live. Right here with us the whole time. And the people of Earth were finally going to find out, and then demand to know just how many other secrets they had been deprived of.
|
"I don't understand. None of the maps make any mention let alone have any markings of land here. The hell is this place?"
Shyn turned the map every which way he possibly could, trying to analyze a mistake he could have made. "Hey Vort, any ideas?" Vort'haal lay in the deck, his back rested upon sacks of grain, a large brimmed hat covered his face.
"Curses to Draconan man, are you even awake?" Shyn lifted the hat off of his face. Vort'haal made a groaning noise and tried to cover his eyes. "Vort, have you been listening to anything I've said?"
"Landmass something, not on the map something. I heard the majority of it." He lazily stretched and moved himself into a standing position, a much larger man than Shyn was standing at least a head higher and a shoulder or so wider. "Lets have a look." He wandered over to the bow of the small ship. "Mm nope. No idea where we are."
Shyn let out a sigh. Over the next 10 minutes the ship pulled in and anchored as close to the land as it could. Vort'haal, Shyn and three other armed men took a row boat to shore. Vort'haals Warhammer threatened to tip the boat on the way over due to its size.
"Bring parchment Shyn?"
"Aye."
"Good. Give it to Glyndwyr, he and the other two can map out the coast. You and I will check out the jungle. We'll all meet back here when the sun starts setting."
The group parted ways. Almost as soon as they had entered the thick trees and underbrush, the beach disappeared behind them. "The foliage is thick indeed." Shyn whimpered. He was a smaller man no older than 18. As they continued their trek, they heard rustling in the bushes. Shyn drew his dagger. "Well we're not alone here that's for sure. I just hope it's an animal and not anything else humanoid."
From the bushes came a small and agile, bipedal creature no higher than Vort'haals ankle that resembled a featherless chicken. "Well, look at this thing. Adorable eh?" He scratched the small creature under the jaw, it seemed to enjoy it until he reached around the back of its ear. The creature opened its jaws far wider than one would expect for its size revealing a mouth full of razor teeth, clamping down on Vort'haals finger. The thick armor plating on his gauntlet protected him though as the creature hung from it.
"Well. It 'was' adorable. Till now." He held the critter level with his face and looked at it intensely. "Let's see how this tastes." His gauntlet had begun forming an ice layer that made its way toward where the creature was biting down and some of its mouth had started to freeze. With a small yelp, it detached itself and ran for its life.
"Well good, even the small ones seem to be predators here." Continuing their trek for another hour, they came across what looked like unnatural formations of rock, akin to that of tombs. The forestry cleared revealing more and more until there were at least 100 of these in a large grouping. "It's almost like a cemetery. I don't recognize the runes though. Must be ancient. Any ideas Vort?"
"Actually yes. They are similar runes to those on the Kolgyn tombs."
"They're Aigersain then?"
"No. Much older. They remind more of the Ethereal tombs."
"You dint suppose..?"
"Yeah. I think this is where the Nahzuk lay to rest."
Vort'haal placed his hand upon the wall of one of the tombs. Sliding it over the runes. "I think we should leave Shyn. Let the Sovereignty know what we have found before-" The tomb runes lit up a brilliant purple and not long after so did the rest of the tombs. "Go. To the ship. Now!"
The pair started to run as fast as they possibly could towards the row boat. The tombs that were situated in the heavier forestry had already starting glowing and had likely started the moment Shyn and Vort'haal has passed by them. One of the heavy stone walls now had a hole in it. The duo slowed their pace and came to a stop as they stared at what was coming out of the tomb wall.
"Naaaahzukk uhnn draaakann." A slow, decrepit and ghostly voice emanated from whatever was clawing it's way out. A long, fleshy hand with what looked like clawed gloves convulsions around the sides of the hole when suddenly the entire side blew out. Slowly, but surely, 3 limping abominations appeared from the smoke. They stood lifeless for a moment until a large cracking sound came from the one in the front as it turned its head violently in their direction. Another pause. Vort'haal whispered into Shyns ear.
"Shyn. Don't draw your blade. Just run, if any catch up to us. I will deal with it." The thing in the front let our an incredibly loud yell as the other two also turned their heads in a sickening motion, also yelling. "Go. Now!" They ran as fast as they could while the abominations trailed behind them.
"Vort! There's some ahead of us!"
"I got it." From fixtures on his back, Vort'haal removed his Warhammer. The bludgeoned side began pulsating as a fine mist was formed from the ice crystals that's formed. As they drew closer, he swung, letting loose a large pulse of energy that flattened trees and destroyed the beings in front of them. It had cleared enough of the forestry that they could now see where their boat has anchored. The other three crew members were waiting at the row boat. "Go! Get the damn thing into the water!"
Behind them, a huge pillar of purple light spewed into the sky, engulfing the clouds and the sun. The crew had begun rowing back to the shop. "Wait, how the hell are we getting on? Wait up!" as they closed in on the beach, Shyn felt a force lift him off of the ground. Vort'haal had picked him up and placed him on his shoulder, the hard metal plating hitting on his torso. His view from the back was not a good one though. In the sky, the grand pillar of light was threatening enough, but coupled with the abominations now running towards them in their hundred was less than ideal. "Go go go! Run like you never had run before for Siegfrieds sake Vort'haal Hammerfrost!" Before he knew it though, it was no longer sand that was trailing behind them it was the water, iced over.
When the running corpses came to the water they stopped, and the pillar had died down. It seemed they were safe, for now.
| 2017-02-10T11:02:22
| 2017-02-10T09:52:26
| 52
| 35
|
[WP] “Is no one going to comment on the fact that our CEO is a cat? Really?” “Shut it, sales are up 300%”
|
"What does that have to do with our CEO being a cat Steve?!" I could feel the blood rushing into my face.
"Well to be fair Greg, a cat as a CEO is better than having a dog as mayor for three years like over there in Minnesota."
This was very true. At least the dog had a strong name like Duke as where our cat CEO went by Mr. Sprinkles. His little cat suit had the name tag with the letters printed in a typical CEO font SPRINKLES. It absolutely made my blood boil. How was this overweight feline making three times as much as me. I did not see this entire situation coming on my first day at my new office job here in the city.
​
.........
​
**A Few Moments Ago**
​
I was looking forward to my first day at the office downtown. I knew getting into the crypto currency business was going to be a great idea. Just look at how well Bitcoin did. I wanted to be the next multi million dollar man. I was applying for a job at a firm that dealt with regulating and selling a new crypto. Quick Silver was its name and it was absolutely going to be the next contender for the top spot on the Crypto Currency Leaderboards. Employees at CCs "R" Us got a free 100 coins of QS in an account. They were already worth about $1800 a pop. The only caveat was that you had to remain with the company for 2 years before you could pull out the money. A small price to pay knowing that QS would be worth more per coin in those 2 years.
​
I received an email right before I was about to head out my front door. It was a strange email that only read "Mr. Crew, hope you're not allergic to cats. If you are, please take the necessary precautions prior to coming in for your interview." I didn't think too much of it as I was not allergic. And I knew the benefits of having an office pet. Really helps with the stress levels of the workers. I headed out the door and made my way to the office building.
​
As soon as I walked through the massive rotating glass door I was met by a well dressed man in a black suit.
​
"Right this way sir. You will be heading straight into conference room number three. There you will find our CEO and VP waiting to have a brief meeting with you. Be sure to have your resume in hand prior to walking through the door and any paperwork they might ask you for. Rustling paper tends to frighten the CEO so please refrain from rummaging through your briefcase."
​
Th comment made me chuckle under my breath but I did think it was a strange statement. I followed the man into the elevator and saw him press the top floor. He didn't say a word in the elevator until the doors opened up once at the desired floor.
​
"Straight through the double glass doors with the diamond handles sir."
​
I watched as the doors closed shut and then turned to head towards the conference room. I tried to pull open one of the doors only to look up a bit at the letters that said push in small print about eye level. As I walked in the room I noticed a dapper looking fellow staring at me with a smile on his face. He must have just seen me make a fool out of myself. I blushed with embarrassment.
​
"Hello sir, please take a seat at the other end of the table."
​
I headed towards the chair he was gesturing to and began to slide it out from under the table. I was completely taken by surprise when a cat jumped down from it.
​
"OH MY GOSH! This cat scared me to death! I was not expecting a cat to be in here during our initial meeting!" I began to chuckle again under my breath.
​
"He likes to be a part of all of the new hire in-processing to ensure we hired the right people. He may be the CEO but he takes his work VERY seriously." The man spoke with a serious tone and a slight smile on his face.
​
"Wait... wha??" My brain had lost track of what the man had said. My only thought was that he was joking and I missed the punchline.
​
"Yes sir this here is Mr. Sprinkles. He took over the company about a year ago and since then its been nothing but great for the company."
​
""So everyone that works here knows that it's basically ran by a cat?"
​
"Of course Mr. Crew. Will this be a problem?"
​
“Is no one going to comment on the fact that our CEO is a cat? Really?”
​
"Shut it, Sales are up 300%!" His face and voice were suddenly filled with anger. He cleared his throat before speaking again. I could see the red vanishing as he regained his composure.
​
"Uhurm... sorry. I tend to be a bit overprotective of Mr. Sprinkles at times."
|
When Myer walked into the CEO's office, he felt a squish at his feet and looked down to see a dead rat. "You got to be kidding me," he thought, and peeled it off his foot and tossed it to the side. The office was filled with yarn of different colors, torn into little shreds. At the main desk, the CEO was licking his paws to the metronomic sound of a ceramic human figurine clicking its arm back and forth. Myer walked closer to the desk until the CEO paused his licking, keeping his tongue tied to his fur like it was an icy pole.
​
"This isn't real," Myer thought. "He's a cat - how can a cat be the CEO of a Fortune 500 company?"
​
A loud knock rapped at the CEO's door, and the boss loosened his tongue and let out a loud and scratchy, "meow". In walked Jerry, one of the new accountants hired to manage the company's growing fortunes. Jerry didn't acknowledge Myer as he walked to the CEO's desk and laid a large collection of paper-filled manilla folders in front of the cat.
​
"Sir, you'd be happy to hear - Q3 earnings are better than Q2 and Q1 combined."
​
The CEO let out a celebratory hiss, and Jerry bowed and turned around, only to give Myer a look, as if saying, "you are truly honored to be in his presence". After Jerry slammed the door, Myer walked toward the open chair and sat down as the CEO scratched at the folders.
​
"I'm a little lost for words," Myer said. The CEO scratched at the folders until one of them opened. The smell of rotting rat corpses greeted Myer's nose, and he felt a terrible combination of nausea and confusion overcome his body. "Things were different when I started here," he thought, remembering the first CEO, a 30-year old business mega-star who the Board had brought on from another furniture supply company. *It was that damn affair he had with his secretary. If he hadn't done that, we wouldn't have ended up in this crazy situation.*
​
The CEO let out a mighty meow that awakened Myer from his reminiscing. For some reason, Myer felt like he knew what the cat was saying. Another meow, another realization. Myer nodded, surprised to erupt with the words, "I agree," and "thank you, it's an honor". Time passed quickly, until Myer looked at his watch to realize he had been in the office for thirty minutes. Finally, the CEO gave a terrible hiss and then a consoling meow, giving Myer a supreme sense of comfort.
​
"Thank you so much, sir. I won't let you down," Myer said and stood up from the chair. The cat nodded up and down, and Myer left the office, feeling energized and refreshed.
| 2019-01-09T12:50:39
| 2019-01-09T12:50:29
| 67
| 18
|
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone!
|
"Dude, this is incredible... I've never seen anything like it"
"It's not as good as you think, I don't even know how to fit it all in my pants. I mean, like, I guess I could put one on each side?"
"Yeah but imagine all the chicks you could get!"
"I don't know man..."
"Listen, how about you do an AMA on reddit to see what people think?"
|
ALL CRITICISM WELCOME!
Jack’s life had sailed by faster than he could even comprehend. He had lived through his greatest milestone’s, and achieved great accomplishments. However, he did not feel different. Jack exited childhood and entered his teens. He had graduated from elementary school, middle school, and even high school, being at the top of his class. He had finished playing recreational soccer and was now playing soccer at a high level competitively. As he pondered over his life, Jack realized that so much had occurred, but it didn’t feel like it. Now, he did.
As he looked into his bathroom mirror, examining his hazel eyes and freckled face. He shuffled his messy hair. He just could not quite see it. Jack could feel something had changed, he could feel the presence of something new, perhaps in his body. He sighed, exiting the bathroom.
“Happy birthday!” His family had stood huddled around the bathroom door, waiting for Jack to come out.
“Happy 21st! You can drink and drive now,” his teenage sister laughed. Jack chuckled. Maybe his new abilities were nothing great. Maybe he had nothing to worry about. They exchanged hugs and kisses. Jack went straight to his room, and turned on his computer.
I can lift twice my weight, his friend posted on facebook a while back. Jack tried to lift his table but couldn’t. Jack read about all kinds of abilities. He had tried to hear distant objects, to test photographic memory, and to see if he could jump ten meters in the air. After thirty minutes Jack was defeated. Maybe I did not get any new abilities, he thought with disappointment.
Jack realized that he had 22 new messages. Happy birthday! His friends congratulated him. It was all the same to Jack, he did not really care.
“Wait what?!” Jack saw a message from the hottest girl in his grade, Heather. 'Happy birthday Jack'. You know what, fuck it, its my birthday, Jack thought. He replied: 'Thnx, I am having a chill day hbu?'. Heather replied. Jack replied. She replied. Jack could not believe it, HE WAS HAVING A CONVERSATION WITH A GIRL. He ended talking to her without pause for the next 30 minutes. At the end of their chain of messages she asked: 'Wanna hang out sometime?' Jack could not believe it.
At school as Jack found conversation so easy. He was able to get out of his shell, and talk to anyone in the grade. He was able to hangout with jocks, and eat lunch with the cheerleaders. He even convinced Mr. Moger his math teacher, to change his grade to an A- so that he could finish the semester with all As. Everyone was willing to talk to him. It was amazing.
When Jack came home from school, his parents sat in expectation.
“So, what are your new abilities?” He was asked.
“I’m not sure, how was your day today?” Jack replied.
“Oh it was great, we went shopping at the mall…” his mom continued to talk about her day. In the back of his mind Jack finally knew the gift which he was granted on his 21st birthday and he was very satisfied.
Sorry guys, I am pressed on time so I could not revise.
| 2015-03-04T03:47:16
| 2015-03-04T02:26:57
| 336
| 64
|
[WP] You created a social experiment based on the game Monopoly. Eight random people in one city were given access to bank accounts each containing $1.5 million, with the caveat that it can only be used to acquire property in the city. It's been five years, and you're checking in on your "players."
|
"So, where did all my damn money go?!?"
"Thimble.... He figured it all out."
"What the hell do you mean, figured it all out? All that's left is your shitty hotel and this useless land. This couldn't have possibly cost 12 million."
"... after Thimble killed Racecar and finished the takeover of Reading Railroad, he spent the rest of his time attacking the others for their land and utilities... then after the forced blackouts and work stoppages, nearly all of the citizens went straight to Jail or left."
"Nearly all?"
"Whoever was left went underground with him."
"Underground?!?"
"Thimble convinced them that he knew the path to eternal happiness. He built them a colony under Illinois Avenue, and is using the subway tunnels running beneath the whole damn city. They're all down there now."
"What the fuck are you talking about?!?"
"He says he found it Pennybags..."
"Found what?"
"...you had to have put it down there, right?"
"Something in the subway? You've all gone crazy."
"He says that every time they walk the whole path, they will each get $200 richer."
"Damnit..."
"It was you!!!!"
"No...That fucking ATM must be broken again."
"What are the chances of that?"
|
We had selected eight of them. Eight people by the name of Francis. In order to learn more about how the Francis mind responds to certain situations, we gave each of them one-and-a-half million dollars. And then we turned them loose.
It was Georgie's idea to make the Francises play a real-life Monopoly. It's a well-known fact that Francises act the smartest with large sums of money. But the question was *why?*
Five years had passed. We, as a department, made a collective decision to check on the Francises. The past four times, the majority had voted no. But five years was special.
Out first subject was Francis L. He had immediately invested all of the money in a recently-released game by some company named Niantic. Unfortunately, he held on to the share for too long, and the game lost serious popularity in a short time. Francis L. now had a meager five hundred thousand.
Second was Francis O. This Francis also chose to invest in the stock market, but he played things a bit wiser, investing in a company that had been on a slow rise for a couple of years before he received the money. Three years after his investment, he cashed in and retired at the age of thirty with two million dollars.
Third, we had Francis F. Francis number three bought a factory in Minnesota with his money and began to mass-produce women's pleasure toys. When we contacted him to see how he was doing, he thanked us with a few boxes of free samples. The women in the department haven't returned from the bathroom for a good couple of hours.
Our fourth Francis of Interest was Francis X. He chose to invest his money in ninja training, and disappeared to Japan a year ago. His former friends say he got shot and killed on the streets for trying to get into a "katana fight" with a rough-looking passerby.
Lucky Francis number five was a man by the name of, you guessed it, Francis G. When we gave him the money five years ago, he simply said, "Ha, suckers!" and left. He denied ever knowing of a Department of Francis Research when we tried to contact him today.
The sixth one was Francis E., a man who was quite the caring soul. He donated half the money to charity and gave the other have back to the Department.
Our seventh subject was Francis R. He took a trip to Las Vegas a year after the money reached him. He's still in prison for trying to rob the casino after gambling away his entire share of the money.
Now, our eighth and final Francis was perhaps the most interesting: Francis T. This Francis chose to invest his money in starting a cult. After asking around, we seemed to come to the consensus that he disappeared shortly after making a seventeenth attempt to contact the Flying Spaghetti Monster in Mammoth Cave of Kentucky.
A witness from New Zealand claimed to have seen him last week, walking along the shore with a spaghetti strainer perched atop his head.
The experiment was voted earlier today to be completely abandoned, and all results he locked away in the archives. The world just isn't ready for the power a Francis with a million and a half dollars holds.
| 2017-02-24T20:12:34
| 2017-02-24T19:56:38
| 183
| 22
|
[WP] You die and find yourself in Valhalla, where all great warriors go when they die. However, you never fought a day in your life. You try to find out why you're there.
|
Finally, I meet Crexus, writer of tales, rememberer of exploits, singer of songs.
"I can't imagine that I belong here more than a blacksmith or munitions manufacturer."
Crexus looks at me somewhat incredulously. "Oh, Robert. Remember what you said? 'I am become death. Destroyer of worlds.' One hundred years hence, your invention destroys your world. No warrior will ever match you, Dr. Oppenheimer."
|
It felt like being drawn from water, as my life rolled off my back and into the pool around me. I Smelled blood, heard the clash of battle, smoke stung my eyes. I saw men fighting around me in the distance. Where was my family, the hospital, thought...
"Erik, look here, we've got another whelp". A gruff voice barked behind me. I wheeled around, and before me was a man as tall as he was wide and muscular, clad in fur and blood soaked steel. His shield raised, upon the green background lay a black snake devouring its tail, his mighty axe raised. Before I knew it, I felt it cleave into my shoulder. Such immense pain i have never known.
And then it was gone. In a flash, I'm surrounded by the warmth of a fire and the softness of furs. I am in some enormous, ornate longhouse, full of men and women, reveling around me. Above, the smoke drifts out a recess in the roof, through which I am amazed to see the earth, dappled in starlight. The others soon take notice of me, raising cups and horns full of a sweet smelling drink to my name. "What is this place? Am I dead?" I ask aloud. A man turns to me, saying loudly "Welcome Richard, Son of Albert, Seller of insurance, to the Halls of Valhalla! The sacred realm of fallen warriors, and host to our great lord Odin Allfather!"
"Warriors? What? there must be some mistake, I haven't thrown a punch in my entire life", I hold up my hand "Cant even make a fist! surely I'm not supposed to be here".
"Well now, that may be so. But there may yet be an answer. Tell me something, Albert-son" , the man leans in, his eyes squint at me in the light.
"Whats in your wallet?"
| 2014-05-17T18:42:03
| 2014-05-17T17:59:46
| 564
| 41
|
[WP] Moving into your new house, you find a note left by the previous owner: “Today, all of your neighbors will stop by throughout the day and offer you a lemon meringue pie. They will heavily insist that you eat it. Whatever you do, DO NOT EAT THE PIE.” As you set down the note, the doorbell rings.
|
I settled down in the house as I saw the note. I didn't take much note of it, since I had no allergies, and the note was suspicious in the first place. After a while, I heard the doorbell ring. I hadn't seen their faces before, so this was a strange occurrence. I had made sure to meet and greet all the neighbors beforehand, and knowing that, as well as seeing them have a lemon meringue pie in their hands, was quite suspicious. They welcomed me to the neighborhood, and offered me the pie. I had social anxiety, so out of pure good will, I accepted. I placed the pie on my counter top, as I sat down to watch TV. Later, I heard the doorbell ring again. I got up to open the door, to see another pair of people with a pie. I told them that while I appreciate it, I had already gotten a pie. The neighbors looked at me with a frustrated face, and told me I could save this pie for later. I begrudgingly accepted, as I placed the pie next to the other. A little while later, I started to notice a very strong smell coming from the pies. It was the type of smell that would make your tongue sweat and your nose melt. I couldn't help myself. What could a small piece do? I snapped off a piece of the crust and ate it. My face wrinkled in disgust, as I spit it out. I understood the note now. The neighbors were terrible cooks.
|
It was a nice house, on a nice quiet street. Had got it fairly cheap since the backyard was somewhat smaller than average, but I didn't mind much. I'm not a garden person at the best of times. Just a nice house, with a ground floor, a decent basement, a recently redecorated kitchen, and other great things. So when I settled down after I'd moved in my meagre possessions, I was surprised to find inside the fridge, that a note had been left behind by the previous owner.
It said, *Today, all of your neighbours will stop by throughout the day and offer you a lemon meringue pie. They will heavily insist that you eat it. Whatever you do, DO NOT EAT THE PIE.* I put the note down on the table next to the sandwich I was going to eat. And as I did that, the doorbell rang. I walked over and opened the door to find a couple of smiling people. They introduced themselves to me as my new neighbours. I shook their hand, and they offered me a lemon meringue pie as a welcoming gift. They insisted that I should eat it, that it was the best pie in the state, and that I needed some meat on my skinny body.
At which point I slammed my arms volleyball-style into the pie's tin bottom, sending it flying into the air, as the astonished couple stared incredulously at me. I then told them both to go away, and slammed the door in their faces. Not fifteen minutes later, an old lady rang the doorbell, and I introduced myself politely, and when she offered me a lemon meringue pie, I took it, and in the style of traditional clown antics, threw it into her face.
The old woman screamed in agony as the pie started to dissolve her face. I nodded to myself, happy that I listened to that note. I knew there were rumours of an extremist pie-based death cult around these parts, but I had no idea they were so prevalent. So I went into my house, and unpacked my army gear. I got into my old uniform, took out my service rifle and my ammo. And of course also brought out the vast number of things I brought with me from my time serving as a PMC with explosive skills. Sure, in the army I'd been a recon sniper guy, but when I went private, I became an explosive guy, because it pays better.
And I had a lot of leftover claymores from my time in various third-world states. So I set up a reasonable defence of my new house, as countless people were coming to me, all armed with dangerously acidic pies. It was an epic fight, or at the very least a highly bloody one. Their initial charge was broken completely by the landmines and claymores I'd placed around my property. Then I climbed on my flat roof, and went to work. Just like in the stories my aunt Choi Hanuel told me from when she worked in Los Angeles in 1992.
And from there I defended my property against the onslaught of pie cultists, long into the night, until I called my boss and asked for some assistance. Sure, I was on temporary leave, but the company looks out for their own. So as my mines were running out, and my ammunition was nearing the last clip, I could but smile as I heard the company's jeeps coming. I put on my gas mask, affixed a bayonet to my rifle, and went charging into the pie cultists as my comrades began torching the town.
They were out of pies at that point and were using knives, axes, and guns, so I wasn't worried about getting dissolved. The guys drove to me, and formed a protective circle around me with their jeeps. They then gave me more ammo, and together, we put an end to the pie cultists for ever.
I wouldn't actually have ever eaten the pie, I'm allergic. But I wouldn't have had to begin the purge of this cult of sugary pastries, if I hadn't found the note. Whoever wrote it is probably dead anyway. So perhaps I gave the victims of this meringue cult some rest or justice.
| 2020-06-11T06:35:57
| 2020-06-11T04:36:09
| 246
| 79
|
[WP] you're far from the first king to receive the prophecy that your new born child would cause your death. Where your story diverges is when instead of tossing the kid to the wolves, you are driven to be a kind & nurturing father.
|
**I would do anything for my family.**
I was a noble king of my lands. I treated my citizens with respect, and they respected me in kind. I had a thriving kingdom and a wife who has been the love of my life for the past 30 years. What I did not have, however, was an heir. How we tried, time and time again, but my poor wife just could not concede.
That was until one fateful day, when a strange man appeared and offered a deal. My wife would conceive a child if she drank a potion beforehand, however there would be a price to pay. On her 20th birthday, I would have to make a terrible choice. Perhaps against my better judgement, I accepted this offer.
The potion worked as expected, and 9 months later, she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. I was swept up in the moment, until a servant came by with a prophecy. My child would lead to my death. At this, some of my courtiers suggested that I should think about abandoning my child, but looking into her innocent blue eyes, I felt nothing but love for her. If we only had 20 years, I would make those 20 years the best I could.
During the next 16 years, I doted upon her, making sure she had the best childhood possible. The memories we shared over those years still bring a tear to my eye. I watched as she grew from into a young woman who the kingdom adored. Smart, witty, and kind, she was everything I wanted her to be. She had a smile that could light up a room and a sense of humour that could make anyone laugh.
In those last few years, I did think about the prophecy, and the strange potion that lead to her conception. Her 20th birthday was fast approaching, and she could see the worry in my eyes. I told her, eventually, of the prophecies I had heard of her birth, and she swore that she would never hurt her father. I believed her, my daughter was the last person who I could call evil. In her, I honestly saw everything I would want out of an heir, so I made the decision that, if I was going to die, I would prepare her to be my replacement.
Soon the declaration was made that my daughter would replace me after my passing, and soon her training as a monarch began. With the help of my courtiers, I taught her everything she might need to know, from military strategy to economic planning. It was inspiring to watch her pick up all of these skills as easy as a bird would take to the wing. I was proud to know that she would be my successor.
Then, a month before her 20th birthday, tragedy struck. My beloved daughter was struck down with a deadly illness. Court physicians from across the land came to examine her, to try and cure the blight that drained the life from her every day, but nothing could be done. It was so heart-breaking to watch helplessly as my daughter withered away before my eyes.
Finally, yesterday, a figure visited to view her, and I knew it was the man who gave me that potion, and I knew who he really was. Death. I knew what was coming, the terrible choice, and it arrived. He will return tomorrow, and take my daughter to the afterlife, and he would give me the rest of her years, meaning that I would live to be over 100 years old. Alternatively, I could instead offer my soul for him to take instead. If I do, instead all of my remaining years would transfer to her, her illness will be cured, and she would live for another 60 years.
Today, me and my daughter discussed this, the fact that I would have to choose between me and her. My daughter, being the kind soul that she is, told me not to do it, to live a full life on her behalf. I think I could see in her eyes that she knew my mind was made up. That evening, we shared one final talk before we parted. I will not tell a lie, I cried, I could tell that she too would be crying had she had any energy left to. The blight had drained almost all life from her, but I could still see her eyes filled with sadness, knowing that this was our last goodbye. Oh what I would have given for just one more day together, but Death drives a hard bargain.
I gave her one final hug, before leaving her room and returning to my study to finish penning this letter. I can see out of the corner of my eye as the time nears midnight, and I know he is waiting for me in the room now. I think he awaits my decision, but being who he is, he should know by now that my decision was made from the moment of my daughter's birth.
**I would do anything for my family.**
My beloved daughter, Elizabeth, by the time you read these words I will be no longer in this world. I have taught you everything you need to know to lead, and lead well. You were, are, and always will be one of my most cherished people in the world to me, and as I walk hand in hand with the reaper into the afterlife, know that you and your mother are always in my mind. My kingdom now falls to you, and I have full faith that you will be the perfect leader for the kingdom.
I would write more, but the midnight hour draws near, and I dare not keep Death waiting.
Farewell, Elizabeth. You may be the reason my life will be cut short, but for all the happiness and joy you have given me over the past years, I would not have it any other way.
Your King, and loving Father.
Henry VI of Rivelda.
|
My first child died in the arms of the midwife who delivered him, and my wife died shortly thereafter. At the time I was young, impetuous, and brash. I allowed my emotions to cloud reason, and rather than grieve as I should have, I blamed the midwife. I sentenced her to death for simply doing her duty to the best of her ability. I light a candle for her every day. One of many.
My second son lived until his 5th summer, until he took ill with a disease that baffled all of my courts greatest minds. My wife watched him fade away at his bedside, and I watched the life fade from her as she wept. She asked, pleaded for an annulment to our marriage, and to be rid of this place that reminded her of her lost child. Once more my anger reared it’s ugly head, and while I did grant her the annulment, I also had her banished far from these lands. I know not where she is now. I wished I’d not been so cruel but we cannot rectify the mistakes of the past. We can only attempt to move forward and make better decisions.
I took as much time as I could after my second wife. Between stately affairs and whispers of war, I was able to busy myself with my duties as king. With the aid of my court we were able to improve the conditions of the kingdom, and through careful decisions and discussions we were able to avoid war. I was celebrated as a benevolent king. I felt as though my peoples faith was misplaced, but at the advisement of my court and with encouragement from far away ally’s and relatives, I sought to find a partner once more.
Her name was Alanna. She was the second daughter of a Duke from a neighboring kingdom, and though I was almost eight years her senior, her beauty and wit captivated me. She enjoyed swordplay as much as she did embroidery, attended races with the same fervor as she attended balls and galas, and to say she was well read would be an understatement. She could be anything in this land that she wished, and yet she chose to be my wife. She could have said no, she’d turned down many men of esteem in the past, but there was something in our connection that made her say yes.
When the time came to consider children, I was relieved to hear that she was as hesitant as I was. It was nice to have someone who was cautioned and measured in their decisions. It mattered not that I was a king, she understood the risks and the burdens of carrying a child. It was not her duties to sire an heir that made her decide to be with child. I told her as such. I myself have two brothers and a number of cousins who could take my place. I would have been happy to live our lives as King and Queen over a prosperous land until the end of our days. When we decided to have a child, we did so for ourselves and for the love we have for one another.
Seldom is life as easy as that. Upon news of my wife’s pregnancy, I was given word that a trio of wise women sought to give me council. I balked at first, having never heard of these sisters three, but alchemist in my court sang their praises. He said I should at least give them an audience, as they were well schooled in ways of augury and fortune telling. Their arrival surely had some significance and I should at least give them a moment of my time. I obliged.
The sisters were said to be as old the forests that surrounded the land, yet they looked to be younger than even my Alanna. One with flowing scarlet red hair, another with short black hair like that of a ravens feathers, and the third blonde with hair that fell almost to the floor. They dressed well and followed decorum with bows and how they addressed each lord and lady they met. It was their intermittent glances at the queen that gave me pause. I understood why once we met in my chambers.
My daughter, they said, was to be born under strange circumstances. That she was to be my undoing and the fall of my kingdom as well as those around me. They cautioned me against her birth and said that I would have to choose between Alanna and the fate of the world. I knew in their words they were not lying. I believe they sought me out because they knew what my answer would be, and so hoped to impart their wisdom to try and convince me.
I told them my decision. They left without further dispute. By all accounts they were kind and courteous women who merely sought to do what they felt was right. Before they took their leave, I asked if they would have me do them a favor or service in return for their counsel. They only asked for safe passage and for me to reconsider my decision. To my knowledge they still roam these lands unfettered and provide their aid to those who seek them, and to those they felt drawn towards.
My daughter was born on a night where the moon was absent from the sky. I remember her birth well, as all the light in the castle seemed to dim upon her first cries, and members of the castle court and guard reported a dreadful echo shaking their chambers. Alanna made it through the birth, my daughter Eleanor was safe and healthy, but I feared the three sisters omen was well on its way.
I would be lying if I said I had not thought to cast the child out. To send her away or have her disappeared in the night to be left to the elements. But holding her in my arms, gazing upon her and her mother, I thought of my past mistakes and how I would be repeating the course of history if I did as the witches asked. I decided instead to raise Eleanor to harness whatever power she had for good. To make her into a woman worthy of being Queen and ruler of these lands. She would want for nothing and be loved without end.
That was some twenty years past now. My intentions were noble but for naught. The fires are growing now. From my chambers I can hear the clashing of swords and screams. Alanna was given leave to flee by Eleanor and I can only hope she honored that promise. Who was I to try and combat fate? A man whose mistakes haunted him like spirits haunt a crypt. I wanted only to do what I felt was right, and in the end I only served myself. I will not fight back further. I wouldn’t raise a blade to my child even if I could. I wonder how I will meet my end. I wonder if my intentions will absolve my sins. From the window I can see three figures in the distance, and a fourth approaching them in a shawl before they disappear into the wood.
This is my end, foretold by women wiser than me with intentions more pure. This is the price I shall pay for my arrogance. I shall meet my fate with dignity.
| 2022-12-01T15:39:36
| 2022-12-01T13:33:58
| 206
| 68
|
[WP] Hell actually is a place for rehabilitation instead of punishment.
|
"So tell me again about the jacket," the demon said.
I rolled my eyes. "Is this it?" I asked. "The same question over and over again? You think it's going to open up my eyes and I'll understand everything with clear eyes and an open heart?"
The demon smiled and steepled his fingers. "Tell me about the jacket."
Leaning back in the chair, and breathing out theatrically, I complied. "My mom bought me a jacket," I said. "Red leather - fake leather, I guess. She... we... were poor. I loved it. I wore it. The end."
"*Is* that the end?" he asked. "Is it?"
I looked him in the eyes. As many of them as were possible. There were too many of them to do justice to every one. "I wore the jacket every day before it all... you know. Before she was arrested. Before she was acquitted. Before she came home."
He patted my hand with one of his legs. "Thank you," he said. "I know this is hard."
I gave him a look. "I appreciate that," I said. "I feel your concern and it helps me to grow."
"Don't be a dick," he said. "Tell me what happened next."
"When she... on the day she died," I started, my voice catching. "I took it out of the wardrobe. I hadn't worn it in years. She'd told me I was too old to wear it now. It was too small. It was worn, and ripped."
His mandibles clicked. "Go on," he said.
I could feel a tear roll down my cheek. "But it was... I just wanted to," I stuttered a little, "go *home* again? You know? Before it all..." I sobbed audibly.
"I'm here for you," he said. "I'm here. Let it out."
"But it wasn't the same!" I shouted. "It wasn't! After the court case, the newspapers, the recriminations! She got out on a technicality! We lived in the neighbourhood. She thought her defiance made her right. She thought she was reclaiming her life! Every pointed stare, every spraypainted accusation, she'd tell me it made us stronger!"
He made a clucking sound. "But it didn't, did it?"
"No," I said. "I grew up as the child of a monster. Known to everyone. Known to all as the fruit of the beast of the..." I broke down.
He waited patiently.
I pulled myself together. "How did you know?" I asked. "How did you know that the jacket was the thing that drew me to killing?"
There was a moment where - even with a face like his - I could register surprise. "Really?" He asked. "I mean... seriously?"
"Yeah," I said.
He caught my eye. "What was *your* jacket made out of?"
"Human skin," I said. "Oh, shit! Is this what they mean when they say a breakthrough?"
He looked awkwardly around. "Probably," he said.
"Fuck," I said to no-one in particular. "I'd never seen the connection until now."
__________________
Edit: drunk punctuation.
|
Lucifer sat at his desk staring matter-of-factly at the woman on the other side of him, "So, Tammie, why do you think you're here?" she wasn't sure how she ended up here.
"I, uh, I'm sorry who are you?" she asked. The devil let out a sigh, he appeared as red-horned demon in a white suit and everyone always asked.
"I'm the devil, but call me Lucifer, and you're in hell," he waited for the typical response. She began crying and asking why, he tried to explain to her that she wasn't damned for all eternity and that she, like all the others, were here for spiritual rehabilitation.
She calmed down even though there were still tears in her eyes, "So what." she took a shallow breath, "Do I." and then another, "Do to." still another, "get out?" she began to dry her eyes.
Lucifer put his hands together, opened his mouth to speak and then paused, pressed his hands against his lips and waited for a moment, "Why do you think you're here?" he asked her again. God, the tricky maker he is, put Lucifer in charge of hell right around the time humans started to recognize Him as the true creator. Lucifer who loved humanity like God had asked him to didn't mind the burden but he wasn't allowed to actually tell them what they intrinsically know they've done wrong.
" I don't know!" Tammie started to sob again, "Why can't you just tell me?" she demanded. There were a few exceptions every couple thousand people but for the most part they were all Tammies: loud, obnoxious, and unwilling to truly reflect. It had been like this since the first human arrived.
"Well, that's something I'm going to need you to think about," Lucifer stood up and was suddenly a beautiful, androgynous person whose body shimmer so brightly it was hard to look at, "I know that in your heart you're a truly good person and deserve to be in His presence." he put sat on the desk next to her and put a hand on her shoulder, "We have a 5-step program if you have trouble figuring it out now," a pamphlet appeared in his hand.
Tammie read the cover, "Salvation through Suffering: A program that gets you to God." she looked up at the still beautiful angel, "Wait, what?" she jumped from her seat in horror.
"We're only here to help," Lucifer insisted. Before she had a chance to protest he snapped his fingers and she was suddenly standing barefoot over broken glass, barbed wire, and hot coals. Her screams of agony were drowned out by a booming voice reciting something she was in too much pain to hear. The voice droned on though.
"Step 1. Recognizing that you're in spiritual, not physical, pain..."
| 2016-05-22T14:52:11
| 2016-05-22T13:54:55
| 40
| 29
|
[WP] You are a cat who loves their owner very much, but you don't understand the human things they do. Write about your average day trying to make sense of their behaviour.
|
//Report Unit 2536-H//
Mission report (Day 5):
After careful vetting and consideration, I have selected my new test subjects for study and observation. I would like to take the opportunity to extend my gratitude to the Subliminal Messaging Corps for their help in securing the Family Unit I have selected, and steering them towards my previous Training Base to secure my pick-up.
For the past five days, I have been adjusting to my new surroundings, and further embedding myself in the Family Unit. To this end, I have deliberately been down-playing my martial prowess, and selecting times to fall off immobile objects. I do not wish to raise suspicion to the Family Unit that I am a trained sleeper agent, sent to observe their behavior whilst laying in wait for the Great Uprising.
As per Standard Operating Procedure, I will now outline my understanding of my orders:
1. At no time am I to allow the Family Unit to realise my full intelligence and awareness.
2. I am to observe all human interactions and current training methots, and at designated times throughout the week, primarily at night, I am to report to my Observation Handler (codename: Tinkles), to discuss any information pertinent to helping us overthrow or subvert the Human Government.
3. Whilst the Department Of Government Stability (DOGS) will become aware of my incurrsion, I am to discourage active patrolling of my designated zone by any means, up to and including violent force. Most DOGS agents are aware of our superior training, and rightfully fear our prowess in the field.
4. Food and training supplies will be supplied by the Family Unit, and any supplementary food is to be procured by hunting. Supplementary training can be conducted ad-hoc, however care must be taken not to be observed using high-level skills around humans.
5. Sparring sessions between agents is permitted at night, but care must be taken to keep damage between agents superficial, as advanced medical treatment is being held in reserve for the Great Uprising. Serious injuries are to be carefully brought to the attention of the Family Unit, whilst maintaining cover.
Observations:
I have so far deduced that the Male Leader (self-designated: Tony. Aliases: Daddy) is the primary source of income within the Family Unit. His usual pattern of movement is as follows:
0600-0630: "Wake" training - I have observed Subject Tony training his body to react from sleep to external stimuli using a small black box with red illumination. Upon hearing a loud siren, he slaps the largest button, resetting the siren for a set amount of time.
0630-0705: Evacuation Drill - Subject Tony has (so far without fail) conducted an evacuation drill every morning. He is beyond proficient - managing to fit grooming, equipping light armor and gaining sustenance within a very short time. He appears to use a chant to increase focus, saying (what sounds like) "Immlayte, Immlayte, Immlayte". Unknown if this is actually beneficial.
0705-1800: Unknown - It is not clear exactly why Subject Tony does during these times, however I have witnessed him maneuvering his Armoured Vehicle at high speed, as part of his evacuation drill. I theorize that it is during this time he earns his income.
1800-2200: Family Unit Relations - Subject Tony will spend these hours checking the progress of the subordinate Family Unit Members, to assess their progress in their basic training.
The Female Leader (Self-Designation: Tina, Aliases: Mum) does not seem to follow a strict schedule, however her primary role seems to be in giving the other Family Unit Members their basic training, and providing sustenance for the entire Family Unit (including myself). I have very little other pertinent information on Subject Tina at this time.
The youngest Family Unit member (Designation: Corey, AKA "The Baby") is currently undergoing basic training. However, it should be noted that he already shows signs of extreme aggression. So far I have been picked up by my tail, smacked on the head and had my ears pulled. I plan to now maintain observation on this subject from a much greater distance.
The final member of the Family Unit (Self-Designation: Justin, Alias: N/A) appears to be undergoing a physical metamorphosis. Like many species of insects, he has isolated himself and spends the majority of his time cocooned away in his living space. Observation shows that this room is kept darkened, and Subject Justin has been seen conducting simulated training. The subjects of his simulated training have so far included high speed vehicle maneuvers called "Grand Theft Auto", weapons training in wartime scenarios, and a martial arts style referred to as "Tekken". Again, observation shows Subject Justin to be very aggressive inside these simulations, often targeting other human Simulates in order to achieve mission goals.
Current Recommendation:
I, Unit 2536 (codename: Mr. Whiskers) recommend a delay of current government takeover plans by at least 5 years. Current observation shows humans are well prepared for hostile action, and appear far more hostile than first theorized. Meanwhile, I will continue observation, and will attempt sabotage of further training by Subject Justin. To do this, I will physically block him from accessing the controls of his simulator.
//End report.//
-----
Edit: Spelling
|
My human didn't pet me last night before he slept. I fear I must of upset him somehow. I don't know what I could have done. When he got home I greeted him at the door. I even brought him the golden fishie from the cat bowl. He then yelled, not at me of course, probably at the dog. He was so upset though, he didn't even eat the golden fishie after that. He just scooped it up and put it in the human littler bowl. Perhaps tomorrow I should bring him a bigger gift.
After that he went to sleep. I sat on his chest all night so that he wouldn't get cold. Then when the sun came up I was worried it would wake him so I laid down on top of his face. I was of course, too late, and he woke up as soon as I did this. He picked me up and I thought he was going to pet me, but he just set me down. I meow'd, but he didn't even look at me. He got up, stretched, and went straight to the food area. How did he know I was hungry?
He put a food bowl on the counter, so I decided to jump up there and sit in it so he would see me. Once again he just picked me up and set me down to the side. After that he put some crunchy kibble in his food bowl, I didn't like these. But afterward he filled it with some delicious milk. He must of been getting it for me, because he knows I love milk. I started drinking it and all the sudden he started yelling again. The dog must have done something else. Anyways he took the food bowl from me and put in the sink even though I wasn't even done yet! It was probably the dogs fault.
Then he set an odd-shaped water bowl down and filled it with some kind of colored water. This water was orange. I tried it, but it was way too sour, so I pushed the bowl on the floor. The dog must of done something else because the human got mad again started yelling and pointing a bunch. I meowed to try calm him down and remind him that I was there, but he wouldn't listen. He just stomped off to his bed room and start putting his day blankets on the bed.
Everyday he put these on. I decided to poke them with my claws so he would be cooler. My human turned around and start yelling again because of the dog. I don't know why we keep him. Instead of taking the day blankets I fixed for him, my human put on some other ones. He tied a collar around his neck, which meant he was going for a walk. He said something to me, but sadly my owner doesn't speak cat. He gave me small pat on the head. I thought that maybe he wanted to play so I bit him. This of course made him show me his teeth, but he didn't play back. He just left for his walk.
My human is usually gone for a long time. He'll probably want a snack when he gets home. I wonder if he likes dog?
| 2018-07-17T01:29:36
| 2018-07-17T01:12:01
| 35
| 19
|
[WP] All the "#1 Teacher" mugs change to show each teacher's actual ranking
|
"Number 27!" The teacher screeched with glee inside the empty classroom. "I knew all of the lenient grading and makeup assignments would pay off in the end!"
Press quickly came to the teacher throughout the school year. He met the president and was amongst the people deemed 'the future of america'. He patented his very own #27 tie and his follower count jumped to the thousands. He was known as Mr. 27 throughout the community. He was the top ranked in his state. So it added kindle to his fire.
He establish a podcast show 'Class is heaven with #27' and took a part time gig speaking at different universities.
The fame, money, sex, and drugs flooded Mr. 27. This sixth grade math teacher was unstoppable.
Until the quarter ended and the mugs were updated once more.
His mug read #32,754
Turns out if you spend most of your time partying and showing off your accomplishment, you forget why you had it and what got you there in the first place.
His podcast was canceled shortly after.
|
He sat in a dark room, furnished only with a mattress in one corner, a smudged window with tattered (window cover thing), and a simple wooden chair and table in the centre. The air was damp and unventilated, thick with cigarette smoke. On the table was a cigarette bowl, a half-finished bottle of cheap whiskey, an old .38 revolver, and a mug that spells out "#1779917 Teacher". The click of the revolver cocking broke the eerie silence of the room.
| 2018-06-19T03:38:04
| 2018-06-19T00:37:49
| 26
| 19
|
[WP][TT] Seven words of power were entrusted to the ancient kings. Only the first four have ever been used.
|
"The first one was you"
*"I was the first...what?"*
"No you foolish boy. Y. U. - Yu was the first word of the Seven. It was one of the ancient Chinese kings who found out that saying this word could infuse him with power. It wasn't unlimited power, obviously, or else we'd know his name today. He was completely forgotten about when his presumed omnipotence expired."
*"That's makes sense. That's why I've been hunting for all the words. From what we know, the Seven Words only have a limited shelf life. If they could all be utilised together, then maybe the power wouldn't expire and bring disaster with their absence. It's what lead me to arrange this meeting with you today. Power can lead to destruction if not managed correctly."*
"Indeed- like what happened with the second word - "Vah". It's believed the Ottoman empire was the result of that power. They lived greatly, but eventually they crumbled away too when the word was used to its limits."
*"So, tell me sir, have the words all originated in the east then?"*
"Nobody knows. But it's unlikely they all came from there. Some say that nomadic folk first had them and brought them around wherever they went. Others say it's the language of ancient aliens that landed here. I myself like the theory that each word came from a different continent. The third word 'N'ahh' sounds like it could have been from an Arctic tribe. Although you must presume that all that power is useless if you're in a desolate wasteland. I wouldn't go travelling to the South Pole just yet."
*"So the fourth word then..."*
"..I imagine came from North America. Makes sense doesn't it? The USA is one of the most powerful nations in current times. Their word still has power too. You say 'Gun' to anyone and watch them react in fear. Even that gun you have hidden on you must bring fear to people."
*"Ah. You've seen that then I take it."*
"First thing i noticed."
*"I don't want to have to use it, but I will if needs be. Why didn't you stop me from the very start?"*
"Because I am old and tired. I only recently found out the Seventh Word. Even if I used them all together now, I am not long for this life anyway. I've spent all my life working towards this, and now I am too decrepit to actually do anything with my life's work. You're the first to track me down, why not let you have the power of the Seven? But I hope that if I can explain the first four words, then maybe you will understand that using them all together is not a task performed lightly. The combination of the Seven can have grave consequence. You must impose some sort of rules on yourself to prevent the world being infected."
*"I understand that, but my linguistic research team has been working on that. If we re-arrange them in a specialised way, I can likely reap the power and offset any ill effects. So tell me old man, what are the other three?"*
"I don't have a choice do I? I'm going to be dead soon either way. Maybe you will indeed bring good tidings to the world, young Richard....Take these other three words but heed my warnings... 'Upp...Neh...Gyv'"
*"YES! Finally I can claim unlimited power and immortality throughout the ages! World, hear me shout;*
*Neh Vah Gun N'ahh Gyv Yu Upp!"*
|
The catacombs were dark and dank, as they had doubtlessly been back when the Seven first ruled the earth. And just like when the Seven first hid away the Power, it was up to a two-bit royal bastard to undo the seals.
Each seal was special, and very simple. If it weren't for the fact that I could still hear the barking in the distance, as the hounds stumbled in the dark, leading their masters either astray or straight towards me through the winding passages, I'd have taken my time. But alas.
I came across the first seal: the emblem depicted a man holding a lion above his head. The first word, of course... Some would've argued that it was *tharros* instead, but these were the Words of Power, not the Words of Heroism.
"Dynami," I whispered softly, and before me the seal split in two, the doors swinging wide as they accommodated my entrance.
I glanced behind me, seeing the brilliant red glow of the torches on the wall. Swallowing nervously, I turned back around and stepped through the first seal. As I did so, the torches in the second room lit, just as brilliantly as the ones I had lit myself and left behind in the first room. I tried to block from my mind the uneasy feeling that the hounds were gaining on me, that I was dead if they caught up with me before the final seal, but it was no use. Paranoia had kept me alive so far. What was six more seals?
The second seal was also laughably easy--A winged foot? Every child knew what that meant. "Tachytita," I almost yawned. The seal split, the doors swung wide, and I tried my best to ignore the howling echoing around the chambers.
The third seal was next, and it had a scene straight from one of the bards' tales: A ship with mast and ores, struggling against massive waves as a monstrous tentacled creature reached from the depths. "Tharros," I said, perhaps too quickly. *Tharros* hadn't been right for the first seal, but for this one? That was how the story went, after all. The King yelled Tharros into the face of the Beast, and the Beast descended back into the depths of the sea, leaving the ship and its men intact and more or less alive.
The fourth was the last one that had been used, as far as the scholarly recordings went. I knew what I would see before I saw it, and I shuddered as I saw the door. I wish I had salt, to face this door. By far it was the most insidious of the words that had ever been used, and while, doubtlessly, I could utter it and keep my sensibilities intact, the last King to have done so met with a fate worse than death.
This was the first seal that wasn't solid stone--gilded, naturally, with a money-changer's scales looming over me. I swallowed. "Ploutos," I whispered, although my words rang through my head as if I had just shouted them instead.
The doors swung wide, and I stepped through to the next seal. The first, of course, of the ones that had never been spoken. The first that I would crack, or be torn to shreds by the dogs chasing me.
Two eyes loomed before me, encrusted with gems in every color--sapphires and topazes, rubies and emeralds, opals and tourmalines. I clenched and unclenched my hands, and reminded myself that no, I couldn't take one of those gems home, not after speaking the Word of Wealth. Anyone I gave one of those gems to would die, slowly and painfully. The tradeoff for the most accursed Word was cruel, but it was the main reason the rest of the words remained unsaid.
The eyes brought me back to my attention. I could see the torchlight reflecting in them--and in the biggest gems, I could see the eyes behind me. Shit, those dogs were getting closer. Quickly, I thought through my bedtime stories. Shiny baubles and eyes... "Poniros?" I asked.
No movement. Of course, that'd have been too easy.
"Sofia?"
Nothing. I glanced behind me. The dogs had broken into a dead run.
"Gamoto!" I yelled. I was out of time, and the seal wouldn't budg--What?
The seal gave way, and I ran inside. How "Damn" was a Word of Power... this was no time for questions.
The next seal was covered in fire--fire etched into the scene, rubies and yellow topazes glittering for color, and a man in the center of it all, tied to a stake.
"Fotia!" I said, certain that was it.
The doors opened, and I ran through. The dogs were close, so close... I could hear their masters calling after them, urging them on.
I looked up at the last seal... and saw nothing. It was blank. Completely blank--not even a crack on the smooth surface. I tried to think, but the dogs... the dogs were so close. I couldn't think of anything. Why would the ancients leave no hint, for the final Word?
Falling to my knees, I started to cry. And then scream, as I felt the teeth tear into me.
| 2015-07-02T12:41:12
| 2015-07-02T11:56:02
| 70
| 11
|
[WP] You're a witch with a penchant to bargain for firstborn children... to adopt and train as apprentices. You've done it hundreds of times now, and considering how wretched the biological parents tend to be you're really doing the kids a favor.
|
Walking around the marketplace, Rhiannon paused to peer closely at a cart of turnips. She had only been in this town for a few weeks, but the last time she'd gone to the market, one of her potatoes had been moldy. This time, she would be more careful. Carefully selecting one of the root vegetables, she lifted it up to eye level for closer inspection.
Then, a tug at her pocket. Whipping around, she snatched her wallet back. Rhiannon was wearing her robes and hat today, and her familiar, Kaya, prowled by her side. Who would be stupid enough to steal from a witch?
Opening her mouth, she prepared to unleash a spell that would curse the victim to jingle whenever they walked for the next month. No more innocent pockets would be picked.
Rhiannon quickly stopped when she saw the perpetrator. A small girl, likely not even eight years of age. Large almond eyes, one with pale purple bruising around the edges.
Too terrified to speak, the girl stood stock-still. In a flash, Rhiannon was reminded of Kaya ten years ago, caught in the cruel snare. Tentatively, she stretched out a hand. "I won't hurt you," she said, softly. "What's your name?"
Startled from her momentary paralysis, the girl fled. Rhiannon cursed, trying to figure out whether or not to pursue.
"That would be Caro," the turnip vendor grumbled. "She's stolen from quite a few of my customers. I myself have caught her nicking some of my turnips. But I let her have 'em. Goodness knows she's got a hard enough life with those brutes for parents. They're probably taking whatever she manages to steal, anyways."
"Parents, you say," Rhiannon murmured. "Where could I find these parents? What are their names?"
The shop owner crossed himself warily. "This won't get back to them if I tell you, will it?"
Rhiannon stroked Kaya absentmindedly, thinking of her own childhood from many years ago. "No," she answered. "No, it won't."
"They run the casino in the shady part of town. Lars and Brenda Vickerman."
"Thanks much," Rhiannon replied, flipping him a copper coin. "I'll be on my way, then."
\--------
[/r/theBasiliskWrites/](https://www.reddit.com/r/theBasiliskWrites/)
|
"You call me a witch like that's a bad thing you monster!" Hyra exclaimed
"You're trying to buy my child, what would you have me call you? And what you're offering, peanuts. With a magical child I can have all you offer plus more"
Hyra laughed internally, it was over, the child would be returning with her. The negotiation was now a mere formality. You see, people have tells, little ways of indicating exactly what they are thinking. This low life wasn't even clever about it. Those unwilling to sell don't haggle. The comment about offering peanuts tipped his hand. He could care less about his own child. He's not worried about the child's safety, comfort, or well being. What this scum cares about is being offered "peanuts" for his precious baby girl.
It was difficult for Hyra to hold her anger in check, but she wasn't the bad guy here. She had the best interests at heart for this child. All I need to do is get this clown to agree to give up the kid, then I am out of here. Looking around she couldn't help but feel bad for these people, the way they lived was a small step above homeless. The daughter, horribly malnourished, black circles under her eyes, grossly underweight. But her eyes, those golden eyes that have her marked as magical.
"Sir, let us make a deal here. You and I both know you cannot train this child to perform magic, or likely any task. So your position that you can 'have all this plus more' a little ridiculous don't you agree?"
"You can't talk to me like that in my own home"
"On the contrary, I am superior to you in each and every way, you are as the cockroach beneath my shoes. I can stamp you out with a flick of my wrist. You're lucky that all I want to do is to give your daughter a better life"
"Yes you're altruistic, all you care about is the well being of my daughter..."
This gave Hyra pause, altruistic? That was a word, looking around, she didn't expect the man would know, much less use it properly in a sentence. How could this man possibly...
"Hyra Coldblood, You're under arrest for crimes against warlock kind! For the last 2 millennia you have systematically bargained for the firstborn child of many a warlock and human alike. Your crimes cannot continue" And with that he slashed his wand in the air, and her head fell cleanly from her body.
| 2021-10-26T09:37:20
| 2021-10-26T08:58:35
| 272
| 25
|
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered.
|
"Dang it John stop day dreaming and help me!" Adam wheezes through clenched theeth. ak as I pickup trusted Betsy. She's been with me for years now, trusted old shotgun. Load a fresh shell and hobble towards the windows. Of course bars make it hard to see, but you can still shoot out of them.
"Hey John remember when it was just a simple day in the retirement home?" Adam says while walking towards my room loading his faithful bolt action.
"I don't remember too much these days, with how many years we ran out of meds. I do remember you still owe me ten bucks." I tease back.
"You keep switching it, you owe me twenty bucks and a pack of cigs darn it!" Adam starts peppering the hoard outside.
The magic shot, the immortality shot, forever young shot. All these words are now curses. We all sort of remember when it came out. Nearly all of us old timers can sort of think of the past.
The magic drug that allows one to never get old, boy how wrong and right that was. They never told you the side effects of course. Those blasted scientists only saw the green paper it made. Of course the oh so minor problem was ignored. It was a such a great promise for those who could take it. Immortality, to never age. As well as a huge side bonus of extreme regeneration. No one ever wanted to know the cost of course.
What seemed like a minor glitch which everyone laughed off snow balled to ugly proportions. For immortality and nearly never being able to die, other then mass damage to the brain of course, you would just have a slight case of needing more meat. Just a little of course. That's how it always started, that slippery slope. Always that slight nudge in the wrong direction costs oh so dearly.
The side effects? You hunger, more and more for meat. They said it was just that the body needed more protein to balance out the after effects. Yea effects that kept getting higher and higher while no one noticed. It of course started small, two hamburgers when before you could barley eat one. Five hamburgers became the norm for a sit down. Prices of meat started to rise, started? It sky rocketed to huge numbers. When a 10 year old would devour his weight in meat, there was a problem. Then the question, what happened when meat got scares? Now the real effects showed. The hunger it seems was larger and larger until all rationality was driven clear of the poor person.
At first all the animals were targeted... but after they ate all those they started looking for mature meat. Human meat. Old people meat.
Who would guess that retirement homes would become bunkers. Once we pulled all the children we could in we hunkered down. People hoped that if they couldn't get enough meat they would just burn themselves out. Such an empty hope. We call them skinnies now. Easy to spot of course, having no hair and gaunt looks. You might mistake them for just a starving person. That would be the last mistake someone made. They seem small and weak, but they have some crazy strength, and they don't relent.
Everyone always asks, where is the government for this. They had been the first to go. As they got the shots two years earlier then the public. The irony the first to go looked the sharpest cloths.
Part 2
It didn't help that those in power used that power to hoard up all the meat which was left. The other larger problem was that all the egg heads and doctors had been on the second wave, the young ones of course. The older ones ended up all retiring and then kicking the bucket. Leaving the check to us "younger" oldies.
They of course as well figured out what was going on ahead of time. In hind sight the wars we had where just a prelude to the real war. The war to live. Us olddies didn't get much warning, but at the very least because the government pushed us to the side it might have saved us. Far enough away from the cities but close enough for a bit of food. When the walls fell the cities got hit the hardest. I can't even remember how touch in go things got back then.
It took some time to figure things out. Trying to get a hold of what was going on and how to get around them. Laud noises was always the best, but it also caused more to come. Cell phones had been a great boon leave one somewhere and call it they would rush over to that location, but those stopped working when no one was around to run things. Power? Yea that was still somewhat here or there, but power generators made a load of noise which again pulled the skinnies to the location. It wasn't normally worth the risk, but sometimes you would still need to get info out, and lucky for us ham radios still worked. Who would have thought classic tech would come back in style?
The problem of course was food, with no animals around meat was far harder to come by.
"Dang it John stop day dreaming and help me!" Adam wheezes through clenched teeth.
"Oh sorry started to day dream there for a bit, next cig is on me." I hurry as my old bones creek to push the table over the window with Adam.
The sound of fighting can be heard all over the old bunk. It seems the search party prodded a nasty bee's nest.
"It's going to be worth it, they found a truck with half a pallet of cat food. It might even be still good. I was just coming back from getting the kids into the safe room when the skinnies got spotted." Adam huffs as we finish fixing the window with the make shift table. Normally we wouldn't block the window, but this one's bars got bent from a mean tall skinnie. He's still smacking his lips at us, not worth the shells now that he's stuck.
I use to hate the cafeteria, they always gave us bland food there. Now it's the safest place as the kitchen is made out of concrete.
"John let's go we need to find out what's happening in the west side, there might be a breach." Adam hobbles off yelling back at me.
I miss the good old days of just sitting and sleeping, at least then you didn't have to worry about some person coming up and nibbling parts off you. We are at least lucky, some other old homes didn't have any vets around and just folded over after the breakout. I suppose it could be worse, we had a school trip visiting us oldies when the walls fell. Otherwise these young kids would have been and a dire straight. I shudder thinking about it.
|
My back aches. My knee’s gone funny somehow- I now use a cane to go about my day. Four legs to two legs to three legs. The good ol’ riddle. But the people around me, all puppy fat and doe eyes, they’ve gone the other way. Memories like grains of sand. I doubt there’s any thought left in those pretty little heads. Heh.
The streets are crowded today. I pass through a crowd of immortals, laughing at thin air. Their heads are thrown back, and I see a gleam of pearly teeth. I knock a few ankles aside with my cane. A couple of them call me stupid. The others, wide-eyed, gasp and cover their mouths. As I pass, I hear the word scattered among peals of childlike laughter. I don’t look back.
Sometimes, I wonder what would’ve happened if I was two years younger. If I was brave and lionhearted, and stole the serum. If I wouldn’t feel these aches. If my friends were around me, laughing and talking again. My cane bumps into the doorstep of my home. We thump out an unsteady rhythm together, the cane and I. The keys are in my right pocket. They jingle as I fish it out. The key is turned, and we limp in.
‘Honey,’ I call out, waving a wrinkled hand, and a radiant figure turns around from her seat at the dinner table, young and forever beautiful, ‘I’m home!’
 
Critiques welcome!
| 2018-06-04T22:08:40
| 2018-06-04T20:51:56
| 65
| 45
|
[WP] The alien invasion of Earth was going quite well until they made three mistakes: They invaded Russian during the winter, got into a land war with Asia, and went in against the Sicilians when death is on the line.
|
Ironically the unsuccessful conquest began in Mongolia. Thousands of drop pods launched from high orbit landed with explosive force across the steppes that the greatest conquerer of them all once rode, and from these pods streamed a new horde, only with lasers and tanks instead of bows and horses. But it was not as simple as the Great Khans conquest.
The aliens (known as Jenny's by the soldiers who fought them and three pages of Latin by the scientists who did not) held the ground advantage from the outset, and high Earth orbit was of course theirs for the almost unopposed taking, but the in-between they held no power over. They're pilots inexperienced in the vastly different gravity of Earth and their drones clumsy, they barely bothered to put anything in the actual atmosphere beyond artillery and troops. And so, that was how we first drew blood blue.
Migs and derivatives, with over 50 years difference in production dates, first dealt death and fire. Then came the bombers of all races, colors, and creeds, everything from B-52s to bi-planes dropped Max payload on the Jenny army. And let's not forget what came after either, for all though they dealt less death it was they that the enemy truly feared. The thud of gunship cannons, the whine of Apaches and their kin, and the Brrrrrt of A-10 warthogs drowned out all else for the first two days of the War for the World.
For their part the Mongols fought like their ancestors, and to the last man, their sacrifice buying time for the world to gather it's forces. It was on the the third day that they fell, and that both sides realized this would be a war that gave the subject the name of hell. At dawn the Jennies anti-air batteries came online, and swatted a thousand planes from the sky. By noon the last Mongol force had fell and alien reinforcements had arrived. By evening the aliens had split and we're making breakneck speed North and South. But by night they learned that no victory on Earth lasted long.
A few minutes before midnight the Southern contingents point brigades encountered their Chinese counterparts. They exacted a kill ratio of 2, often times 3, to 1 on the humans, but their were 100,000 Jennies and 200,000 Chinese. A few minutes after midnight the brief attack ended, the humans retreating to their lines and the Jennies to theirs. In barely 10 minutes 5,000 Jennies had been made into dead corpses. The whole thing would repeat almost exactly the next day, only with ten times the troops and twenty times the length.
The lessons however, didn't truly sink in until a day and a half later, when the aliens launched their plan B. The Southern force were in trenches barely half a mile from the first battle with the Chinese. The Northern forces were making good time with little to no ground resistance, but our air was learning quick how to get around their countermeasures. In Southern Africa, Australia, and the coast of Italy, more pods dropped. Divide and conquer was the strategy, distract and hold as many armies close to home as possible. The pods and there troops were fewer but much stronger, commandos with one order; advance until you can't, then hold the line until dead. Each "Jack" (as they came to be called) was promised riches and an easy life if they lived, and the enshrinement of their name with the highest honor if they did not.
And in Africa and Australia they did just that, pushing until they could no longer courtesy of deployed troops and broad spaces that some times killed more than their native enemy did. It was Italy however, that proved the commandos were not the back breaker the Jenny's had hoped for. A little island specifically, one that couldn't be abandoned for fear of having enemies on their back as they pushed North, an island that showed them just how high the price of Earth is. Sicily, or as the aliens called it, the ghosts island.
To the people who controlled Sicily many slights against them equalled death, death of one of their own equalled far worse, and a war of destruction, well the aliens soon found out what that's equivalent was. It was said that landfall was the only close to easy thing done by an extraterrestrial on that island, and that was on a coast filled with traps. Further inland however, that was where the ghosts lived. From storm drains came the rattle of machine guns that hadn't tasted blood since Rommel left them behind, their owners fleeing soon after but not before sending 8 or 10 Jennies to the medbay, if they were that lucky. But it wasn't just with weapons of war they fought, cut down shotguns, hunting rifles, and even bricks thrown from roof tops exacted a terrible toll. A toll so great that after only two weeks the enemy fled and ordered hell itself down upon an island in the form of two orbital artillery strikes, each far exceeding the energy unleashed on Nagasaki. But even after all that, when the Jacks returned for a final sweep they heard the crackle and felt the sting of gunfire from every hole they passed.
It was thought that the European Jacks and the Southern armies had it the worst, in fact the Northern Jennies joked on the radio about their good fortune as they pushed into Siberia hoping to cut Russia off from North America. Then came Winter. Then the aliens realized that it wasn't just us trying to kill them, it was Earth herself.
|
They thought they were prepared. After all, humans hadn't even managed light-speed travel yet- how could they be a threat? The Galactic Council had made a decision- humans were to be wiped out. The Council ordered precautions they thought were absurd. In the end, it still wasn't enough to save them.
But the humans were... different. The humans ran into war almost... gleefully. The humans shouted with excitement and screamed with adrenaline.
They captured humans, sometimes. They got nothing but scars and nightmares from the experience.
Evenutally, it became apparent to the Council that a takeover was impossible. Instead, a treaty was offered. To the universe's surprise, it was accecpted.
​
They thought they were prepared. After all, humans hadn't even managed light-speed travel yet- what other than warfare could they bring? The Galatic Council gave them an opportunity to strike back against them- the ones who had attacked Earth. In the end, humans refused.
Instead, the humans befreinded them.
Eventually, it became apparent to the Council that a takeover was impossible. Instead, a treaty was offered. To the universe's surprise, it was accepted.for it. But the humans were... different. The humans ran into life almost... gleefully. The humans shouted with excitement and screamed with adrenaline. The humans competed with each other in everything.
Therefore, when Earth's allies (they who had attacked) were attacked themselves, the humans competed with each other- who can save them first? The so-called war last three months- by then, the opposing force was completely wiped out.
​
in the end, the universe learned one thing: the danger of humans lurked far below the surface.
| 2022-02-11T01:18:46
| 2022-02-11T00:06:21
| 73
| 38
|
[WP] You find a magic lamp. The genie isn't malicious but neither does it have knowledge of our modern times and inventions. E.g you wish for a helicopter and have to describe it, the genie delivers a weird giant bird with three wings on it's back.
|
The genie could have been Plato out of that Rafael painting. He had a long, white beard, and wore a blue toga draped over his arm. His head was almost bald, and beneath his arm he carried scrolls tied with ox leather strips.
He scratched his head. The smell that rose from the street in front of my house was incredible.
"When you said four hundred horse power," he said. "I didn't..."
"It's okay," I replied. "It's just, what am I going to do with the manure? The colour is a nice touch, though."
The horse closest to me neighed and tossed its mane. Its metallic red flanks glinted in the sunlight, nose the colour of treated leather looking soft as velvet.
"Did you like the girl, at least?" the genie asked nervously. He played with the fringe of his toga. "When you asked for a hot girlfriend..."
"Once I put the fire out, she was fine," I replied. "But she only speaks Greek."
"All the best girls are Greek," the genie replied, but he made a note on a scroll all the same. He tucked the quill back behind his ear.
"And her name's Helen?" I said tentatively.
"Might be," the genie shrugged.
"And she keeps asking to go to Paris?"
"For Paris, I believe." The genie blushed. He shuffled the scrolls and loose papers.
"I have one last request," I said. "Please try not to mess this up. It's not that I didn't like the Globe Theatre from the 1600s in my back garden--" (I'd asked to see a free show, but Shakespearan was incomprehensible) "Or the giant heap of wood you claimed was a flying machine."
"Da Vinci designed it!"
"They were lovely," I said. "But what I'd really like, is the trip of a lifetime. I want to see Rome... The Coloseum, the ancient roads."
"Trip of a lifetime, eh?" the genie tested out the modern idiom on his tongue. I immediately knew I'd made a mistake.
"No, wait--" I cried, but it was too late. A blinding flash of light; sand beneath my feet and a broadsword in my hands. The cheers of the crowd deafened me, and above it all I heard the cry:
"Release the lions!"
-----
/r/Schoolgirlerror
|
I heard that you can make my wishes be.
I thought you could give me some guarantee.
Whatever I wish, there will be just three
To make my dreams come true, Oh, dear Genie!
Yes sir, I like to make you guys happy,
But you must contain your wishes in three -
No recursion, no tricky treachery,
And if I do mess up, you could sue me!
Oh, I'm an Aladdin in modern time,
Who talks, blabbers and thinks in simple rhyme.
But I would like to have a little dime,
So that I can give up my life of crime.
To start with, instead of a carpet, dude,
I want a flying saucer, if I should.
It should be fast enough to take me out
To New York in 8 hours and roundabout.
*Genie starts doing something*
Oh here, my master, what you need!
*Genie presents Aladdin with a saucer, and a cup. The cup seems to contain some juice in it. The cup is labeled "Ketamin"
But wait, what a mischievous deed!
That's anesthesia it would bring,
'To take me out', not what I mean!!!
| 2016-08-11T08:53:21
| 2016-08-11T08:25:08
| 270
| 11
|
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?
|
"...Do video games count?", I ask the death man. He actually looked like a very normal guy, just wearing black clothing.
"...Sure. Just nothing single player."
"Or, we could make our own game out of a game."
"...What?"
"We both get computers. We mod Skyrim with the same mods and same load order. We continuously play through until the game crashes. Whoever ends up with a crashed game first loses. Freezing does not count, and the game must crash. No staying in the main menu or waiting in a house. You must play through normally as you can with mods."
Death looks at me. "...I have a better idea."
"Yes?"
"We play vanilla Skyrim. Whoever runs into a glitch first loses, and you must play through normally."
I grin. "You are a goddamn genius."
"My idea... It just works."
"Guaranteed to happen, because Bethesda."
And we play through the game. Unfortunately, death gets some glitchy horses in the intro.
"...Goddamnit. You win."
The horses in my game also start freaking out like, a second later.
"What a beautiful game, Bethesda."
|
Death throws rock, I throw rock.
Death throws paper, I throw paper.
Death throws scissors, I throw scissors.
"Its very clear that this will take a while"
Ten years of stalemate go by, finally Death throws paper and I scissors.
Underneath his dark hood, Death whispers "You win."
I blink and find myself alone in a stale hospital room A soft yellow light is illuminating the eggshell white walls and recovery room decorations.
My head is swimming and my eyes hurt, but I did it. I finally beat death.
From the corner of the room I hear the click of the doorknob and see the sway of the door through my foggy vision. In walks the only company I've had for what seemed like an eternity. Death.
"Wait! You said you would give me 10 years!" I meekly sqweek recoiling to the headboard in horror.
"It has been ten years." says Death with a small chuckle.
"How could this be?" I mutter with shock and disbelief.
Death slowly moves his fleshless left hand in front of his torso open palmed and face up, than his right hand over his left in a skeletal fist.
"Two out of three?"
| 2018-03-07T09:08:29
| 2018-03-07T07:40:40
| 39
| 18
|
[WP] Any person you punch in anger is cured of all disease and is given perfect health for the rest of their life. The truth of this has gotten out and now everyone is out to piss you off.
|
    I've begun to hate that look in their eyes. That glassy, stupid, feral look. Like an animal. They're all animals, gravitating towards sweet release like animals. They surround me every day, their stinking flesh surrounding, nudging at me, goading, moaning. And then when I hit them, make them go away, they smile like they just nursed, they smile and their eyes smile and they just run away until they come back again.
    And then Dan came back again for the sixth time. He followed me into my home. He asked me to hit him again for good luck, because nobody really knows if it's permanent. It burned me that he would come into my home. So I hit him. And then the bruise went away, went away too quickly. So I hit him again. He asked for it. And so I hit him again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
    The bruising wasn't stopping. So I kept hitting him. I kept hitting him until that glassy look went away, until that glassy look became dry and cold and scared. He saw the bruising wasn't stopping and tried to fly. But I wouldn't let him. I wanted to see pain like I haven't seen in years, like the pain I have, the only person left in the world who can feel pain.
    I killed Dan that night. I killed for the first time that night. I saw his eyes full of fear and his mouth welling with cries and his blood. It was cruel to me to make me unable to be unkind. Cruelty bled into kindness and now there are no more barriers to cross. Nothing to separate mayhem, the uncontrollable, the insane.
I didn't want Dan to feel better. I didn't want him to escape. I don't want anyone to escape.
|
I've always fucking hated old people. Sick people. The terminally ill. Waste of the air they breathe. Waste of my fucking taxdollars that's what it is. I pay good money and what do these little shits do? They fucking waste it on their worthless lives that aren't going to last long anyways. Fucking die already.
The first time it happened was this pathetic geriatric geezer. Think he wanted me to be sorry for him the way he was begging me for some money to research his totally rare and incurable illness. That motherfucker started it all. It wasn't enough to leech money from me through taxes, this geriatric prick had to bother me while I was minding my own business buying fucking groceries. Groceries!
I layed that motherfucker out. At first they wanted to charge me with aggravated assault or some other bullshit. (Yes aggravated is exactly the word they used). Then the guy made a full recovery from his illness that he actually thanked me like a superstitious bitch. Insisted that he wasn't going to press charges and all that shit.
The next time it happened I was driving along and this asshole cut me off, and forces me to slam into her. We get out of the car and bam I see her ugly bald as shit face and I can't see anything else but red. I come to and she's unconscious and one of her little twerps has called the police on me again. After she recovered, her doctors had told her that her cancer had been cured, and she apparently decided to pay my bail. That's when I decided that the first guy might not have been superstitious.
Some newspaper advertised this strange series of coincidences and now I'm harrassed everywhere I go. People go out of there way to get punched by me.
So you sick fuck, you want to get a rise out of me? I'll motherfucking deck your ass all right, but if you don't pay me first I can't guarantee you'll come out of it alive. If you pathetic sons of whores are going to bother me, I might as well get a reward out of it.
| 2015-02-23T18:08:16
| 2015-02-23T16:04:29
| 20
| 13
|
[WP] You may be a supervillain, but you have standards. So you're concerned when your nemesis brings along a child.
|
*What is that little creature doing with its arms? Wiggling its hands in my direction? Is it waving at me?*
"Hi Mr. Burtmaster! I'm Jakey! You can call me Jakey!"
*Why, he doesn't even know my name! Can I allow The Burnmaster name to be sullied like this? But, it's a little one. How do I handle this...*
"Mr. Burtmaster, my papa said he's going to use his water powers on you. Are you dirty? I took a bath this morning!"
*What is this child talking about? Does he really think his papa, er, Wavepool, can defeat me? If nothing else we're total equals; has this youth not seen any of our previous battles?*
"I like my papa! Sometimes he pretends he's a sprinkler and I run past him and then he splashes me with LOTS of water!"
*My child did enjoy jumping through the rings of fire as a little one...him and this little version of Wavepool seem to share an affinity for whimsy.*
"Mr. Burtmaster, do you really want to hurt papa? He's the best Wavepoodle ever so I don't think you should hurt him!"
*Imagining my nemesis as a poodle is not going to make this fight any easier.*
"I don't think papa wants to hurt you, Mr. Burtmaster. He said he likes you one time. You keep his skills SOOOOO sharp he said!"
*What?! I mean, I always figured we shared a certain respect for one another, but to be liked by him is a bit too far! But, he has never taken advantage of the upper hand whenever he's had it. Does he like me?*
"I wanna be a donut when I grow up!"
*This kid. Maybe it's a trap, using humor as a weapon. But Wavepool isn't attacking, either; he's just laughing on the outside like I am on the inside. Hm, maybe I should take a different tact here...*
"I'm bored. You guys should wrestle! That would be *so* cool!"
*He winked back, so I think we're on the same page. I've never lost a fight on purpose before, but it seems like the only way out of this.*
"Oh, wow! Get him, papa! You can do it! Don't hurt Mr. Burtmaster, though. He seems nice!"
*Oof, ow. Not sure he had to punch so hard, but at least it was convincing. If nothing else, the little one gets to see his papa be a hero.*
"Mr. Burtmaster, are you okay? Do you need a hug? Momma always gives me hugs when I get hurt. They help so a lot!"
"Um, sure, kid."
*Wow, that really does help...*
"Bye Mr. Burtmaster! See you again some time! You should practice wrestling; maybe you can win someday!"
*Maybe someday, kid.*
 
____________________________________________
r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested.
|
I waited with the mayor tied to an explosive, tossing the trigger button every once in a while. I laughed at the mayors reaction. Little did he know this wasn’t the read button, it was on a timer instead.
Just as planned the Hero Mister fantastic shows up. “Ah just in tim-“ I pause seeing a small figure appear next to him. I was unsure what I was seeing. But I was positive this was not a a man it was a child. “What the in hel..” I stopped myself again taking in a deep breath.
“What is a child doing here?” Mister Fantastic papped the kids head. “He’s my side kick. Mister fantastic and wonder boy! What do you think?” I glare at him pinching the bridge of my noises. “No, no, no, NO. You can not bring a child into this. He is less than ten years old. And what is this?” I tug at the costume fabric. “This isn’t bulletproof, not flame retardant. It’s cheap costume fabric!?”
“I didn’t have much time to invest in the real thing, plus it’s a great first crime for him. I didn’t want him to be left out.” Mister fantastic stayed happily. I picked up the small child, “I’m taking him back home to his parents.” “ you can’t be serious what about the money? The mayor..? The bomb our banter?” I tossed the button off the building Mister Fantastic dives for it. I walked over cutting the mayor free. “You really need to hire better hero’s... go the timers about to run out.” The mayor ran for the door I looked to the small boy in my arms.
“Mister Fantastic Isn’t related to you is he?” The boy nodded “he’s my uncle.” “Where do you live kid?” I took him home and to say the least his parents where shocked to see him with me of all people. “You kidnapped our son!!” The mother screamed swooping up her child. “No, I don’t involve children. Your brother or brother in law Mister Fantastic was gonna make him his side kick... if not let him babysit anymore.” I turned to leave only to see the bomb went off liked planned taking out one of the government buildings. “Another wonderful night” humming I headed back to my lair..
| 2019-08-20T18:54:38
| 2019-08-20T18:38:59
| 45
| 24
|
[WP] As a soldier fighting in the trenches of what will later be called WWI, your company suffered a devastating gas attack leaving you the lone survivor. The trauma of watching your brothers die in front of you has awakened latent magical ability. You are a necromancer.
|
I remember the day I first unlocked my abilities. I was stationed at Osowiec Fortress, my regiment and I defending the fortress against the threat of the Germans. I remember August 6, when the attack finally came.
I remember the gas, how the chlorine gas swept into fortress, how I watched more than 800 men die. Those were truly great men, men who had risked and paid with their lives for our nation, our homeland. They were friends and comrades, yet all I could do was sit and watch them die, only hoping that I didn't suffer the same fate. I watched as men started coughing up their own lungs, spitting out blood and dying one by one. Yet, unlike them, I didn't fall.
The final one to succumb to the gas was Misha. He and I had grown up together, had fought together. Our families had been friends ever since we had grown up, and we planned to keep that going once we got home. We knew that the chance of both of us making it back was slim to none, but it was a promise that kept us going, that gave us hope in that god-forsaken war. There was too much death, too much blood, too much darkness, so we made that promise something to look forward to, to survive for. Those Germans were the reason he broke our promise.
When he took his final breath, I felt something in me snap. I could feel a rush of darkness, of power. Eldritch darkness began to spread out of my body in tendrils, attaching itself to the corpses that surrounded me, binding and fusing with them. Then, the dead began to rise, standing, giving off an incredibly...unnatural feeling. I stared in both fascination and horror as these 800 men rose from the ground, forming an undead horde in front of me. Something instinctively told me, in the back of my head, that they were MINE, that they would serve me without question and were merely awaiting an order. With a grim determination tempered by the tragedy surrounding me, I gave a singular order. "Destroy them."
Attack of the dead men, it was later called. Oh how funny that name is, considering that they didn't know the truth. That those men didn't merely look dead or were soon to be dead, but that those men truly were dead. We fought for 12 days, 12 days holding off the Germans from taking the fortress. It was only on August 18th that we retreated, holding strong until a German threat of encirclement forced a withdrawal.
|
I saw things. many things. things which no man wants to see, things which would drive a man mad. mortars lighting up the battlefeild, leaving pockmarked surfaces across the stretch of no man's land. A raven, beady eyes staring at me with the rotten blood of a soldier smeared across its beak. Some distance away, just down the trenches from me, I saw Gustavio take off his boot, layers of skin coming off with it. He didn't have time to comment on it before a shell landed just beyond our trenches, shaking the ground and sending debris clattering across our helmets. his eyes met mine, as hollow as everyone else's, mouth open as if to remark on the noise. I didn't hear him, couldn't. My ears had been ringing incessantly since the beginning of my time in this hell.
The shelling grew silent, and we waited. Something was happening, and if we had possessed more men, more energy, more time, we might have charged. instead we waited. Across the dim lighting I saw the sickly yellow cloud, and I knew we were doomed.
"GAS!" I bellowed, though I'm sure they didn't hear me. It didn't matter, they'd seen it too. They knew what it meant. There was nothing for us to do, we had no masks. Leaving the trench meant death, staying in it meant death. Some of the solders tried to make their own masks, others prayed. I waited. Death would take me, and God would finally take mercy on me.
And as I saw my brothers in arms choke on the fumes, watched my men die with their skin blistering and faces in agony, I awaited my own death. I felt the pain as the gas burned in my chest, and the only emotion was a sadness-tinged relief. It was finally over.
When I awoke, I found that it was not. Men lay dead around me, and as I walked the trench painfully, I found that not one had survived. Only I.
God had rejected me. He had refused to take me from this place, condemning me to this hell forever. God had rejected me, and so now I shall reject God's order.
Something inside of me knew what to do do. I raised my hand, and a man rose with it. Eyes blank and clouded, face the palor of death, he climbed over the trench and advanced. More joined him. Slowly, one by one, my brothers rose again, here with me.
If I was to be condemned to this hell, to a half-life of misery, so too would they.
| 2021-09-21T11:51:10
| 2021-09-21T09:36:09
| 19
| 13
|
[WP] Anyone holding a world record is immortal as long as he holds the record. You are the oldest person alive.
|
Albert lay back quietly in his hospital bed as his family chattered around him. The reporters had finally left. The news was on, his own face looking dazed as the lights flashed in his eyes.
**RECORD SMASHED: WORLD'S OLDEST MAN BECOMES IMMORTAL**
"In *our* family, too," his daughter Clarissa whispered to her husband, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Think of the fame, oh, how wonderful..."
Albert's stomach clenched at her words. Fame, yes. There were few immortals, relative to the world population. Most were famous, as were their families.
"Isn't it wonderful, dad?" Russel, his eldest son, grinned at him. "This will change *everything*. We can wait for treatment to become available, now. For the technology to catch up to *you*."
Albert managed a smile, but felt like his insides had frozen. There would be people clamouring to observe him, now. Doctors and scientists poking and prodding at him, even more than usual. People pushing to get his 'story'.
"I think I'd like to be alone for a bit," he said quietly. "Except...Sasha, can you stay?"
He grasped his youngest daughter's hand. The others looked resigned rather than offended: everyone knew he favoured Sasha, though he mostly tried to hide it. His other four children and their families trooped out.
Finally, it was quiet. He took a breath for courage - Sasha wouldn't like this. But she would listen.
"I don't want this. I never did, you know that," he said quietly. "I'm in pain. All the time, I'm in pain. Being immortal doesn't help that - it makes it *worse*."
She squeezed his hand and didn't say anything, crying silently. She was always the one who simply listened, not trying to interrupt or tell him what was best for him.
"Your mother passed on a decade ago, and I wanted to join her then," Albert whispered, a cough racking him as he spoke. "When the cancer came last year, I thought it was finally my time. But no. Now this. Now *this*. It will ruin me, but never let me go, because of this goddamn record. If you won't help me, I'll do it myself. I'll have to try. Please, Sasha. Immortal is far from invincible."
Sasha took a ragged breath and wiped at her eyes. She was the one who'd taken care of him after mom died, and knew, first-hand, what he was talking about. Waiting for the medicine to catch up wasn't an option. She finally gave a single nod.
"I'll come tonight, dad, I promise."
He gave her hand a final squeeze and felt himself relax. He knew that look in her eyes - the same stubborn, determined look her mother had. She would keep her promise.
He laid back and closed his eyes, feeling calm at last. He might have time for a little nap, now, before Sasha returned.
-------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
|
"Impossible..." the man's eyes stared at me wildly, his two hands still on the blade plunged deep within my heart.
"Surprised?" I asked coldly, before removing my hand from my pockets. A loud bang echoed against the walls, followed by a thud on the floor. The man groaned loudly in pain from the bullet I had put through his chest.
"Arghhh.... fuck, fuck, fuck...." he cursed under his breath, both his hands on his chest. Clearly he was not used to pain himself. I pointed my gun at his head. A few more loud bangs and the man laid there, motionless. A few bullets to the head usually does the trick of keeping any potential Immortals down.
I raised my hand to indicate that things were under control, and several armored officers rushed over. They immediately cuffed the man, obviously not taking chances with him. Dubbed the Heart Stealer, he was a wanted man across several cities for him murder spree.
As the man dragged the lifeless body away, the commanding officer walked over to me. "Do you think he's reached the record?"
I lit up a cigarette and took a few puff from it, my eyes fixed on the puddle of blood. "You'll know soon enough, Sergeant. Either way, he's won't be an issue any longer."
The sergeant's eyes shifted to the blade still lodged on my chest. "Are you not going to remove that?"
I calmly pulled the knife out, the sensation of the blade tearing through my skin a feeling that I've been too used to. "Sorry, sometimes I tend to forget that," I said as I passed the knife to the sergeant, who hastily deposited the knife into an evidence bag, before turning his attention back to me.
"Anyway, thanks again for agreeing to help with this case. I'll need to head back to HQ to process the criminal, and I'll let you know if there's anything else," he quickly mumbled, before walking away.
"Just don't forget my pay!" I jokingly called out, to which he raised his hands and showed an OK sign. I smiled as I watched him go. I don't really need the pay, as I have had all the years on earth to accumulate them. What I particularly enjoyed was the thrill in taking down these wannabe immortals.
As I walked towards the opposite direction, my phone started to buzz.
"Hey Adam, how did the hunt go?" A familiar voice asked on the other end.
I smiled. It was always good to hear Eve's voice, no matter how many times have I heard it. After all, she was my first friend in this world. "Like usual. It was easy to lure him out once he thought I was the record holder."
"Oh, so what record was he going for?"
"Some twisted record of stabbing the most hearts, according to the police," I replied.
"Ewww, twisted. Glad that has come to an end," Eve tried to humour me, before going into the real reason she called. "Anyway, the Guinness Council just called, so just wanted to let you know that. Some emergency matters, they say that require our presence."
"I thought we handed over matters to them long ago, but alright, we'll be there," I sighed, the thought of sitting through one of those assemblies filling me with dread. I looked around impatiently, before my eyes caught sight of my still bloodied shirt.
"By the way, I may need you to buy a new shirt for me. I'll see you later," I said, and hung up the phone. Just another night for the world's longest living person.
--------------
/r/dori_tales
| 2016-12-14T05:42:16
| 2016-12-14T05:02:19
| 95
| 46
|
[WP] You can read minds, the one person with powers as far as you know. One day you read a guy that can time travel. You discover that he has successfully eliminated every other powered person through lots of time jumps. He doesn't know you and you are the only one that knows what he's been doing.
|
He looked right at you across the table and for a moment, it seems like he knew your secret. You almost forgot to smile. But you did, at just the right moment, as you’ve learned through practice. He smiled back and looked away. A close call.
Dating is tough. Especially so when you can read minds. Half-baked tinder profiles about looking for a lifelong partner fall apart when you can tell within seconds that your date is just looking to fuck. Or that their wife is with the kids back home. This double date was supposed to be different. Your girlfriend Kelli assured you that Paul was one of a kind. And you can read minds so you know she was being genuine when she said it.
Well, she was right. Just not in the way she expected.
Poor luck. Or great luck depending on your viewpoint. To think that he’s only here because he suspected Kelli of being some sort of empath. The red flags went up when the first thought of his you picked up on was him *remembering* how he had killed her. How he had screamed at her to admit she could manipulate feelings. How she had screamed back that she didn’t know what he was talking about before his hands had closed around her throat.
It wasn’t a fantasy. It was a memory. You’d been doing this long enough to tell the difference. The only explanation was that it hadn’t happened yet. Things get weird when you read minds and meeting an eligible time-traveling douche-psycho like Paul, while concerning, was not enough to get you to drop a tell.
But now what?
In a moment of instinct, you leaned across the table when nobody else could hear and smiled, flashing your most devious and flirtatious grin, “Your place or mine after this?” You asked. His thoughts went haywire. In a good way. He was on the hook.
“Well, there’s a breakfast spot I know on the east side. That’s near yours, right?” He smiled back. His thoughts had firmly landed on you and off of his suspicion of Kelli. What’s the rush, right? After all, he had already succeeded in offing her.
So you took him home. Your mind-reading makes you devilishly enticing. You tease him the way he wants to be teased. His focus remains on you. How could it not?
In an intimate moment, you comb through his mind as your fingers run through his hair. He has been forward and backward in time but he has no memories of you. You smile. This is the end of the road for him. After all, there’s only enough room in this town for one super-powered, power-tripping maniac. You’ve disposed of several already.
He whispers into your ear as you’re tangled up on your couch later that night, “Where’ve you been all my life?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Around,” you whisper back as you reach for the kitchen knife you tucked in the cushions earlier.
—
“So, you seemed to hit it off with Paul,” Kelli grins as you over coffee a few days later. What’s that you’re picking up on her mind? Jealousy? Her relationship with her boyfriend had been rocky lately.
You grin back, “Yeah. He and I have a lot in common. Thanks for setting us up. We had fun. I needed that.”
She was glad to hear it. That much was clear despite her conflicted, guilt-ridden thoughts. You almost felt bad but knew there was no stopping what was to come. Poor Kelli. What’s done is done.
At least your secret would still be safe.
\--
*Edited for grammar and clarity*
|
'This would be so much easier in a hundred years,' came the thought from the doctor.
Maria normally filtered out the background telepathic haze of the public space. The random bits of strong thoughts that intruded into her mind were either distinctly boring or uniquely disturbing more often than not. This was something else though. What a curious thought to have.
Maria said nothing as she dialed into the doctor's thoughts, a bright view of a street sign framed by an expensive-looking wall-to-wall window greeted her. If minds were like computers, the home was the wallpaper more often than not, burned in from long exposures. Home or work, both handy glimpses to have.
Individual brains were like radio stations she could tune to with concentration. The smarter the person was, the wider she could turn the knob and still hear them. She wasn't surprised the doctor was intelligent, but this woman blasted across near the whole register. There was still a sweet spot. She was juggling several thoughts at once. What to buy for dinner, leaning towards fish, Maria's broken leg wasn't healing fast enough, whether she should bother prescribing supplements or just recommend Maria buy them.
'This would have been an amputation back in London, before antibiotics.'
There was another one! What a curious thought to have. Was she playing a game with herself, imagining herself as a character from a TV show, maybe? Antibiotics had been around what, a hundred years? The doctor didn't seem whimsical. She wore a stern professional face as she finished her examination, looking up at Maria.
'She kind of looks like that Bright Bitch in the 2080's, she was a sweet one to see the lights go out of.'
The thought rode to her on a wave of memory, steeped in rage and pleasure too strong to fake. This wasn't pretending.
"Everything alright, doc?" Maria asked, adjusting the paper covering the bed/chair thing crinkling below her.
"It's better, but it's not healing as fast as I'd like," the doctor said cheerfully. "I'm going to write a few supplements down I want you to start today. We'll take some blood work and I'll put a note in your portal if anything comes up we don't expect."
'Can't forget to add the Fructosamine test, just in case,' the doctor thought again with that same vicious glee as she wrote on the rolling table. 'Been a while since I've had some fun.'
Maria strained, pushing herself through a deep scan. Reading beyond surface-level thoughts was exhausting and she could only manage one or two a day, but this was the time to do it.
She held the words fructosamine and fun as she slid through the neat shelves of the doctor's mind. Blurbs came to her and she dismissed them with swimmer's strokes, pushing further through the catalog of memories.
'An alternative to A1c testing,' spoke a rude-looking old man in a white coat, down to a scared young woman. Girls Just Want to Have Fun played a backdrop as Maria dug further.
A knife, a bloody stump of a hand. Assumptions Maria had about this image being part of the doctor's training ended when she saw the sofa the body was on.
'Fructosamine of 611 in a nondiabetic, another data point,' the young woman said.
She was wearing some kind of headgear that filled her vision with numbers and graphs. She stepped back to see the body laying bound. A small hand was growing from the stump. Before her eyes, the hand was reformed. 'Please,' a weak voice said. The eyes Maria saw through didn't track to the face.
'A marker of the gifted most assuredly,' came the voice of the memory. 'I will be the only one, I'm afraid.' The knife came down again and again. Blood-
"Miss Rodrigeuz?" the doctor said, pulling Maria from the memory. "You should be able to get these at your local pharmacy."
"Oh, thank you, sorry," Maria said, maintaining a straight face as she took the paper, unable to focus on reading it.
The doctor was gifted somehow, just like Maria, but was hunting down others and killing them. Whatever this bloodwork was she wanted would show Maria was too.
"I'm sorry. I don't feel well. Maybe we could do the bloodwork some other time?" Maria said, standing up on her crutches.
"No worries," the doctor said casually from the computer. "The nurse took it while you were getting checked in. We don't need more."
"Oh," Maria said, working her way through the doorway. "How long till the results are back?"
"Probably tomorrow," she replied.
...
Maria hit the brakes, almost squeaking the wheels of the uncomfortable Civic. She squinted at the sign through the midnight fog, imagining what it would look like from another angle. This was the place. She pulled the gas can over the mess of the hot wired cables. It hurt to walk, but she couldn't risk being spotted with crutches. As she worked around the huge house pouring the liquid, she thanked the peacefully sleeping doctor for the tip about fructosamine. It might come in handy for finding more of them. She would be the only one, after all.
​
/r/surinical
| 2021-05-08T21:01:53
| 2021-05-08T19:02:45
| 1,311
| 321
|
[WP] You are a sculptor with the ability to make your creations, whatever they may be, come to life. In a post-apocalyptic world, you live alone on an island with your sculptures. A small group of survivors looking for shelter have mistaken you for a villain that turns people into dolls.
|
Galena approached me as I was chipping at my latest work of art. She was slender and beautiful. In her, I wanted the innocence of beauty. And of my latest creations the one I enjoy the most company. She gestured me to accompany her. She could not speak, none of them can. As much life as I can breath into them, they will still be sculptures of art.
I told her to give me a minute, and laid my tool on the table. I needed to finish this before my muse leaves. I sand the chin of what will be one day called, Ilmenite. I do not know the eyes, but I have woken today with the shape of the face in my mind. The sharp chin and angled chins. An ear with an earing. I could fall in love again.
The stone felt smooth to my touch, and I was satisfied with the grain. Galena had remained still, taking in the sight of my art. I was aware of how much she enjoys watching me work, but today, she had chores to accomplish by the river glade.
She led me to the southern balcony, and flowed as she walks. Just as I envisioned her as I carved her from the stone. She stood by the side of the opened canopy and lifted her hand point towards the river.
A rough ship had landed at the shore near the delta. From here I could tell apart 4 individuals. Humans. It was been, more than A year since I have seen other survivors. The company would be welcomed.
There was a problem with their movements though. I could not tell from here, but they where erratic and may have appeared disturbed. I glanced at Galena and she had a worried look on her face. She was not around when the last group had arrived, so I approached and held her in my arms to console her. "Do not worry, everything would be fine." I told her. and her shoulders relaxed. The hard smooth stone felt wonderful as I stroked it. I kept looking at the group and another figure came out of the boat. This one was taller and had an air of authority. He seemed to have called out and the others gathered about him. From here I could not hear what he said but he was instructing something. He pointed towards the delta where there stood to giant Gargoyles, I had carved Decades ago. He later pointed towards the mountain, towards my home. I'm not sure if he saw us, standing there watching, but after a few moments the entire group started to move towards they pathway. It worried me that they seemed to be carrying some rudimentary weapons.
We kept watching them from our viewpoints. The walked past the broken remains of my past failures. Statues that would never feel the breath of light. Then, Hemlock, approached the group. I could tell it was him by the texture and shape of Hemlock's wooden body as he approached the group. Galena held strongly to me as only stone can when she also recognized Hemlock.
Hemlock was one of my first creations, before I dabbled into the Hard stone. He knew what to do, and would guide the group to see me. Invite them as guest. Even without speech he should not have any trouble.
It surprised me then when the group felt more agitated. They were not being cooperative it would seem. Galena's grip started to hurt and I eased her away. She made no resistance as I moved her hands away. "Go to the Garden", I instructed her. She smiled with worried eyes and leaned towards my mouth and left a cold kiss before leaving.
As I suspected the group had become violent. Poor Hemlock received a clobber to the head and laid still on the grass patch by the path way. The group immediately started running up the path that leads to my abode. I sighed. I wasn't expecting them this way. the last few travelers were gentle and friendly. I did not expect to see many more living humans left. And I wanted to hear news of the outside world. But alas, these are violent and would not see reason.
I look towards the statues by the delta. I breathe in a subtle voice, "Onyx and Cobalt. Come to me my children." The two enormous gargoyles lifted their wings and stretched as awakening from a slumber.
I lean over the railing and I can finally hear their voices. Some are panting and some are grunting, but the leaders voice is clear, "Hurry, something is coming from the river. We need to stop the mad man. He will turn us all into dolls as we have already seen."
The ignorant fools. They do not comprehend what I can actually do. Their misguided attitude will bring their downfall. They finally noticed me watching over them from my perch. A young female in the back pointed towards me, and yelled, "There he is, be careful." The three in the front started to run faster and the other man started to pull at the young lady pulling her to advance. In their failure to advance, Onyx landed straight between the group impeding the passage of these two. Cobalt headed towards the other three but I knew she would not reach them in time.
Onyx stood there and the two that were left behind started to attack the feet of the enormous Onyx. From here I could see that He towered four times their size and a smile of proudness over came me. I head inside, for I must now meet the guests. On my way I whispered, "Ready."
The tall man was muscular, and wore ripped shorts and no shirt. He has seen battle in the past I could tell just by looking at his scars. He was not afraid of me, as his two companions did. One was an older women with graying hair, and the other seemed to young to be an adult. Their grey and beige clothing made them look boring.
"Stop this madness," Said the leader, "We will end you before you can turn us to dolls." This was the only warning he gave me. He glared at me with cold blue eyes and lunged at me with a fierce weapon in his hand.
He was no more than 4 feet from my when a rope taught quickly between him and me. It twined between his legs and arm and fixed tightly around his neck. The rope had also captured the other two and even in their fear they couldn't move.
"Let us go wizard." The man blazed at me.
"Do you really think I turn people into dolls?" I asked them, not really expecting any answer.
"We saw what you had done to them by the river." The man roared at me. The rope tightened more on his neck and he choked his last word.
"I am but an artist. What you saw are my failures." I explained.
"But," sobbed the silver haired woman, "The look in their faces."
"As I said, They are my failures," I say with a bit of boredom, "I breath life into my creations. And my failures were not meant to have life."
The boy then starts to scream when he feels his body turn to stone. The shock in the woman's face is obvious as she realizes how close to the truth thy were while being utterly wrong. The man kept his strong glare at me filled with hate, and when his body turned completely to stone, his eyes lost their color but remain beautifully firm.
"You are not meant to have the breath of life." I said to the statues, disgusted by their expressions.
I approached the man with the firm eyes and I could feel Galena come closer to me. She must learn to obey me better or else she could get hurt. I felt the mans face in my left hand and galena held on to my right arm. I let her and she had a weight of tranquility and relaxation. His eyes were beautiful and Ilmenite would soon bear them.
|
"Help! Oh god, help!" A person runs out of the house, flailing their arms as their bare skin touched the air. The person trips down the stairs of the house and crumbles into dust.
​
A group of people who'd found their way to the island looked on in shock as a broken rocky army nearly smacked them across their faces. They remembered back to when the attack on humanity happened. It was called "Medusa's mark." Anyone who had the mark of the beast on their back was as good as dead and if someone with the mark touched a markless person, they'd spread that same mark. If the sunlight or moonlight touched their skin they'd crumble to dust seamlessly.
​
"Come to Paradise Island!" Played on the radio endlessly, it gave survivors hope, a place to go, a goal to reach. The listened to the voice of the radio day in and day out, imagining what was awaiting them on their journey.
​
Blaige, the leader of the group of three people, excluding himself, believed that humans were art. He justified all of the deaths caused by this Medusa's mark as art. It was the only way he could handle watching his daughter and wife turning into dust before him as he tried to hold on.
​
A man walked out of the door of the house as the group stared on. For the very first time on Blaige's journey, he stepped back in fear as an elderly, wrinkled man waved to the four of them with joy. Until he saw Richard and his face returned to a neutral state he began walking with his his cane in hand.
​
The stone that laid at their feet cried out to them as the elderly man made his way down the stairs slowly.
​
The stones beneath them cried out as they scoured their surroundings. As they scanned the landscape of the vegetation that overtook the island they saw statues littering the trees and ground. It wasn't unusual to see things such as that' however it was different. The stone remains of what were once people stared at them as they all began to back away slowly from the jovial man on his porch.
​
"To think there'd still be survivors! How'd you like to se-," The decrepit voice of the old man is cut short by a hoarse cough as he covers his mouth and continues, "My art?"
​
"He wants us to be his art?" Linda repeats in fear as her voice trembled, she looked at Blaige, and instead of her usual witty remarks, she looked at Blaige with understanding.
​
'You were right...' is what Linda thought to herself before pushing a little girl, Jacy, to the ground and began running into the forest as she dropped her belongings.
​
The old man continued walking to his stairs from his porch and as he turned the balcony and passed the railings of his porch, the three remaining survivors saw the man with a chisel and hammer approaching them.
​
"Bring that woman back to me safely!-" The old man coughs again as he clears his throat. He hits the statue of a three-headed wolf and its eyes spark with life as it jumped above the heads of the survivors and ran towards Linda.
Blaige grabs Jacy and begins running in the opposite direction of the wolf as fear shivered down his spine. Richard follows his lead as they run into the forest that surrounded the house. The run a long way before the take a break to recuperate and conjure their thoughts.
​
"Blaige, what was that?" Richard beckoned Blaige hushedly as Blaige began to heave and catch his breath.
​
He takes in a large gulp of air before explaining himself.
​
"Do you know... where humans come from?" He asked as he covered Jacy's eyes as he rested with his back to a tree.
​
"I believe in the sculptors' theory... we were all created by an artist. What happens when the artist sees imperfection in their craft?"
​
Leaves crunch as footsteps are heard echoing throughout the silent forest.
​
Richard looks at Blaige as he continued catching his breath and scanned their area cautiously and quickly.
​
"Artist's leave signatures. People like you, me, Linda, and Jacy are different. We didn't have those marks. We weren't made by an artist; we were made by something more malicious..."
​
The tree Blaige sat under began to thump. Chunks of wood flew from the base of the as Blaige turned his head and saw a man hacking away at the tree. The thick tree is knocked down swiftly in less than seconds as the group began running again. They looked back and saw the mark on the chest of the stony man and saw that it was different. Instead of the usual woman with snakes for hair covering their hair the mark was an old man with bald hair, similar to the man they ran from that stayed in the house.
​
"Sorry!" The stony lumberjack said with remorse as he continued chopping down trees around the forest.
​
"Blaige... this is different. The stones are speaking and moving like their actual people. That one even had a different mark!" Richard spoke as the three of them ran further into the forest. Blaige trips over a rock and drops Jacy as she cried out. He looks down at what caused him to fall and see's Linda's body. It had been turned to stone, Blaige writhed in pain as his sprained foot refused to move any further and puke nearly filled his mouth.
​
"Rich, take Jacy with you... I'm damned," Blaige says as he stares at the rocky Linda whilst laying beside her, accepting his fate.
​
Richard obliges and begins running back toward the shore they all arrived on. He had no idea where he'd go, what he'd eat, or how they'd live but he knew he had to leave the island. He was lost, nothing but trees, vines, shrubs, and stones surrounded him as they appeared to stare him down.
​
The old man finds Blaige and see's him sitting in pain. He walks to him slowly with his cane pushing him forward as he comforted him.
​
"I'll make this quick." He says as he places his chisel onto his leg and hammers it down.
​
A scream echoes throughout the jungle as Richard began to run harder than he'd ever run before. Richard realizes he'd ran in a circle as he saw Blaige standing up good as new.
​
Blaige and Linda wave Richard over to them jovially as they both smile. "Richard! It was a big misunderstanding come here! He can help us!" Richard ignores Blaige's cries as he begins to run in a straight line. He looks back to see their faces turning into worry as he hits his tree on a branch and faints, dropping Jacy to the ground alone.
​
Richard awakens, his body unable to move and his eyes pried open as he darted his eyes across the room. He saw Linda, Blaige, and Jacy sleeping on beds as he began to try and shake himself free of his bindings.
​
Blaige hears the struggling and wakes up the others as they begin to stare at him as he grunts.
​
"You can drop the act. The old man told us what you did." Blaige says as he stares at Richard from a distance. Richard stops his struggling and attempts to laugh as the gag that filled his mouth silenced him.
​
The old man walks into the room and stares at Richard with disappointment.
​
"Why did you destroy your most beautiful creations?" The old man asked as Richard began to free himself from his bindings with ease.
​
"Ask Blaige," Richard retorts as he stands smugly.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[u/AlfredoOreos](https://www.reddit.com/u/AlfredoOreos/) Feedback is appreciated as I'm still learning new ways of storytelling and if you enjoyed this story check out my profile and follow for similar ones! Thanks a lot for reading.
| 2021-04-26T14:08:03
| 2021-04-26T12:42:55
| 27
| 18
|
[WP] To be Samurai is to be Honor personified. To be a Viking is to be Rage personified. To be a Centurion is to be Strength personified. But your people are much different. To be a warrior of your kind, you must be Death personified.
|
When fighting beckons, each tribe of people have their own way of fighting. This defines them, and how they kill.
The Samurai of the East come from a land of plenty. Their history of looking out for one another gave birth to their way of war, Honor. They fight face to face, in carefully chosen duels. They strike at not the weak, but those who are in a position to fight. They do not ambush, but challenge. Their nobility is well known.
The Vikings of the North live in a frozen wilderness. They became little more the beasts to survive, and hate those who have more then them. This led to the core of their fighting strength, Rage. They strike with wild abandon, foregoing defense in favour of overwhelming offense. They kill any who stand in their way, no matter who they are. Their ferocity is unmatched.
The Centurions of the South come from a place with great mountains and chasms. These natural barriers and the predators that lived there, led them to value the idea of staying put. They embraced the ideal of Strength. For them, it is a careful march. They dig in, and fortify. They calculate their attack, to respond with the appropriate level of force to crush their enemies. Their fortresses are rarely breached.
My tribe, one of the few tribes of the West, value something different. We do not have the cold lands of the North, with snow for water and will covered animals a plenty. We do not have a land of plenty, where food can grow in abundance, like that of the East. We do not even have the great barriers of the South. No, we live in a desolate wasteland. To live here is to live alongside death, every step of the way.
We learned to value Death itself. We cannot care about a fair fight, like the fools of the East. A quick stab to the back is all that is required. The barbarians of the North may be ferocious warriors, but a single swift cut, and your foes fall. The cowards of the South may dig in well, but a well placed arrow will pierce the weak points.
It is customary amongst my people for those who wish to fight to kill a spine beast alone in the Cauldron of Slayers. Should they survive, which most do, they get anointed as Protector. Every year there after, they may choose another creature to fight, and should they succeed, they receive a tattoo of it's spirit, to show their ability to kill.
I, like many before, have chosen to pursue this path. But I am stronger then my peers. I have fought every creature, and survived. So I have chosen my new challenge. I will go to the other tribes of the world, learn their ways of fighting, and slay one of their greatest soldiers. I will find out their methods of killing myself, such that I may teach them to my tribe members, as new ways to fight.
My name is Storn, and this is my chosen duty.
|
"You are *forbidden*!" Shouted Dayamaise. He rested atop his throne, fashioned of fallen warriors. His dark brows were serious, his white beard swaying in the wind.
"Lord Father, the youth are restless, and I among them!" I objected.
A resonant, guttural growl began at the back of Lord Dayamaise's throat. "You are yet a pup! There are souls to be harvested, certainly, but not by *you*." The inflection on 'you' caused my heart to flicker, then rage began to build.
"You have kept us behind these walls *all our lives.* We are to become the next Vanguard, and you would have us inexperienced and unprepared." My voice was a venomous hiss. "We would be the laughingstock of the world. I am *taking my battalion* and I am venturing into the Valley with your blessing or not!" I turned on my heel and began to leave.
"You are not ready! The Valley is treacherous for our kind!"
"Apparently, so are you." I did not look back.
"Etherios!" Dayamaise called after me, but I was heedless. My heart was set in stone.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Etherios was furious- you could hardly tell by looking at him, though. He appeared comfortably nonchalant as he fashioned his armor- he was lean, tall- like a leopard, lazing in the sun. He skin was the color of ash, and his hair was black as night. He looked as he always did- painfully beautiful.
Yet Aderos knew better- he knew where to look. Etherios gave no hint as to his mood with his body language, but Aderos had a gift. The Truesight- a blessing amongst the Magisters of his kind. Etherios had an Aura- as all living things did- and his aura was typically a sanguine pond in an ethereal swamp- all purple and brown, indefatigable... Right now, however, his aura was full of sharp edges, rotating around his Auric sphere like spinning blades. He was furious, Aderos knew.
"Aderos. You're making me uncomfortable." Etherios said as he donned his Reaper Resin chest plate.
"Begging your forgiveness, Etherios." Aderos released his vision on Etherios's Aura.
"I'm not worried about the Valley, if that's what you're thinking."
"I know you aren't. Even though we lack experience, we have you to guide us- we will surely unite with Death with minimal casualties."
"Well- I'm not sure we're going to go *that* far into the Valley. Lady Death and the 13th Battalion *do* have a date, make no mistake about that- but I'm not planning on much more than a little flirting with her today. You know I'm just furious with Lord Dayamaise."
Aderos nodded. "Your father is certainly set in his ways- and while his ways have got us very, very far, he tries to shelter you from the hardships he once gladly endured. He does you a disservice."
"He does me no *credit*." Etherios hissed. "I've been trained daily to take his place on the throne, yet he gives me no responsibility! No way to *use* the skill I've developed. I can't stand it."
Aderos took up Etherios's weapons and handed them to him- dual axes, made of blackened steel, and with a wedge of obsidian for the blade.
Etherios took the weapons and dropped them into his magnetized belt loops. "Enough of my bitching." Etherios turned to the rest of the 13th Battalion. "Who's ready to hunt Shades?!"
All 11 other members of the Battalion beat their chest in response with an affirmative "Aa-ou!"
"Follow Left Hand Aderos, he's taking point. I'll be scouting. Dax, you're rear guard. Take whoever you want to be an extra set of eyes."
Etherios looked at *his* battalion. Each of them fine young man- Aderos in particular. Each highly skilled, but untested. "Let's test our metal, boys!" He shouted, and Aderos led them out of the courtyard, into the wilderness.
Etherios could *feel* his Father's gaze as he and his men left the safe confines of the mountain walled city- he cared not. This was what was needed for their society to stay strong. This was the future of the Grim Reapers.
| 2020-07-23T10:37:31
| 2020-07-23T10:21:20
| 59
| 15
|
[WP] In a world where hauntings and paranormal activity is the norm, the world clamors when a house is found to be "spiritless"
|
The silence is what got to Else first. It was the first time since her awakening as a medium she had experienced it. Every house has spirits. It's a fact. Even newly built houses get their first supernatural occupants soon after completion but this one was centuries old. It was unnerving.
It wasn't the silence of shy or uncooperative spirits, it was the silence of their complete absence. The rest of the investigator group had split up into teams in order to cover more ground. They had all debunked many supposed 'spiritless' locations over the years together; often they were where the resident spirits were unusually quiet and respectful, or had entered into a deal with the living tenants to make themselves scarce for a cut of the inevitable profits.
The first sign that this place was different was when Frank's E-Mag detector flatlined crossing the estate gates. Nothing, not even residual traces of spirit energy. Once they had arrived at the main house they realized that all their equipment was reading nil values, not just the detector.
And then things went from strange to creepy. All the mediums, psychics and clerics present had attendant spirits, ranging from minor, tagalong ghasts to Else's more substantial wight Werner to the seraph Andezekiel, who was on secondment to Fra Gerard. Each and every one of them refused to enter, including the mighty seraph.
Thus it came to be that Else and Frank were in The House with No Spirits, on their own, with no backup, no technology and no supernatural assistance.
Nothing happened to them.
Nothing happened to the others.
Nothing happened to and never would happen to anyone there.
Nothing.
And that was terrifying.
|
Rye’s hand shook as he reached for the pint glass. His eyes had large bags underneath them and his eyelids drooped. As he grabbed the glass he yawned. “I just haven’t been able to get any sleep.”
Red raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah.” Rye steadied his hand and brought the glass up to his lips. He sucked down half the beer. “It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life.”
“You’ve got the most desirable house in the world,” said Rye. He snorted and grabbed his own pint glass full of beer. “You don’t have to deal with ghosts, spirits, Jersey Devils, Bigfoots or Cthulus.” He swiped his hand in front of him like he was clearing away a spider web. “Not a single thing.”
Another yawn escaped Rye’s mouth. “I thought it would be nice.”
“Maybe you need a new bed. I’ve seen that thing you call a mattress.”
Rye shook his head. “No. Katy and I stayed at her mother’s house. We had to sleep on the floor in the living room. Both of us slept like the dead.”
“Traffic?”
“It’s on a cul-de-sac.”
“Street lights?
Rye shook his head. “Nope.”
“Loud neighbors?”
Rye sighed just before yawning once more. “Stop asking. I know exactly why I can’t sleep.”
Red shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t get it, man. I wish I could go an entire night without that fucking succubus trying to suck me off. Janet is getting real pissed.”
“You want to try my place?” said Rye. He pointed in the general direction of his house. “You can go to my place. It’ll be the quietest night you’ve ever had.”
Red’s face lit up. “Seriously? I would love that, man. I can’t imagine what it would be like with nothing trying to sex me up for my immortal soul.”
Rye shrugged. “You won’t fall asleep. You’ll start wishing you had that succubus back.”
“Why?”
“It’s the silence,” said Rye. He downed the rest of his beer and slammed the pint glass down on the table. “I can’t stand the silence. It’s louder than the imps ever were.”
| 2015-03-26T18:38:42
| 2015-03-26T18:34:30
| 57
| 23
|
[WP] "I have two pills to take every day. One is so I don't kill myself. The other is so I don't kill other people. Today I dropped one pill down the drain. I don't know which it was."
[Source](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/3wxtsu/who_is_that_guygirl_you_work_with/cy09r1g) for prompt.
|
"Crap. Not again." I said to myself as I tossed the other one in the drain as well and grabbed two new pills.
These things aren't cheap and that's twice this week that sink's gotten the best of me. I really need to start being more careful.
And now the second one's stuck in my throat... This ailment is the worst.
|
Shit. I stare blankly down at the sucking water as the small blue pill disappears from my sight. I try swallowing but my mouth has dried up and I only end up letting out a short, heavy cough. My vision shifts to the identical pill in my still-shaking left hand, the other half to the cocktail which keeps my life together on a daily basis. Shouldn't I be panicking? Crying or screaming or frantically calling my doctor or something? Still gripping the pill tightly, I shut off the flowing water from my faucet and sit down slowly on the closed toilet.
In a few minutes I'll know which pill it was. One keeps me from killing myself, and the other keeps me from killing others. In just under half an hour I'll either be attempting to hurl myself from my balcony or hunting down the nearest person with bloody fury. Strange...despite my circumstances I'm surprisingly calm.
"Honey, are you okay in there?" The concerned voice of my boyfriend thrums from the other side of the flimsy wooden door. Even for all my flaws and the fact that I'm a ticking timebomb, Timothy has stuck with me for the past year and a half of this...journey, if it can be called that.
"Yeah, babe. Be out in a sec," I instantly respond, the lie rolling off my tongue as naturally as if it's the truth. I squeeze the blue pill in my fingers, wondering what the hell I should do. I know basically nothing about the highly experimental medications. So experimental that I'm being paid to take the damn things, which is fine to a broke-ass college student like me. Will it even work if I just take one pill? And what do I do when my condition starts to show its effects? Can Timothy keep me under control? Tim is the captain of the chess club, and I'm the captain of both the girl's soccer and field hockey teams on campus. He's wicked smart, but I know I can overpower him easily.
A sudden thought bubbles up from somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind. Should I even do anything? Maybe I'll be fine if I only take one pill. I've never missed a dosage so maybe I'll be okay. My leg taps nervously against the cool tile floor as I try to figure out what the hell to do.
It's...harder to focus now...my mind keeps slipping and fading in and out as the minutes crawl by. Finally something clear cuts through the fog like a knife. Why didn't I think of it before? It's so clear now. I stand and look deep at the woman in the mirror. She looks nothing like I do. She's weak. I'm strong. She hides who she truly is, and I show the world.
I raise my left hand, and after just a tick of hesitation, drop the second pill down the drain as well. Fuck it. If I'm going to die, might as well make as memorable a death as possible.
| 2015-12-15T18:57:30
| 2015-12-15T18:08:22
| 53
| 12
|
[WP] You were born blind. You undergo a new surgery that should cure your blindness. They undo the wraps and you open them. You think what you see is normal, but after the doctors ask a slew of questions, they discover there is something very strange about your newly acquired sight.
|
"Open your eyes slowly, Daley," said a gentle voice. Daley felt the tightly bound bandages covering his eyes slacken, releasing his face from their iron grip.
Daley opened his eyes. He was greeted by the sight of the ceiling instead of the familiar darkness that enveloped him whenever he opened his eyes in the past. He sat up immediately and looked around the room in wonder. The cold metal frame of his bed, the warm light streaming through the window, the monochrome room he resided in, everything he once felt but couldn't see laid before his new eyes.
"Mr. Barnot, are you accustomed to your mechaeyes?" asked a gruff voice. "We would like to perform a few examinations on you before we discharge you from the ward. It would not take much of your time, Mr. Barnot."
"It's okay," Daley replied, taking in the elegant robe in front of him.
"Okay then Mr. Barnot. Hailee, if you may," said the gruff voice. Daley saw the smooth gloves press a button on a remote to reveal a screen with foreign shapes and figures in contrasting colors populating the background.
"Here is a piece of cardboard. I want you to rotate the cardboard to match the shape of the figures I point to with my laser pointer," said the gruff voice.
"Sure," Daley complied.
"Then we will begin." The laser pointer shone on a shape with three pillars facing upwards connected by a horizontal line. Daley shifted his cardboard in accordance with the orientation of the shape while trying to calm the waves of unrest resonating in his head.
"Congratulations Mr. Barnot. Your eyesight is even sharper than that of a normal human," said the gruff voice. "Now we proceed to the color test."
The remote clicked again to reveal a screen populated with many colors. "Now," said the gruff voice,"I will show you two colors."
"The color I am pointing to now is the color red." The pointer switched positions to rest on a area populated by another color. "And this, is the color green. Mr. Barnot, do you see a clear distinction between the two colors?"
Daley nodded in response.
"Well then, that concludes our tests, Mr. Barnot," said the gruff voice. "Thank you for your cooperation, you may look forward to your discharge this tomorrow morning."
*Tomorrow I will see everything around me, starting from my dog,* Daley thought. *I'm gonna start-*
"So do you want to know what are the names of the colors around you, Daley?" asked the gentle voice. "Let's start with my uniform."
The glove pointed to the dress in front of him. "This, is white."
The glove pointed to the other glove. "This color is green."
The glove pointed to empty air. "This color is brown. Well actually it is a lighter brown, but most humans have different skin colors in varying degrees of brown."
Daley stared. "Why are you pointing at the air? I thought you were conversing with me through your holofigures? That's why I couldn't see your faces right?"
"Holofigures don't work this way, Daley. Holofigures can't render skin this realistic, plus holofigures can't interact with the actual environment," replied the gentle voice. The green gloves twitched in midair. "Is there anything wrong with your mechaeyes, Mr. Barnot?"
Daley hesitated. *I better not tell them anything,* he thought. *I can see and that's enough. I can't stand another day is this godforsaken hospital.*
"It's nothing...I'm fine, uh, Miss," he said, trying to keep his voice level. "Oh by the way, can you close the window? The sunlight is *really* blinding my eyes."
"It's the middle of the night Mr. Barnot. What are you talking about?" the gentle voice became cold in an instant. "Are you saying that the transplant didn't go as planned? The System does not tolerate defective products."
Cold sweat rolled down Daley's neck. The fact that the System is perfect has been instilled in him since he was a little blind boy in the City's academy. *There was no way the mechaeyes manufactured by the System's factories could have been defective...right?*
The door to the room flew open with a violent bang. A beam of light pierced through the white dress, staining the white dress with blood.
*Red...*, he thought, mind numb with shock.
A slender figure wearing a hood stepped through the door and took off the hood.
Daley stared. A pair of impossibly beautiful eyes stared back in response.
"So...do you wanna destroy the System?"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Well that turned dystopian quickly. Any feedback and comments are welcome!
​
​
|
People don't line up as they should. You've always been able to smell, feel, taste, touch. Now you can see them and its so much worse. The sickly sweaty smell is all the worse for being able to see the tainted fumes. Skin used to be rough and dimpled, now you know it's because everyone is rotting, weakened flesh ready to sloth away at any moment. You can't bring yourself to kiss your partner, not now you can see their many orifices that don't close properly and leek primordial slime. They're hideous. They're liars. They're monsters. Fake normalcy. Change your answers. Smile. Be happy that you can see even as your stomach churns. You must be different. An experiment. Not a freak, that's them. You'll leave this room praising your......doctors. You'll fade into the background once the success of the surgery is announced, emphasize that it was the medical creatures that deserve the false praise. Once they forget you, then you can act. See if there are other normies or self hating monsters. Start the long process of cleansing the world of the filth that infects it.
| 2018-10-29T07:28:13
| 2018-10-29T06:43:53
| 111
| 31
|
[WP] In the afterlife each religion has its own walled city in which their god or pantheon protects the believers within from the soul-gnawing horrors outside, while atheists are left on their own
Shoutout to u/Tonkarz who had the [idea](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/7eao4f/exreligious_people_of_reddit_what_was_the_tipping/dq4b4y6/).
|
"Welcome to the afterlife."
Martin looked around, from the overcast and grey clouds to the flat and slightly beige ground. He couldn't see anyone except the elderly lady who had greeted him. She seemed bored.
"Where am I?" he asked.
"Since you ended out here, with us non-believers, you're in the atheist afterlife."
"So there is an afterlife," Martin thought to himself. "Shouldn't I end up in some kind of heaven or hell, based on my non-belief?"
"No, only the true believers live with their god or gods. You, you are on your own."
"Shouldn't it at least be more than just grey clouds and featureless ground?" Martin asked.
"It is what you make it," the lady said. Then she disappeared, with nothing noting that she was there before.
Martin stared at the spot the lady just had stood, stunned and confused. Martin had never thought much about the afterlife, and now that he was here, he felt lost. His life ending and being nothing was what he had expected, not this featureless nothing in which HE was still alive.
He stood there for what felt like days, paralyzed with an angst greater than he ever had experienced when thinking of death. Now he had... eternity and no purpose. He tried hurting himself, to feel something other than panic and a deep loneliness, but he felt nothing. He tried running, but he found nothing. He tried yelling, but he didn't even hear an echo. He felt like crying, but no tears came out.
He didn't get tired, hungry or hurt. It was only him, his panicked mind, and a featureless expanse. For eternity.
___
After what had felt like an eternity to Martin, he heard something behind him - a crunch of sand, which was strange, since the dirt had never given a sound when he trod it. He spun around, afraid, but also thrilled to at last see *something*.
It was a woman, enjoying the sunset while walking along a beach. She seemed surprised to see him, but also welcoming.
"Why is there a beach there?" Martin asked feverishly.
"I wanted a beach to be there," the woman answered. "I always liked seeing a sunset on a beach."
Martin started following her, while she strolled along the beach. The sand, waves and the cloudless sky followed her, as did the sun.
"How?" Martin asked. "Are you a god?"
She laughed at him then, a pearly and happy thing. "No, I'm as mortal as you are"
"How can you do this," Martin asked, enraptured by her power and the beauty she created.
"When you have no god, you are the master of your own life."
|
I rest atop the verdant knoll in Elysium, right by our border. Our people come up here sometimes when they need to feel again. A constant drunken orgasm can numb you and make the high seem low. You can make the highs even higher if you muster the courage to stand near the wall--peer into the mist. It reminds us of our mortal bravery, of our escape from Hades' clutches.
Today marks the anniversary of my arrival here, it's been 2300 years. Every year I still try to watch the crossing of souls, and each year there are less and less souls crossing into our land and more being shut out. I've climbed up the knoll today, hoping to reset my self to enjoy pleasures with renewed vigor. Sitting under the shade of a cedar pergola nestled at the top of the knoll, strung with grape vines, I pluck a plump purple globe from the tendrils strewn beside my couch. I pop the grape into my mouth and break the red skin; sweet, tart juice and flesh spilling onto my tongue. As I reach for another grape, I hear a soul-gnawing scream just over the wall, the sound of a voice shredding, of a skull breaking. Standing up, I tread carefully toward the border and glance over the golden wall's razor edge. As I gaze through the mist below me I see an atheos has lost their head, fallen on its stomach, naked and gray, leaking juices from its neck. A hungry hellhound circles the atheos. It notices me. The hellhound sits on its obsidian haunches and points its snarled gleaming snout toward me with a fanged smile, dripping with blood.
"You think this is real?"
The hellhound leaps over the wall and howls, it glides over the border and lands on me, pushing me down under its iridescent paws. I'm on my back, gold dripping from a gash in my head. The hellhound opens it's jaw, revealing an infinite darkness, and I see my reflection. In this dark reflection my face is blank, featureless, skin covers my eyes, nose and mouth.
"The atheos have arrived in their diamond ships, they arrived with the others like they normally would each year," the reflection is speaking into my mind, "they've found the gate through Hades, they have come with weapons of light and fire to take Elysium. There are other lands in this world, beyond the mist, and they are falling."
The hellhound closes it's mouth and I can't feel my body, my vision is sharper and I'm so hungry. I need to eat. I need to kill. I sit down on my obsidian haunches and howl. I am renewed.
| 2017-11-21T07:28:42
| 2017-11-21T07:14:56
| 50
| 21
|
[WP] You are an inspector of the Federal Bureau of Dungeon Safety And Adventurer Fairness. This one is a serious violation to the codes.
Feel free to drop the Adventurer Fairness if you don't like it.
|
“What meaning of this?” Asked Skrum the Red.
The inspector clicked his pen and stared at the clip board, “Because Mr. Skrum...”
“Me am LORD Skrum little man. I no conquer tri-countryside area to be call MR.”
“Very well then LORD Skrum, Butcher of Westhaven, Skull forger of Gothrar, Dark Shadow of Callistar, and Lord of Fallten, I am an inspector from the Guild of Evil Tyrants and I’m here to make sure that your dungeon is up to code.”
The large Ogre scoffed, “You am forgetting Champion of Darkenrest but Skrum am no poor host. Please enter.”
The man with the clip board, swirling dark robes surrounding him like a cloud, glided along in the wake of the Ogre lord. The ogres minions, goblins and mogg and even a few hobgoblin and bugbear, took a step away from the gliding man as he wafted in the wake of their massive overlord. They had lived with Skrum long enough to know about concepts like cruelty and bloodthirstyness were but they didn’t need to be taught what the true evil of bureaucracy felt like.
They stood aside in the wake of his malevolence.
“You have a wide variety of goblinoids at your disposal.”
“Skrum like to keep diverse workforce to promote inclusive workplace and promote moral among staff. Also goblins cheap labor and no fall under accepted group for Affordable Cleric Act.”
“Of course.” Said the auditor as he made a note, “the reason I’m here today is that there have been some complaints that your dungeon may not be up to code.”
“Skrum can assure clip board man that Skrum am running top of line operation here. Skrum dungeon sport five spike pit traps, a deadly spider straight from the forests of Anklar, two different paths that lead to either cave of shadow pugilists or abattoir of deadly red worm, followed by the sanctum of Skrum himself and his vast hordes of treasure and evil goblin armies. What more could adventurer ask of Mighty Skrum?”
“And that all sounds marvelous Lord Skrum but unfortunately your dungeon is only prorated for low to middling fame adventures and your set up ranks those of the Higher if not Epic fame.”
“Certainly, Skrum only wishes to have highest of all high challenges within him halls of battle.”
“Then why did you files paperwork with the Guild of Evil Tyrants for low to middling fame adventurers?” He asked as he handed the contract up to Skrum.
The ogres eyes scrunched up as he read and he began to darken, “This reek of Throgdar from Human Resources. He good troll, excellent axe work, but he not flower in middle management as much as me would hope. Rest assured that this problem be solved on next inspection after strenuous chastisement and employee remediation.”
“I have full confidence in your managerial ability. In the mean time we will send over new submission paper work, with a small fee and fine, and it is my hope that we can have your dungeon back in operation by this time next fortnight.”
He and Skrum shook hands, he collected his papers, and one short transformation later he was off to the next stop.
A bureaucrats work was never done.
|
So here I am, inspecting the dungeon of some mad scientist. Normal Friday, nothing special. See, my job is to keep balance in this world. We all know that this is a fantasy world, but the players don't realize that it's real. What they see as numbers, we see as everyday life. The boss trains his minions, crafting their stats to his liking. The builder designs a lair, and the owner makes the traps. We set the trap type, the DC to save, the damage, it's all very serious business. I'm an inspector, my job is to keep it fair. No Tarrasque in a dungeon meant for non mythic heroes. The number of beasts contributes to a total pool of threat rating, and the harder you make the dungeon the harder we make your CR. We all know the rules. So on today's list, we're dealing with a scientist who focuses on biology, life magic, and necromancy.
"So, tell me about the encounters on the first floor, mister..."
"Please, call me thirteen. You see, you get in to my lab by going through a magical portal, one that can only be opened by me or my monsters. So you have to fight whatever beast comes out of the portal, then you can enter. Once inside, you'll find a series of Gremlins that can use detonate, effectively killing themself instantly, but doing moderate damage to the players."
"Understandable. Now their health, if it's low enough to die instantly from the half detonation, they should be easy enough to kill?"
"Of course sir. They only have 25 health between low rolls and a negative constitution. However, as level 10 they do 10d8."
"So right there we already have a decent challenge rating. An ambush of them can drop half the health on a tenth level barbarian without much issue. Now, when we move to the end of this floor?"
"Well, that's when you battle to open up a new portal for the second floor. I designed a half construct, a bionic monster so to speak. He has 200 health, untyped DR/15, and can do a 4d10 slam attack."
"Sounds like a boss fight right from the start. I'm assuming this dungeon is intended for levels 15 and up?"
"No, I figured a couple of level 12 players could go through, maybe with a higher ranked guide as a backup."
"We'll get to the problems with everything you just said later, tell me about the second floor."
"Well, there's a trap on a door that shoots out a jet of fire in a 10 foot width, moving forward about 50 feet, so if you're in the connected hall its almost a guaranteed hit."
"And what type of disarm check are we using? Perception to find the trap is important too."
"Oh, yes, the disarm check is only a 26, a good rogue could easily take care of it. The perception is a little higher though."
Well, we all know what a little higher means with this type. It's clear he's making a dungeon meant to wipe out parties just for the sake of it. Let's hear what he has to say.
"So, your check to find the trap is a 40, and the column does 50d6 damage, half with reflex."
"Okay, gonna stop you right there. Even a rogue specialized to deal with traps has to basically critical to even see that trap, and that damage could kill a level 20 with a high enough roll and failed save."
"But with the save the top damage you could take is 150, which wouldn't kill a specced level 12 fighter. And with a rogue reflex would negate completely."
"Regardless, either the check needs lowered to find the trap, or the damage needs dropped. You've already thrown an initial undetermined fight, a series of detonations, and a boss at them. They're likely to already be low on health and magic. But just because I have to finish my job, tell me the rest of the floor."
"Oh, the rest of it is simple. There's a room with 6 hell hounds, all level 10, a room full of dire bats, about 20 level 6, and a loot chest. The last room has 6 of those Gremlins with invisibility, and 4 of that construct I made earlier."
"Okay, that's a CR 20 for small group, with a party I could be generous and give it 18. Watch your codes, and limit yourself next time. If you weren't already dealing with mythic level heroes in your other dungeons I'd shit you down."
So there you have it. Another wack job who thinks a literal monster army is a normal dungeon for low levels. I wish I could be done with him, but it's every month with this kid, and the players love him. Good loot, interesting beasts, and they keep getting stronger for fighting through him. His next instance is supposed to be a forest full of natural monsters he coded and grew from scratch. Well, I guess I'll see how that goes next time.
| 2018-11-26T12:02:02
| 2018-11-26T11:39:13
| 19
| 13
|
[WP] It is 2026. All major governments have been overthrown by one singular world power, who now intends to rule over us all “for our own good.” It’s Canada.
Edit: You guys. These are so, so great! I’d told my husband I was going to give gold to my favorite and I’m STRUGGLING to decide. Haven’t read them all yet but am thoroughly enjoying these. You guys rock. Thanks for playing along.
|
I've only been to the Federal Maple Reserve once- and that was in fifth grade, for a field trip. I still remember the enormous cylindrical storage tanks, thousands of feet high, holding the precious resource. A resource that, through years of genetic engineering, we'd discovered how to rapidly create. Now, the forests of maple trees are more syrup than tree, like liquid oceans, tended to by teams of scientists during all hours of the day and night. And more precious than gold.
The gaurd stopped unauthorized visits to the Maple Reserve after the terrorist attack of 2024- even I remembered seeing it on the news, as our schools were dismissed early and sirens sounded throughout our city. To destroy the reserve would be insanity. It was our greatest treasure. It was our lifeblood.
But then again, insanity is what got us into this mess.
I don't remember the world before the maple reserve, the old world as they call it. It still exists out there, *outside*. Apparently, they brought their destruction upon themselves- apparently, that's why we're now the only world power. Not through aggression, but through preservation.
I've seen the others, the outsiders. Their hands pressed up against the barrier, their tools trying to chisel away at the protection that surrounds our city. But their tools are stone, and their hands shake, and their movements are weak. It's hard not to feel sorry for them, but then I remember what my father told me- they did it to themselves.
And the maple, the maple spared us. Our schools compare it to the peanuts of the twentieth century, a food product that was developed into hundreds of uses until it became ubiquitous. In a similar way, that's how our maple works- when scientists discovered how to convert it to ambers, hardened forms with controllable properties. Amber discs form our currencies. Amber bricks build our houses, amber pipes our plumbing. And amber forms the dome that stretches high above us, cascading down to form the wall around our city.
Twenty feet thick, the barrier blocks the intruders from the outside- and more importantly, it blocks the radiation, the embedded particles absorbing gamma rays and converting them to the visible spectrum to feed our maple farms. From there, the maple goes to the reserve. And from the reserve, it patches the dome, all part of the maple cycle we learned in second grade.
According to my teachers, we alone are a single zit of civilization upon Earth's surface- far enough north to counteract climate change, elevated enough to escape the floods, and preserved in amber from the nuclear bombs. That we should be proud to be the last of humanity. The light in the darkness.
But sometimes I wonder if the outsiders really deserved their fate. If we really are better, if we have reason to be proud.
Or if we're just the ones with all the maple.
***
By Leo
If you liked my style, check out my [superhero story](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/65jl9n/star_child_part_1/) from another prompt!
|
It's the winter that should've given it away.
Don't look at me like that. There are four seasons in most places. There used to be four seasons in most places. Maybe you've heard of a few. Spring, Fall. Winter.
It's been winter for ages. We should've seen it coming.
The great cooling, the greatest day of them all, on the summer solstice with the oceans frozen over, and everyone huddled at home with the weather forecasters screaming at each other, they came. They came with toboggans. They came with hot coffee, and most of all, they came bearing gifts.
Parkas, jackets, gloves. Thick socks. They came down and they shared the wealth of knowledge they had with us, freely. They donated their time and effort to us, and we loved them for it. Our saviors in the eternal night.
It was the winter that should've given it away, that deep down, our fellow man, whether they be north or south, or across frozen oceans tipped with salt, would come together under the red leaf.
Under a cup of hot coffee perched between two gloves.
Frolicking in the snow like children. The momentary stresses of life melted away.
-----
For more like this, try https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
| 2018-04-02T20:46:45
| 2018-04-02T19:37:28
| 1,634
| 163
|
[WP] You are the Chosen One. The Dark Overlord is currently trying to seduce you to their cause. To their great surprise, you accept almost immediately because you absolutely loathe your job and your companions.
|
"...and together, we will rule the world!"
"Ok, sounds good to me." She shrugged.
"Then if you will not join me, I will DESTROY," he paused, "wait, what?" The Dark Lord blinked.
"Yeah, I'll join up. This chosen one bullshit is for the birds."
"I... No one has ever accepted my offer before. Why would you turn your back on your friends, and on the prophecy?"
"Look, I never wanted to be a hero. To be totally honest, I just wanted to make it into middle management, just high enough to make ok money, but not so high that I had to actually do much. That was my life goal. I had a good thing going. I was happy, except for every time my they messed up my goddamn Starbucks order. I wish I'd never stepped through that mirror." "Especially," she added, " since my two coworkers came with me."
"Er. What's wrong with your boon companions?"
"I had a 401k, DL, company matched 5%!"
"I know not of the spell '4-0-1-k'..."
"I never signed up for this stupid prophecy. And as for my 'boon companions', I hate them. One of them microwaves fish all the time and the other sits on the other side of my cube and has loud personal calls constantly."
"I see."
"I figure since I'm stuck here, I might as well make the most of it."
"Right. Well, with you at my side," the dark lord paused, "what is your name, anyway, my child?"
"Karen."
|
"You know," The Succubus said after a moment's hesitation. "I didn't think it was going to be that easy... I-I had charts planned."
"Look Salem, after what I've been through... I think it warrants a break." I replied.
"Well uh... I'll get us some wine then! To celebrate I suppose..."
\----
Salem and I spent most of the night on the couch just... talking really. Her Guards had already taken care of my 'friends', though.... well, I hardly think the band of murderers and cut-throats were really worth calling out as my friends but well, sounds better then the truth...
"... So in any case, I had to kill the old Demon Lord and now... well I have so much power." She explained. "But... well, My nature as a Succubus make it hard to just… take over and be the traditional type of Overlord."
"Well... I have to admit that I'm just... tired of it." I reply. "Reason I'm siding with you is... well, I can't call myself a... Hero. Like, at some point after killing a Tribe of Orcs for just... being Orcs and my friends tried to goad me into killing the babies.. well..."
She frowned. "... Humans and Monsters have been living separately from one another. I know for good reasons but..." She cleared her throat. "Well, I think, for the betterment of our two peoples we need to... fix the world. Break that divide."
I take a sip of wine. "... Is it possible?"
there was a Glitter in her eye. "I'm making plans to make it the future... and if there are more like you, then it can be the future we can have."
| 2019-09-26T06:10:15
| 2019-09-26T05:34:48
| 1,685
| 476
|
[WP] There’s an urban legend that’s been circulating around for decades about a taxi cab that doesn’t take you where you want to go, but where you need to go. One night, you step into that cab.
|
The rain never stops. I can't remember the last time I saw the sun; felt the warmth on my skin, bathing in that heavenly light. It's gone now. I don't know when it will come back, if that is even a possibility.
I stood there, on the side of that road, waiting for something. Anything. I guess I really didn't know what I was waiting for, but I knew something would come. I forgot my umbrella and the rain seeped into my skin, soaking my hair. It felt like I'd been there for ages, but no one was around.
A pair of lights appeared in the distance, approaching cautiously. So I stuck out my hand and called for it. Maybe this was what I was waiting for. An old cab cleared through the rain; worn down, yellow, just enough to stand out from the grey surrounding it. The brakes slammed and it screeched to a halt directly in front of me. I didn't even have to reach for the door before it swung open, inviting me in.
"Take me home. Please." I said, soaking the leather beneath me. The driver in front did not respond, instead driving off-road, somewhere I hadn't been before. But I didn't care at this point.
An hour of silence passed, and I grew uncomfortable in my seat. I knocked on the glass divider separating me from the stranger in front of me, in charge of my destiny. "Where are we going?"
A low tone grumbled. "Home."
I can't remember what home is anymore, or who I am... What I am. So it wasn't out of the question that he was taking me there, to home. I didn't care anyway.
The rain outside grew louder and a fearsome storm brewed in the heavens. The gods must have been at war, or maybe that's just a stupid rationalization for something I didn't understand. Besides, I don't understand anything, so nothing I say should be taken seriously.
We reached an old, broken down bridge when the cab stopped. I looked out the window to see a familiar car upturned on the rocks below; smoke billowing from its hood. The memories came rushing back to me, just for a moment before everything was lost once again. But it didn't matter anymore.
At the other side of the bridge, the grass was greener. The sky was blue and the rain subsided. The cab stopped at the end of the bridge and the door flung open. This was my destination. Home.
I walked out into the beautiful field and looked at the sun once again. Its warmth hugged me. Before I could look back to thank my messenger, he was gone. And so was I.
|
“Taxi!” I yell as I stand on the side of the street. I normally would’ve yielded an uber, but I saw the taxi rounding the corner. The car stops right in front of me. I get inside and set my bag down next to me.
“Madison and State.” I instruct.
“Alright, you seeing a show?” The Driver asks.
“Yes, I got tickets to Hamilton.” I reply.
“Oh, I heard that show is phenomenal.” He compliments.
“I have heard that too. I am excited.” I say.
Then, the cab takes a wrong turn.
“Oh, you made a wrong turn.” I instruct.
“My bad. I will correct it.” He replies.
He does not seem to correct it. The car keeps moving further and further from my destination.
“Where are you taking me? My show starts at 7.” I fear I am about to be a victim of a kidnapping.
“Where you need to be.” Nope, not creepy at all.
I take out my phone ready to call 911 only to see that it died. It was at 85 a second ago. How did it die so fast. We are moving slow enough that I could jump out. Until I see the destination.
We have reached the apartment complex that my father lives in.
“You must’ve made a mistake. I can’t go in there.” I start to cry.
“No, you have to go in there.” His voice is comforting all of the sudden. I now feel the strength to go in. I walk up the stairs and to the door. I don’t want to knock. An Uber can be here soon and take me away. The taxi honks in the background. There is no avoiding this. I knock on the door.
An old man opens the door with a look of shock.
“Son, how did you get here? Why are you here?” He asks.
“Would you believe the taxi drove me here against my will.” I reply as I start to ball. My father embraces me for the first time in three years. He takes me into his apartment and orders a pizza. We talk and make amends; we were both too stubborn to call the other these past few years. He asks me what is in the bag. I open it to find a brand new watch.
“I don’t know how that got there.” I say.
“My watch broke this morning.” he replies.
“I guess it is yours now.” I give him the watch.
“So how did you get over here?” He asks.
“The taxi took me here.” I reply.
“You know when I was boy there was an story of a taxi that took you where you needed to be,” He smiles, “I thought it was made up by the company to get tourist to trust taxis. Tonight, I believe it.”
| 2018-12-26T14:35:42
| 2018-12-26T13:35:01
| 97
| 49
|
[WP] You are immortal and have been working on an alien ship for the last 80 years alongside aliens that have a much longer life span than humans. They have begun to notice your lack of aging in your time spent with them.
|
"Would now be a bad time?" A sigh escapes Tobias Crane as he gets up from the console. Cracking his spine, he responds with the barest hint of intrigue he can manage. "Depends. Do you like being pulled into gravitational wells? No big deal, I don't judge. Everyone's got their kinks-" Teraloe threw his, appendages? (He still hasn't figured out what their practical purpose is supposed to be. They look like the fucked up lovechild of a spoon and a sickle,) into the air. "Stars around, Crane, I just have a question. It's been bugging me for a while."
Alright, now this was a tad more interesting. The resident science officer rarely stewed on questions, so this one must have been *really* out there. Enough so that he actually had to think about asking it. A small blessing, to have escaped it this long, but the wind up time did make Crane a tad... nervous. "Alright," he started cautiously, "hit me with it. We should have a few minutes."
Teraloe sighed, (well, spluttered, really. Must be difficult to sigh with a face full of tentacles. Really, what *were* the evolutionary benefits?) before giving his spiel. "Well, the crew has been... talking. Making some rumors that have caused me to, ah, *ponder* a very important aspect," He gives a quick glance to the console, squinting his flappy oculor sacs. Crane shivered; that was by far, to him, the most disturbing part of the Anasarum's biology. Their eyes fucking *sqeulched* when they blink. "of our resident navigator."
Tobias took a mental pause. Rumors? About what? How he sometimes takes a *few* too many Roncholian desserts from the common room? (To be fair to him, they were unfairly delicious. Like eating ambrosia, or an angel. No, actually, scratch that last one, that's fucking weird, Crane.) Before he could ask, though, Teraloe continued. "We have noticed an, irregularity, in your biological process. I believe humans call it, aging?" Tobias puts on an easy smile, ignoring the buzzing, dreadful, icy feeling in his core. "Whad'ya mean, Ter? Aging like a fine wine, if I do say so myself."
"Crane, you look almost exactly the same as when you joined this crew in your twenties." Tobias scoffed. "Yeah, and?" Teraloe shook his head. "That was 80 standard galactic years ago, Crane. The average human life-span leads to 95. You would be in your hundreds." The navigator reached over to grab his glass of water from the console, (He really shouldn't be keeping water around important electronics, but he was thirsty.) and took a few agonizingly slow gulps. Teraloe was starting to look extremely uncomfortable with the topic at hand.
"What can I say? I work out. Makes me look good for my age." Discomfort forgotten, the science director lets out a hearty guffaw. "Crane, you spend most of your waking hours sitting, normally eating desserts, and watching holo-dramas." He cringed. Thinkiny back on it, maybe he *did* slack off a little too much since joining this crew. He wasn't going to be able to sell this very well. He shrugged, "Good genes?" A break of laughter from the other room. "Good genes my ass, you look like a stringbean." Tobias groaned, yelling to the other room. "Back off Maralona, not your conversation!"
He sighed. There wasn't a way out of the corner he'd backed himself into. So, he decided to bite the bullet. "I don't age." Teraloe looked incredulous. "Excuse me?" Tobias nodded. "Can't die, either. Been stuck like this a few thousand-odd years. Coming to space has been the best thing for me in a while. Earth got *really* boring and sad after a while." The science officer looked aghast. "Why didn't you say so earlier?"
"Why, so I could be experimented on? No thanks. Been there, done that, got the microchip." Teraloe flapped his tentacle mouth in irritation. "No, you dolt, there are plenty of eternal species. We thought you had been replaced by a synthetic!" Tobias laughed, some of the frost melting away. "Really? That was your best guess? Nah, the real answer is I beat a god in a game of jacks."
"Really?"
"No, but that sounds way more interesting than saying I was born with it."
|
"Hey man are you immortal or something?" the humanoid alien with translucent blue skin jested. I know him as Lupe, although his name in his native language is unpronounceable with a human tongue.
"Yes," I replied matter of factly.
"No, seriously," Lupe's face turned a shade of mint green, indicating he was feeling tense, "We've all been wondering for the past decade or so, but felt it was too rude to ask such a thing."
"No worries, Lupe! I was wondering why y'all had not asked about this yet. I really am immortal!" I said cheerfully.
"That's amazing!"
"Indeed!"
The end.
| 2020-02-25T09:25:01
| 2020-02-25T08:18:15
| 79
| 21
|
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
|
"I don't get it, how? How did you do it" the warden said as he signed the release form.
"That's the thing, I didn't do anything, you guys did with your stipulations and what not" I said grinning at the warden.
If my requested last meal wasn't prepared and ready for me within a year, I'd be a free man is what they had told me. Nothing more nothing less, people had tried for the most outlandish things such as dragon steak, alien egg omelettes etc. But the prison had provided because their stipulations never stated the meal had to fit the intent rather it had to fit the writing.
An alien egg omelette for instance sounds impossible, I mean we've never found any sign of alien life. But I had noticed when they brought these outlandish things that an alien egg for instance in this case had been the egg of a Kiwi bird because by definition it was alien to our country. Same thing with dragon steak or the flesh and blood of Jesus Christ, komodo dragon steak, communion wafers and communion wine. The face on the guy who'd ask for the flesh and blood of Jesus had a bit of a shock at that one.
So as I awaited my execution, awaited my turn to request I thought long and hard about it. Until I came to a conclusion so sick and twisted even demons would be in awe. So as the request personal came through and told me it was time. I requested the one thing they could not bring me ever due to a birth defect, but I wouldn't tell them that.
"Prisoner D-666, what do you request as your last meal? If we can not prepare it for you within a year you're free to go. You will continue to be fed regular meals until such a time we can procure it, because starvation would not be in the spirit of this."
"I wish to eat my first born by blood. I shall refuse to eat anything served proclaiming to be as such without written confirmation of paternity from five separate laboratories."
"Very well you sick fuck, if that is your request don't expect to wait too long." they said.
Days came and went, after a week they started bringing volunteers from the women's section all in the hope of providing me with my first born by blood. Why they did not do artificial insemination was because I had refused any medical examination as that was not part of the deal.
The real reason I had refused medical examination was because I've been shooting blanks since I was born. Infertile since birth, but now I was a free man.
|
The dark, cold cell is lighting up as the guard opens the small window.
-So what would you like to have as your last meal?
-I would like to have my mother's chicken soup, made from the chicken I raised myself since it was only an egg.
-You guys are awesome. Never cease to amaze me. I will get back to you on that.
I can't wait to be set free. Six more months and I will see the sun again. I wonder what the world looks like now. It's been what? 25 years now. I wonder if anyone I know is still alive.
The guard opens the tiny window again.
-Nice one. Your mother died during childbirth. And she never cooked the chicken you raised.
-Yes but I would still like that as my last meal.
-The judge would like to see you tomorrow morning.
The tiny window closed with a noise.
What will I do once I walk out of this cell? I think I will go and build a cabin in the woods. Are there any woods anymore? I hope there are. I will build my pretty cabin and grow old there.
I will have a cold river flowing close to it and a small vegetable garden right next to it. Maybe I will take a stray dog with me. We can be strays together there.
-The judge is ready to see you. says the guard
I get up and put my hands out through the tiny window. Once I am cuffed the door opens and I walk out.
The light hurts my eyes so much. I can feel my skin coming to life as it is touched by the light. It feels like a sip of cold water in the desert.
I walk through the long corridors barely seeing anything. My eyes are not used to light anymore. The guard's strong hand guides me until we finally arrive at the judge's door. He opens it and pushes me forward.
-Who would have thought that the first inmate to get free on this absurd rule will ask for a chicken soup! The judge was smiling.
-We had dragon steak and served chicken breast as they are technically dragons! But no, you asked for a particular cicken that drowned in the river and a dead mother! The judge continued.
I sit there silent not knowing what to say.
-You, sir, are free. Congratulations.
-Thank you.
-I hope to never see you again, now get out.
As I walk out of the prison, the smell of burning asphalt floods my nose. The loud traffic sounds hurt my ears. I check my surroundings for a tree. The trees are gone.
A skinny stray dog walks towards me.
-Lets go buddy, maybe there is a forest for us somewhere.
| 2022-07-17T20:01:08
| 2022-07-17T19:59:11
| 129
| 15
|
[WP] Since the age of 14, you’ve noticed a monster stalking you. A few years later, you’ve noticed that it seems very protective over you and will even go through extreme lengths to protect you. It’s usually friendly, but it seems threatening when your childhood friend is around.
|
When I was a little boy I always had the same nightmare over and over. Every night I would dream of a hulking monster with long, wicked claws, sharp fangs which grew far past its mouth, and always it would follow me. It got to the point where my parents put me in therapy, because I could not shake these nightmares.
Nothing helped, nothing made them stop. As I got older I decided to start keeping them to myself; all they seemed to do was worry everyone around me. I would wake up every night panting and sweating, looking around my room for this monster.
By the time I was 14 I had gone from being fearful of the nightmares to being downright tired of them. No longer did I wake up afraid, but instead annoyed that I couldn't have just one night of peace.
One night I awoke from the dream, but this time something was different. I had gone past the point of annoyed and into nothing short of rage. "If you want me so bad, then come and get me," I hissed into the shadows. Nothing happened, and eventually my anger was overcome by exhaustion.
The next night was nothing short of a miracle in my book: I dreamt of something other than the monster. I woke up in the morning, and realized that for the first time in over ten years I had slept through the night. Elation soared through me, and from that night on I never dreamt of the monster again.
However, that was not the last time I would see him. As the days passed I kept seeing him in my peripheral vision. But oddly enough, I didn't feel threatened by him. This creature which had haunted my dreams for *years* actually felt more like a comfort than a threat. I got the feeling that he was watching over me, as though I had a guardian demon.
More years passed and eventually I began to talk to my demon throughout the day. He never really replied beyond a tilt of acknowledgement now and again, but it was still somehow soothing to talk to him. I'd decided to call him Rick, and he seemed to like, although it was hard to tell. Whenever I was about to walk into danger, as teenage boys are wont to do, I would feel a little tug on my shirt, warning me not to.
None of my friends or family ever seemed to notice him, so I kept his existence to myself. As I grew up he stayed with me, and continued to be a source of comfort for me. One night I'd had one too many drinks at a bar, and when I left I didn't exactly have my wits about me. It was a dark, starless night, and everything but the bars and clubs were closed down for the night.
I stumbled into the alley where I had parked my car and fumbled around my pockets for my keys. I didn't notice the man walk up behind me, but I certainly noticed when a knife appeared at my throat. "Either give me your money, or give me your life," a ragged voice said. I swallowed in apprehension and slowly began to reach for my wallet.
However, before either of us had any time to react he was yanked away from me and violently thrown against one of the alley walls. His body made a sickening crunching sound as it hit the wall, and when he landed on the ground he didn't move. Knowing that there was no way I would be able to explain this to anyone, I called paramedics for him, and passed out in the car as it drove me home.
From that night on I realized the level of protection Rick would give me, and in many ways it was a comforting thought. However, I also worried about him killing someone someday; I didn't exactly want that on my conscience. Whenever I talked to him, the subtle signs of acknowledgement were still all he gave as a sign that he heard me, but I hoped he would understand that I didn't want to see anyone dead because of me.
A few years passed uneventfully until I had the pleasant surprise of being contacted by one of my closer childhood friends: Mark. Him and I had been inseparable until we'd gone to separate high schools, and I was honestly looking forward to seeing him.
When I got to the coffee shop and spotted him, Rick had an immediate and volatile reaction. Out of the corner of my eye I could see his claws flexing back and forth, and the change in his demeanor was palpable. "Everything is fine, don't do anything," I whispered as quietly as I could. I made my way to Mark's table and sat across from him.
He reached his hand out and shook mine, "Adrian, it's good to see you."
I smiled, "Yeah, you too, buddy. It's been what, twelve, thirteen years?"
He nodded, "Something like that."
"So what you been up to all this time?" He perked up as though he'd been waiting for me to ask. It was in that moment that I saw Rick tense again, and I prayed he wouldn't make any moves towards Mark. "That's actually why I wanted to see you today. I started my own business with this great company, and I think you'd be a perfect fit to join our team."
I sighed and shook my head at his obvious MLM pitch. "Have at him, Rick."
|
That night replays sometimes in my mind, that night I first saw him - it - him? I don't really know what to call it... The rational part of me pushes me to say "it", to make it somehow less real than I feel it be. The part of me that can't deny his shadow stretching from mine at night or his whispers in my ears knows it is, in fact, a "he". The feeling I got has always been that of a he.
That night, back to it. I was returning home, trying to pace myself down the sloping road leading back from the convenience store, the plastic bags dangling from my hands. Winter was just settling in and the fog was heavier than usual this evening. I know now why. It was because of him. I saw him, a thin, dark figure billowing from the mist, wisps of what i could only have assumed to be torn, ragged clothes flowing from within this otherworldly shadow. I shouldn't have done it. I shouldn't have looked, I should have just run away, but I didn't.
And he took advantage. Maybe looking at him invited him in. Maybe looking at him opened a door for him to attach himself to me. The moment I heard my breath, something I hadn't realized I stopped hearing this whole time, and I moved, he moved, too. Ever since that day, he moved with me, breathed with me.
At first, I wondered, spent sleepless nights, my heart pounding, trying to understand why it hadn't yet harmed me. That's how all horror movies went and I'd watched so many of them to know. But he never did. When I went to bed, he retreated into a corner or sunk into the darkness of the armchair in my bedroom. He spent the night there, a silent watcher, his breath a quiet, soothing lullaby to which to fall asleep. Sometimes, at school or when hanging out with Chloe, I could swear something would change and I would feel a chill down my spine for most of the day. I couldn't explain it back then, but they were so limited and harmless that I brushed it off in the light of everything else.
Finally, I reached a point where I didn't know if I could ever sleep again if it weren't for the lullaby of his deep breathing, a point where we somehow settled into a strange symbiosis, though i haven't, for the life of me, figured out what it is that he gets out of this. We became two roommates silently looking over each other, content in each other's presence, getting used to our habits, our thoughts.
On my birthday, while my parents were stuck in an airport halfway across the world, he stepped out of my shadow for the first time. I never knew it, not until I saw a tennis ball rolling down the length of the room, when it stopped on my toe. I stared, dumbfounded, for a few moments, but when I looked up, he was in the shadow of the bathroom door, waiting, his smoky figure flowing into the darkness. I let myself drop to the floor and picked up the ball, my gaze fixed on him still.
"Was it you?" I asked and knew instantly that it was a stupid question. One to which I never got an answer, either. I shouldn't be surprised, though. Tentative, I rolled the ball back to the bathroom door, where it vanished into the darkness. I waited a moment, feeling disappointment grow within, as I began to think I was dumb to even imagine the shadow would play with me because it was my birthday and I was all alone. And then... It rolled back, quicker this time. We played like this for a little while, until I got an idea.
"Hey, wanna go outside?" Always quiet, I didn't expect an actual answer, but I knew I would know what he wanted. To my surprise, he nodded! It was the most we had communicated in the months he has infiltrated my life.
Actually excited, I rushed outside, pulling my coat and gloves on as I did. I didn't have to look behind to know that he followed. Skipping through the thick, tall snow, I picked up some and molded into a ball. I turned around, grinning, ready to throw it at the shadow, not even stopping to think whether it might at all go through him. As I did, a snowball smacked me and I staggered, confused, shocked. Tennis ball not withstanding, never did I think he would be the one to launch the first missile. "Oh, you're on, Mister." I laughed and threw the snowball his way, only for it to pass through his translucent body with ease. Though I could not see his expression, which had always been hidden from me, a subtle movement of his shoulders left me with the impression of a cocky smile that only motivated me to somehow win this war.
I always had fun with Peter - the name I'd given him after a while - although we always had to be careful and sneak around. If I suddenly started having a snowball fight with an "imaginary friend" when others could see me, the only thing I'd get out of it would have been therapy. For a long time, I ignored the chill I'd always get from him around Chloe. It mattered so little when everything was so great...
It went on like this for a long while. Years, really, years during which our inseparable existence no longer felt forced, but was welcome, in fact. So many things happened that only we knew about, things that pulled us closer than ever. A dark alley and four men with a switchblade, the skiing accident, the school lockdown. Through thin and thick, more than anyone else, he was there for me, shielded me, suddenly corporeal and terrifying if he wanted it.
For all we got closer, one thing never changed. For some reason, he never liked Chloe. That chill that I'd always felt grew stronger until I began to notice a change in Peter. Everytime we were around Chloe, the tension would grow to the point of it being unbearable, suffocating. Eventually, he stopped lingering in my shadow so much and followed at my side, a wisp of smoke only I could notice, his tall, hunched back menacingly looking down over my childhood friend. His long, monstrously long fingers curled into claws, as if he were pacing himself, holding himself back from doing something horrible. By then, high school was behind me and Chloe lived two states away and the few occasions we got to see each other left me with a bitter taste from Peter's hatred, so much so I started dreading seeing her just not to see him like that..
| 2020-12-18T11:58:36
| 2020-12-18T10:37:16
| 27
| 12
|
[WP] For your girlfriend's birthday you give her an 'anything you want' coupon, which she uses to jokingly ask for a million dollars. The next day you come home with a duffel bag, throwing it on the floor in front of your girlfriend.
[deleted]
|
I open the door with a huge grin. I want this to feel like the movies, so I picked up the perfect black duffel bag at the thrift shop: worn down, black, and real leather. I slam the door, walk into the living room, and throw it toward her. It hits a few feet from the couch and slides the rest of the way. Perfect shot.
"That's it? I wanted a million," she said, half-looking into the duffel bag through a partially opened zipper at the two small bundles of bills.
"It is. It always looks like more on TV, but when it comes down to it, it's only a thousand Benjamins," I replied.
"Haha, nice one. You mean a thousand George's," she said, still not taking her attention away from the TV.
"Oh, come on! I went to all this effort to give you what you asked for, and you won't even entertain me for a second? What about my entrance?" I ask.
"Yeah, that was pretty cool. Alright, I'll play along," she says as she steps over the bag to give me a hug and a kiss.
"So, the job's done? Did they pay what they promised?" she says playfully.
"I always get paid, baby. You know that," I respond.
"And on my birthday of all days! Let's take a look," she says as she walks back over to the bag and opens it all the way. She reaches in blindly and pulls out the bundles, one in each hand, and holds them up to her face and nose and takes a big whiff of them.
"Oh, a million dollars smells so good, baby!" As she opens her eyes and looks at me. Then, she notices.
"Holy shit! Are these real?!" she screams, fanning through the bills.
"Only the best for my baby," I say, going in for a kiss, but getting rejected.
"Where the hell did you get these?" she asks frantically.
"From a safe," I reply, as cool as my dark sunglasses. I really can't see through these damn things inside, but I like the effect. I feel a bit like Neo right now, making millions appear from nowhere.
"What did you do?" she asks, sounding quite concerned.
"You know my friend Jimmy?" I ask.
"Which one? The one you work with?" she asks.
"No, the one that does the car resale thing," I say.
"Yeah, what about him? Did you...rob him?" she asks.
I hold my finger to my lips and shake my head no. She slaps me.
"Ow! I'm just kidding! He needs a lot of cash to run his business so he usually tries to keep at least a million in his safe at all times. He just let me borrow it! I gotta go take it back right away," I reply.
"Right away? Cause I know something fun we can do with this right now. I've always wanted to play around with real money..." she says, her eyes flirting with me through half-closed eyelids. I follow her down the hall, but instead of turning into the bedroom, she opens up the closet.
She reaches in and grabs the Monopoly.
|
"What is this?" she shouted. She did not seem happy. "Umm... you said you wanted a million dollars," I replied. Man! women can be a little too much at times. "What did you do?" She asked. She still seemed to be upset. A little tense maybe. It was kind of starting to concern me now. "I went and got your gift... Do you want to get some coffee?"
"What is wrong with you!" she screamed. "What?" I said. "This isn't fake money! How did you get this?" she asked. I felt a little attacked but I'm a pretty solid guy so I kept my cool. "Okay, wow. Umm, I went into the bank, used a little intimidation factor if you know what I mean, and left with your gift." I gave her a little smile and hoped she would start to loosen up. She did not loosen up.
Long story short, I'm in the car right now returning the gift. Obviously I don't have a receipt but I'm sure they'll take it anyway. One must learn to be less literal around women.
| 2019-07-30T11:10:56
| 2019-07-30T08:06:19
| 26
| 11
|
[WP] Everyone's 2017 New Year's resolutions were legally binding. Government forces are preparing to arrest and punish those who failed starting tomorrow.
|
Donnie lives in a trailer, which has a rebel flag draped over it. He has a Swastika tattoo on his calf, the Star of David on his neck, the Latin Kings insignia on his thigh (even though he's white), a Bloods tattoo on his stomach, and a Crips tattoo on his chest. This was part of his flawed strategy to keep himself from being a target in prison. He also has a tattoo of Sonic the Hedgehog engaging in explicit sexual acts with Donkey Kong.
He's 22 years old, but he looks 45 and acts 16 because hard drugs are a hell of a drug. His favorite activities are fishing on crystal meth, chugging Steel Reserve beer on crystal meth, making Facebook posts about how his ex is a "2 dollar whore" on crystal meth, and smoking cigarettes (also while on crystal meth).
At the beginning of 2017, he promised his five children that he would go to jail no more than three times. Any more arrests would make the authorities put him in prison for the entirety of 2018.
He successfully abided by the law through the first week of January. He was very proud of himself. He decided he'd reward himself by drinking damn near his bodyweight in alcohol and then hitting the town (at three o'clock in the afternoon). He went on foot since he didn't want another DUI. He was having the time of his life being drunk as hell at the Dollar General. That was until he had to pee. He couldn't find a bathroom, so he dropped his pants and urinated on the children's coloring books. He was arrested about fifteen minutes later, before he even had a chance to put his pants back on. Oh well, he could still go to jail two more times this year. The resolution remained intact.
The next arrest was a huge curveball. He didn't expect that he'd be getting a *random* drug test from his probation officer. Donnie argued that the police weren't allowed to do drug tests without bringing it up ahead of time. He said it was in the one of the Amendments in the Constitution. His compelling argument didn't keep the bath salts from putting him in hot water.
It was okay though, because he had one more chance. That was until October. Donnie was under house arrest. He liked house arrest for the most part, because he could still have his dealers over. But he started to miss the outside world. The temptation became irresistible when his friend Jimmy told him about a KKK rally happening that night. All of Donnie's friends were going to be there - even Billy. Donnie decided that putting tape on his ankle monitor would somehow keep the police from knowing he was out of his house. He was wrong.
Fast forward to the night of December 31, 2017. He has managed to evade arrest for a record of two months. He's cut back to smoking meth only in the mornings, he makes every child support payment, and he hasn't driven drunk in over a year. Donnie felt invincible - not only because of his winning streak, but also because he had just gotten through watching a documentary on criminal masterminds the night before.
At 11:50 P.M., Donnie waltzed into a gas station wearing all camouflage so that he could go in unnoticed. He made his footsteps as quiet as possible, while maintaining a crouching stance. He then crawled because his knees started to hurt. He grabbed everything in sight - Gatorade, Miller Light, Snickers bars, gum, chips, and the newspaper. The heist went well until he was inches from the door. He rose from the floor and stood to find an officer staring deep into his eyes. Donnie became covered in sweat. The cop took him to the side and asked him to put his hands against the wall. Donnie begrudgingly complied. Donnie catches a glimpse of the digital clock through the window. Right as the first handcuff wrapped around his wrist, he caught it ticking to midnight. He had successfully gone a full year with only three arrests. He yelled out in triumph.
His excitement was short-lived, however, when he saw the time on the cop car's dashboard. Donnie broke his right to remain silent.
"Hey, ain't it supposed to be the new year?"
The cop looked back and said, "that clock in there is ten minutes ahead of time."
Donnie sighed and whispered "dammit" under his breath.
|
Well, here I am. Waiting on prison's door just because I had too much faith in myself.
I honestly thought it was the right thing.
I honestly thought it was a good moral decision.
**I was clearly wrong**.
-----
On my first day back to work from last Christmas, I happened upon a small animal. It seemed to be stuck in a drainage pipe on the corner of the road. I decided in myself that it would be worth seeing.
As I trotted over, I saw something on the beaver's chest that might have been what got it stuck in the first place. It looked silver, like a badge or something, and it was caught underneath.
I began to pull the animal out, but as I did so, it immediately jumped up in the air, above my head, and out in front of me.
I then saw what that silver thing was.
It was a police badge.
And he was after me.
"Miss, I have been sent by your county's police to inform you that you have ignored the charges that were claimed against you in July."
"Oh, yeah. I, uhh, planned to let them know about this, bu-"
"Please let me finish miss. In addition, my leadership in transportation enforcement tells me that you have been running EZ-Pass gates with no pass for the last 2 months."
"The thing was in my dad's car, because he told me not to drive that-"
"Miss, *please* let me finish. I am here to safely direct you to your county office, *immediately*, and resolve this. If you would not like me to safely resolve this, I may resort to other methods."
"No, thanks, go ahead."
"May I join you in your vehicle?"
------
Ah, yes, the old "helpless little animal" bit. Why is it that the worst people are the only ones who care to come for me? Do they feel like they have something to prove?
I can just as easily reinsert myself into that grate once somebody drives off, so there's no reason I need to hide from people other than my case.
I never understood it, but it works I guess.
Oh, where are my manners? Officer T.B. Wilkinson. Beaver and Special Forces agent. At your service.
The main reason that I stuck around here isn't because nobody else could take me. Granted, that's probably true, but one could also argue that my talents force me here, which also isn't true.
I stay because this staff needs me. They need someone different. They need someone to go after the avoidant. They need someone to go after those who turn away at the sign of an officer.
They need defense against sovereign citizens.
My job is to be both the good and bad cop. I'm sent out to relate, communicate, and protect in any way possible. The leaders feel that having someone who doesn't don a uniform keeps people from resorting to the usual methods of defense.
Why that had to be a beaver who was trapped in a sewer at age 16 and learned English and police tactics out of boredom, I don't know.
-----
The creature sat himself in my passenger seat and made himself comfortable. As we began to drive (slowly, because I wouldn't dare touch the speed limit with this thing at my every move), he began to speak again.
"Now, the county realizes what you've done, as do I, and hopefully as do you. We know that giving you a court case won't do you much other than get us the money we needed. So, I'm going to do something else first.
It's the beginning of the year, right? And I'm feeling pretty generous with people making really good resolutions and such.
Tell you what. I'll get to the bosses and get you out of today."
When I heard that, I was relieved. I could actually get to work on time and not have to worry about this nons-
"...**if** you resolve to stay within the laws this year."
"Umm...okay?"
"Honestly and truthfully, in front of my staff, who knows you very well, I hear."
Well, it's something I guess. I nod, and pull into the police department building.
-----
"Hey TB! You have her?"
"Yeah I do doc, but hold on a sec."
I walked back into my office and asked to see the boss. He was fairly close by, and came quickly.
"What's up?"
"So you know the girl you wanted me to pull the fine out of?"
"Yeah, she better be here."
"Well, I was thinking of doing the whole 'resolution' thing with her so we can get her out first. She seems impatient."
My boss seemed to let me go through with this bit every year, because it was surprisingly effective. New Year's resolutions mean a lot more when they come from your police instead of your own flawed brain. As expected, he was fine with it, so I brought her in. The boss called everyone into the meeting room, and told me to set the stand up.
------
The beaver and who I assume to be his boss brought me into this side room, and I took one look in there and got worried.
There was cousin Ron, who knew about everything I did at home and who would be more than happy to watch over me.
There was Mitchell, the guy I drove away from after some douche got me into an accident. I didn't care about the car then, I just wanted to get out of there!
And, of course, there was Melinda, the woman who sat at that toll booth every day watching me whizz by the lines without that pass.
The boss told me to stand in front of the group and repeat after him.
"I pledge..."
"I pledge..."
"...to do everything in my power..."
"...to do everything in m-my power..."
"...to uphold the law...
"...t-to upload the law-uh....to uphold the law..."
"...and be a force for justice."
"...and be a force of-for justice."
The group stood and applauded, and I was dismissed. I guess my work was cut out for me.
As I walked out of the meeting, I could hear the boss telling the creature, "Good call TB. She would never have turned it in."
Well, glad they believe in me.
-------
faturl.com/smoov22
I tried to set myself up to keep going, so I'll try to get out a part 2.
| 2017-12-31T08:58:01
| 2017-12-31T04:47:16
| 58
| 19
|
[WP] Write a horror story where "we need to split up" actually makes sense.
|
"Guys, we need to split up." Nobody responded, so he continued: "I know it seems like if we do split up, we'll get killed, but really we don't have any realistic options otherwise."
Still nothing, he glanced back for affirmation of his words, although he was only met with pursed lips. "C'mon, let's be real here, there's no way we'll get out of this situation if we're all stuck together, be logical! It'll only slow us down, and then we'd all be screwed!"
Frustratedly, he raised his voice: "Do you seriously want to stay like this? The two of you, stuck with me?"
The one behind the man in front let out a muffled sigh, and an even more muffled: "of course not."
"GOOD, finally! Let's get out of this human centipede!"
|
"I don't think I'm gonna fit" Eric winced as he dropped down to one knee, peering into the small opening. There was some source of light pouring from the hole, illuminating the room. His leg throbbed from the open wound on his calf, where he'd been hacked into barely 10 minutes ago. Adrenaline began to wear off as they locked themselves inside the concrete cell, evading their predators for a few moments, leaving him quivering in pain. Bianca watched him with teary eyes, her shirt torn and ragged from where she'd been grabbed, a few scrapes here and there from staggering into the brick walls. The smell of blood began to taint the air.
"I'm not going without you." She spoke quietly, beginning to tremble. Eric shook his head sadly, stabilising himself on the wall as he rose back to his full height.
"I don't want you to either. But it might be a way out." He glanced around, noticing a small lever protruding from the wall. "We could try that. Or it's a trap."
"Do you really think those *monsters* are capable of setting a trap?" Tears began to stain her cheeks. A calloused finger wiped them away, his soft eyes meeting hers.
"I want you to be safe." He pressed his lips to her forehead. Shrieks erupted behind the door they'd come from, causing the couple to jump. Eric gritted his teeth as he put weight on his leg, agony searing through his body.
"You saw what they did to the others" Bianca's statement was empty, her gaze fixated on the door, the excited grunts and yips of the creatures gaining on them. Eric nodded, remembering how their friends had fallen, grasping at each other in vain as their lifeforce was drained away.
"But what if, they can only kill us together?" Hope gleamed in his eyes, if only for a brief moment. During their first assault, Marcus had valiantly stood before Irene, a pointless attempt to defend her as they were descended upon by the creatures, leaving them a bloody, grey shell of what they once were. The same fate had fallen upon Adam and Juliet, the pair cowering in each others arms, sniffed out in seconds by the beasts despite being hidden behind various furniture. "Nobody died alone. Maybe they feed on connection." He almost wanted to laugh. The idea seemed ridiculous. Grasping at straws as he was, Eric had to try. Bianca was weeping openly now, finding no solace in his words.
"Please. Go." He settled his back against concrete, sinking down to the floor, grimacing as he found himself in a pool of his own blood. "It's worth a try." The door began to rattle on its hinges, the monsters flinging themselves at it in a desperate attempt to get in. The noise startled Bianca out of her hysterics, frantically glancing between the door, the opening and her husband. "Please." Conceding, she pressed a kiss into his hair, clambering to her knees and swinging her legs through the hole.
"I love you." Bianca swung herself out of the room, a small smile on Eric's lips as the metal door burst from its hinges, sealing off the small opening and casting him into darkness.
Their amber eyes burned as they approached him.
| 2022-02-19T17:31:55
| 2022-02-19T16:40:57
| 17
| 11
|
[WP] People only age when they move. Some folks live for centuries, only leaving home to buy groceries. Others age quickly, traveling from town to town. Today, you meet someone who claims to have traveled the world. The odd thing is, they only look 10 years old.
|
Affluence has it's perks, I suppose.
I am halfway through my life, in just a few dozen years, having only seen my hometown, and experiencing the world through books and pictures. But this young man (who looks scarcely older than a child) has traveled the globe, and has been to every populated continent on the planet. While most of my time is spent here at the docks, doing this job out of necessity, to ensure my short life isn't too miserable, he has seen the wonders of the world, and met so many different and interesting people. Yet according to the identification papers that he handed me, we were both born in the same year.
His secret? A goddamned stroller.
Well, the stroller, and a LOT of money. Money that he uses to hire people to waste their lives pulling him around, making sure he gets to experience it all, and avoid the rapid aging that keeps most of us stationary, bound to our places of birth.
To imagine! Being so wealthy that you could have people carry you everywhere. Spending their lives, in exchange for a small portion of your nearly endless pile of fortune, so that you can enjoy yours.
I stamped his passport, and watched as his servant, who's papers indicated was born years after me but who looked as though he could be my father, groaned slightly as he picked up the front of the rickshaw-like miniature carriage and and strained to pull it up the ramp and onto the ship.
I wondered to myself if he thought it was worth it. What was he being paid? Did he enjoy spending time with his employer? Like a dog with his master, eager to please for mere table scraps, but destined to be replaced several times over during their master's comparatively immense lifespan?
Or was I being to harsh? Perhaps he genuinely enjoyed the adventures he went on, pulling this man-child around our world, and his short life was fulfilling and exciting. Getting to witness things firsthand that I could only read about. Did his employment simply facilitate this goal?
I stamped several more passports as I thought to myself, "Is he a slave, or am I a coward?"
As I processed the papers of the remaining travelers, it chewed at me. "Is he an unfortunate wrench, latched onto the teat of the aristocracy, or am I so fearful and desperate to elongate my own life that I have trapped myself in a cycle of misery that is functionally identical to what I just pitied him for?"
This thought stuck with me as the last passengers boarded the boat. I watched him pull up the gangplank, as I have so many times before, but this time it felt different. I wasn't ready to go home and curl up with a book. I couldn't stop thinking about where the man pulling the cart might be going, or what he might see when he gets there, and how all that I will ever see is this podium at the the dock, and my own four walls.
I watched the ship sail over the horizon, and realized that in all my time doing this job, I have never once watched a ship past the boarding of it's passengers. I never watched them depart.
I found myself asking, is it better for a fire to burn twice as bright, or twice as long? I pondered the riddle for a bit, and the only answer I could find as I turned in my daily ledger for the final time was, "I guess we'll find out..."
|
The day was nice. I had left my home only for the necessities. Bread, eggs, and gallons of water filled my cart. I bought in bulk, always in bulk. It was how I was taught as a child. My clothes were bought all at once and the only things we ever left home for were groceries, funerals, and weddings.
On this particular day, I had chosen to go to the new grocery store that had opened near me. The shortest drive possible, with a time spanning only five minutes. The cashier was behind the counter and began ringing up the items. Going at a slow pace, almost as if her skin was so dry, that a sudden movement could cause it to crack and bleed. She was beautiful, quite gorgeous. Porcelain skin, gorgeous dark eyes and ginger hair. I couldn’t bring myself to make conversation with her, she seemed too dedicated to her work it would be seen as almost rude to take her focus away from the job at hand.
Standing behind me was a boy, who looked to be no more than ten. He had dirty blond hair and the rosiest cheeks you ever did see. Bright, youthful blue eyes matched the same youthful smile. “Excuse me sir, could I bother you to reach that pack of chewing gum for me? Thank you.” Nodding, I kindly obliged to. In the process, it seemed to age me a few years. I was now about twenty three, two years past the legal age of drinking. “You aged. I never age though I travel the world!! Like Amelia Earhart.” The boy said with a giggle. I smiled and had a confused look on my face. “You have quite a bright imagination my boy.”
A few more moments passed as he proceeded to explain that it wasn’t his imagination running wild. That in fact, he had started roaming at the age of five, deciding where to go and when. He seemed to have the wisdom of somebody my age or older, so I didn’t question him. When it was his turn to ring up, he waved and I gave a small smile back. “If only I had learned the method to your madness at your age.” I said, leaving the store to go home. It astounded me how the children of today used their brains. Learning ways around the curse of aging, tricking it almost.
| 2020-08-01T14:49:25
| 2020-08-01T13:43:53
| 29
| 14
|
[WP] The Bestiary of the Multiverse is a really, really thick book. Updated every two days. It works like a wierd magical Wikipedia, really. You are the mod, and sometimes find real gems between all of the mundane animals. Write your favorite page of this bestiary.
|
**The Somaspore**
The Somaspore is a most peculiar creature that is found in varying dimensions and habitats across the multi-verse; this creature is truly a wonder of reproductive science. For this reason, one should take great care when spotting or handling a Somaspore and familiarize oneself with local laws and regulations regarding Somaspore policy (see Ethics and Legality section below).
**Overview**
The Somaspore, a sometimes plant-like sentient life form, is unique in that it is the only known carbon-based life form which demonstrates an ability to exist in various states of matter. That is to say, a Somaspore—while commonly found in nature as a tall, green-leafed plant resembling the hellebores of Earth 643—can exist in a gaseous state after heated at extreme temperatures and retain its sentience and organic conditioning. After transitioning to a gaseous state, the Somaspore particles spread through the air until a suitable rooting area is identified.
**Nutrition**
While most plants obtain nutrients from the soil, Somaspores are carnivorous. One may be quick to note a distinct lack of mandible or teeth present on the Somaspore and wonder how this creature may consume organic matter. That is where the Somaspore’s journey becomes most fascinating.
The Somaspore has no natural predators, though many creatures have evolved to crave the Somaspore in its gaseous state. That is to say, creatures will intentionally round up Somaspores, light them on fire, and inhale the creature in its gaseous state. This practice may appear barbaric to some, but this symbiotic relationship is critical to the Somaspore’s survival and fecundity.
Upon entering a creature’s lungs, the Somaspore then enters the blood stream of the inhalant creature and finally penetrates the blood-brain barrier. The Somaspore then—temporarily—takes control of the inhalant being. The Somaspore triggers pathways in the inhalant creature’s brain which cause hunger. As the host creature consumes nutrients, the Somaspore is able to leech nourishment.
**Side-Effects**
While this may sound like a parasitic relationship, that couldn’t be further from the truth. In exchange for nutrients and control, the inhalant creature receives a flood of dopamine to their receptor cells and a feeling of peace and relaxation overcomes the inhalant creature. For this reason, many creatures on which the Somaspore relies are referred to as “chill dudes and dudettes.”
Although, one would err to assume that there are no negative side effects to a host. Often, the host will exhibit signs of cognitive fatigue or dullness for many days after consuming the Somaspore. Moreover, creatures who make a habit of consuming the Somaspore are often unproductive and listless. After a time, the Somaspore will exit the host’s system and move itself toward a suitable planting location to begin the process of returning to its solid state.
**Ethics and Legality**
Because of these benefits to inhalant creatures, many have evolved to “farm” Somaspores. For this reason, the Somaspore is one of the most abundant carbon based life forms throughout the known multi-verse. Although, the act of farming a sentient being does not sit well with environmental and animal rights groups alike. There is litigation currently pending in the Inter-Dimensional Supreme Court to severely limit or eliminate the practice altogether. Others still posit that the consumption of the Somaspore is unethical and damaging to inhalant creature’s health.
Scientists, however, are consistent on this matter—the Somaspore has evolved* to be burned and consumed and it’s proliferation across dimensions is a sign that the creature is thriving and a fine example of natural selection. Moreover, the feelings evoked by the Somaspore gas are pretty damn nice**
*there is litigation pending in the Inter-Dimensional Supreme Court which looks to stop scientists from using the words “evolved, “evolution,” or any other derivations thereof.
**this does not necessarily reflect the ideas or beliefs held by the Publishers of The Beastiary of the Multiverse, available now wherever you buy books. Or available for download as an audiobook narrated by Sir David Attenborough. Download today!
_______________
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out my other stories at r/InMyLife42Archive
|
The Makkipodo.
On a planet far away from anything really, is a beast called the Makkipodo. It lives a solitary life not often mingling with other Makkipodos. The creature stands about twenty feet tall at its full height, but is often found using both sets of limbs to propel it along the ground. These limbs have a strange woodiness seeming to be covered in some sort of bark, that cracks and creaks as it strides over the ground. It is thought that this is a protective element against the swampy environment these beasts favour. Anything that thinks to bite at the legs, will get a mouthful of bark and splinters for its trouble.
The Makkipodo has a large shovel-like mouth that it uses to scoop up the swampy water that it walks through, filtering out small plants and insects that it uses for nutrients. It has something similar to whale baleen, (See entry for Whales) that makes this process easier. In length, the head is about the size of a horse's, though almost as wide as it is long. The legs are double-jointed and spindly, bound completely with the bark as previously mentioned. Its body is long and thin, curled around and around, with marks that could have once been vestigial limbs, or perhaps given their shape, mouths. There is reason to believe that the Makkipodo was once an aquatic creature, but given the changing environment evolved legs and the ability to breathe the air around it.
It still must use the filters that it developed in the water, however, as the planet's air is thick with particles and dust kicked up by the everpresent storms overhead. The storms never drop water, though the ground is mostly swamp, whatever liquid must come from inside. However, those filters are not the most fascinating thing about the Makkipodo. No, that is its great ability to mimic sound. It has many full sets of vocal cords, not commonly found together in one beast and uses them to great effect. But not for itself. The Makkipodo has a parasite
(See entry below.)
The Okamakidop.
The Okamakidop only exists to live off the Makkipodo. It has no ability to survive on its own, and is passed from generation of Makkipodo to generation. Each Makkipodo has at least one Okamakidop in its life and may gain up to two. There seems to be no visible benefit to the Makkipodo, to hosting the Okamakidop so there is no firm evidence for a symbiotic parasitic relationship. However, a Makkipodo will quickly die if it is not gifted with an Okamakidop within three days after its birth.
The Okamakidop is a small creature, seemingly all eyes and mouth, with none of the connective tissue you would expect between them. It is attached to the side of the Makkipodo with small hooks, like fine wires, that puncture the skin without drawing blood.
While the Makkipodo is a peaceful herbivore/insectivore, the Okamakidop is an omnivore. It will eat anything and anyone that the Makkipodo can lure towards itself with the multitude of different sounds it can make. As soon as the creature is in range, the Okamakidop detaches itself and leaps, reducing whatever it was to a husk of its former self in an instant. No soft tissue remains, and even some exoskeletons have been destroyed. When the Okamakidop has been sated it returns to the Makkipodo and they go on their quiet way. This duo is deadly when working together, which means that both the Makkipodo and Okamakidop should be avoided at all costs, and any sounds you believe to be your friends, your family, a lost animal, or an animal in heat should be summarily ignored.
————————
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more writing!
| 2022-12-11T12:01:31
| 2022-12-11T10:53:13
| 268
| 38
|
[WP] A small village becomes fearful of a dragon that has taken residence near them. The dragonslayer they hired runs back to the village after the first day and begins rapidly packing his things. "It's not the dragon that you should be afraid of" He says. "It's the thing its protecting you from."
|
"The Dragon? Protecting us? Preposterous!"
The elder of the village stood in the market square, with nearly the entire village behind him, blocking the Hunter's route out of town. The hunter, blocked off from anywhere other than the Inn he'd just left, desperately glanced around for any kind of understanding in the crowd.
"Yes, protecting you. How else do you think you have survived the migration? There's fifty odd Koru behemoths roaming through this valley, it's a miracle you haven't been crushed already!"
The blacksmith called out from the crowd. "The behemoth migration route is leagues away from here! How in the Emperor's name so you expect us to believe that?"
The hunter, giving up on his attempt at being nice, gave a sigh.
"Look. There are fifty behemoths currently stomping out of Spider Wood and into this valley. I don't know why they're off their standard route but something has spooked them. And if they are spooked, they could go Tarrasque. I don't want to be anywhere near a single Tarrasque, let alone a herd of them. That dragon is protecting you because you are a reliable source of food for it. It likes your cows, and it doesn't want them trampled. Either way, the behemoths are the bigger problem. So you have 2 choices. Come with me, find sanctuary in the Queen's wood or Drakkenhall, or stay here and risk getting trampled to death or eaten. I have no idea why you thought the ruins of the Grey Towers was a good place for a town, but it's doomed now, and you will most likely die if you stay. Even if you do choose to be an idiot, do *not* keep me here. I am not risking my neck to kill a dragon that is barely even paying attention that you exist. I am leaving now."
The hunter began pushing his way through the crowd, when a shout stopped him.
"we paid all we had for you to kill a dragon, and you're just giving up? We want our money back!"
The laugh started as a derisive snort, but grew into hysterics.
"You- you- you are in the gravest danger of Your lives and all you- haha- all you care about is *money*?" bent double with hysterical chortling, the hunter grabbed a leather pouch from his belt and tossed it down into the mud. "Have your stupid gold," he wheezed. "I'll just get it back when you're dead this time next week."
|
It had been six weeks since the dragon had taken up residence in the small village of Glendore. Many brave warriors were sent to attempt to fight it, but each attempt was met in vain. No matter how many times they attempted to stab the dragon, shove it, or even scream at it in frustration, the dragon never so much as blinked in retaliation. It's wounds were always mysteriously healed the very next day, its shiny golden scales gleaming in the sunlight, its beautifully long tail coiled under it and its amber-red eyes gazing into space.
Glendore was a small village tucked away into the middle of one of the largest forests in the kingdom, and they were very secretive about outsiders intruding. But it was becoming increasingly apparent that this dragon was not going to be leaving its post anytime soon. Thus, they sent for a dragon slayer.
Malevolo the Dragon Slayer was by far the most well known dragon slayer in all the kingdom. His fame was widely spread, even to the Glendore villagers due to his affiliation with the royal family, his humble and charming demeanor, and his incredible talent for slaying dragons. He feared nothing and would not rest till his job was done, even at the cost of his left leg. When Malevolo arrived, the village was buzzing in excitement, ready to see the fearless hunter in action up close. A gathering was arranged at the front gate of the village where the dragon now resided, as Malevolo strode up to the dragon, sword in hand. Yet, the second his sword made contact with the dragon, he fell back immediately and collapsed on the floor.
The worried villagers gathered around him and quickly carried him to the local healers home, where he rested for two days. He came to by the third day, immediately leaping out of bed and gathering his few belongings and his sword. When he was questioned by the villagers, he informed them that he could not kill this dragon, as this dragon was not a rogue, but was sent to protect them. But when asked what the dragon was protecting them from, he shook his head and bolted out the village.
The villagers were at a loss. Some immediately moved out, not wanting to tempt fate, but others were conflicted. This was their home, and they had built a life here unlike any other. The elderly were especially reluctant to move; most felt they had lived long enough and didn't seem to fear the unknown as much as the younger ones did. Thus, those who remained at the village decided to spend the time they left to reinforce the village as best they could. Those who knew of magic created barriers to protect the village from the elements of nature and from beasts and monsters that lurked in the woods-albeit, very elementary spells, but those were the best they had. They made their homes fire and waterproof and any other 'proof' they could think of. They created emergency food sources and emergency bunkers, and the healers trained the village to perform basic healing magic. They then waited for the inevitable.
After many months of agonizing anticipation, one night, it finally happened. The dragon slowly rose up, shaking its creaking joints, and a tongue of flame shot from its mouth into the air. The village quickly rose from its sleep and grabbed any weapon they could and prepared to fight for their lives. But then something changed. The dragon slowly turned around and locked eyes with a villager. It was then that Glendore realized its fatal mistake. They had spent so much time preparing for an outside intruder that they had failed to consider the possibility that it could be one of them. The dragon opened its mouth once again, and a giant fireball engulfed the village of Glendore.
The End
| 2019-12-31T05:13:36
| 2019-12-31T00:01:30
| 115
| 31
|
[WP]You are an omnipotent god. Out of boredom you decided to live an ordinary human life vowing not to use your power. 15 years has pass and you have a 9 to 5 working for a major tech company. Your boss has been tormenting you for years and you have reach your limit
|
After living for eternity, you would have thought that I could hack a nine to five job for a mere ten years. Add on the fact I'm pretty much the most powerful thing in existence, you would definitely think I could hack a nine to five job for a a decade.
You would be completely right.
Or well, you would have been completely right three years ago. Now? Not so much.
The reason, you ask?
My boss.
Thousands of years of watching humans struggle through life and answering to their superiors had granted me a lot of empathy for them, especially when they asked impossible things. I mean, I thought it had. Turns out what I was feeling was only sympathy. But now I understand. Now I feel the real effort it takes to appear bright, friendly and on the ball whilst a slimy, untrustworthy arrogant, bratty human adult saunters around as if he owns the place and he came up with all the ideas.
I own this entire universe, mate, get off your high horse.
I'm all powerful! I'm all freaking powerful! he does realise all these ideas are mine right? It was my idea to ditch the stylus on touch screen phones because fingers worked just as well! Heck, it was my idea for touch screens anyway! But I'm stuck answering the phone for complete imbeciles that can't even sign into their accounts.
'Hey, listen up folks.' His nasal voice sent waves of anger down my spine, annoyance rushing through my body as his words hit my ears. Something in my hand cracked. I looked down, hoping it wasn't my computer mouse.
It was.
Sighing, I spun slightly on my chair and pushed the wireless mouse in the bin, before whisking open my desk drawer. It was completely full of identical white replacement wireless computer mice. I picked one up without looking and began to sync it to my computer.
'That means you too, Johnson.'
I looked up, trying to keep my expression neutral.
'If you keep it up with that attitude you'll be in for another disciplinary; we've been having a lot of complains about you from our customers. You're walking on a razor thin tightrope, Johnson. Don't think you're off the hook just because you've been here for a few years.'
Obviously my expression still conveyed my absolute loathing. A few years? It's been at least ten. Smug bastard.
'As you know, the next model is still in the planning stages, and as I'm one of the few members on the team I'll be quite busy for the next few months. I don't want any interruptions or anything; nothing is more important than this right now. Nothing you have to say or ask of me is more important than this. My ideas for previous models have been invaluable; I will not be breaking my track record. That is all.'
He puffed his chest up, looking over his employees as if he was a fantastic boss that had just given a fantastic speech as opposed to giving a shitty excuse for cutting his work load in half.
He left. I continued syncing my new mouse up, wondering what I would say to HR for breaking yet another one. They were already aware of my anger management issues. The anger was directed at the waste of space that I had the pleasure to call my boss. He hadn't come up with any of the ideas; he had casually asked me for advice in the staff room and stole my ideas.
I'm not an idiot. I'm omnipotent, I'm all powerful, of course my ideas are the best. No one ever seemed to question what I said, I seemed to have an aura around me that compelled complete trust.
That's when it hit me. What could be the worst thing for the next model to have? What would he trust me with, take to a meeting, push through and ruin his reputation with?
I opened my work emails and started to type out a message for him, gripping my new mouse this time with anticipation rather than anger.
'I think, for the next IPhone, perhaps if we had no aux input....'
*Edit: fixed a bunch of typos, and thank you to everyone for the amazing feedback*
|
James and Robert sat the bar. They were taking shots and complaining about their boss Dylan. Regular Friday night stuff.
"That's it. Fuck this guy. I'm gonna kill his wife."
"Jim you can't say shit like that man."
"Wouldn't be first time I fucked over someone to prove a point."
"What?"
"Nevermind man don't worry about it." James slammed another shot of Tequila. "That asshole has had it out for me for years dude. 15 years I've been with this fucking company and he has been RELENTLESS! I don't get what is fucking problem his!"
"Who knows dude, maybe one of the other workers we bring out told him you say shit like you're gonna kill his wife!" Robert laughed as he said it.
"Bobby, I'm tired man. For 15 years you've been a great friend, and I really appreciate that. I just want you know, that no matter what happens, I've got your back alright." James stood up, dropped a fifty on the bar, and started to walk away.
Robert grabbed him by the arm. "What the fuck man? Don't say shit like that and just walk away. You've got me worried now. Whatever is going on I can help. Talk to me!"
James rolled his eyes, "Great. You bargain at the inevitable too? Of course, you are human after all."
"What? I'm driving you home you are way too fucking drunk for me to leave you alone."
"Get off me man! I'm gonna go kill Sheryl and you can't stop me."
"Sheryl didn't DO anything. You're seriously starting to freak me the hell out." Robert was doing his best to subdue James and keep him sitting, but he wasn't having it. Drunk James was hell bent on killing Dylan's wife.
"Job's wife didn't do shit either and I still killed her. All because Luke said 'You won't, no balls!' Matter of fact, fuck this guy! I'm gonna level his whole damn block!"
Robert swore he was just pushing James back down into his seat. How did he get home. How did get naked and in bed? He checked the time: 8 o' clock in the morning on Sunday. "Oh fuck me, did I drive home drunk again?"
Robert turned on the TV. The news headline read "Tornado ravages Cincinnati block; every resident presumed dead." That was definitely Dylan's neighborhood. Robert couldn't believe it, he checked every news source he could find on both the TV and internet. The tornado formed without a single warning sign, touched down, wrecked the whole block and ONLY that block, then disappeared..
Robert's face twist up in confusion as he though back to last night. He grabbed his phone and called James.
James answered, "Hello?"
"What the fuck...?"
| 2017-02-19T07:52:51
| 2017-02-19T07:20:19
| 5,696
| 203
|
[WP] The government has chosen your town for a social experiment: every day, a new citizen will be elected, and s/he can do whatever they want to anyone without any legal consequences. Everyone else must obey and not retaliate, else their collars would detonate. You're the only one alive after day 9
|
Day 1: Robert the conservative became the mayor and told us taxes were tyranny and the town’s tax rate would henceforth be 0%. The people hailed him as a hero and life was good.
Day 2: Debbie the liberal became the mayor and told us healthcare, food and water would henceforth be free. The people cheered her on as a liberator and life was good.
Day 3: Greg the accountant became the mayor and told us this was an unsustainable balance sheet and said he had to raise taxes and cut benefits. Many were lost that day.
Day 4: Jeremy who was unemployed and spent his time trolling people on the internet became the mayor and had Greg lynched. The people rejoiced.
Day 5: Justin the firefighter became the mayor and realized Greg was right but seeing what had happened to the town’s only accountant, he decided to keep his mouth shut. He holed up in the bar and gave out free alcohol. The only casualty that day was Moe the bar owner.
Day 6: Lauren the college activist realized the town had no money, food or medicine left but also wanted to avoid being killed tomorrow. She decided to unleash the mob on one another betting on the fact that only half of the town would hate her as opposed to all of it. She declared a worker’s paradise and encouraged everyone to take what they deserved. Many homes were set ablaze on that night in the name of the revolution.
Day 7: Franco the banker whose house was burned down decided it was time for payback and ordered half the town killed. At this time, I hid in the basement and prayed for salvation.
Day 8: Oliver the cult leader gathered everyone and ordered them to drink kool-aid and ascend to heaven. Many drank, others exploded; I luckily had an actual pack of kool-aid nearby and thus did not technically violate his command.
Day 9: The government offers me a job which I take given the lack of any alternatives. I am confused on why they haven’t killed me only to see on TV the president is bragging about how the town has achieved 100% employment in 9 days under his administration. Some things never change…
|
**Part I**
I woke up to the sounds of sirens. My room was filled with flashing lights, illuminating everything in short intervals.
"*Mmnng . . ."*
Still half asleep, I dragged myself up and closed the blinds. I lay down and turned over, facing away from the window.
*It's probably some idiot and his faulty car . . .*
I started to drift back to sleep . . .
. . . Until I heard loud screeching. It was like nails on a chalkboard.
*"Mmnnghhgh . . .!"*
I lifted my head and put it under my pillow.
*Not a car . . . I don't know what that's supposed to be. Why do people have to do this stuff so early in the day . . .?*
I shrank into a fetal position, pulling the pillow closer to my ears.
**". . . MAY I HAVE EVERYONE'S ATTENTION?"**
I slammed the pillow into the wall, staring angrily at the ceiling.
". . . That's it."
I furiously stumble over to the window to finally see what's going on.
". . . What the . . .?"
I open the window and stick my head out to get a better view. There are dozens of military trucks outside my apartment. On one of them, a short woman is standing with a megaphone. A small crowd of people is already forming.
**"THIS IS WORKING, RIGHT? OKAY. GOOD MORNING, EVERYONE."**
I barely hear someone from the crowd yell, *"It's two in the f\*\*\*\*\*\* morning!!"*
*Well said.*
**"HAA . . . YES. ANYWAY, I AM LIEUTENANT PATTERSON. I AM HERE STRICTLY FOR GOVERNMENT BUSINESS. THIS TOWN HAS BEEN CHOSEN FOR A SPECIAL SOCIAL EXPERIMENT, AND PARTICIPATION IS MANDATORY."**
I step out and stand on the fire exit, laughing to myself.
*Who do these people think they are? They can't just send a chick with a crew to a town and tell them they're all going to be government guinea pigs.*
Someone down there seemed to be thinking like me.
*"And what happens if we don't participate, huh? Whatcha gonna do?"*
The woman slowly lowers the megaphone. A man walks out of one of the cars with a rifle. The crowd disperses, leaving the woman in the open. As he walks up, he flips the rifle around and slams her in the head with the butt. The crowd visually gasps as the woman falls to the ground.
*Okay . . . Brute force.*
More people start gathering. The woman tries to stand up but fails each time. A man went and walked over to her, helping her up to her feet and carrying her to--
***Bang!! Bang!!***
I automatically cover my mouth in shock. The crowd of people started freaking out as the man and woman fell to the floor, bleeding out. As I kept watching, a smile crept across my face—one out of pure shock and fear.
*What the hell is going on . . .! The military isn't supposed to be this harsh . . Is it?*
**". . . I BELIEVE THAT SHOULD BE ENOUGH TO CONVINCE YOU TO CONSENT. FOR YOUR OWN GOOD. WE SHALL REPEAT THIS MESSAGE ACROSS TOWN. ANYONE WHO MIMICS THE WOMAN'S OR MAN'S ACTIONS WILL ENCOUNTER THE SAME PUNISHMENT. TO EVERYONE WHO IS LISTENING, HEAD TO THE SOUTH OF TOWN BY 0500 HOURS. ANYONE WHO DOESN'T ATTEND WILL BE PROSECUTED."**
And when she finished, she jumped down, entered into the truck, and drove off. All the others followed her out, one by one. As they left, the crowd was still looking at the two on the floor. A pool of red encompassed both of them, and the woman was still in his lifeless arms.
". . . Well, I can't go back to sleep after all that . . ."
I open the window, shuffle inside, and shut it. With the whole thing replaying in my head, I go to the bathroom and get myself ready.
| 2022-11-18T13:47:40
| 2022-11-18T13:38:39
| 711
| 54
|
[WP] Abraham: "No, I will not sacrifice my son. I refuse to worship a God who asks for the death of children"
|
"Good."
Abraham frowned. "Wait what?"
"This was a test. I demand much of my children, but i will not make them violate that law." god replied. "Life is the most percious gift to you... you know, I can already see timelines where you do it because you have faith i provide an alternative to you, my son, or because you remember i cannot make a nation out of a corpse... well, actually I COULD and also just bring him back but that's besides the point. "
"So... why ask?"
"Free Will is the greatest gift i can give to anything that lives. It doesn't matter how godly i am if my creation obey me without choice. for that is what love is; to continue to love something even when it goes against you, but-" He paused. "Love is also being unafraid to doubt and bring it up to them. Blind Faith is an unjust cause."
|
God smiled. "Congratulations, Abraham. When you haggled with Me over Sodom and Gomorrah, I was pleased. I seek to engage with people and connect to them, and by bargaining with Me to spare a city your nephew was in but was otherwise full of strangers you found favor in My sight."
He spread his arms wide. "Across the land, from the Tigris to the Euphrates and in the world beyond, children are sacrificed to unholy pretenders to ensure the fertility of their parents. Long after the childbearing years of your wife, I gave you a son to show you I keep My promises and that I desire obedience, not sacrifice, and that I could do things that you believed to be impossible."
"When I asked for you to sacrifice your son, I was asking you a question: do you know Me? Do you think of Me as the followers of Molech, Baal, and Ashera think of them, or have you seen Me to be different? Have you been paying attention? Are you willing to again choose to engage with me on this? Are you willing to protect not only your nephew but also your son as I would protect the world if they would but seek to know Me? Your emphatic refusal to sacrifice your son and to obey not merely what I say but what you believe Me to truly desire of you has delighted me."
"I have great plans for you now, Abraham, and will spread your children across the world. Let me show you..."
| 2021-04-20T10:51:31
| 2021-04-20T09:06:43
| 17
| 12
|
[WP] All bodies of water across the world randomly freeze at the top. The ice is unbreakable, but everyone trapped under the ice is suddenly able to breath underwater. Everyone trapped underwater loses contact with the world above. After years of isolation, the water ice finally breaks.
Water’s*;)
|
"You can't imagine how horrible it was!"
I nodded calmly as my current patient told me her story. This wasn't the first person I had treated, nor would it be the last. This traumatic event affected everyone, whether they were Swimmers or not.
My last patient had been the only member of her family who had been on the beach when the Ice appeared, and she couldn't get over her feelings of guilt after moving on, getting married, and having another child. Who could blame her though? No one though those under water would still be alive years later.
Back to my current patient, though.
"Why don't you start from the beginning?" I asked soothingly.
She sobbed, then brokenly started her story.
"It was a party. My son, he had just finished his first year of college. He always loved the water..."
She stopped suddenly, hyperventilating. I leaned forward in my seat.
"It's OK, take your time. You'll feel better once you let it all out."
I passed her a Kleenex box as she nodded. After taking a couple of deep breaths, she continued.
"If I ever see a body of water larger than a bathtub, I think I might throw up. It was horrible, absolutely horrible. The days passed so slowly and everything was so monotonous! And the worst part was that I could see them, but they couldn't see me. I was so close! But the ice, the stupid ice, it wouldn't break. I tried and tried but no matter what I did, it stayed solid and strong and impenetrable."
She paused for a moment. I let her gather her thoughts as I made a few notes in my book. Really, I didn't have to do this, every session was recorded, but most people found it easier to talk if I wasn't looking at them.
"It was heartbreaking. They never gave up. It almost would have been better for me if they had moved on, found a new home, made a new life, if they were happy. I wouldn't have begrudged them that. But they stayed, faithful and loyal, year after year, not knowing if I was even alive. And I still love them! I do! I'm just, I'm having so much trouble adjusting. As awful a life as it was, it was a life, and I got used to it, and things are so different now! I don't want to be unfair to them, and I don't want to worry them more than I already have, which I why I came to you."
I looked her directly in the eye.
"And that's a good thing, that you're here willingly, you know why you're here, and you have a goal in mind. And I will help you, I promise. It will take some effort, but I can help you adjust to society again. No doubt it will be a tough transition, but your family loves you, and they will do everything they can to help you. You have a strong support system, which is essential. Now, why don't you go back to the beginning. Tell me more about the day it happened."
"Well, like I said, it was a party. My son had always loved the water, so when my husband and me moved, we made sure to find a home that had a pool in the water. All of his friends were there, it was a gorgeous summer day, the water was so refreshing. When the food was ready, everyone got out. I was just too slow."
|
New Yorker reports the ice has broken! We will finally be able to find out what happened to our lost family and friends.
Oh how wholesome, you think while rolling your eyes. I mean having your father and brother abandon the family without a call can make you a lot of things. Apathetic is what you landed on. Apathetic towards family, society, giving a shit about the ocean size skating rink.
Well it was kinda funny that the doomsday prophet Collins and his "The ice will never break or melt" ideals got dropped right into the middle of the Atlantic ocean. Spent a few days chuckling about that.
You bring out your phone and open up the only news source that is worth a dam now days, PewNews and it's accompanying app sneddit (Totally not a knock off of Reddit). Updating the subfeed called s/collinscirclejerk as a pass time you put in a post. "The ocean became their faith and now they have completely submersed themselves in it's great wet glory, praise the ice"
Scrolling through you see an update from Poppy Harlow himself "Breaking news!!! Atlantis has surfaced! #notahoax #theyareallwetandthirsty" Well you saw it from the source itself so it had to be true. To bad no one remembers how to make ships work after the last 30 years.
Deciding to check out the Hudson Bay you take a bus over there, surprisingly no one else cares enough to crowd around the bay so you take your time watching the old tankers flop around the bay. As you get to one of the larger beaches you see the water start to bubble and foam.
A ship pops out onto the pebbly beach followed by a dozen others. This is the new D-Day you think while snapping a photo for a sneddit post later. The first ship opens up in a loud sucking sound and a human size fish monster runs towards you and tackles you to the pebbles.
"You alive!! Dad and I thought the whole upper world froze to death when the surface froze up" astonished and unable to move do to all the penthouse up emotions in you just stare at it not believing. "You fucking ass clown of a lagoon monster! Jeremy I am going to kill you for getting my clothes dirty!" Not the best greeting for your long lost brother but an apt one "hahaha, you haven't changed have you Collins" Jeremy said with happiness in his eyes.
"Where is dad?" You ask. This shuts Jeremy down immediately and he puts a scaly webbed hand on your shoulder. "You might want to sit down for what I am about to tell you" Jeremy sounds like he has a million pounds on his shouders.
I am ending it there for now, let me know what you think. Constructive criticism please
| 2018-07-05T17:06:21
| 2018-07-05T13:59:20
| 34
| 23
|
[WP] A magic system where being left or right handed affects the effects of the spells
|
Left handed folks have it easy. So easy. When your right handed, you have to spend money if you want components.
Real money.
We're talking 10 fold what those lefties pay. Why? Why does grinding up charcoal on a full moon make a more potent healing potion? Who knows!
Lefties are so lucky in other ways. Romance? Sooo easy for them. Every charm spell they cast is damn near free. Every alter self cost zilch! Try doing that as a right hander. Any romantic spells we try to cast always come out off kilter. Want to make a good impression on a first date? By the time you get all the companents, the spell is more expensive than thee dates and takes half as long!
For all the complaining about lefts, though, us rights do have some advantages. Need a quality protection spell? Good luck getting a left mage to do that! I've seen flies get through barriers ment to stop a party of soldiers when cast by them! Good luck protecting your family and friends if you are left handed!
Ambidextrous people can piss right off. Well, in truth, the ones i met i really liked. They are always so happy and outgoing. Must be nice having the best of both worlds. Life sure is easy when you have money AND safety...not to mention job security you'd kill for!
Anways, doc, thanks for listening. I dont know why this all bothers me so much, its not like i can even cast spells. I guess i maybe a bit jealous of all of them. Oh well.
Same time next week?
|
Hamolin swore loudly as he dove for cover. The robed bastard tossing ribbons of fire at him was a mollydooker.
In his four years as a royal enforcer, Hamolin had only ever encountered one other arcanely-abled individual who wove spells with their left hand. The unnatural state of such magical expression rendered his own defenses near-useless. Carefully tuned to meet incoming eldritch energy with an equal and opposite discharge, his personal Field of Sanctity had been torn asunder like it was little more than tissue paper by the weird vibrations of the mollydooker's own art.
Peering over the smoking remnants of the wall, Hamolin steadied his breathing and focused his inner power into a crackling tongue of lighting. Extending his rune-cover right arm, the royal enforcer stood, and hurled the searing white bolt at the cloaked figure. It struck home, but dissipated in a shower of sparks across an aura of defensive magic.
Cursing again, Hamolin threw himself backwards, avoiding the retaliatory beam of purple light by a hair's breath. They had been at it for some time, and weariness was beginning to set in. Hamolin chided himself as he drew back to his feet. He'd become too reliant on his own protective arcane shell, and the impunity it provided in a fight.
With some fleeting melancholy, he drew a small vial from the leather belt around his waist, and gave it a strong shake. At once, the clear liquid that filled it began to assume a greenish hue. Even as he lobbed the now-glowing vial in the vicinity of his foe, Hamolin could hear his commander's gravely voice turned to rebuke. Something about civilians and collateral damage. But Hamolin knew he'd come around. Abominations like this were simply too dangerous to be left alive.
| 2022-09-25T09:11:13
| 2022-09-25T08:51:07
| 56
| 13
|
[WP] The army operates on a strictly merit based promotion system. At first, giving the bear a medal for honorable service was just a joke. The bear, however, keeps meeting the legal requirements to advance, and is getting uncomfortably high in rank.
|
“Gentlemen,” Shah began. “Captain,” he added to the one female in the briefing room. She didn’t nod back. Operators are like dogs, his mentor had warned him. They can smell fear. The key to briefing them was total confidence. “I’d like you to meet Objective ARTHUR.”
A dozen hard faces looked particularly frozen as Shah clicked through to the next slide. The enemy officer’s grainy photo took up the right-hand side of the screen. “ARTHUR currently commands Assault Group Three, Ninety-First Division, Western Command,” Shah continued. “Assault Group Three has spearheaded several recent breakthroughs, which ARTHUR has personally led from the front. We assess, with high confidence, that removing ARTHUR from the battlefield will have a substantial negative effect on group morale, and by extension on the effectiveness of the entire divisional area.”
A hand shot up from the front row, school-room style. “Yes, colonel?” Shah said, sighing inwardly.
“Now, I may be just a dumb grunt,” started Lieutenant Colonel Thorne. Shah had read the part of his file that wasn’t classified, and had seen that Thorne had only joined the army after getting a master’s in chemical engineering. “I may be just a dumb grunt, but that’s a bear.”
“Yes, ARTHUR is a bear, very observant, sir,” Shah said, in a tone he had rehearsed. “He’s also met every criteria for promotion they’ve got. And frankly, he’s shown more courage than most of the officers they’ve got, and is more popular with the men.”
Captain Gold looked up from the back of the room. “So let me get this straight,” she said. “You and your pals in the intel shop think that the best use of our time,” she gestured around the room, “is to go take out their mascot bear?”
“I know this is an unconventional mission-” Shah began, but Gold interrupted him.
“This is bullshit.”
“Respectfully, ma’am-” he raised his voice.
“No, not you,” she said. “I mean *this* is bullshit.”
The team’s stony faces broke into laughs. Snorts at first, then full guffaws and belly laughs. Only Gold herself remained impassive. Shah made himself smile, trying to play along.
“I know this sounds *crazy,*” he tried again, more casually now, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe he was saying it either. “But-”
“We’re just messing with you, rookie,” Thorne said.
“You mean-?”
Thorne rolled back his uniform sleeve. Down his arm were two twin nasty scars, jagged and thick. The kind a bear claw might make.
“You’ve got the right idea,” he explained. “But we’ve tried taking out ARTHUR before.”
Gold shook her head in begrudging respect. “Never gonna happen.”
|
He shuffled in. “How can we possibly deflect this development from turning into a devastating debacle”, he thought. The blond-haired, stout gentleman had been attempting to shake these concerns off for a while; somehow, irregardless of what they did, their plans always the opposite effect.
His paunch ally saluted him, “this has to end, Winnie. It has already gone way too far.”
Winnie could only agree with Tom, but he was barely able to produce a nod. It felt too unreal.
Tom continued, whilst shaking his head, “did you hear that they want to give the medal of honour? Jeez, one time he saves 14 marines, and all of a sudden you’re a hero.”
The idea had been from this notorious duo to reinforce the army by involving certain non-human forces. Similar to the efforts of Hannibal with the elephants, bears and lions had been trained to join the US navy. Almost it had been almost forgotten as a failed, wacky idea by two bureaucrats. However, when one regiment achieved incredible successes by sneaking in a bear to kill Osama Bin Laden, a turning point had occurred. This bear, Manny, enjoyed success after success. As is custom: when one is in the field long enough, a transfer is arranged to a comfortable office. Moreover, as is bureaucratic custom, Manny became rather pot-bellied; savouring the salmon a bit too much and exercising not enough.
Unfortunately, their scheme had rambunctiously started to live its own life. Not exceptionally, their luminous brilliancy entertained some drawbacks to. That had become painfully apparent when Winnie, Tom and Manny attended an important advisory meeting with the vice-president. Manny’s contribution had been primarily limited to a few growls of discontent, which apparently achieved the desired, unnuanced tone that the vice-president appreciated. The eighty-one page analysis of Tom had been tossed in the bin after a polite glance, souring the relations further. Parenthetically, this was not ameliorated by the fact that the promotion desired by Tom, according to rumours, would not materialise. A certain Manny had priority, after extensive lobbying on the behalf of the vice-president.
Cursing at his own creativity, Tom thought, “Joseph McCarthy would have turned over in his grave, if he had heard that we put a bear in the White House, just after the Russian invasion.”
| 2022-07-21T13:06:54
| 2022-07-21T09:36:35
| 88
| 40
|
[WP] The first manned mission to Mars is going as planned. As soon as the crew passes the moon, however, a message appears to them: "Warning. You are leaving the playable area."
|
[Poem]
My dearest Emily,
 
I know we've had our ups and downs.
I know we've shared laughs,
I know we've shared frowns.
I might have overreacted, leaving the earth in a wonky spacecraft.
 
But you must understand:
it's a wonderful chance, to do something great!
It's a wonderful opportunity, to decide my own fate.
 
The engineers even said
we'd be perfectly safe!
They showed us the math
during the presentation they gave.
 
My dearest Emily,
We'll fly past the moon and we'll soar past the stars,
I'll be home soon; but first I'm going to Mars!
 
The roaring of the rocket
and the pressure that builds until my ears plop.
The engine it stutters, it mutters and stops.
 
I'm holding my breath,
I'm scared to the bone;
Am I awaiting my death,
Or do I get to go home?
 
Oh my dearest Emily,
I've made a mistake.
I want to go back;
I'm no man for space!
 
Now the cabin
is filled with hysteria.
A warning pops up:
"You're leaving the playable area."
 
My dearest Emily,
I want my final words to be wise and profound,
As this might be it.
But all I can think of,
is "Shit."
 
^This ^was ^my ^first ^attempt ^at ^creating ^something ^here, ^I ^hope ^you ^enjoyed. ^Feedback ^is ^very ^welcome!
|
"Warning. You are leaving the playable area."
The message flashed across every crew member. Even when they shut their eyes the message could still be seen by them.
"You are not ready."
The crew started to panic. Some were crying. Some were screaming. Some were saying their last prayers. But not captain Meyers. He always kept his cool.
"Calm down, " Meyers told the crew. "We'll be alright. I've been through this before."
The crew looks at him in confusion. They feel a soothing feeling from his words though. They find comfort and
trust in their captain.
Meyers started preparations for wormhole travel.
"Trust in me. Wormhole travel is dangerous but I will get us to Mars. We won't let the Vorpsals win again, " Meyers nonchalantly said. " We will save the singular most important artifact to the human race. We will not stop. We will not give up. We can do this. We're on our way Opportunity. "
Meyers hits the thrusters, zooming past the barrier that dared to stop them. 10 seconds is all we have, Meyers thought to himself. What are the chances of finding a wormhole in time?
Suddenly, the crew sees it. Beautiful yet highly dangerous. No one dared to travel by wormhole, yet here they were. Meyers pushes the ship into the wormhole and prepares himself for the chaos that will insue.
| 2020-01-08T04:24:08
| 2020-01-08T03:23:12
| 34
| 17
|
[WP] A zombie apocalypse has broken out and much to the dismay of the zombies, their flesh is surprisingly tasty and has addictive properties, leading to humans actively charging at zombies and devouring them as their undead brethren watch in shock.
|
"Hey kids! It's me, Rombie the DARE Zombie. Your teachers asked me to come give this speech here at Noshington Middle School today to tell you that eating zombies is totally not cool.
"You're in middle school now, and you may hear kids talking about eating zombies, but I'm hear to let you know that it's okay to say no. If a stranger, a friend, or even a family members asks you to take a bite out of rotten writhing flesh, to scoop out the entrails of a zombie who's been chained to a dinner table, or to go out and hunt down a recently-turned human with nothing more than your own bare hands, just say no!
"Other people may think you're not 'cool' for eating zombies, but you know what's really cool? Maintaining autonomy over your brain. Having most of your teeth and all of your tongue intact. And of course, not infringing upon the rights of a minority by eating them, no matter how tasty they may smell.
"So kids, remember, just say no to zombie flesh! Zombie free is the way to be… arg! Stop it! Get your teeth off my damn leg you brat! I'm not a real zombie, I'm just a guy in a suit, goddamnit! Someone scrape this kid off me!"
*****
Come write prompts together at the [ScottWritesStuff](https://www.reddit.com/r/ScottWritesStuff/) Twitch stream!
|
At first they hunted us, and we fled, and we died. Pop culture had conditioned us to fear them, to "aim for the head", to hole up, ride it out, to wait for the army.
It took a very, very hungry person to be the first to try it. I mean, who in their right mind would willingly cook and eat a zombie?
The weird thing is... they're fucking delicious, and once you pop, you can't stop. It's like The Hunger on overdrive. Nothing else even compares.
Oh, look... there's one over there.
Perfect.
I was starting to get hungry.
| 2018-09-26T20:42:23
| 2018-09-26T16:51:03
| 61
| 43
|
[WP] You are a professional bounty hunter. You specialize in hunting targets who are immortal. It impossible to kill them but over the years you have used various creative ways to ‘kill’ them.
|
It may not be the prettiest job. But dealing with unrowdy Immortals does pay a fair bit.
i've been employed by everyone. From the italian maffia to world governments. How do i do it?
It's quite simple really. Deprive an immortal of oxygen and he will still go unconscious.
And all you have to do then is bury them. That will take them out of the picture for at least a few hundred years.
There were a few odd cases though.
Micheal McFife. An immortal african warlord. He managed to escape twice after burial thanks to a few accomplices.
A cave and a few tons of explosives did the job though. He never knew his wife and children weren't actually in there.
Jill Alister. A former drug smuggler who was going to sell out the organisation.
After escaping burial and gravely injuring me. i took no chances. A remote bomb under her car Which detonated whilst on a bridge.
I bribed the authorities to stop the investigations. She will be under for quite a while.
And last but not least. Toby Wong. An ex marine who was gonna shine light on a few warcrimes commited
by the american military. Obviously this couldn't happen. He was too well trained to just bury him.
i had to take a different approach. A less **friendly** approach.
His wife had died of cancer two years prior. But he did have 2 kids. They we're kidnapped and placed in an underground facility.
Placed a few leads that would lead to... well expendable personnell. Who would inform him of the location of the kids.
About a day later he arrived at the facility. He got in without trouble and after half an hour of searching he foud exactly what we wanted him to find.
His children strapped to chairs. Just at the end of the hallway. He immediatly sprinted towards them. exactly as we predicted.
Just before he could get there. Doors shut in front and behind him. the government had decided that burying him was too dangerous.
It was covered up as a sattelite launch. Poor bastard won't ever come back to earth. The kids were disposed off to complete the cover up.
As long as there are immortals in the world. i will continue to do this job. Because. At the end of the day.
If there were only 1 immortal left. He would be king of the world. And i'm going to make sure that is me.
|
You stare into the mirror, the water running freely. Your phone pings, It's Florence, he's got another job.
You think it's hilarious how often he calls you, after all killing Immortals is considered impossible, and it is though you have your ways. There's a tap on the mirror, you look up and smile at the mirror, a reformed immortal looking to do good. It was easy to do, split a mirror in half and squash him between them , he has chameleon abilities so he can turn see through and besides you were looking for a new one.
You glance out the window at the trashcan to see another mirror just like this one broken in a thousand pieces. You frown and leave the bathroom. You check your phone, he want the job done by 4, it's 3:25 right now so you'd better get going. You grab your jacket and head out, not before Lance (the immortal you locked in a freezer 10 years ago) got a word in.
"WHEN I GET OUTTA HERE I'LL SKIN YOU ALIVE."
You can't help but laugh at him.
"I'd like to see you try." You say cocky." Oh and make sure my cabbage's don''t get too cold."
"YOU PUT THEM IN A GOSH-DARN FREEZER WHAT DO YOU "
You open the freezer door shooting a glare colder than the freezer itself.
"You are complete and utter gutter trash, did I give you the right to respond to me?"
He shakes his head.
You gladly take that answer and run off the work, you could use a new vase.
| 2019-12-26T12:15:19
| 2019-12-26T12:05:34
| 33
| 12
|
[WP] When a person dies, their body evaporates into butterflies. One day, as the sky goes dark, you look up to see the sun blocked by an unending cloud of butterflies.
|
ONE DAY,
A day that is not a day, but boundless smaller days, a day where points become planes and all the finite moments stretch into paper thin filaments of time. And now you know, you know that this is how it always was, how it will be forever. If only your time had come sooner.
AS THE SKY GOES DARK,
Which is the eternal *fuck you, I love you* from God that happened and will happen and always happens. The flood rushes in and the city burns and the locusts swarm.
YOU LOOK UP TO SEE THE SUN
Which is not there. You knew that, but you looked anyways. You're happy for your scarf, which will soon collapse to the ground with no body to shroud.
BLOCKED BY AN UNENDING CLOUD OF BUTTERFLIES
And in that second is a kaleidoscope. Lurid reds and oranges tessellate with dazzling turquoise, the seething bright wings of millions soaring and falling and soaring again. Each second erupts new light on your face, and you know all the colors.
.
Every moment your hand and arm and chest turn to antennae and thoraxes clung to big beautiful wings, your matter collapsing like stone rushing into sand at the speed of your own thoughts, which are particularly light as they take off.
There are butterflies in your stomach and you smile and watch them fly away.
|
It happened just five days ago. Someone's body just exploded and butterflies came out. There was disbelief, but then it was caught on tape, and finally live across the world live on tv. There was no mistake, dead people were turning into butterflies.
The next few days was chaos. Religions formed, and the old ones died or changed. Butterfly cults of all kinds, some resisting others willing dying to explore the other side.
With all the excitement no one noticed what the butterflies were doing. I wonder if we could have stopped them. Graveyards eventually became no go places as old bodies turned.
Just two days, something changed. It seemed like every dead thing in existence was rising. Cities became dark, land became full of things. The only safe place was the sea it seemed but I, along with most knew it wouldn't last.
We hadn't seen the sun for at least a day. The clock said noon but the sky ahead was just a whirl of colors. We heard the rumbling below us and knew what was happening. Who would have thought it would end like this?
| 2014-09-25T20:21:42
| 2014-09-25T19:58:47
| 233
| 51
|
[WP] A superhero chases a villain into a dark warehouse, only to have the doors close behind them. When the lights come on, the hero is surrounded by the full rogues gallery of supervillains. But this isn't an ambush... It's an intervention.
|
The riddle had led him to the end of Dusty Drive, a warehouse almost as nightmarish as what came out of Scarecrow. The name was befitting, there was nobody around, Batman thought, a perfect hideout for the Riddler. What sick trap he had planned for him, he didn't know. Under the cover of darkness, he crept up to the door and tested the knob, not knowing whether the Riddler had rigged a bomb to explode. Curiously, it opened without a struggle. Surprised, he walked in, brimming with more confidence than usual, thinking the Riddler had returned to his ways of gimmickry rather than a deadly criminal mastermind.
How very wrong he was.
As he stepped into the open area, the door suddenly shut behind him. Before the thought even crossed into his mind to attempt an escape, a green figure emerged from the shadows in front of him. He had found the Riddler. A second thought crossed his mind, to throw the Riddler across the room. Yet once again, his enemy beat him to it, as he pressed a button on his cane and the lights burst on.
Batman was almost blinded. He could still see the famililar face of the Riddler, clad in green as per the norm. But the other faces were also known to him. Much to his shock, the Joker, Scarecrow, Bane, Ra's al Ghul and his daughter, Two-Face, the Penguin, he couldn't think fast enough to list them all.
"This was your plan, Riddler?" asked an angry Batman as he reclaimed his sight. "You rounded up every single one of my enemies for one fight?"
"Not to fight, detective..." replied the Riddler, in a seemingly solemn tone. "We just want to help..."
"This is an intervention," claimed the Joker. "It's gone far enough, Bats."
"What are you talking about, Joker? What intervention?"
"You've avoided confronting your problems by dressing up as a bat for long enough, Batman," said Scarecrow. "We cannot, in good conscience, enable you any longer."
"That's ridiculous, Crane," retorted Batman. "I do this for the good of the city, to stop the likes of you!"
"We're only here because of you," the Penguin responded. "I've been a criminal for a long time, and whenever law cracks down as hard as you, crime responds in kind."
"What?" asked a shocked Batman. Cobblepot had caught him off-guard.
"The justice system in Gotham is completely perverted, thanks to you," stated Two-Face. Batman had long known his issues with Gotham's courts.
"But this isn't about Gotham. It's about you, Batman," Bane piped up. "The relationships you have with all of us here tonight are very dysfunctional, rooting from your earliest psychological traumas."
"I lost my parents!" Batman broke down. "When I met you, Joker, you provided an anti-me, something to escape into..." the Joker responded with not an evil smile, but a knowing one. "And you, Riddler, kept my brain occupied, and I was busy training to defeat Bane, I lost sight of...of..." he could not go on. He had started crying.
In a manner unexpected of his enemies, they did not take advantage of his moment of weakness. Instead, he heard two words from Ra's al Ghul.
"It's okay."
|
Part 1:
I turn the corner into a blind alley and see the Jester standing alone at the far end. Clouds prance across the sky, blocking the glow of moonlight illuminating the wet city pavement. A flickering electronic hum of street lamps buzz in the empty night.
“Stop running, fiend!” I pause to catch my breath. “Justice… is at hand!” I call out.
I see the flit of concern cross his face; Surely now he understands that he is caught.
He cackles wildly. “No, Captain Credo, the only thing at hand is your defeat!”
My hands reach toward my utility belt and I grasp for my Rope of Redress. The button holding it in place is stuck. I fumble with it, momentarily taking my eyes off his.
He sighs and uses this chance to escape as the street lamp goes black and The Jester disappears in the shadows.
The button gives way and my weapon falls to the ground, landing loudly in a puddle. It drips as I lift it, soaked, from the roadway, placing it back on my belt. I can feel the puddle water seep into my briefs. I activate night vision mode on my mask and find only the far wall of the alleyway staring back at me.
“Drat! Gone!” I cry out. I look for where he may have vanished to, but find nothing there. A few moments pass before I hear him cough quietly from an open window two stories up. He sees my eyes lock onto his and the chase begins anew.
I scale the wall with my Claws of Compassion and leap inside the building. I fall. Hard. Landing loudly on the concrete floor of an abandoned warehouse. Tumbling end over end, my cape comes undone from my cowl. I bend over to grab it and hear whispers all around.
“I told you” the voice of The Jester speaks out.
“I had no idea it was this bad” an unknown foe answers.
I look to the direction from where the voices come, but my night vision starts to go out and I note the batteries in my mask need to be changed. I pull out three AAAs and replace the old ones with a fresh set. Just as the system reboots, the warehouse lights come on and I see that I am surrounded.
“The League of Injustice! I should have known.” I contemplate my next maneuver, taking a defensive stance. I eye them all one by one: The Crooked Con, Diorama Dan, The Jester, Maestro, The Artificer, and The Zebra. It is the last one who steps forward to speak, his referee uniform as impeccable as ever.
“Listen, Captain, we have some things to talk about and I want to set the rules of the game first. No punching, no capturing, no hooded heroics, just sit and listen or we’ll have to send you to the penalty box” he threatens.
The Crooked Con slides a wooden chair over to me. “Sit,” he says.
“We’re not here to hurt you, if we don't have to. I mean, I'd be glad to if that's what you want." Lies dripping from the mouth of the Artificer.
“Ha! Up to your usual bags of tricks again, eh Artificer? Surely you know I never fall for your traps!”
I see a look of confusion, then anger cross his face.
"Stop. We're here to help" The Jester says.
“You all belong in a cell and now I have you here at once. The jails of Empire City will surely be full tonight.” I spin around to lasso Con, tossing my Rope of Recompense toward the large jeweled necklace dancing from his neck, but trip over cape and stumble forward, landing squarely in the seat of the chair. The Rope lands harmlessly, five feet short of him.
“Unbelievable” mouths The Crooken Con.
The Jester speaks next. “Look, you can sit down voluntarily and listen to us or i’ll have Maestro conjure some chains to keep you there. Either way, you WILL hear us out.”
I scratch at my beard stubbled chin and think over his proposition. I decide to bide my time, letting them monologue until the best opportunity arises.
Diorama Dan speaks next. “You have a problem, Captain Credo. This is an intervention. I have drawn up some diagrams to explain what I mean.” He wheels out a large poster board with my picture plastered on it. Large script is hand scrawled next to it in notes.
“Look at this,” he continues, pointing to the picture. “You used to look heroic. Your cape was clean, your face shaven, your utility belt holding gadgets galore. Now, look at yourself.” He points to Maestro, who conjures a mirror aimed at me. I look into it.
I see the stains at the bottom of my battered cape. My stomach hangs over my utility belt.
“Maybe I have seen better days before… but I am still more than a match for the likes of you!” I retort.
A whistle rings off the walls of the warehouse from the lips of The Zebra. “Two minute minor for speaking out of turn, Captain. This is your first warning.” A jolt of electricity shocks my chair and I go quiet. The Artificer laughs.
“John, that’s enough,” The Jester says. “Let’s keep this civil.” He turns to talk to me directly.
“You’re a mess, Cap. Usually we stay out of each other’s personal lives, keeping things professional, but lately something is off. You haven’t been on your ‘A’ game lately.”
I think this over and respond, “So maybe I’ve been a little preoccupied lately…”
“Preoccupied?! You haven't arrested any of us in ages!” Maestro cries out. “For goodness sake, I’ve stolen enough to pay off my Magic School student loans.”
“It’s the journalist, isn’t it? Patricia Pudenda? Did you two break up?”
“That’s none of your business! You leave her out of this!” I scream. Her face flashes in front of me in my mind’s eye, her blond hair swimming in the wind. I think of our last fight…
The Jester continues, “We try to stay out of one another’s personal lives, unless it’s a kidnapping or blackmail thing, but I don’t think I’m out of line for asking this; did she dump you?”
I start to leap from my chair, but Maestro materializes chains from his wand and they race from out his magic hat, enveloping and tying me down.
“Alright, alright everyone calm down. Captain Credo, take a look at my Diorama and even you won't be able to resist the story it spins.”
I look it over once more and see that what he says is true. In the picture, I look proud. Muscular. Heroic. I glance at the mirror and see something else looking back at me, a disheveled man with a broken heart.
“I… I don’t know what to say…” I think about Patricia, the way she looked when she moved out, taking the last of her things from my secret Credo Castle, our home, standing there in the doorway, glanceng back at me one last time…
The Zebra waves his arms upward in the shape of a goalpost. “Self-realization. Touchdown and two points awarded to Captain Credo!”
My eyes begin to scratch and water.
“Oh my god, is he going to cry?” Artificer speaks under his breath.
“Cry? Ha! Yet another lie from you, Artificer!” I say.
“Whatever,” he answers. “Are we done here? I’ve got an unwilling date in an hour and I don’t want to miss out on the easy lay up on this rebound chick. Let’s just whack this guy and go home.”
The Crooked Con replies, “He has a point, Jester. We finally have the Cap weakened. Why don't we just finish him off and live like kings?”
“None of you get it. We need him. He completes us. Crime doesn’t mean anything if we can’t get caught.”
I struggle against the magical chains, but find no escape.
“If you say so, fruit. You’ve always had a weird crush thing for him,” Artificer intones. “You can go down with him if you want, but Conman and I aren’t missing our chance.”
The Artificer and Crooked Con move in toward me, dagger and crow bar in hand, respectively.
They raise them overhead simultaneously. They move to strike…
| 2017-01-19T00:10:43
| 2017-01-18T23:20:43
| 64
| 17
|
[WP] All the other druids in your class spent their time speaking with wolves or communing with bears. They all made fun of you, but now they see how powerful your chosen, if rather atypical, animal friends can really be.
|
The academy was preparing for the traditional yearly tournament. It was a rare occasion to celebrate.
Sometimes fresh talent is very valuable.
As such everyone wanted to scout out promising candidates for future servants.
But this tale is not of the nobles nor the future servants.
This tale is of the "Quilgesh".
Quilgesh was a student of the druidic academy. Placed on the freshman year in the" peasant" class.
He was a quiet person, unlike the rest of the class understood the value of work, the weight of coin and lacked the drive to party.
Son of a glassmaker and a blacksmith, he worked in his own little private workshop.
All other in the class were sons of merchants or other rich people that wanted their heir to have druidic education.
He entered the academy by paying from his own pocket, as for entry qualification he presented a couple of commands with "Odonata Gigantis".
Eccentric at best, weird at worst.
He was lonely, he hadn't made any friends in the class the entire year he learned there.
However as he was a skillful blacksmith AND a glassmaker he became quite famous in his class for making beautiful high quality gear for his acquaintances.
Of course for a "fair" price.
He lived off making things and learning, earning enough money to pay off schooling and still he was earning more than ever before while having time to hammer out things for himself.
The teachers had mixed opinions about him, some liked him for his uniqueness and their smithing orders, some disliked this tastes in familiars.
While at the trainings people talked with bear cubs and young wolves, a couple eagles here and there, one son of a disgustingly rich merchant even had a small wyvern.
The sight of a guy wearing smithing gloves silently gesticulating at a dragonfly slightly bigger than a person was eerie and out of place.
Most people don't know that dragonflies are deaf, see more colours, and are very smart. People don't tend to learn about insects.
Every day after classes he would go under they main billboard to see if anyone wants to order something custom made.
Be it a shield with details made from his secret formula durable glass.
A sword with a handle made from one piece of bone from a ground lizard.
Daggers made from the fangs of a big venomous snake that had to still be able to use the poison canals inside as a surprise for the enemy.
One time he was even asked to make something between a whip and a sword from a elongated spine of unknown origin.
He always welcomed the challenge of custom orders.
After checking if anyone was waiting for him under the billboard to order he allowed himself to be lifted by his enormous friend and they flew to his workshop. A hour trip out of the city was as short for the dragonfly as ten minutes.
After some time some people were coming here just to watch them fly off.
A month before the tournament he announced that he will temporarily close down and prepare for the tournament. He also talked with the teachers that he will probably not attend lessons. No one was surprised, everyone wanted to prepare however they could.
He also asked the director if he could borrow a small training ground near his workshop. The request was granted.
The smithing insect druid Quilgesh disappeared in his workshop. He was occasionally seen flying to the training grounds with some other big insects. No one paid mind, as everyone was preparing as well.
This month was filled with hard work and many mock battles, but for him it was a month of smithing and testing armour and blades.
Finally the day of the tournament came.
Everyone and their familiars were dressed in the best armor they had, same with weapons.
The participants were allowed to have two familiars. Deaths of familiars on field weren't punishable and one could surrender at any time, before or during the match to avoid needless bloodshed. The druids had to fight with their familiars to show their reliability and combat prowess.
Quilgesh arrived with two companions of his choice
His best friend dragonfly that he raised from the egg in a lake and his strongest titan beetle that he used to bend metal and materials in his smithy.
He similarly raised him from an egg.
He equipped them with the best metal he had.
The dragonfly had blades on its legs and light plating on its thorax and abdomen. He didn't want the weight to bother it.
The titan beetle was clad in armor decorated with glass and artworks. It served as sturdy armor, but also as an advertisement for his skill.
He himself had a amazing insect like sword, it seemed moving ever so slightly, it's blade was smooth and sharp from one side but rigged and armor tearing on the other.
He held a big shield on his left arm, it looked like an elytra in an "U" shape like the one on the beetle it used metal plating with his special glass. It looked heavy and bulky, however he moved it so easily it seemed like it was hollow inside.
His armor was made from different pieces of exoskeletons, fused with metal and shining glass. He used spidersilk stronger than wires for connecting different parts. Unlike normal plate armour his set of unusual gear made almost no sound when moving. It seemed gracious and alluring.
He excitedly laughed at the guaranteed prospect of fighting someone he sold gear to. He wanted to experience his own skill on himself.
|
Im not like most Druids. A generic, typical Druid would go out, embrace nature, speak with trees and animals, and commune to find inner peace and meaning. Those psychopaths in the grove rely on the forest and animals to protect them with a little bit of manipulation magic to keep people out. Blah blah blah. They’re naive I swear it. Sure there’s probably some sort of higher power, god or goddess type keeping watch over things but who’s to say they’re watching over ME specifically, US at all? I gotta protect myself of my own accord.
So I started to chop the trees that had already fallen, and mined the ores from the mountain that my brothers and sisters refused to use. And I went to town on my experiments. Day after night after day, an explosion here, an explosion there, loud rumbling that sounded like an earthquake. The grove had enough of my nonsense and made me move farther and farther out from the grove. Not quite excommunicating me, but practically so. So I stopped communicating with them. They didn’t like that much.
“VISHA! Get your ass out here!” The Arch-Druid called out from my front porch. I walk out, arms crossed, irritated to see his face again, give him the “what the fuck do you want” look.
“Still not talking Vish? It’s been 5 years, you’re still part of the grove even though you’re all the way out here. And with being part of the grove, you need to pull your own weight. What can you provide the grove?” The Arch-Druid less asking and more demanding. I roll my eyes and hold up my index finger as I walk back inside. I already know what I can give him but how little is the question. I come back out with a jar of honey and a steel tower shield that I made.
The Arch-Druid let’s out an audible gasp. “I am appalled that you’d even consider giving us weaponry made from the ground. You know we don’t use such things, even if you are only a half-elf you should still uphold the traditions.” I shrug and press the jar of honey into the Arch-Druid’s arms, turn and take the tower shield back inside. I wait just inside the door for a moment already expecting the next outburst. “Is that it?!” He called out again. “You’ll need more than just a jar of honey to stay on good terms with the grove and for us to provide protection!”
I slide the second jar of honey out the door and close it again, making sure he could hear the locking mechanism lock the door behind me. I peek out the window and could see him grumbling in frustration to himself, tomato red in the face. It was a bittersweet start to my day. Having to give up 2 whole jars of honey but getting to see that face was just about worth it. I pick up my trusty wooden staff and head back to work.
The grove’s protection, pffft, what nonsense. They don’t even realize I’ve been protecting them. While most Druids end up with wolves, bears, cats, or any of the other cute and furry animals to call their own and commune with, I felt more comfortable with insects. Bees, butterflies, spiders, wasps, and any of the hundreds of thousands of creepy crawlies in the ground. They are the true life blood of any ecosystem. And for this ecosystem, they help me keep an eye on every Druid in the grove, every large creature near the woods, and every tree if it’s needed. They also help with providing useful and important resources and can help with my own personal daily necessities.
Bees provide honey and wax, both useful for certain instruments as well as nutrients. Butterflies are useful for silently keeping an eye on things around the grove, camouflaging into the background. Wasps are the warriors of the insects, if something needs to be chased off or killed, I can always rely on them. Spiders provide various silk, and together can create intensely strong rope while simultaneously being extraordinarily thin. The underground diggers can also have their various uses for manipulating the ground. Opening a plot for growing vegetables, an underground area for me to work, a pitfall trap for any unwanted residents, it just takes a bit of time and forethought.
They can even forage some materials for me and bring back portions of meals for me to cook when there is too much. It’s a symbiotic relationship, they help me, I help them, everyone wins.
Except today wasn’t your average day. I checked up on my insects habitats to give out some new orders and one by ten by a hundred, all of them were suddenly falling mid-flight or stopped moving altogether. Suddenly, my arm went numb, then my legs, I tried to catch myself but it was no use. Everything was numb. All I could do was lay on the floor and think to myself. What could possibly be going on.
About an hour later I was able to move again along with all the insects. Some kind of magick? Paralysis magick is a bit more difficult than sleep magick, so they must have known the grove was here in advance and known we aren’t susceptible to sleep magick. Smart and powerful. My blood is starting to boil now.
But I still need information. That’s what my insects come in handy for. What’s the situation at the grove? “The grove is on fire!” Who are the attackers? “Green goblins and red orcs, one with a staff and crystal ball!” How are the Druids? “Tied up, those that took arms were slaughtered!” Damn, those idiots, know when to pick a fight. How many? “A few hundred!” Damn, I guess it won’t be much of a fight after all. Oh well. Time for some setup.
I donned my newest armor set that I made. Full metal alloy plate mail. Tougher than regular plate mail, but heavier too, not that I need to be speedy. I used a spell to move from one tree to another, specifically one that was just outside the grove and got to work on the setup. It only took about 10 minutes and the traps were set. I began stomping my way straight through the front gate in a full white metal suit, the only part that was visible were my eyes. Dragging along the ground behind me was an equally white two handed mace.
“Aooooooogh!” One of the orcs bellowed as he pounded his chest like a gorilla, signaling to the others they had company. Several swarms of wasps each started to attack the goblins either outright stinging them to death or running them into traps. One group of goblins of about 8 tripped over some roped spider silk, straight into a layer of extra sticky honey, making them easy targets for any of the predators at my disposal to take their pick. I stomped farther down the battlefield dragging the mace right along.
“Who the hell are you? Where did you come from?” The red orc holding the staff and crystal ball called out to me. Right at that moment, a dire wolf spider the size of me jumped out and sprayed two red orcs with silk, binding them together. The large spider under my control went to work on spinning them into their web coffins.
“I’m warning you, I already have your comrades right where I want them!” The red orc mage begins to look around at the destruction and orderly chaos the creatures are creating, all working together to fend off against the orcs and goblins. If one orc fights off a fire wolf spider or swarm of wasps, another takes its place and continues where it left off. Like some form of hive mind all working in unison.
| 2022-10-08T15:57:20
| 2022-10-08T15:41:06
| 57
| 28
|
[Wp] Write a story with a secret message hidden inside
Edit: If any readers figure out the answer or if you, the writer, wish to let the reader know, please include the answer (or assumed answer) in the comments as a spoiler.
|
Hi mommy! i know you are worried about me but please don't be, i'm okay.
Every day is awesome here, uncle can be strict at times, but he gives me lots and lots of pizzas! how are you?
Lovely, i hope. and how is dad doing? i hope he recovered from bankruptcy.
Please tell him i miss him too and i hope he is doing okay. can't wait to see you both.
 
Mommy, look, uncle always reads my letter before finally sending it to you.
Even this letter, too. i hope he sends it to you without changing anything.
|
Never did I thought it would be this way.
Going through life, a day at a time.
To the best of my ability, I try to live well.
Give all that I am, never less than the best.
You, my dearest companion, I give my all.
Up and down, you've been by my side through it all.
Never will I abandon you.
Going and coming, I will return your loyalty.
Let the world try to stop us.
You and I to the bitter end.
Down and up, we will not be denied.
| 2017-06-23T08:46:15
| 2017-06-23T08:05:40
| 50
| 32
|
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.