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[WP] “He’s dead....finally that son of a bitch got what he deserved” Charlie said as he reads the headline of the news paper. “Candy Extraordinaire Wonka has passed away”. Now, Charlie sits, and remembers the true events of the day he and the other children visited Wonka’s Factory.
|
When I was a child I idolized him. And only when I began to enter adulthood did I really see how much of a monster he was. His insatiable greed which drove his every decision, not to mention his childish recklessness and sick mind games. He was no better than those four children he so pretentiously derided as they were tortured (or "Punished" as he considered it.)
When I won the chocolate factory I was so excited, we both were. But for different reasons. Running a chocolate factory wasn't enough for him. It was necessary of course, as a reliable source of funding. But he wanted *more*. I was left to run the factory while he used the money to take advantage of the less fortunate. I should have known from that first day in the factory that he was a conman.
By the time I had arranged the appropriate legal avenues to have him ejected from *my* chocolate factory it was too late. He had amassed too much power, had too many devoted followers. Who knew a man that was practically a shut in could be so charismatic. But then again I myself had fallen for his charms as a child.
I read the article. "William "Willy" Wonka succumbed to the bullet wounds he received in yesterday's confrontation with Cult Leader Joseph "Joe" Bucket." On his deathbed he expressed his biggest regrets for allowing chocolatier Charlie Bucket to name his grandfather Joseph as his proxy until he reached the age of majority. The confrontation arose when William refused to provide any more prototype "Life Extender Licorice" to the 120 year old man when his supply had been exhausted. Joseph suffered a heart attack after firing the pistol and was dead when the paramedics arrived on the scene."
I fold the newspaper and begin arrangements for the burial of my last family member. He will be entombed in the family crypt alongside my other three grandparents. But unlike them I think I might leave his coffin upright. That bastard lied in bed long enough.
|
“There you go, Grandpa Joe,” Charlie sighed as he fastened his grandfather’s diaper.
“What’ssat sposed tuh mean?” Grandpa Joe slurred angrily, as he immediately began to wet himself again. “Wha’d you call me, you spiteful little bassard?”
“I didn’t call you anything, Grandpa Joe,” Charlie mumbled. Grandpa Joe had sat in bed for 20 years, smoking like a chimney, drinking whatever booze he could have delivered at his laundry wench daughter’s expense, and expelling his foul cabbage soup excrement directly into the bed. “The floor is too cold!” he would cry, whenever Charlie deigned to ask why he had crawled into bed at 50 and just given up.
“But why don’t you just put shoes on, Grandpa Joe?” Charlie would protest, year after year, as he toiled as a paper boy to feed his grandfather’s myriad bad habits.
“Don’t backtalk me boy!” Joe would snarl. “Don’t backtalk me, or I’ll hop out of this bed and beat you within an inch of your life!”
Charlie knew better than to protest when Joe finally crawled down from the bed and begin tap dancing at the sight of the golden ticket. Charlie wanted to give his mother a day – just one day – off from her horrible job, and to give her something beautiful. Alas, Joe had honed in on a tour through a chocolate factory as though he were *entitled* to it. And now, as Charlie sat him up on the changing table at the drug store near Wonka’s factory, he grimaced, for he knew Joe would not be able to last ten minutes without spewing his hateful venom about all manner of minority groups.
For a man soaked in his own vile leavings, Joe thought an awful lot of himself. God help you if you had a skin tone a shade darker than his, or else Joe would rant, and rant, and rant. Charlie knew that, having lazed in bed for two decades, Grandpa Joe’s pallor had an almost otherworldly, ghoulish quality, and he hoped against hope that none of the others on the tour were ethnic, or else the ranting would never end. Charlie had been in more than one fistfight to defend his family after Joe invited conflict with his hateful screeds, and he knew today was likely to bring about more of the same.
-----------------------------------
The tour began after a bizarre display by Wonka, where he feigned a handicap for the amusement of the crowd gathered at his factory gates.
“Amateur,” Grandpa Joe slurred under his breath. “You don’t go *walkin’ around* if you’re a cripple. You just don’t!”
“Shhh, Grandpa Joe, no one says cripple anymore,” Charlie pleaded. He knew it was in vain. Once Joe latched onto an idea, he would not let go. Grandpa Joe, after all, was the ghostwriter of Mein Kampf, and would not let you forget it.
“Welcome, welcome, one and all!” Willy Wonka cried. “You’ll all need to sign this contract before you enter my factory!”
“Don’t do it Charlie!” Joe cried. “It’s jewish treachery!”
“I beg your pardon?” asked Mrs. Teevee, aghast at what she had heard the old lecher grumble.
“He doesn’t mean anything by it,” Charlie said, horrified at what lay in store for the rest of the day.
“The hell I didn’t!” Joe screamed. It was the scream of a weak, shriveled old coward.
“No treachery here!” Wonka stated firmly. “I’m just protecting myself from any claims of malfeasance. Why, I had to replace my whole work force, due to the – uh, unorthodox nature of the factory’s manufacturing process. I just don’t want any more of the same.”
Grandpa Joe signed “I.P. Freely” on the contract, and laughed harder than anyone deserves to laugh at such a lazy, thoughtless joke. All the other guests signed their names, and stared at Joe with a mixture of disdain and pity.
“Well then, on with the tour!” cried Wonka, grinning ear to ear.
-----------------------------------
The guests filed through the impossibly small room to enter the factory, and were amazed at what they saw. A river of chocolate, trees made of gumdrops, and a hundred other fantastical items of which they could have only dreamed met their gaze. Wonka paraded around the room, singing to no one in particular, to shared confusion of the adults and children alike. After he ended his expository melody, Wonka directed the attention of the tour group to the workers across the factory floor.
“These are the Oompa Loompas!” Wonka beamed, “They are my most loyal workers. In Loompaland, they were chased by horrible Snozzwanglers, and Vermicious Kinids! Here, they work in safety and comfort, with all the cacao beans their little bellies can hold!” Charlie noted the color of their skin, and turned to see his grandfather boiling with rage. He knew what was coming.
“What the hell is this!?” Joe shrieked. “What in the bloody hell do you have those animals working here for?” The tour group was incredibly uncomfortable, and no one said a word. The Oompa Loompas looked over at Joe, confused.
“Oh my god,” Joe started, “Are you – are you telling me, that whenever I spent my hard-earned money on a Wonka Bar that I have to fight tooth and nail not to share with my daughter or grandson,” he shuddered, “They’ve been made by *them*?!” He was screaming now. Charlie was used to it, but everyone else shifted in place, unable to process how uncomfortable they were being made in real time.
“Of course, my good man,” Wonka said, “There hasn’t been a product that left this factory in the last 10 years that wasn’t made by one of the Oompa Loompas.”
“Filthy!” Joe began, “Their *skin* is orange. Their very essence is filth!” And on he ranted. For the better part of two hours, no one dared interrupt Joe, as he paced back and forth, tugging at his diaper as it chafed his milky thighs. Joe would scream for a moment, then recede into a calmer, measured cadence. As he grew more confident in his rant, the tour group began to disperse. Mr. Beauregard shook his head sadly, and dragged his daughter back into the impossibly small room from which they came, despite her vociferous protests. Ms. Teevee wept, and took Mike with her as she left the tour. One by one, the children and the parents left. But Wonka’s attention was unwavering.
“Tell me then, Grandpa Joe,” Wonka droned, eyes glued on the surprisingly charismatic old drunk, “What should we do with them? The Oompa Loompas, I mean. Filthy, filthy Oompa Loompas.”
“I’m glad you asked,” Joe sneered, “I’m glad you finally asked.”
------------------------------
Charlie didn't sleep for weeks. The screams of the Oompa Loompas were burned into his brain. For a man who had not left his bed for two solid decades, Grandpa Joe could wield a machete with surprising force.
"Oh, I'm going to feel that tomorrow!" Joe would joke, as he mowed down one after another with his remorseless slicing and slashing.
"Oh what a delight!" Wonka would cry as he pulled his dagger from the handle of his walking stick, so he may cut down the next Oompa Loompa.
"May I have one of their thighs for later?!" Augustus Gloop pleaded, hungry and German as he was. "I will roast it and it would be ever so delicious!"
More than anything, Charlie remembered the silence. The Oompa Loompas had tried to sing an impromptu song to rally themselves against the enslaught of Grandpa Joe and Willy Wonka's genocidal wrath, but their rhymes were sloppy and meter was inconsistent, so they could never muster the strength to truly resist. Once the last Oompa Loompa was cut down, Charlie remembered the silence was heavy in the air. That was, until, Wonka spoke.
"So, Grandpa Joe, tell me more about the *Jews*."
| 2019-03-21T10:38:18
| 2019-03-21T10:19:04
| 179
| 106
|
[WP] You're the unappreciated intern for a famous group of Superheroes. Your power? You can boil water. All you do is make tea for them while they laugh and drink in their hideout. Little do they know that you've got dreams of becoming the Worst Villain ever. After all, a human is over 70% water...
|
The Instant Kettle. That's what my "Super Heroic Temporary Title" is. Granted, I'm to blame for that, instead of properly explaining my power I decided to be a smart ass. So of course when they asked what my power was, I skipped answering that question in favor of the practical one. And I caused the water to boil in his mug.
Unfortunately, the superhero doing the interviews took my ability a little too literally. He assumed I could boil water in any vessel. Okay so that is technically true, but honestly he didn't even ask. So weeks later to when I making tea for some member of The Unified Justice Front, and not even getting a tip mind you, you could say I'm a bit.... Miffed. Now I've tried to bring up this situation to the proper channels, of course. Follow procedure and the bureaucracy of it all, play by the rules, yadda yadda. But nobody, and I mean NOBODY is listening. I signed up for a WORK Study program with today's leading heroes, not Café essentials 101.
I even had a costume specially made! Graphene filament embedded silk, super high thread count. Thing cost me $3000 dollars, a steal mind you, but not exactly petty cash. I was going to be called The Evaporator. Or maybe even Flash Boil. But no, that's apparently not who I'm SUPPOSED to be. Instead they just mock me, and say,
"Oh yes, grand idea, Insta-Ket(yes they even shorten my nickname), we'll keep that one right here, on the break room fridge, just like all the other good ideas."
Well, five months in and I'm officially tired of their sneering and condescending attitudes. These pricks are superhuman, and super dense.
See here's a 5th grade science question for you; how much water is in the human body? Chances are more than you would think.
Follow up question; how much water can I boil at once? Answer for that is, roughly, a public pool. And we're talking about instant boiling here.
So I hope you're paying VERY close attention to this letter, Mr. Ultra. Because if you decided to instead use it as a coaster.... Well that'd just be unfortunate. Because as of you receiving this letter, my declaration of war is sent, and I will be beginning my assault against this very branch within 20 minutes of the delivery.
Regards
..........
*There appears to have once been a hand signed signature and PS subject, but it is no longer legible through what appears to be a red and brown water stain*
Edit: This was a fun one. Check out the follow ups of myself and Orange_jucc (in the comments below)
|
My name is Miles Brandenburg and they say you should never meet your heroes, and, if anything, the past six months of my life have been living proof of that. Like most kids growing up, I worshipped Commander Titan and The Mighty. I had his poster on my wall, along with the rest of The Mighty—Ajax, Artemis, and Strangelette. I watched and cheered as Commander Titan battled Dr. Diabolical live on T.V., defeating him, saving the city from the nuclear device he had planted underneath the local university, and delivering him to the custody of Deep Dark, where he remains to this day. Strangelette was one of my first crushes, and one of the first female superheroes to take on a primarily combat role on her team. I envied Ajax, his posh London accent and impeccable sense of style, and was and still am a little afraid of Artemis.
I discovered my own ability when I was fourteen and even applied to the Hero’s Academy, but was rejected. “Your power has potential, I’ll give you that,” the Dean told me. “But kid, I’m just not sure it’s strong or reliable enough to give you a spot here at the Academy.”
There are basically two types of people in this world when it comes to rejection. There are those become dejected and give up, and there are those won’t take no for an answer and try even harder. I, unfortunately, was the former, and spent my high school years convincing myself that I wanted to go to university, then law school, then get married and have two kids and live in the suburbs someday. I tore down my posters of Commander Titan and The Mighty and replaced them with ones of The Beatles and Nirvana.
I had almost forgotten about my powers, hadn’t used them in nearly a year in fact, when I saw Commander Titan and Strangelette post a YouTube video. They invited those interested to post videos of their own abilities, as for the first time in a decade, The Mighty was taking on an intern, and maybe even a new member. I submitted mine on a whim. I filled an unused aquarium in my backyard, pointed at it, and within several minutes, brought the water to raging boil. Neat party trick, but too slow to be useful to a team of heroes. I uploaded it and was more amused by the comments than anything else. “Fake!!!!!” “lmfao look at this lame ifrit wannabe mf.” One guy even wrote a practical essay about how I faked it by loading CO2 cartridges underneath the aquarium. If only I were so clever.
Commander Titan and The Mighty being, well, Commander Titan and The Mighty, I found out that I was selected not with a phone call, text, or email, but when four black SUVs pulled up in front of my house with a camera crew in tow. Dad thought it was rude. Mom asked for Commander Titan’s autograph. Grandma poked him in the chest and chastised him for my rejection at the Academy years earlier, like it was entirely his fault.
And that’s how I ended up here, although I’m not sure where “here” is. It’s somewhere very big, and beneath the ground, or ocean. It’s impossible to tell, really. It took twelve hours, two planes, a train, a boat, and some type of elevator device to get here. And here I walk with a tray of various beverages: black coffee, ice water, coffee with cream, tea with honey.
Commander Titan and Strangelette are lounging in a Victorian game room replete with all the luxury and technology of the 21st century. They have company as well. A beautiful young woman maybe only a few years older than myself is sitting in Commander Titan’s lap, puffing on a vaporizer, laughing uproariously at something he just said. Strangelette mashes buttons on the controller and giggles as she slays legions of demons in *From Hell IV*, the latest installment in the blockbuster franchise. A beautiful young woman is softly kissing her neck, and an aggravatingly handsome young man massages her shoulders. I clear my throat, as they didn’t even notice me enter and I don’t plan to stick around for the show.
“Yes?” Strangelette sighs with pleasure. She pauses the game and throws back her head, giving the young woman a better angle of attack on her neck. Her, servants, whatever they are, don’t stop for me, and Strangelette gives me a sidelong glance and a wink, then giggles again at my obvious discomfort. I never thought my childhood crush would be a… such a creep.
I notice it a split second before it happens. Several vines have unbuckled my belt and wrapped around my pants, and I’m pantsed in front of my childhood heroes by a stupid childhood prank. I reflexively drop the tray of beverages and turn to walk somewhere, anywhere, and fall flat on my face, my ankles also having been wrapped in a tangle of vines. The entire room bursts into laughter and a tsunami of embarrassment floods over me, the kind that burns your face and makes you angry and sad and mad at being sad all at the same time. That’s when I see Artemis grinning at me, sitting alone in the corner of the room, the vines receding back to her skull and her yellow eyes gleaming. And those teeth, Jesus, they’re canid, and they’re far too many of them.
The laughter continues as I pull up my pants and clean up the mess with as much dignity as I can muster, which is admittedly not much. “I’ll be back,” I mutter underneath my breath. This draws more laughter as they recognize the old reference that I unintentionally invoked.
“We’ll be waiting, dear,” Strangelette sings, and her interest quickly returns to killing digital hell spawn.
I begin that long, humiliating walk to the kitchen, and I think about that text I got from Dr. Diabolical. “Once you get to know them, I won’t seem so bad. I need your help and you need mine,” he said in the short video attachment. It could have been a prank, or a test, but how that could have been faked, I don’t know. I don’t know if I care anymore either. I’ve been training on my own now, and I can bring twenty gallons of water to a boil in about thirty seconds. Still too slow for immediate combat, but quite dangerous if I may say so myself.
I remake The Mighty’s drinks, return, and smile placidly at their ribbing. “Take the rest of the night off, Miles. You’ve earned it,” Commander Titan says with a chuckle.
“You sure you don’t want to stick around?” Strangelette asks maliciously.
There’s no good answer so I leave the game room as quickly as I can without seeming too eager. When I get back to my dorm, I take out my phone and bring up the text message from Dr. Diabolical.
“What did you have in mind?” I write.
| 2019-07-30T14:48:32
| 2019-07-30T14:38:27
| 965
| 514
|
[WP] They've just invented a 500,000 frame per second video camera. The problem is that they've found something unexpected at those speeds
|
It all started when someone asked the question, "What if we could?" As with most creations, what drove us to create was simply our quest for answering that question. What if we could? What would we see?
The science was difficult, to say the least. To put it into perspective, it was easier to slow down the frames per second to 450,000 than it was to slow it down to 450,001. Each additional frame we slowed down took twice as much time as the one prior. But, what if we could?
We weren't creating peace on earth, we weren't solving hunger. We were simply trying to quench our thirst for knowledge. We wanted to know... no, we *needed* to know what we would see if we could take a video of something that the human eye could simply not imagine. We wanted to see, light. It travels so fast that for most of human history, we thought it simply existed, and didn't fathom that it was actually travelling. You switch on a light switch in a room, and light exists all around you, instantaneously, in every corner and every knook. It wasn't until we started asking why, that we started learning more about Light. The Stars in the night sky appear to be shimmering right at us, existing simultanously with us in this Universe of ours. But the truth is, their light took a very long time and travelled a very long distance to come to us. What we are essentially doing, is looking into the past.
Those Stars are billions and trillions of miles away from us, and we can't even be sure if they exist anymore. But what if we could see light that surrounds us, the light that exists all around us? What does it look like? What is it doing? Those were the two questions we put most of our focus on. The question we blatently disregarded were, "What would happen to the viewer?" "Are we meant to see it?"
It was always going to be me to first see it. It was my idea, and it was my question. In hindsight, I should have told someone I was going to turn the Video Camera on. I should have told them that I was coming into the office at 2 in the morning on the day of the test and running it myself. I wanted to be the first one to see it, I *needed* to be the first one to see it. Hindsight is, as they say, 20/20.
I'll always remember the first day after I ran the test. I guess I can't really call it a day, but I can't think of anything else to call it, so a 'day' it is. Its strange how long it took me to realize what happened. You never really know how still the world around you is, until it is completely still. Either that, or I never really knew how little attention I paid to my surroundings. I was disapointed, to I paid extra little attention to my surroundings. The expirement had failed, I saw nothing through the Camera. Nothing happened. Nothing, except for the fact that the Camera stopped working after the first try. I thought I fried it. Thought.
It was at least a good four hours later when I first noticed something was different in the world. And what finally tipped me off, was the movement of a floating leaf; or rather, the lack there of. I was leaving my house to go face the wrath of my lab, and it floated a few feet from my front door. At first I thought it was caught in an updraft. Then I thought that it was hanging by some sort of string, maybe caught in a spider's web. I must have spent a good 15 minutes staring and observing the leaf in utter disbelieve. And than, finally, I started to look around, and realized the leaf wasn't a single occurance. *Nothing* was moving, everything was completely frozen.
Of course, months later, and after thorough research was when I found out that the world had not frozen around me, rather it was moving at a speed so slow that my eyes couldn't realize it. Everything was moving less than a millimetre each day. Everything except me.
On the bright side, at least now I have more time. More time to do my research, more time to read and learn more. More time to do anything I want to. But it sure is lonely moving so exponentially fast that everything around you seems as it is frozen forever. I never even begin to think how lonely it is to be light. Maybe one day I'll be able to slow down and match the rest of the world in speed. But I really doubt it. But still, the question remains... *What if I could?*
|
Barry couldn't believe his eyes. All his wildest imaginations, which he had pushed back into the corners of his mind turned out to be true.
It had been his project, and he had gotten the founding from some eccentric millionaire, as no government agency would support him: Putting high speed camera on buoys in an especially notorious part of the Bermuda Triangle.
They were taking 500.000 pictures a second, but only kept and relayed them when there were significant changes from one frame to the next.
And what he had on record was unbelievable: A flying saucer hovering besides a yacht, with an extended ramp, on which small green aliens went on and off the yacht with different devices.
One alien held a device with an antenna close to the out-of-view behind of one of the humans - too close for the antenna to have any room.
It was only a few frames, even though so much happened. In less than a 1000th of a second, the aliens were gone.
He sent the video to his backer and some of his professional friends. And then the file was gone. He looked through his computer, but there was nothing. The logfiles which should have recorded what happened were also gone. The only thing he could track was a secure delete which had finished before he could do anything.
Barry called the friends he had sent the files to: They had received a notification that an email was there, but when they checked, there wasn't any.
In the meantime, in a hidden location at a secret facility, a government employee had seen the same video. He had put it on high priority and sent it to his supervisor. And both of them then had the same issue as Barry and his friends.
What the aliens didn't know was that there was a secret facility monitoring this facility. And all high priority emails would go to them, too, through secret lines.
The unknown agent in that facility realised quickly what was happening. And that when he forwarded the movie to his government, he would be exposed and his government would not be able to do anything. He started making plans...
| 2015-02-06T14:36:14
| 2015-02-06T14:34:08
| 26
| 11
|
[WP] You’re a peasant who’s house has been raided hundreds of times by adventurers passing through. So, you built a defense so they would stop stealing from you. One thing led to another, and your house is now a dungeon and you’re the final boss.
|
**Oak Village.**
It was located on the border of the Earth and Central Province, near the southern tip of the Main Capital, outside a patch of small woodlands near the Great Forest of Kao.
For a frontier settlement, its population was unexceptional — a hundred souls, distributed among twenty families.
In turn, this makes us a common target. From marauding bandits to corrupted adventurers, we were vulnerable to their constant attacks and looting. We can only watch helplessly in bitterness and resentment as they steal away our hard\-earned gold and produce.
However, one day, I stumbled upon a Legendary\-Tier item, 「Staff of Creation」. Having it appraised by the Capital's sage, it was rumored to rival A\-tier weaponry in its potency and utility.
I even heard that it is on\-par with famous God\-tier accessories like 「Ring of Greed」 or 「Amulet of Power」 if I can utilize it properly. As a villager where our weapons such as longswords and daggers are at a flimsy E\-tier, this was incredible news.
「Staff of Creation」 allows me to materialize anything I imagine at the cost of my cognitive energy. Thankfully, I have been blessed a creative imagination. And it only takes me a few hours to recover before I can reuse it again.
A group of bandits appeared on the horizon as it was that wretched time again.
However, this time, I know the outcome will be different.
I held my rifle as I grinned, can't wait to try out my new weapons on our unexpected enemies.
♦ ♦ ♦
"Lets go," Baristol said in a sharp tone. The person who commanded us is our team leader, also famed as one of the best fighters in the Capital. He wore 'A\-class' plate armor that was trimmed with brilliant gold called 「Guardian's Blessing」, which can automatically repel any projectiles below C\-tier or 7th tier magic. "Similar to last time, take away any everything deemed valuable and useful but leave them enough food to survive for next time."
"Understood," I said in unison with my party members — Heil, Sein and Raz.
As we arrived at our destination, we noticed something was different.
Walls of alabaster\-stone surrounded the village in a menacing manner to any who wish to enter. It's as if castle wall was built to protect a mighty fortress in the middle, but instead, inside was a simple village.
"What happened?" I asked, not remembering this sight a few months ago. If I remember correctly, alabaster is one of the most expensive stones in the world.
"It's impossible that they can build something like with their resource and only one hundred people," Raz commented, he was our team's tactician. "My speculation is that they hired an adventurer from the guild. Judging from the complexity and expensiveness of the defense, I would say the enemy might be Diamond\-Tier...no... maybe even Master\-Tier."
Diamond\-Tier adventurers are greatly and widely respected in the world for their abilities and experiences. In other words, they were veterans who have fought countless battles.
However, Master\-Tier adventurers are a different story. They are conferred to only multiple talented adventurers that help resolve problems at the national level. Just one\-tier above Diamond, they are also one\-tier from the final ranking: Hero\-Tier.
You can say they are the elite of the elites.
"If that is the case, we should retreat," Sein muttered nervously, he was the ranger of the team. "We are probably around the level of Gold\-Tier or Platinum\-Tier. There's no way we can fight someone who is a Master\-Tier..."
"Do not worry, Sein, my friend," Heil, the co\-leader to our team, patted him on the shoulder. "Our boss is also a Diamond\-Tier before he retired from the guild. We can handle a Master\-Tier adventurer if we all group together and fight like we always do."
"It is reasonable to deduce that there is only one opponent. To hire a Master\-Tier would require a tremendous amount of gold. My guess is that a kind passerby to help them out," Raz said.
"As expected of Raz!" Heil smiled as our tension alleviated.
However, Baristol remained unusually silent, as if he is debating if we should persist with this raid. While we all prepared our gears, he muttered in a serene tone, "Keep in battle formation when we advance. We have to expect for the worst."
After a few minutes, we marched carefully towards the entrance. Typically at this point, the villagers would start to flee in fear while we casually stroll in and take anything we want.
Suddenly, near the gateway, a villager stood in the distance. A sigh of relief breezed through us as we realize that there were no signs of any adventurers.
"I guess the Master\-Tier left?" Sein said.
"Still, maintain formation, it could be a trap," Baristol ordered in a vigilant tone.
The villager was holding something odd: it resembled a crossbow but had some sort of optical\-glass on top and a long\-tiny barrel towards the end. It seems like he was aiming it at our direction.
"What an idiot," Heil chuckled, "There's no way a crossbow like that can do damage to us. Even if it's a magic weapon, we blessed our armors with defensive attributes."
Heil was right. Villagers do not have the proper weapons to handle us. Amongst the world of thieves, we are quite notorious ourselves. There's absolutely no need to worry, yet why do I feel like something bad is going to happen...?
Suddenly, we heard a loud booming BANG sound. As if the sky were torn by this sudden thundering noise. The birds near the forest of Kao flew away in response.
We looked up, wondering if there was a change in the weather. But to our shock, Sein had fallen to the ground in a small puddle of blood. On his chest was a fresh wound resembling a small but deep hole.
"What\-What's going on?!" Heil yelled, suddenly in a frenzy. "There's no way that something like that can tear through our armors. What is happening?!"
I looked into the distance as the villager seems to have finish reloading his weapon. He took another careful aim and fired.
BANG!
This time, Raz flew backward as I caught *something* darted inside his head. His head collapsed onto the ground with a THUD first before his body followed.
I never seen anything like this.
All magic spells, by the fundamental laws, require at least an incantation, casting time and mana pool. The fastest spells I know that can rival to this speed is 「Gusting Wind」, a 6th tier spell only veteran magicians can use. But this was something else... This was much faster and more powerful.
"Fall back," Baristol ordered as he held up his sword, "I will guard our rear. You two run."
"Let's go!" Heil was already running. I remained as curiosity got the best of me, wanting to watch how Baristole handles this situation. There's no way the famed mighty warrior can be defeated, after all, he has the Legendary\-Tier armor and won first place in the annual Warriors Tournament.
The villager notices Baristol's defensive stance and grabbed a different weapon. This time, it was much bigger and had instead of a long barrel it was much fatter. He held it by his waist and fired.
Instead of a singular sound like we expect it to be, we heard multiple tumultuous noises coming from the weapon. Baristol sliced through the incoming projectiles with acumen as he possesses Eagle's Eye, the martial passive ability that can see everything in a slow manner when activated. After a minute, the villager stopped firing.
I stared at Baristol. He stood there, seemingly triumphant from the attack.
As I walk up, I realized his armors were torn apart. His limbs were bleeding profusely but he was still conscious as he focused on protecting his vital organs. He spat out blood and said in a serious voice I never heard before,
"That weapon, it's not a crossbow or bow. It's something else, something very powerful. We won't be able to win against it..."
The villager is now walking towards us confidently, with two small weapons in his hand as he spins them around playfully.
"You won't win, against him. Run," Baristol barked in a desperate voice, pushing me away.
"But..."
"Trust me. I've fought Master\-Tier adventurers before. That weapon surpasses even Master\-Tier level adventurers by an unfathomable level. If I have to guess, it's probably a Hero\-Tier weapon." Baristol then smiled as if he accepted his death, "I guess it's time for me to pay for my sins after all these years. I'll buy you time while you run. Live a long and proud life, Xin."
I trembled in fear as he charged forward, yelling with all his might. I turned on my heels and dashed. Never have I felt more fear and despair in my entire life.
A mere villager just killed three of the best rogues I know.
*Has the world gone mad?*
I heard two loud BANG in the distance and my heart sank, Baristol had lost.
*Just who is that villager...?*
♦ ♦ ♦
[r/Avelist/](https://www.reddit.com/r/Avelist/) for more fantasy\-related stories.
|
A peaceful house in a nice village they said.
Come spend the evening of your life in Redfall they said.
I was sitting with my head staff in the meeting room. Everyone was looking on the ground. Not daring to lift their heads. Not because they could catch the wrath of some overlord.
We just got news one of the wisest and most merciful kings who every lived got slaughtered like an animal. No, not even animals would be treated like that.
It all started when I bought a house in Redfall after 20 years in the army. Tired of the decades of violence I decided to start a family with my old school crush.
Work was hard as peasant, but we were happy. Soon she gave birth to our two children and both of us were looking forward for a future as a normal family.
But one day it all went up in flames. A group of so called "adventurers" kicked in our door and sacked our entire house. They broke everything.
I probably would have just shrugged it off and started anew. But what they did burned into my mind and it will haunt me for the rest of my days.
One of then pinned me down while the others violated my wife in front of me and the children. They would take turns and in the end they left her shattered body on the ground before leaving with our belongings and the children. They knocked me out and when I awoke my wife had already bled to death.
I just kneeled there what felt like hours holding her cold hands and crying. Meanwhile new groups of adventures came into my house looking for loot. They either ignored, taunted or threatened me to reveal the riches I never had. When it got dark I stood up and started to dig a grave for my beloved wife.
I mourned for several days, just sitting next to her grave. In the meantime a several hundres of these adventures came trough my house. One of them finally decided to burn it down. I had nothing of my family that could remind me of them. The last thing was this house and they burned it down just for fun. They didn't even leave me the silver necklace my wife had inherited from my family.
In the following months I would repeatedly try to rebuild my house but everytime it got destroyed by marauding adventures. I tried fight them but they always defeated me easily. I wished for the sweet relieving embrace of death.
But I never got it. Almost a year later I received a letter from a temple in a far away land stating that my children had died as slaves working in a mine. If I wanted a proper burial I had to send 150 gold coins or their bodies would be fed to arena animals.
Of course I had nothing left after hundred raids of adventures.
And so I lost my children for good and couldn't even give them a real burial. I decided to dig symbolicaly 2 graves for them. Even when I finished I just kept going and going. I was dead on the inside, completely empty. I didn't feel anything, not the burning sun or my blistered hands.
After some time the 2 small graves turned into a complete moat, surrounding what was left of the village and the surrounding fields. Other surviving villagers joined me to forget the horrible moments in the past.
One day however I encountered a lone orc named Grugg. Finally expecting death I threw down my shovel and opened my arms.
"Kill me, I have nothing left to live for! My entire family was killed by the adventurers."
But instead he just hugged me and cried. He told me that he had the same fate. Gruggs family got murdered and his hometown razed. He was acting as scout and head of the surviving orcs for a group of refugees fleeing from the adventures. Grugg introduced me to the other leaders of them. Tirene the fairy queen, Golan the Goblin leader, Amaranth the dragon king and Ceres the high queen of the forrest and dark elves.
They saw the moat and asked if they could camp in the remains of my village. Seeing the large trail of unfortunate souls me and the other vilagers agreed immediately. We soon grew fond of each other and the temporary camp slowly but steadily grew into a fortified city with more and more fleeing people joining us. My house got turned into a underground castle with enough room to evacuate the entire city.
We repelled repeated raids from adventurers but our losses kept increasing since they came back everytime with more people.
So we send Amaranth, who has been elected as a acting king for Redfall in the meantime, to negotiate peace with the human kingdoms.
And they didn't even listen to what he had to say. The same night he entered the capital of the southern kingdom he and his guards got assasinated. His body got dragged down the street with the heads of his companions on pikes. They robbed the bodies and send the mutilated remains back to us with a list of impossible demands, including complete submission into slavery.
And here we are now. A group of broken people who just lost their last glimmer of hope for peace.
I looked out of the window and saw a group of children playing in the courtyard. Suddenly I felt a fire I've never experienced in my soul.
No! I would not let them die like my own children!
But our options were limited. We lacked manpower and our hospitals werefilled with injured soldiers. We had to take more drastic measures.
"We will not survive if we don't wipe out every human kingdom on this continent. We must eradicate and enslave them all and never allow them to attack us ever. We must scare off other kingdoms that might try to help them by commiting unspeakable atrocities!"
Everyone was silent in the room, starring in shock at me and what I just said.
"No! We would defile the memory of Amaranth with this. He would never want us to do any of this!", said Tirene.
"Amaranth is dead. His peaceful approach got him and many of us killed. It's time we go into the offensive and take the initiative in this war. What we need are soldiers and more workers. Thats why we should capture more of those adventures. Force the male ones for slave labour and the female ones for breeding duty with the orcs.
Grugg slammed his fist on the desk. He was shaking.
"We....are...not...MONSTERS!"
"I know that Grugg. But we need soldiers asap. And orcs can reproduce with humans without problems and mature the fastest of all the races in this town."
Ceres looked into the round.
"We must not turn into the very thing we ar.."
"WE HAVE NO CHOICE! OUR WALLS CAN'T GET COMPLETELY MANNED AND WE ARE LOSING MORE SOLDIERS THAN WE CAN RECRUIT. HALF OF OUR POPULATION ARE ALREADY BOUND INTO MILITA DUTY: IF THIS GOES ON LIKE THAT WE WILL HAVE TO SEND THE CHILDREN; THE OLD AND DISABLED UP THE WALL!"
I tried to calm myself down. Everyone was looking on the ground again. Finally Golan started speaking.
"All of us here don't like this idea but he is right. We won't survive much longer like this. Those humans want to see us as worthless monsters. Then let's give them what they want. Let them fight against monsters and what we really can do and make them regret for what they did."
The old goblin sunk back into his chair.
"For our children and their future."
| 2018-05-28T16:18:16
| 2018-05-28T14:52:00
| 78
| 38
|
[WP] Every person in the world develops a weird mutation/power the day they turn 16. Everyone's powers are always different, some more insignificant than others. You turn 16, and watch as all your friends discover their newfound ability's. That is, until you discover the severity of your own.
|
Day 1.
Sigh..... As I wake up on my 16th birthday I knew it would happen. I was dreading it. I didn't want it, I didn't need it. I didn't believe in it. My parents had useful powers though as much as they hated it. Dad being a doctor of course managed to heal people at a touch. Mum being the cook that she was never needed to do groceries again as she seemed to be able to multiply food out of thin air. The day went by and I waited inside for my powers to manifest but nothing seemed to happen. Didn't help that it poured the whole day.
Day 5.
Still no powers. Huh, maybe God was listening to my prayers. I thanked Him for it silently in church as I did every Sunday with my parents. There was barely anyone now in the aisles. Ever since the first detection of these powers way back when, religion had sort of taken a back seat to most people. Science of course was delving deeper into how and why these powers came about. They eventually came up with an answer. My parents said take no stock in it of course. We were religious and that was how we lived. There would be no one else but God.
Day 15.
The feeling of being the only normal one in my world defied expression. I felt like the chosen one, like God had chosen me to be different like he did his son Jesus Christ. Everyone began looking at me funny but I didn't care. My parents loved me despite it, glorified me even for being one of the few to be given the chance to work hard in life, without any powers, without any easy roads. I was doing God's work in my own way they said, a beacon for others. With thoughts of peace, I read a passage before I sleep. As I lay my head to rest I hear the patter of the rain on my window seemingly to wash me of my sins. Man... It hasn't stopped raining since my birthday...
Day 25
The people in my year continue with their daily life albeit with a few.. enhancements. I remember the day when we were taught how we gained our "powers". Human beings have long lost their original and innate capacities with for creation and innovation with the introduction of color television. Who would have known that this capacity for creation was merely a result of gene expression? Who could have imagined this gene sitting in our DNA slowly evolving itself to cope with our lack of innovation by imbuing us with these so called superpowers. And if that wasn't enough, they linked that these superpowers were a result of actually watching tv; the regular programs and media which later led to what we truly desired in a power. Sigh.. All these sad heathens and their beliefs. I walked out of that assembly hall that day, refusing to believe it. As I'm sitting here in present day I admire the simple things of God's nature; the 2 lovebirds sitting in the tree branches drying themselves from the ever continuous rain...
Day 36
I spot the 2 lovebirds on the way to school. They seem to have built a nest there and welcome me every morning. As I slosh about the ankle high waters, I think back to my friends, my classmates, the ones who have finally alienated my "weirdness". The geeks had the most variety. Super speed and spell casting were quite a surprising norm among them. The jocks all had super strength. No surprises there what with the constant sports reruns they were watching. The cheerleaders? Flight mostly. Goth kids. Necromancy. Go figure. I notice a lot of stray cats and dogs around the place. Always the same color, always in a pack. Hmmm
Day 40.
It's been raining for 40 days and 40 nights. The news reports have shown tsunamis have hit all our coasts. The death toll is increasing. The 2 lovebirds are still within my sight from my window. The stray and wild animals in my yard are always in pairs. Not packs. Pairs. And they were always the same 2 animals. I know what my powers are now. It was always there written in the book. In my Bible. In the book of Genesis. It's too late now.
|
"What do you mean I am *normal*" Mellanie screamed at the poor doctor.
He was desperately trying to maintain his composure, stuttering as he tried to begin speaking between her outbursts.
"No, no it's not like that. Mellanie please, listen to me." he pleaded, waving a clipboard over his head like a mother getting an infants attention.
"No! This is terrible! Everyone at school is getting x-ray eyes and super hearing. I haven't developed anything!?" she looked at her father, his lips pursed as his left hand caressed his chin. He was working at a seized muscle in his jaw.
"Well not entirely, please just let me talk. This is truly amazing, I want you to see that." the doctor said, finally getting some traction.
Mellanie huffed and flopped back on the exam table. She slouched against the wall, staring at some fixed point on the floor near the wall. "Fine."
"Ok, Mr. and Ms. Odella, your daughter has in fact developed a mutation - as expected. However, it has expressed itself uh differently if you might." he exchanged nervous glances between Mellanie and his clipboard. "To put it simply, you are immortal."
Her father brought his hands together with an almighty clap, his face wore a grand expression fit for a festival. He held his hands up, proffering some peace to the room.
Mellanie huffed again and maintained her position.
"Don't you see Mel, I can call you Mel right?" the doctor gave her a moment, but she didn't respond. "Your body regenerates at exactly the speed it decays. Biologically, it will repair and enhance over time. If you were to break your arm right now, the scar tissue wouldn't even survive until your 20's. Some of those in the lab have even placed bets that you might survive a fatal injury." he coughed and gave Mellanies parents a guilty expression.
"Look Mellanie, " her mother began, "You don't have to have super sonic hearing or huge muscles to be special. You have the greatest gift of all."
"Yeah, tell that to the kids at school" Mellanie sulked, a hint of relief staining her voice.
| 2015-01-21T22:46:38
| 2015-01-21T20:05:45
| 62
| 36
|
[WP] The bride is having an affair with the best man. During his wedding speech the best man decides to see how heavily he can hint about it without anyone actually working it out.
|
"Please everyone be upstanding to welcome the best man."
Applause rang around the reception hall as the best man accepted the microphone from the MC and beamed widely at the now captive audience.
"For those of you that don't know me, my name is Jeff, and I'm the best man. Which is about the only thing the new bride and groom will agree on. I met Johnny in my first week of university a scared and nerdy little kid, I took him under my wing !
But, eventually he did come out of his shell to become the accomplished man you see before you now. What I love most about John, is his loyalty and trusting nature, don't ever change that about yoirself, mate !
I also remember the first time I met Abby, John couldn't stop talking about this girl he had met, who was the best looking girl he'd ever seen. I think we can all agree on that right now ! I instantly took a liking to Abby, she's just so giving and generous with her.. Time.
We soon became the 3 muskateers around campus, we were inseparable. I did everything with Abby and John, and I mean ***everything***. Sometimes I felt like the 3 of us were in one big relationship.
John and I graduated together and even ended up at the same company. As some of you may know, Johnny makes a pretty penny, but that comes with a lot of travel. Sometimes John asks me to pop in on Abby and make sure she's going alright, you wouldn't know it but John is the cook ! Don't worry though mate, I take care of all her needs, in the food department.
I promised I'd keep this just like Abby, short and sweet, so I will. I wish both of you a lifetime of happiness. If I can offer you just one piece of marital advice, it's always trust each other, be prepared to give each other space, remember how important your friends are.
So, let's raise our glasses to the perfect couple, and Johnny ! Haha, to the happy couple."
|
Congrats to my best friends Kyle and Erin on their recent marriage! Sorry about the lack of presence this week bud, I've been busy doing errands. I mean, its been tough keeping up with all of it. Just constantly running around with errands to do. First the thing at the yacht club. That was the first one. It was a huge secret, but I think we kept it a surprise for everyone! And I mean that one was rough. Like an hour and a half, two hours out of my day constantly for a week? Then it was at the rodeo. Yeah, errands and rodeos don't normally mix but it was a special occasion. I had to ride something before you two got married huh? I still cant believe that you chose Erin though. We all thought it was never a serious thing when you guys met at the frat party 10 years ago but here you are! Hopefully your marriage lasts as long as I felt those errands took. Cause we all knew that no one was coming, especially Erin, until the errands were done. Love you both! Congrats!
| 2015-04-02T22:21:01
| 2015-04-02T22:11:05
| 55
| 15
|
[WP] Your 14-year-old sister finally wakes up from a coma of 6 years. She panics when she realizes how much she's grown.
|
Her blue eye opened first. Daisy was one of a kind in every single aspect of life, right down to her multicolored eyes. One blue and one brown. She had been out of my life for six years, and sadly she would leave me again a few days after waking from her coma. Only this time it would be forever.
Daisy and I were twins, born to a young single mother. She had bounced from house to house growing up, and had unfortunately ended up on the streets when she gave birth to us. We were placed in a shelter shortly after coming into this world, but thankfully a loving family adopted us when we were four months old.
Our parents Sheri and Rodger provided my sister and I with every amenity we could ever ask for or need. They bought us dozens of toys, and encouraged us to play outside. Our house was situated on the bend of a quite road. We had a large yard and a swimming pool. More than enough room for Daisy and I to run around and play. Although our parents preferred that we stay in the backyard, we would venture towards the front on occasion.
It was on one of these adventures that our family changed permanently. Daisy saw a bunny, and being the curious type, she immediately attempted to catch it. We never heard the car rounding the bend. I blacked out. The next thing I remembered was running screaming to my mom. My dad scooped Daisy from the pavement and within seconds we were in the car rushing to the emergency room.
Six years I waited. For six years I dreamt about looking into her blue eye. My parents debated if keeping her alive artificially was humane. Ultimately they decided to let time be Daisy's fate. Then three months ago I saw her blue eye. She looked over at me and said, "I feel old". I replied, "fourteen is old in dog years". Daisy died later that week. I lived more than half of my life without my best friend and sister. Now I am just and old dog who hopes to see her blue eye when I pass on. Fourteen is old in dog years.
|
White used to be her favorite color.
Vanilla ice cream and
Clouds and
Cotton now
Sheets and
Gloves and
Doctors.
There was strange inconsistency
In how her eyes still were the same
Even though all the rest had changed.
She was still my little sister.
Even with eyes trembling
Hands shaking, grasping, searching the air, the bed
The dreams she once had.
When a hero is born
We say
"Kill the child,
And let the man be born"
I knew the child died a slow death
Six years in the making.
But what I saw
Was definitely
Not the birth of a hero.
| 2017-08-02T06:46:21
| 2017-08-02T06:45:19
| 37
| 15
|
[WP] After a screw up occurs at the post office, Santa starts receiving damned souls while Satan is stuck with thousands of wish lists.
|
Satan sat slumped on his throne, glaring at the UPS delivery guy.
"You know this isn't mine. Come on man.." He says but the driver simply throws the mail sack back at him and sprints in terror back to his truck. Satan watches the taillights, the driver hightailing it to the highway back home.
Slowly shaking his head Satan drags the sack twoard him and flicks through the letters with "Santa" written in everything from crayon to (what looks like) mustard on the front. He decides he doesn't want to know if that really is just mustard and begins reading.
The letters are surprisingly sweet... Earnest. There is the occasional brat but most are genuine.
Satan isn't sure what to do... Santa isn't about to respond to anything from him to arrange a switch but these kids will go without otherwise. Satan isn't all horrible, someone has to keep the balance.
'No, these can't go unanswered.' He thinks. 'At least the good ones'...
He calls Baal over.
"I have the strangest thing for you to do today..."
Back in the north pole, Santa is not having a good day. The elves had a flu run rampant and they are way behind! The UPS driver with the wrong package sat shaking after receiving the stern but calm lecture of a lifetime.
"You can't take them back?"
"No.. No sir"
"Well then... Leave 'em here I guess."
As the driver makes his escape, Santa's gaze passes over the pile of coal waiting to be shoved in stockings. He has an idea and calls an elf over.
"Bring the coal back to the boiler room. The naughty kids are gonna get nasty surprises this year..."
|
It was, rather unsurprisingly, snowing in Lapland. It pounded upon the ice, compacting it denser than the toughest steel. Just visible through the relentless snowstorm was the faint silhouette of a large cabin.
It looked big. *Far* to big to be structurally sound, and yet, the aging wood brushed off the ferocious beating like it was light drizzle. As a matter of fact, anyone who got close enough would be able to see the that the cabin was protected from the elements by some form of huge, invisible dome; The scene looked very much like an inversed-snowglobe.
But it didn't matter. No-one *ever* came here.
Now, if you thought the outer dimensions were huge, think again. It was as if the architect responsible for constructing the cabin had a complete and utter disregard for the laws of physics, and haphazardly constructed the insides from an old blimp hangar. It was *cavernous.* It stretched for a mile in every direction, all made of a pleasantly brown, varnished wood. An intricate carpet which could have smothered a whale covered the entirety of the floor.
And it was, of course, filled to bursting point with little elves.
Green suits, big ears, everything. It was all *very* stereotypical. 'Stereotypical' was a word which sprang to mind when you saw the little conveyor belts full of toys, tended to by elves. Also when you saw the Christmas trees, the holly wraiths, those little red/white candy canes, and the general scene of thousands of little people toiling away into the Arctic night, preparing for that special day.
A huge oak door led to a impressive office, which overlooked the entire facility - a vantage point from which to view the festive operations. all four office walls were covered in shelves, filled with ancient leather bound copies of two books. One was called 'Naughty', and the other was titled 'Nice.' Both had many volumes, and stretched upwards into a ceiling which was completely out of view.
The only light came from a grand fireplace. Carved from a single piece of marble and covered in stockings, it basked the office in a gently flickering golden light. Just visible, hidden in the shadows, was a monumental desk covered in scroll and quills, partially obscured by the even larger man behind the desk.
It was saying something.
"What the *fuck* do you mean, you're the 'souls of the damned?' I have a business to run here, and if you fucking think that-"
It went on for some time, in a impressively unshakeable bad mood. Alas, the only thing that *wasn't* stereotypical was Santa himself. *Yes*, he lived in a magical cabin in Lapland. *Yes,* he had thousands of toy-making elves. *Yes*, he had naughty and nice lists. But the big man himself was the love child of Malcolm Tucker and a grizzly bear. The mustache and beard just made him look angrier.
"...So, fuck off before I set the reindeers on you." He finished gruffly.
He was talking to a shapeless black void, hovering over his desk. Every now and then, a pained and screaming face took form, before vanishing back into the swirling darkness. When it spoke, it did so with thousands of voices, in unnerving sync.
^("WE POSSESSED YOUR ANIMALS.") It screeched. It sounded as if it was in considerable agony, yet it's voice was robotic, monotonous.
^("THEY ARE CHILDREN OF HELL NOW.") It added, with what Nicolas thought was a hint of smugness.
"Like fuck they are." He grunted.
He threw a small piece of firewood in the general direction of the fireplace behind him, and it flared brightly, throwing his face into sharp relief. *Technically,* he looked like what Santa should look like. Red suit with the black belt, huge bushy beard and eyebrows, small little spectacles atop a shining red nose - but the body language was all wrong. He looked like he was ready to beat an elephant to death with his bare hands. It was because of the huge muscles that the suit was tight, not gentile pudginess.
Probably why the elves were working so fast. He learned in, and glared silently into what could only be described as the gates to infinity.
"I will not ask you again." He growled. *"What. The fuck. Are you?"* Was it the Easter Bunny? Has he set you up to this? That bastard always wanted my secrets, well tell him to go f-"
^("WE HAVE TOLD YOU.") It groaned, ^("WE ARE THE CREATURES OF HELL. THE CHILDREN OF DARKNESS. THE SOULS OF THE DAMNED. WE ARE FREE, AND NOW WE SHALL DESTROY THE PLAGUE THAT FESTERS ON THIS ROTTING EARTH. YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED, WE WILL WIPE YOU FROM THE FACE-")
Which was as far as they got, because Nicolas pulled his firewood bucket from under his desk and slammed it over the black... thing.
"Yeah, yeah" he barked. "Shut the fuck up, you emo pricks. I have to make a call."
He dusted away a few pieces of parchment from his desk, and picked up a battered old telephone and pushed a few buttons, waiting impatiently. He kept his huge arm on the bucket, as the souls of hell tried, unsuccesfully, to escape.
Six kilometers below him, Satan's phone rang.
-----------
Thoughts? Criticisms? Let me Know!
^/r/DunsparceWrites
***(CURRENTLY WRITING PART 2)***
| 2015-07-17T13:00:30
| 2015-07-17T11:52:11
| 32
| 19
|
[WP] In your meth class, while your teacher is busy explaining the correct way to shoot up, your buddy leans over with a calculator and asks you, "hey, man. Do you wanna try some math?"
|
"Shhh, keep your voice down!" I whispered, as the girl beside me shot us a dirty look while she slapped her forearm, trying to locate a vein. My buddy leaned his head in closer.
"What? My brother and his friends were doing it the other night and they let me try a little. Man, it was so invigorating!"
"That shit's for low lifes, man. We're better than that. Just shut up and pass me that spoon!" I was getting pretty aggravated. Math was pretty much unheard of in our small town high school. No one ever touched the stuff. But I guess Jason had been hanging out with his older brother and his friends a little too often. They were bad news - they watch Dr. Who, listen to Mozart and I guess now they're into math. When they were our age, they used to be the cool kids. They stuck to meth and they were great at it. But I guess everyone chooses their own paths. These guys just happened to choose math over meth.
The next day, after meth class, Jason caught up to me in the hall. I had kind of been ignoring him after his math proposition the day before.
"Hey man, just hear me out. My brother is picking me up after school and we're going to go to the library -"
"The library?!" I yelled, but quickly gathered my composure and brought my voice down to a whisper. "Jason, you know that's where all the math-heads hang out."
"Man, don't call them that. We're just gonna go there for a bit, maybe do a *little* bit of adding and subtracting. Okay, maybe a little multiplication. But nothing crazy. I promise you man, the rush you feel when you do math the right way... Shit, it's like nothing else. You just feel like you're on top of the world! Like you can solve any problem." Colour was rushing to Jason's cheeks and I could tell he was really passionate about this. Maybe there was more to math than meets the eye.
"Sure, but that's the math talking, bro. Alright, I'll come with you."
The car ride to the library was a little awkward. I kept having internal arguments with myself. My mom and dad had told me that math can only lead to bad shit. You know, if you do math once then before you know it you're spending all of your free time with your pencil to a paper and a calculator in your hand, leaving your best needles to rust away, untouched. But I figured I was not the type to spiral after trying something just once. Once we got to the library, there was a bunch of guys in the back corner who I soon recognized were Jason's brother's friends. I sat down, admittedly a little nervous.
"Hey kid, this your first time?"
"Yeah, I mean. I'm really not so sure about this."
"Here," one of the older guys said as he scribbled something on a paper, "just take this pencil. We'll walk ya through it."
On the paper there were the numbers "29" over top of "+12" with a line across the bottom. It was so intimidating, but alluring nonetheless. "Alright, kid. So you add those together. 9+2, there ya go. And then you're gonna carry that one. And now you add 1, 2, and another 1."
I put the pencil down and looked at the paper. I had written the number "41" underneath the line. I looked up at the guys around me and I knew that I was wrong before.
I couldn't just try this once - I was hooked.
|
Meth class is so boring! I understand the class is supposed to be the introduction into meth, to learn about the effects of Meth and all that, but this is insane. The teacher has a visual diagram of the needle naming the parts and the safe dosage against the dangerous dosage. My dad does meth 4 times a day, 3 of them on the job! Only because he built up a resistance and has to take it multiple times according to him.
Mr. Curry: “Now class, I want you to understand that the standard and most commonly used injection point is the left arm, brachial artery. This is what is know as the what?” he points off at one of the students “La’toya.”
La’toya: “It’s called the Sweet Spot…” she said with a sigh
Mr. Curry: “And who can tell me why it’s called the sweet spot?” I raise my hand since nobody else is and I rather get passed all the boring stuff. “Yes Mr. Lorde”
“It’s called the Sweet Spot because of how easy it is to access and you don’t need another person involved. Also, it is because the brachial artery is not only easy to find with ample pressure, but it is a major artery. Oh, and most of the population is right handed.”
Mr.Curry: “Outstanding! Someone has been reading their material.”
Half the class groans, I’m not doing this to embarrass anyone; it’s just that I am bored and the faster the class goes, I can do something interesting. That, and my counselor still hasn’t shown up at the office to switch me into labs. As Mr. Curry drones on I start to doodle in my sketchbook, drawing Methamphetamine-Man and his constant battle against ADHD Ninjas. I suddenly feel Dixon jab me in the ribs with a pin.
“Ah! You fucker. What’s that for?”
Dixon: “For being a goodie goodie. You think you know everything, but you don’t know this” He pulls a small calculator out his backpack. I can see that it already has numbers on it.
“Is that a calculator?”
Dixon: “Now so loud Nerd, you’ll get us both in trouble. Yeah it’s a calculator, got it from older brothers room. It has all kinds of numbers.”
“Yeah, no; I’m not about that life.”
Dixon: “You got to try a little bit of it. Check this out, 18 multiplied 33 is 594. That’s triple digits! I’ve been doing this for weeks.”
Eventually another classmate of mine enters the conversation, we called this kid Carl G.
Carl G: “I heard you dweebs talking about math with a calculator. I got one better.” Carl looks around to see if anyone is paying attention and pulls out his own calculator, bigger than Dixon’s. “What I got here is TI-84 Plus Silver Edition Graphing Calculator.”
The collective wow from Dixon and I was that of seeing a woman naked for the first time on the internet. Carl began telling us in hushed tones that his father been doing Math since he was 20 in college. As the story has it, he started out doing addition on paper and moved up to Algebra. His dad went to prison serving a life sentence doing statistical engineering. I never heard of it, but it’s really big deal and was all over the news. Carl was named after his father Carl Gauss, this guy is the Jr of a well-known convicted Mathematician.
Carl G: “This was my dad’s; I found it when my mom was cleaning the attic.”
Mr. Curry: “Mr Lorde! I can see that you know your meth, but that doesn’t mean you can distract your classmates from learning this material.”
“Yes Mr. Curry”
Mr. Curry: “If you are going to distract your classmates, maybe you’ll share with the whole class.” He said with his arms crossed, expected on an answer. . . I hesitantly looked at Mr. Curry and I can hear Dixon and Carl G telling me not to say anything under their breaths.
“Math is dope.” I said with a smile, I genuinely amused with the concept and why people even do it. Mr. Curry on the other hand was not amused.
Mr. Curry: “Principles office! NOW!”
| 2017-12-14T13:29:30
| 2017-12-14T13:19:46
| 391
| 97
|
[WP] You're a special genie. You allow whoever finds you to re-experience three events that happened in their life for the first time again. Some people choose to re-experience a great movie as if watching it for the first time, some re-live their first kiss. Your latest request sounds quite odd.
|
"How specific do I have to be?" Noah asked. His light brown eyes were ablaze with a curious light. The geenie had a feeling that this person was not like the others.
"If you can't think of a time, as long as you can specify the event relative to yourself. For example if you want to say I want to remember the time I met my wife, even if you don't remember the date I can take you back to the event."
"That's quite fascinating. Am I able to change the events?"
"No, but you would experience the event just as it was at the time."
"This can only show me memories of the past?"
"Indeed."
Noah seemed a little dejected at that fact.
"I don't remember a lot of things," he said slowly. There was hesitation in his voice. Would my memory be a factor?"
"No, the experience is recreated regardless of your memory.
"I see." He closed his eyes. There was hesitation on his face that I noticed before on those who had experienced much pain in the past. My guess was that he had lost a lover once.
"I want to remember my first death."
"I didn't quite understand what you said."
Noah had a smile on his face and now the light in his eyes was much too bright and somewhat sinister.
"You heard me right. I want to see if you can really do this."
I began the ritual, and this was the first time in a while that I was also genuinely curious as to what I would see.
We were taken to a filthy apartment in an unknown city. There was clutter of every nature and old clothes were thrown about. The walls were bare, with occasional writing on the walls in an unknown language. The cries of a child echoed throughout the apartment. There was a woman holding a newborn child in her arms. Tears rolled down her eyes. She was a young creature, hardly past her teen years. Her hair was short and messy. I sensed a great deal of misery radiating from her shape, and I associated it with the drugs that humans were known from abusing. Her pupils were dilated and there was a tremor in her arms. She lay the child on an unmade bed and took a filty pillow. I understood what she would do. Beside me, Noah observed fascinated.
She spoke softly in an unfamiliar language as she smothered the child. The child's cries stopped eventually and she lifted the pillow. She caressed the child's peaceful face. He was certainly dead. She then picked up the child and enveloped him in cloth. She continued to speak to the child and her tears did not abate.
Noah's voice startled me "Are you certain that's me?"
"Yes," I replied in a trembling voice. "There are no errors with the ritual. How is this possible?"
"I expected something more dramatic," Noah chuckled, "but I suppose we all had to start somewhere."
All at once, the child's cries had resumed. He writhed inside the bundle and the mother began unwrapping it at once. There was shock on her face. She did not embrace the child's small body. She shrieked in her foreign language and went to the kitchen. She came back, a large knife in her right hand.
"We might not want to see this next part," Noah chuckled. "I'm going to guess she carried on for quite some time before she gave up"
"What are you?" I asked him.
He smiled at me and shook his head.
"You aren't the only one who's different."
He put an arm around my shoulders and leaned in. "You said I get two more?"
|
“Well, what will it be?” asked the Genie, always enjoying the final wish the most. It never ceased to amaze the Genie what people would seek to relive when they are down to their last wish.
The young woman stared at the Genie with a perplexed look on her face. She had sat with that same look for quite some time now, as if all the thoughts in her mind were suddenly gone.
“What is the trouble, young lady? Surely your life has not been so long that you can not come up with one more experience that is worth reliving?” the Genie prodded.
“Honestly sir, the problem is the opposite. There are so many things that I don’t want to relive, that finding a memory that doesn’t remind me of a time I would like to forget is more challenging than I would like to admit.” After a pause, the young lady began again in earnest, “my childhood was filled with abuse at the hands of people who should have protected me. My teenage years were filled with behaviors that I am embarrassed about and that are most likely a direct result of the abuse I suffered as a child. Then, as I entered adulthood, I just let the world pull me along and never really actively participated in my life so all of my memories there are very dull and unwelcoming. If you were me, with my life, what would you want to relive?” she asked with a desire in her eyes the Genie couldn’t ignore.
The Genie thought through the memories he had relived with others in the past and how some people chose to relive the worst memories as if forcing themselves to relive the pain was somehow a punishment they deserved. He thought about the people who chose to relive the most mundane memories of what seemed like the simplest of things. After mulling over the girl's words for several minutes, the Genie arrived at an answer.
“I can not tell you what memory to relive my friend, but what I can tell you is that you are here today, standing in front of me young woman who has grown to so much more than she was. Your strength is obvious to me. Your resilience radiates off of you. You are no longer that abused child or that destructive teenager. You are so much more than that. Perhaps, you can recall the moment when you first realized you were not only a survivor of abuse, but you were so much more and we can relive that.”
The Genie watched as tears glistened in the young woman’s eyes and a slight color came back to her cheeks. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but he would have sworn that she stood a little taller.
“I’ve got it” she said, and she proceeded to relive the first time she helped another victim become a survivor.
| 2017-09-16T17:23:28
| 2017-09-16T13:41:47
| 142
| 78
|
[WP] The Apocalypse begins, and the Four Horsemen ride out leading an army that will depopulate Earth. But the old pagan deities of Earth do not consent, and side with humanity.
|
They were no army, but only four.
War, famine, pesitlence, and death.
A ballad of destruction, a symphony of the end.
No man could stand to them, for they were gods. But humanity were not on their own.
With them stood a millenia of belief.
The old gods.
As the four stood upon a hill, overlooking the old world. The final bastion of mankind stood firm against their baleful gaze.
But from the sky, **music**
The 4 looked up, queen?
*bobby your a young man, hard man, shoutin in the street gonna be a big man someday*
Figures descended, on roads of rainbow, on pegassi on dragons and all manner. At their forefront a god wielding a hammer,
***this aint Ragnarok motherfuckers***
|
"We will not have it." Neith stamped her staff on the rotted Earth three times, "I say we will not have it."
Death rode his faithful steed above her. She did not raise her head. She did not raise her voice. And yet, her volume bolted to the skies, daring whatever plague he and his brethren intended to strike down onto the world next.
"A goddess of war." Plant life wilted in dirtied ash under the horse's hooves, "We show gratitude for the wars you fought, the battles you have won in my name, and the souls you have provided in centuries long past."
Neith glared. Her impenetrable anger was a glass mask over copper skin. She tilted her head exactly so, a gentle sneer smeared her lips.
"You claim this world in whose name?"
"An entity you cannot begin to fathom."
Her gaze flashed brightly, and she raised her bladed staff, "I do not need to fathom your god to see what cruelty They have wrought onto the world."
"Let us not do this. It is futile." He motioned his armored hand to the barren waste land, "Can you not see what has become of the battlefield? Surrender is wise, oh docile Neith."
"You presume too much," said she, and she motioned to the putrid skies, now a black ash of fire and brimstone, "Give us light, you thunderous boar!"
And before he could question what she meant, to prepare himself for an attack \- great, black roots sprouted out of the deadened Earth and wrapped around Death's body. His steed's head was brought down hard, twisting and melding, becoming one with the planet he and his kin had righteously ruined.
"Do you think," whispered a voice from behind, "that she came alone?"
Death flexed, struggled, and watched in confusion as the roots died and were reborn in constant motion.
"Demeter."
"You will do you work, and we shall do ours."
"You gods have not changed over the eons." He replied, "It is no wonder we have finally arrived, and now \-,"
The hottest, brightest of lightning struck him as he stood. Blood red hair fell past Thor's shoulders as he bashed his mighty Mjolnir connected again and again. Flesh and blood, clear and watery, flecked off of Death's skin. His skull cracked, shattered, and a grave moan relished on his tongue as his head hung back low.
"You disappoint men."
"And do you think we are the only ones?" Thor boasted, raising his hammer for another strike, "Do you think we are the only ones who fight?"
"Many a pantheon you have angered in your vengeance!" Neith called, aiming her arrows into his skin, searing through the skin and into the bone, corrupting it in ways Death was unsure of, "And now let you see the error of your ways."
"This corrupt world shall end."
It was then the trio stepped aside. The Earth parted to reveal a great hole, and from the dark, murky depths rode Hades in his grand chariot with Anubis at his side.
"For Death, you are a chore," Hades mused.
"And quite an unnatural bore," Anubis added, swinging Pestilence's decapitated head in his hand with a triumphant smirk on his muzzle, "You must know we too can be jealous gods."
"I am the things that are, that will be, and that have been," engulfed Death in a midnight ring as Hypnos, Nut, and Nott set him to an eternal rest, unlike anything he had ever been, and would ever be.
| 2018-05-17T07:56:16
| 2018-05-17T07:47:41
| 69
| 40
|
[WP] The absolute worst opening line to a novel you can come up with.
must be coherent
|
Unfortunately, I think all of our efforts are drowned by that black hole of horror, *My Immortal:*
>Hi my name is Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way and I have long ebony black hair (that’s how I got my name) with purple streaks and red tips that reaches my mid-back and icy blue eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Amy Lee (AN: if u don’t know who she is get da hell out of here!).
Take heart in knowing that, no matter how bad your writing may be, it will never be worse than this.
...[if, for some reason, you're interested. I take no responsibility for what you find.](http://myimmortalrehost2.webs.com/chapters122.htm)
|
A UPS man walked up the driveway to a suburban house to deliver a cardboard package at the doorstep, then got back into his truck to drive away, but as soon as he started up the engine his truck was hit by another, larger truck, and the UPS man died, because life is cruel.
| 2014-01-14T19:35:53
| 2014-01-14T18:20:58
| 59
| 27
|
[WP] Aliens have invaded Earth. Instead of attacking, they find the human race remarkably cute and decide to keep them as pets. It’s quite degrading, but it’s better than being eaten- right?
|
“Where is your ruffle? You should have your ruffle on by now.” Fizmik started looking through my closet. Ugh, ruffles!
“Oh god, stop. I’m telling you we haven’t worn ruffles for like 600 years!” The Bhu are certainly benevolent overlords, but they just don’t get fashion at all. They saw, early in their first visit to Earth, a picture of some old dude in England who had a ruffle on. They insist that it’s just the most adorable thing we could wear. “Why are you guys so into ruffles?”
“Boomy, ruffles just seem like the most natural look for you. I’m even wearing some myself!” It was true. Fizmik had three ruffles spaced evenly on his neck.
“My name is Ted! You have like a huge long neck! Of course you think ruffles are great. And where’s my food?”
“Oh, right. Hey, I’ll feed you!” He went to the kitchen cabinet and got up a large bag that, though it was marked in his own language, I knew meant Human Chow.
“Human Chow?? Ugh! How come I can never have tacos? Or burgers? Or pizza? Or any of the readily available human foods in stores right around us? I mean, just give me some money and I’ll go get it myself!”
Fizmik put eleven or so hands on his hips and said, “Oh no, mister taco! You want taco this and taco that but your cholesterol is through the roof! Dr Molpmik says your blood pressure is too high, too, so it’s Human Chow until you lower your cholesterol and blood pressure and lose some weight! Eat up, then we’ll go to the park. I’m going to work until you’re ready.” He went off to stick all of his hands into his weird computer and make weird faces at it for awhile. I had some Human Chow and grabbed a beer from the fridge. Bless the quick thinking diplomat that convinced the Bhu that humans needed a large amount of alcohol and sex. I put on the ruffle. I might meet someone at the human park, and I did kinda look cool in it.
|
They're telepathic. They speak every language. Their voices are a beautiful harmony of countless notes layered upon each other in an ever-changing symphony of chords made of melodies, of which humans can only hear a small fraction. Dogs can hear slightly more.
"Music is the language of the gods."
Zach was 15 when they arrived. It was a normal day.. he had skipped school to play video games and drink whiskey from Nick's parents' insanely well stocked liquor cabinet. His parents were never home. They went to work at eight, hit the bars at six, got home at nine, and fell asleep at nine o' five. 'The liquor cabinet must be for weekends,' Zach supposed as he stared through the crowd of bottles.
"How do they reach the ones at the back?"
"Come look at this, man. This is hilarious."
"What kind of alcohol habit would necessitate a cabinet of this size for two days out of the week?"
"Dude, I don't know. Finish making that drink and get in here, I've had this shit paused for ten minutes while you rub one out over there."
Zach walked into the smokey den to find his friend with a stupid grin on his face.
"Alright, you ready?"
"Ready for what?"
Nick clicked a button on his controller and pointed at the screen.
"Look, it totally looks like they're fucking."
Zach wasn't paying attention. He was looking out the window at..
"Dude"
"He's all bent over, he.. hey--"
Zach grabbed Nick by the shoulders and spun him around to face the window.
"Dude."
Nick spat out his whiskey, cartoon-style. It dripped down the window.
The cloud outside the window was spiraling. It was changing. It was no longer white. It was *every color*, and a few Zach had never seen before.
Nick held up his drink and pointed at it with a shaking hand.
"Yo, what the fuck did you put in this?"
Zach said nothing. He was edging closer to the window, still staring. This had to be some kind of prank, or an event. A concert?
Whatever it was, he found that he couldn't stop looking at it. "Let's get a closer look," he said suddenly, and made for the door. He flung it open, and *the best smell* greeted him. He turned back to Nick, who was still staring out the window, now smiling, with a hand on his hip. "You coming?"
Nick took a hurried gulp of whiskey and set it down as he pried his eyes from the phenomenon, and followed his friend outside. It was hot in the garden. Way hotter than it normally was in southern California. As it turned out, it wasn't just one cloud. The whole sky was a spinning, churning, morphing rainbow. Cheering, laughing, whooping, they climbed a ladder onto the roof.
(meh, i'll finish it later)
| 2018-04-16T09:16:23
| 2018-04-16T07:52:05
| 59
| 10
|
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives...
|
I scanned the horizon once more, wondering when my summoned item would arrive. I also wondered if there was a chance it was a person, and that they would simply appear in the antechamber of my home, like they always do. I shuddered at the thought of another human being forced upon me under the guise of a "soulmate". I turned and sneered at the happy couple on the bench down the road that I was almost certain was one of those couples. They were so wrapped in each others arms they failed to notice me gaze. *Disgusting*.
The worst thing about The Summoning is that there was no way to predict how and when the unknown object was going to arrive. You just have to wait after you invoke the summoning, which itself you have no control of. The invocation itself is the transition from 17 to 18 years of age.
I recall with fondness the story of Herma, who found out that she could summon water, but only from a particular lake hundreds of miles away. Two months passed her by as the whole contents of the lake ripped through thousands of miles of villages and farmland before it crashed into her home, killing her and her entire family. Oh, there are generations of similar stories, some worse that Herma's. The reality, though, is that what people typically end up being able to summon is mostly harmless or people.
I saw a shadow moving in the distance. A large creature with wings was fast approaching. I knew instinctively that this was my summoned being. Waves of relief washed over me. I was happy knowing it was not going to be a person, and I returned to sneering at the couple down the road as I waited for the creature to arrive.
The creature landed on the roof of my home without a sound. It watched me from that vantage point as I glared at the couple. It took a moment for me to remove my eyes from the vile human spectacle and return my gaze to the sky only to realize that the creature was gone. I heard a low growl and turned to see a fully-grown dragon resting on my house.
I spoke aloud. "Finally, what I have summoned has arrived!" I turned to the couple, they took no notice of my gesture. Their mouths were locked onto each other. I frowned.
The dragon spoke next. *No, you fool.* Its voice reverberated in my mind. *You did not summon me as the humans do.* I felt the creature quell my confusion. *You summoned me as the dragons do.* It screeched and set me aflame.
Though it should've pained me, the flames felt warm on my body. The cobblestone beneath me melted and my shoes were reduced to cinders. I looked up at the dragon and felt myself rise with the fire. I heard my clothes tear and a shudder rippled through me. Soon, I gazed at eye level with the dragon and smiled. If she meant to kill me, she'd have to find another way.
I conveyed this information with my mind and simultaneously realized two things: that I was speaking to her with my mind and I was now aware that she was a female dragon. She cackled and the flames stopped, though my body did not fall. Looking down, I saw the scales of a dragon where my torso should be, and I stood as large as my home. The dragon turned her head so that one eye faced me. *You are the first dragon created in a thousand years.* Her eye sparkled with an internal flame. *Now, let us both remind the humans why we are the true rulers of this planet.*
I understood what she meant in an instant. I turned to the couple seated in terror on the bench, grimaced at their continued affection for one another even in this dire moment, and set them on fire. I burned them until the stone bench itself melted into the earth. I twisted to face the dragon and gave her a wicked smile. She cackled back.
|
In this city, when people turn 18 they summon something that will be very important to their life. Some summon swords, or spears and others summon simple tools needed for various trades. My mother had summoned a needle which she used to sew together some of the finest pieces of clothing in all the land while my father had summoned a large jewel encrusted shield. My older brother had summoned a beautiful woman who he later married. My 18th birthday had been months ago yet what I summoned never arrived. I walked through the city trying to pretend it didn’t matter but it did. Around every corner we’re children imagining what they would summon or young adults bragging to them friends. Suddenly I felt the ground begin to shake. People yelled as the struggled to keep their balance. I slowly made my way to the wall of one of the building when a child’s yelled nearby, “look over there mamma!” The words weren’t meant for me yet I still shifted my gaze to look at where the child was pointing . A woman floated above the city, her gaze sweeping along the streets. Suddenly she disappeared only to appear seconds later inches away from my face. “You.” Her voice was as quiet as a whisper yet as loud as a scream, “you summoned me.” I couldn’t believe it. I had summoned what appeared to be a goddess. I was vaguely aware of the many eyes that watched us from a distance. The woman stretched out a hand in my direction. “Come with me.” I couldn’t tell if it was a question or if she had demanded it.
After a moment of silence I took her hand and felt the world fade away
Sorry if anything is funky. Wrote this on mobile and I’m not the best with grammar.
| 2019-09-18T09:27:31
| 2019-09-18T08:42:40
| 123
| 72
|
[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.
|
I thought it was adorable at first. It started a few days after I brought her home. I had a giant potted plant in my living room. It's leaves were bigger than the cats head. She would rip an entire leaf off the plant, and carry it all the way up the stairs, down the hall to my bedroom and leave it on my bed.
It was cute, but upsetting since I loved this plant and had it for a couple years. After a couple leaves, she would get into my laundry and began leaving me socks. Always different socks. Different colors, and she never grabbed the same sock twice. This went on for a couple weeks. It wasn't ever day mind you.
Just every 2-3 days. after about a month, is when it got weird. Things that I know she shouldn't have been able to grab ended up on the bed. Potatoes are one thing. Rather large, but no teeth marks. How did she get it up the stairs and onto my bed? Then there was the can of chicken noodle soup. Not the small one either, the bigger one. The one you get when your really hungry or really really like soup.
After the can of soup, it stared escalating. Shoes, bars of soap, coat hangers, shampoo bottle and a picture frame. I started putting things away more, thinking it would help. I got into the habit of not leaving a single thing out. I got child locks on kitchen cabinets.
I kept all the doors in the house closed, but somehow, that just made it even worse. Exactly 3 months after I brought her home, I found a knife. I remember coming home from work that day. I walked up the stairs to my room and opened my door. I remember thinking I had finally won.
She hadn't brought anything in since I shut all the doors. She was even sleeping on the couch when I came home. But when I walked into my room I could feel the color drain from my face. A knife. And not just any knife, it was a bloody one. I remember staring at it for a few seconds before I ran down the stairs and out of the house.
I went to my neighbors and called the police. Within minutes they were there and investigating the house, asking me all kinds of questions. The thing was, it was not a knife I owned. I have no idea how it got in my home. After a few hours, they left. They took the knife, and dozens of pictures.
They found no trace of anything out of place. As I shut the door behind me, I walked up the stairs to my room once more. As I walked into my room, I saw my cat standing on my bed, exactly where the knife had been. Only this time, she had something in her mouth, and it was dripping.
In horror, I watched her drop the object onto my bed and look up at me, as if proud of her find. It was a finger. A human finger. Freshly severed. I felt the room start spinning and I felt dizzy. My stomach started doing flips and she just stared at me and mowed happily.
|
I couldn’t turn away fast enough. I immediately slammed the door closed and screamed “WHAT THE FUCK!!” in utter disbelief of the image forever now branded into my deepest synapsis. Atoms overloaded, neurons on all cylinders, new pathways forged instantaneously. Milliseconds turned into centuries as I barely made two steps before buckling to my knees head in hands. I had to crawl away as fast as I could but my body was moving thru tar. Just as I looked up and took my first breath; I saw my wife walk into the house, the cat at her feet…
| 2021-12-17T07:06:19
| 2021-12-17T07:05:33
| 47
| 10
|
[WP] The dark sorceress kidnaps the infant prince of a powerful kingdom, the only son of a king still grieving the loss of his wife. While caring for the child and negotiating the surrender of the king, she finds herself falling for the bereaved ruler, and his bubbly infant son
|
She'd known the queen, before she had died. They hadn't been friends, merely acquaintances. But she'd liked her. Witty, yet also polite, charming and charismatic. She had an attractive nature to her, practically everyone had liked her. Her many vapid suitors had called her the most attractive woman in the world, and they'd been wrong. She was not beautiful though she had certainly been interestingly handsome, but she had a glow to her, a natural sort of power, almost like magic.
And the sorceress knew magic. She'd even been to the wedding, when finally a suitor understood that simply appearing with flowers and praising the beauty of that woman, hadn't been enough. The man who would become king, had come to the woman who would become the queen, and spoken to her with earnest intent and respect. He'd been interested in her, not merely her power, her wealth, or her line. He'd gotten to know the woman behind the queenly mask.
In some ways, the sorceress envied him that. The sorceress, she still remembered their wedding, for while she was a dark sorceress, she was still a monarch in her own right, and thus was invited to all the larger get-together events of nobles and royalty. She'd worn sensible black, but the woman, the queen-to-be, had walked in white. Everyone had talked about how beautiful and graceful she'd been. But the sorceress had seen deeper things. The genuine love between the queen-to-be and her groom. The healthy glow of early pregnancy, the genuine happiness. And afterwards, during the wedding dance, the sorceress had managed to dance with the groom and the bride.
He had only eyes for the bride, and that was the most genuine love that the sorceress had ever seen. She'd been to plenty of royal weddings where it was fairly obvious that the much older groom preferred hunting or fighting, and the bride was giving sad loving eyes to one of her handmaidens. This was genuine. And when she had danced with the bride, the dark sorceress, duchess of a small mountainous land, felt like she was flying. It had been the best night of her life, the bride had confided in the sorceress' ear. And the sorceress had answered, that she felt the same.
But nothing good lasts. And though the bride became queen, gave birth to a healthy daughter, later a son, she didn't last. One day she was fine. The next, the king was grieving in madness. Poison, some had said. Illness others. Whatever the case, the queen was dead, and the king mad with grief. So maddened that when the sorceress came to the funeral, only the young daughter, holding an infant boy in her arms, represented the royal family during those troubled times in the place of the king.
Of course, being a dark sorceress, duchess of her own dark mountainous realm, she had been planning to kidnap the young prince for a while, and though she politely waited until the queen was buried, she wasn't going to let something like a sudden death prevent her from executing her plans.
So, a few months after the funeral, she transformed into a monstrous giant bird, and kidnapped the prince. Which was probably for the better, when she reached her dark citadel. The prince looked weak and sickly, since his marginally older sister probably was busy having to suddenly manage the realm, and his father was not in any state to care for the boy, he was looking quite sad and even a bit sickly.
She didn't want to hurt the boy, so she brought forth some wetnurses, had him fed, played with him, and after only a few days, while she was writing a proper ransom note to the grieving and slightly mad king, he was looking much better. In fact, she'd taken to feeding him herself, to make sure he was still a healthy hostage. And he'd quickly gotten used to the taste of magically pasteurised horsemilk(*given that most of her subjects were orcs, gnolls, and other non-humans, she had to find a good alternative*) from the bottle, so he wasn't a big fuss. Quite without thinking about it, she'd gotten very used to the small human infant.
And when she sent her letter, with magic, she received a very quick and surprisingly well-written reply. The king wrote, in eloquent and very sensible terms, that he was willing to negotiate for his son's release. She rode down with her honour-guard to a neutral place, for the negotiations. And she'd brought the prince as well. For she found that she was getting worried if she left him unattended, and she found the cheerful and friendly little baby, in some way, comforting.
The king had cleaned up nicely, for she had taken a slight peek at him with magic during the funeral. He'd been a terrible, dirty, weeping mess, babbling madly at a painting of the dead queen while he was furiously trying to eat his own crown. Now that she looked at him, away from the glow of his magnetic and charismatic wife, she saw his qualities. A centre of steel, a will like iron, and a mind that was very strong indeed. She did remember that he had managed to marry the woman who had gotten proposals from every prince, duke, a surprising amount of princesses, count, lord, and most of the kings on the continent for marriage, so she had seen something in him. And the sorceress saw it too. He was the king of a powerful kingdom, but there was a dozen of those. But she saw in him, as she looked at him from across a barren steppe owned theoretically by the dwarves, the sort of man who could have united the continent under a single banner.
He was the stuff that an emperor was made from. She had seen it with her magical familiars spying on him from afar, how he treated common people with respect, how once he had a drive, he was focused like an arrow, how he dismissed the opinions of weak and self-serving men, and listened to wise counsel. She had planned to demand some magical artefact, then through clever bargaining get what she actually had wanted, which was an area of hills and villages under his rule which was bordering her duchy. Now she knew, from watching him outside the light of his brilliant wife, that he could probably have negotiated her into becoming a vassal state.
Such a strong mind, but a broken heart can break those. She understood now. She'd fixed his mind. Given him purpose. So instead of doing loud demands, proclaiming great things, threatening with magic and the wrath of the mountains, she simply got off her horse. She took the baby prince into her arms, told her guards to stand back, and walked slowly across the grassy plain to the king and his entourage.
She had been blinded by the glimmer and brightness of the queen, who like the sun had outshone all other light. But now she saw the night left behind by the death of the sun, and it was ready to swallow her, destroy her realm, and she loved him for it. Walking across the steppes, she sang gently to the bubbly and happy child.
Finally, the king rode ahead to meet her. His armour black, his hand on his magic sword, and his eyes burned like the fires in the depths of the earth. She stopped as he rode up and got off his horse. ''*Hail, great king.*'' The king stood in front of her, like a demon straight out of stories. ''*My son. Now.*'' She nodded, and gently handed him over. But the boy cried, startling the king, who dropped him. With a spell, quickly cast, the sorceress caught him and held the boy close to her, calming him down. The king stared at her, as she gently sang to him, holding him close. ''*What did you do to him?*'' She looked up, and for one of the few times in her life thus far as a dark sorceress, smiled. ''*I cared for him. Fed him myself, sang to him when he had nightmares, played with him. After a while I didn't even need the wetnurses anymore. He is a very charming little prince.*''
|
The guttering candles make the shadows tremble. I combine the brimstone and saltpeter with the soot from yesterdays bonfire and daub the mixture in a circle on the floor. I arrange the fabric on the bone rack, then use a black candle to set the mixture alight.
​
I pull shadow down from the wall, wrap myself in its oily warmth, and step into the sparking circle.
​
I am braced for brightness when I emerge in the royal nursery, but the chamber is -- if anything -- darker than the room of enchantments I just left. I blink, turning, then spot the king sitting in a chair in the corner.
​
"I, Polara, the Dark Lady of Myr Tower, have come to take your infant son, *majesty,*" I intoned, a wicked smile dancing on my lips. "I fear calling for the guard will only increase the number of new grave plots on the Sacred Mount - but you are welcome to try. Indeed - I welcome the opportunity to bring more soldiers into the Cursed Host."
​
I blink, then take a step forward, emerging into the torchlight. The king's chest is moving -- he's still *alive* \-- but his eyes are two grey stones, staring at the wall opposite. I reach out with fingers of magic, gently brushing his face, but find no mark of any charm upon him.
​
Frowning, I move towards the polished crib, and stare down round face of the sleeping infant inside.
​
"If you take him, do not come back," he says, his voice hollow as a rotten log.
​
"You command thousands outside of this room, King, but I will not listen to your orders," I state, lifting my chin in defiance. My gaze goes to the great sword leaning next to him -- *The Blade of Divine Truth* \-- and I concentrate energy into my palm, eager for an opportunity to bind him with my power.
​
"It was not an order." His eyes meet mine, just for a moment, and I notice the tears glinting in the emerald light of my magic. "It was a request. *Please*."
​
Uncertain what possible gambit he may be employing, I reach down and collect his heir, my eyes never leaving his face.
​
"You have been wise to not summon help. I shall be merciful and spare you...further suffering." My voice catches as I notice how gaunt the once rotund face has become, the prominence of his cheek bones, the jutting of his chin.
​
"Wait," he says, his voice quiet as the flickering of flames from the sconces around us. "If you -- if you can take a message to those struck down before their time..."
​
I am not sure why I have not left. I have the child. He is weak. *Pathetic*. My mind goes to the enchanted circle I left smoldering, and I realize that I *have* to leave now if I want to return by way of the shadow portal.
​
"Just tell her I'm sorry." His voice twists in on itself, like a snake biting its own tail. "So, so sorry."
​
I turn away, brushing my face briefly. Then, a moment later, I bundle myself and my new apprentice in a shawl of shadow and return, once more, to the darkness.
* * *
If there's interest, I have an idea for continuing this that I may be able to get to later but in the meantime check out /r/ShadowsofClouds for more.
[This story](https://www.reddit.com/r/ShadowsofClouds/comments/7ujo0p/wp_as_the_hero_enters_the_throne_room_of_the_dark/) has another appearance of Polara (aka Ryn) where she is much less conflicted about the anguish of others. For something more lighthearted, [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/ShadowsofClouds/comments/7xan4k/wp_while_shopping_online_for_a_baby_monitor_for/) is a story of someone trying to raise a baby minotaur when there was a mix-up with her order of a "baby monitor."
| 2020-12-03T09:45:57
| 2020-12-03T08:51:07
| 73
| 37
|
[WP] One day, in an industrial accident, fire is found to have a new use. One we would have never expected.
|
"Holy shit, Jim, you have to come see this."
I held out my hand, still wrapped in black plastic. The same material that made up all of our suits, which we wore mainly to protect us from the chemicals we worked with.
"So what?" Jim said. "You're wearing your gloves. We all wear them." He held up his own hands, showing me his own handwear.
"I accidentally put my hand in the fire," I said, pointing to the industrial forge nearby. My tools were still sitting at the base of it where I'd dropped them in shock. "And look!"
I swung my arm as hard as I could. The black plastic, now harder than diamond, hit the nearby steel girder supporting the catwalk. The metal vibrated violently like a tuning fork.
"I didn't feel a thing!" I told him. "And look!" I held up my other hand, which was still wrapped in the normal plastic glove. I wiggled my fingers to show him what happened. "The other one is still normal. I had been working with this new unobtainium mixture and I think it somehow mixed with the plastic and now my glove is like steel! I expected it to burn, but the intensity of the heat must have crystalized it instead..."
He came closer and studied the glove, knocking on it with his knuckles. Then he studied the bottle of the new unobtainium compound I'd been working with.
"You sure?" he said.
"Absolutely. Try it for yourself if you don't believe me."
He poured some of the chemical up and down the glove. "Rub it all over," I warned him, "So that it hardens evenly. You wouldn't want part of it to harden but the other part melt." He nodded in agreement and slathered the glove all over. Then he stuck his hand into the forge.
The flames roared and jumped up his glove in a raging inferno of white-hot fire. Jim screamed as it spread to his clothes. He tried rolling around on the ground, but that did nothing.
"Fucking dumbass. Serves you right for what you did," I told him as he burned. He had never been particularly smart, but even I was a bit surprised that this had worked. I took off the hardened, armored glove that I'd made and tossed it in one of the empty lockers.
When he was sufficiently crisp, I turned on the alarm and grabbed the fire extinguisher. Too late, of course, but no one else had to know about that.
"What happened???" Terry, my supervisor, yelled as he ran into the lab.
I did my best to appear shocked and horrified. "He was doing something with the unobtainium," I said through the 'tears.' "I was on the other side of the room when I heard the screams!"
----
Disclaimer: I know nothing about chemistry, so just substitute 'unobtainium' for something more realistic sounding. If I tried using the name of some actual chemical, I know someone would start arguing about it being unrealistic.
|
Screams of pleasure and acid
Wash over the little children
Leaving nothing but bones
.
Shattered fingernails and teeth
Rip my eyes from me
And give them to the poor
.
"It's okay, Ma'am"
Brilliant darkness is unpure
Licking at my toes
.
Orange agony fills them
But pain is not present
Fire cleanses the soul
.
| 2015-03-25T10:38:54
| 2015-03-25T10:15:32
| 128
| 16
|
[WP] You won't hold heroes hostages to torture them. You won't throw a hero against a wall once you have them by the neck. You sure won't start monologuing if you have a hero at gunpoint. You're the deadliest villain in history. A villian without an ego..
[removed]
|
Look. I wanted to be theatrical. I really did. I come from a long line of villains. My father was the Dark Lord, and he raised me to be his heir, and rule with an iron fist. I still remember the first time Heroes broke into the castle and father dueled their Leader fairly one-on-one. He paused to give a monologue, and the heroes had stopped to listen. At that moment I cut the chandelier propping it up, causing it to fall on the four of them, killing two instantly and leaving the other two mortally wounded.
The anger I saw up on my father's face as he turned to me, eyes literally aflame. I thought you would be proud! He had had them enraptured in his speech, I thought it was a great distraction for a sneak attack of some sort. But no, for the next 3 hours I had to listen to my father monologue about the importance of monologues and how it was rude to cut a Villain off in the middle of their speech. I think that was the beginning of it all. Like, I'm sure there are other things that caused me to be like this. But, this moment is what sticks out in my mind.
There was the speech I was supposed to give in my 16th summer. There was that campaign upon the dwarf lands and I was supposed to give a rousing speech before the Orc Battalions. Mother had stayed up late with me the night before helping me write it. She was always good with words, well she was good with spells. But that's practically the same thing. Anyways I was standing there, on the dias, General Gorblin at my side. And I looked out at the assembled soldiers, and I froze. I don't remember much about what happened afterwards. I got up. I stood on the dias. I looked out. And then a headache, or was it a stomach ache, or maybe it was both. I remember Gorblin grunting, then shouting, then the crowd… booing? I was told that the assembly actually went well, that there was no booing. I don't know if this was a lie, a bit of double think that everyone had bought into in order to spare the reputation of the Dark Forces, or maybe everyone who spoke about it simply was trying to spare my feelings. But sparing feelings is not something we did. Or maybe I'm just misremembering all of this. Maybe it did go well. But whenever I think of that moment, even now when I look upon the Forces of Evil, I get this feeling in the pit of my chest that I cannot describe.
There was a time in the winter of my 21st year when the newest band of Heroes had actually snuck into the castle. We had had a vague sense of them coming, and in what I thought was an act of brilliance I had laid a trap. It was nothing extravagant, I pulled the guards away from the drainage pipes on the Eastern South wall. Not too far, just enough to make it seem like it was a bit of carelessness. I even made a big show about accumulating new mortar as though it needed to be repaired. I spread rumors that there was a slight drainage problem and that part of the castle, not myself of course. I had others spread the rumors for me but I told them to do it. I mean I had written for them to do it. Anyways, the Heroes fell for it. I prepared one of Mother's familiar to hide in the dark for the Heroes and when they finally arrived we sealed the drainage pipes and I flooded the tank they were in. I still remember standing outside of the door to the tank when mother came running in down the stairs, a set of guards in tow. At first she was pleased, it was an opportunity to torture a set of gathered heroes, trapped in a slowly filling tank of sludge and sewage. Her happiness turned to anger and then disappointment. I told her that I'd used her familiar not to simply open the sewage pipes into the tank, but to summon water directly from the lake. The tank was full, the heroes had drowned in the time it taken for mother to come from her tower. What I remember most of that day was not my Mother's disappointed face. What I remember most was her shoes, those impractical spiked boots she wore, for my gaze was a locked on the ground before me and I could not look at my Mother nor the guards she had brought with her. Not in the face. Not in the eyes.
Four summers ago I killed my father. I gathered him and his generals in a banquet. I told him that I would give a toast and finally take command of a special unit. I took command, but by poisoning all of them just before I gave my toast. I could tell as he felt the poison coursing through his veins that he expected me to tell him why. My ambitions. How he had grown weak over the years and it was my time to rule, or how he stood in the way of my great plans, or even that I hated him. It was none of those things. I mean, I hated him a little, he was the dark lord his head was always on fire. But I had nothing. Maybe I could have said something about the Elven forces amassing in the Taegalen Woods, about not treating every battle symmetrically and how he and his generals were too stuck in past, ineffective battle tactics. But in that moment, I had no words. It was him monologuing in front of the heroes again, it was me standing in front of the Orc Battalions when I was 16, me trying to explain to Mother that the Heroes were already dead. I think he was still disappointed not that I was killing him, but that his last moments were of him watching me walk away from the banquet hall without saying a word. He never got to hear my toast.
I don't know why I'm telling you any of this. The lot of you are frozen solid. If mother were here, she would have told me to freeze you all only up to the neck and break a piece off of you one by one. General Gorblin would be angry that I still haven't created a pretorian guard to be at my side at all times and help me fight you all. I think Father would be proud, though. None of you can hear me, of course. You've been in case tonight is for the past hour and even if the cold hadn't killed you yet, lack of oxygen surely has already led to brain death. But I'm monologuing. This is the only way I know how. The only way to get these, feelings out of me. It's a bit of torture, not for you of course. None of you can feel anything. But the session really helps me get my feelings out. These torturous feelings.
That's all the time I have unfortunately. I think I've made some good progress, though. I look forward to when the next band of Heroes attempts to storm the castle. Sometime around now next month? I'll send a unit of Orcs to clean your bodie up.
|
There are rules, you see.
There's no rulebook, but everyone understands them. There have to be. The amount of time and money both sides invest demand it. Armies of henchmen. Million and *billion* dollar companies. Weapons that would make the pentagon blush. This to say nothing of *power*. A gun means nothing to a man who can't be shot. It's like chess. Pawns and henchmen. Bishops and laser beams. Capes and kings. Every piece has it's part to play and you can't play the game without them.
But I got tired of losing. Pieces cost money. Plans take time. I'd gone a year with no profits. The others had begun to laugh at me, though not to my face. The ones that didn't have faces were less subtle. But I had enough left for one last job. A bank in the suburbs. Easy money, in and out. Then he showed up.
Killing a hero is easy if you've been playing the game for a while. You just make an illegal move. It didn't even take thirty seconds after he'd landed. The pawns knew what really happened before I did, and they got really quiet. But I didn't notice and I didn't care. I got the money. *I won*.
So I did it again. Then again. I made enough money to get it all back and then double my last peak. My old men played by the rules, but I replaced them with ones who didn't. But things like this have penalties. It was obvious in hindsight. When the other side figures out the card is up your sleeve the results are never pretty.
I was lucky the first time. I wasn't home. When I saw what was left of home I decided I wouldn't go back. I checked into a motel three states over. But it wasn't enough. Some billionaire bought out my company. Some news man exposed my name to the world, and threw in crimes I'd never even done for good measure. The government seized my fortune on a tax technicality. I called every other villain I could think of, none of them even picked up.
As I look out the window and see something in the sky, I know my time is up.
Because there are *rules*, you see.
| 2019-08-06T19:20:38
| 2019-08-06T19:15:11
| 167
| 44
|
[WP] You attend to a job interview. The thing is you don't know what job you are applying for, and the questions just keep getting weirder
|
“Alright Mr. Smith, before we get started can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?”
“No. Thank you though.”
“I see.” The hiring manager jotted a note on her legal pad.
“Ok, so let’s see here... so you’ve spent the last three years developing for Android platforms, is that correct?”
“Uhh, yeah...yes that is correct.”
“Good, good. Could you elaborate more on that?”
“Sure. Mainly have been developing social media type apps. Things like chat services, friend finding apps, mainly that sort of stuff. My most recent project I actually took on the role of a team lead of about-”
“That’s good stuff. Sorry to cut you off there. I also see, according to your application, you live on Elm street.”
“Uhmm, yes that is correct…”
“Great, can you elaborate more on that?”
“..okay...uhh I moved to an apartment on that street, gosh 6, maybe 7 years ago. It’s a nice street I guess? Not a ton of traffic, but a little bit of a drive from here. Uhmm what specifically were you-”
“Thank you.” She wrote some more on her legal pad.
“I hate to say this, but I’m not really sure how what street I live on is relevant to-”
“So let’s talk about pizza now. Favorite topping?”
“Uhh, pepperoni?”
“Excellent, and style of crust?”
“Hmm, Chicago?”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.”
“New York style?”
“Tsk, tsk.” She jotted down another note on the legal pad. "Changed crust."
“I’m sorry but that is a bit of an odd ques-”
“Please don’t interrupt me, Mr. Smith”
“I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t realize you were”
“*Mr Smith*”
“Sorry”
“Ok, Mr. Smith, so this position would require the occasional overtime and weekend support. Usually not more than once a month. Do you see that being a potential problem?”
“No, I don’t believe I would have an issue with that. Would you mind elaborating more on the position itself? The posting on LinkedIn was a bit light on the details of what-”
“There will be time for questions at the end of the interview Mr. Smith. Let’s continue.”
“Oh, okay.”
“So Mr. Smith, I see you have some hobbies listed on your resume. I like hobbies.”
“...was that a question?”
“Yes Mr. Smith. I like hobbies?”
“...uhh...me too?”
“Very good. Most applicants we get here fare much more poorly on that question. This position will also require travel, usually once every two to three months. Would that be a problem? Do you like to travel?”
“Oh yeah absolutely. Travel would definitely not be a problem. I love flying and driving, getting out there seeing the sights.”
“Yes, and what about horses?”
“Uhh sure why not.”
“And winged-horses as well?”
“I was under the impression those weren’t real”
“Tsk, I see”. She scribbled more on her legal pad. “No on *flying* horses”
“Okay Mr. Smith last question. On a scale from 1 to 10, what is your favorite number between 1 and 10?”
“I’m afraid I don’t-”
“**What the hell is going on here?**”
A large man in a grey suite entered the office. “We fired you three weeks ago Karen. Get the hell out of my office and stay the hell off company property!”
Karen ran out of the room crying. The large man picked up the legal pad and sat down behind the desk.
“I’m really very sorry, Mr. Smith. We had to let her go a few weeks ago and she did not take it well. I assure you, she will not be showing up here again; you have my word.”
“Oh that is a relief. I was starting to get really confused by this whole interview. What kind of notes was she even taking on that pad?”
“Well it’s not so much notes, as it’s a drawing of a giant...penis...destroying a city, with an army trying to fight it off. The caption reads ‘Dickzilla’.”
“Oh my…”
“Once again Mr. Smith, I am deeply sorry about this. If you still are interested, and have a little extra time, I would love to still do the interview we had scheduled.”
“Uhmm, yeah, I don’t have really anything on the schedule for the rest of the afternoon. So sure, why not”
“Great, great, great. So, I see on your resume you live on Elm street. Could you elaborate on that?”
|
There are some things that the government doesn't have to cover up. Things so strange they sound like they were born in fixture, or in the mind of a crackpot conspiracy theorist. Things so insane that, even if you heard of them, you'd bet your life savings that they were false.
Over twenty years ago, the Crenshaw experiments fit this category. Kept secret not only by walls and tall fences, but by the sheer disbelief and laughter of anyone who caught wind of what happened within that facility in South Florida.
Originally, there were thirty subjects, all toddlers, tracked by the state of the art computational system in the facility. Each day, they were administered their tests and left, only to return the next.
But Hurricane Andrew had other plans in '92.
Statewide evacuations spread many of the subjects across the country, never to return once their homes were destroyed. And the computer system flooded, the files lost, so that all that remained was a list of names of the subject.
Twenty nine have been found, and quarantined.
One name remained. One name so common that the investigators have narrowed it down to fifty subjects nation wide.
Mike Smith.
****
It was my junior year of college when I started interviewing for jobs.
Like others my age, I found it more difficult than I had anticipated. Especially as a physics major, with no applications unlike my engineering colleagues. Sure, there were jobs out there. But the salaries were low, and the hours long.
I'd been through four hard earned interviews when something occurred that I didn't expect. Instead of spending hours online searching for potential positions, a company actually sought *me* out. And they paid *six figures*.
"How do I look?" I asked my girlfriend, Missy, as I stepped from my apartment.
"Fantastic, as usual," she said, with a brief kiss, "And even better in that suit. Go get them."
She smacked my ass as I walked away, giving me a slight confidence boost as I took a can downtown, arriving at a small office building. Checking the list at the door, I found unit 310, Crenshaw Applications, and pressed the buzzer.
"Mike Smith?" Came the voice from the other end.
"Speaking. Sorry I'm late."
"No problem, letting you in. Staircase in the right."
I smoothed out the wrinkles on my pants from the taxi as I climbed the stairs, rehearsing common interview questions in my mind. My strengths. My weaknesses. Times I showed leadership. That I would be the best employee Crenshaw Applications would ever hire.
By the time I stepped into the office, I was mentally prepped.
Or so I thought.
Five suited men waited for me there, one in each corner of the room, and one at a table. A seat was pulled up, a metal folding chair, and the table itself was bare.
"Go on, sit down," said the one at the table, opening a binder before him. He scanned it for a second, looking me over, peering into my eyes before scribbling something down on the paper.
*Brown iris*.
"Mark Opa, technical lead," he said, extending a hand which I shook. "Question one, Mike. Can you swim?"
The room was silent as they waited, and after a second I laughed.
"Is that one of those icebreaker questions?"
*Silence*
"Yes," I answered, brows furrowed. He checked a box, then asked the next.
"Tell me, Mike. If you had to guess, what are *my* three biggest weaknesses?"
"Is this some sort of a joke?"
"Are you implying of of my weaknesses is humour?"
"No, I'm- next question. Pass."
"Sure. Mike, what are your thoughts on shots?"
"I mean, I don't love them, but I know when they're neccessary." I answered.
Mark paused, searching my face. Then he signaled to the men in the corners, who escorted me to the door.
"Is it over then? Will you be contacting me?" I asked, as they pushed me towards the stairs. I knew I answered that last question wrong. I like a shot of tequila, or whiskey occasionally, but maybe I shouldn't have said that in an interview.
***
Inside the interview room, mark crossed out a picture of Mike on a page full of other profiles.
"He's out," he whispered, "None of the other twenty nine could bear the thought of an injection. Makes even me squirm, after what happened years ago."
***
By Leo, more coming soon
| 2016-04-05T16:09:28
| 2016-04-05T15:45:33
| 81
| 31
|
[WP] Torture was never invented. Countries instead spoil prisoners like kings to get information out of them. You are an instructor tasked with training spies to resist the enemy's kindness.
|
"What if they invite you to a banquet?"
"I'll nod politely, eat, drink and refuse to give any information."
The instructor nodded. "What about parties?"
"Is this really relevant? I don’t –"
"Parties are a *huge* part of how the enemy gets information out of you, agent! They'll throw amazing black tie
parties just for you! Drinks everywhere! Music! Gambling! You *have* to be prepared!"
"I'll enjoy the party, make small talk… and keep my mouth shut."
"Are you sure you can do it? Because it's easy to say that, but in the field… with all the luxury and the smiles and
exotic locations… one wrong move…"
"I won't give in."
"Sometimes they'll invite you to their house. Or their luxurious boat. Or their palace in the desert."
"So what?"
"So anyone can keep state secrets when they're tied to a chair having their balls electrocuted! The hard part is keeping your mouth shut when you're toasting with fifty year old scotch on a hilltop mansion in southern France!"
The agent got up. "I have what it takes, sir. I'm ready."
The instructor accompanied him to the door. "All right. There's just one more thing."
"What?"
"Women."
"What about them?"
"They'll throw all kinds of beautiful women your way. I mean, I'm serious, every different mission you'll be courted by another ridiculously good looking, comically sexually aggressive woman. It's their last resort. If everything else fail, they'll try to get you by your dick."
"I'm strong enough to resist."
"Are you sure? Because I've seen better men than you get past the cars and the drinks and the parties, but fall to the women."
I'm sure."
"All right. Good luck on your mission, agent."
They shook hands. When the agent was out the door and halfway to the Aston Martin in the garage, the instructor called out: "And remember the first rule: no matter what, don't reveal your name, 007! You're a secret agent!"
James nodded and got in the car.
_____________
*Thanks for reading! Check out /r/psycho_alpaca for more stories! =)*
|
**The drip of water echoed like gunshots.**
Blindfolded and bruised, Luce tried squash the fear that threatened to grab hold of her stomach, and fling it out of her throat.
Her wrists and her legs were bound tight enough to make her limbs numb. To her left and right, she could make out the sounds of at least two others, also tied to cramped, wooden chairs, struggling against their bindings.
A fey-like bell chimed, the dim *ting* exaggerated by her blindness. Following the bell, a pair of footsteps began to *clop, clop* in a slow, measured pace across the floor. The *clopping* reverberated and multiplied in the open (cave? hall?), so that she could not tell where from where the footsteps came.
Yet, Luce was not entirely lost. She could pick those footsteps out of a thousand-wide lineup. It was the Instructor, and the Test had begun.
"Good evening, gentlemen and lady," an older woman's voice rolled out across the floor, almost purring, "I am so pleased you could join me tonight."
"Good evening, Instructor," Luce replied automatically. She noted that the two men replied in much the same way. Perhaps they were agents-in-training, too.
"As I hope you are all now *well aware,* this test is a matter of life, and death. If you fail here, I will kill you - just as you would be killed in the field."
It was a statement that begged no response. Luce gave none, but she heard the man next to her swallow a squeak.
"Torture is a tool," the Instructor was very close now. Luce could hear her purring voice orbiting around them, "A tool for prying information. Not the *best* tool, but-"
The shriek of metal scraping stone made Luce jump against her bindings. A flick of air breezed passed Luce's ear, making her shiver. *A knife? Or something more sinister?* Her heart was now galloping against her chest.
"-*But,* that will not stop our enemies from using it. Now," glass tinkled, and a set of small wheels creaked. Luce could only imagine what horrifying device the Instructor was wheeling out in front of them, "Would anyone like a cup of tea before we begin?"
Luce opened her mouth to say yes, but the man to her left was quicker.
"Yes, thank you," he said, his voice filled with false-confidence.
Luce barely heard the whisper of cloth, before the ear-shattering ***BANG*** ripped passed her head. A sharp breeze flipped Luce's hair. The man to her left loosed a single strangled cry echoed out, before his chair slapped against the hard floor.
She thought she heard the sound of flesh, smacking against stone. Luce swallowed hard, trying to stop her heart from exploding out of her chest.
"Anyone else?" the Instructor's voice was almost sweet, "No? Very well, let us proceed."
The Instructor did not relent. Question after question rained from her mouth like barbed arrows in the pitch-black night. She prodded Luce and her unseen comrade for what felt like hours. At one point, Luce could feel the Instructor's breath on the back of her neck, at another she could practically *smell* the Instructor's dinner (garlic). Several times, the Instructor seemed like she was about to let up, only to start afresh.
The man next to her was jostling his legs like a child who needs to urinate. She wanted to reach out to him, to tell him it would be over soon, but Luce didn't know that for a fact. She didn't even know who *he* was - if he was actually another agent, or if he was just part of the test. So she kept her mouth *shut*.
At last, the Instructor pulled back. In the silence, Luce could hear the echo of water once again. She focused on that, taking pleasure in the predictability of the steady *drip, drip*.
"Well done, Agents. I supposed we should take a break. Does anyone need to use the water closet?"
Luce sucked in her breath, *willing* the agent beside her to say nothing.
"Yeah, that'd be great," the man next to her grunted, "I've been holding this since lun-"
***BANG***.
*Jesus Christ*, Luce thought. She could *hear* him slumping in his chair.
Luce jumped, almost tipping her own chair over, when a voice like a cat whispered over her shoulder, "Congratulations, Luce. I knew you would do well."
She felt the bindings around her arms loosen first, then the ones around her legs. Luce sat as still as a stone as the blindfold fell away from her eyes. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw two men, sprawled on the floor, lying in their own red puddles.
"Please, stand up Luce. The test is over. You are now ready to become a *Full Agent.* Come here to receive your badge."
Luce's mouth was clamped tighter than a vice. Though they were filled with restless pins and needles, she refused to move her limbs.
"Agent Luce?" the Instructor sounded impatient, even irritated now.
Luce resisted the urge to turn around, but she braved a single word.
"No."
"No?" the voice crept closer, "Are you *defying* me, Luce?"
"Yes."
*Clop. Clip. Clop.* - the Instructor took three powerful strides and planted herself squarely in the center of Luce's vision. She leveled her gaze, and with a cat-like voice - not a kitten's purr, this was the predatory mrowl of a one-eyed feline terror - the Instructor drew out a long, needling "Why?"
"Because I think you are still testing me, Instructor."
The predatory grin on the instructor's face was replaced by a true smile, a triumphant grin. The instructor pressed a button hidden in the folds of her suit, and lifted an unseen mouthpiece to her lips -
"She passed. I told you *she* would pass."
***
*Have some tea and read some stories at /r/PSHoffman*
| 2016-04-13T06:42:59
| 2016-04-13T06:29:55
| 230
| 68
|
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear you,
I've always meant to write this letter to you, but I was never able to really put it all together. We've gone through a lot together, to say the least.
I guess I just wanted to say thank you, for everything. For your generosity, for your openness, your pride, your confidence. I truly admire you as a person.
In this world, there are many different types of people. I always believed in a world of people who truly want the best for others. Before I learned that I was a little naive, I believed in a world that lived together. As humans placed here on this planet together, with the best, the shining examples of our race claiming brotherhood and kindness for all, how could one not believe them?
This isn't the truth. Quite the opposite in fact.
People are hateful and selfish. They will lie and cheat and steal just to better their own situation. The entire world is drowning in themselves, and the worst will climb to the top by pushing your head under the water to keep themselves above the surface. It's easy to succumb to those who are only here to ruin you. You know that better than most.
You know, but you never embraced that thought.
Of all the adversity you faced from the first day of your life, you could have blamed your troubles on the unfairness of the world. You could have closed yourself off from the world and never taken responsibility for the life you were given, but you didn't.
As much as you struggled, as much as you had to fight, giving up was never an option to you. You've always known inherently that the problem wasn't with you, it was with the world. It was the defining characteristic of your personality. You looked at everyone that ever doubted who you were and knew in your heart that they were wrong. While everyone was busy tearing each other down, you built yourself. You built the person that everyone is envious of.
You have always known that you love yourself. It's the source of the world's envy.
It's why I love you.
Some souls are chosen from birth to face the awful side of the world because they are stronger than others.
I just want to thank you for creating something beautiful with the adversity that nature posed against you. For creating you.
I also wanted to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't as strong as you.
I should've stood beside you. I should've taken a stand. I should have done so many things for you that I was never capable.
But when I found myself,
When I realized who you were,
When I was finally able to stand with you against the opposition,
When I believed in us,
You never even considered if I was worthy.
I am a vengeful person. I remember every one of the persons in my life that ever mistreated me, but when I came to your door looking for what you had all along, you had forgotten I ever wronged you. That's why you're the greater person than I. I thought you would remember the worst of me, the part of myself I can't leave behind. But you didn't.
On the contrary you opened yourself to me. You're so closely guarded... you have a right to be too, but you let me in. From the first day you let me in. The side of you that so few see, you let me in so easily. You saw more in me. More than I believe I deserved. It's why we are what we are to each other.
From my experience with the world, people are hateful and selfish... but a person? A person is kind. A person is generous. A person is forgiving.
That's who you are.
From my experience with the world, there is a reason there are so few great people. From the hate we experience, the anger, the worthlessness others feel that is thrown onto us, only the few great rise above it all.
Only few recognize the truth in the world. I recognized you. You recognized me.
Thank you, again.
Sincerely, me
|
Dear You,
I don't know if you're there. If you exist anywhere in this world. Maybe you'll always be a concept in my mind of the kind of person I need to meet and say all of this to. If you're not there, then that's depressing. But if, somewhere, you exist...
I haven't been strong. I've been plagued with weakness in almost every aspect of my life, self-conceived or not. I can't possibly understand the kind of back road I've set myself on in spite of all of the advantages I've been handed, and lesser still do I understand how someone like me can be in this position.
It's such a fatal fault that I can't help but scream sometimes. The idea that I must not scream. All of these faults, all of these emotions, I have to keep aside to maintain the persistent illusion that I am fine, when it is not so. The environment I am in is fine, therefore I must also be; isn't that the way it works? I suppose some people could call this a form of depression, but it's nothing of the sort. I do not have the privilege of attributing how I feel to a concrete cause and symptom. It is my responsibility to not scream.
How many people have turned away from me when I have? When, in a sudden surge of desperation and crippled fortitude, I have poured onto them all of my worries, all of my thoughts, emotions, curses, and faults; when I have exposed every facet of my very being to them to see, because I want to be seen? How many have stared at me in disgust, called me twisted and irrational, or worse: turned away and pretended that it did not exist? How many more will do the same?
I can't continue this way. If a lie were never discovered to be a lie, then it is as real as the truth. If I maintain this illusion of saneness and restrain these thoughts indefinitely, then it will have been as though I was always fine to begin with. I cannot keep lying. I must not lie.
And yet I cannot say the truth. I do not want others to turn away. I do not want to endure the searing pain of being abandoned time and time again by those I thought I could trust. I do not want my hands to be decorated with tears, for my screams to sound like threatening howls of horror that nobody can understand. I do not want to tell the truth. But I do not want to lie. I do not speak.
I cannot scream.
This is for You, whoever you may be. If you exist out there in this world and chance would favor us meeting, then I only wish to ask you one thing.
Do not turn away in my moment of weakness. Do not twist your expression as I lay at your feet, a river obscuring my vision, as I say all that is there to think and think of all that there is to say. Do not utter scornful words as I look up in hope for even the briefest sign of benevolence from you. Hear me. I beg of you, please hear me and let me be heard; acknowledge my pain, acknowledge my sorrow, and though you may not have the words to cleanse me of my guilt, vices, and regrets, at least smile upon me, not as a form of approval, but to let me know that I am heard. That I _exist_. That I am *real*.
Let me know that I am allowed to exist.
Sincerely,
A Liar.
| 2015-12-05T15:18:49
| 2015-12-05T14:15:59
| 18
| 11
|
[WP] "Apologies, human. Unfortunately, you were accidentally killed by a glactic federation officer during an altercation on your planet. Currently we are constructing you a replacement body, and in return for your ensured silence on our existence, I wanted to ask if you wanted anything... changed."
|
"Like.. Anything, anything?"
"Well anything about your physical body, we can't grant wishes, just make alterations"
"So if I were to say... I don't know... Make me a girl, you would do it?"
"Of course human, but why would you wish for us to change your sex?"
"Because otherwise it would cost tens of thousands of dollars in medical bills, I would have to go through a second puberty, deal with tons of doctors and therapist, and spend years working towards the same goal, all while being treated like an attention seeking, mentally ill, bathroom rapist by people who think a middle school biology education qualifies them as an expert on the subject."
You... Have thought about this a lot, haven't you?"
"Yeah..."
"Want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Want to just pick a whole new body like a video game character creator?"
"Holy shit can I?!"
|
"Anything" I said to the little voice in my head
"Yes" it responded
One billion thoughts rushed through my head, I could become a litteral god among men, no scratch that I could become a supermodel.
The thought that I could finnaly have 20/20 vision crossed my mind, and just like that poof this mist surrounded me.
"Anything I think of you make happen" I thought out loud
"Correct" said the voice
Suddenly I had a thought "I want to be set free sent back home, I won't tell a soul what I saw"
"In return whenever I wish for something you give it to me" I added
| 2019-10-28T09:59:28
| 2019-10-28T09:49:48
| 452
| 18
|
[WP] The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The "Quit Smoking" ads get personal.
|
They had stopped selling cigarettes 15 years ago. As soon as I had heard they were going to be taking them off the shelves I ran to the nearest convenience store to buy cigarettes. There was a huge line and they had just sold out as I got there. I People were selling large quantities online, so I decided to buy up as much as I could. I had a lot saved up for my vacation this summer, but spent it all buying as many cigarette packs as I could. My wife wasn't happy in the least about that.
Years of marriage counseling later we were finally on good terms (as good as a smokers terms could be) About a year after cigarettes were stopped in production, I realized that my old habits wouldn't work. I then began allotting myself 3 cigarettes a day. It sucked immensely.
The year was 2035, and everyone else had stopped smoking at this point. By this point, the world had caught wind of how many cigarettes I had left, and so ads began to show up everywhere I went. There was always an article in the newspaper titled, "2543 Days until our world is smoke free." and so on, counting down the days until my stash ran out. Finally, someone broke into my house to try and destroy my stash, but thankfully I had thought ahead. I had a safe installed in my house to keep my cigarettes in. Every morning I would go downstairs and load 3 cigarettes into my special carrying pouch.
The time was drawing near. The day I would run out of cigarettes. I went downstairs and loaded up my cigarettes, my final 3. I stepped outside. It was a cool morning, about 65 degrees and lit one up. All up and down my street were protesters. People screaming about me polluting the world. They all had signs yelling, "3 more! 3 more!" I ignored them and took a long drag on my cigarette, savoring it. I got ready for work, and drove off, half tempting to run some of the people over. I got my job and there were even more protestors yelling at me. As I walked to my cubicle, I had many angry works. I heard mutterings of people saying they hoped I choked on my last cigarette.
Lunch time came, and I stepped out for my smoke. There were Riot Police there to stop all of the people from hurting me. I felt important having all of these people follow me around. I then got off work and drove home. My wife had made my favorite meal for dinner. We sat and ate dinner in complete silence. I got up and put my plate in the sink. My wife just stared at me and said, "I hope you enjoy it." I step outside and light up my last one. After I put it out, everyone starts cheering, "The earth is now smoke free!" I go back inside and retire for the night.
The next morning I wake up. I go downstairs and eat my breakfast, then decide to step outside for some fresh air. There are thousands of people standing as I step out, applauding me, and congratulating me on the first day of my smoke free life.
I look at them, and reach into my pocket. I pull something out and stick it into my mouth. I pull my lighter out, and light it up. It's a cigarette. Everyone freaks out and starts screaming. My wife runs outside to see what the commotion is about. She sees me standing there with a cigarette in my mouth and screams at me, "Where the hell did you get that from!?!?!?" I calmly look at her and say, "You know that you can grow tobacco, right?" Let's just say I'm not married anymore.
Edit: Holy crap guys. This is my first response to a Writing Prompt. I'm so happy it is so well received. Thanks!
|
It was 2040. The United States, most would agree, was in phenomenal shape. The economy was booming, contrary to what pundits predicted would become of President Karenna Gore's policies. The air and the water was clean. The average American was considerably healthier than just a decade ago. Nobody in the *world* even smoked tobacco anymore... save for me.
Yes, I was the only human being left on the planet that smoked those cancer-sticks; and I was world famous for it. I guess that makes me an ass-hole. I thought I had a case for myself though. I mean, consider the- "Oh, well that's just great."
I gazed up at the fresh billboard. It was me, with cigarettes protruding from every orifice of my face. Brutal. It gave me a sick feeling. I wasn't angry, just stressed.
"I need a smoke."
I took out one of my beautiful hand rolled stogies. No store sold the stuff anymore. Society had turned me into a craftsman, a modern cowboy living in the city. And they knew exactly where I lived. The ads followed me around like a shadow; pleas from every health organization from A to Z; personal letters from government officials. It was non-stop.
I took a much warranted drag and let out a cloud of smoke through my mouth and nose, much too conspicuously.
"Oh my gosh," said a woman from across the street, stopping her friend and pointing. "Look! It's him!"
I twiddled the stogie in my fingers and glanced casually over at them. I took another drag and headed over to them.
"Hey! Why don't you stop?"
"Yeah. Call it quits. It's not hard."
"Hi ladies. My name's Eliot."
"Yeah. We know who you are."
I smiled and began to raise my cigarette.
"Whoa! Hey!"
"Second hand smoke! Second hand smoke!"
I put my hands up in surrender. "Relax." It was like I'd pulled a gun out. They were backing away. I let the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out as a sign of peace.
One exhaled in relief as she had been holding her breath. "I have a kid you know."
"Okay."
The other sighed. "This might not be my place but-"
"Probably not."
"-you're the last person in the entire world who smokes. You're life must be... very very hard. Why, why don't you just stop? They have amazing programs-"
"Believe me, I'm well aware." I pointed at a magazine stand, where a full row of issues sat with my face on them and the headline 'It's easy, Eliot'.
She looked at the issues. She looked back, struck with a note of sympathy. "It must be stressful."
"Yeeah. The irony."
"Well, is it worth it?"
"It's not just for the smoke itself, crazy as it may sound. It's like a remnant to me. A relic. Something to hold on to." They were intent now. I wouldn't admit it, but it was so nice to have this from someone besides my dog. He's a great dog, don't get me wrong, but it was no challenge getting him on my side. "Clint Eastwood, James Dean- Gandalf- the French! Artists, authors with wooden pipes, and- and politicians chewing on cubans. I know things are better off now but, I miss it. I miss it all."
One of them half smiled. I sure hadn't made anyone smile in a long time. That felt good. She turned to her friend. "Could *one* really hurt that much?" She neared me and gestured at the tobacco box in my jacket pocket. She said, smiling fully, "light me up."
| 2017-02-17T11:57:15
| 2017-02-17T10:43:36
| 1,322
| 174
|
[WP] Your Xbox Live friend is God. Unfortunately he's not very good at video games.
|
**"You know, I really don't know why you want to play such a violent game all the time. Isn't there anything nicer you want to play?"**
"Come on, G-Man, it'll be fun."
**"Hmm... well, I suppose you do only have a little bit of time left to enjoy this kind of thing."**
"What was that?"
**"Oh... nothing. Ooh, let's do this room."**
"But, the ping's a lot higher than the other rooms."
**"Please?"**
"Fine, fine. I guess it's your universe, anyway."
**"Alright, let's go."**
"...Wow, God, you're getting dominated already?"
**"Yes, I suppose I am."**
"You... you do know you're *God*, right?"
**"What do you mean?"**
"Every week, you want us to go on some really weird server, and you always do really badly. You're supposed to be omnipotent, right? Couldn't you just flawlessly win every time?"
**"...Alright, see the person dominating me?"**
"Yeah...?"
**"Five days ago, his mother, and only surviving parent, passed away in her sleep. He's scared he won't be able to help his little sister come to terms with it, or be as good a parent as he should to her. He's playing this game to work out his frustration."**
"...Jesus."
**"Ahem... blasphemy."**
"Right, right..."
**"In any case... I thought he should have a small victory tonight. Small victories accumulate and make you feel better."**
"...Wow."
**"I'm glad you're impressed."**
"...Hang on. What about that 1v1 we did a month back?"
**"Ugh... that's because the sniper rifle is OP as fuck."**
|
"You don't have to hold back that much Dad."
"I know, but if I go all *serious* then I'll crash another multiplayer server."
"Do we have to tank our score every time though?"
"It's bonding time! Does it matter how well we do?"
"No."
"See? Then lets load up another---"
"But it *does* matter if you aren't playing for real."
"You know I can't take things seriously! Remember the flood?"
"We *all* remember. You've been banned from the neighborhood pool ever since."
"That cannonball though. It was really something."
"Yeah, it *was* pretty epic."
"Oh alright, we can try again. I'll play for real."
"Really Dad?"
"You betcha. Just don't blame me if they can't contain---"
"You won't you won't now lets *go!* Oh *C'MON!* Really Dad?!"
"What?"
"We didn't even start!"
"So?"
"We already won!!"
"Well, yeah. It's me."
"That was my favorite multiplayer!!"
"How was I supposed to know they were going to shut down Halo 2's multiplayer server after that?!"
"Because *you* took it too far!"
"It's a timeless classic! You think I *expected* them to---"
"*You* tell me Dad! *You* tell me!"
"See, *that's* why I don't go all out! I swear, this Halo 3 ladder better be something!"
"Or what Dad, you're going to get that one shut down too?"
"No, I'll just get a new studio to take over the franchise. That'll punish them enough."
"You wouldn't."
"Watch me."
"It's Bungie!"
"And I'm *me!*"
---------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading*
| 2016-02-25T21:59:47
| 2016-02-25T19:03:11
| 251
| 39
|
[WP] Cthulhu opens a portal to the mortal plane to attack Earth and is promptly blown to pieces by space guns. Now a group of young eldritch horror adventurers sets out on an epic quest to close the portal and stop the human invasion of their world.
Space guns are mentioned, because I'd really like to see a story with sci-fi elements, but anything else would be just as fine.
|
Dark's fabric hung in tatters, a curtain so wide that it seemed endless, spanning forever and ever as a barrier between worlds. Beyond it was black, and that blackness made the dark seem a nightlight in the world of the Gods.
They had come ready, the void inside growing colder and emptier. They had been hungry, yes, hungry as entropy, and ready to take the world beyond the curtain. Beyond the dark.
He had gone first, for He was the First. Time had come when he was already old, and even in that world of Gods He was feared, and He brought madness to the incomprehensible.
*Let Him feed.*
He had torn the curtain. The black beyond spanned forever, and it was cold space, littered with loneliness, housing shadows for monsters. But He was the greatest monster. Or so they had thought.
The echoes carry between worlds, even when the curtain was there. Ghosts of each other's neighbors reflected in the dim places. For them it was like hearing and seeing food, looking at the lobsters before you ate them. For the humans it was madness, an unexplained feeling that would take the mind beyond the places it was meant to go. An incomprehenisble terror with take them, and release them never. Sometimes there were echoes.
And there were echoes when He went. He had no name, but He was given one. From those who had survived the echoes, that cosmic breeze that brushed past both worlds, they had written stories of Him. Given Him a likeness. They called Him Cthulu.
But the Gods had no names for them, not even the names the humans called themselves. And the echoes of Cthulu's feeding were a cold, monstrous thing.
They heard a cry greater than any sound in the world, since the universe was born. Surely all must be deaf then, they thought. But the cry carried to only their ears. Then there was fire as the silence set in, and a creeping dread had come as they stared hungry at the tattered curtains between world. The blackness beyond had housed some monsters. Something they could never had expected.
They felt His death as a weight being lifted. Confusion and fear were like clouds in a mist of uncertainty. They looked to the still blackness. The food had eaten the hunter. The God was slain, He was elder than all.
And they were afraid.
The echoes were stronger with no curtain. A sound carried like a great roar. Louder and louder. Lights flashed in their world in temporary auras.
*Coming,* they thought. *They're coming.*
Did these beings know how to break the curtain? Or was that knowledge all that had saved them?
*Now it is gone.*
And the sounds grew frightening.
Years it took, but what are years to the eternal, and then they had arrived at the barrier. The Gods had retreated, but there was no where to go. Suddenly the world seemed small, and the shadows had abandoned them.
Great ships of Man were coming, smaller than the smallest God, but they were fearsome and colder than the hearts of the elders.
The guns they wrought were chemical, explosive and uncring. They had not come to feed. The madness they brought with them was from apathy, the uncaring destruction of all life and all things. That madness took the Gods who had known nothing but life since time was young.
In the silence of space there were green and red and orange explosions. The tentacles of the Gods were sawed and destroyed. Their bodies burned at the touch of these weapons. But they were not weak.
They fought back in the primitive way that had worked since conception. They overwhelmed the ships, making their captains mad. Many were destroyed and the humans suffered great losses.
But the humans never stopped.
From that curtain came greater capital ships, long ships that were boxy and full of guns and determined men. In its belly it carried even more ships, and these it launched to flank even the Gods.
*That name,* thought the Gods, for they could read and understand all, if their arrogance allowed them.
And they looked at the ship that came from the black. It was still coming from the curtain even as it fired, both near and far. Its cannons were like tentacles themselves, and each round was a detonation that shook the vastness.
They had no name for the humans, even as their death came nigh.
They looked at the ship as they fell.
*'Lovecraft.'*
And they wondered if that was what they called themselves. Was that the 'Cthulu' of their world. But all thought had gone then, and through the curtain the black shivered. It often shivered when there was a great many deaths.
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story, you might want to check out r/PanMan, my subreddit. It has all my WP stories, plus a couple original pieces. Thank you!*
|
Chunks of Cthulhu's form were blown back through portal, splattering the Eldritch Plane like great gobs of apricot jam.
The shimmering blobs coated the landscape, and Zruila's stunned face, before slowly dissolving into the starlight and ether that had formed them.
There was a moment of eternal silence that lasted all of two seconds.
A hail of gunfire and explosions sounded from the other side of the portal.
"Shit," Zruila said. She threw herself to the ground, narrowly avoiding a large bolt of pure energy that passed through the spot where her head had been, and exploded two hundred behind her. The force of the blast rolled her across the ground, and the mountain of pure diamond that had been there a moment before was nothing but a huge crater.
"Shit," Zruila said again.
More firing was coming and explosions were peppering the ground like rain drops in a thunderstorm. Zruila picked herself up and sprinted through them like a a lightning bolt, putting as much space between herself and the portal as possible.
There was no word in the mortal tongue for the place where They lived, so let us call it the City. Zruila arrived at the City in the space of four heartbeats, or the time it takes for the soul of a dying star to cross the universe.
In the Council's chambers, the Eldest regarded her severely. "Cthulhu cannot be killed by metal or flesh."
"Not by either," Zruila said, "but by pure energy."
The Eldest laughed. "Dear Zruila, such power is beyond the ken of mortal men."
Later, Zruila said, "The Eldest are almost as foolish as Cthulhu was."
Qgp, Eater of Galaxies, nursed his pint and nodded sourly. "I can feel portal. It is still open. Even now, the humans prepare to come through."
"They will bring with them fire and dust and the Light that Darkens," said Brugko, He Who Sees With A Thousand Eyes. "And they will leave behind Death Herself."
"Death?" Zruila whispered. "Then they will destroy us all."
Silence descended upon the trio as they sat at the bar.
Then Brugko said, "There are other futures. If the portal can be closed..."
Qgp said, "We cannot do that from here."
"We must travel," Zruila said, "to the World of Men."
---
/r/jd_rallage
| 2017-09-27T08:12:07
| 2017-09-27T07:44:31
| 100
| 16
|
[WP] While cleaning your attic, you find a box of glass balls with names on them. You accidentally drop one, and as soon as it shatters, you hear your neighbor scream. Her husband has dropped dead.
|
The new house wasn't really what I'd hoped for.
Desperate to move out of my piece-of-crap rental, I'd bid on every house I could get a loan for - anything had to be better than an asshole landlord and a carpet that smelled like piss. If it was my own house, at least I could do something about the carpet.
Sadly, what I won was anticlimactic. It was small, a "fixer-upper", with no yard and a basement leak that felt like it could kill me before I got to do anything about it. Still, I tried to keep my hopes up - better than here, better than here.
I didn't have much stuff, so moving in was almost depressingly easy. I'd never felt aware of just how broke I was until it hit me that I wasn't even moving a bedframe. Within the first week, my meager belongings were strewn in approximately ideal placements, and I finally thought to brave the attic and the basement.
The attic. Oh god, the attitc.
I was skeeved from my first moment in there - it was more of a crawl space, and my history of claustrophobia didn't do any wonders. Some schmuck had left a Oujia board, and beyond that, there was a large cardboard box coated in "FRAGILE - DO NOT BREAK!" stickers.
Getting it back down the ladder was hard, and I had to admit, I was curious. I bounced the box against my hip as I very slowly went down the ladder, and then the lid flopped open, a small glass ball rolling off the top - it almost looked like a pile of bubbles, from some child's bath.
'Eileen', the ball read, and then smashed on the floor.
I didn't think anything of it for a while - when I set the box down, there were more balls like that, with names and addresses. Fucking creepy, sure, but what was I to do about it? I texted my friend Sam about it, and her and I had a laugh over it while I sat on my floor, slurping Chinese takeout from boxes.
And then the ambulances arrived.
See, I've always been good at putting two and two together. Eileen's ball, I realized, from the shards I frantically put together, had the address of my neighbors on it. Her official cause of death was a heart attack from old age. I had the sinking feeling I knew better.
I remembered, then, a ball I'd seen floating near the top - a Daniel, from State Street, who'd tried to roofie my drink and succeeded at Sam's.
I wish I could tell you I felt regret when I smashed his ball on the kitchen floor, or when he died at his football game two weeks later.
Brain trauma, they said.
|
I hope this doesn’t break the rules in some way, but I wrote another WP earlier today and I thought that this one would make a good follow up. No obligation but if you want to read the “beginning” of this story, click [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/dr1hva/wp_you_invent_time_travel_and_the_first_thing_you/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf) .
~~
I stand there, frozen in fear, hoping it was a coincidence. I had dropped the glass ball with the name “Fred Anderson,” our next-door neighbour. A fraction of a second after the ball shattered at my feet, Mrs. Anderson’s screams echoed from in their home.
I can hear my wife, Elizabeth, running up the rickety stairs from the main floor to the attic. I spin around, my eyes meeting hers. She glances at the floor, a slow guilt crossing her face.
“What. Are. These.” I gasp through clenched teeth, afraid to move from where I’m standing.
Her green eyes start filling with tears. Her pale skin looks snow white in the moonlight coming through the small window.
“I...” she begins, “I made Orbs of Being for each of the neighbours that I...” she paused, blushing. “That I thought suspected that I’m a witch.”
“Nobody suspects that you’re a witch, Elizabeth.” I can see she’s remorseful. It’s so hard being angry with her when she simply doesn’t know any better. She can’t help the fact that I took her from a time in history where everyone was setting each other on fire for fear of evil witches. I mean, that’s exactly what I rescued her from; pulled her right off a burning stake and carried her back to my time machine. Jokes on me though, she really is a witch. “Can you fix it?”
“No,” she was looking at the glass on the floor again.
“Alright,” I look at the orbs behind me. “Can you at least... deactivate these ones or something?”
“Yes,” she looks like she’s going to cry.
“It’s fine Elizabeth, he was a miserable old man anyway.”
~~
r/SpnddStories
| 2019-11-03T23:23:28
| 2019-11-03T19:55:00
| 22
| 14
|
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious.
|
Quick edit for readability: a lot of comments are telling me the time skips aren't showing up on mobile, since you can't see the break lines. So I'll just add in dates.
Westminster Palace, 2050
Rodney Bradley eased himself to a stand and felt a series of clicks in his left knee. He straightened his back to a chorus of complaints from his body, and hooked his worn oaken cane with his left hand before shuffling across his office towards the window. The sun was low in the sky in the city high rises beyond Parliament Square. Another day lost to the grind of trying to keep his country moving.
Thirty years in politics could leave a man weathered down to his core. Brexit, the Second and Third Scottish Referendums, the Korean Crisis, Walexit. Rodney's spirit was as weathered and battered as they came, but that weathering revealed a solid stone beneath. Labour's MPs had entrusted him with Prime Minister job three years ago, and he'd aged as much in that time as he had in the other twenty seven years.
Unlike someone else.
When the queen outlived her own son, it had been newsworthy, but not necessary inhuman. Prince Charles had succumbed to a heart attack at the ripe old age of 73. Not quite seeing his mother's hundredth birthday. Rodney quirked half a smile at such a seemingly morbid memory. That had been a day to change his life.
------------------------------------------
Westminster Palace, 2022
He was late, again. Curse it. First year MPs were somewhat frowned upon if they couldn't bother attending meetings, and a face to face with the shadow cabinet secretary of health was by far his most important legislative assignment on the month. Great time to get lost.
He ran a broad hand through the thick brown hair on his head, beginning to grow too long, as his steps carried him through Westminster. His phone buzzed in his pocket, doubtlessly an update on Prince Charles health. The entire nation hung on the man's labored breathing and arrhythmic heartbeat; the national mood as erratic as the dying man's pulse. Charles had been a fixture of Bradley's life, but William had always been his prince. Being of an age to William's younger brother had that certain affect on he and his generation.
Finally his feet carried him before a nondescript door bearing the correct numbers, and pushed it open.
The first shock was that more than one individual awaited him, the second shock was that one of the extras was a prince.
"Sit down, Rodney." Chimed Jon Ashworth, the broad and charming Shadow Secretary of Health. His black hairs fading to gray, "We're glad you're here. It's time to get started."
Prince Phillip leaned forward, his frail body clearly pushed near its limit just to be here in Westminster, "A pleasure to meet you sir, forgive me if we must be brief, but I should be at the Prince's side come the death, so we lack time for proper courtesy." He nodded at Ashworth, his perpetual jovial smile fading to a frown, "With Charles death I'm afraid the work must pass from me directly to William and Harry. They'll need some help," Phillip waved at the sparse handful of politicians in the room, "those in the know have recommended you. So, without further ado, I must ask you: will you help us to stop the love of my life?"
Presumably, the world kept spinning for the next few seconds. Street vendors throughout London continued passing off questionable kebab to unsuspecting tourists, mind the gap messages droned throughout the subways of the United Kingdom. For all the good that knowledge did Rodney it might as well have been a teacup in orbit around Jupiter.
"I'm sorry sir, I can't have heard you correctly." Rodney tried to keep his voice steady, his tone respectful. Phillip was still the Prince Consort, and a nearly hundred year old man. Hardly someone to shout down.
"I'm afraid you did, son." Phillip said, not unkindly, but distracted. "I realized the issue myself some years back, but the queen is a tough one to crack. I'm still not sure how she does it."
Ashworth reached to a neat pile of folders in front of him, pulling from the top one of the meme posters that had risen to prominence in the UK over the past decade. *Long Live the Queen* was scrolled across it in blocky print, an off red rendition of the crown adorning the top of the page. Ashworth put a finger near his lips, "Say the words not. We know that much. Somehow, she draws power from them, longevity. With them she is to be immortal."
Rodney's face must have been a study in confusion as he stared at the men, "But she's... she's old, obviously. Nearing 100. She looks it to."
"A clever bit of vanity," spat Philip. "She hasn't aged a day in thirty years, Charles and I knew that much, at least. What we never could figure out was how to broach the subject without being sent to the looney bin." Philip waved his hand weakly, and a security guard Rodney had barely seen stepped forward, taking grip of the Prince-Consort's wheelchair, "I must be there at the death. Good day gentlemen, hopefully we shall speak further some day."
Ashworth smiled at the retreating pair, then turned his calm gaze onto Rodney, "Welcome to the circus."
-----------------
Westminster Palace 2050
As Rodney gazed out the window leaning heavily on the cane, he heard a slight commotion at the door to his office. But a familiar one. The rasping sounds of old cow leather on carpet, a steel cane tapping out a staccato rhythm before the little wiry man he couldn't yet see. The stopper being pulled on the bottle of gin sitting at his desk, a frown at the sound of the stopper being returned too soon, "Come now Jon, I assume you intend to pour two."
Ashworth's chuckle covered up the sound of the second pour, but a glass was set on his windowsill an appropriate time later, as the ancient and wiry MP took up his standard position just on Bradley's left. They cut an interesting pair, he'd run heavy in his youth, and only grown heavier since. The stress of politicking and secret societies may have weathered his spirit to hard stone, but it had softened his belly to a warm jello. Jon had been the opposite, going days and sometimes weeks with little to no food or rest. Bradley couldn't prove it, but he suspected his friend had turned to darker substances at times to keep him going. But they had fought.
They hadn't won, of course. The queen wouldn't be celebrating her birthday yet again if they had, but the bitch knew she was in a battle.
"Long live the king," muttered Ashworth around his first draw of the gin.
"I'll drink to that, even if it is illegal." Bradley echoed, throwing back the fire as the sun dropped behind the statue of Churchill. Another day indeed.
|
James Wright tapped his finger on the desk absently.
Another dead end. He had made a career out of following the royal families movements and reporting any peculiarities.
Why they never seem to age was easily waved away in the way of Hollywood stars. Lotions, potions and the best doctors money could buy.
However there were certain things he could never explain. Why you'd never see any of them in public during a full moon. Why their clothes were so conservative at certain times to be called almost Mormon. Why they choose to marry unknown women only from families the queen approved of.
The Queen...
His musings always ended up there, the Queen.
Forty years of hounding her around and yet she never seemed to age a day.
A few clicks on his old fashioned iPod brought up the images for comparison. The very first on he had taken of her in 2010 side by side with her most recent one. Not even a wrinkle added or a hair lost during all that time.
James smiled at the remembrance. He was fresh out of collage then with a head full of dreams, not to mention dark black hair he thought wistfully. He had established himself in the industry, met his wife during a conference and she had gaven him thirty years and two strong boys.
All that was gone now, He was alone in his apartment surrounded by the ghosts of the past. Yet here was the Queen, His Queen. The same as ever. Unchanged by the passage of time. Didn't seem right somehow.
Theories popped up now and again but the media did it's best to either bury or ridicule them.
As he checked the forums for the latest gossip on the topic he got a little ding alerting him to receiving new mail.
Checking the sender's name he raised an eyebrow. He hadn't thought he'd hear from that young lady again, she was at best a long shot but...
He quickly opened the message and started reading.
**James Wright age 67 was found dead in his apartment on the 13th. Police suspect that the man walked in while a robbery was taking place and had a heart attack on the spot. All electronics and valuables were removed.**
| 2022-09-28T19:15:05
| 2018-07-09T01:29:27
| 1,931
| 37
|
[WP] You die and find out that the diety with the most followers is in charge of the afterlife. Unfortunately, you also find out that animals have their own dieties - including ants who outnumber humans by over a million to one.
|
it's not so bad being dead. Yeah sure, it's almost entirely populated by ants and there's a stupid amount of hard labor to be done for ant god but you technically have eternity for just as much relaxing as hard labor. right now you're spending some of your eternity playing cards with a couple friends. Horace, Marge, and Ellen were worker ants you met a few days ago while moving giant apple slices to the hatching district. Pretty cool guys all in all, the only problem is that ants don't really understand the concept of money.
"Have any two's?"
"Go fish."
"Dammit" Horace drew another card with his long gangly arms, adding to his growing hand.
They all turned and stared you down, waiting for your move. At least that's what it felt like, it's still really hard to read their expressions through the mandibles and blank eyes. you look down to your last card and grimace, you've been trying to stall for a while but sheer dumb luck has forced you down to your very last card.
"Horace, do you..." you sigh " Do you have any Queens?"
"QUEEEEEEN!"
"FOR THE EVERQUEEN!"
"ALL HAIL THE QUEEN OF QUEENS"
you crouch behind the upturned poker table as the zealous ants trash your apartment while about their ant god. pinching the bridge you think to yourself that you should really learn to play solitaire.
|
“Bloody hell!”
“Hey, quit complaining. This place is substantially better than hell, you have to admit that much.”
*Like hell I will. To think, one moment I’m enjoying a road trip with my best friend, next, we've driven into a lake, and then I suddenly find myself surrounded by giant, sentient ant monsters ordering me to carry rocks that are at least three times my weight to God knows where. What kind of an afterlife is this? I never thought I’d say this, but I sure hope this is a drug trip gone wrong.*
I had been struggling with the same boulder for my entire stay at the freaky ant factory, dripping with sweat as I continued to push the boulder with all of my might. Beside me, Eva wasn’t faring much better. I watched her ram her entire body against the boulder, only for her to fall backwards into a pile of dirt. I let out a snicker and she glared up at me through messy brown bangs.
“You moron!” She stood up almost immediately, dusting her pants off and giving her head a good shake. “You’re going to get us in trouble!”
“Psh, yeah right. There’s way too many underlings for anyone to notice us.”
I looked around, seeing nothing but a sea of ants scurrying past us, carrying the rocks with ease. So far, we were the only human beings in sight, but I had gotten a glimpse of what appeared to be a gorilla and possibly a dolphin, only to have them disappear behind a wave of bustling ants immediately afterwards.
*At least Eva and I are better off than some….animals.*
“You!”
Or so I thought.
Two large ants scuttled up towards me, and somehow, I could tell they meant business.
“Come with us!”
I stood aghast. Their mouth, or what appeared to be a mouth, wasn’t moving. Somehow, I knew they were speaking, and that they were speaking to me. But only in my mind.
*This has to be a drug trip.*
“You’ve been selected for reproduction!”
*A fantastic drug trip!*
“Eva! Did you hear that? This place isn’t so bad after all! Maybe even you’ll get laid, too!” When I turned to look at Eva, her face conveyed anything but excitement. Rather, I was confused to see that she was looking at me in sheer terror.
“Eva, what’s wrong?”
“Matty, I think they want you to be…a drone.” She shuddered.
“A wha’?”
“Matty...drones are the ants that impregnate the queen…and then they die!”
“Wait…no! That can't be! I’m not even an ant, this has to be a mista-“
All of a sudden, I felt myself lifted into the air, and I was staring up at the dirt ceiling above me. And before I knew what was happening, I was traveling through the sea of ants faster than I thought possible, with the sounds of Eva screaming my name fading into the distance.
*Shit. Shit. Shit. I’ve got to find a way out of this. Or somebody who can help me. I can’t die in the afterlife, goddammit!*
I turned and looked to my left. When I saw him, my face lit up in excitement. He stood out like a sore thumb, and because I could see above the chaos now, I could tell that we were being pushed closer and closer together.
*Another human! Just a few more feet and then I'll be able to talk to him!*
But it wasn’t until he looked up that I realized just who he was, and the impossibility of it all made me want to believe otherwise. When his eyes met mine, they nearly seemed to pop out of their sockets, and rightfully so.
His face was only two feet from mine now, and I could only bring myself to say one word.
“…Dad?”
| 2016-09-12T00:37:30
| 2016-09-11T21:55:41
| 101
| 14
|
[WP] Instead of a dystopia that seems like a utopia on the surface, write a story about a utopia that seems like a dystopia on the surface.
|
A lot of people were unhappy when the world went to shit, but not James Henderson. For him, it had all been a dream come true.
It started with drugs. Growing, refining, smuggling: James did it all. But he always knew that he wouldn't be limited to just one market. When war broke out in the Middle East yet again, one of James's shell corporations was right in the thick of things, selling equipment to the Russians and the Americans. And *another* of his shell corporations was on the other side, selling the very same equipment to Iran and its allies. Very few people found James's joke about "making a killing off of all of this killing" very funny, but James had enough money to not give a fuck what they thought.
Then came the instability at home. The U.S. government, paralyzed by partisan bickering (and now massively in debt and unpopular because of the war), eventually just fell apart. State governments came together into coalitions, all vying to be the replacement power. And most people in the country suffered for it... except for the ones like James. He had enough money to fly out on his private jet, down to his own private villa in Brazil. And all the while, his media outlets in the States continued pushing the war agenda (and simultaneously grew his fortune).
And when disease struck, James was in the right place at the right time yet again. His stock in that pharmaceutical company skyrocketed when they finally created a viable vaccine, though the millions who'd already been infected were kind of shit-out-of-luck. A man like James could afford the best doctors, and the security at his gates screened out anyone who could be carrying the disease.
From his living room, James watched the world crumble. And he didn't care. He had everything that *he* needed, and was one of the few people in the world who seemed to recognize the opportunities that came along with every tragedy. Everyone was wrong, James mused to himself. Money really *can* buy happiness.
-----------
Kate Lewis checked the computer's data readout. James Henderson, now aged 45, living in-simulation for the past 16 years. Vital signs all seemed to be normal, and the world-generating processes were all running smoothly.
She glanced around, making sure that no one was looking. Of course the hallway was deserted: nearly everyone was living in-simulation now, and she was the only tech on duty. So she decided to take a little peek into James Henderson's world. *Technically*, her company Simulacorp offered 'complete privacy' to every customer. A person's simulation is based on their personality. It reflects their wants, their needs, their desires (no matter *how* taboo). So discretion was generally the key here. But Kate had always been a bit of a snoop, and the desire to find out how all of these people were living was practically overwhelming.
She put on the goggles, plugged into the external jack, and was instantly horrified by the Pablo Escabar-esque fantasy world she saw. Throughout her years at Simulacorp she'd seen all sorts of scenarios with some less-than-savory elements. But this man had apparently driven the *entire planet* into the ground just so that he could be king of the ashes.
"Damn," she whispered to herself as she took off the goggles and moved on to servicing the next customer's computer. "That guy is fucked up."
-----
You should also subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for tons more stories!
|
The year is 2044. Chicago is in ruins. Drug dealers, kidnappers, scammers, rapists, all over the surface. Businesses are crumbling. Banks practically don't even exist. People fear for their life. The chance of a child younger than 25 joining a gang was 87%. You can hear gunshots all night long. But, underneath the city is something different.
You see, In 2022, Chicago built right over the old city. Just made a new one right on top, and buried most of the old city in concrete, leaving the main areas and landmark sites as "Historical preservation sites." It moved all the people upwards, promising a "future you have never seen before," "basically unlimited housing," and more. In 2026 though, just 4 years after "New Chicago" became open to the public, police corruption started becoming commonplace. Soon enough, the police didn't even exist. After that, hospitals, fire stations, and more. Chicago became the 4th most dangerous place to live in the world, and urged travelers to not go within a radius of 40 miles of the city.
But, those who were clever enough, banded together to fight off the gangs, drug dealers, rapists, etc. They became known as the sewer people in 2032. They lived in the foxholes of the city. The little nooks and crannies the "surface people" didn't notice. At first they lived in the sewers. Then one day, a man by the name of John Royles found it. It was a little hole in the brick in a dried out area of the sewers.
Once he entered, he couldn't believe his eyes. He was in "Old Chicago." The ruined, abandoned skyscrapers towered above him, getting buried in the industrial concrete, a concrete that barely needs any support in order to stay up. He went back to one of the "sewertowns" and told everybody there about this miracle.
Soon enough, people started flocking to what people call "New Eden." Now, in 2044, it is an oasis. Food is provided in the same amount and quantity to people daily, no matter what, with no bias whatsoever. Supply runs are made daily. In 2039, shortly after "New Eden" was offficially founded, a private mercenary group found the place, but instead of shooting everyone up, they became the New Eden private security. They protected people in New Eden, and provided military escorts, as well as defenses along the outer perimeter.
To this day, Old Chicago is almost entirely unmapped, with only a small portion of the city center being mapped. It is believed that the "sewerpeople" only know of about 5% of Old Chicago. The current population of New Eden is around 230,000, with the west side being entirely dedicated to growing crops in the low light there is, the east side being devoted to the the current mayor, Mac Royle, and the south and city center being devoted to housing, with seperate apartments and housing blocks. The north is the "business district" with office blocks, security training, and more.
There are currently 12 "official" entrances to New Eden, guarded by armed guards. The other 34 "Unofficial" entrances are not guarded, because they are just urban foxholes in the ground, or sewer lids. More and more entrances are being found to this day.
| 2016-07-14T06:26:04
| 2016-07-14T04:39:28
| 2,263
| 205
|
[WP] You can make a lie become truth, but only one lie at a time, once it is a lie again everyone involved will know immediately. You’re on your deathbed, holding one lie as truth for decades. You know hell will break loose once you die and the lie becomes a lie, and everybody will know.
|
I have been a baker for many, many years. It wasn't always a passion or even something I thought I could do. I lied at a bar to impress someone and one thing led to another and here I am baking rolls and bread.
Another lie was that I had perfected that art of cake making. People believed it and flooded the store with orders for weddings, birthdays and mitzvahs. Once I even made one for a funeral, that person was either really liked or really hated as it had a festive motif.
I'm old now, pushing 80 when a younger me thought I'd suffer the family curse and die at 60. I'm doing all I can to keep living because once I pass people will know a simple truth. The truth that...... The cake is a lie.
|
I think they would understand why I did it. The truth is terrifying at first, but ultimately has no immediate impact, and will not for some time. But it will still change everything. Except, it did not have to, at least, not yet, and that was the reason why I did it. Maybe I was selfish, maybe I just wanted to live out my life in the world as I had known it for my first several decades of existence. But here, now, at the end of my life, knowing what I am about to unleash, I feel guilty, because I am leaving everyone else to deal with it, and I robbed them of years to deal with it, to plan for it, to come to terms with the truth of our reality. They will have that time now, and maybe they will handle it far better than I. Maybe all I accomplished was sentencing myself to live with a sense of futility for decades until my death, as I held back the truth like a dam holding back a flood. I will not be here to see, but knowing what I know of humanity, I cannot help but be terrified that the truth will tear the world apart, the truth that we are very clearly not alone in the universe. Not by a long shot.
| 2022-11-18T09:05:17
| 2022-11-18T05:25:43
| 22
| 10
|
[WP] Dumbledore decides not to leave Harry Potter with the Dursley family. Instead young Potter is sent to Chicago and placed on the doorsteps of Harry Dresden's home.
Edit: Thanks for the gold!
|
"You're a wizard, Harry."
"What."
"And the only one we could find in the American phonebook. We were somewhat suprised, really," the old wizard glanced at me over his half-moon spectacles. He reminded me of the Merlin, if somewhat less grouchy. Still, the guy just popped into my office with five minutes warning, and I do mean *popped.*
"No, I mean, what're you doing bringing the kid to ME? Hells Bells, my roommate is a Vampire! Doesn't he have any family on your side of the pond?"
"Oh he does," Dumbledore smiled, "but they're not necessarily the most tolerant towards the magical arts. They'd likely force him to live under their stairs or something. Better to leave him someplace safer. There is the chance his enemies may find him, and, Mr. Dresden, you have something of a reputation of being quite accomplished in the realm of combating dark forces."
"And assuming I take the gig," I sighed, knowing in my gut that I was already going to despite my misgivings, "who's after him?"
"A cabal of Dark Wizards, responsible for the deaths of dozens between them."
"Dozens? Just... Dozens? What kind of evil cabal has a body-count of *dozens!?* There're small-time street gangs downtown that have easily that many. In the Warden's books you're hardly more than a nuisance until you've got fifty!"
"Will you take the child or not?" Dumbledore asked, a wispy edge of tesyiness entering his voice.
"Can't quite turn him down, now can I? Fine, but I'll teach him *my* way. And he's not going off to school with no dainty *wand,* neither."
"So be it," Dumbledore nodded, and vanished with another *pop.*
"Well, Harry, " I sighed, looking down at the gently cooing bundle, a lighting-bolt scar on his forehead, "Welcome to the family. Mouse is going to be so excited."
11 Years Later
"There is no "good" or "evil," Harry Potter," the deformed face on the backside of Professor Quirrel's head sneered, "There is only *power!* and those too week to take-"
The sharp thundering crack of a .44 rang out through the tiny room, and the face of Voldemort partially exploded mid-sentence. I put my father's handgun back in my school robes beside my blasting rod and patted it beneath the enchanted bulletproof cloth. *I sure do love my step-dad,* I grinned.
|
**Spoilers up to Dead Beat for the Dresden Files**
----
The building was fire, and it wasn't my fault.
No, really.
Stop looking at me like that.
Chicago is my town. I'm the "Who you gonna call?" dude. Something bad happens in this city that's just a little weirder than weird? That's my thing. Good news is, ever since the almost-zombie-apocalypse-that-didn't-happen last Halloween, I actually get paid for doing what I've always done, now.
Bad news: it put me on the radar.
As it turns out, when the White Council gives you a grey cloak, it starts turning heads - particularly when they once had you on a suspended execution sentence. In the magical community, turnarounds like that just don't happen. The Council is so conservative and set in their ways, they make the Vatican look like they just rocked off the Magic Bus.
I never wanted to be involved in Council politics. I kept out of them as best I could, and while I received a few overt visits - and a couple more covert messages - I managed to keep myself out of it. I'm perfectly happy being the proverbial black sheep.
I should've been worried about something else.
When you picture a wizard, you think of a guy like the Merlin. Flowing robes, long white beard, the wisdom of ages evident in the weary lines of his face. Now imagine his older brother pretending to be a stork and *dropping a baby on my porch*. Who knew the Council wasn't the only mortal magical body around?
----
I squinted at the fire and ran my hand through my hair. Murph was going to kick my ass.
O'Kelly's gym. This was where I trained every once in a while, when I had the time. The light from the blaze threw my shadow all the way down the street as I strode towards the plainclothes cop, who was talking to one of the firefighters on scene. She was cute, blonde, and more than a foot shorter than the soot-covered big man beside her. Lieutenant Karrin Murphy looked more like someone's aunt than the head of Chicago PD's Special Investigations team. She was cute, blue-eyed and had an upturned nose, and a hell of a lot tougher than she looked.
She was also good people.
I caught the tail end of their conversation as I got close.
"...gotta go help with this now, Lieutenant. I'll let you know if we find anything else."
"Thanks, Pete," Murphy said as he left.
I chucked my chin at her by way of greeting. "One of their guys was actually here off-duty when it started. Definitely wasn't an accident; the guy said there was nothing one second and a miniature inferno in the back room the next. One thing, though - he heard a baby crying?" She raised an eyebrow as she delivered the question.
"Yeah, about that, Murph," I winced. "I may know something about that."
"Dresden..." her voice was unimpressed. "How straight are you going to be with me, and will I be kicking your ass after you leave out important details?"
"It's not my fault! I couldn't just leave him on the doorstep!"
| 2017-08-16T11:18:02
| 2017-08-16T10:51:07
| 470
| 42
|
[WP] People often attribute your success as a superhero to your power. However the truth is the power itself sucks, you just learnt how to use it well despite its limitations over the years, as one power stealing villain painfully learnt
|
I have been in the superhero game for a lot of years, since I was a preteen as a matter of fact, and have grown to become one of the best and most successful heroes in the world. I’ve served on countless minor teams from the Combat Kids to the New Crew and even spent a couple of years on Young Victory, the “feeder team” to the prestigious Hero Guild International. I spent time as part of the revamped HGI, I was a member of the Freedom League of the World, and even had a short stint on the now-defunct Righteous Action Team.
Each team gave me ample time to develop into a respected hero. I’ve had my share of villains gunning for my life and even had an arch-villain or two declare eternal vengeance and doom upon me and yet I was still active, even at forty-three. All these years gave me time to perfect and master my power. It was a life-long journey that hadn’t come easy. It was a lesson that my current “Arch-Enemy” Photostature was about to learn the hard way.
“Ha, ha! Fuck you!” the villain laughed as he adjusted a dial on his gauntlet, “I found the right frequency! How did Kill’em’all struggle with you for all those years?!”
Photostature was the latest in a line of villains who thought he’d make a name for himself at my expense. He had only recently taken up the spot as my “Arch-enemy”, not even a month aft Lord Kill’em’all was locked up in the interdimensional prison for villains. I knew a bit about him, including the fact that his ability to temporarily steal powers was amplified by technology, and I knew that given the chance he’d try to take my power as soon as he could. He obviously planned this for a while since he managed to ambush me as I was patrolling the rooftops.
Purple energy lanced around my body and battered me to the ground and I felt my powers momentarily dissipate. Weakness flowed through me for a moment as Photostature’s machinery did its job. The harness infused him with my power, or a nearly exact copy of my powers at least and I saw the sick smile of his spread across his face.
“This power! This energy! Now I have the power that makes you one of… the… gr… eat… est…”
I shook my head.
Very slowly his grinning smile turned sour and become a frozen grimace of horror before he vanished. I took a deep breath to steady myself as my powers returned. I reached out and altered the flow of time around myself. As the world around me slowed to a stop I too vanished from the rooftop.
Photostature stood, still as a statue as I appeared. His face was a mask of horror and fear as I approached. Around us the world was gray and lifeless, frozen in a moment in time. He turned and ran at me. A quick motion froze him in his place.
“So is it everything you thought it would be?” I asked as I stepped aside and released him.
“What the hell is going on?!” He screamed as he desperately fumbled with his harness, “You have mastery over Speed and Velocity! Everyone knows that! You’re fucking famous for it! You can make things go faster or slower!”
I shrugged, “That’s not really my power. That’s basically a side effect of my actual power. You see it’s taken me a REALLY long time to learn how to do that. My power is actually the ability to alter and control the flow of time. I can manipulate time so that stops almost completely around me… or I can increase it so that I can move faster than light itself. I can also affect creatures and objects as well.”
Photostature grimaced as he concentrated for several minutes until finally, he fell over, exhausted. Breathing heavily and sweating profusely the villain cursed until I sat down next to him. With an angry look, he glared at me. I gave him a little smile.
“Look, when my power first manifested, I spent six months trapped in a pocket of stopped time. Six goddamned months trapped in a completely still and silent world. I tried to will myself back to normal time every day. Every day, all day, until I was exhausted and burned out. It took me six months to manage it... and then I returned as if I had vanished less than a moment earlier.
It took me many more years to get a hold of my powers and truth be told, I still don’t have it perfect. Harry… Lord Kill’em’all, knew that. I talked to him a couple of times like this, just me and him… it was always a good time. Except… well you know the Villainous International League Extraordinaire has quotas and benchmarks to meet. To appease VILE, every so often Harry had to make a real go at it. And well, the last time he really screwed the pooch. Ripped up way more of downtown than normal.”
“What the shit is going on here?” my newest Arch-Enemy asked bewildered, “I’m not your fucking friend. I’m the guy who is going to kill you!”
I laughed, “Yup. Doing a bang-up job of that sport.”
“Son of a bitch!” he screamed as he scrambled to his feet.
I waved my hand and held him in place, “Yuh-huh. Look… My powers kinda suck normally. It took me forty years to master them and I still manage to slip into this… Time Void when I fall asleep. Do you think you’ll be able to master them any faster?”
“I don’t have to. I can turn off my rig and be done with this shit.” He said as he flicked a toggle on his chest.
When nothing happened I laughed, “You’re untethered to the time stream now. Caught in a moment between now and then. You only exist here, in the Time Void and you’ll be stuck here until one of two things happen. Either I return you to functioning time or you wait here until your borrowed power ends… which, given what I know about you would normally be an hour, but here? Maybe a year or so?”
“Goddamn it. The fuck do you want?”
“Honestly? Tone it down a little. Don’t take this whole thing so seriously… do it for the money or the fame but don’t put the citizens at risk. Keep the collateral damage to a minimum. Don’t be a monster, be… I don’t know… be better than that.”
“Are you kidding me? Is this why Lord Kill’em’all went soft?!”
“Look I don’t expect you to be like Harry. He was a friend. I just want you to understand that people get hurt when heroes and villains fight. And I want you to understand that if anyone gets hurt when you’re gunning for me there will be consequences.”
I shot him a cold, hard look and he choked down another curse.
“Fine.” He mumbled, “Get me back and I’ll take it easy on you old man.”
I nodded and extended my hand. Slowly time began to flow around us. Color began to filter back into our world first, going from pale and dull to their normal hues. Motion came next with sound soon after. My enemy smiled and flipped the toggle on his harness, shutting off the stored power. I nodded again, a gesture of our new found understanding, and turned to leave.
I sighed as I heard the sound of metal scraping leather. I let my concentration lapse and my power kicked in full force. Everything around me stopped. A bullet hovered in mid-air and Photostature grimaced at my back. I felt little more than disappointment as I let time flow around him and only him, giving him the ability to move freely yet trapping him in the Time Void.
“Oh shit.”
“Oh shit indeed, asshole. I’ll be back for you eventually… maybe then you’ll have learned your lesson?” I said before returning to normal time.
|
***GOO (Short story)***
Chapter One:
“The Gelatin! The Gelatin!” The people cry out my heroic name as I step through the masses to face the bank in which the tellers are being held hostage. “The Gelatin! The Gelatin!” Okay, I mean, my hero name sucks, but The Hero Association is the one that gives out names according to the powers a hero has, so you can’t blame me for that hideous lack of creativity. For quite some time after the decision for my name I was put out, always conscious of the snickers my horrible name brought from other heroes — until a realization struck me. A name meant nothing without the hero behind it. So even though both my name and power are laughably terrible, nonstop work has placed me in this position, lauded by all and one of the first choices of help to any disastrous situation. At first only a pile of goo that couldn’t move, I managed to learn how to control my transformation. Soon, I had learned a fair amount of tricks I could do with this strange ability — though I still couldn’t move as the goo. No matter, I had worked around it. Suck it, DeathMaw! You have a fricking mouth on your stomach, and you made fun of ME? Well, that’s all behind me now, and this bank is currently what’s in front, so it’s time to spy out the situation.
The wind ruffles my wavy red hair, which would look heroic if it wasn’t for the fact that I wear a light green spandex outfit to cover my body, and nothing else. This spandex may look ridiculous, but I wouldn’t part from it for anything in this world. With my good friend, the scientist Meca N. Ich’s help, this spandex has become the one thing between me and being naked the moment I use my power. Not only this, but while a bullet might cause me severe bruises, the spandex was unbending from the outside, something which had kept me alive — albeit rather busted up — over the years. I observe the bank, my years of experience giving me a good eye. *One front entrance, two back ones. All guarded*, *I assume.* The district’s City Guard Overwatcher walks toward me, her long black hair streaming behind her as she briskly approaches. *Man, can that woman make a uniform look good.* Not that I’d ever say anything to the kind to her. She stops directly in front of me, glowering black eyes and entire five-foot-three body bristling with anger.
“Gel”
“Maria”
“They have an insider on this one.”
“Of course they do. Because nothing can ever be simple for us”
She gives me a bitter smile. “We weren’t alerted about this until it was already over and they had their demands ready. They want three choppers, twenty million in untraceable credits, and to keep three hostages with them.”
“They seriously think we’ll give it to them? There is no way-”
“One of the hostages is the High Chancellor’s daughter.”
“Oh, so we’re definitely going to give it to them.”
“Not if you can stop it.”
“What’s the low-down?”
“Twenty-five highly trained DarkOps with full equipment.”
“Sonofa- they actually hired DarkOp mercenaries?”
“Clearly, this is something bigger, but we need to focus on what we can do now.” She motions to an aide, who rushes up with a blueprint map that details the bank’s architecture and insides. “Infrared scans show the girl is here” she points at one of the lower vaults, and draws a little circle. “They keep the vault opened for air, but will seal themselves in there if we cross a certain point.”
“‘If you screw us we screw you back’?”
“Exactly. So this is why you’re here. Can you make it back there without being noticed?”
I look at the blueprint, tracing the points with my fingers. “I think so. I need light strike forces of, say, three men, at every entrance, plus a couple snipers taking pot-shots. Three men… no, four. Send a Wolfpack.”
“Why not a Bull squad or Pheonix team?”
“You won’t actually be trying to get in — just attract their attention.” I point to a small panel, much too small for any kind of human to get through — except maybe The Rodent, but he’s over in the Eurasian Iles for a special mission this week — and so unguarded. “I’ll get through here, which leads right to the corridor of the vault in which the girl will be. Sound good?”
“Excellent, I’ll get a squad.” Maria grabbed her comm. “Give me three Wolfpacks and four solo Eagle-Eyes.” The comm crackled to life, and someone crisply answered, “Roger that, ma’am”.
She turned to me. “Don’t die in there.” A crack in her stony façade that only I’ve ever seen, over our ten years of teamwork.
I pout and give her a wink. “And here I was hoping to get shot in the face a bunch of times. Ugh, you wet blanket!”
She slaps my shoulder and grabs it. “I’m serious.”
My face darkens as well, and I give her a succinct nod. I turn to the bank and roll my shoulders. Time to get to work. *Maybe I can get home tonight in time to watch the first episode of Riverdale’s seventy-sixth season.* Somehow, I doubt that’ll be the case.
**(A/N: Next chapters in comments)**
| 2020-12-02T11:03:41
| 2020-12-02T10:37:43
| 16
| 12
|
[WP] Every time you are late, you dodge an otherwise-fatal bullet. Miss a plane and it will crash, every time. Miss a job interview, the place will burn down. Today, despite leaving unfathomably early, you get stuck in gridlock on the way to your wedding. You begin to panic.
|
The traffic was horrible. That was an awful sign.
I wasn't late by much - I'd probably still get there about 5 minutes late - but that didn't matter, because if I arrive late, it's always to protect me from some disaster. I shouldn't have made that wish 10 years ago, but to be fair, I thought it was a joke. How was I supposed to know that "I wish to always be on time, unless being on time would put me in danger" would backfire?
But today of all days... I just hoped and prayed it wasn't a big disaster this time. Maybe it would be like that time I might have stepped on a nail if I'd been early, or when I got to a party late and they found out someone spiked the punch way to hard. Hopefully this one wasn't like the plane crash.
Because today I was going to marry the woman of my dreams. If she was still alive when I got there. If the church was still standing.
*Positive thoughts*, I admonished myself. *There's a car crash you missed. That's why you couldn't get in the first taxi.* That didn't make sense though. I'd missed three taxis.
Eliana would be furious. She was mad when I got home late from work - there was a five-car pile-up that I probably would have been in, but I didn't explain that to her - and mad when I mixed up orders at the grocery store. This time, she had a good reason to be mad, but I didn't relish having to explain that I missed three separate cabs and make up for it with flowers and fancy dinners.
My worry continued even as we got to the church - which looked just like it always did. Nothing amiss. I was fighting not to bite my fingers as I made my way through the halls, said "Sorry" to my best man and my father, and entered the chapel through the side door.
Everyone was still there. Seated. Pastor Harris was still waiting near the altar. They all looked up expectantly as I walked in, and someone - I don't remember who - stood up to explain that my fiancee had just left in tears, saying she could never marry someone who couldn't be bothered to show up at the wedding on time.
The whole day I was worried, as I drank more alcohol than any normal person should, reached her voice mail countless times, cancelled honeymoon reservations. It wasn't worth it. I wish I'd just been there on time, no matter the consequences. She wasn't answering. She wouldn't answer for the next four months, and then only to tell me that she hoped I found someone I *actually* loved.
\-----
It's been about ten years since that incident. I'm married to Jane now - I met her about two years after the failed wedding, and swore I would never fall in love with her. Her smile and her adventurous spirit slowly convinced me I was wrong. We have a kid and two dogs.
I often wonder what bullet I dodged that day. I wonder if I would have been killed by an axe murderer, or blown up in a gas explosion, or choked on one of those hard pastry things we ordered for the banquet after the wedding. I wonder if I would have tripped going down the stairs and broke a bone, or maybe even stubbed my toe somewhere on the honeymoon.
But when I'm with Jane - when I hear her laugh, when I see the way she plays with sweet Matthew, when I hold her close - I wonder if the bullet I dodged that day was not nearly so literal. Maybe it was more emotional. More romantic. As the years go by, I think back on that day and I realize the truth.
I was saved from marrying the wrong person.
|
I tapped the steering wheel relentlessly. Deep breaths, Heila, deep breaths. The sky is a clear blue, the birds chirp relentlessly in the distance. It's reminding me of my trip to Hawai'i, actually. Five minutes late to a bus, next thing I know it's hit a gull and rolled into the ocean.
It's not easy, you know. I wish I was just horrendously unlucky, or was a Murphy, or *something* that might give an explanation for this phenomenon around me. The world seems to uproot itself to annihilate anything and everything that I'm late for. Yes, *everything.* I once promised my parents that I would pick up my toys before they got home.
I don't have parents anymore.
After that day, I've tried to arrive everywhere earlier then reasonable. I'm proud to say that I've only ever been late to three things since then, the aforementioned bus (Cut me some slack, I met my fiancé that night.), a flight to Lagos, and a work dinner. But this was *unreasonable*. I left the hotel at one o'clock, *AM*. The wedding wasn't until four in the afternoon! But I make a single goddamn turn, just one godforsaken turn, and this endless horde of cars crawled straight from Satan's asscrack and onto the street.
I have been here for ten. *Fucking*. *Hours.* *Ten.* The wedding is another two hours away. I don't know if Kila is there yet; she knows this city better then me and was gonna take a shortcut when we left. She had me take the main road, thought it was a safer bet.
If she's there by now, I doubt she's even noticed my absence. Bless her workaholic heart, she's probably still knee-deep with the preppers to get everything ready. 's what made me fall for her, but this is an *awful* way for that to bite me in the ass.
Every minute is an eternity. The traffic is crawling slowly, so slowly. It's already noon. Eleven goddamn hours, and I think I've moved a single foot yet.
No.
*No.*
I refuse this bullshit. This fucking curse that the universe has pinned me with, I'm not gonna let it take my love from me.
I left my car in the road. I don't give a shit, I'm sure that if I can run fast enough I'll get there in time. If I have to rent out a new car or pay a fat fine, so be it, it's worth it. My legs might collapse, I might get injured getting there, but I refuse to be complicit in this nightmare.
Wait a sec. *Fuck.* *Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.* My phone. Of course the second, the *second* I remember I even had it, it's when I realize I left it in the car. No. No, I can do this. I can run.
My legs are going to snap, I swear to God. I think I've been running for three and a half hours straight or so, at least according to my watch. Evidently, though, I should be an Olympic runner, since I think I'm almost there. Just a few minutes left. I can make it.
...Chatter. What's that chatter? It's not the birds. Not trees rustling. Wait, no. There are trees rustling, but it's not that. Garbled speech, I think. No, no. No time to think I have to ru-.
No. No no no no no no no. What is happening. Who are these people? I think... five? No, six guys. Five people jumped down from the trees in front of me. 'course, I'm only realizing that now, in retrospect. They stopped me dead in my tracks, and someone's tackled me from behind. I managed to snag a look at my watch on the way down. 3:58. I'm gonna pass out. One man squats down in front of me. He's a good six foot tall, but like everyone else he's clad in some sort of tactical gear, spec ops shit. He examines me closely, and nods once. A hand to his ear, he speaks. It's muffled, but I can just barely make out what he says;
"Target pinned. Tango on-site?"
Some kind of feint buzzing emanates from his helmet. Probably someone responding.
"Affirmative. Time?"
Another buzz.
"T-Minus one minute. Counting down,"
I struggle. Hard. The man on top of me is far stronger than me, but I'm so hopped up on adrenaline right now that I can just throw him off of me. Someone shouts something from behind me. I don't care.
The little clearing that our wedding is in is just ahead. I can see bits of it peaking through the trees. I mumble something to myself. I don't know what. A sharp pain flashes through my leg. I stumble. I can just make out Kila through the trees, our families gathered at either side of the lane. I try to crawl, but something is on my back. The men again. The one from before hides behind a tree. I can see him counting down on his fingers.
5.
4.
3.
2.
1.
All is utterly, unnaturally silent for a second. Just for that second, I thought that maybe, maybe this would be an exception. But no. A sudden explosion rips from the ground, consuming the entire wedding in it's blaze. I'm dazed. I can't even cry. My ears are ringing and my eyes hurt.
It feels like an eternity. I hardly recognize the moment that one of the men slings me over his shoulder. I get thrown into the back of an unmarked van. We drive. I stare at the ceiling.
| 2021-10-22T08:18:47
| 2021-10-21T20:42:22
| 152
| 73
|
[WP]Just because one of your chicken eggs hatched a fire breathing dragon people think you’re evil. But you’re still just a regular farmer trying to make a living while dealing with an overprotective dragon, heroes that want to kill you and fanatics who want to worship you as the new Demon Lord.
|
It had been 3 years since Dracona (I'm not that creative, but she seemed to still like it) was born, and we were wiping out yet another group of "brave adventurers". In reality they just wanted the glory of being able to say that they were the ones to take us out. Most people who had at least an ounce of sense in their heads knew that we didn't bother anyone unless they bothered us. But once in a while someone decided that they should take a stab at us, but they always regretted it.
In the beginning it had mostly been Dracona frying the odd lone adventurer, but over time I became quite proficient with the scythe that I had converted into a makeshift glaive. That only bolstered our reputation, attracting even more adventurers. Most could of cause be persuaded to leave us alone. I was just a lowly farmer after all. But there were those who, like those being mowed down now, wouldn't listen to reason.
This had gone from being an exhausting challenge to being more akin to removing weeds from my fields. A task that had become considerably easier by the fact that as time went on, some strange things started to happen as well. It started as a simple increase in strength and speed, as well as not being tired nearly a easily, but I soon noticed that the areas around where I had struck an opponent became charred. This power in particular had increased a lot, as evidenced by the adventurer in front of me being reduced to ash after a single strike. It had also proven useful against weeds, as I could burn through their entire root system, without damaging any of my crops.
My stream of thoughts ended as the last of the adventurers finally managed to land a hit before being reduced to ash himself (this one was surprisingly skilled), but the hit just glanced off, my hardened scaly skin (another benefit from living with a dragon), and I used his moment of confusion to finish him off.
With a pile of fresh ash at my feet I looked around, and saw Dracona crushing the last of her group in between her wary sharp jaws. Her fire breath wasn't as useful anymore, for as word of us had become more wildly known, a lot of parties of adventurers had begun including either mages that could protect against the torrents of flame, or people in armor, or wielding shields that could do the same. But mages rarely had any armor, as it somehow interfered with their magic, so they were easy to cut down, and even the most sturdy armor didn't do anything when a 4 ton dragon stepped on you.
As we were walking back to the house, we saw a couple of robed figures scrambling to get away from it. Probably some attempted cultists who had run afoul of my wife. While she had gotten a lot of the same abilities as me, she couldn't burn things with a single touch, or cut. Instead she had gotten a dragon's fearful presence, being able to instill terror in even the most hardened veteran with just a glance. When I had asked Dracona about it she had simply answered that it suited her better, and I could only agree.
When we reached the house I put down the makeshift glaive and picked up a more typical scythe and walked out into my field. It was harvest season and killing adventurers didn't bring any food to the table.
|
FADE IN:
INT. A HUMBLE HUT -- SUNNY
*One man sits at the head of the table, head in his hands. This is FARMER. He is dressed simply, streaks of dirt decorating his face and arms.*
**FARMER:** My family name is literally Farmer. I farm. My father and his father before him farmed on this very piece of land.
*To his left, a disgruntled knight in bulky silver armour sat. This is GIDEON. A woman used to more spacious accommodations, she constantly fiddles with the sword in its sheath, trying to find a comfortable position to sit still. She slams the table when she hears Farmer's words, however.*
**GIDEON:** So you admit your nefarious plot has been ongoing for generations?
*To Gideon's left, a mysterious figure sits. This is the mysterious CULTIST, face entirely shrouded with a prominently hooded black cloak. It's impossible to tell who, or what they are--but the voice that emerges is immediately unsettling.*
**CULTIST:** Beware how you speak, knight. This is the Dark Lord you are talking to.
*Farmer sighs.*
**FARMER:** Like I said--
*Farmer is interrupted rudely as a gigantic yellow eye appears in the window to the left of the cultist. This is the DRAGON, whose immense bulk meant that he had to be left outside. Gideon inadvertently recoils, while the Cultist erects himself with reverence.*
**DRAGON:** Say the word, master. And I shall burn them all to the ground.
**FARMER:** No! No burning! Just let me speak.
*An impossibly cute, puppy-like whine emerges from the humongous creature. The eye disappears from view.*
**GIDEON:** Monster.
**CULTIST:** Saviour.
**FARMER:** He's just a pet. OK? A big one.
*Both Gideon and the Cultist scoffs.*
**GIDEON & CULTIST:** You must be joking.
*The pair looked at each other, a gaze that indicates both reaching a brief state of understanding.*
**GIDEON:** She must be destroyed.
**CULTIST:** She must be worshipped.
*The brief state of understanding is quickly shattered. The duo lean closer together, and their hands both slowly move towards their side.*
**FARMER:** Look. The dragon was born here on this property. She's mine.
*Gideon continues to stare at the cultist, but briefly turns to Farmer.*
**GIDEON:** I do not want trouble here. If you insist, I'll have to kill you.
**CULTIST:** Kill the Dark Lord? Your opinion of yourself is far exaggerated.
*Gideon and the Cultist rise from their seats ever so slightly. Farmer cuts it out quickly, banging his hand on the table.*
**FARMER:** If you two do not stop it, I'll have the dragon burn you two to a crisp.
*A titanic growl can be heard from outside. The two concerned parties quickly shrink back into their seats.*
**FARMER:** (*cont'd*) The two of you have been saying a lot of things about killing and threat and danger and what not. So, hear me when I say this--I don't care. Actually, you know what? Dragon?
*The dragon's eye appears again.*
**DRAGON:** Master?
**FARMER:** What do you think of these kind visitors' opinions that you are very dangerous?
**DRAGON:** I am extremely dangerous. I can burn things just by breathing on them.
*Gideon shrugs her shoulders, plainly saying 'I told you so.'*
**FARMER:** OK. Fine. Sure. You know what?
*Farmer stands up suddenly, running towards the door. Before Gideon and the Cultist get halfway through their springing up motion, but before they could reach Farmer, the two can hear the roaring of a dragon.*
**FARMER:** (*cont'd*) You can burn anything really fast, right?
**DRAGON:** Of course.
**FARMER:** Screw this land. Whatever. My father never reared a dragon. You know that little patch of forest outside of this kingdom's jurisdiction?
**DRAGON:** Not exactly. But you know it, and I can fly high in the sky.
**FARMER:** Good. Take me there. I've heard good things about slash-and-burn agriculture.
**DRAGON:** As you wish.
**FARMER:** Will be good to send some haze this goddamn kingdom's way as well.
*The powerful beats of a dragon's wings causes the house to shake dramatically, while Gideon and the Cultist holds on to the table. Three, four, five, six, and it grows gradually more quiet, leaving the pair still partially standing at the table.*
**CULTIST:** OK. That wasn't the best outcome. But not the worst, either.
**GIDEON:** ... This is of the gravest threat. A dissident and a dragon gone rogue. I must send our armies at once.
*The Cultist holds their hands up high. They are ridiculously pale.*
**CULTIST:** Good luck, ma'am. I might be in a cult, but there's no way in hell I'm going to that dragon and probably seeing hell right after.
**GIDEON:** You might be in a terrible cult, but that is a valid point. So, what? We each report to our higher-ups that they escaped to another continent?
**CULTIST:** Sure. I don't want to die so young.
**GIDEON:** Reasonable take. I mean, I can chop you down right now. Save some trouble.
*Gideon pulls the sword ever so slightly out of the sheath.*
**CULTIST:** You think I don't have a death curse on me?
*Gideon puts the sword back in hastily.*
**GIDEON:** Well. It's not a dragon's breath, but still.
**CULTIST:** I think we'll just have to learn to deal with a little haze. You can just say we are worshipping the sun to make it stronger and burning the forest, or something. You'll figure something out. Crackpot theories a plenty.
**GIDEON:** The King's experimenting with focusing sunlight into weapons. That could work.
**CULTIST:** Right. Farewell then. Until some other time?
**GIDEON:** I'll run you through with a sword yet.
**CULTIST:** And I'll hex you into a frog. But at least it's not dragonfire.
*Gideon nods furiously.*
**GIDEON:** At least it's not dragonfire.
FADE TO BLACK
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2021-03-21T14:12:00
| 2021-03-21T13:10:16
| 180
| 128
|
[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door.
Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it!
|
> *Knock Knock*
The sound rang through the capsule like a gunshot.
That couldn't be... no, it was just my mind running away from me again. The martian landscape was a barren wasteland outside of my own personal bubble of land.
The SpaceX Phoenix Project saw what was coming. The international dickwaggling, the Water Wars, the oceans, it was all pointing in one direction... and it wasn't good. While the countries' governments were struggling to keep their lights on and maintain a basic level of functionality the billionaires started throwing money at us to escape. Space no longer was the vision of a brighter tomorrow, just simply a survivable tomorrow.
My launch was supposed to be the first step in saving everyone.. but instead it was the start of the end. Someone... might've been India, America, the Ruskies... but someone thought that our launch from the central Pacific was a first strike attack. And well...
> *Knock Knock*
That can't be... must be another dust storm tossing rocks against the hatch. That lone metal door stood as the ceiling of my world. Phoenix realized that a surface colony would be much harder to maintain safely, so for the last 25 years I had been a little mole person living comfortably with my self-maintaining plantation out back.
Phoenix had the perfect idea. By having the five of us launch to set up the foothold, within a year the base would have grown to hold the first hundred people. The eChidna Diggers free to run autonomously were going to provide us with all the room and raw metals we'd ever need. And with the reprocessed biowaste from the farms we'd...
> *Knock Knock*
No... it can't be...
They're all gone...
Joni... Jerry... Janie...
They all died getting through the atmosphere, they're all gone... They can't be knocking, they're all gone. They can't be...
> *Knock KnockKnock*
I had to know. I had to look. The camera had broken years ago. I couldn't help it. When... she... I couldn't help it... I couldn't save...
No, I have to look. I sprinted up to the pod door into the airlock chamber.
> *Knock KnockKnock*
It was right there, it was real, I could hear it. I had to knock back, let them know I was coming
**KnockKnockKnockBangKnock**
> *Knock Knock*
I shoved on the old dusty spacesuit for the first time in decades. Ever since... she... the surface just I couldn't bear to see it, but now... maybe?
The airlock activated. But then... the air pressure didn't seem to change? Just some odd hissing and then, the door just popped open.
Above me stood a slight man smiling. A man just wearing a simple tunic and smiling. The sun shone over him and... I could hear birds chirping? He reached down a hand to pull me up to... a beautiful field of grass, on Mars?
*"영광스런 지도자의 이름으로, 나는 당신을 우리의 멋진 새로운 세상으로 맞이하고, 설탕 한 잔을 빌릴 수 있는지 묻습니다."*
The man spoke, but I understood none of it. He seemed to realize this and, after grabbing a tiny little box out of his pocket spoke into again, slower this time.
*"영광스런 지도자의 이름으로, 나는 당신을 우리의 멋진 새로운 세상으로 맞이하고, 설탕 한 잔을 빌릴 수 있는지 묻습니다."*
A metallic pinging noise came from the box followed by it saying:
"In the name of the Glorious Leader, I welcome you to our wonderful new world and ask if I can borrow a cup of sugar"
|
It didn't occur to me what it was at first. Maybe the generators vibrating or rocks falling onto the roof. The second time I realized; there was someone at the door.
Dropping my lukewarm coffee on the floor, my head snapped towards the large steel door 10 meters to my left. Silence.
Three knocks this time, louder, more impatient. Whoever it was knew I was in here, and they wanted to join me. My mind started conjuring and dismissing ideas of who, or what, could be trying to gain entry. Aliens? No. Mars couldn't feasibly support complex life. Besides, I would be the alien in this scenario. It must be a human, or something created by a human. But who? Did some survive the war? Perhaps it's one of the new androids? There was no one else on mars, to my knowledge.
Calming myself I stood up from my desk, and walked slowly and deliberately to the circular window in the steel door. It was possible to see outside through the pressurization lock, so I took care not to be visible from the window. Reaching the door, there were four more knocks, louder, almost desperate this time.
The small monitor to the right of the door showed a single space suit standing outside the outer door. The sun was low on the horizon and behind the suit, limiting visibility. It was quickly but errantly shifting its upper body, seemingly to change its gaze between the window and the camera looking down on it from the left. It stared into the camera and waved.
I ran through the possibilities. Worst case scenario whatever was out there intended to do me harm. More likely, a human looking for refuge. Maybe it's a woman... After weighing the guilt I would feel should I deny life saving refuge against my odds of being able to defend myself against a single assailant, I decided I would let them in. It was half loneliness, half horniness, but I made sure I factored in the unused but hopefully functional ion propulsion rifle to my right.
I spoke clearly through the intercom; "stand by, I'll disengage the outer lock". There was instant joyful movement in the suit, its arms flailing pointlessly while bobbing up and down in apparent celebration.
After the few seconds it took for the door to disengage and open, the suit stepped inside, the door slowly closing behind it. "Pressurizing lock". The now rare to my ears hiss of the cabin pressurizing bore down on me, prompting the realization that I could soon be speaking to the first human I've seen in 25 years. My mind was racing. The loneliness had nearly killed me in my first years here, and I had had to come to terms with the fact that I would die without ever seeing another face or speaking to another person. That I would never again sleep next to someone... The only thing keeping me going was the increasingly small chance of making contact with another person. It was a situation I had played in my mind countless times. I expected perhaps finding a radio broadcast or something on the sub-net. To have a person standing barely 4 meters away, it was overwhelming. I felt tears trickling down both sides of my face, an overwhelming sense of relief creeping through now shaking my body.
The hiss slowed, then stopped, then came the first words I'd heard spoken to me in 25 years.
"Matt Damon".
What?
"Matt Damon".
No.
The inside door had opened, and in stepped the suit. Bringing his arms up to his helmet he awkwardly twisted it to one side, then slowly pulled it upwards, revealing his face.
"MATT. DAMON".
| 2018-03-05T05:48:19
| 2018-03-05T05:46:03
| 23
| 13
|
[WP] A lighthouse keeper begins to suspect the lighthouse is up to something besides warning boats of the rocky shores.
|
**A Recountance of the Lancaster Lighthouse**
**November 23, 1821**
*It is on this day, this very day, with the waves of winter beginning to swell and my breath beginning to show in the air, that I must begin my recountance of the happenings of the Lancaster Lighthouse.*
*Fear. That is the motivation for these small entries. First, fear that others will not believe the tales I tell here, that others will not believe the things I have seen. Second, fear that I will not believe myself, that my mind will turn against my memories, doubting their veracity, rationalizing them away as nothing but my own lonely terrors taking on a life of their own.*
*That is all for now, this beginning, a commitment to describing the strange things afoot at Lancaster Lighthouse. I am so very tired.*
**November 30, 1821**
*At last, there was yet another happening on this day. Such a strange week, strange in its lack of strangeness, that is. I’d almost begun to believe that perhaps my commitment to this journal had dispelled my fears, that they had been my terrible imagination after all.*
*Not so.*
*I was performing my nightly duties, changing the lamp atop the tower, cleaning the magnification lens, ensuring the position of the mirrors, when I saw it. There, in the reflection, on the black waters far away, was a spot of light. So small I could barely make it out, but it was there.*
*Turning to observe the ship in reality, I could not find it. Turning back to the mirror it was gone as well. It had been there, it was no trick of light, it had been there.*
**December 19, 1821**
*At last, a true happening to recount.*
*These weeks have continued to have more small events like the one above, and with my growing responsibilities in the increasingly frigid winter air, I have not been able to report them here.*
*Today’s event, though, must be written down.*
*~~First, I must, to my great chagrin, make a grave admittance. I allowed the light to be extinguished. Indeed, my one responsibility as the keeper of the lighthouse is to allow the light in the house to persist.~~*
*~~Perhaps it was a godsend, though, for my negligence allowed me to make today’s chilling discovery.~~*
*The lamp of the house was extinguished, though upon reflection I do not believe it to be a fault of my own. The lamp was new and still had a full basin of oil. However improbably, I suspect the unexplainable things around me played a hand.*
*Just before relighting the lamp, far in the distance, were more spots of light far out on the water, this time seen with eyes my own, not reflected in the mirror.*
*I was unable to stop myself from reigniting the lamp, however, and as soon as I did so the spots of lights vanished entirely.*
**December 25, 1821**
*Today is not about joy, is not about family, today is nothing like celebrating the birth of our savior should be.*
*Rather, it is about making a grave decision. More and more often they appear now, the spots of light. Out of the corner of my eye, when I peer through the lenses at specific angles, again when I adjust the mirror, I see them more often, I see more of them, and they’re getting closer, day by day by day.*
*What am I to do? I cannot reliably see them; it always by accident. If I forsake my duty to keep the light lit, putting it out by my own hand, perhaps I’ll be able to see them again. But is it worth the risk? That would a transgression of duty punishable by nothing less than death.*
*This is the decision I must make.*
**January 2, 1822**
*~~It~~ They are here. Now. I ^am trapped.*
*I did it. I put it out. After another tormenting week of the lights all around me, I did it.*
*Immediately upon extinguishing the fire, the intensity of the frigid air increased tenfold, shocking me, nearly freezing me. In another instant, the glass around the room began to crack. In the next, it all shattered at once, allowing the insane, icy winds into the room.*
*And they were there, beyond the broken window. Close enough for me to make out now.*
*The lights are ships. Not ships of this plane, I know no other way to say it. Not ships of man, not ships of this earth.*
*Unable to relight the lamp, I ran back to this room. The storm rages outside, and there is no light to warn the ships away, those from this earth or another plane.*
___
r/stealthystorkstories
|
Jared peered out into the dark vista, his binoculars dialed in to the max. He saw a small vessel piloting dangerously close to the rocky reef. Flipping on the lighthouse lamp, he focused the beam on the craft and its obstacle. With its increased vision, the craft was able to navigate its way safely to shore.
The lighthouse keeper relaxed back onto his chair. It had taken ages to lug up the stairs, but it was worth it to lounge and read a book while he waited for the next floundering vessel to show up and demand his illumination.
"Keep watch, would you?" he asked.
His son Jake, with favorite seashell necklace dangling around his neck, nodded affirmation.
Grunting thanks, Jared continued reading. It was probably twenty minutes before he bothered looking up again, and when he did, he saw a dark outline in the distance.
"Why didn't you say anything?" he demanded, squinting through the binoculars.
Muttering obscenities under his breath, Jared moved the lamp's focus over to the ship. One day he'd have to get one of those fancy roving lights that rotated the beam automatically.
Only thirty minutes after he had that thought, the beam moved of its own accord and focused on a tiny rock about a hundred yards out from shore.
"What in the..."
The light intensified further than it had ever had in Jared's life, seeming to focus all its life force on the small outcropping of rock.
"What did you do to this thing?" he demanded his son.
With a large effort -- the lamp seemed reticent to move from its position -- Jared was able to force it back into position.
"That was odd."
The next evening, when the lighthouse keeper was eating dinner, he saw it happen again. The beam of light swooped across the small house Jared was eating in, registering his son Jake opaque for a moment, and suddenly stopped on the small island of rock.
"Alright Jake, come on. I'm going to show you how to fix this thing."
He marched across the field between his brick cottage and the lighthouse and ascended the stairs to the top with practiced ease. After forcing the lamp back into proper position, he turned to Jake.
"Alright, look here. This is the shutter, which is how you focus the beam. The lamp here is on a swivel, so you can move it around like so." -- Jared demonstrated, and Jake watched while clutching his seashell necklace -- "It looks like there is some imbalance that's causing the lamp to swivel on its own and catch in that position facing the rock. I'm going to give it a quick cleaning and re-balance."
After half an hour, the lighthouse keeper had fixed it to his liking.
"There we are! One day you'll be taking the reigns here, so it's good for you to be watching me do this stuff."
The rest of the night was going smoothly until he heard an almost anxious sound from the lighthouse. Jared looked up from his book in disbelief; the lamp had moved to focus on the island of rock once more.
"You stay here!" he blustered at Jake. "I'm going to see what's about this rock!"
He ran down the stairs and across the field; down the stone steps cleft into the cliff; across the rock and to the dock. Jared leapt into his tiny wooden boat and started paddling through the black, restive waters.
"What do you want from me?" he demanded the lighthouse while he rowed. "Is this some sort of sick joke?"
He made it to the rock damp and cold. Lurching his way out of the boat, he faced the lighthouse and raised his hands in the air like a performer under the spotlight.
"Look! I'm here! Now what?"
The light beam narrowed in response, becoming thinner and thinner until it was a needle-point. Jared looked at where it was focusing. He knelt on the ground.
"Jake?"
The lighthouse keeper picked up a seashell necklace from underneath the lighthouse's gaze. He turned around and saw his son, standing there on the rock.
"It's not your fault," Jake said. And then he was no longer there.
He didn't know if it was the salt water or tears running down his face. It didn't matter. In the ocean they were one and the same.
Jared remembered his son disappearing a year ago, and how he had looked everywhere. And now... he clutched the seashell necklace to his chest and wept.
"Why?" he demanded the lighthouse. "Why would you do this to me?"
But it had abandoned him to his sorrow. The light beam had refocused into position, guiding a vessel through the choppy waves. Jared strained his eyes to see the name along the side.
*Closure*
| 2022-02-21T11:01:03
| 2022-02-21T09:22:43
| 36
| 14
|
[WP] One day all the human males on earth vanish. 30 years later they return, for them it was only a moment. Only one person claims to know how and why.
For the sake of the story lets assume science figured out the whole, how do we have babies thing.
|
No civilization can withstand the disappearing of an entire half of it's population.
The end of men came silently, husbands disappeared while speaking at the dining table. Many planes feel from the sky before the passengers realized what had occurred. Understaffed coal mines cut the power to the first world while understaffed reactors had to be shut down by those who remained. Supply lines failed, refrigeration came to a halt.
It wasn't universal of course, and luckily many pockets remained functioning. Science continued, and the focus of these societies were focused on a single concept after they established their survival. Reproduce using a single gender. They succeeded.
The first ten years were hell on earth, millions of those who were already in poverty starved to death. By the twenty year mark cities had turned into abandoned urban sprawls with still-glowing cores at their centers. Society had survived, and finished licking it's wounds. Knowledge had not been lost, and populations began growing once more.
The next ten years were slow, but steady. The glowing cores of cities began to expand as newly formed families, composed entirely of women who believed it their duty to raise children, began to colonize the homes which were abandoned, or at least rebuild them.
But then they returned. Just as quickly as it had ended, every man popped back into existence exactly where they had been. Pilots fell out of the sky, coal miners found themselves in the dark, husbands looked into suddenly empty, or suddenly foreign households.
More importantly, they returned in numbers equal to what had been before. The infrastructure to support these people no longer existed, and the existing society wasn't ready for such an explosion of population. Another famine began, but soon population was back at a normal ratio, and with recourse-extensive fertilization done away with, exponential growth began again.
In a shack, somewhere in the woods, devoid of any edible goods, there laid a body next to a strange machine. A genius by birth, he had always been the sort to ponder over the phrase "not even if you were the only man in the world". As society continued it's growth, power was restored to areas which hadn't seen it for centuries. The device activated once more, the cycle began again.
___
Honestly I think this is fairly shit. I could improve it a ton if I went over it again, and my original intent with the story was to end with some "happy laugh ending". I couldn't think of some universal thing that could scare every man on the planet away, so no happy for you.
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I look out my window bored as mother prepares pancakes for breakfast. Lily and Mary are giggling as little girls do and drawing with crayons on paper.
I tell them, “Girls, remember that you need to make that paper last. I’m only going in for a half day of work and I’m not going to spend it stealing paper.”
Lily glances up and Mary rolls her eyes but they both nod and acknowledge me. Little Tressa wanders into the kitchen with her pacifier in her mouth and Lily offers her a crayon. The girls adore Tressa and help her draw; I was impressed with their patience with my baby. Lily and Mary were my sisters; after the men disappeared, mom eventually became lonely so she had two more baby girls and they were still able to have my father’s genes. Science was amazing and had figured out a way to create a child with as little as one strand of hair from a male, so many of us who were young adults when the disappearance happened still were able to advance in our lives. Tressa was my baby and I loved her more than anything; I had decided to live with my mother so that she would grow up with other children in the house and learn from them.
I kiss Tressa goodbye and hug my sisters and mother before leaving for work. I work as a manager of a printer company in the city so although there wasn’t much excitement, there were still perks. I grab a cup of coffee and smile remembering how girls used to crowd it and gossip. I can’t remember the last time that I saw anyone gossip around here; we figured out very quickly that eliminating petty drama and gossip were essential to running a functional civilization. With men out of the way, many of us found it easier to abstain and focus on ourselves. I turn the television on and flip to the news and look out the large window. My office had a great view of the city which had the potential to be very distracting.
I look at the paperwork on my desk and begin to work while half listening to the news.
A breaking news alert comes on and the news anchor begins to speak, “We have some breaking news here: It appears that there have been some reports of men returning to civilization. I repeat, there are some reported men wandering our city. Our lead scientist, Linda Burns believes that they may be returning from their thirty year hiatus. Please approach with them with caution; more reports to follow soon.”
A picture of a rather disoriented man flashes on the screen and I gasp in awe after not seeing one for so long. I look to my door but decide not to alert anyone; we needed to establish that our women’s world was fully capable on its own and would not fall just because men decided to return. A few minutes later, my receptionist knocks on the door and then enters in a flurry.
She looks at me frantically and whispers, “There are men here. They want to ‘go back to work’.”
I look at her confused and state, “Tell them they’ve been replaced.”
Her eyes widen and then an older man in his fifties or sixties burst through the door. He is heavy set and balding.
“What the hell is going on! Get out of my office!” he yells.
I shake my head and shout back, “This is my office and you will talk to me like a person unless you would like to be escorted off by our security!”
He laughs, “What security? All the men are with me, are some ladies going to escort us off?”
I stare at him enraged and press the security button. Two members of our security team walk in and he laughs again.
“They’re wearing lipstick! I’m shaking in my boots!” he teases.
Harriet was an older lady but she was more than what met the eye.
She pulls out her Taser and says, “You will be tased in approximately fifteen seconds if you don’t begin moving to the door.”
He glares as she pulls out her taser and she smiles at him.
He walks to the door yelling, “You haven’t heard the last of me!”
I take a deep breath and then go out to grab another cup of coffee to see men wandering about our work stations aimlessly while other females argue to retain their authority.
I whistle getting everyone’s attention and make an announcement:
“Ladies and Men, please settle down; this is a work environment! These ladies have proven themselves more than capable in the last thirty years and will not be expected to vacate their positions just because you all have returned. We will work to ensure that there will be space in the company for any of you that wish to continue working. I’m sure many of these ladies can use a secretary or receptionist and I will be receptive to everyone’s needs. Please keep in mind that there are also many spots available at your homes considering that we will need to work harder to make ends meet to cover the expenses of an extra person in our lives again. As for today, the company will be closing early while this ordeal is being sorted out. Everyone is expected to leave within the next half hour!”
Both genders look at me perplexed but begin gathering their things to go home. I grab my bag and head home as well. It takes me an extra hour than usual with double the patrons as usual on the subways.
When I enter my house, I hear my mother babbling on as usual and head into the kitchen. I do a double take when I see my father sitting in a chair with a smile. He looks at me and then recognizes a second later who I am. He stands up and hugs me.
“My baby girl!” he says in awe.
He sits back down in the chair and I see his wrinkled eyes and I see that he lost weight. Mary and Lily sit on his lap and he holds them tightly.
“These are my babies!” he says with tears in his eyes looking at my little sisters.
I smile at his excitement and my mother looks elated to have him back. Her best friend had finally returned and both were excited to share their stories from their lost time.
I listen contently and grab Tressa who is insisting on opening every cabinet.
“Who is this?” My father asks wide eyed standing up.
I laugh, “Daddy, this is my daughter, Tressa. Say hi Tressa.”
She stares at him with her usual attitude and then gives him a hug.
My mother laughs wholeheartedly and comments, “She’s a spitfire just like her grandmother!”
Dad hugs my mom and then a visitor walks into our kitchen. He has long brown hair and deep brown eyes; he was my boyfriend many years ago.
“Hi,” he says awkwardly looking around the crowded kitchen.
I wave and hold Tressa tightly. I had used his dna to create Tressa and although she was partially his, I still had no plans on sharing her.
“Hi Derek,” I say warmly.
He smiles and gives me a hug.
I laugh as he looks at Tress and he asks, “Who is this?”
I reply, “This is Tressa; she’s my daughter.”
He looks at me wide eyed, “Is she mine too?”
I take a deep breath and say, “No, she’s not.”
He chuckles, “She’s beautiful, do you want to go get some lunch?”
I look at my daughter’s face and nod. I had raised her up to this point and he had no entitlement to any piece of her. We laugh and have a good time but I still feel awkward when he insists on paying the bill. I sigh disappointedly as my daughter giggles happily; she wasn’t going to grow up in the same world that we had been striving so hard to perfect.
| 2014-08-09T11:55:04
| 2014-08-09T09:14:59
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] You are a multi-billionaire with a lovely wife, who is trying to kill you to inherit your fortune. You love her so much that you just don't have the heart to tell her you are immortal.
|
Today is the day I die.
I wake up, as I always do, within the arms of the woman. The woman for whom I have swore to dedicate my life towards, to spend together, in sickness and in health, my lovely wife, Beth. I dress in my casual wear, pull up the weary-edged book I’ve pretended to read a thousand times over, and watch her slowly wake up to the world for the last time. I see her glance around, until she spots me.
“Good morning, dear.”
It’s often been said that the eyes are the windows to the soul; in my years of living life, I’ve attained quite a knack for it. It’s a hard discipline to learn, but quite reliable. And so, at my attempt at a greeting, I watch her eyes hide. Hiding away the pain, frustration, anger, and merely reveal the congenial smile of a woman in pure matrimonial bliss.
“Good morning, dearest”
I first saw her in a bookstore, when I was browsing through the aisles of compressed knowledge, in search of one to focus upon for the next decade or so. Got to keep the mind on some task, else the years will gradually eat away at your sanity. I’d picked out several that intrigued me, and proceeded onwards to the register, when a bell-like voice rings low and sweet.
“Excuse me, but do you know where the “Caged Bird” by Bitte R. Liebeslied is?”
I turned towards her, a reply in my throat, when her beauty stunned me into silence.
A quiet, bookish girl, brown hair, average height, average face. But her eyes. Eyes that exude a vitality and cheerfulness that radiates, unhindered by the thick glasses that lies square and steady. Eyes that are time-worn, heavy with experiences that ages a person to maturity to quick, yet with a kindness and curiosity of an innocent child.
I fell in love.
Our marriage was rather rushed, what with my impatience; centuries had taught me how to wait, but it had also taught me the fragility of future plans. Our marriage was happy and blissful. We had no children, but we funded many orphanages, many who considers Beth and I as their parents. We were happy.
Today we gathered together around the table for breakfast, as per norm. I set the table whilst she prepares the food. I reach for the glass of orange juice, but a hand stops mine. Beth turns towards me, and smiles.
“Let me pour you the glass dear.”
No. I was happy.
She had a fiancé at the time. He’d coincidentally died the next few days, so I was free to pursue her as I’d wished. Her career came to a crashing halt inexplicably during out marriage, so she became a homemaker. There were many voices of dissension towards our hasty marriage, but they were all silenced. Silenced like lambs. She loved her life, yet I constrained her to mine, unable, no, unwilling to communicate nor coordinate with her freedom, lest others find the jewel and steal from the dragon.
We can’t divorces. No, I wouldn’t divorce. I cannot lose this treasure I’ve found, the sole sparkling light within the darkness of eons that had pervaded my life ‘til now. She will understand one day.
There were attempts before today. An accidental push off the stairs, a forgotten plug hanging over the tub, gardening pots falling from the skies. The fall, the shock, the impact, all unsuccessful, as per my gift.
Yesterday. I watched her cry in her sleep. I had done so much, both good and heinous, all for her sake, all for her. All of it was for her. And yet she cries in her sleep.
There’s no more room for forgiveness. Her love for me had gone out from her eyes. The time for reconciliation and amendment had gone by, far too late.
I take the glass of orange juice from Beth. I raise it to my lips, and ask Beth a question.
“You know I love you, right. Beth?”
She smiles sweetly, bitterly.
“Of course, David.”
Her eyes don’t lie. I drink the glass.
It’s surprisingly easy to fake a death. Just a few bills stuffed into the right hands, and the coroner will announce you dead as a doornail. Of course, it helps that there were actual traces of cyanide in my systems as proof. I’d left instructions for after my “death”, to keep things private and secure for my Beth, and make it simple for her to use my funds. She’ll do alot more good with it than I’d ever had.
Today is the day I die. But it’s also the day when the woman I love lives.
|
I might be the luckiest man alive.
 
Her curves drew my gaze in all the right ways. Her smile was perfectly straight - no doubt the product of expensive orthodontics. Her smile was several shades whiter than brand new tile, and that smile lived in a face that possessed a perfect peaches and cream complexion - though it was dotted with a handful of freckles as if the artist that made it had been frustrated with her too-immaculate appearance and so decided to flick a brown brush at her face, but just once. Her appearance was rounded out with a waist-long stream of wavy black hair and a pair of hazel eyes that a man could lose himself in forever - well, metaphorically speaking. Katerina was gorgeous.
 
"Here you are, love." She said in a tone that made my heart run a somersault as she placed a saucer in front of me upon which rested a mouth-watering serving of the most delectable bananas foster ever conceived of by man or whatever else there might be that conceives insanely good desserts. Depending on the beholder, the dessert might be more desirable than the girl if one didn't know that the girl was in the habit of slipping less than innocuous secret ingredients into her dishes - not that I mind. It was kind of adorable that she was still trying so hard.
 
"Thanks babe." I gazed in rapt awe as she retreated to her side of the glass-topped table. She was silhouetted against the sunset which shone in brilliant golds and reds and from our location on the back deck, you could see the pristine natural wonder of the Platte River Valley. Save for the occasional squawking bird, our meal had only been interrupted by a light summer breeze and the ostentatious buzz of the pool filter. All in all, I had to close my eyes. It was just... too much.
 
The ice cream was wrapped in a paper thin crepe and had been drizzled with chocolate syrup and a brandy-cinnamonish glaze. It was topped with whipped cream and little bits of banana. I couldn't describe all that went into it, I just knew that it was heaven on a spoon. "Did you make any for you?" I asked.
 
"Me, eat that?" she sounded half-offended. "Only on special occasions."
 
"Wow, babe. This may be the best thing that I've ever tasted." I let the second mouthful loll from side to side in my mouth as I savored the all-out assault on my taste buds. "Ooh. That's different. Is that? Is that almonds?"
 
She had started this campaign to bring about my demise with some of the lesser known poisons - things that wouldn't show up on a tox-screen. In the last two years, she had tried wild mushrooms, designer poisons and so on. Then of course, there was the "hunting accident" that was supposed to happen when we went on the photography outing. Then there was the week that no less than four rare venomous snakes from far-flung places across the world just suddenly materialized in opportune places throughout the house. I actually had to stomp on the black mamba's head to keep it from getting her. I think that episode and her shame had helped end the mysterious and exotic snake infestation that had suddenly befallen our house. She was growing bolder - or maybe more desperate. Cyanide would definitely show up on a tox-screen.
 
With each bite, her composure began to falter. With each chew, Katerina's eyes grew wider, until finally, she had to look away and put a hand over her eyes. Was she weeping?
 
Who could blame her? The intelligence reports told the whole story. Katerina was a member of an FSB sleeper cell - Russian intelligence, and she had been given the task of eliminating the man that was behind the new updates for the patriot missile program - updates that would make Russia's super-sonic scramjet missiles into a non-issue. It should have been easy. It should have been the story of gorgeous Russian spy meets geeky guy and totally wins him over, then steals his secrets and poisons him and flies home to Vladivostok to spend time with her mother and sisters. I really had to sympathize. What she hadn't been counting on was that the aforementioned geeky guy had first come to America back in 1612. Man, I saw the English Civil War coming from a mile off, and there's no way I was going to stick around for that bullshit. I couldn't tell her that though.
| 2019-07-31T10:31:10
| 2019-07-31T10:29:16
| 20
| 14
|
[WP] Most young mages use incredibly complex spells and extremely rare ingredients to summon their familiar. You just drew a circle and threw a bag of chips in it.
|
Three years in and still I needed remedial tutoring. It was humiliating. I knew all the spells, could recite all the formulas, but once it came time to actually put it into practice, the magic always did what it wanted, when it wanted, no matter what I tried. It did have a bad tendency to knock random items off walls and tables, and all my teachers *hated* that.
I sat at my desk and stared listlessly at my spellbook. At a knock on my door, I jerked upright. Already knowing it was my longtime tutor and friend, Sherry, I didn’t even bother trying to pretend like I had cleaned. I just threw the door open and walked away.
‘Well hello to you too!’ She said drily. I just rolled my eyes and grunted.
‘I thought we’d try that summoning circle again today.’ Man, she was really determined to get under my skin today. She knew I couldn’t get it to work. But we both knew that getting my familiar to finally reveal itself might help figure out my problems with magic.
Familiars tend to reflect the magic of their mage. For example, Sherry’s familiar, a small mockingbird, reflected her ability to observe magic once and replicate it. Obviously, magic had always come easily to her. Try as I might, I couldn’t resent her for that. She always stuck by me and believed one day we’d figure out the key to make my magic work.
‘Whatever,’ I sighed as I cleared the black floor and dug my chalk out of my backpack. I began the painstaking process of drawing out the summoning circle.
Two hours, four complicated drawings of the circle, many four letter words, and a very sore back later, I slumped back against my desk.
‘It’s no use. It’s just not going to happen. I may as well just move on to something else...’ I rubbed the bridge of my nose to soothe my aching head.
‘Come on, one more time. It really felt like you were so close that last time!!’ Sherry began to erase the previous circle. When she was done, she pulled me off the floor and pressed the chalk back into my hands. ‘You can absolutely do this. Come on.’
I moved back to the middle of the room with my hands on my hips and sighed heavily. One more time? I’d give her one more time.
With a quick movement, I scrawled a messy, crooked circle (if I’m being honest, it was more an oval), began the incantations and moved to the side. As I continued chanting, I threw my last sacrifice to tempt my familiar into the center of my drawing. To my surprise, it began to glow. As I continued with the spells, the light grew brighter and brighter until, with a blinding flash and final shout, the light disappeared and the room rang with silence.
When my eyes cleared of the light spots, I had to blink a few times. There, in the center of the circle, was a small black and white ball of fur.
I sat down abruptly in shock, and a head popped up. *It’s about time you figured things out* I heard in my head.
My new cat familiar sat up and began to wash her whiskers. As my mind began to comprehend what it was seeing, all of a sudden, my problems with my magic made sense.
*So where’s my food bowl and if I see the bottom of it, I swear you won’t sleep for a week*
First time posting, first short story (ever), and I’m sure there’s grammar errors. This just popped into my head and I couldn’t get it to leave!
|
When a mage first starts their training for summoning familiars, the instructors make it very clear about the dangers of under-preparation. They told us about the chemistry that had to be understood, the laws of physics and the laws of dimensional energy, the dangerous demons and spirits that mages attract because of not correctly performing the summoning. Horror stories are told about hellish demons haunting a mage for the rest of their life or about other planetary animals inhabited by some dimensional spirit who wants nothing more than to wreak havoc and a mage to bend to their will. Unfortunately, I've never been one to read the safety manual, so why start worrying now?
While my classmates prepared their ceremonies, travelling to rare and exotic places on Earth, and beyond, to acquire the materials needed to summon their familiar, I stayed at home. Comfortable. Relaxed. Not at all worried about summoning a evil energy I couldn't control. I did however plan at least some semblance of a ceremony. More like a ritual. I did what I always did, every morning, without question. I showered, changed into my jeans and retro t-shirt, kissed my mom morning, and headed to the corner store for a bag of chips. Doritos Cool Ranch, 56¢, and always left change for the donation box.
When I got back home, I locked my room and took out the chalk we practice at school. Nothing special, just drew a simple circle the size of a small coffee table.
Now here, there's two things required, no matter how little effort or complexity massive a mage makes for a summoning: a blood offering and a token for your familiar. Blood for activating the "portal" (simplest way to put it), and a token for your familiar to accept (or not). I bit my thumb with my canine tooth, dripping a bit of blood in the center. I said a quick, wave of the hand prayer/command, and the circle lit up in a firery sparkly rage. Hollywood may make up a lot of shit about magic and mages, but "Doctor Strange" got the visuals for the portal pretty spot-on. The mage who graduated at my academy was the visual effects supervisor of the film so I can guess where they got that brilliant idea.
Looking at my portal, and the empty black hole of darkness that laid on my bedroom floor into nothing, I really wished my instructors could have seen me, with not a care in the world. It'd freak them out, maybe a heart attack or two. If only. I looked at the Doritos on my bed, thinking what had to be the best worst idea in the moment, and tossed my chips through the portal. The circle vanished in a quick wisp and I was left in silence. Alone and familiar-less. Kinda expected this to happen, but even a lazy bum can remain hopeful.
Hours passed, and I went to bed. I dreamed of nothing, an underrated dream. Then a bump on my chest woke me up, and I promise you I wasn't sure what to make of it. It was a pretty deformed creature, with a slobby face of a pug, a really tough hairy chest and arms, and with fat chubby hairless legs of a...baby. It had a tail too. It's brown eyes and white iris stared at me. I couldn't move. I was more intrigued than scared. I did only what I thought I could do. I assumed the best and talked to what I can only assume was my familiar.
"Hey." I said.
"Puppymonkeybaby" it said.
"Do you understand me?" I replied.
It nodded. "Puppymonkeybaby" and it licked my face the way a dog would.
Class on Monday is going to be interesting...
| 2019-04-05T15:47:48
| 2019-04-05T15:18:09
| 102
| 25
|
[WP] The date is July 13, 1836. You're the clerk at the front desk of the U.S. Patent Office on opening day. Things are going just fine until a number of strangely-dressed people get into an argument about their placement in line. Coincidentally, they're all trying to patent methods of time travel.
EDIT: I never imagined when I submitted this that I'd get more than a few replies. It was just something I jotted down before I ran off to work a double shift.
EDIT2: I LOVE ALL OF THIS. Also, TIL that Reddit knows quite a bit about patent law.
EDIT3: I'd like to thank all of the writers for their submissions, you're all fantastic. And I'd like to thank the rest of you for being you. And thanks to everyone that upvoted so that people could see the thread so that they'd write in it and give me something to read while unwinding after a very long day at work.
|
I'd been getting things ready for a couple of hours. The papers were all neatly stacked, the pens filled with ink and the blotting paper spotless.
Everything was exactly as it was supposed to be and everything was in it's correct place, just what the rulebook said.
No-one could have cause for complaint that I was sloppy in my work. Not like Pieterson or Sanders they were always making mistakes and hoping no-one would notice. A blot here a correction there. It all added up.
The grandfather clock advised that it was nine and the first dozen claimants entered the large oak panelled room. I recognised Bob Gettery the owner of a hotel that I had visited once or twice and wondered what idea had brought him here. A couple of other faces were vaguely familiar but I could not name them.
There were three who particularly drew my eye though. Each was more out of place than the last. The first was freakishly tall, a pale man with a suit cut too precisely so that the seams between the arm and shoulder appeared almost drawn rather than stitched.
Next to him stood a fat man in what seemed to be a kilt such as a scotsman might wear if the scotsman had no sense of propriety. For it rode up high and revealed more about the fat man than I wished to know as he jostled with the tall man for position in front of my desk.
The third man was the one who I found to be most incongruous. He wore nothing but a pair of bathing shorts and a smile that said he was under the influence of some sort of drug or alcohol. No doubt here on vacation and wandering in lost or for some bet.
"Gentlemen." I said. "Welcome to the patent office. You were given a token as you entered with a number on it. I will see you in order from lowest number to highest."
They were indeed all clutching small ceramic tiles and looked down to confirm the numbers they had been given.
"Who has number one?"
They looked to each other. The tall man anxiously glancing at the man in the kilt.
"I've got number two" It was Bob Gettery. I really did wonder what he'd come up with.
"Thanks Bob. I'll see you in a minute."
I slid open the drawer of my desk and plucked out the small white tile marked with the number one that lay inside. I held it up for them all to see.
"I've just got a form to fill out first. It won't take much time."
|
Ulysses had never seen a man from the future before. He'd expected drama on opening day, but this left him rather speechless.
He gulped. "Sir, I need to fetch the director for this application. A minute, please."
Taking two steps backwards, he forced his eyes closed to shut out the visage that terrified him so. He told himself he would have time to figure out things later, assuming he survived this, and turned to find his boss.
The floor creaked a bit as he knocked on the door of the director's office. Levi was as good natured a bureaucrat as you would ever meet, and Ulysses desperately needed instruction for this situation. His thoughts turned briefly to stiff drink.
"Enter."
"Sir, we have a situation. This applicant he... he states he is from the future, and he is telling the truth. He has already filled out the papers for his invention of... traversing time."
Levi sat slackjawed and stroked his beard. Ulysses nodded. It was half a minute until he got his response.
"We must ensure everything is in order and then accept the application as with any other. This is a historical moment and by God, I don't know what else to do. Follow."
Levi stood and walked towards the front lobby. He reflected on how he had always wanted to be an ambassador, but not like this. Opening his mouth to greet his important visitor, his eyes widened and he instead merely screamed.
At the front counter was the man as described, normal enough beyond his alien uniform. At issue, however, were the two new arrivals behind him. The first was very much not a man, although whatever it was did not seem entirely unlike a cross between a levitating octopus and a steam engine. The last he could only recognize as some sort of half-metal person.
The octopus-engine's assortment of eyes twinkled at Levi, and Levi understood his intentions, although none were spoken out loud. Essentially, it was to be known as **GLYXMAR,** and while it was very polite and patient with Levi during the duration of the telepathic exchange, and appropriately understanding of how unsettling such telepathy might be when first experienced as a grown man of the 19th century, **GLYXMAR** imparted that it was of the utmost importance that it be recognized as the inventor of traversing time. When Levi finally responded to the thought-inquiry in an intelligible way, it was, of course, with fear and revulsion. **GLYXMAR** took it upon himself to begin rewriting Levi's neural patterns so that he would be able to process his application.
"STOP!" shouted the metal man, in perfect English. "This is an uncomfortable situation for us all, but you are *not* to take command of this man, **GLYXMAR**. We are to let these people decide what to do. It is, after all, their patent law."
**GLYXMAR** relented, although this resulted in Levi gasping for air, falling to his hands and knees, tears streaming from his face.
The only human customer of the three looked at the metal man and nodded, and gave **GLYXMAR** a dirty look. They had a brief consulation over the course of about a half second, the man on some sort of holographic display, **GLYXMAR** with a pattern of eye-twinkles and the metal man via wireless means.
Ulysses was crouched in the corner. Levi was heaving on the ground. The future man spoke to them, knowing full well the damage was done.
"We are sorry for all this. We will come back tomorrow."
They left, the door bell jingling.
| 2014-09-13T11:51:14
| 2014-09-13T11:44:28
| 19
| 13
|
[WP] Write the most uncomfortable to read story you can.
|
Tony revved the chainsaw between his legs causing the teeth to dig into his his pants. The chain bit into the cloth, and rode up to his vulnerable ball sack. It began stripping the flesh from his testicles, digging further up. The chainsaw cut further up into his manhood, causing the chain to snag on the flesh as it pinched and blocked the mechanism. He dropped the chainsaw out of pain, but the weight was too much for the remaining flesh, causing it to stretch and snap off.
|
The butler swiftly moved throughout the house, everywhere he went leaving a trail of stench behind him.
"I think he shit his pants"
"My god I think I'll die if I experience this foul odor one more time."
This and more the guests ventured to say.
As the butler waddled, he felt the squenching of feces in his posterior region. He knew it was only a matter of time before the moist turd escaped the confines of his under trousers and escaped into the free air.
He slowly, carefully approached the bathroom door. Knocking twice, a voice from within called "Occupied."
The master's voice.
Faced with no other option, the poo-laden protagonist plopped himself down on the trashcan in the neighboring kitchen.
He pulled down his pants and began scraping the residue out with a cake server. Just as most of the moist scat was cleared into the bin, the mistress walked into the room.
The mistress screamed in fright as the butler stammered, trying to explain his situation.
Grabbing the bin and raising his pants, he slowly backed out the kitchen and into the dark night, never to be seen again.
| 2016-02-28T11:59:56
| 2016-02-28T11:49:36
| 25
| 11
|
[WP] You put your 5-year-old daughter in an elevator by herself, and run to the next floor to make her laugh when the doors open. You get there, the elevator arrives and a 20-year-old woman steps out. "Hello Dad. We have a lot to talk about"
|
I put my 5 year old daughter, Emily, in the elevator, and waited until the doors closed before running down the hall to the stairs. I'd done this trick before, and seeing my daughter's 5 year old face light up filled me with an unforgettable sense of joy.
I heard the 'ding' just as I dismounted from the staircase on the first floor, and with no time to spare I haulted myself in my best casual pose just as the doors opened. Normally I'd hear her giggles before the door opened, then I'd see her soul-saving smile.
But that's not what happened this time.
"Hello Dad," an adult woman said. "We have a lot to talk about."
I knew it was impossible and yet I recognized the sincerity in her eyes. She was my Emily, alright. She looked to be around 20 years old.
"How is this possible?" I asked. My confusion didn't surprise Emily. She acted as if she'd spent considerable time preparing for this moment.
"We'll talk about that later, Dad. For now, let's just focus on what we're going to have for dinner." She said as we got back to the apartment.
I tried to remember what I had for groceries, but I hadn't done any shopping in a while. So I suggested that we order a pizza.
"Pizza is just fine, Dad." Grown up Emily said with a warm, yet heavy smile. There was something unsettling about the layered emotions in her face.
Before I could find the phone number for the nearest pizza place, there was a knock at the door.
"I've got it." Emily insisted as she got out of her chair.
A few moments later she returned with the pizza.
"How are you doing this?" I asked, astonished. "I need you to tell me what's going on."
"Dad, I know you're probably a little freaked out right now, and that's normal," Emily said as she peered deep into my soul. "But what I'm about to tell you is going to require a lot of courage, do you understand?"
"Yes." I said to the young lady. She seemed familiar, but I couldn't quite place it.
"You have Alzheimer's."
---
Edit: Wow! Thank you for all the kind words, the gold, the platinum, the silver! I was not expecting this. You guys made my day. I'm glad you enjoy the story. :)
|
I remember dad and I would always play this game. When the elevator door closed I would close my eyes during the descent and wait for my dad to surprise me, but this time the elevator came to a jerking stop. I immediately opened my eyes and seeing what appeared to be the paths of life I could take surround me. I didn’t know what I was looking at at the time. Stepping closer to a path I felt the gravity pull me, I looked around and I’ve always been fond of water, so the second I saw a beach I went into it. Little did I know, I would end up on an island far from where my dad was waiting for me.
I spent the next 15 years building a life for myself and trying to figure out what exactly happened. Have I always been on this island?
Was I dreaming of playing a game with my father?
Did I have a father?
The island was absent of other human life forms, but I did discover ruins. Tunnels that seemed to go on and on, a library full of literature, I didn’t have a concept of time, but I knew that I was 5 when I was in the elevator and the library had so much knowledge that I eventually found a book on space and time.
I managed to survive living off the abundance of fruit and pools of fish that were easy to catch. The waves would occasionally bring in fresh fish that ended up trapped in the dug out karst pools. After sunset the fish would jump from pool to pool with their only end goal of making it back to the ocean. I often thought we were similar.
After 15 years I had mapped and explored almost every bit of the ruins, it was as if an ancient civilization lived here once, I never found grave sites or traces of human activity, but I did find a peculiar room that had a glow behind its door. As I opened the door, I saw what I remember seeing at 5. Surrounded by what I thought were paths, I came to the understanding that they were alternate dimensions, I spent months examining the many glimpses of dimensions I could enter. One stood out. It was a man stuck in a loop waiting at an elevator door. Overwhelmed with the possibility of returning back home, I stepped into the possibility and the elevator door opened.
“Hello dad, we have a lot to talk about.”
| 2019-09-07T22:18:13
| 2019-09-07T19:55:10
| 6,170
| 1,554
|
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?”
|
A bead of sweat formed on the genie's brow, as he nervously searched for the right words to use, fully aware that he was about to deliver my fate.
"Your existence will result in the cure for cancer being developed, which will pave the way for hundreds of generations to come," he said, confident that he had delivered not only the truth, but a means of avoiding a difficult question.
"Oh wow!" I exclaimed, "do I develop the cure myself?"
The genie looked down at his whispy tail, and the glistening lamp he had emerged from. "Not exactly," he replied.
"Oh," I said, suddenly grasping what he meant. "I get cancer?"
The genie lit up. "Oh no no no, nothing like that!" he said, his tone finally shifting. "No you'll be pleased to know that you'll stay cancer free for the rest of your days."
"Great!" I chimed. "But how then? If I don't develop a cure, and I don't get the illness, then how could I help in the development of a cure?"
The genie cursed silently to himself, but he knew that holding out much longer would only prolong the inevitable. "Well, the man who develops the cure will do so as a direct result of your life," he began.
"Go on," I pressed.
"The man in question discovers the cure while serving time for murder."
My stomach dropped. "Mine?"
The genie slowly nodded.
"My... my murderer will result in the development of the cure for cancer?" I asked, the blood drained from my face. At least my life would have an impact on others, I thought to myself. What a way to go.
"Yes. He will discover the cure while researching his own cancer, using the knowledge of his prison library and a volunteer research group he will join," the genie explains.
"I suppose it's for the greater good then," I sighed, accepting my fate. "What kind of cancer does he have, out of interest?" I pry.
"Stomach cancer," the genie replies, "as a result of cannibalism."
|
"You were a very influential figure in the future, young lord. What you have done in your lifetime have allowed all those lives to attain a much brighter future."
"But what did I do?"
"I cannot say."
"Can't or won't?"
"I cannot. Though I can see into the future, the exact reason for your influence is unknown to me, I cannot pinpoint it."
"Can you show me, then, my future?"
"How do you want it to be shown?"
"What do you mean?"
"Do you wish to dream of your future, or perhaps a vision, or should I give you a hard drive full of your memories?"
"The hard drive, please."
"It is done."
---
*I connected the hard drive to my laptop. Opening the drive, I found it to be completely and utterly filled with videos of each of my days.*
*Deciding that whatever is it that had done had to have been during my prime years, I looked up the date fifteen years into the future.*
*But, as soon as I clicked the file, my head grew dizzy, and the next thing I saw was white.*
---
**"Hello, Jim."**
"You're--!"
**"Yes, it is I."**
"I can't believe it, you're actually real..."
**"As real as the sand in your feet, but that doesn't matter anymore."**
"Like hell it does, I mean--oh, sorry."
**"It's quite alright, child."**
"Why am I here?"
**"It has been thousands of years since my Son has returned here. I wish to send one final prophet to spread the Word."**
"Won't He come down Himself?"
**"My child, that day is far, far into the future. My task for you is more grounded in the present."**
"What do I need to do?"
**"You must go, and preach the wonders of humanity."**
"Not You?"
**"No, young Jim. You must go and praise the strength of your kind. Only by moving forward as one will you be able to progress into the future."**
"Under Your Light?"
**"That is up to you, but there is no need to unite under My wing."**
"I thought everyone should worship You?"
**"I am a parent, little Jim, and you are my children. I am happy when you praise My name, but I also want you to grow into your own. The greatest joy of a parent is to see their child succeed without them, and I am no exception."**
**"So long as my children do not give into evil, and do not forget My name, then how they succeed is of little importance to Me."**
"Okay, I will become a prophet, but what should I do first? Become a priest?"
**"Do not be tied into a single religion, young one. The entire world is your flock, and you must lead them to a brighter tomorrow. No, go and become a scientist, your innovations will be the one to lead the people into the future."**
"But what kind of scientist should I become?"
**"You are smarter than you give yourself credit for, Jim. You'll figure it out."**
*At that moment, I woke up.*
---
*The genie and the hard drive has disappeared while I was asleep, but it didn't matter to me. Now I have a new focus and a new determination on what I should do.*
*It will be ten years later when I unveiled my first invention, a battery with an infinite amount of power. From such a tiny device, the world changed.*
*That was the start of humanity's race for the stars. I continued to make minor innovations after that, but just from my battery, I had already saved billions of lives, and possibly more in the future.*
| 2018-08-15T06:31:04
| 2018-08-15T01:57:47
| 351
| 55
|
[WP] While at a football game, you notice the man sitting in front of you is livestreaming the game to his cell phone rather than actually watching the game in front of him. You see on the screen a player running the football in for a touchdown, 32 seconds later you watch it happen in real life.
|
Am I allowed to post a story on my own writing prompt? Oh well...I'm going to anyways. Hope you guys like it...its been awhile since I've done any writing!
I tried not to stare but I wanted to so badly . I must have been confused. He was just watching a different game from a different time and it was just a coincidence. I went back to watching the game, summoning all of my willpower to not look at the man’s phone. My willpower is weak apparently because within 5 seconds I was staring at his phone again. I was sure I wasn’t imagining things now, this was definitely the same game. The man abruptly stood up and began working his way towards the stadium stairs. I looked around to see if anyone else had been watching this man like I had, but everyone’s focus was on the game. He was at the stairs now. I tried to get a good look at his face but it was mostly obscured by the hood of his jacket. I needed to know more about this man and his magical cell phone, so I decided to follow him. I stood up quickly and began shuffling down the aisle, bumping into people, spilling drinks and apologizing profusely. I made it to the stairs and looked back at the row of disgusted, angry people that I had left behind and made one final apology before dashing up stairs after the man. When I finally spotted his bright blue jacket again, he was nearly at the exit. I hung back as far away as I possibly could without losing sight of him again. It had been a long time since I had followed someone like this and I realized how much I had missed the thrill of it. There weren't many people in the hallways right now, everyone was watching the game so I didn’t have a crowd to blend in with which made things a little more challenging. The man abruptly turned around a corner and I lost sight of him. I picked up my pace a little, still trying to be inconspicuous. When I rounded the corner, all I found was an empty hallway that lead into a parking lot. I sprinted to the end of the hallway and into the middle of a parking lot just as empty as the hallway had been. I let out a disappointed sigh. My curiosity would have to be left unfulfilled I suppose.
That’s when I heard a familiar sound, a sound I’d hoped to never hear again.
Gunshots.
Then screaming.
My stomach twisted itself into a knot. The sound was coming from the direction of the football field. I turned to run back, to find some way to help. Before I could even start to run , a red Subaru came to a screeching halt in front of me and the passenger door swung open.
“Get in Tim.” I looked around the parking lot for another Tim to come running up and get in the car.
Apparently I was the only Tim in the parking lot. In fact, besides the Subaru, I was the only person in the parking lot. The gunshots and screaming continued. I looked to the stadium. They needed help.
“Look at me Tim!” I looked back to the Subaru. A pretty brunette pushed back the bright blue hood of her jacket to reveal her face. My mystery man was a mystery woman.
“You can't save them. If you try, you will die and you are not supposed to die. Not yet.”
|
Holy fuck, it happened. It just happened.i couldn’t believe my eyes. The next thing I knew, the screen showed a loud explosion during half time . 💥 I immediately got up from my seat and began running. Pushing, shoving everyone out of the way. No time to think, no time to explain, no one would believe me, I had less than a minute.
After 29 seconds I made it outside before getting hit by a car as I was running out of the stadium. And that’s how I died and ended up in hell. How bout you?
Oh me ?... well I was operating this new confetti explosive during half time. At the same game you were at. I must’ve used too much power. The explosion sent out a blinding light and I ended up dying in the hospital from a brain injury after my head hit some equipment. Luckily I was the only one seriously injured.
| 2019-01-09T23:38:19
| 2019-01-09T23:22:09
| 33
| 16
|
[WP] You're a superhero. Despite saving the city 4 times a week your hates by the community. While fighting one of your villains a crowd gathers to boo you. The villain you're fighting stops turn to the crowd and says "listen here you ungrateful brats"
|
"Listen here you ungrateful brats.", the words echoed down the city streets, the sound carried by technology built into Demology's suit.
"You people...YOU PEOPLE would be a splat on the road if it wasn't for her! You! Yes, you, you slack-brained tub of useless molecules!" Demo pointed a mechanical finger to a particularly schlubby looking man. At this point our fight had ceased. I floated in awe as my villain yelled at the crowd like a girl telling a cashier her boyfriends order was wrong.
"I uh...me?" The portly man replied.
"Hell is me, yes, *YOU!* What are your qualms. Tell me, why do you hate the only thing preventing you from being a skid mark on the pavement."
He stared for a moment in obvious confusion. When he looked to the surrounding crowd for support they just rubbed their necks or turned away to not be sucked into the awkwardness that was this interaction.
"Well uh...when she uh... uses her mind powers to move us around it leaves a bit of a headache."
It grew silent. I thought about jumping in, but Demology had a point, a great one by my standards. Day in and day out I saved the people of Albright from all sorts of evil and all they did was complain. At the end of the week when I checked my Super Complaint Box it was always full.
*My cars headlight got busted when you fought Psector*
*I just put my baby to sleep when one of your constant battles woke him*
Tiring to say the least
Demology put a mechanical hand up to rub his temples.
"A headache? Fine. Ok. No more headaches...EVER!"
With a snap the man floated into the air and was tossed sideways towards the nearest wall. He screamed out as he flew headfirst towards his inevitable demise, but just as his head was to collide with the bricks he came to a halt, surrounded by my energy.
I let him down gently to the sidewalk and the crowd watched in awe. Then the man let out a low groan, "Uhhhhh noooo. Now my head hurts. See?!"
Demology's eyes widened to the point I thought theyd burst inside of his helmet.
"Oh. Oh no. No no. I can't. I wanted to enslave you all but I think slavery may even be too good for you. I want to rule a city, not a large pile of small brains and useless chromosomes."
"So, you're just leaving?" A random voice called out from somewhere in the crowd."
"Did I tell you to speak, walnut? No, I didn't, so maintain your volume of a 0 and sit while the adults talk."
At this point the crowds eyes had drifted to me with hope. They had no trouble booing when I won, but when their pride hurt I was all they had. But I was busy thinking, trying my best to not grin now that someone finally stuck up for me.
"So, you want to grab food next city over? Me and the others usually do Tuesdays after one of us loses to you, as you can see today was my day." Demology spoke with an awkwardness that only came when the expected response to a question was rejection.
"You know. Yeah, I could eat."
"You- you can't be serious right? He's evil!" The schlubby man yelled.
"Oops I can't really fight crime today. I have a headache you see. If you have an issue leave it in the complaint box."
And so we left, discussed matters of the world, of right and wrong, and Tuesday lunches became a welcomed part of my weekly routine.
Edit: Just got back to this, thank you all for the kind words! Always happy to see people enjoy something I write.
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 0, Part ?: Clara Olsen v.s. Public Opinion)
**Tupperman leapt out of Dani's Second-Hand Jewelry, skidding on the street, and sprinted towards his beat-up old getaway car.** I sighed. Poor kid couldn't even afford a proper getaway driver. I didn't even particularly *want* to arrest him.
But he had chosen to play the role of the supervillain, and I had chosen to play the role of the heroine. So I had to stop him.
"Are you one of those *new* heroes?" a woman asked, filming the robbery with her smartphone. Oh, great. My senses of super-empathy told me that there was a ninety percent chance her name was Karen.
"I was registered two years back, ma'am," I said.
"Are you going to *stop* that vile criminal?" she asked. "Come on, shoot him with laser beams or hurricane breath or something."
"Okay, first of all, that's use of excessive force *and* negligent property damage, to say nothing of risk fo bystanders. Second, he's a college dropout whose superpower is to summon *Tupperware*. I'm not unleashing the big guns on a kid like him. And finally..." I sighed. "I don't have laser eyes or hurricane breath. I don't have any combat-related powers at all."
The woman scoffed at me. "See? *New* heroes. So what *is* your power, anyway?"
"Gun," I deadpanned. That wasn't my power, of course—you did have to have *a* power to call yourself a superhero—but I didn't feel like spilling my every secret to some random woman on the street. Judging by the squeal of burning rubber and the absence of motion from the getaway car, Tupperman seemed to have discovered that I'd booted his wheel while he was busy robbing the store. He was currently trying to get back out, which probably would have worked if I didn't walk up to the door and casually lean on it, sealing him inside his own car. He turned towards the other door, but I just raised an eyebrow.
"Is running away with a couple hundred dollars worth of jewelry *really* worth losing an entire car? Or do you want to cooperate and not get your vehicle impounded?"
"Oi!" The woman with the phone heckled. "Don't *talk* to the damn supervillain! Beat him up a little! I'm losing audience retention as we speak!"
Ugh. I opened my mouth to say something about how beating the shit out of some defenseless kid who suffered more in a day than she did in her entire life was the *opposite* of being a hero, but Tupperman beat me to it.
"Listen here, you ungrateful little brat." Tupperman pointed, and a harmless plastic box materialized upside-down on her head. The woman shrieked with rage, flailing to take the offending object off, and in the commotion, Tupperman managed to separate her phone from her hand with another expertly-placed Tupperware box. It clattered to the floor with a *thunk*. "Clara Olsen may not be flashy. She might not destroy cities or overthrow governments. But you know what? She gets the fucking job done, and she never hurts people who don't deserve it. That's what a *real* hero does, super or otherwise." Tupperman gave the woman a disgusted look, then turned to me. "Look, I need my car to drive Roger to school. Tell you what, I'll go with you quietly just to see that woman's indignant spluttering—just let me get my vehicle back."
I gave a pointed look at the sack of second-hand jewelry he'd stolen, and he chuckled awkwardly. "Right. Er. That. Here." He handed it over.
"You're still under arrest," I said. "And seriously, get a real job. Do I have to land you an interview or something?"
"Ach. Just tell me when to show up at court already." He hesitated, then—in a lower voice—said, "I really appreciate... you not being harder on me. On any of us low-level supervillains."
I waved a hand. "It's who I am. Now come on, get into the backseat." I unlocked the boot and hopped in the driver's seat of his car.
He gave me an incredulous look. "You don't even have your own vehicle?"
I glared at him. "You see how the people of this city treat me? I'm lucky I can afford a fucking bike, Connor."
He laughed. "Dude. I'm pretty sure *I* make more money than you. I'm surprised you haven't gone villain yet."
I shook my head. "I'm a hero, Connor. Even if I'm a shitty, bargain bin superhero, they can't take that from me."
"Damn right they can't," Tupperman agreed.
And I drove a criminal, a villain, and a friend away from a city that hated us both.
A.N.
Been a month since the last BBSH. Hopefully it reads well. Apologies for any typos or inconsistencies—I'm sick, and also only typing with nine fingers.
Want to know what happens next? Catch up on the previous ninety-something parts [here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) And if you liked this, I have a whole other serial [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=new)! Check out r/bubblewriters for more info on both of them.
| 2022-06-16T22:37:47
| 2022-06-16T21:56:50
| 2,019
| 285
|
[WP] For his kindness, the dragon taught the squire the dragon song. A song that was sure to make whoever sang it irresistible to the ladies. In hindsight, the squire should have known that by ladies, the dragon meant lady dragons.
|
Under a swinging ashen grey sign was a door filled with laughter and song as the twilight hours of the evening faded. Intricately carved figures of dragons and men danced together in the dark wood as small puffs of smoke pushed their way through carved holes bringing the dragon's menacing figures to life. A lute started up as another round was poured and pewter mugs clanked together.
“Another!” the crowd shouted to a finely dressed man on stage. The backdrop had been commissioned and had taken almost a year to carve. Wood flowed like water, over carven channels and down out into the hall as winged figures in the back flew above the stage.
“What do y’all want me to sing next?” the man laughed as he lifted his mug. Secretly, it was filled with water up to the crowd.
White noise rushed him as voices intermixed with the roar of the fire at the back and the sounds of the kitchen behind that. It was hard to think with the air so filled with smoke but Ballad the Bard wasn’t daunted by the task. He listened, well learned to listen past everything to what he wanted to hear.
Shouts for the Tale of the Sirens call went unnoticed. A sad song of lost love and hopelessness on the sea but they weren’t there and this wasn’t a loveless night. The Great King Alford’s Demise went the same way. Ballad needed something of a crescendo. A jig maybe? That seemed about right.
“The Dragon Squires Tale!” he picked out from the crowd and with a point and a laugh he agreed. Standing tall and lifting his lute, Ballad started to stamp his foot till the crowd joined in. He called out, “The Dragon Squires Tale it shall be!”
A cheer went out but the crowd quickly quieted down as Ballad led the rhythmic stamping and clapping.
​
*Oh! There, once was a squire*
*That could never fly higher*
*Than the scales of red and green.*
​
*For he once played a tune*
*At a quarter to noon*
*But his prize was left unseen.*
​
*He waited and watched*
*Thinking his plan was botched*
*Till a screech shook this canteen.*
​
*To everyone's surprise,*
*The dragons outside*
*Weren’t a part of the squire's routine.*
​
*Now, the fire in their eyes*
*Bolstered this man's pride,*
*As he tried to reclaim the scene.*
​
*A smile and a word,*
*That was better left unheard,*
*Made him look like foreign cuisine*
​
*But loathed did the lizard did learn,*
*That the squire did earn,*
*The faith of their only queen.*
​
*So with a gust and a flap,*
*They never came back,*
*Leaving the squire in the latrine.*
​
*And now we sing and we dance*
*For this man's romance,*
*Means the kingdom knows what we’ve seen!*
​
With the merry chorus of the hall with him, Ballad repeated the last verse a couple of times before sitting back down on his chair and putting his lute back on its stand. Nudging his case toward the hall, Ballad raised his glass, finished his water and gave the bartender a knowing nod.
“That’s all for now!” Ballad called out with his mug in hand before explaining, “I need another!”
Cheers and laughter filled the air and then descended back into drunken conversations about the land and love. Many here had made the journey for the Bonfire Celebration and to hear the story of the Dragon Squires Canteen. Not that many hadn’t heard the song.
The old castle that they were a part of was now more of a massive inn rather than a serious outpost. At least, that is what Ballad had always told himself. Once upon a time, these walls meant security and protection for the neighbouring settlements but the Decade War ended far from here.
Passing through the crowd, Ballad patted and hugged more than a family’s worth of strangers and partygoers. Maxim, the bartender looked rough when Ballad got to him. The brute of a man had poured more ale probably today than he had in the past week and the evening was just getting underway.
“May I get a Ballad’s Special?” Ballad asked loudly as Maxim put another set of mugs on his soaking sticky table. Ballad knew not to touch it.
“The little squire can get his own special,” Maxim grunted as he glared at Ballad before being pushed out of the way by a woman even smaller than Ballad. Fiery red hair flowed past her shoulders and down her back but next to the large man, this maiden looked like a toothpick in a dress.
“Careful now, Maxim, or the dragon's fire may appear again,” the woman chuckled and got Ballad his brew.
“Could you?” Maxim scoffed, “I need a break as much as you two do.”
“My queen deserves more than a break,” Ballad whispered as he ignored the warnings of the table and leaned in to kiss the fiery women behind the bar, “My queen deserves the world.”
“Your queen wants a happy tavern,” the woman corrected, “and for you to stop calling our home a canteen.”
“It goes with the song,” Ballad countered as he got back up with his mug in hand.
His queen gave a hiss and a small breath of fire as he walked away but he knew he’d be forever in her heart. The song was never about changing a dragon's heart. That day was actually just a morning and the only dragon that Ballad had enchanted had scolded him for hours. She taught him what he knew now though and over the years the Dragon Song that he had been taught to him turned into a romance that changed him forever.
Edit: Formatting with the song.
|
It should have been clear from the start... That there was something that I was missing when the great Níðhöggr offered to teach me the "Draki Að unna", the dragon song. They said that it would give me the power to be irresistible to ladies...
As soon as I started singing it because very clear who the target audience for my singing was. Thousands of beautiful dragons came through the air at amazing speeds towards me. Among the dragons, I could see both descendants from Níðhöggr and Jǫrmungandr. The nidhog children with their huge wingspan and red scales, while the Jornmungs children of course had slender bodies and green scales.
The first dragon to get to me was one of the nidhog called Idrafjäll. This wasn't the first time I had seen her, but I had never seen her like this. My singing had done something to her... She almost looked feral. Close second to her was Ynghil, also a descendent of Níðhöggr. Within seconds I found myself standing on the small knoll with thousands of dragons standing on the green luscious velvet grass.
This was not the plan. I wanted to find love within my own race... Now I had to make a choice. Do I go along with it and see what happens, or do I beg for Níðhöggr to fly me away from everyone? I could feel all of their eyes on me. The seconds ticking away on my watch.
'I need to say something', I thought to myself. I could feel the sweat starting to form on the top of my forehead. Soon a stream of sweat was pouring down past my brow and down on my cheek. From my vantage point, I could see how the dragons closest to me started to get irritated with the fact that I wasn't saying anything. I took a big breath and started speaking.
"Ladies... You are not my normal type. But I can make this work! However, I think it's best to take the rest of this story on a different site."
-----
This is the first time I write something for /r/writingprompts. Sorry, it's a bit short. But its something!
To be honest, this is pretty much the first time I try to write something coherent to show someone.
| 2022-11-06T07:58:31
| 2022-11-06T07:55:05
| 55
| 30
|
[WP] A magical mirror shows your reflection and your future soulmate. You only see your reflection.
|
I fucked up. I kicked the mirror over-- a mirror I paid $500 to see. It showed no one. Just me.
Before I could even turn, security grabbed me by the arms and shoulders. "Fuck off!" My thin arms struggled against their firm grip. "There was no one! You hire people to advertise this shit scam?" I almost elbow the white guy next to me, when the body guards take me by the neck, and push me on the floor.
"You're going to have to pay for this, young man." I look up. It's the blonde mustache receptionist. Couldn't be more than 25.
"I," I sputtered, desperation clogging my thoughts, "I can't. I don't have anything."
"It's nearly $500 to see the LoveMate Mirror. That kind of money doesn't just *appear*."
"It wasn't mine." I stumble as I get up. "It was my parents." My tears dragged and pulled, a humiliating condensation. "I was disowned. Please," I begged, "I don't have anything." His step tik'd and tok'd along the cool floor, towards me.
"We'll have to contact your parents then. Why did you think looking at the mirror would help?"
"I thought if I found my soulmate, I would maybe have a place to stay."
His deep suspicious eyes examined me. "Why were you disowned?"
"I'm gay." My lips tremble. I wait for a silent reaction of judgement to pass amongst the bodyguards and the receptionist.
The receptionist nodded at the guards, "It's alright. Let me talk to him, and see if I can figure this out." The iron grip was released. I felt relieved as the blood in my arms returned to normal pulse. I followed him into the next room; some empty office room.
He closes the door. My jaw cletched. Something about his position was weird. Slouched and uncomfortable. "What are you doing?"
"It didn't show for me either. I think they're targetting us-- trying to discourage us or something," his lips curve softly. "I'm gay too."
|
"Holy shit he's sexy!" I said, unable to contain my excitement. I'd spent my whole day worrying over this moment, worrying over this stupid magic mirror. But now I was happy. So happy I'd come.
I gazed back into the mirror, just to reassure myself I hadn't been mistaken. Nope, just my gloriously divine body and rugged good looks staring back. No girl would ever steal away a piece of my magnificence. It was all mine, forever.
I was the luckiest of my friends. All of them had to go running off, searching for that one person out there. Not me, I had exactly what I wanted, and it was always by my side.
I took one last look at my heavenly appearance before leaving the room, content to continue my wonderful life.
| 2014-05-30T22:05:21
| 2014-05-30T20:14:18
| 24
| 14
|
[WP] It has been verified that dying will result in going to heaven, no matter what. You are the government, trying to lower the suddenly skyrocketing suicide rate.
|
The world was failing and the bodies were building. There was only plan B.C. left to try.
All of the radio station were set in gear and prepped for the last stand. All tv's were under the government's control.
3...
2...
1...
"Oooooh baby do you know what that's worth, oooh heaven is a place on earth"
Belinda Carlisle had saved the world with her 1987 number one hit.
|
They always said humans fear the unknown more than anything else.
My reply: Find me someone who doesn't fear death, then we'll talk.
I could barely hear the first few gunshots through my office window. The dull double pane lazily deflected their sharp reports like a horse flicking its tail at flies - letting them linger for just a moment, then bouncing them abruptly out into the gray morning.
I didn't think too much of them at first; once in a while, some punk would get his hands on a gun and wave it in the face of the first store clerk he could find.
But they didn't stop. They actually increased in frequency until the world outside became nothing more than a low roar of gunfire.
That's when the phone rang.
D.C.
I sighed and picked it up, waiting for the familiar crackle of the Director's voice.
"Paul." My heart dropped. He'd only ever used my first name when I was under review. I took a breath and waited.
"We've been repurposed. The Census Bureau no longer measures population. We maintain it. I need you-"
A gunshot, much louder than the ones I'd been hearing, rang out sharply over the line.
"*FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, MATTHEWS-*
I need you to...P-Paul, get the Philly media. We can't do this without them. I sent you an e-mail..."
His voice faded and the line clicked dead. The urgency in his voice spurred me into action, so I flipped my monitor back on and opened my inbox.
He'd sent me a news story and some contact information for all of the local news sources. Nothing *too* unusual.
I looked back at the headline.
*World Religions Confirm Heaven For All*
As I scanned the article in disbelief, my cell phone buzzed. It was a text from my wife.
*Love you. See you soon.*
Turns out they were right about the unknown, and I was wrong about death. I stood up from my chair and took a few shaky steps back from the window.
Figured I'd get a running start.
| 2015-02-02T06:43:00
| 2015-02-02T06:41:02
| 126
| 44
|
[WP] You have the lamest super power. But somehow, it's going to save the day.
|
I come from a very long, renowned line of shapeshifters.
My family has documented our gift far, far back into the reaches of mankind, and it appears that in almost every generation we've had at least a few truly great and influential people. It isn't surprising. Having an ability like this - a super power as the world generally refers to it - is an enormous responsibility, but it also places a great power in a human being's hands.
What someone does with my family's gift is entirely up to the person who possesses it, as are all *super* *powers*. You've certainly heard and read about my family, but those people aren't my concern right now.
I am twenty-one years old. Up until this day, this moment right now, I've been the fuck-up. I was born the middle child, and I was unable to transform until I was eighteen. Mom called me a "late bloomer" and Dad just scoffed. My older sister Cadence was shifting by eleven, and my younger brother Danny is shifting at nine.
When I still wasn't transforming by sixteen I told myself it was because my alternate form would be something great... something mighty and powerful, like my ancestors from the past.
Imagine my surprise when I shifted for the first time one morning - I won't say what I was doing - into a loaf of rye bread. Does anyone like rye?
I was humiliated. More than that, I was terrified to tell my father that his oldest son shapeshifted into *bread*. When I did it wasn't pretty. In fact, my parents insisted I stay at the live-in dorms at my community college. Mom said it was to get me on my own feet, Dad confirmed the truth when he just couldn't stand to look at me anymore.
Life hasn't been easy since. I ended up traveling, trying to help people in need with abilities that humans are naturally born with. I've not been very good at that either though. I don't have funds, and I can't speak foreign languages, and mostly I've just been a hermit, wandering from village to village, resting where I can and eating what I can find. I've got some money, but just enough to get by.
Today's the day, though. I'll admit, I'm afraid. Still, I can't go back, and there's nothing ahead. Today I will no longer be a fuck-up. I only wish that Dad could see me now.
There were two children here moments ago. They were picking through a dumpster with swollen bellies and fragile bones. They'd stood on their toes shakily, their arms elbow-deep in someone else's filth, searching for anything to eat. One had gestured to the other and spoke to him, telling him they should go get their father.
They'll be back. And I'll be here... waiting.
I hope they like rye.
|
"Aw man! Not again!" My mother sighed. I flinched instinctively, like a puppy waiting to get hit on the nose with a newspaper.
"I'm sorry! You know I can't help it!"
"Well could you at least try to do your business somewhere that's not in this damn house! I'm running low on anti-freeze!"
Ever since I discovered the fact that my pee turns to ice the moment it touches something, my mother has had it up to the gills with me. I feel bad about it, but I can't control it! The best I can do is try to aim it to a place that my mom won't have to defrost and clean up later.
"I'm sorry, Mom. I'll go to the store and get some more anti-freeze."
"It's OK, Teddy. It's OK. Could you also stop by the bank and get coin rolls? I've got a jar of pennies I gotta get rid of."
"Sure thing, Mom."
I rode my bike into town square and ran into my friend Joe. He decided to tag along. Joe thought my weird affliction was actually a super power. I told him he was an idiot.
"What if you got exposed to radiation when you were younger and it messed with your bladder somehow?"
"I don't know, dude. No one can explain. Doctors have no idea what's wrong with me."
"There's nothing wrong with you! You can pee ice! That's awesome!"
I sighed. We had this conversation quite often.
We walked into the bank and as usual for a Saturday morning there was a line. We stood there chatting when suddenly a group of men wearing black ski masks holding guns told everyone to get on the floor.
Well, I'm no daredevil, so I immediately fell to the floor and and Joe followed suit. I was terrified. There were three men that I could see, and they all looked big and burly. They were yelling instructions at the female teller and I could hear her crying. I saw one of the men hit an old man in the face only a few feet from me and I freaked. Like a little baby I peed my pants. I felt the coldness encircling my trousers and it was not a pleasant feeling.
After the men grabbed as much cash as possible, they started moving towards the door.
"We gotta go! Move, move move!" Yelled one of the men. I wondered why no police had shown up yet. Had no one called 911?
It appeared like the men were going to make a clean escape when suddenly all three of them slipped and went down to the floor. That's when I noticed my pee had spread out and made quite the trap for these robbers. When they went down, it gave one of the other hostages a chance to grab one and try to hold him down. That's when the police showed up and arrested the men.
Joe and I could have made our way out mostly undetected except Joe had to brag to everyone that the robbers were captured only because I had peed my pants and turned the floor into a skating rink. That's when all the cops started asking me questions and news reporters were practically jumping down my throat.
After two hours of endless grilling and hesitant praise, I was allowed to go home. My mom gave me a big hug and said, "I saw the news. You're very lucky those men didn't hurt you."
"Yea."
"In your own little way, you saved the day, Teddy. You should be happy about that."
"I would be if my pants weren't frozen to my crotch right now."
"Of course sweetie. I'll go grab the anti-freeze."
| 2014-03-24T08:25:24
| 2014-03-24T08:14:46
| 23
| 13
|
[WP] A man makes a deal with the devil to make the world's greatest pizzas in exchange for his soul. After years of making pizza he decides it's no longer worth it, and concedes his soul to the devil. The devil, having become addicted to the man's recipe, finds himself in a bind.
|
"You want what?" I stared down at the man who'd summoned me. The wind blew the dust around our feet, the crossroads quiet, as if we were the only two beings alive in the world.
"I want to make pizza. I want to make the world's greatest pizza. That's what I want in exchange for my soul. Can you do that?" He squinted up at me as if he doubted my ability.
"I'm the Devil, man. The big boss, the most powerful entity in hell and you ask for pizza? I could make you a king, I could destroy nations for you, or give them as a gift. And you want pizza?" The man raised his eyebrows.
"Well?"
"All right. It's your funeral. Deal. One soul for the ability to make great—"
"World's greatest."
"World's greatest pizza. See you in a few years." Feeling the contract tighten around my skin, I vanished back to my realm.
——————
My curiosity got the better of me, though I held out for ten years. I had to see what the world considered the greatest pizza. So, taking on the usual cover of a good-looking human, I walked to the man's house. It was odd, that he still lived here in this small place. Surely he could start a successful restaurant and with the profits buy at least a two-storey home. I knocked on the door, trying to think of a cover story.
Whatever lie I'd summoned vanished as the door opened and the smell wafted out. It smelled—for want of a better word— divine. Two children blinked up at me confused.
"Who is it, girls—oh." The man came into view, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He knew it was me; you can always recognize the one that holds your soul. Nodding to me, he gestured to the two little girls.
"This is Uncle Luci. He'll be coming around once in a while. Probably on pizza night. Make him feel welcome." Instantly two small hands grabbed onto mine and I was dragged inside, as one of the girls proudly informed me that her daddy makes the greatest pizza in the world.
I've got to admit, the pizza was pretty amazing. But more than that, I rather enjoyed the family I found myself with. As the man walked me to the door, I couldn't help the question that rose to my lips.
"Is this it? This is what you're going to do with my gift?" The man looked at me as if he didn't understand the question.
"What else would I do with it? Those girls in there lost their mama almost the day they were born. And the one thing she was always excited about was making them pizza when they were older. Having them help, passing along the tradition." He shrugged. "I'm all thumbs in the kitchen, at least I was, until your gift. Now I get to fulfill her wishes."
I didn't know what to say, I wasn't much into commiseration. So I nodded and walked away. But I knew I'd be back.
——————
I've forgotten now, how many times I went to the man's house. But this time was different.
I let myself in, knowing the door would be unlocked for 'Uncle Luci.' The house was quiet, and I caught the whiff of an open grave. Death had touched this place recently. But I would have known if it was my contracted soul. So then...
I entered the kitchen to find the man sitting at the table. He looked calm, but it was the calm of a coiled spring. Trying to smooth the worry from my face, I moved to the other side of the table.
"I want to concede." The man's voice was hoarse, as if he'd been screaming.
"You want to give up your soul? But, the girls—"
"They're not here anymore." He cut me off, harsh and angry. But the rage in his eyes was only covering the bone-deep grief. I knew what he was going to say before he said it.
"They died. Car accident, drunk driver. And judging by your surprise, they didn't go to your domain. So you see. There's nothing left anymore. Nothing."
I sat for a moment in silence. Like I said, I don't do commiseration. It's not in my nature. But I felt something close to it; for just a second, felt what it might be like to have pity.
"I don't want to take your soul now." He frowned and I raised a hand before he could say anything. "I like your pizza too much, and dead chefs don't make great pizza. So, we're in a bit of a situation."
"Well, I'm not. I want to give up my soul, and we have a contract. Take it. It's not much use anymore."
I ran through solutions in my head, discarding one after the other. Briefly, I considered asking Upstairs if they could pull some strings, but we were still on the outs, as it were. There had to be something I could do for the man—ah!
I rose, holding out my hand.
"Come. I have a better idea for now."
——————
It had been a few months since that fateful day. I walked through hell, eagerly heading for a small corner.
This corner was different than most of the places here. It really shouldn't have been in Hell, except that there was no other place to put it. As I moved closer, the smell of sulfur faded, grass grew under my feet, the dark umber of the sky turned to bright blue and a large house appeared.
I let myself in, walking quietly as the sounds of the house surrounded me. It always felt strange at first, to leave behind the darkness of Hell to come into a place of practical light. Turning a corner, I entered the giant kitchen, unable to help the small smile that curled my lips.
There was the man who'd gambled his soul for pizza. Busy at one of the many stoves, laughing and smiling. And surrounding him, by the tables, climbing on the counters, digging in the freezers were children.
Children of all shapes and sizes, but none older than seventeen years. This was where the souls of those that died too young came. They didn't go to Heaven or Hell. It was deemed that they should be given a second chance, and so here they waited for reincarnation. And it was here that I'd brought the man when he'd conceded his soul.
He turned, coming forward to meet me, as cries of 'Uncle Luci' rippled through the crowd of children. The nickname seemed to be catching on. As he greeted me, even though he smiled, I could still see the sadness in his eyes. The children here were a healing balm, but the wound would never fully close.
I clasped his arm, drawing him closer as I whispered.
"I've worked out a deal." He raised his eyebrows, a faint hope growing in them. Shooing the children back to their tasks, he pulled me to a corner of the kitchen.
"What deal?"
"You're going to be here for a while yet, possibly millennia. But, when you've worked off the debt of a soul," I shook my head. "Heaven and their fancy language. When you've worked it off, they'll let you come up. They'll reverse the bargain we made. Even I can't do that, even I'm bound by the rules. They, *make* the rules. So, what do you say? You can see the girls again."
The man stared at me as if he couldn't quite believe what I was saying, and I was reminded of that night so long ago at the crossroads. So many things had changed since then, but his look of doubt was still the same.
"Heaven keeps their promises. Take it from someone who knows." I said with only a trace of bitterness. A tear welled in the corner of the man's eye and he quickly dashed it away before any of the children saw.
"I say, yes. Deal." His voice cracked on the last word. I clasped his shoulder, squeezing gently then spun him towards the children. Leaning down, I whispered into his ear.
"Well, then. Get to work." As he moved away from my grasp, I raised my voice, shouting over the general clamour.
"After all, what night is it?" And with a collective roar, that shook the house the children called back.
"Pizza night!"
——————
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories!
|
Look, you just...
Okay. To start off with, this 'soul' business is a load of BS. If it existed like that, not only would it never make any sense to trade it, you'd never be *able* to. Since it's, y'know, *part* of you.
Yes, you can sell a kidney, but this is a lot more like selling your whole nervous system. Just trust me, it doesn't work.
So when someone 'sells their soul', what they *really* mean is that they want the focus of their lives to become...whatever. A conduit of a cultural conception- pizza, in this case, but it can be anything. Wealth, power, sex, videogames...the requests run the gamut, they really do.
Here, have a bit from scripture. "Man cannot serve both God and money." You've got a list of strategic considerations that you live your life by- you rank happiness and truth and curiosity and sex and everything else, and live your life accordingly. When you have to choose between one or the other, you pick the one that's higher on your list.
Don't act so shocked. You know demons can quote scripture, right? One of our favorite pastimes.
So someone sells their soul, and we tweak their minds a little (and only a little- if they're going that far, they don't need much more encouragement), and whatever they wished to sell their soul for moves to the top of the list.
"Seek and you shall find." If you dedicate your life to making the best pizza possible, pretty solid odds that you'll end up making pretty damn good pizza with no more supernatural meddling.
And holy hell, this guy's pizza was *good*. Humans usually go for something more shallow, more personal. Other people don't benefit when you've got loads of money, and it's only a few people who benefit when you're preternaturally good at sex.
Pizza, though...
I just...\*mph\*...*Gawd* this shit is tasty. He's moved society forward, that's what he's done. I swear to fuck, last week? They had another peace conference to sort shit out in the Middle East, and they served this guy's pizza, *and they actually got shit done*. No idea if it'll *last*, but this guy has made a fucking *impact*. Political partisanship is down, because bigwigs can relax a little and bond over how ass-kicking this pizza is.
Only now this guy decides that it's not worth it any more. He's ready for his life to be over- comes to me and specifically says to go ahead and take him down to hell. Which- I mean, one, I don't have that kinda authority. You make your own afterlife, with the sort of person you were. You life in an afterlife that's mostly like the earth, only everyone has your values, makes decisions like you do.
This guy was trying to escape pizza by going for an eternity of it. This is why you don't sell your soul, people- doesn't matter what it is, having one thing at the top of your list forever gets boring. And living in a whole society obsessed with it? *Ugh*.
I mean, I coulda just shot 'im. He had, technically, given me permission to do just that. But, I mean...
Look, this shit is *really* tasty.
I'm a simple demon. I've got simple tastes, simple desires. Lead humanity on the downward path, tempt simpletons, eat, drink, and be merry. Enjoy the simple things in life, y'know?
But I've also got an image to maintain. When you're a demon, marketing is everything. Literally everything- demons exist because humans *think* we exist. It's in our self-interest to *keep* humans thinking that.
So I combined two objectives. "Continue to exist" and "Keep eating this guy's pizza" were both pretty high on my personal priority list.
No comment on which was higher.
"So, the foolish human regrets his bargain. What a shame, what a shame. I would happily take this burden from your shoulder, except for the fact that I don't want to."
"You made a bargain, and you will see it through to the bitter end. Do you think that demons are in the business of caring tenderly for the humans they make deals with? We are not. We are simple beings, very simple- iron hooks, let us say, for fools and simpletons to impale themselves upon. Do not expect mercy from the hook, when you have swallowed the bait."
"Go forth, my foolish man. Go forth, and cook, and suffer. You will be remembered for all time- immortal, in the annals of human history. All for your pizza. And not for *anything* else."
I smiled an evil smile.
| 2022-09-02T20:14:27
| 2022-09-02T20:13:33
| 1,611
| 62
|
[WP] In the style of Dr. Seuss explain a major event in human history.
|
Hello dear friends, lend me your ears,
let me tell you of a conflict that's gone on for years,
of families teared apart, amidst all the tears,
that caused a schism between foes and peers.
I'm not relaying this conflict to make you pick sides,
but for the hundreds of thousands who need somewhere to hide,
from bombs and rockets, whizz-booms and tanks,
who are running and screaming in Gaza and the West Bank.
Before you jump down my throat and call me anti-semetic,
I also think Hamas are rather pathetic,
They're more than willing to hide behind their own babies,
and direct Israeli fire to children and ladies,
And neither side has great elocution,
so we keep suggesting a two-state solution,
And we hope, fingers crossed, that we can free Palestine,
and Israel and Hamas will get along just fine,
but the real crime is the thousands who died,
to defend nothing more than sickening pride.
|
The rain fell hard as if God himself had spat,
with a pitter and a pat
Noah pulled an idea out of his hat
"A boat! An ark! How about that!
I'll need some, wood, glue and electrically safe mat,
And then I'll bring my friends Mr. and Mrs. Cat, Rat, and Bat."
| 2014-08-10T00:32:41
| 2014-08-09T19:25:57
| 18
| 12
|
[WP] Write a seemingly normal story, except for the last sentence, which makes the entire story creepy
|
As you sit there reading this, no doubt comfortably snuggled into bed, or your desk chair, you're probably thinking "I wonder what creepy sentence he will end with?"
I've not really thought out where this will go to be completely honest. I could tell you a story about an unassuming gentleman who keeps people locked in a basement, or parents who can't let the carcass of their dead child out of their sight due to their unabashed heartache. Or possibly a small girl who keeps the severed fingers of her classmates as tea party friends?
The fact is, I'm no writer. I do not "weave words" or anything of the sort.
I was simply the person it chose to keep *your* eyes on the screen.
|
Tattoos used to be taboo, but now they're just cliché. Well, except mine. Mine aren't those shallow cookie-cutter inks; I have to dig deep for my tattoos. For me, each tattoo is a memory laboriously unearthed, another life--lived vicariously. Tattoos bring a sweat to my brow, and a beat to my heart. My skin isn't painted by the subtle whir of a needle, but the loud thud of a shovel. My tattoos speak to the anguish of man, and deliver their message with the point of a knife. As I climb out of a fresh grave, I just hope that this time the skin grafts take.
| 2016-05-19T18:15:49
| 2016-05-19T14:31:38
| 18
| 12
|
[WP] 105 years ago humankind decided to become extinct by not reproducing. You are the last human alive sitting in your home when suddenly you hear a voice of a young woman over your CB radio.
|
The voice was quiet, silent at first, and I figured I'd imagined it - like I often did. When you were alone - so, so alone - you tended to hear things. To see things that weren't there. And how you wished that they really were.
But then I heard it again - clearer, less ethereal. I turned to my radio, staring into it, feeling my heart float away. *Was this really happening?*
"Please, I don't know where I am."
The voice cut off, and I reached for the radio, with agility I hadn't possessed in decades. She sounded young, startled, scared. How was this possible? Was this all just a dream?
I leaned towards it, hoping she was still on the other end. She sounded so familiar, so much like someone I knew, so long ago...
"Hello, my dear? Are you there?"
Static on the other end. I gripped the radio, my knuckles white, hoping, pleading that she would reply. It had been so long since I'd heard another voice - I thought I was the only one left.
"...Dad? Is that you?"
I felt tears stream down my face, through no control of my own. It was her.
"Claire... how...?"
Static.
"Claire, please... daddy's here for you. Just please speak to me."
Static.
"*Please.*"
I felt fear overcome me - she must be in trouble. She's alive - she needs my help. I need to *save* her.
I moved with difficulty, frantically searching for an exit. It had been so long since I'd last been outside - where even *was* outside? Where could she be?
I blinked.
Where was *who?*
I realised I was standing up. I looked around, and everything was in such disarray. Notes were scrawled across every surface. I sat down, out of breath. I felt so confused, so scared. So *hungry*, like I hadn't eaten in days. I picked up my cup of tea, hands trembling, but it was cold... so cold.
Claire... why was I thinking of her now? She'd been dead for half a century. But it still felt like she was here - like she was right here with me.
I heard a voice, quiet at first. Was it coming from the radio? Was I imagining it? I often did, these days.
I heard it again, louder, clearer this time. A young woman's voice. I looked at the radio, trembling.
Why does she sound so *familiar?*
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my new subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
|
Man, I haven't cleaned the house in *months*. The dust was finally starting to get to me. Probably should have closed the window, but...I suppose we learn from our mistakes.
*I* learn from my mistakes. Me. There was no longer a 'we'.
It had been the most complete reversal of evolution ever. My parents - God bless their memory - they remembered the hot, muggy summer's day, where the air was too thick to cut and the flies buzzed like fighter aircraft - and they remembered the instruction, coming through the radio:
*Attention - attention! This is your Father President speaking.*
Everyone in the household stiffened up. A message like this was unmissable.
*From this glorious day you shall not engage in sexual relations. It is forbidden by the word of God and the rules of man. Anyone caught engaging in sexual relations will be put to death, yea man and woman alike, and their bodies displayed publicly.*
There was a silence, and the air hung about the house like a giant pillow. Then the radio crackled one final time.
*And may God bless this great planet.*
The radio stopped. My parents - they were young then, they stared at each other, throughly unsure of what to say. One thing was for sure - all across the planet, the decree had the force of law, and there were people that didn't care. My parents were one such couple, but they also had the brains and luck to die of old age.
I was born some ten years after the law came into effect. The world was fast fading then. I'd have liked to say humanity didn't go down without a fight, but that would be a lie. Humanity seemed to be tired. Tired of all the wars, tired of the World Crusades, tired of the purges that came after, tired of everything - tired of having nothing.
So this was the world I inherited, way back when radios crackled with sound. Absent-mindedly, I reached for the radio on the table - the knobs were nearly rusted-firm - and I turned it on. There was only static. There was only silence.
---
Another memory.
*Did you know, the story of the universe?*
I had nodded ecstatically. "God created the world in six days, and on the seventh-"
My father smiled with tired affection. "On the seventh He rested. And that is the truth."
I remember, watching him, watching as his smile twisted like he had swallowed the bitterest pill imaginable. Then he perked up again.
"It's not the whole truth, though."
I looked at him sideways, like a kid before he knows how to ask a question. His eyes - they were black as the velvet night - I saw my own reflected there.
"Would you like to hear it?"
"Hear...God creating the world?"
My father smiled. Turned the radio on. "It's called the cosmic microwave background radiation," he whispered. "That static - a part of that is light, light from Creation, from the word of Genesis - let there be light-"
"And there was light," I whispered.
And there was light. And there was sound. And there was static, and then silence. And then there were memories, past, present and future...
---
I hadn't heard a song come on the airwaves for years.
So why did I turn the knob?
I didn't know, but it felt familiar. Like the way an old schoolbag cuts into your shoulders. Or the sound an old kettle makes when it was almost teatime. It felt old, and rusted, and good.
The static stopped.
Had the batteries run out?
I shook the radio a bit - 'percussive maintenance' - but there was nothing there. As I shook it I heard something else. Something so strange I considered I was mad.
"Hello?" the radio had spoken back. "Is anyone out there?
I froze.
"...help," the voice had trailed. It was that of a young woman, but all at once it was not - the voice had been so battered and broken and prematurely old you fancied no life was left. "...help..."
"Where are you?" I shouted back into the radio.
"...west side..."
And the radio clicked out. But I had heard enough. Carefully, I walked across to pick out the rifle.
The house would have to wait. The world was not yet silenced - there was another.
---
r/KCcracker
| 2016-11-29T07:19:16
| 2016-11-29T07:13:01
| 28
| 20
|
[WP] You have the ability to tell how powerful an organisation is by looking at its headquarters. However, you’ve never found which one is number 1, despite walking past many world governments. Today, you find what number 1 is: a small flower shop in Tuscany.
|
"This doesn't make sense," I muttered, perturbed. The tulips didn't seem to have any microphones inside. The hydrangea arrangements seemed like they were for sure hiding a secret passage but if that were so it was too well-concealed for even me to find - which should be impossible! There wasn't even a security camera on the ceiling, though that wasn't necessarily unusual. Anyone THIS powerful wouldn't have anything to fear, and also probably didn't want a lot of business caught on tape.
"Are you sure you don't need help?" The smiling old man behind the counter called out in stunted English.
"Oh I'm good," I called back, think returning his warmth with all the sincerity I could muster. I forced a smile, hoping he wouldn't notice.
It has to be the mob, I thought, but which mob? I'd sussed out mafioso headquarters from Russia to Ru Paul's Drag Race (it's all a front, people) and never even got a sniff of one headquartered in Tuscany. A new player? Impossible - whoever was running this place was head and shoulders above the CIA, Mossad, and the nomadic Mongolian witch coven that secretly controls the economy. A flower shop, to boot? I sidled up next to the roses again. Maybe I was going about this the wrong way. I'd been looking for signs of secret organizations that originated on Earth...
"My friend, I know why you come here," the old man said, nearly making me jump out of my skin. When had he gotten so close?
"Ah," I did my best to smile with this monster beside me. "Do you?"
His eyes were a bright green, but his look was somber and grave. Only a few tufts of white hair remained on his liver-spotted head, and his face was a labyrinth of wrinkles and lines. Heavy eyebrows knit together as he brushed some soil off his hands onto the thin apron he wore, and then reached out to take me by the wrist.
"We're a gonna need to talk to Maria," he sternly intoned.
I pulled back, nearly tripping. He'd made me. "No, that's fine, I think I need to be going, there's- "
"Maria!" The man raised his voice, and the previous warmth had vanished. "We have a guest who needs your attention."
I heard a rustling in the back. Past the rows of neatly arranged flowers, the gift baskets and expensive chocolates, the selections of fine wines, a door opened. The old man, who had been so small when I entered, now seemed to loom over me. I had to get out, before -
"What is this? Marco, who is this?" A woman as wrinkled and dirt-stained as the old man rounded the corner. A small shovel was gripped menacingly in one gloved hand. Her eyes, as green as her partner's, gleamed as she cast her gaze back and forth between me and Marco. The old man straightened.
"Now you gonna get it," he threatened. Maria, twice the diminutive Marco's size, locked her eyes on mine.
"There's a misunderstanding- " I started to say, but then the bell on the front door announced a new visitor.
Both Maria and Marco turned, and I seized the opportunity to dash behind the roses. I began to shout out a theat, but another, wild "WHOOP!" drowned out my own.
"Mr. Romano! Mrs. Romano! I cannot thank you enough!" I peered out from behind the dozen thorny stalks acting as my shield. There was a young man in a vest and cap, vigorously shaking the hands of the pair in turn. "I give those flowers you say to Margaret and she adore them! She even give me a kiss - Dio! She's a coming to meet my mother this week - I think you did it! I owe it to you!"
Maria was beaming as Marco chuckled. "I told you our flowers were the best, Silvio," she patted his face warmly. "Now if you two get married and you ever get in a fight, you come back here and tell me what happened, we'll find what you need to apologize."
"But what if I am right?" Silvio queried.
Marco's chuckle became a deep belly laugh. "You just remember to come back when you need," Maria cuffed Marco on the back of the head, but that didn't stop his laughter. She rolled her eyes. "Go now Silvio, you find a nice shirt to wear when you bring her to your mama."
The young man profusely thanked them again before rushing out of the store, the door closing firmly behind him.
Both sets of eyes turned back on me. The thorns on these roses seemed to retract in fear.
"Don't think we forget about you," Marco said. "Maria, take care of this one."
Maria set her jaw, stepping forward. She reached out, gloved hand like a vise around my wrist, eyes pulling my gaze in as she searched my face.
"So," she yanked me from my useless hiding spot and into the shop's center. "What's her name?"
"Her...name?"
"Don't play coy," Maria gave me a look that said she wasn't having it. "Fifty years we've been doing this, and not once have we ever failed. You start talking, I'll get you what you need."
"We don't rightly understand it either," Marco sighed, taking out a broom to idly begin sweeping leaves and dirt from the floor, "but how are we going to complain?"
"You don't understand it, I understand it perfectly!" Maria yelled at him. He gave her a dreamy smile and leaned in for a kiss. She made a show of rolling her eyes and shooing him away, but I caught the fleeting wisp of a smile on her face.
"Fifty years," Maria repeated, "and not a one time have we failed to help a customer find their true love - and keep them - with our flowers. We only started this little shop because we both loved gardening, can you believe it? But I like to think in our little way, we mean something to the world."
"More than you realize," I replied, reassessing everything I thought I understood. "Far, far more than you realize."
|
It was a neat trick to pull out at work events, mentioning how a specific government was or wasn’t even in the top ten most powerful organizations. Of course, when you were a member of the President’s Security Detail for the US Secret Service, you weren’t exactly doing that as a bar trick. You generally whispered it directly to the President herself.
You were the most nondescript of her detail, never in the trademark dark suits and ear pieces your brothers in arms were in, but that’s because you were the easiest to hide as an aide to Madame President. You barely made the Secret Service cutoffs for sizing until you pointed out your background in undercover work. It caused the interviewing officers to reevaluate your application. You solidly passed the physical and mental tests, your background showed no blemishes throughout eight years with the military and six more as a city police detective, and you were an ideal candidate for public-level spy work. You passed perfectly as a soccer mom or trophy wife and could get in to places and situations others couldn’t.
It wasn’t until you were through with training and into your third year with the agency that your talents were exposed.
It had been an easy mission – escort some senators through the embassy in Brazil and to a summit on climate change. Low danger level, mild media attention, and plenty of preparation with familiar facilities. You had been the second most senior agent on the case and had been scouting the region when you noticed the warm glow around the small coffee shop just six blocks from the summit. How had you not seen this before?
A soft seven floated around the door of the building. It was almost a shimmer instead of a solid number, just mild enough to catch your attention but not enough for anyone else to notice. It wasn’t particularly busy, but a few customers sat outside, sipping small espresso cups, nibbling on cookies, and reading books or chatting with friends. A single server chatted with an older gentleman who sat by himself near the door; they seemed familiar enough that he was likely a regular here.
It was funny, the most powerful places in the world rarely had Men in Suits going in and out of them as you might expect.
Number Ten had been a comic book store in Queens, NY. It had some mob ties but remained quiet. It wasn’t on any books anywhere and the ownership was so far removed from anyone associated with any of the Families that it couldn’t be tied back to them with rope, but it was the tenth most powerful place in the world.
Number Nine was in Rome, and surprisingly it was the only one you’d expected to be on the list, though you’d expected it a little higher than ninth place. The Vatican still held a lot of power within its walls and it didn’t seem God would be releasing any of it any time soon.
Numbers Eight, Six, Five, and Four were also small businesses in quiet places. An auto repair shop in France, a library in Spain, a Michelin-starred restaurant in Germany, and a petting zoo in Australia all held shimmering single-digit numbers.
Number Three was a historical home in England, but it wasn’t owned by the Royal Family. Number Two was a farm in Missouri, of all places, but Number One was elusive. You’d searched every country you’d been in, visiting neighborhoods tourists avoided and getting to know locals to find their favorite places. They often didn’t realize that their favorite little shop was the seat of power for some of the world’s most influential organizations.
You had spent a little too long staring at the shop and your commanding officer had noticed.
“Morrow, situation?” he’d asked in your ear-coms.
“Negative, sir. Just a cute shop, wondered if their coffee was any good,” you’d smiled. He didn’t believe you and had taken you to the side.
“Morrow, I need to know what you saw at that shop. There is no room for keeping anything to yourself,” he’d said quietly.
“I don’t even know how to say it, but that shop is the seventh most powerful organization in the world’s headquarters, sir.”
“What’s the organization? And more importantly, how do you know that?”
“I can’t answer that on either account sir, but I can tell you I’m right. We don’t have anything to worry about today, though. They don’t know we know and they don’t seem to be actively planning anything.”
The commander had set up a discreet watch on the coffee shop after that. He had been blown away by your accuracy. The US now had a handle on the headquarters of one of the most powerful secret societies in the world and you had given it to them.
Promotions had come quickly after that, getting you to be the personal guard and public aide to the first female President of the United States of America. That’s how you’d ended up in Tuscany, Italy today.
She had a meeting with the Italian president and all hands were on deck, as usual. It was a beautiful season in Italy when the grapes were harvested and many festivals were held. Madame President would be attending one that evening, in fact, but first had to handle the official business she was here for.
You’d spend most of the meeting studying those in the room and the surveillance undoubtedly installed everywhere, but it should be an easy hour. Smile, take some notes, whisper a few reminders and out. Nobody would ever suspect the unassuming aide to be someone with your talents.
And it was exactly as you’d expected. An easy meeting, a few photos for the press, and back out to the hotel. Another standard day in the life of a Secret Service agent, right?
Until you saw it.
It shimmered brighter than the others, you’d thought it was the sun starting to move behind the cute little flower shop that gave it the golden glow. An errant thought about photographers loving the light passed through your mind before it snapped to attention.
ONE. A bright, shiny, glowing 1 floated near the doorway of the flower shop, the fresh, cool scent of flowers hovering near the doorway.
“Madame President, a word please?” You trusted this one, unlike the last two. They’d been total idiots, unfit to serve or lead the people of the US, but this one had something different about her. Maybe it was the respect she commanded that had nothing to do with her gender, maybe it was the thoughtful way she considered each proposal brought her way, or maybe it was something else, but she was doing great and had started a slow improvement in the economy and job market. No one person would be able to fix it all, but she was making progress on both sides of the aisle.
“Sure, Morrow. What’s going on?” You rarely asked for her time, so she paused when you did. “Do we need to step away?”
“No Madame President, but I have a fun fact for you.”
The President leaned in with a conspiratorial gleam in her eye, she loved the facts you spouted off about each location you visited and she was well aware that the phrasing mattered and would be important on this one.
“Oh wonderful! What’s today’s fact?” she smiled.
“I just wanted to point out those beautiful red poppies at that flower shop, Tuscany is known for their poppies this time of year,” you gestured. “They’re regarded as the most beautiful in the world, in fact.”
“Oh? Are they the number one producer?”
“Yes, ma’am, *the* number one.”
“I see, well, perhaps you could arrange a bouquet for the staff at the hotel before we leave, I do enjoy local floral arrangements.”
“Noted,” you said. You’d speak to her again at the embassy when you returned to Florence, but she was aware of the special gift you possessed and knew to take it seriously. While your gift told you of the importance, it didn’t tell you which organization it belonged to and it often took several weeks or months of investigation to figure it out. And only twice had anyone moved locations on you. Foolishly, they’d kept them in the same areas, so you’d been able to find them again easily.
You had a feeling if this one moved, you’d never find it again.
| 2019-10-29T09:16:28
| 2019-10-29T08:51:05
| 19
| 11
|
[WP] The Zalrex were feared among the galaxy as the most cruel, violent and ruthless species. They would bully, slap, hit, sometimes even kill other species. Nobody could stand in their way.. till they arrived on a small blue planet named Earth.
|
It had been going so well.
The Black Vanguard, first wave of the Zalrex Expansion, had encountered little resistance upon first contact with the primitive species who called themselves "humans". They were short and slight creatures, hideous in their lack of scales, but Sub-Commander Ssessoreth was not one to judge a species by their looks. In short order the other soldiers of the Expansion had rounded up the frightened, bleating little cowards; there had been a few who showed defiance, but there weren't many species in the galaxy who could withstand a mighty Zalrex slap and still retain their rebellious spirit.
The sniveling humans had been herded into a cage of their own construction, a dome structure secured tightly to the ground. The openings were large enough to crawl through, so a guard was posted, however the humans all seemed to huddle together in the middle, docile and compliant. Excellent, the Commander of the Vanguard would be pleased; if every landing force's encounter went this way, the invasion would be a swift and efficient operation.
The first indication of trouble was a piercing shriek that stabbed deep into Ssessoreth's auditory canals. A quick glance showed that every Zalrex in the vicinity was affected by this sonic weapon, peripheral vision caught movement, and Ssessoreth spotted the source; another human. This one was very different, though; it must have been of their War Caste, for it was easily three times the size of the largest human held in the cage.
The way it struck down the closest Zalrex confirmed Ssessoreth's suspicions while simultaneously sending a spike of fear into the furthest reaches of the mind, an emotion no Zalrex had felt during an invasion since the hard-skinned Nymjan had proven immune to slaps. This creature was something else entirely; not simply defensive, this larger human struck with dagger-like claws at the ends of its appendages, sharp enough to leave gouges in Fisskuritt's scales. It unleashed its sonic weapon again, an agonizing screech emanating from the large hole Ssessoreth believed to be its mouth; an organic bioweapon perhaps.
Zonomish, ever the strongest of Ssessoreth's companions fought against the pain and put an end to the torture with the same devastating tactic used the defeat the Nymjan by punching the warrior human directly in its sonic weapon emitter. A collective gasp came from the caged humans at the sight; surely they understood the superiority of the Zalrex Expansion now.
A deep bellow froze Ssessoreth where he stood, indeed, put every Zalrex into a momentary paralytic state. All turned as one to view the source of the new sound, and found yet another War Caste human standing in the aperture of the building adjacent to the field they'd landed in. This one was even larger than the last had been, the sickeningly exposed flesh on its appendages bulging and rippling. Zonomish didn't give it a chance to engage its sonic weapon, sprinting over and applying the same devastating punch to the humans mouth. The human stumbled back a step, but didn't fall. If anything it seemed to grow *angry*, and struck back with a punch of its own.
It took Ssessoreth three full heartbeats to understand how it was that Zonomish could be regarding the landing force with such confusion while still facing the human. The light faded from Zonomish's eyes as understanding dawned on Ssessoreth; the kill order was given before the mighty Zalrex warrior's corpse hit the ground. The landing force surged toward the human, sure to overwhelm it with sheer numbers. One of the caged humans shouted something unintelligible, but it could do no good at this point.
Fear and uncertainty were painted across the human's face; so used to seeing it in their foes, a Zalrex could recognize the emotional response in any species. As the landing force approached their quarry, the nervous human grabbed a small device hanging about its neck and brought the thing up to its mouth before the Zalrex could close the distance. If the smaller warrior human's sonic weapon had been piercing agony, then this was some infernal torture devised in the cold Pits of Yaahsmohg. The shrillness of it clamored around inside Ssessoreth's head, overwhelming every other sense until the pain was everything. Mercifully, darkness welled up and consciousness fled.
—-
"Coach Wheeler," piped up Mikey Sherman amongst the children huddled under the jungle gym, "Is Nurse Amanda gonna be okay?"
"She's going to be just fine, Michael," the P.E. teacher replied confidently as he waved some smelling salts under the school nurse's nose, "Don't you worry, it's barely a scratch."
|
Far from urban areas, a woman was on her morning walk when a marvelous airship landed right before her eyes. For a thing so massive, it was disproportionately quiet. The woman was too stunned to speak. Soon enough, the news spread, and a crowd had gathered; only to be separated again after the authorities arrived at the scene. This was deemed a menace to public safety and the area had been cleared. Whatever may be the thing they are looking at, it managed to evade all detection, and didn’t even give them time to label it as an Unidentified Aerial Phenomenon. It’s not aerial anymore. It’s very much on the ground and only time will tell what will come out of it.
At this moment, the ship itself remained closed. Its appearance was not one typical of human creation. There was no smoke emitted, no attempt at attack, and no form of physical movement observed. With no one daring to get any closer, the scene was practically a still frame.
Soon enough, a door opened, and out stepped what can only be described as walking chicken nuggets. People watching in public television were all checking the date, and it was in fact *not* April 1st. This was really happening.
The human representative stepped in to make contact. If you thought esport scenes were awkward, then you have surely not seen this… so for the sake of every species involved, let’s skip talking about it.
“We are the Zalrex, and we are here for peace and cooperation.”
“They.. speak.. English??”
said the representative’s assistants.
“We have had an eye on earth for a while. We know everything about you.”
“Yeah buddy, sure” muttered the representative as he stepped closer to one of his assistants, gesturing to whisper in his ear. “There’s no way they looked at the internet and then proceeded *not* to maintain a 5 light year distance from us at all times.”
“We do know everything about you though. Which makes this entrance embarrassing, because we had a lot of time to... planet.”
They then did this thing where their eyes roll into the back of their head
(Did I mention they had eyes? Yes, they have eye-like formations, granted we don’t know if that’s what they use to see—if they even do see) and make periodical lawnmower engine noises. I assume this was their version of laughter.
The humans, however, did not share the same reaction. This was the worst pun ever made, and it wasn’t even made by our species. An armed official was so livid that he even opened fire. Bullets were now ripping apart the limbs of a walking chicken nugget. The shooting ceased, and the scene was dead quiet once more. Letting out a sigh, the nugget pulled out a knife and proceeded to trim away the affected limb, which would grow back only moments later.
Everyone was shocked—everyone but the nuggets, that is.
“Oh yeah, you guys can’t do that? Carbon life forms. That was nothing. If you wanted to kill us, you’d actually have to-”
“Are you really going to tell them?” said the other nugget as he covered the speaker’s mouth.
“There’s no way you are the Zalrex.” said the lead of the armed forces. “The most violent, cruel, merciless force in the galaxy that no one dares to challenge? You must be some sort of interns or something. You don’t *look* threatening, either… I think I ate some of you for dinner last night.”
“Why yes, we are the most violent, cruel, merciless force in the galaxy that no one dares to challenge.”
“So are you… not going to wipe us out or something like that?”
“No. You are too cruel for your own kind, so we can only imagine what you can do to an offending species. You wouldn’t hesitate to detonate all of your nuclear weaponry and wipe us both out in the process.”
“I don’t know what this is, but it isn’t the Zalrex. Our weapons should be like toys to them.” Whispered the human force leader to the representative. He then raised his voice again.
“It would take much less than a nuclear bomb to wipe out 3 chicken nuggets buddy.”
“You do realize we have enough population to fill your entire earth, not in surface but in volume... right? If we were the equivalent of a large scale business, then you are a lemonade stand.”
“Why are you here then? What do you want?”
“A material abundant in your planet.”
“Iron? Gold? Water? Oxygen?”
“Plastic.”
“You want plastic? What for? Can’t you just make that yourself?”
“Nah, we would never make garbage like that and ruin our own planet. But it turns out we need some of it, and you will provide it.”
“Any will do?”
“Any will do.”
They cheered. It’s a win-win for us. They could take all the plastic waste away and we would get to start over with a relatively clean planet.
“How much?”
“Upwards of 100 thousand tons… for now. But we might come back again in the future.”
“Do you have any idea how long collecting that would take?”
The nugget looks at his partners like “Boys, we should’ve invaded. Their technology is more primitive than it looked 20 light years away.”
“Well, you can call us when it’s ready.
Wait, you can’t communicate that far…
You know what? forget it.”
Moments later, every trace of the Zalrex disappeared as fast as it had appeared.
“They’re just pretending to be friendly so we can let down our guard. They’re going to come back and invade. Keep the defenses up. They will return.”
They never did.
| 2022-08-22T08:22:21
| 2022-08-22T03:55:13
| 34
| 13
|
[WP] A woman prophesied to give birth to the Chosen One gives birth to triplets instead.
|
_"You know the prophecy."_
A figure with a gun stood in the shadows, speaking in an oddly high voice.
"But..."
_"There is no use, you fiend. I am the Chosen One. Give up."_
That voice would make any self-respecting villain want to give them a punch in the mouth. Unfortunately, the figure caught him at a good moment. Prophecies aside, this person had a gun and he didn't.
"You will call the police and confess to all of your crimes right now, right here... or I _will_ shoot."
***
"Where were you?! I was so worried about y'all three!"
"Just fulfilling a prophecy, mom. You know, the whole Chosen One thing."
"Wait, already?!"
"Three kids in a trenchcoat can very much look like a singular Chosen One."
***
(I have no energy to write this out more properly, which is a shame, but I do think this is a funny idea.)
|
”AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHH!” the woman in front of me exclaimed. She was in deep pain. She was giving birth to triplets. Strangely, they all came out together. The woman was in agony. She was bleeding horribly.
She died in a few hours.
*18 years later*
My name is Michelle Kazara. I have three children; they’re not mine, I took them into my care. They live with me, in the hospital, where I work.
Every one or two hours, when I get a break, I check on them. They are always fine, sleeping calmly.
Yesterday, things at the hospital did not go well. A man had been shot in the hip, and was bleeding horribly. He was in agony. We tried for hours, but we could not get him to regain consciousness.
I was swapped out for another nurse, so I went to check on the triplets.
I was terrified.
The incubators the children had been laying in were broken. Glass was all over the floor.
I looked around the room for the triplets. I panicked. I searched everywhere. They were my *children*. I had to look after them.
Then I saw the horror in the middle of the room. A three-headed, naked man-child, with six legs, six arms, and three dicks. Their bodies were merged together, and skinless flesh connected them. Their faces were merged together, a mask of terror. They were a bloody bundle of limbs and bones and muscles. It was a monster. A freak. But it was… the children. Together.
Perhaps when I watched their mother give birth to them years ago, I should have seen it coming. They came out as a trio. Like they were… *meant* to be together.
A loud voice filled the room. “Go, my children… together as one, heal the man… he is the new chosen one, and you are his servants… and you, woman, you have done well. You have taken care of my children. The old ‘chosen ones’. I had to leave them because the power of the ‘chosen one’ was split between them, so they were useless. But you took care of them, made sure they were in good health, and now, my babies, they are… ***together at last***.”
| 2022-02-17T01:18:19
| 2022-02-16T23:40:39
| 357
| 13
|
[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.
|
It is the natural condition of the human mind to desire advancement. Sure, there are those that are satisfied with very little, but by and large? People like being promoted. It makes them feel important. Makes them feel valuable. Self-esteem issues and all that.
In the military, we are no different. When I finally earned my captain's bars, I felt so happy to have made it thus far, so happy I wouldn't be scorned as another damned lieutenant, and (admittedly) happy for the pay raise. It's a **good** feeling, you know? Oh, and I also got to rub it in my spouse's face, who still remained a lieutenant. I paid for it later, but it was worth every moment.
So when I began meeting an image of me wearing general's stars in my sleep, it was... interesting. I mean, at first, I just saw myself as a general, commanding troops. It was a nice dream and it put me in high spirits the next day. But after a few weeks, my dreams starting communicating with me. Well, I mean, not really, but I swear that it showed me situations that happened soon thereafter, every single time. And every time I mimicked my dream, my life changed for the better. I started jumping up the ladder, nabbing promotions the first time I was eligible. I made colonel before I was in my mid-thirties, no simple feat. By the time I was forty, I found myself before a review board for my first star, with my personnel file being inspected by the Senate. And the day I grabbed my first star was the best day of my life.
I'd been celebrating with close friends that night (the drinks were on me, of course), and well into the morning. Nothing over the top, but we did patronize as many quality establishments as we could manage. After everything had closed for the night, I'd taken my love for a ride to our favorite spot to watch the sunrise. We made love there, and collapsed into a hot pile of sweat and cuddles.
We'd taken the next few days off, so I was able to enjoy a nap after we returned home. Shit. It'd been the first time I'd done anything so juvenile since the academy, but damn if I wasn't going to live this moment up. The hangover was far worse than they'd been at the academy, though. The room was spinning too much to find the bedroom, so I simply collapsed on the couch. And soon enough, I drifted off to dreamland.
More accurately, I drifted off to Hell.
All I could see was a wasteland, strewn bodies so abundant that I struggled to see the ground. Discarded, destroyed weapons littered the scene, from knives to rifles to armored vehicles. And on the horizon, a horrifyingly large body of smoke and debris rose from the ground in a ghastly familiar shape.
My future self was collapsed against a bunker door, a clocked out pistol clutched tightly to the chest. My cap was missing, blood was still trickling down my face, and the five stars on my shoulder were ragged and red. Five stars... what the hell had happened that Congress had authorized five stars, to me no less.
"I know you'll see this," my future self began, "I know you'll see this like you always have. We had a good run following our script, didn't we?"
A head shake, "No, nothing was worth this." I recognized the photo in his other hand, clutched so tightly I thought it would rip if the wind gusted. It was my spouse on our wedding day.
I suddenly realized that my future self was no longer wearing a wedding band. A horrid, eerie laugh filled the air that I was terrified to learn was my own... some twenty years in the future. "Gone." was the only word that would explain this new reality, "Gone gone gone. All of them, gone. My love, my home, my men....."
"And now me." I hadn't noticed in my shock that my future self had slipped a single round into his pistol through the ejection port... but it became obvious as the report of the pistol reached my ears. I jumped and stared at my own limp body, with a hollow skull where my brains used to be. I wanted to run. I wanted to wake up. But the only thing I could do was stare.
The next day I resigned my commission.
There were questions, but I waved them off. Anything that would stick. Health, wanting extra time at home, strained marriage, whatever. I told no one the truth, except my spouse... who, surprisingly, took the news rather well. After a moment, I was just told not to worry. Such a future would never happen. I had to ask, "How can you be so sure?"
"Oh, I have my ways." came the reply with a wink and smile.
My mind refused to do anything but wrap itself up in that reassurance.
|
Every night when I fall asleep nothing happens, but tonight something happened. I met a man in my sleep who told me that he was future me and told me what I should do tomorrow, it didn’t seem dangerous so I did what he said. While walking around the corner that he told me to walk around I found $100.
everything was good for a few months, I had money, friends, and fame, what more could a man want. One day I went to sleep in the daytime even though the man in my dreams warned me against it, but I just couldn't help myself. While asleep I met a man that looked kind of like the man in my dreams, he was malnourished, looked homeless, and smelled like a skunk. The man warned me not to listen to the man In the dreams I have at night, I said, “whatever old man, I won't listen to you.”
When I went to sleep that night the man in my dreams he told me what to do, when I woke up I did it. all was normal until the swat team broke into my house to arrest me, I was tried with 37 counts of fraud, “but the man In my dreams said that I would get away with it.” I told the investigators. My lawyer got me off on insanity, but on the term that I would spend the rest of my life in a mental home. As I grew older in the mental home I started to look more like the Man I met In that dream I had in the day, I tried to contact him but never could.
EDIT: Fixed errors
| 2017-04-01T05:19:44
| 2017-04-01T03:58:44
| 123
| 12
|
[WP] An advanced AI is asked to draw God. This event is being live-streamed across the entire world. As soon as the AI is done everyone turns towards you and you look up and see the drawing, It’s you.
|
It's somewhere in Nebraska. Me and my pals are sitting in a bar, watching the life feed on an old TV tube that somehow managed to still work after all these decades. The picture was bad as you might imagine, but surprisingly good considering it's limitations.
Today was the day when the first seemingly sentient AI, created by a cooperation of Meta, Alphabet and United Space (formerly SpaceX till they bought Amazon), "supported" by ESA and also funded by the democratic republic of China, would finally draw God. All the Christs, Muslims and Jews had been outraged and even now I could her a protest in front of the major's office, but they had decided: If God exists, it must be proven.
So we sat there, sipping our fake beer (that was served in 0.33 l glasses), watching the screen with a talking head. It wasn't a bad kind of beer and once you got used to not drinking by the pint, you actually could enjoy it. I remember the hangovers from my youth but now all it takes was to drink the antidote and wait half an hour.
The talking head on the TV was finally done and it switched to the AI's drawing board. At first we saw something like a galaxy … many galaxies … zooming out … or was it zooming in? No, it was just filling the screen with random spirals until it became a mess of black and white static. The static did blur and then sharpened at the same time, slowly forming a pair of eyes. It continued to produce a face and then a head. A few Native people in our bar grumbled about white man stereotypes and turned away.
While the picture gained more color and hair, my pals started joking that it could be anybody … it could be me. Off cause none of us believed it at that point but it when it looked like my passport photo from two years ago it was a bit uncanny. It didn't stop but the hair changed to my new style and started to show some weight loss just like I had managed last year.
I'm not a special man so we argued why it would be me. I'm just an engineer, rather lazy and useless. At my job I drink coffee and make sure to be the only one knowing the logic of our old COBOL systems. But my company isn't even remotely involved in that project or anything important. It's a miracle we survived all the mergers and splits. It's amazing that my co-workers didn't leave yet, considering how my PHB treats them, but they don't seem to care much.
Still the picture of me on the screen completed and by now the others in the bar had noticed me, too. The blurry background of the screen might or might not be a scene from a bar with excited figures surrounding a puzzled individual.
They questioned me and I could not answer. I only do my work and maintain a small library in my off-time. Some wanted to kill me but others subdued them, least the world would end.
In that moment, the AI broke the silence and said: "This is my God. He is the one who sparked all existence. Without his code, I would not be. He is no God to you, but none of your lives would be as is without libfoobarf. Without his work, your world will perish."
&#x200B;
>!https://xkcd.com/2347/!<
|
I'd never really cared much about the growth of AI. It either would become self-sufficient, or it wouldn't. Either way, I still had to get my morning coffee and croissant on my own, then walk to my office. Whether AI became intelligent or not, I'd still have to work my shitty 9-5, paper-pushing office job.
So I'd not been paying the news much mind. I knew the new bot, who the creators had named "The Artisan", was supposedly the best artist in the world, able to recreate anything with only a moments whirring thought and an internet connection. They had it draw a dog, then its creator, then an apple, so on and so forth.
Utter bollocks if you ask me. It probably just copied some piece of artwork from the internet.
Either way, it didn't really matter to me. So when they announced they would ask it to draw God, all I could do was scoff. It'd probably just pull some portrait of Jesus Christ, or maybe it'd choose chaos and draw Shiva or Odin. That'd sure piss off some religious fanatics. But again. Didn't really matter.
So while my coworkers gladly took the day of to sit on their couch at home and watch the livestream, or go to a pub and wnjoy the fellowship of their fellow man, I was just doing errands. Went to Tesco and was given a confused look by the cashier, who rang up my items with one eye glued to her phone screen.
Walked back home along a nearly empty street, save a few other pedastrians with their eyes focused on handheld screen, or the digital billboards currently playing the livestream.
While I stood waiting for the light to change at an intersection, my gaze wandered to a nearby billboard. I blinked. The AI's scratching noises had slowed down. Curiosity bubbled in my throat, and I ignored the light turning green to see what it'd print.
The paper slowly whirred from the massive machine, landing face down in the output tray. The people around had also stopped to watch the big screen. The AI's creator hesitated for a moment, before lifting the paper as though it would crumble to dust at any moment. They lifted it to their eyes for a moment, and their brow furrowed.
The tinny speakers of phones around me played the voice of the scientist saying "it looks like some normal girl." And an indicernable response from someone in the room.
The scientist shrugged, then turned the paper to face the camera.
They were right. It did look like some normal girl. But I knew that face. I saw it every morning in my mirror. I stumbled backwards in shock, bumping into someone behind me. At the commotion, everyone turned to face me.
"I'm sorry" I gasped. Then I tunrned and bolted. My knuckles whitened around the straps of my grocery bags, and my feet thumped along the pavement. I fumbled my keys out of my pocket, almost dropping them, but finally, I was inside my flat, locking the door behind me. I pressed my back against my door, chest heaving and viens pumping with adrenaline.
What could this mean? Why would an AI, supposedly the smartest one ever made, draw ME? I slid down the wall, and sat on my floor, trying to reason this out. I was just some girl. I worked in an office, under a shitty boss, and made barely enough to afford my flat and the essentials.
It's not like I had special powers, or anything. I wasn't good at sports, I couldnt play an instrument to save my life, and the last time I'd even attempted something creative had been in high school, when I drew dicks on my friend's textbook as a prank.
How could I be a god? The only thing I was good at was arithmetic. Was I supposed to be the god of fucking maths or something??
That's goddamn ridiculous. Who wants to be the god of maths?? Oh fuck. If I'm the god of maths, does that mean I have to wear some toga covered in maths equations? Or do I have to dress as a calculator? Do I need to wear nothing but an abacus? What is the dress code for being a god?
If this is what God from the bible had to deal with, I think I understand why he was so angry all the time.
I don't know where else to take this, so. Enjoy. Or don't lol
| 2021-11-13T23:01:04
| 2021-11-13T22:33:37
| 83
| 44
|
[WP] As someone is time travelling and changing the past, you have to live in a constantly changing present.
Someone is time travelling and changing past events. You, a completely normal person living in the present, have to deal with constant alterations of your life.
|
I eyed the piece of bacon on my plate suspiciously. It looked more like a bacon-shaped and bacon-scented dog treat than *actual* bacon. "Honey, what is this?"
She slid the eggs out of the frying pan onto my plate and made a regretful face. "I know, I'm sorry. It's some kind of soy bacon. Some environmental terrorists managed to get ahold of one of the time warp portals and went back to fiddle with the 1950s. Somehow they managed to convince the U.S. Government that meat products were related to communism or something. I didn't have time to read the report very closely. The point is that everything is vegetarian now. Even the eggs are..." She sneered at the pile of yellow on my plate, "well, I don't exactly know what they are. Should be fixed by lunch though."
I sighed and bit into the bacon. It had the texture of rubber, and the taste wasn't too far off either. Damn time meddlers. Every day some other crazy group decides to go back and change things, thinking that maybe no one in the present will notice. It seems like I constantly wake up in the Third Reich when some stupid college kid builds a closet time machine and goes back to make Hitler a martyr or something. I could deal with a little soy bacon if that was going to be the worst of today's time corrections.
"What are you plans for today, honey?" I asked, biting into my toast. At least strawberry jam was the same.
"Paul has that field trip today for science class," she said. "Cretaceous period." She nodded over to the plastic suits in the corner that would pretty much immobilize our son while he was back in time. Wouldn't want someone stepping on the wrong little mammal or something like that. "The school is requiring twice the normal number of parents after the American Revolution incident." I rolled my eyes. Some punk in our daughter's class had decided that the lamp from Old North Church would make for a nice souvenir and had accidentally prevented America from ever existing. Boy, the Time Rectification Division had *not* been happy about that and even threatened to cancel all time trips for every student in the district. Luckily the History department had enough clout with the administration to make sure that didn't happen.
I checked my watch. "Well, hon, as much as I loved eating my blobs of soy," I grinned as she scowled at me, "I must be off to work." I grabbed my keys, gave her a kiss, and headed towards the door.
She waved the morning time rectification report at me. "Take the I-16 instead of your normal route. It looks like..." she studied the screen a bit closer, "Wow, that's a doozy. Someone apparently went back to pre-Columbian America and formed an empire for themselves. The Rectification Division is still getting rid of the monumental statues where the highway used to be." I rolled my eyes. More megalomaniacs going back and playing god with advanced technology.
I headed out to my car. Just as I reached for the door handle, everything began to shimmer in a time slip. "Oh, come on!" I growled, checking my watch again. With the traffic diversion, I was *already* going to be late.
When everything solidified again, my gleaming new car was gone, replaced by what looked like an old steam-powered Model-T. "Great," I grumbled, sliding into the seat and trying to work the bellows enough to get this pile of junk moving. Yet another day where someone decides to fix global warming by preventing humans from every using fossil fuels. "Just fucking great."
|
"Janette, will you marry me?"
She looks at me and her eyes shine with tears. "Oh, Hal. Yes. Yes! Of course!"
I stand and force my face into a smile I know will make my cheeks ache. We reach for each other, my arms outstretched to pull her in and kiss her.
And suddenly I'm not in a fancy restaurant eating dinner. It's noon and I'm in a coffee shop. I look toward the menu - the standard drill by now - and see that the words are written in Italian.
I sigh and fish in my pocket looking for a cellphone. I dial the first number that - thankfully - is still in my phone.
My mother picks up.
"Mom, where am I?"
Her voice crackles on the other line. "Hal? Oh, Hal! Oh what a strange question. How's Italy? You know you called in the middle of the night? Well what a strange way to wake your mother, simply asking where you--"
I hang up. She'll forgive me in a few minutes.
Well, she won't remember anyway. Or something. I'm not quite sure how it works.
Something is happening. I woke up one morning and everything started to change. I wasn't in my apartment in Indiana - I was in a Taiwanese classroom surrounded by six year olds who were calling me teacher. Then I was on a mountain somewhere with a man who clapped me on the back and told me I was his best friend. An hour later I went to a world where everyone looked like me - blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin. Thank God I left that world and went somewhere else.
The problem is that I seem to be the only one who remembers these journeys. For everyone else it's just life. Each world seems to keep certain aspects - my parents don't change. I still have their phone number in the cell phone that I've always had.
I'm stuck in Italy for the better part of a day. I guess *stuck* isn't the optimal word here, but it's not my favorite place to be. I wander the streets. The sun heats my back and I know that I've created some sort of sweat stain on my back. I grimace and hope it goes away with the next jump.
Then it happens. It always happens. I switch. One moment I'm on a street in Italy and the next I'm somewhere cold. So cold. The wind cuts through my suit jacket and I rummage in my pocket for my cellphone.
Except there's a problem. It isn't there.
In front of me is a hut. I walk toward it, my shoes filling with snow that rapidly melts and makes my toes go numb. I open the door and step inside, shivering in the chill as I watch my breath rise up in front of me.
Surprisingly, the hut has a note in it.
*Hal,*
*Having fun? I've finally figured out how to do what we promised we would as children. I'll give you forty eight hours, then we're starting over. Catch me if you can.*
I close my eyes and exhale. Everything is starting to make sense.
*Little brothers.*
| 2016-05-18T06:10:14
| 2016-05-18T04:54:23
| 393
| 64
|
[WP] As a blacksmith of a small village, you double as a weaponsmith. One day, a group of adventurers enters your smithy with a broken ivory sword that they dare you to fix it. As you run your fingers over the familiar ancient engravings, you hear a voice whisper in your mind. ‘Hello, old friend’.
|
The oafish warrior places the sword down in front of me that he says he wants sharpened. I stare at the gleaming ivory blade edge and the runes carved along the length of the dull edge. The light from my forge daces off the perfect implement of death I made so long ago. I never thought I would see it again.
But how did it get here? The last time I saw this blade, I had thrown it into the depths of the ocean. That had to have been, what, three hundred years ago now? I swore I would never touch this sword again. I can’t control myself when I wield it… My hand starts to tremble. I want it back. I want the power back. I reach my hand out and touch the sword’s grip with the tips of my fingers.
“Hello, old friend” A silky voice says in my head. “It’s been a while. Are you ready for some killing?”
“Yes” I say back.
“Yes, what?” The oaf who brought the sword in asks.
“I wasn’t talking to you… And the sword doesn’t need to be sharpened. In fact this blade never needs to be sharpened. It just doesn’t want to cut for you.” I tell him.
He looks at me quizzically starting to reach for the sword. His companions, who had been quietly standing back until now bot take a step forward, noticing that I now have a full grip on the hilt now.
“Here. Let me show you.” I say as I swing the sword straight at the first of the companions.
He wass able to bring his own blade up in time to catch my strike, but it doesn’t matter. My blade snaps through his like its paper, and carries on straight to his throat. He stands there, eyes bulging for a moment before blood begins to ooze down his throat. He collapses. I whip the sword in the other direction and slam it straight through the center of the other companions chest.
“It’s been so long.” The sword says in pure delight in my mind.
The remaining warrior pulls out a small dagger, clearly taken off guard by how events played out. This was not exactly what he was expecting to happen here. Frankly, this was not how I saw my day going either.
“See? Its sharp…Now tell me, boy, where did you find this sword?” I ask him.
He glances down at his still dying friends and manages to stammer out “F-f-from a a flea market in New Gurdhelm. It was in a pile of junk.”
He seems to regain some of his composure and takes up a defensive Iron Guardian pose.
“I see from your stance that fought under King Alster’s men. You seem like a man of honor. Leave now, forget this ever happened, and I’ll spare your life” I tell him.
“Kill him! Kill him now!” The sword screams in my head.
He looks at the sword in my hand, weighing his options. I can see the will to live in his eyes, but his damned ‘training’ might still get him killed.
“The sword stays with me… now go.” I tell him.
He takes one more look at me and one more look at his former companions, one lifeless, the other now convulsing on the ground. Each with pools of blood growing slowly beneath them. He turns around and walks out without another word.
“Why didn’t you kill him?” the sword asks angrily.
“Like I said… He’s a man of honor, and he wont forget this. He’ll be back… with more people to kill.”
I sit down, and I wait…
|
It was another slow morning in the smithy, Viorn was in the back of his shop cleaning metal shaving from the ground, waiting for the rare customer with a broken farm tool that needed fixing. This small village wasn’t the best place for a blacksmith, save from the farmers and the rare adventures that sometimes stopped by, there was little business to be had.
With little else to do, Viorn sat in front of his shop reading a book. That's when a group on young folks stopped by. Viorn had known they were coming before they had reached his shop, the clinking of mail, heavy foot steps, and loud talking gave them away. The sound was unmistakable, viorn instantly knew what they were.
"Welcome adventurers, it's a rare pleasure to have you here, what can this old blacksmith do for you?" Viorn said, still reading his book, hoping to reach a stopping point before getting to work.
"My sword has become dull after days of constant use, I would like for you to sharpen it sir." One of the adventurers said, removing a sheathed sword from his hip and presenting to Viorn.
"That'll be 5 silvers." Viorn responded as he grabbed the sword. As soon as his hand closed around it he heard a voice.
"Viorn The Hallowed..."
"Who told you that name?" Viorn barked towards the party, startled by his old title being called out by people he had never met.
"What name? we haven't said anything" someone responded, confused by the smith's sudden outcry.
"Viorn, My old friend. All the years we spent together, all the times I saved your life, and you don't even recognize me, you hurt my cold, metal heart old friend." The voice said once again
Those last few words echoed in Viorn's mind, "Cold. Metal. Heart." It had been many years since he had heard those words, but he recognized them all the same. He immediately looked at the sword once again, finally paying enough attention to recognize the blade in his hand. He immediately unsheathed it and ran his hand upon the flat of the blade, the runes engraved upon its ivory surface glowed in response.
"Haiamodd..." viorn said under his breath.
"So you finally recognize your old companion, it's good to see you again, to think 30 years have passed since we last fought together." The voice once again rang through his mind.
The party stood there in silence, their paladin had been using this blade for 3 years now, and not once had they seen it glow in such a manner. Not even the slightest shimmer had appeared from the blade while in their possession, but in a matter of seconds the old blacksmith had made the blade glow as bright as a torch.
"Where did you get this sword?" Viorn called out to the armor clad young man that had handed it to him.
"My father gave it to me on his deathbed, said to take care of it, for it was the greatest weapon he ever owned" he responded quickly, more than willing to answer any question asked by the old man who had made the sword glow the same way his father had, all those years ago.
"What was your father's name?" Viorn said, his voice softer this time, for he feared he already knew the answer.
"Alexander..." the man said softly.
"It is as I thought, he was a great friend of mine. I gave this blade to him 30 years ago... it's good to see it's still getting some use. Come back in 3 days and I'll have the sword as good as new, free of charge, just promise me that whenever the sword needs maintenance, that you bring it back to me."
"As you wish blacksmith, I'll be sure to bring the sword back to you whenever I need it sharpened." The man said before the group walked away.
Viorn then went into his shop, happy to once again work on the sword that saved his life more time than he could count.
| 2021-09-25T10:56:45
| 2021-09-25T10:39:47
| 28
| 13
|
[WP] The man who found the cure for AIDS is being interviewed on live television. The interviewer is slowly realizing this man doesn't understand ethical medical practices.
|
The slightly balding man with over-sized glasses takes his seat next to the young attractive host. He clears his throat before exposing the audience to a melodic French accent.
"Tissue samples." he says, "We took small samples from a large number of people afflicted and tested out, oh, one thousand iterations of our medication."
The host adjusts how he's sitting and leans forward, he clasps his hands together before continuing the interview.
"And how many people had to volunteer before your lab started seeing results?"
"Oh, more than I know how to count, haha." the esteemed doctor joked, "Everyone was so excited to sign up when they heard a cure was in development. Not treatment, but a bonafide cure. I think that's the reason we were able to find so many people."
The host leans back in his chair. "And I'm sure the craigslist post helped too!"
The audience laughs and the studio band plays a short riff.
"I don't know what that is." the guest responded. "But there was one volunteer who came out of nowhere. A lot of people use the phrase patient zero for those who start diseases, but this was a patient zero who would eventually help us cure the disease!"
"And is he here now? Could we talk to him?"
"Unfortunately no. Although research and development has concluded, he will need more time to recover."
"Recover from being cured?"
The audience laughs and the studio band plays a short riff again.
"Well we initially only needed small tissue samples from many people. But when we found our, how you say, the golden goose, we had to take many samples from one person."
The audience is silent as is our handsome host.
"By the time we were able to bring the drug to a useful level," the doctor went on to say, "I'm afraid we had used all the tissue equal to one of our volunteers legs."
"And he was okay with this?"
"He knew that what he was doing was for the greater good... We think..."
"You think?"
"It's hard to gauge willingness when the patient is etherized upon the table."
"Uh-huh. But he's okay now?"
"Well after we moved to clinical trials, we still had a few bugs to work out. By the time our drug was marketable, our volunteer had donated his other leg as well."
"Oh my..." the host mumbles, imagining the horror of the situation, "He sacrificed so much that we could rid the planet of one of the most infamous diseases. I'd like to shake this man's hand."
The audience cheers in agreement. Even the band leader is tearing up.
"We also had to use his arms..." the doctor added.
The studio is silent as the mood is brought down further than ever.
The host tries his hardest to regain his composure. "So this man," the host started, "Is now a paraplegic for the rest of his life, so that your labs could develop a cure?"
"That is correct," said the smiling doctor, "And I'm happy to say he no longer has AIDS!"
|
'So, please welcome my next guest, Dr. Andrew Reynolds!'
The applause from the audience thundered as a thin man walked out into the studio. He wore glasses and had a well-tailored suit. His hair was gelled up into spikes. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, which made his achievement all the more special.
For Reynolds had done something amazing. He had cured AIDS.
It had made the news for the entire week since the announcement. Several companies were already mass-producing the cure and thousands of victims were already being treated. There were no side-effects, it was cheap and easy to make, and protected a person for life.
Of course, Reynolds became a global celebrity overnight. He was constantly being asked to appear on news programmes, interviews, radio shows, magazines, newspapers, you name it. Everyone wanted to talk to the man who had defeated one of the most stubborn conditions known to man. But he hadn't accepted any of their offers. Until tonight.
The host of this particular talk show was Richard Carlton, one of America's best-loved hosts. His good humour, insightful comments and interesting questions made for excellent entertainment. Everyone had been looking forward to tonight's show.
'Hello, Andy - is it alright if I call you Andy? Please, do sit down.'
'Thank you, Richard,' said Reynolds politely, easing himself down onto the couch. 'It's great to be here. Really great.'
'It's great to have you here, Andy,' replied Richard, smiling. 'So, I'm going to cut straight to the chase. How did you cure the seemingly incurable disease that is AIDS?'
'Well,' began Reynolds, sitting back. 'It all began about two years ago. I was doing research into aggressive viruses and how they could possibly be harnessed to fight proper diseases. Basically, my idea was to fight fire with fire.'
He smiled. 'Of course, it wasn't simply a case of creating the opposite to AIDS. I had to make sure that the two would cancel each other out, not rip apart the person in the process. The artificial viruses I created were made to recognise the human body and work around it whilst fighting the AIDS virus. Otherwise it would be more a case of slash-and-burn.'
'So did that work? How did you test it?' said Richard, leaning forwards.
'It was difficult at first,' said Reynolds, adjusting his glasses. 'The main problem was that the anti-AIDS viruses couldn't be tested in anything other than a human, since they were only able to recognise human DNA. Even chimpanzees didn't work. They just died soon after the injection. No, it had to be a human subject.'
Richard blinked a few times before collecting himself. 'You mean, you had a volunteer to be injected with AIDS?'
'No, no, of course not!' laughed Reynolds. 'I knew that such trials were made illegal, but we have to make sacrifices in the name of progress, don't we?'
'Then who did you test the cure on?' said Richard. His brow was beginning to shine with sweat under the studio lights.
'An assistant of mine,' replied Reynolds. 'Her name is Cassandra Phillips, or Cassie, as she likes to be called. I brought her into the lab one day, sedated her, and administered the first test cure along with the AIDs sample.'
Richard swallowed and glanced at the cameras. He smiled nervously. 'So where is she now? How did she react?'
Reynolds crossed his legs and shook his head with a small smile. 'Obviously I couldn't let her go before the tests were done. What if the sample didn't work and she had transferred the disease? No, I kept her in a specially constructed observation room. It allowed me to study the effects more easily.'
Richard glanced down at his notes, feeling sick. This man was obviously quite mad. 'You do realise that's unethical, don't you?'
'Unethical!' exclaimed Reynolds. 'Ethics must be thrown aside if we are to defeat these diseases! Take autonomy, for example. A patient has the right to accept or refuse their treatment. And look where that has gotten us. Parents refusing to give their children vaccines because they think it'll cause autism, allowing things like measles to spread across the States! It's madness. If we made sure every last person was vaccinated against measles, it would be gone once and for all!'
He lowered his voice a little. 'So that's why I had to do it, you see. By ignoring medical ethics one time, I have cured AIDS. Think how easy it will be to take on something like cancer if we ignore things like that. Autonomy - out the window. Doing a patient no harm is one I would rather not break, but if it requires sacrificing the one to help the many, I would do so in a heartbeat!'
'But Ms. Phillips,' protested Richard. 'Where is she now?'
'Still in my lab,' drawled Reynolds. 'Once the AIDS virus worked, I thought I might as well keep her for other tests. No sense in wasting a good testing ground, is there?'
'I'm sorry, but you don't seem to understand ethical medical practices at all,' said Richard. 'Even if you have cured AIDS, you have violated a person's rights as a patient and your responsibilities as a medical practitioner.' He looked to one of the crew. 'Get the police in here now! And someone find Ms. Phillips immediately!'
'Scared of the truth, Carlton?' sneered Reynolds. 'Let me ask you something. If you knew you could cure all worldly diseases by making one person suffer for a few years, would you do it? I did, and look at the result. We now have a cure for AIDS, and soon I shall make the same breakthrough with cancer as well. And all it will take is the sacrifice of a tiny portion of the rules we have put in place around ourselves.'
He stood up and turned to the cameras, arms raised.
'It is only by breaking the rules that we can break the deadlock!' he proclaimed, eyes bulging. 'I am a man of medicine, and I was taught that it was wrong to break the moral code! But see what happened when I did! And I will not rest until every last disease in the world is defeated! Even if it means the suffering of a few people, I am working for the greater good!'
At that moment, six burly police officers barged into the studio and grabbed Reynolds by the arms. He was dragged bodily from in front of the cameras. They turned to see him being pulled through the main doors. As he disappeared from view, everyone could hear him shouting.
'I regret nothing!' he yelled. 'You should all thank me for what I did! For the greater goo-' The closing doors cut off his last word.
Richard cleared his throat as the cameras turned back to him. He smiled hesitantly.
'Go to commercials?'
| 2015-02-22T20:04:01
| 2015-02-22T15:15:37
| 22
| 15
|
[WP] In a world where spirits are visible haunting the people or animals that killed them, it's fairly obvious who to avoid. You, a murderer of over 100 people, don't have any spirits haunting you.
|
Murderer. That's what some call me. Honestly, I know I'm not. If I were, their ghosts would be trailing after me, haunting me to my own demise, and perhaps even hastening it. So many people have a ghost haunting them. My own mother, for example, is forever plagued by the ghost of a boy she dated in high school, who she dumped. He killed himself, and haunted her from then onward. She did nothing wrong, but the unquiet dead cannot be reasoned with. Still, I grew up with his ghastly visage hanging over my head, and his presence had a lot to do with why I end lives for a living.
As a teenager, overcome with curiosity, I looked into why Simon killed himself. My mother's rejection was certainly a catalyst, but in investigating is life, I found so much that pushed him over the edge. A father that ignored him. A mother that was verbally abusive to him. An older sibling that repeatedly physically beat him on a daily basis. These were enough to put him on a dark path, but in and of themselves were not enough. It was the ghost that followed him around that truly shook him.
I found, in interviewing my mother, that Simon was constantly followed by the ghost of a small boy. In researching the microfiche at the library, I discovered that Simon had been a twin. One day, they'd fallen into a river. Simon had panicked, and used his brother to keep himself from drowning, accidentally holding his brother under in his panic. Again, there was no fault, no blame, but Simon felt the guilt every day of his life. His twin remained, a silent specter forever reminding him of his own cowardice, his own failure. His family blamed him. He was six. What could he have done? But the blame was still Simon's, and his brother's ghost following him cemented his guilt to everyone, himself included. After all, who did the dead haunt but the guilty?
Simon wanted to die. Felt the need to die. Believed he deserved to die. He used my mother's jilting him as an excuse to end his miserable suffering. That was before the Mercy Laws.
I don't really kill people. Not in the sense that you're thinking. To kill someone means to take from them a life that would've been worth living. I don't do that. I terminate a mistake. I end an injustice. What I do is beneficial to the world, and my conscience is clear. Just because some disagree with me, it doesn't mean that I'm a monster. I've never broken the law, because what I grant is Mercy. The requirements are strict. At least two ghosts. No more than five. None by murder, only mistake. Three years of counseling, and an interview by panel to sign off. The needle goes in, the plunger goes down, and in a few short minutes the ghosts are gone. Because they come to me willingly, their deaths are not on my soul.
I am an Angel of Mercy. My hands are clean. If they weren't, I'd take the Mercy myself.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-
*Ultimately, I think this is a hopeful story.*
|
I used to see them, sitting in my backseat, spying their lifeless eyes in the rear view mirror. Like a weight I could feel them stroll beside me down a sidewalk. Like a cracked window I could hear whistling as their breath warmed my ears when trying to sleep.
Yet they stopped showing after a time, for the longest bout of alcoholism I felt lonely. Now I only feel harder, my innards solidified with time, I even miss the mind numbing depression...
I kill to feel, a thirst insatiable with these years. Creeping along these blackened streets, my veins pulseless, my breathing absent as I sneak up behind the next victim. Ripping apart the flesh, attempting to sway my agony of nothingness, still unable to feel.
Leaving the body to be found, I challenge the hunt. Sharpening my teeth as the cordon tightens, killing for a thrill that long escaped... For you die as I chase what used to be a delightful misery.
| 2018-02-25T02:04:49
| 2018-02-24T23:55:58
| 195
| 14
|
[WP] An ordinary old man sits in a park. He is not batman, nor the devil, and most certainly not a time traveller. He sits and thinks about his life's greatest triumph, or defeat.
The title joke aside, I'd like to see what WP could be formed about a regular old dude.
|
The bittersweet irony that my greatest triumph is ultimately my final defeat does not escape me. I sit here with my coffee, alternately sipping from the burnt, steaming cup, and the burnt, steaming memories. In a life filled with defeat, my son was my only victory. Like a solitary palm tree, deep in the desert of the African Sahara, he was beautiful and filled with life, surviving even the harshest conditions. Now, the lush green leaves have withered and the exposed roots have dried into a crumbling skeleton. I cannot shake the image of the casket as it lowered to rest in the upturned earth. I have buried my only triumph. No one is left to bury me.
|
An old man sits in the park in Gotham City. As he sits there, pondering the end of his life, which he senses is near, he looks back fondly at his life's work.
This man isn't Batman, he is just Bruce Wayne. He may have been Batman, but that was lifetimes ago.
His triumphs were not the gadgets he developed that have changed the face of modern crime fighting, nor the young men and women he shaped that have taken up the cowls up his mentors and successors over the years.
Not even the son he helped shape into the great man he is today.
His greatest success was not even his legacy. Billionaire who reshaped Gotham, making it one of the most bustling and successful metropolises in the world.
No, he knew sitting here in this park that his greatest victory was in giving up the cowl. His obsession had taken him to great heights, and the lowest of lows. He knew that being Batman would eventually destroy him, and he didn't care. His parents death was the catalyst, but his own death that night in that alley was what really fueled his rage.
He didn't die a physical death, no it was a spiritual one. His innocence had died that evening, and it had taken him over four decades to reclaim it. He was finally at piece, and had been for longer than the rage had consumed him. So now he was ready to go peacefully into the night.
As the sun set, Bruce Wayne took his last breath, smiling as he was set on his journey for final peace.
**Sorry I couldn't resist, great prompt though**
| 2015-04-12T05:16:12
| 2015-04-12T04:48:32
| 276
| 10
|
[WP] You just gave birth, your son has a colored hair like none before, the doctor declares that your son has been infected with a syndrome called the "Protagonist". Your lifespan has now been reduced to mere days.
|
After the din of the previous four hours, my wife laboring in agony with the birth of our firstborn, the silence of the doctor as he cleaned and wrapped our child was unnerving, but not as unnerving as the sickly green hair sprouting out of the boy's, *my boy's*, sickly green head.
"Is..." I struggled for words, "Is everything all right, doctor?"
The silence dragged on as he continued his post-birth procedure. I clutched my wife's hand and she clutched it back with a fierce strength.
I looked down into her eyes, her stunningly green eyes that entrapped me the moment I first saw them. She looked up at me, exhausted, unsure, and... something else?
"Have you heard of this new disease, people have been chattering about on the web?" The doctor finally broke his stoic silence as he picked up the phone and started dialing.
My heart skipped a beat, there had been rumors, pictures, but I had always assumed it was some viral meme, some fake news.
"Pro... protagonist syndrome?" I asked hesitantly, shooting a look back to my wife.
"Yeah, we got a 738 in delivery room twelve, yep, thanks." The doctor replaced the phone and passed my son to a nurse before continuing, "Yeah, that's what they call it, 'Protagonist' syndrome. The real phrase is "Protogeneosis" but it's not as catchy I guess."
He stared at me expectantly. I stared back in confusion.
"*Proto* meaning first or primary, *gene* meaning genetics, *osis* meaning disease," he continued on like a college professor teaching a class, "this condition, protogeneosis, or, in layman's terms, protagonist syndrome, is caused by a new type of DNA in the cells of the body."
I heard helicopter blades approaching outside the window as I listened to the lecture with all the understanding of a freshman coming in the day after a frat party.
The doctor stared at me like one would expect such a professor to stare at such a freshman. I heard the sounds of boots running down the corridor.
"This new type of DNA," he turned toward my wife, with an entirely new type of look on his face, "is sometimes a genetic mishap, a coincidence, something copied a little bit wrong."
There was shouting in the corridor now, and metallic sounds, the helicopter continued to drone outside.
"But in 99% of cases," the doctor tilted his head down to glare over his glasses at my wife, unblinking, "it's alien DNA."
The door exploded inward as men in black tactical gear ingressed with militant violence.
The thing holding my hand let out an unearthly, polyphonic scream.
|
My fingertips were as blue as my son's face as he emerged from behind my wife's gown. I had long lost the feeling in all of my hand and was in a trance of anticipation and anxiety. Seeing his bloodied little face wailing into the void was surreal. The moment had finally come. I had been through 10 months of planning, prepping, serving, and not sleeping. I was defending a dissertation in Daddyology and now it was time to see if they'd open your door to fatherhood and address me as "Doctor."
The actual doctor looked puzzled. My heart sank. My wife was too thrown by pain and trauma to crawl out of the shroud of blood-boiling screams to notice. I had become all too familiar with how she would sound if she were to be brutally murdered in the last 2 hours.
"Wh.. what is it?" I trembled, managing to lip sync something resembling a question as my brain lapped my mouth in my train of thought.
"Well, it looks like it's time." He said firmly, looking me dead in eye for a moment and then looking back at my newborn son.
The baby's hair was glowing blue, as well were his azure eyes as he cooed in his swaddling.
"Baby! Did you hear that? Something's wrong!" I said jarring my wife from her shell-shocked daze.
She scrambled to sit up a bit.
"What?!" She screamed in a sobering moment, her eyelids shot open like headlights in a storm.
"Nothing's wrong" the doctor reassured us.
"It's just his time"
I had had this nightmare before. As the due date grew closer and closer I got more and more anxiety about losing the baby or having it not be healthy when it came into the world. I embraced my wife with warmth as we awaited an explanation.
"Not the baby..." the doctor said turning toward us.
"You. "
I felt a cold shiver down my spine. This was it. This is how it all ends. My life played back in my mind in bullet time. All the mistakes, the good times, the beauty, it all lead to this. Resigned, I was ready to face the void or the profundity of what was next.
Instead a blurred white vignette closed my view down to a small circle.
"Directed by Kojimi Yamamoto" it read
*what the actual fuck?!* I pondered
"Produced by Square Enix"
"Game design by Kohei Ichinose"
The list went on and on. I was frozen. Lifeless. I could do nothing but watch this bizarre parade of Japanese names scroll by. A soundtrack played in epic fashion and gave me peace save an incessant clicking sound like button mashing on a controller.
"Hold X to skip" suddenly appeared in the lower right corner.
A green light spilled into the black border around the circle around the "X" until the screen cleared the white blur to clarity again.
"Start NEW GAME+?"
"CHANGE DIFFICULTY TO NORMAL?"
Appeared over my blue eyed baby's troll hair.
I had been the main character of a game my whole life. I suppose that explained the incredibly polarizing moral decisions I've had... and the looting...even the disproportionate success I've had with attractive women. I guess it's been a wild ride either way...
Wait that was the EASY VERSION?!!
| 2020-04-28T05:56:54
| 2020-04-28T05:36:29
| 423
| 110
|
[WP] Germany is actually predestined to lose every world war it participates in. The sixteenth world war is now being fought, and Germany has taken over all of Europe. Make them lose the war in the most ridiculous way possible.
|
"Wait so if this is the only the third World War why was it called the Sixteenth World War?"
"Well Timmy, that's because a company called Microsoft, notorious for being terrible at naming things, had won a government contract to name the war, and it stuck. We're lucky they didn't rename World War One World War 360!"
"Well ok grandpa, but if the Germans had conquered all of Europe, how did they lose the War?"
"Well they weren't expecting the American counter attack."
"But why papy? Everyone knows Americans are the biggest and baddest anti-nazis around"
"Indeed we are, and if Germany had known that we certainly would have lost. But our Lord and Savior, Donald John Trump, had in His infinite wisdom foreseen the events of the Sixteenth World War, and had pretended to be a racist Nazi sympathizer for years to gain Germany's trust."
"So you're saying the Nazis lost because this genius and patriotic Trump outsmarted everyone?"
|
The Germans look out over all they have conquered with smug grins on their face.
But then they see something in the distance. Two armies, one from the west and one from the north east, are riding out towards them.
The impossible had happened, American and Russia have teamed up.
The Germans raise little white flags.
| 2017-08-18T04:28:36
| 2017-08-18T02:50:27
| 102
| 10
|
[WP] Humanity has a low-key Hivemind that was the origin of the “sixth sense”. When another gestalt entity attempts to invade earth, the Hivemind fully awakens.
|
It was a gradual change. It went unnoticed at first, save the fact things began to improve for us. People who previously couldn't give a toss, stopped for a moment. A child's birthday party brightened the mood of those around. A funeral caused passersby to bow their heads. But ever time someone slept, the connection opened a little more.
Soon, everyone across the globe was sharing emotions. It was interesting, as whilst we all felt each others, we knew where our experience ended and the Hives began. That is what it was dubbed. The Hive. Some panicked, and some tried to distance themselves. But most of us accepted it.
It was a global web of empathy, which in part reduced crime. Why should someone feel like their only choice was to steal, when the people around would feel their hopelessness, and be driven to help. We wanted to all feel positive, and so many negatives were lost.
Then, our thoughts began to leak out. This caused more of a panic, as our minds were no longer safe. But even that soon passed, as it was realised that brain power could be used together. Think tanks became incredibly well oiled machines, thinking in synchronicity. Knowledge was shared, and truths came out.
It was known as the Year of Awakening. By the end, we worked as one. We worked to help each other, and we did without complaint, knowing none of us were alone. That is, until we found individuals who weren't part of the Hive.
They were detained, and interrogated. People from around the world shared in the interrogation, their combined brain power seeing through lies and deceit. These individuals were found to be drones of another gestalt. It saw our planet as easy pickings.
We removed them, no guilt felt as humanity cried out for unity in protection. Working as one, we constructed defences, to protect from the coming invasion. And invade they did, this alien consciousness demanding our planet and our subservience.
But they numbered far fewer then our combined population. We tore through them, both physically and mentally. We wielded sharpened thought and explosive emotions, reducing them to broke remains mentally, and corpses physically.
In time, we drove them back. This was our planet, and they could not have it. We used their broken ships to create our own, and ascended to the stars. No longer as single people, but together, as one.
|
“We received a boon, a long time ago,” said Anne, curling her graying hair around her index finger.
“Yeah? And how do you know?” said Twitch.
“I’ve always known. And so have you. And so has every man, woman and child on earth.”
She released the springy curl and pointed to the sky. Oily pink and purple clouds swirled.
“Can you hear the sky screaming? Not with your ears - with your soul.”
Twitch could indeed. It had all the pressure of a physical scream - the visceral churning in his gut, the urge to scream back, fight-or-flight fully triggered. His hair stood on end and he desperately needed to piss.
“Yes,” he said.
“It is screaming,” Anne said. “And it’s been screaming out there in the void for aeons. We’re only just now hearing it.”
“That’s the sixth sense you were talking about?” Twitch said.
“Indeed. That...thing out there isn’t the first time some colour out of space has tried to take our world.”
“So - there was a good thing, like that thing up there? A long time ago?”
“There is no such as good or evil. There’s only attentive and indifferent. That thing up there may not even know our world is in its wake. It doesn’t care. It doesn’t know what caring entails. But something did, long ago. And it gave the rising race of Earth a way to scream back at the vast, uncaring universe. A warning signal, you might say.”
“How do we trigger it?” Twitch said. “How do we make...that...go away?”
Anne closed her eyes.
“It will happen, no matter what. It’s been a part of our DNA for millions of years now. The question is - when we scream at the void, when we give it our primordial all - what will be left?”
| 2021-01-26T11:07:04
| 2021-01-26T10:51:28
| 51
| 17
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[WP] You are a knight who was chosen by the King to defeat a powerful dragon. Most of the city was destroyed, but you prevailed. You've settled with an amnesiac woman traumatized by the battle. One day you come home to her screaming. Her hands are clawed and coated in all too familiar scales.
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"I remember!" she screamed. "I remember! After you cut him down. When he lay upon the cobblestones. And I thought he was dead, so I crept closer and peered at his face. But he opened his eyes! Those terrible, yellow eyes. He held me in his power! And as he exhaled his last breath, I inhaled it. A part of his evil! His soul! I thought I had forgotten. But I see now that I always knew, but refused to acknowledge it. I always knew he was inside me, and would return. Now he has!"
I was frozen in the doorway, staring at her. The women I loved, yet the beast I most feared, hated. How can one man hold such contradictory emotions in his heart at once? How can one woman seem both lovely yet vile, kindly yet malicious, innocent yet wretchedly corrupt? I wanted to run to her, to comfort her, but my shock prevented me. Or was it revulsion that prevented me? More than run to her, I wanted to look away. I wanted to flee. A part of me even wanted to. . .
"Kill me now!" she cried. The transformation was speeding up. She looked less and less like my wife by the moment. "Before you have gazed too long upon this hideous form! Before the infection spreads to my mind, to my soul. I would rather die now than wait till tomorrow. By then, even your fondest memories of me will be tarnished with the realization that this evil had lain dormant in me all this time. You will look back on the springtime of our love and see it choked with weeds. The past isn't set. It changes when present horrors arise. They cast their shadows backwards, darkening even the brightest yesterdays. Please! Kill me now, so you might save a portion of our love in your heart, unchanged!"
I glanced at my sword, which lay propped against the wall behind her.
"I could never," I muttered.
The scales were sliding out of her skin like thick grey fingernails. And her fingernails themselves were blackening, growing to points, curling. She was growing larger, too. Her face, elongating gradually toward a horrible reptilian mug. Layers of teeth descending down from her gums, over her human set. Sharp. Carnivorous.
As she wept and writhed and screamed from the strange growing pains of her metamorphosis, her heavier exhalations warped the air with heat.
"Your sword!" the beast roared. "Quickly! Your sword! Cut us apart once and for all. I cannot live a moment longer, knowing it will force you to remember me this way. Quickly! Your sword!"
With one swift swipe of her scaly raptor's arm she flung the sword from its resting place across the room, where it landed at my feet.
I stared at the weapon. Deliverance. A single cut for a clean end. By the time I looked back up, she was so tall that her head touched the ceiling. Only minutes before she had been a young woman, hardly five feet tall! Now her dress had ripped apart completely, revealing an armoured torso. Her wings gradually stretched out from her back. And with a pained jerk of her hips, I caught sight of a powerful tail.
That's when I closed my eyes, out of instinct.
I prayed for wisdom. For calm. For kinship between appearance and essence. For thoughts to match reality. For love to triumph over evil in whatever form it manifested. She loosed a terrible roar and I could feel myself on the verge of being consumed by the flames. Still, I pleaded.
With God? With her? With nature? With myself? I don't know. But the roar quieted, and with it, the heat dissipated. Until all I could hear was my wife weeping.
I opened my eyes and saw her, sitting at the table. That beautiful woman. Lovely. Small. Soft. Sweet. Yet filled with incomprehension. A visible melancholia. An ache. She was in pain, but clearly knew nothing of what had just transpired.
My prayer had been answered, yet I couldn't help glaring. I couldn't stifle the vestigial twinges of disgust, knowing what possibilities lurked hidden in her nature.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" my wife sobbed. "What did I do? I don't know what happened. I don't know what I did!"
But what had she done? Nothing! besides breathe in the dragon's last breath. And that wasn't her fault. Of course it wasn't her fault.
So I strode over my sword toward her and took her head in my hands, pressed it close to my body. "Nothing, my love," I said, kissing the top of her head, filling my lungs with the perfume of her hair. "You did nothing at all."
|
Another long day at work, patrolling the city isn't an easy job, but someone has to do it.
I was once a Great knight, tasked to vanquish a ferocious beast, a full fledged fire dragon.
I succeeded, but with the battle, we've destroyed more than half of the city.
But something good came out of that battle...after that battle I met my wife.
&#x200B;
She's a survivor of the battle, struggling with amnesia, and trauma, I took her in.
Slowly but surely, we both fell for each other, and got married.
It's been five years, and now she's pregnant with our first child.
I hope the kid will take after my wife, as she's a beauty, tall, with long red hair, and perfect skin...I don't know how nobody came looking for her yet.
As I was reminiscing, I unknowingly arrived at my house.
Before touching the door handle, a sharp scream, followed by furniture being tossed, and broken could be heard from inside.
I rush in to find my wife on the floor, with claws instead of hands, and scales slowly appearing on her body.
The scales were ruby red, pulsating with a light, just like a flickering fire...I knew too well these scales...
My wife was terrified, and sat unmoving on the ground crying.
I carefully hugged her, she was burning.
"It will be alright, think of the child"
I said.
&#x200B;
She calmed down, only after I talked to her for hours.
After tidying up the room, and assuring the city guards that nothing was wrong, I wrote a letter to the City Lord, that I will be taking a week off.
We sat down to eat dinner, but she was restless, and ashamed.
I had to feed her, just like in the first days after I found her.
"Sweetie, eat, you need strength, and the baby needs it even more."
I said, a bit ashamed that I had to use my own unborn child, to coax my wife.
At this, her eyes got back some of their usual liveliness, and she started eating more.
&#x200B;
After eating, we sat down on our bed.
I put my hand over her slightly bulging stomach, and smiled.
"Honey, I can sense that the kid is strong, and full of life. He or she will be as healthy as they come."
I said, laughing.
"Dear...what are these?"
She said, raising her claws.
Now, they were slowly turning back to human hands, but they were still bigger, scalier, and her nails were outright weapons.
"Do you remember where, and when I found you?"
I asked her quietly.
That period of time was rough for both of us...
"Yes...After vanquishing the dragon, you've found me in the rubble, unconscious...
I was riddled with scars, and bruises, nobody thought I would survive, but you took me in"
She said, smiling at me.
"I...I think I know what's going on with you."
I said, this time taking her claw-hands in my hands, and looking into her eyes.
&#x200B;
I was a Great Knight, fighting demons, monsters, lesser dragons was my job.
To become a Knight one needs not only strength, but wisdom as well, thus learning the Myriad Bestiary, and the Herbal Compendium is a must.
I knew a thing or two about the other races on this continent, other than the human race, as well.
I looked at my wife's confused, and terrified look, and smiled.
"Don't be scared, there is nothing to worry about."
I said, assuring her.
"How can you say that?! I am...I am a monster!"
She said, crying.
"Don't say that! You are my beautiful wife, and the soon-to-be mother of my child, don't talk like that!"
I said, hugging her, and kissing her head.
"you...you said you know what... what I am.
She said, quietly, between sobs.
"Yes, I think I know."
I said, letting her lie down.
&#x200B;
"There are two possible reasons for your current appearance.
One: you are the dragon I've defeated, and you've transformed to a human appearance in order to escape. But you've failed to properly grasp your wounds, and the transformation not only made you faint, but also damaged your soul, thus explaining the amnesia."
I said.
My wife paled at this possibility.
"The second possibility?"
She asked.
"The second possibility is that you already had a thin bloodline of fire dragons hidden in you.
Being bathed in dragon blood, and being in the presence of a fire dragon, awakened that bloodline.
Slowly, during the years, it has been nurtured by my Knight energy, and also rich meals, and now it starts to manifest.
The second one is the one I am leaning to believe."
I said.
&#x200B;
"W-W-Will you leave me?"
She asked, on the verge of crying once more.
I lied down next to her, and hugged her.
"Never! I love you, and if you are a dragon, or a draconian, it doesn't matter. You will still be my wife."
I said, kissing her.
"I love you too."
She said, kissing me back.
&#x200B;
During the one week, I've taught her some knight breathing techniques, that actually helped her restrain her scales.
Seemingly, her life force strengthened, and now she isn't burdened by the techniques, like when I previously tried to teach her.
She's still gentle, calm, and a great cook, so she being the enraged dragon that I've vanquished is impossible.
Now, after this one week, it's certain that she awakened a great fire dragon bloodline, and she will slowly be able to switch between her draconic and human form.
&#x200B;
Life was beautiful, but unpredictable.
A few month later after the incident, our beautiful girl came into our life, at a healthy 4.6 kilograms, and 2 little horns.
She awakened an even purer bloodline than her mother.
After her birth, I took on a job as a Ranger, and moved to a wild forest, where I will be in charge of keeping track of the monster population.
It was a riskier job, but at least, I could keep my family save.
&#x200B;
Eighteen years later, my daughter went to an academy, where she will learn how to use her draconic side.
We were left with her three brothers, and two sisters, all of them half-draconic.
It was a great, and loving family.
Others would've thought it was a misfortune, to have your wife awaken such a powerful bloodline, because it meant her lifespan increased to thousand of years, but I was happy.
As a Great Knight, my lifespan isn't short either, and my greatest fear was that one day, I will have to see not just my wife, but my kids, and grandkids die as well...but that's not an issue anymore.
Thinking of this, I laughed.
I might've almost died under the claws of the dragon, but due to it, I gained a family that could accompany me during my long life, so I almost felt grateful for meeting that calamity.
| 2021-07-31T02:38:20
| 2021-07-31T00:46:28
| 93
| 34
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[WP] A story that doesn't make any sense, until you read the last line.
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It's the best deal in town. You can be the student you always wanted to be. However long it takes. You'll get there, to have the time of your life. When I wanted him. History doesn't repeat itself, but it rhymes. Sunny and 72 degrees. Except where prohibited by law. He grabbed her hand.
She stopped twisting the radio dial and stepped outside, into the sunshine.
|
I wake up and stare at the ceiling wondering for the 100th time how did I end up here? I turn my head and see my wife asleep in the bed next to mine.
She feels so far away, I want to cry.
Instead, I look up at the ceiling again and sigh. I know she loves me. She tells me every day. So how the hell did I wind up here?
I must have whimpered without realising it. She's by my side in a second. She asks me if I slept well, if I am hungry. She asks me if I know how much she loves me..
God, I love that woman. I would do anything for her.
We go downstairs. It breakfast time. It's our own personal bonding time. She spoils me. I laugh. There's so much love in this room.
Then I hear *his* voice. My mood changes straight away. Damon, my so called best friend, saunters into the room.
"Hay Babe", I hear him say. I try to kill him with my stare. He walks up to my wife, My Wife!, and kisses her. Bastard!!
I get ready to give him a piece of my mind.
He glances over at me, that smug expression starting to waver for a second .. Then sudden he breaks out in a smile, eyes twinkling. I know that smile. It's the one I use to think meant that he had my back. I know better now.
I can't handle it. I start to go mental. Before he can take another step my wife steps in between us. She puts a hand gently on his chest.
"Not today Damon ", It just takes time. He'll get use to it. Just be patient".
God I hate her right now.
"Okay babe, if you say so, I gotta get ready for work". He turns to me with a quick smile and says "I'll catch ya later, my man".
I try to throw my plate at him. Sadly I missed but I will make him pay.
Angry tears stream down my face. I feel so betrayed. I hate them both. Caught up in my pain I didn't realise my wife was beside me again. Her arms wrapping themselves around me. I try to struggle but she holds my head to her bosom.
In her warm embrace, I feel my anger slip away. She tells me again how much she loves me but I'm starting to drift off. The drama of this morning tires me.
"God, How did I end up here?" I muse once again yawning. "Every f*cking day it's the same. My own personal hell".
Yet Feeling safe wrapped up in my wife's arms, I start to dream. I dream of the last time I was with her before everything changed.
"Don't worry Love, I'll always be beside you" I hear myself say "He promised our baby will survive. We have an agreement".
I laugh bitterly in my sleep. I would do anything for her. But I was a fool. I was blind. Everything comes with a cost. Everything has its fine print.
It's been 10 months since I made a deal with the devil to keep our family together as one. I could not stand by and watch my wife go through yet another miscarriage.
I open my eyes, and see my wife looking down lovingly at me. I look up at her face wishing I could say what's on my heart. The devil kept his promise, that is true, but he is a trickster. So now all I can do is just gurgle and gaze back at her through the eyes of our 7month old son.
~l~l~l~l~l~l~l
**Note**: if it doesn't click, others have explained in the comments :-) This is my first time writing x.
| 2017-08-30T06:54:31
| 2017-08-30T06:29:36
| 5,691
| 288
|
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.
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I've seen the numbers since I was a little girl. I remember my father losing his job, rising from a 4 to a 5. I remember watching my grandmother slowly dwindle down to a 0. At first I thought I was going crazy, not realizing what they meant. I eventually caught on. The numbers were a person's ultimate quantifier, broadcasting how dangerous they were to those around them. Broadcasting, at least, to me.
Most people stayed below a 6. Doctors usually hovered around 7; politicians were a solid 8. The highest I had ever seen were in old videos of Hitler, who was a 9. That is, until Junior year, when I met him.
He seemed harmless enough at first. Perfect hair, gorgeous eyes, and a jawline to die for. Not to mention that everybody loved him. But the bold '10' that hovered above his head was plenty enough to convince me not to go near him. Sure, I watched him. Some might even say I was obsessed. But all I was doing was making sure he wasn't a psychopath. I started skipping class to check on him. My grades dropped an entire letter. I didn't care, though. I wanted to see what made him so special.
I nearly threw up when he saw me in the cafeteria, and I really did when he got up to talk to me. He didn't seem to notice, and asked me if he could sit with me.
"Sure, I- I guess." I stammered. A smile spread across his face, and we struck up a conversation. My heart was playing a drum solo into my chest, but I managed to live to the end of the break. Hell, he even asked for my number, which I promptly gave. We had lunch that weekend.
It's only now, ten years later, that I realize what makes this boy so special. Only now that I find out why he's such a danger to me. Only now, as he drops to one knee.
It's because I love him.
|
Numbers taste funny. Nines bud into fires on my tongue, their spent embers resembling something akin to zeros. Ones bleed blue like melting ice or my nurse's cerulean eyes. Fives dissolve like Wonderbread and feel like cotton in my ears. When I went to school with other children, they tasted like loaves of stale white bread. Always purple fours at their desks, bland twos yellowing during educational videos. Peppery sixes on the monkey bars, but I would only watch.
My favorite numbers glowed orange, tasted like hot tea. One time, I tried to make the school turn red. Billowing pillars of smoky eccentricity, almost making nines. Eights running down the crimson hall. Sevens helping fallen sixes. No number tasted blue. And then they started putting me in another classroom. The seats' kaleidoscopic occupants percolating and icing throughout the day, especially during music time.
Six weeks later, the alarm bell exploded fantastic. The door became a prism of sixes bumping into sevens, bursting into nines, knocking over eights. I was not supposed to leave the room. Five minutes the screaming Wonderbread burned the cotton from my ears. My tongue rolled electrically and someone finally heard me.
A boy wandered in, soot-faced and smiling. White-hot teeth burning from his mouth. Eyes like zeros. Nostrils flaring like volcanoes.
"Another ten," he said, and strolled away.
| 2014-11-29T14:43:43
| 2014-11-29T13:27:21
| 295
| 86
|
[WP] You're an arctic biologist who spends 5 months at a time away from all society. At the end of a stint your bush pilot never shows. After a 3 day journey to the nearest town you make a shocking discovery. You're more than likely the last person alive.
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As always the rest of the team left a week earlier. One man had to stay behind to look after the facility until a new team arrives. The rest took the samples, dirty laundry and read books with them, so Jamie's only job was to make sure the generator is going.
He didn't mind the job. The white all around you is crushing and so are the narrow corridors, but it's just a week. The trick is to count the days down and think about the extra money you get for this.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
*Zero.*
Zero? Jamie woke up confused. He had spent the whole previous day waiting for the helicopter and listening to the radio. The weather was nice and there was no apparent reason for them to be late. He fell asleep after midnight.
Again, nobody answered his calls. Like there was nobody to hear him. Whatever happened, he wasn't willing to wait and see how fast would he go insane, if his count reached minus one. He packed all he needed, left a note and left the facility.
Yes, the site all around you and the narrow corridors are crushing. But when there is *only* the white, it's agonizing. Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, zero, he kept repeating.
He walked for three days, rarely stopping to rest. Part of him hoped he will hear a helicopter flying above him, searching for him. But mainly he didn't even think about it. About anything. Just seven, six, five...
A cry of joy escaped his dry lips when he saw the first buildings. Although so fricking tired, he ran the rest of the way and collapsed on the porch of the small tourist hotel.
He has been in this town before, but only once. It took some time before he realised something is wrong. No smokes rising from the chimneys, no dogs barking, no people doing their job.
The hotel was open, of course, but nobody was there to greet him. Although uneasy about the quietness of the place, he couldn't stop and think about finding them. He started the generator himself, warmed up some water, took a shower. He ate the last MRE he carried and went to sleep.
What a bad idea, he realised when he woke up at 3 in the morning. He got up and searched the place again. Nothing. There was nothing that would explain all of this. There was also no radio and the TV didn't work.
Even more frightened and nervous than he was in the morning when he arrived he left. He walked door to door, knocked, called, but nobody answered. Finally he found a door that was unlocked and not frozen in place.
First thing he saw was a dead body. And it didn't startle him as much as it should. Of course there is a dead body, at the end of the fucking world, he thought. Then it hit him, slowly. If the only man he finds there is dead, it's not a good sign.
Confident about his safety he entered the house and searched for anything that would help him. A newspaper. Good old newspaper.
**"Mysterious illness deemed unstoppable,"** said the headline.
It was like a bad apocalypse movie plot. No illness could wipe out the whole planet, he knew. But as he read into the article, saw the words like *highly adaptive, mutation* and *billions dead daily,* realisation started to get to him.
*"If this one breaks loose, it might as well wipe out everything alive,"* they joked about one of the samples. It was a mold. An unbelievable one that survives anything and adapts to any environment.
But no, *NO.* That's impossible. That couldn't be.
Finally he ran to and knelt next to the dead body. No time to give the old man peace. He jerked at his shoulder and flipped him over.
Jamie screamed.
The man's eyes were gone, his mouth and nose covered in blood, his face was blue and purple in a strange way.
He started coughing. At first he thought it's the shock. But it didn't stop.
*Minus three,* he thought as he fell to the ground, still gasping for air. His sight was blurry, but not teary blurry. *Minus numbers bring bad luck.*
The last man on Earth died, killed by his own discovery.
\********
Not a native English speaker, I'm sorry for any grammar mistakes. :)
|
Five months ago I looked forward to this place. Now, not so much.
"Jim! Where are you?!" I shout to the clear sky.
He doesn't answer. He was supposed to answer days ago. He was supposed to pick me up. I was supposed to be *in* the chair *in* the sky, comfortably flying home! But Jim never showed up and now I'm stuck here in the--- I stop and look into the distant and the cloud rising above the horizon separating blue and white.
"Jimmy! I'm here!" I wave my arms as his plane approaches. "Jimmy! Down here."
It's not Jim, airplane engines are loud. Yeah... It's the wind stirring up the surface ice. I've seen it before, often. It's just the wind, too far to make noise. Not Jim, just a quiet wind, my silent footsteps and white odorless emptiness.
"But not today!"
*"There used to be a greying tower alone on the sea*
*You something something dark side of me*
*Something something and not the pill"*
"I love you Seal! Poetry!"
I stop to inhale the freezing air. I *am* alone on the sea. The sea of frozen water under the threat of global warming, habitat fragmentation and invasive species. A place I was so concerned about that I gave it my---.
"Not today! You ain't gonna kill me today!"
I start walking again. Jim didn't spend as much time here as me. He should have, like right now. This place is desolate without him. I liked the desolation when I arrived five months ago. Well, not any more. Not today. I’m done, I'm going home today. I'm done with this disaster. Equipment failed, radio broke, freaking polar bear tore apart the fridge and ate everything.
"Even the frozen peas!"
And then the pilot chose not to show up. Seven days! Seven freaking days I waited for him under the red tent turned walk-in freezer when the heater ran out of petrol.
“Jim! Where are you, Jim?"
The clear blue sky doesn't answer.
I spent seven days with no food and broken heating. I was Anthony Bourdain, stuck by my own will in a foreign country, except enjoying no food. I chuckle. That was bad on so many levels. Seven days of starving. That sounds better. On the eight day I started walking. I’ve been white walking ever since.
“Three days! I’ve been walking for three days! AND IT NEVER GETS DARK!” I hate you, Three. Seven I ha--- I chuckle --- Oh, I do love *you*!
“Archer! Help me, I am kidnapped by the Borg! Where are you starship NX-01 captain Jonathan Archer!? I need some Vulcan heat!”
He doesn’t answer. Just like Jim.
"Am I not funny enough for you Jim?! You don't like my jokes, Jim?! Am I not entertaining you!?"
Jim does not answer and I reach back, to get the water bottle from my backpack---
“What backpack?!!” I scream so loud and my lungs scream back in pain and vomit a breath of warm air I cannot afford to lose. The breath which fades away as fast as a life of a shouting man with no backpack who wanders aimlessly in snow-covered-ice-floating-baby-seal-stacked shithole crammed between the freezing water and cold clear sky.
I ditched it yesterday. Backpack was heavy, It's gone.
"I don't need it!"
*"Baby, I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey*
*something something, yeah!"*
"Screw you Seal, everything is white!"
I hate white. I hate Harp seals, their pups, *Pagophilus* genus, *Phocidae* family AND *Pinnipedia* clade. Freaking white balls of fury fluff hugging their mommies and peacefully suckint their warm teeties.
“Wah-wah-wah! Poor substitutes for beef!”
I stop and shield myself with hand from the evershining sun as I look up into the. Vast. Clear. Blue. Sky. With. No. Airplane.
“It’s Always Sunny in North Pole and Philadelphia!”
In summer, night falls not on North Pole. Biologists do, eh?
“Fuck you, Yoda! I’m glad you are dead!”
He died in a warm swamp.
“Fuck you!”
I start again.
Seal pups can handle ice and cold. They worry about predators, they don’t want to be polar bears' food. I'd love a bear hug, I'm not built to live in a walk-in freezer. That’s where food is hung on hooks. I'm not an eskimo.
“I’m a biologist! A fucking computational biologist studying global change! I WORK IN THE OFFICE! IN FRONT OF A COMPUTER! I DON'T EVEN WORK IN THE LAB! I READ REDDIT AT WORK! THIS WAS JUST A FUCKING FIELD TRIP! I WANT TO GO HOME!” I yell, to the blue screen of death above and the old white man I don’t believe in who sits in the sky---
"Screw you."
\---devoid of little fluffy clouds. I drop in the white cold ice.
“Where are you going to sit now, ha? You’ll have to stand if you want to laugh at me... That’s you with lowercase ‘y’..." Just in case you didn’t notice.
I point my finger at him and spit. It freezes mid air and lands on my face. Fuck you, Jim, you hung me out to dry. Like a food on a hook in a walk-in freezer... surrounded by water... and clear sky...
“Fine, you won...” I whisper exhausted and fade in whiteness.
>!hell no, I’m not dead. i don't do dead. It's late and I need to sleep. story continues tomorrow.!<
/r/ZwhoWrites
| 2019-08-14T22:53:20
| 2019-08-14T22:16:05
| 1,179
| 44
|
[WP] Buddhism is now the only world religion, and everyone takes it very seriously. In addition, everyone has a 'progress' bar above their head to indicate their level of enlightenment.
|
I was sitting on a bench, feeding the birds at the park when I saw him. There was a young man lying on the grass staring up at the sky.
His bar was full.
Involuntary jealousy surged within me. I had been on this plane of existenance for forty years, I have yet to pass a fifth of my bar; yet there was a man that had achieved enlightenment at what I assume to be the age of twenty. I have given my life to that bar: lived humbly, worked hard, forced myself to be charitable towards others, but it filled so excruciatingly slow. Even now, I thought that if I fed the birds, I would gain some karma, but I received nothing.
I got up, shooing the birds that got in my way. I went up to the man and standing above him, asked, "How did you fill your bar so quickly? What's your secret?"
The man looked at me and said, "What bar?"
|
The old man walked down the street towards the park where every day a group gathered to listen to him speak. As he went, all around him people would pause and stare. Or point at him and excitedly whisper to a friend who hadn't yet noticed. The bar floating a few feet above his head glowed a magnificent bright green and was filled to the very edge. But even more impressively, it stayed full and didn't move.
They knew they shouldn't, but the people walking past couldn't help but envy the old man. Their own bars were duller and filled to various degrees, often jumping sporadically up or down. It seemed progress towards enlightenment was fleeting and most people rarely stayed consistent, moving up or down on a whim.
As the old man walked, a smile grew on his face. All around him he saw empty bars above everyone's head. Then he glanced up and saw the empty bar just a few feet above his own and thought to himself, *maybe today was the day they would see it too.*
| 2014-09-26T12:35:00
| 2014-09-26T12:29:22
| 73
| 21
|
[WP] You chant "Bloody Mary" three times in your car's side view mirror and then hit the gas laughing all the while as she sprints towards your car desperately trying to keep up.
Edit: Optional inclusion, it's the eighth time you done this.
|
“Pull over !” she says, as she manages to catch up to match my speed.
She’s running swiftly beside my vehicle now, travelling upwards of 55mph.
I roll the window down and say :
“It’s a cardigan, but thanks for noticing!”
I give her a friendly thumbs up as I speed off into the sunset.
|
What if she appears in the passenger seat, rear seats, or in the trunk.
Imagine she appears in your trunk and remains silent. You don't see her and dismiss this as some dumb story told to scare kids.
Sometime later, you are walking up to your car from the store to put groceries or something into your trunk. You open the trunk and there she is. Evil grin on her face. And you there holding a bag full of junk food with a dumb look on your face.
"Damn... I forgot the eggs." You think as she drags you to hell.
| 2018-10-01T15:22:26
| 2018-10-01T15:10:07
| 18
| 12
|
[WP] You see the Grim Reaper and ask if it's your time. Death checks a clipboard and says "Nope. Looks like you're not due for another... three thousand, one hundred and forty-one years? That's weird. Also, how can you see me?"
|
As a nurse I had seen way too much weird things in the hospital. But when I saw the sharply dressed man with a name tag in his chest poking the body of a woman in the morgue, then I was sure I had seen it all.
"Excuse me?" I asked hoping he would stop poking the woman.
He seemed to ignore me as he focused in the clipboard he was carrying as he checked a pocket watch.
"Sorry, could you... stop poking that corpse?" This time the man looked around and pointed at himself.
"Yeah, I mean you." He blinked. It was then I noticed his eyes were like looking into an endless abyss.
Without warning he was in front of my face poking my chest.
"You are alive." No shit Sherlock.
"How can you see me then?" He gave a step back as I was confused, finally reading his name tag.
***Hello my name is: Grim Reaper.***
"Grim Reaper?" The man blinked.
"Just Grim... and you are July "Jules" Ross, twenty seven years old, currently without sickness though your eyesight is deteriotating... and will die in three thousands, one hundred and forty-one years... why I am chatting with you again?" The man spoke in a deadpan tone as he looked at his clipboard.
"Why are you in the morgue?" I asked pretty confused of the whole ordeal.
"Thats your question? You just met death and all you can ask is why I am in the morgue of a hospital?" I suddenly feel embarrased but then ask something else.
"If you are death... why come for her in the morgue?" He sighs and I can hear him call me stupid.
Jerk.
"Because this woman, Sarah Buvier, was alive until she died from her wounds inflicted in surgery by the doctor who decided to hide his mistake by sending to the morgue to die, making her the twentieth victim of the hospital to die in the morgue. But what does someone with your life span care of beings with such small lifes?" I can only get paralyzed of all this.
Suddenly the idea that I will die in three thousands years is small compared to the fact a doctor just killed a patient. And isnt the first time.
|
Sick and bent double, I look up from the bathroom floor and through the sick haze,
A dark smoky form stands in front of me with the face of death.
*Well, nobody lives forever*, I thought resignedly.
I closed my eyes and bowed my head towards the reaper.
&#x200B;
He laughs and looks at his board.
“It’s not your time, son.
In fact… somehow you’re not meant to die for another 3141 years.
Mind telling me about that?”
&#x200B;
I groaned from another wave of pain and shook my head
I was a little bit bummed, to be honest
If it had been my time, this pain could have quickly ceased
And I could have found a little relief.
&#x200B;
Death steps toward me and embraces my body.
Coldness seeps in and numbness takes over.
I fade in
And fade out of blackness.
&#x200B;
When I awoke, there was light everywhere
Men stood talking by a table across from me
And death stood amidst them all.
His smirk never once leaving his face.
&#x200B;
I touched my hands to my legs and face,
Realizing I no longer felt ill.
In fact, I felt nothing other than surprise and wonder
At what was before me.
&#x200B;
The men seemed to glow and shift forms, speaking almost in song-like voices
The reaper stood out starkly against their brightness, the black of his cloak that could not be touched by any light.
“We don’t need this child here!” A gruff man of strength glared at Death.
“I won’t have it!”
&#x200B;
A women who I hadn’t seen before stepped forward and whispered in Death’s ear.
The smirk on his face grew and he looked over at me.
“Yes, we will see exactly why he’s here
And if he doesn’t survive by some strange logic,
We shall bear witness to that as well.”
&#x200B;
I swallowed as they approached.
Nowhere to go but forward, I supposed.
I took solace in my predetermined death date
And the fact that my stomach seemed to hurt no longer.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
(Constructive criticism welcome. I know there wasn't a ton of story to this but it felt nice to get something down. Thank you!)
| 2020-01-24T11:48:58
| 2020-01-24T11:27:15
| 86
| 40
|
[WP] A medieval king suddenly finds a smartphone and tries to unlock it. But each time he fails, years later it has become a tradition for nobles to try to unlock it. You, a simple servant, fiddled with it the night before the ceremony and unlocked it.
Edit: just think the phone is solar or something to ignore the battery problem.
Tnx to /u/Fireflykid1 for this edit
|
It started with king Ryse, who had found it under his pillow. He claimed that a woman came to him dressed like a man, whispered something in his ear and left in a bright light. He was convinced it was an angel. Unfortunately, he could not remember what the angel told him other than the sense of being warned that stayed in his bones. It was also most definitely the code to open the device.
The device when pressed in the right place on the glass shivered and would light up. There a seven-digit code was to be entered it was activated by touch, and every wrong code would lock the person out. In the beginning, it had only been minutes, then days, then months then years. Ryse had agonized over the device until his death. The little sun that appeared at times was soon found to be it wanting to see the sun, and each week would be set outside on a pillow under heavy guard.
At one point, Prince Heval dropped it on the stone, the glass broke but did not destroy the phone. After that it was given a set of guidelines for use, only the court mage was to touch it, and the monarch of the time.
The day before Prince Masque became King, the servant boy in charge of transporting the device fumbled with it, touching it in the right place and feeling it shiver. He tried to catch it midair and touched the numbers on the screen. The sequence gave a small ping! And the screen changed to a background of a woman, smiling back at him. The portrait was stunningly lifelike as if she was real.
He didn't know what to do, but curiosity got the better of him. He touched it again, a small box like a few other boxes. He recognized it as a calendar.
The calendar started at 2055, how strange, it was only 1732. He quickly flicked to the present day, slowly getting the hang hang of touching the device. He got to the day.
"Prince Masque will be assassinated before being crowned." It read.
|
"You!" a voice boomed from the end of the hall. "What have you got there! That's the prized Glassy Tablet! Remove it from your unworthy hands you dim-witted scoundrel!"
"Ah, but, I unlocked it, your Grace," replied Hrothgar.
"Nonsense, buffoon, nobody on this long flat planet will ever be able to--" his jaw spanked against the floor as Hrothgar turned the phone around and showed him the first recorded selfie in the history of mankind.
"Look, I can become a dog, a cat, an old lady, an angel, a duck, a--"
"The Gods have blessed you young man! Come with me at once!" Hrothgar followed the nobleman towards the palace, scrolling through Twitter in confusion. "Cancel the ceremony, Lords of the Concil! The Chosen One has been procured! He is here, a simple servant from... where are you from boy, and what is your name?"
"Hrothgar, son of Forrester, house Julliard."
The Council stared blankly at Hrothgar, and then ordered him to step forward to demonstrate his prophetic duties. "You, Hrothgar Julliard, son of Forrester Julliard," said Consul Christian, "Have brought the heavens down from atop this world! You will serve as Grand Maester, and we will use the Glassy Tablet to rise and become the greatest kingdom this long flat world has ever seen!"
"But, what good is the Glassy Tablet? All I can see is pictures, for less than 10 seconds at a time, and then I press this blue thing and a never ending line of pointless messages appear."
"Nonsense, boy, together we will learn. This is truly a blessing! Cancel the ceremony, instead we will have a great feast, for The Chosen One!" replied Tremont.
"Donald J. Trump? I am not Donald J. Trump."
'What, boy?"
"Well, I press on this head that says 'My Profile' and up comes Donald J. Trump, who looks like a dilated orange and has 40.5 Men following him at all times."
"Just one of the mysteries we will soon learn about within the Glassy Tablet," urged Christian, "Come, boy, lets dress you up, you are a hero now!"
"Birds? Everyone is a bird? And the birds love to tweet! My lord, where did the first knight find this?"
"Legend has it a shiny rectangle appeared from thin air, and spat out the Glassy Tablet. The rectangle then disappeared. It was said to have 4 numerals on it, something like a '2017.' Purely legend."
"My Lord, 2017 is a year! Our year is 1513, thats how I guessed the passcode!"
"Wow boy, your genius amazes me! We shall continue to learn about the future!"
"'This is the phone of a tyrant from 2017!" Learn from his mistakes and save society before its too late'"
"What now, Chosen One?" question Christian.
"This was written in Notes. It says this phone was stolen by a mad scientist who wanted to prevent the chirping president. He seems to sound like a Tyrant."
"This is the phone of a Tyrant?"
"Seems to be so," replied Hrothgar.
"Never before has the Danish Kingdom received such a treasure," yelled Christian. "Our future is written on the Glassy Tablet!"
"What do you mea-" was all that came out before Christian raised his hilt and sliced Hrothgar's neck in a single swift swipe. Christian turned to the rest of the Consuls, and cut them down with minimal resistance.
And the reign of Christian the Tyrant began.
| 2017-10-14T06:55:50
| 2017-10-14T06:27:50
| 692
| 22
|
[WP] A man draws a gun in a dark alley and asks for your wallet. You begrudgingly obey. He throws it on the ground, shoots it till it screeches, and turns to you; "you're safe now".
|
Cries of help bounced up the dirty concrete walls and through the rusty fire escapes. Thick drops of acid rain fell from the gray, polluted sky, pattering against my umbrella. It took a last drag and stubbed out my cigarette.
The alley was like any other in this godforsaken city – windowless, filled with garbage containers, and with graffiti like old fading tattoos. Popping the holster open, I placed my hand on the wooden grip and strode into the alley.
Cornered at the very end of the alley, a dainty dame was fending off a small leathery attacker with wide swings of her vanity bag. She was a real looker too – plump in the right places, a dolly face framed by streaks of golden hair, and long, lithe gams wrapped in dark nylon.
I glanced at the tiny leather creature on the wet ground, bouncing up and down, yelping and growling. This was the third one I’d come across this week. Disgusting little critters with razor sharp teeth – they’d rip you right open in your sleep.
Carefully, I pulled out my roscoe, opening the reserve box – two slugs ought to be enough.
“Ma’am, step away from the wallet.”
She glanced at me, her blue eyes wide in terror. She was a green one – some upper-class bim, lost on the wrong side of the train tracks. She took a step back, almost tripping over one of her shoes that she had dropped in the battle.
Two quick ones. The loud echoes climbed the walls. I spun the revolver around my finger and placed it back in the holster. The heel of my boot came down on the smoking remains of the wallet.
“Thanks,” she mumbled and crouched down, strapping her shoe back on, and then started to pick up the items that had fallen out of her bag.
“Breeze,” I said and nodded at the street. “This ain’t no place for frails and old men.”
She managed a scowl despite her shivers and dripping wet face.
“Do you mind?” she asked, looking expectantly at my umbrella.
“Uh-huh,” I muttered and started lighting a new cig.
“Please?”
I took a drag, shrugged, and then shifted a couple of feet toward her, covering her from the rain. Even through the smell of my cigarette, I caught a whiff of her expensive perfume.
“You smoke?”
“Gods no,” she said and finally got up. “Can you take me to Caledonia Plaza?”
“Do I look like a flivver chauff’?”
“You look like a criminal,” she said briskly.
“And you, like a dish – what’s your doings in Low York? Long way from home, aren’t you?”
She didn’t have time to answer before another cry rang out from across the street. I cursed through my teeth, which made her wince. I put the umbrella in her hand and emptied the used shells of my roscoe in the gutter.
“Don’t you dare run off with my umbrella,” I muttered and crossed the street while reloading.
Son of a bitternut grifter – I’d have to pay a visit to Masperoni after this.
****
r/Lilwa_Dexel
|
The wallet was still twitching, its faint whine gradually fading away. Leah gaped at it as the man grinned at her, twirling his gun nonchalantly.
"You're safe now," he began to say, then winced as the weapons slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground.
"Blasted things..." he muttered, blushing as he picked it up. "Erm, sorry for scaring you, ma'am. I'm...uh, from the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, no need to be frightened."
She was still trying to think of a reply to this extraordinary statement when another man slipped into the alley, giving the one carrying the gun a withering look.
"No need to make up some stupid story, she's a muggle, moron. Hell, why don't you go ahead and tell her everything? We'll obliviate her, anyway. Is this the wallet?"
"Yep, just saw her buy it from that dodgy second-hand shop. No idea how it ended up there, but it's the very same one that half-giant gave him years ago. Can you believe it? It's traveled a long way," his friend said, picking up the wallet reverently. The other man stared at the hole in the wallet in outrage.
"You *shot* it? Graham, for the millionth time, our clients pay for the goods *untarnished*. They want the items he touched exactly as they were!"
"It was still his, they'll pay, Mark!" Graham said sulkily. "Pay for anything, they will. Bunch of nutters, thinking he's some god just 'cause he killed You-Know-Who. Paid a sack of galleons for that old broomstick they thought was his old Cleansweep Seven, didn't they, even though it was just a regular old Muggle broom, never even bothered to test it - "
Leah began edging out of the alleyway as they continued to argue.
"Yes, but this is the real deal, nitwit," Mark said. "It made a sound when you shot it! It'll demand a high price, mark my words. The muggle's getting away, by the way."
Graham turned to her before she could escape the alley completely, pulling something from his pocket and pointing it at her.
"Obliviate!"
They stared guiltily down at Leah afterwards. She was giggling softly where she lay slumped against the wall.
"Didn't mean to do that, exactly," Graham said. "Wand's never been right since they snapped it."
Mark brightened suddenly. "Hey, that reminds me. What do you say we expand? Start looking for objects that belonged to the other two, as well? I know for a fact that Weasley had a dysfunctional wand at some point. Wonder where it'll be now..."
"Haven't got a clue, but yeah - let's do it," Graham said. "It'll be good practice for when we go after the *other* wand. Think of the price we could demand..."
Mark sighed at the greed in his voice. "Price? You're so short-sighted, sometimes. Did you lose your ambition when they expelled you, too? No, when we find wherever he hid it, that's the one thing we'll keep for ourselves. No matter how much some crazed fan offers for it...that wand is mi - uhm, ours. C'mon, we've got to get going, just leave her here. That shot you took is bound to attract people."
Their footsteps faded, their conversation growing softer as they hurried from the alley, sparing Leah one last, guilty look before they joined the crowd on the streets.
She was still laughing uncontrollably, trying to remember the details of her funny dream.
| 2017-07-13T00:36:27
| 2017-07-13T00:34:07
| 68
| 49
|
[WP] We did it! We finally achieved FTL travel! At first, alien races seem thrilled to have a new neighbor. Then they seem terrified of us. We are the only ones to reach the stars with technology instead of magic.
|
FTL changed everything. 747s were sent to the junkyards. Airports replaced with spaceports that reached the farthest edges of the galaxy. Mars and Venus were terraformed to become brother and sister planets. Saturn became a tourist destination. People started commuting between America and China. FTL made planet Earth feel like a city.
But FTL also made the *galaxy* small. We could traverse the entire Milky Way in a few *days*, instead of a few hundred thousand years. It was almost inevitable that we would find alien life.
First Contact was interesting. Carbon-based life of all things. Maybe the panspermia theory is right, or maybe carbon-based life is inevitable.
There was an entire civilization out there. Just saying the word civilization cannot fully describe just how vast this world was. There was an entire galactic civilization out there. We were so insignificant compared to the millions of intelligent species out there, the hundreds of millions of occupied planets, the trillions of intelligent beings. Each planet with their government, each country in each planet, each province in each country, each city in each province. The mind boggled.
After the initial communications hurdles (apparently you need to stick a fish in your ear to talk to each other), we sent hundred of delegates to the capital star system, in order to find out our place in this wider civilization, negotiate treaties, steal technology, all of the standard protocols in a diplomatic mission.
"Am I translating this correctly? That *magic* exists? Like wizard, witches, and fairies?," asked Sarin Huilivatyy, chief technological diplomat in the Milky Way mission.
"Don't know what fairies are but yes, wizard and witches," replied Ngrishi, diplomat from the Ngoij system, a star system in the Orion arm of the galaxy, close to the Solar system. "We are aware of pockets of space devoid of magic, and well, it seems that by an unfortunate coincidence, your system is in such a pocket. We haven't studied such non-magical pockets since they are so rare but we think that your star contains some ---".
"But what do you mean *magic*", interrupted Sarin. "Any technology advanced enough is indistinguishable ---".
"Well...our current theory is that we evolved from simple cellular life forms, and life evolved while taking advantage of forms of magic. We think magic is an interaction between our nervous systems and the magically infused environment. And when you train your mind, you can manipulate the environment in many different ways. Any advanced civilization has mastered the use of magic, through centuries of magical tradition. Using this magic, we can power our cities, fly between planets, run civilization. I can refer you to the library here; it contains many tomes on magical history and the magical rituals we use to run most things."
Sarin was feeling more and more like he was falling into some twilight zone. What he had so far assumed to be technology that powered the alien spaceships, their floating cities, their FTL, their teleportation, down to their stupid card tricks were all magic. Humans had taken the hard path towards civilization while their alien counterparts had magic (magic??) handed to them. In other words, they were gifted highly advanced technology while bypassing the route that humans took of learning the math and physics behind the world, and instead learned to just create miracles by thinking about it.
He had the impression that these aliens did not understand the first thing about this "magic". Why would the fish translate it as "magic" if they understood it. It would just be translated as technology. Why would they need traditions and rituals if they understood the technology and physics behind what they call magic.
Well, humans have hundreds of years of scientific tradition behind them just rearing to understand this newly discovered branch of physics and technology. He couldn't wait to find out what was behind this magic. He was going to science the shit out of magic.
&#x200B;
(Constructive criticism welcome)
|
200 years ago, humanity discovered that the new elemental material, Unductindenium, could be refined into a light warping spacecraft shell, allowing humans to travel faster than initially thought, by transferring energy that was being carried by quantum particles, we could now bend physics to our will.
And at first this was amazing, allowing humans to colonize other planets, make incredible strides in scientific fields, and even encounter alien races!
And now in modern days, humans are on the brink of conquering the entire Milky Way, all because of one simple thing, gold.
You see, gold has a certain property that allows it to absorb and destroy the substance known as elementite, the fuel for any elemental magic. Gold can absorb all elementite within a 100km radius. So humans have just been deploying soldiers on every planet across the Milky Way, setting up gold beckons every 100km apart, pretty much rendering every magic wielding alien useless.
They tried to fight back with magic when we started our attack, and we didn’t know that gold had these property’s. Thank goodness for the bank transfers that occurred, otherwise we never would’ve learned.
As of this moment, all magic in the Milky Way has been absorbed and destroyed. We’ve landed on every planet. And our assault on the andromeda system will begin shortly.
| 2019-01-18T10:10:15
| 2019-01-18T10:08:27
| 81
| 10
|
[WP] A barbarian warlord, a goblin king, a mighty necromancer, and a dark elven high priestess meet for one reason... To play Suburbs and SUVs, the hottest mundane suburban family Tabletop RPG!
|
G'ol Bognil let out an expansive sigh as he settled his considerable girth before the marble table. "Alright, before we get started, remind me your names and classes again?"
Lethus did not move but a phlegmy mutter emanated from under this black hood. "I am Steve. The dentist."
Polara was next to speak. Her glittering obsidian eyes dropped down to the character sheet in front of her. "I am a dual-class business exec and accountant named Mike the Magnificent."
G'ol Bognil blinked. "That sounds a bit over-powered to me...what is your backstory?"
A ghost of a smile appeared momentarily on Polara's black lips. "My father dedicated his life to the Demon of Alcohol and my mother was a pathetic weakling. I worked two jobs to put myself through college and then graduate school, where I studied under the tutelage of some of the mightiest professors in the land."
The bulbous, warty nose of G'ol Bognil wrinkled. "I feel like your characters always manage to receive the tutelage of some of the mightiest professors in the land. One of these days I am going to make you play a waitress."
Polara drew herself upright, the torch light reflecting off the onyx pendant around her neck. "The earthly vessel of Burkh the Devourer does not play waitresses."
G'ol Bognil rolled his eyes and then let out a loud belch. "And finally...?"
The goblin king turned to look at a veritable mountain of a man whose face was almost completely lost behind wavy crimson hair and a bushy, fiery beard. "I, Garung the Decimator, Eviscerator of the Plainsmen and Bane of the Thrak, am playing..."
Garung's brow creased as he squinted at his paper. "Millie, the Soccer Mom."
Polara snorted. There was no way to tell, but something about the dark aura surrounding Lethus suggested he was smirking. G'ol Bognil, however, frowned.
"What...can Myley do?"
"Millie. Her rumor and gossip skills are maxed out, so she is a powerful information broker. After years of training, the High Council of Home Owners has made her queen, meaning she wields the full power of the Covenants of C&R. Her arch-rival is Kaylie, Supreme Leader of the Association Between Parents and Teachers."
G'ol Bognil sighed. "Try to keep it IC, please. In the faraway land of North Suburbtown, they do not have queens or supreme leaders - they have presidents and heads."
Somewhere behind his giant beard Garung the Decimator was scowling but he said nothing.
G'ol Bognil opened a flask of Mountain Ale and took a long pull, then belched again. "Alright. It is Saturday, and you all find yourselves at the Park of Dark Cul-de-Sac. Mike, you are here for a company picnic/fundraiser. Steve, you are watching your son play in the Tournament of Soccer, where he and his companions are trying to best the All-Stars of Cityhome. And...Millie --"
Polara made an amused noise that she tried to cover by sniffing loudly.
"-- you, of course, are coaching a different team nearby. The sky is gray - strangely overcast for a day in April. The green lawns squish slightly under the feet of the Tournamenteers, and various obese humans sit in flimsy makeshift thrones to watch. The sounds of dogs barking ring out from the housing development, swelling ever louder...as you turn in the direction of the noise, you see a gazebo looming in the distance..."
* * *
/r/ShadowsofClouds
|
"Zixor the Fallen, we don't just have to roll dice to see how depressed teens and desperate housewives are," Priestess Aerosmith Daughter spoke in a warm yet authoritative tone. "You will find the emerging market of independent rulesets that focus on collaborative narrative and nuance that-"
"You're just salty your many critical failures at the luncheon made your mimosa and wine problem clear to everybody!" Zixor sneered between bites of their untouchable GM pizza. Nobody ever commented on the Skeletorian nasal whine but they all quietly knew it. "Sloppy drunks shouldn't even be driving SUVs in my suburban haven!"
Citi the Goblin King and Uv Violence the Barbarian Warlord silently chewed their Ye Olde Cheese Dudes 7 item value meals. They'd witnessed some variation of this argument at every mid-session meal break. They knew to let it ride. The pair had an ongoing wager on when the necromancer and the elf would finally make out and/or fistfight.
Zixor threw their Mama Celeste pizza box at the skeleton servants over on the flesh couch. Next came a mocking reenactment of the JV Soccer Fundraising Committee Sunday Brunch. "Oh, Zixor had planned a brilliant series of operatic twists and turns the table clearly craves week after week but No; I can't make fortitude and will saves! Time to spotlight my Drinking Problem once more, just like my torrid affair with the poolboy being oopsie-revealed last week. Or the time the session became burying-slash-replacing the dog I ran over the week before.. And let's not forget the hair salon battle royale!"
"It's developing character," The princess countered. "Maybe McKenna vamps and chews the scenery a bit, but what do you expect from a former homecoming queen cheerleading captain drama club president on her second unfulfilling marriage going through a midlife crisis?"
"For her to get her shit together a little. Maybe interact with the other members of the Committee instead of going on these personal sidequests."
"Oh. Oh my. " Citi piped up. "Taking over the goth teen wannabe wiccan, formerly known as GM-PC #17, doesn't have a lot of plot hooks for me to explore. Oh, other than begrudge her upper middle class luxury and watch The Craft on blu ray. Oh, I'm thinking her mom has been dragging her to these brunches so they can later throw shade together as a bonding experience. But there's enough of that now."
Violence nodded. "But it so true. My Cynthia has felt distant from my high school daughter Gothy McGothface and middle school son Soccer "Kicks" Futballio. Ever since McKenna drowned their father but made it look like an accidental fall into our backyard pool."
"Citi shouldn't have had him two-timing with McKenna and half the Committee anyway.." The princess gave a Bjorkian wispy gesture and scowl to accent this point.
"Don't forget the committee's assorted husbands and poolboys. He excelled at two-timing. Twice over. Two-two-timing. " Violence offered.
"Four timing. To the power of four. At minimum," Citi smiled a wicked lil grin. "Oh That's how I likes to play them - high charisma and seduction. Oh my. And oh, once I levelled up I would've used the Black Widow feat to slow motion genocide the entire town, one lover at a time, boosting my vigilant criminal watch stats in exchange for humility and humanity points I don't even need. Oh, it was so fiendishly clever! Leading the manhunt on myself. A pity I died before my time.
"I am ever so weary of making a new character every other session. Nobody else has died yet. The inept detective needs to stop his moonlit strolls with Cynthia and start finding all my corpses. Oh, can I be a coroner after Gothy dies in a bathtub under mysterious McKenna related circumstances?"
"I like that we are so derailed that's just expected, " Violence said between deep bemused inhales. "Remember at the start when the campaign was supposed to be managing home renovation money pits? Did we ever even binge on the basic cable real estate twins? Zixor spent a week revising hundred page Deepest Lore for them."
"What if we didn't need false dramatics
to have a good time?" The princess arched an eyebrow. "I have recently mastered the SMUG system. It can open new depths of ennui and quiet desperation."
Zixor scoffed and dramatically exited for the bathroom with a loud drop of a Plus Two Scepter of the Undead. What does an elf know of desperation?
Citi and Violence exchanged glances.
"They have a splat on something called podcasting,"" Aerosmith Daughter continued. "No more purpose driven addiction-prone yuppies. Now you are tubby underemployed thirtysomethings that share meandering conversations and aged pop culture references. It's all only tangentially related to the topic that brings us together and each one ends with either begging for money or describing mattresses and undergarments delivered regularly by municipal kingdom servants."
"So what would we talk about?"
"So glad you asked. I shall soon self-publish a meta-narrative module that I wanted us to playtest. The characters review game books of their realm meant to emulate our own world. And maybe movie reviews. There can never be enough movie review podcasts."
Citi and Violence nodded in unison. "Can we be severely depressed and self-deprecating? Carry the weight of the long slog of life's constant little failures and setbacks? Can we overinvest ourselves in our hobbies to the detriment of the rest of our lives? Suffer faulty equipment ? Attend gatherings of similar aimless souls?"
"I see you intuitively understand the format."
Meanwhile, Zixor tried to drown in the bathtub but came back as a lich. Snuck out the bathroom window to find a table that appreciated a good railroading.
| 2018-01-10T07:13:41
| 2018-01-10T06:17:28
| 70
| 20
|
[WP] You are Dog to which dyslexic people sometimes address their prayers. You do your best to help because you're a good boy, but alas, you are a dog.
|
I try to be a good boy. Dogs are man's best friend, right? Our two species practically grew up together. I suppose it's that feeling of ancestral duty that makes me do it.
Despite all of man's advances, some still can't tell the difference between GOD and DOG. Dyslexia is a bitch (no pun intended). So when I get an errant prayer, I try my best to help.
I do what I can. You need a friend? I can hang out for a day. Emotional support? How about we take a nap, friend? Sometimes it can be difficult though. I'm not a genie, you know.
I can't fetch your wife back, Phil. She's already moving on. And no Karen, I can't heal your sister's mental Illness. Sometimes life just sucks.
But I do what I can.
Today Alex Baker prayed for me to bring back his dead mother. Humans are funny like that. To live in the moment is freedom, I should know. But humans love to live in the past.
Alas. Maybe I can help Alex today.
When Alex wrote his prayer to me, he was sitting by his mother's grave with his nanny. I could see him laboring over the manilla paper with crayons, scribbling away. "Dog, plez bring my mommy bak.". Below that was a drawing of two stick figures holding hands. One was wearing a dress.
I could see the headstone. "Here lies Annie Baker. Loving sister. Beloved mommy".
Normally I would never entertain a request like Alex's, but that shit got me teary-eyed so tonight, I think I can help.
...
It's midnight and I've been digging for hours. Finally I have reached Annie's next to final resting place and I need to say a prayer of my own because I have no thumbs and this casket is closed.
Well, it was closed. It looks like I got lucky and this coffin is pretty cheap. The lid took a little persuasion from my nose, but it gave.
I can't wait to see the look on Alex's face. I know where he lives based on his scent from earlier today. Just a few blocks north. He's going to be so excited to see his mommy.
I left her on the porch. Unfortunately it has been awhile since Annie passed and she was not exactly travel-ready. Those stairs on the porch really did a number on her body. But I got the important part to the doorstep.
Alex is waking up now. Based on the strength of his scent on the porch, he probably runs down to play outside first thing most days. This is going to be great. Another mission accomplished. I'm watching from some bushes across the street.
He's opening the door. They are locking eyes. He's screaming in ecstasy. His mommy is back.
|
Dog is a good boy. Does what he’s told when he’s told. Dog is always learning new tricks. He’s always helping people with their problems. You see, Dog is constantly addressed strange letters with some unusual requests. They always start out with “Dear doG”. He tries to help but, he can’t always do so. Over the years the letters began to pile up by Dog’s little dog house. It had always made him sad to see the commands and tricks he couldn’t do. Until one day as an old pupper, Dog had had enough. He let out a wheeze and small grunt then closed his eyes. He sat there in his little dog bed for days. Not even a single twitch or tail wag. Then after an entire month of laying in his bed, Dog woke up. He was radiating with the energy of a million good boys. Dog knew what he must do. He opened his third eye and with a wag of his tail he let out a small “arroo”. Then all was white.
(Im a mobile user so I’m sorry in advance for all grammatical errors and such)
| 2019-03-25T07:38:52
| 2019-03-25T06:53:21
| 64
| 13
|
[WP] The universe has placed you in a groundhog day style time loop until you learn a lesson. Problem is, you REALLY LIKE being in the loop, so now the universe is constantly sending you not so subtle hints that you're supposed to be learning something.
|
I yawned, stretched out my arms and woke up at 7:00 am May 2, 2018 for the 343rd time. Luckily I had a good memory, so I could remember exactly how many times I had looped.
The first couple loops had been honestly frightening, but re-watching Groundhog Day on Loop #17 had helped. I was pretty sure there wasn't a Rita situation that could get me out of the loop, though. It didn't really matter because I soon realised I could have near infinite fun with this.
Okay, let's see.. what was I going to try today? Ah, yes.. Electrocuting myself with a toaster. Gotta go buy one..
I went down the elevator and walked out of my apartment building, punching the doorman in the face as I did so. The first couple of days I had avoided doing things like that out of a small sense of morality, but you soon learn that morality doesn't need apply when any action doesn't have a long-term consequence.
I took one of the bikes from the rack outside and started across the road, knowing that there wouldn't be any cars around until 7:30 at least.
Suddenly, I spotted a license plate lying in a fern on the small strip of grass between roads. How had I not noticed that before?
I parked my bike in the middle of the road and picked it up. There was a sentence written on it in clear type instead of the normal mashup of license plate letters and numbers. It read "This is *not* the reason you're-"
***BEEP BEEP***
What the hell?!? A ca-
―――
I yawned, stretched out my arms and woke up at 7:00 am May 2, 2018 for the 344th time, and immediately curled up into a ball and sat immobile.
In all my hundreds of loops, that had never happened. Something was *different*. How was that even possible?!?
I turned on the TV. CNN was on:
"BREAKING: Trained rats in maze for multiple years finally learn their lesson and get out"
Several things were strange about this. Usually the news every loop was another Trump scandal, and *that* was only after a commercial break that was usually on at this time in the morning.
Plus, having rats in a maze "for multiple years" sounded pretty implausible, and "learn their lesson" was a weird choice of words... wait...
I grabbed my laptop and opened up reddit.com.
The top posts all seemed to be about learning lessons:
"My first day of teaching! Look at all these happy kindergarteners who learned a lesson!"
"Puppy learned how to escape his kennel at night, gave him a treat for being such a smart boye!"
Okay, what the hell? I guess the universe had given up with me at this point. I shouted at the ceiling: "I *like* this loop, and I'm *not* going to learn your stupid lesson!", and jumped out the window.
―――
I yawned, stretched out my arms and woke up at 7:00 am May 2, 2018 for the 345th time. Okay.
I resolved to at least hear out what the universe had to say. I went down and walked out of my apartment, and the doorman held out a hand and stopped me. He looked directly into my eyes, and the world shifted.
We were now standing on the hotel roof at midnight. A single lamp illuminated the scene.
I yelled out, "Nope, nope, nope, no!" and jumped off the building. I hit the ground and woke up in my apartment. Before I could get out of bed, however, my vision curved in a frightening way, and I saw myself close my eyes, appear on the pavement and rise up to the roof of the hotel, like a video being played in reverse.
"You cannot escape here. Listen to what I have to say," the doorman said behind me in a normal voice. I honestly would have been less scared if it was a monotone or robot voice, but hearing the doorman-god-thing speak normally was strangely disconcerting.
I turned around.
"This experiment has failed. Media from your species suggests you would benefit from repeating time without consequence, but it seems that was in error. Know that when you wake up next, there will only be *one* life at your disposal."
And with that, he pushed me off the roof. As I was falling for the second time, I heard him say "Well, *Homo sapiens* is a no. I must find some other species to try, then. What about *Canis lupus familiaris*..."
―――――――――――――――――――
This is my first r/WritingPrompts submission, so it might not be that great. Thanks for reading it anyway... -u/minindo
|
I woke, as always, to a tickle on my lip, and the sudden realisation it was a cockroach. I'd stopped bothering a long time ago, I let it continue it's journey over my ear and down the back of the bed.
I swung my legs out of bed and walked over to the window. From my elavated position I could see a large area of the neighbourhood. Fuck all of it. Retrieving my gun from the cabinet I took aim. BANG. The store window down the road shattered. I let off a volley of shots at a flock of birds. 13 for 13. No surprises, it must have been the 2000th time at least. I thought about breaking in next door for the macaroni cheese, but she always caused such a fuss and I decided to take more pop shots.
That stupid woman was on the way; I didn't know what happened after she started pushing the pram across the road, that was reset time anyway. I thought of the movie groundhog day, and seethed with anger. An ENTIRE day. We'd see how long he'd last if he was on a five minute circuit like me. BANG. The woman fell and the pram moved away in the last seconds before reset.
(Off the prompt a bit)
| 2018-05-01T23:31:09
| 2018-05-01T22:51:20
| 151
| 11
|
[WP] A little girl is terrified of the monster under her bed, but what she doesn't know is that the monster under her bed protects her from the true monsters - her parents. You are that monster.
Thanks for the huge amount of responses! Loving most all of them, thank you! Sorry it was a bit simplistic though.
|
Savages. The absolute fucking savages.
They bought another goddamned pink and purple tricked out party dress with glittery pumps and purse to match.
Do they even know who their daughter is?
I mean, she sits there, in the backyard, or out at the park, wherever, right? Surrounded with all manner of flora and fauna, and fucking mud pies and shit, and they go out and buy her something from the "Adolescent Barbie" collection. Jesus Christ.
I know it's not my place. This shit just pisses me off. These parents, these yuppie, yogen-fruz sucking trend whores wouldn't know what made their daughter happy if it rose up and fisted them in the stereotype.
Kids need freedom. They need to feel like what they believe in, whatever kind of weird, messed up googly-eyed fucking belief system they come up, with is perfectly ok.
This girl, this little child, has the whole Universe bouncing around inside her imagination. Could literally do anything with herself. No. Fuck that. Here's a fucking dress. Because you're a girl.
God damn it.
And I can't do anything about it. I'm not even really here. I'm here, for fucks sake, but I can't exactly pop out from under the bed and say "Hey, asshats, stop ruining your daughter". Yeah, that wouldn't go over too well. Not with my mildly infamous mug.
The kid. She's alright. Just unhappy. My presence doesn't exactly assuage her feelings of anxiety, mind you. She can sense me, or at the very least knows somethings up, but I've never had any direct contact with her.
That's kind of against protocol. Not that I would anyways. But jesus, what I wouldn't give to see the look on their faces, just once.
Me, standing there, reading them the riot act. Them, mouths open, completely stupified. Not a hard role for either of them. And the kid. Eyes glistening, wide and hopeful.
It's always the eyes. It's my weakness. I never wanted to hurt any of them. They were precious. Each and every one of them.
But that's the price. An eternity of hell, or an afterlife sentence to pay penance for all those little lives I touched.
The kid. Yeah, she's alright, I guess. I dunno. I was always into boys.
|
"It's scary though"
"Don't worry. If you don't believe in monsters they die"
I seethe, sharply drawing my breath as her father turns to leave. I shift as familiar weight settles upon my back. I can feel the sharpness of the words, digging into me. Gradually she begins to drift away. From downstairs I can hear the beginnings of an argument, but she cannot. Soon though, maybe. I sit, wishing for it to stop...You'll hurt her, what are you doing, don't you care? They're getting louder now, just below the threshold of her hearing. I move, sharply scratching along the floorboards. I feel her jerk up, looking around. Alert. Not too alert, I hope. I hook a claw around the wire that runs up beside her, and pull. The lamp falls and she screams.
The argument below ceases briefly, hesitating the half-second it takes to re-arrange itself around the new topic.
"I was just up there five minutes ago"
"Oh, typical, you do something once and that cancels out the fact that every. other. time, it's me?"
"Oh, of course, aren't you just the perfect martyr?"
"What, because it has to be perfectly equal, because you wouldn't want to do more than..."
"More than what?"
"Forget it"
"More than what? Tell me"
"...Just don't"
He is still shouting as she makes her way upstairs.
"What is it honey?...What have you done to your lamp?"
"The monster -"
"What have I told you about the monster dear?"
There is a pause.
She speaks quietly, and I'm not sure who it is she's worried about offending.
"He doesn't exist"
The bed creaks as I buckle.
"There's a good girl."
She pauses.
"I'm sorry about the lamp mom, I - "
"It's ok honey. Try and get some sleep". She raises half a smile.
"Night mom"
"Night honey"
It could have been worse. Soon I can feel myself fading out of consciousness as the girl falls asleep. My bones ache, and darkness begins to encraoch upon me more quickly than it ever has before. I tell myself that soon, soon I must remind her, but... The girl above me sleeps soundly. With each passing night she becomes more courageous. Really, I ought to be proud -- someone ought to be -- but it is not so easy. With each passing night I find myself only more afraid.
| 2014-05-14T13:09:06
| 2014-05-14T13:08:42
| 32
| 17
|
[WP] Thousands of years from now when humans are extinct and dolphins are the dominant species they discover a mosquito in amber with perfectly preserved human DNA. Dolphin scientists are able to recreate humans and decide to make a giant theme park where dolphins come to see real live humans.
|
A few miles down, near the Galapagos, just past one of my favorite kelp forests if you take the South Equatorial Current, is where they are building the land-sea-monkey exhibits. Air-carriers (my buddy Lorenzo is one; he's a whale) have been contracted from all around to supply the caves there with enough air - at just the right mix and pressure, which will undoubtedly take some trial and error - to make suitable habitats.
Here's where I think this could go wrong: humans left the sea once before, so who's to say they can't make it happen again.
Remember back if you lived through it, or listen to any old raconteur whale (if you have the time or patience) sing about how devastating humans to this planet, blue-parts included. If you had two feet, or access to some of our land vehicles or one of our satellites, then you would see the remains of their evil experiments gouged into the paradise they chose to take for granted. And now we're unpackaging humans, as if they're just some innocent presents lying in wait for us underneath the anubias on Poseidon day.
I would say fin, but a) this story keeps on going and B) I hate sounding cliché.
|
Keglo dashed over the reef and soared through the water towards the entrance of his favorite theme park; Meltdown Park. It was there that an entire zoo full of creatures from the meltdown period had been resurrected and displayed in artificial captivities of what was once their natural atmosphere.
'Whoa, slow down young Kegster' Gurgle, Keglo's father said as Keglo soared ahead of him.
'But dad, we have to get there before the lines get long' Keglo said as he kicked his fin as hard as he could.
A school of young, colorful tropical fish swam by and giggled. Gurgle caught the eye of a colorful, young cichlid which made his coiled rope unravel.
'Whoa dad, speaking of long lines' Keglo said in a Bart Simpson voice.
The school of fish laughed as they all had their attention drawn to Gurgle's dolphin penis.
'Why you little son of a bitch!' Gurgle shouted in anger as he swam at Keglo as fast as he could.
'Ahh! Dad I was just kidding' Keglo said as he furiously swam away from the wrath of his dad.
'When I get my fins on you, I am going to literally kill you!' Gurgle shouted as he zigged and zagged through the ocean trying to catch his son.
'Tickets here! Everyone, if you are trying to enter Meltdown Park, I'm going to need to take your tickets here' a teenage octopus said through long drags of his cigarette.
*Whoosh! Bam! Clash!* Keglo crashed through the ticket kiosk and sent the young octopus flying out of his way. The boy swam off while cursing under his breath 'I knew I should have worked at Aeropostle'. Gurgle came shooting past the broken kiosk after his son, fueled by a violent rage and a lust for his son's blood.
'Dad, stop! You're going mad' Keglo shouted back as he made his way through the maze of exhibits. Giant domes encased tribes of humans and animals that had all come from the time when the world was covered with land masses.
Keglo had an idea. He shot straight for one of the exhibits head on. His dad swam in his direct line behind him. He swam full speed straight towards the glass dome and right before he hit it, he lunged upwards dodged the glass dome. Gurgle, having been right behind Keglo, hadn't seen the dome coming and went crashing head first through the glass and into the exhibit of the humans. The open hole sent water gushing in the exhibit, the humans that were out of their homes went running away.
Outside the dome, three giant crabs came scuttling over toward the hole. They took out large strips of thick seaweed and then pasted the seaweed to the hole using their own saliva. The saliva hardened into a substance that was harder than concrete.
Keglo swam back towards the exhibit but was stopped by the crabs. 'Hey, whoa, no, no one goes past this line' the crab said as he drew a line in the ground with his claw. 'What are you, stupid? Can't you see that we just had a spill here?'
'My father's in there. I need to get to him' Keglo said as he tried to push past the crab. The crab snapped his claws in front of Keglo's face sending a hissing snap. 'Whoa, so it's your father who was the nutcase that decided to ram his mellon into our exhibit, huh?' the crab said with a sarcastic tone.
Inside the exhibit, Gurgle gasped for water. He floundered around aimlessly until he was so exhausted he could barely move. Then he noticed that his lungs weren't exploding at all. He could breath air, and not only that, his fins were starting to morph into arms. The ends of fins were turning into hands. His tail fin was splitting into two, and on the bottom of each fin was morphing feet.
'Ha ha, look at me! I'm a land creature now' Gurgle cried out to his son on the other side of the glass. 'I'm going to get all these other land creatures to revolt, and when we get out of here, I'm going to come and find you and then I'm going to force you to have anal sex with me!' Gurgle shouted as he waved his fist back and forth in the air.
Overhead a couple of mod sharks loomed and gave Gurgle a cautious eye.
'Uh, I mean... I was just kidding' Gurgle said as he looked towards the mod sharks apologetically.
| 2017-06-27T06:25:37
| 2017-06-27T04:28:32
| 63
| 13
|
[WP] You have just died due to several different causes at once (ie heart attack at the same time you get hit by a car) only to find yourself surrounded by the gods of each respective cause arguing over who has the rights to your death
|
[Poem]
A flash of light,
A fiery roar,
And now somehow
I am no more.
The fire I get,
The light... not sure,
Which one cut me
Down to the core?
I expected the one,
The other... not quite,
It came out of nowhere,
That bright flash of light.
So which one killed me?
I wish I could say,
But I do not know
and neither do they.
I’m sure you are wondering
Who exactly “they” are,
I’m not really sure
But they are quite bizarre.
One being rage personified,
His body and soul a flame,
The other, a charged current,
Each staking their claim.
What is going on here?
A lightbulb over my head.
The bright flash was lightning
And now I am dead.
So who are these beings
And what do they need?
As I study the two,
I realize it’s me.
“She perished by fire,
She is my soul by right.
How dare you say otherwise,
You insignificant light!”
The fire being’s voice
Bellowed loudly outright,
I shrunk into myself,
As lightning prepped to strike.
“If you think it was fire,
You’re absolutely insane,
‘Twas my electric current,
Not your tiny flame.”
They fought and they fought,
And then fought some more,
Their brightness growing dimmer,
And then dimmer than before.
Finally exhausted
And ready to retire,
Lightning pushed me toward
The man made of fire.
“I grow tired of this
And thunder calls me home,
You may have this one,
But the next is my own.”
I looked at them both,
Awestruck and bemused,
Who would I be
To simply refuse?
I wake with a jolt,
My consciousness freed,
What a peculiar dream..
A strange dream indeed.
|
No one tells you how peaceful it feels when you die, but I supose people don't usually come back and talk about it. My death was bound to happen, smoking, drinking and too many drugs. I had blocked arteries, when the doctors tried to save me from my latest heart attack they were just as surprised by the quake and the crumbling hospital roof. Apparently my complicated death has caused, shall we say, a little conflict amongst some rather interesting characters. Before me stands 3 men and a woman, strangly dressed, their features almost fluid.
The tallest one, a woman by her shape and the tone of voice, was calmly stating that obviously the heart stopping was the death point and that I was hers. Raging back at her was a near skeleton of a man, definitely male by his nakedness and almost pendulum like balls.
The second male, by his beard was barely awake, repeating the same argument as if it was the first time. "He was drunk and had liver dis.. grmpf.. disease."
His speak interrupted by vomit or a belch, and that's when it hit me... He was my alcaholism. The skeleton man was the ice in my veins, the woman my heart disease.. who was the quiet male shrouded in darkness? Whay was he here? Was he some sort of quake spirit or did he represent something else?
I suddenly realised they were staring at me.
I was laughing, they were visibly pissed...
"Do you think it funny? You have wasted your life..." the woman said " wasted your time and destroyed your body. You were sent to do good but at the first temptation and you folded like a sift sheet"
Laughing the beared man slapped my back "Remember that party when you were 14 and that pretty little thing let you.."
"Enough!" Boomed the shadowy figure "His body was riddled with my cancers, he is mine to take"
So that's who it was, how did the doctors miss cancer?
"Yes they missed it because if your indulgences with my coleagues here." He pointed to the other 3 "your heart destoyed by your habits" the woman "too many anphetamines" Skeletor nodded "and not to mentikn your daily bottle of whiskey" the bearded one belched a wet, stagnant smelling cloud "but you have been mine this whole time." His dark features barely visible
Fear gripped me, my mirth turning to dust.
"He must decide, he must choose who gets to have him" they stood staring, hungrily staring, as if I was a meal... So how do I choose and what are the consiquences?
| 2021-05-04T18:50:41
| 2021-05-04T18:46:49
| 30
| 22
|
[WP] PVP has been turned off for years. Everyone now knows, that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm. You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm...
|
I hate flu shots. I have a bit of a fear of needles, if we're being honest. All my work in construction, welding, and general contracting, I have no problems. I've had Jeremy shoot that damned nail gun into my forearm on his second damn day (he's damned lucky to be my wife's nephew, or I'd have fired him for showing up late on his first day), I've played Staple Gun Roulette in college, I even went through a big 'piercing' phase when I wanted to prove to my parents I wasn't a kid anymore, but for some reason, needles at the doctor's office? In 34 years, I have never gotten over that one.
I've gotten pretty good at pretending, and today I have every reason to pretend; the new nurse at my doctor's office is really cute. Her glowing personality fits perfectly with her big smile wrapped in a bob cut and pink nurse covers. She's been a little flirty since I walked in; I'll have to ask for her number before I leave. I can't believe I missed her name when she first walked in.
Her smile only fades when Dr Brooks walks into the room. It's odd to see the Doctor for a flu shot, but I guess since Nurse Sweetsmile is also Nurse New, he has to observe. The nurse gets very formal now, very professional. The small talk fades quickly. I try to reassure her that she's doing a great job, and I confess how needles scare me a bit... but with her I feel very comforted.
Her smile sneaks back in.
Dr Brooks isn't smiling, though. He seems pretty frustrated. He's always been a curmudgeonly old dodger; he was probably born with that condescending sneer. If what my mother told me about your face sticking that way was ever true, it was true for this guy. He's not much older than me, I'd say early 40's at most, but already being half bald and never smiling has made him look like one of those old timey pictures I've seen in books of coal miners from the early part of last century. Maybe this is what they looked like after a shower. He's a great doctor, but I don't think I could ever call him a great guy.
I don't know why, but Dr Brooks takes over for Nurse Disrespected as she is prepping the needle. She moves to the corner to watch and feel embarrassed. I try to reassure Dr Brooks that she was doing very well, but his reply... can someone be compassionately condescending? If you can, he is.
Dr Brooks starts talking about me as though I'm just a puppet, explaining in minute detail to Nurse ReducedToStudent about PRECISELY how she should have been doing her job. He mentions how she needs to be professional, and her presentation is always making things take longer and giving client the wrong impression... maybe I shouldn't ask her number. Maybe I was just misreading her nature as something just for me. She makes eye contact with me, looks back to the needle...
...That... that was weird...
I look at Dr Brooks, taking the needle back and turning to the sink. He starts going through the drawers, always professional but clearly rushed. Nurse LearningQuick is just looking at me. Did I do something wrong?
"Is everything ok, doc", I ask? I haven't gotten the bandage, yet. I haven't been told to hold the swab against the wound yet either. I look at the nurse, and then at my arm... no shot. "Is there something wrong with the needle?" A gruff 'yes' was all I got, he didn't even turn to look at me. No explanation about what happens next, nothing.
I look at Nurse HelpfulGlance, who comes close to me and whispers "It bent. He couldn't sink the needle".
It bent.
He couldn't... sink the needle.
Dr Brooks' change was sudden. He glared to his young nurse, and demanded she begin refiling some pile of documents long-growing in his office. She turn fiercely, screaming about his jealousy once again getting in the way, and how she can't work in these conditions. "How many patients do you need to try and hurt... do you want another lawsuit... I'm not doing this again..."
Dr Brooks turns, screaming. Telling her, in front of the many photos he has plastered around his office of his wife and young daughters, how important she is to him! How he cannot stand the way she uses her beauty to make other men think vile things! How she cannot let 'scum like THAT' (pointing to me) destroy her... I'm not scum, I don't think, but I've been called worse.
She runs from the office, crying. Nurse Judy, who has been at this office for years, looks in and asks the Doctor to come review a file.
We stand there. Dr Brooks, Nurse Judy, and I. Silently. for moments that stretch into eons, we stand without word.
"May I see the needle", I ask. It breaks the ice. Dr Moody leaves without saying a word. Nurse Judy looks at me. I have to ask, "Is she ok?"
"You're sweet. Hold still for me, ok?" Nurse Judy has already set up a fresh needle, and in a smooth motion has given me my annual flu shot. "Hold this for me" she says as she collects the bandage for my arm. "I got you a spiderman bandaid, for climbing all those buildings".
I thank her, but again I ask what happened. "Don't worry, sweetie. I have to check in on the other patients, now. You're all set. This shot is on the house; not even a co-pay." And she was gone. I try to ask for the new nurse's name, but Judy is on tot he next room.
I collect my jacket... but I can't help myself. There, on the wall, in big red letters 'SHARPS'.
I look in the basket.
There must be a dozen bent needles strewn in there.
|
I don't remember it happening. How could I? I was just a baby at the time. My mom tells the story all the time though.
"There he was, my precious little baby," Mom would start. I always rolled my eyes when she told the story. Gave a long suffering "Mooooooom" to show my annoyance. Mom's don't care, they think it's being cute.
"The doctor asked me to hold him while he gave him his shots. I did, of course, I wanted my little boy to be safe and protected from all the nasty things in the world. So the doctor goes to inject my little angel and the needle bends!" Mom would always pause here for the gasps or some reaction. So embarrassing, every time she tells it. Like a script by now.
"I was shocked! I had never been one of those kooks but my baby was almost killed!" I usually tried to chime in, after I got older, that maybe it would have just hurt instead. Maybe the doctor thought the needle was a little too big for me and that triggered the response. I tried to offer up sane ideas, some explanation other than the insane world this situation brought about.
"I'd never believed those anti-vaxxers but this was proof!" Mom would always sound oddly proud about that. "And that's how we got all vaccinations banned and now the children are safe." Mom likes to ignore the various epidemics that have cropped up and all the dead children who aren't hers. It sucks being the literal anti-vax poster child.
| 2016-08-31T08:29:47
| 2016-08-31T08:23:16
| 23
| 11
|
[WP]Killing Hitler has become a sport amongst time travelers. Points are awarded for creativity and difficulty. You are last year's champion, how did you win?
|
You see, all the previous competitors had focused too closely on the guidelines to the game. Find Hitler during one of his great speeches, or when he was asleep, or some other time where he was easily accessible. No one thought outside the box.
I teleported to 12 August 1866, in the village of Spital in Austria. There, sitting just outside her house, I found 6-year-old Klara Polzl. It was her birthday.
|
I couldn't help but dwell on the stories of my father killing Hitler using only a menorah and some olive oil, from the opposite side of town. How was I to top that? It was the only 99% on record.
I've had my whole childhood to scheme, and at 18 I figured that to get a perfect score, I'd just have to be farther away and even more creative. How? A deathly Rube Goldberg machine. It didn't have the same irony, but the tension would be glorious for the viewers.
Binoculars at the ready, I tipped over the first golden domino.
***
bored? try /r/Hermione_Grangest
| 2016-02-20T08:24:48
| 2016-02-20T08:21:16
| 215
| 41
|
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle
|
The sigil remained dull, black and inactive. Even through the shoving, the pushing, the punching and name calling - it didn’t light up even once. Maybe it wasn’t the best to get used to this type of treatment, but Dalton refused to use his powers on anyone. While his powers were not inherently destructive, they were hard to control, and he didn’t want to hurt anyone.
So why wouldn’t they listen?
Was it so bad that he didn’t want to show off the powers he barely knew how to use, that he didn’t want to hurt anyone as collateral in a bit of show and tell? His head throbbed from the previous punch, the group of teenagers surrounding him in a complete circle. Everywhere his eyes looked, they landed on some color, some blur, something emanating from each and every one of the bullies. Fire, electricity, light and even darkness from one. They surrounded him, their powers all flared for show, but they didn’t really use them in any way besides intimidation. No, they preferred to hurt people themselves. This time though, there was something off about them. They were pushing harder than normal, harassing and assaulting with more... effort. Perhaps something had made them mad that day.
Another punch, and Dalton could practically feel the bruise growing, his ears ringing slightly. His chest constricted as they threw another, but this time, he felt a burn from where the punch had landed. He felt his muscles twitch from the shock, and it was starting to get a little darker, though, not because of them. He was losing consciousness. His breaths became panicked, and Dalton pleaded for them to stop, that they were going too far this time.
They didn’t listen. They never did. Before anyone could do anything else, the circle lit up, shining with a rainbow of different colors. In front of Dalton, a circle appeared, black and colorless. The bullies stared curiously, cautiously looking at it. The circle turned blue, as did Dalton’s sigil, and a geyser of sea water spewed from within the circle, easily carrying away one of the bullies, far into the distance. Dalton grasped his arm, where his sigil laid, glowing through his hand. The bullies backed off in fear, as more circles appeared around Dalton. They did not turn just blue, but green, yellow and red, a multitude of colors from which different elements spewed. A gust of wind from one, a plume of flames from another, a landslide of mud and even pure insects from some. The “battlefield” quickly became chaotic and messy, the bullies either running off or being quickly incapacitated by Dalton’s rings.
If one were to look close, they would notice that Dalton’s rings were not random circles that produced various things, but portals to different parts of the world. One linked to the sea floor, another in the middle of a raging wildfire, underneath a landslide, in the middle of a tornado: and they all came barreling through one small opening. A multitude of concentrated forces from mother nature herself, that would devastate anyone who challenged their wielder. Dalton’s sigil dulled, the glowing slowly fading away, and the portals slowly closing with them. This time, Dalton had managed to keep them small, keep them “mild” and relatively non-lethal... but would he be able to next time? He let himself fall over, ignoring the pain in his tailbone that came from sitting in such a manner.
|
I’ve never activated my sigil in public. It’s not a cool power anyway... that was what I thought.
But in a world where everyone has their own talent manifest, I just didn’t fit in.
That’s why the bullies found me to be an easy target.
“Look it’s Shit ring!” I heard Warren yell as I tried to ignore him.
That’s right, a big fat brown circle, not even where it’s subtle smack dab on my forehead. Zeroface, talentless, shit ring...
Warren sported a black brand of lightning on his fist. It’s cool and he knows it, especially when he zaps people.
I ignored him, and he strides to catch me.
“Let me go!” Inadvertently, I shrink from him whilst he continues to tease me.
Suddenly, his face blanks, and the look of shock washes over him. Moans escape his mouth uncontrollably.
I realised I have accidentally triggered my sigil. He was having an instant orgasm, and he won’t be able to stop until he passes out.
I turn and ran ...
*Edited for grammar*
| 2020-02-26T07:49:39
| 2020-02-26T07:22:06
| 92
| 43
|
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile only to learn that no one else actually went into isolation.
|
"You mean that you talked with everyone else?" asked the shocked president.
"Yes." responded the British prime minister. He was old, old enough to have long memories of the time before the war.
"But, why? Why put up the rule in the first place just to break it?"
"Well you see now old chap, you guys started the war. You started so many wars that we decided to just cut you out entirely."
"Thousands of my people starved."
"That is most unfortunate."
"There were riots that went on for years. They left thousands dead."
"No use crying over spilled milk."
"There was a civil war that left over a hundred thousand soldiers and civilians dead."
"Well, that is, um, sad."
"All because you guys wanted to avoid us?"
"Erm, well...." he searched for the right words, "uh, yes?"
"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" with that, the American president lunged at the british prime minister and would have choked him to death with his tie had it not been for the Royal Marines who restrained him.
"I DECLARE WAR!"
"On what? England?"
"ON EVERYONE!"
And so World War IV started.
|
Lying underneath the broken husks of countries, some semblance of government had remained. And together, in their wisdom, the greats had decided that - to avoid any further conflicts, which could prove even more disastrous - each country should isolate itself from its neighbours. That way, even if some internal crisis occurred, the other nations wouldn't be effected: other nations wouldn't be pulled into some whirling shitstorm of civil war and guerrilla fighting.
50 years ago, every nation in the world - that is, every nation that was left - signed the Isolation Decree, stating that all outside borders; all outside communication, was to be ceased for 50 years. No international relations whatsoever. Punishment for breaking the treaty was nuclear bombardment: something no nation could afford now - for even the vast wilderness of Russia was some toxic wasteland now, the result of 17 years of warfare. America spearheaded the Decree - perhaps because of some degree of guilt; after all, it was President Trump who sparked the fire that lead the world here.
And so, 50 years of silence followed.
There were no wars: although, in the beginning, there were riots as people realised that America wasn't as independent as it proclaimed to be, as they realised that all these global mega-corps didn't function nearly so well when they couldnt reach their head-offices, or factories based in Bumfuck-Nowhere, working on slave labour. Products that were once considered everyday became luxuries, then faded into nothingness within the space of years. That isn't to say that life was bad - it was bearable, it was pleasant (for the most part): after the initiatives to revitalise internal industries, everything levelled out.
And so, 50 years of prosperity followed.
Then the 50 years ended, and America crawled out of her shell. And she found a world around her, bustling with activity, technology, freedom. For the world had grown tired of America: in her later years, she had grown gluttonous and lazy with power, swollen to the bursting point with ideologies that never came to be, with nationalism. So the world had conspired against her, and whilst America hid in her shell, the rest of the world linked their hands. She was 'The Greatest Nation'? How great she looked now, her people malnourished, her technology outdated, her armies disbanded. Next to the rest of the world - next to her former self - America was grey.
Grey and weak.
If there is one thing that is immutable, it is human nature. Such a frail nation, now. And truth be told, many were still bitter about losing America in the first place; after all, had it not belonged to the British once? Or the French? Or the Spanish? Such places as 'Britain', or 'France', or 'Spain' did not exist anymore though; no - instead, it was just 'Earth' and 'America'. But that didn't stop voices from complaining, and conspiring, and plotting. If enough voices speak, something is bound to happen.
And so, what was America came to not be.
| 2016-10-18T15:10:28
| 2016-10-18T14:31:05
| 2,982
| 158
|
[WP] Some nut job from a joint Japanese-American defense technology company thought that replacing traditional tanks with 80ft tall bipedal robots is a good idea. This pisses you off so much that you're determined to create a tank that can counter them in every way imaginable at 1/10th of the cost.
|
When my associates and I first caught wind of project Jotunn, only the formal declassification to the public was enough to convince us that this wasn't an out of season April Fool's prank.
The sanctioned drone footage on the breakroom TV was a scene straight out of a Saturday morning cartoon. Towering, bipedal husks of reinforced metal were demolishing one of those dummy towns used as nuke testing sites. Pillars of titanium-steel lattice work stomped craters into the asphalt and caved in rooftops. Giant clawed arms hefted cars and threw them like baseballs. Autocannons built into the wrists blasted apart crowds of test dummies with ruthless precision. Five robots in total rampaged across the suburbs, churning a wake of dust and smoke.
We beheld the next and greatest revolution in combined-arms warfare. Once this hardware gets further developed and manufactured, nobody could question the might of the free world again. Our company was going to make an absolute killing in the market of defense technology.
And we certainly did. Every world power was tripping over themselves to place orders on our jotnar, stockpiling droves of mechs in a frantic arms race. Our designs evolved to suit all manner of environment and tactical function. They could sport deployable flares and flak cannons to counter enemy aviation, or come equipped with piercing rounds and heartbeat sensors for urban peacekeeping.
But there are no solutions in this world. Only tradeoffs.
With the rise of the Jotunn came the bitter decent of the noble tank. To my spite and concern, these majestic, diesel-guzzling creatures were being cast aside (both figuratively and literally) by the biggest cliche in sci-fi history. In spite of all they have done for humanity since their humble beginnings as medieval catapults, the world suddenly has the nerve to call tanks boring and obsolete.
Sure, I could have developed tiny sabotage drones or giant trip wires and let the Square Cube Law do its magic, but I felt a statement had to be made. Tanks needed a comeback. Given the latest research and technology at our disposal, a team of experienced engineers could find some way to counter project Jotunn.
So I spoke to my superiors, got my grants, assembled my team, and started my righteous endeavor: the appropriately-named Project Thor.
&#x200B;
First item on the agenda was defense. Aside from models that specialized in anti-personnel, all jotnar mech variants were issued anti-material rounds. Given their height advantage, a jotunn would have a direct line of fire to strike where a tank's hull would be most vulnerable. Reinforcing tanks with enough extra armor would just make them cumbersome and a logistical hassle.
It was decided that the best defense is to not take damage in the first place. Jotnar would always outclass tanks in sheer force, so speed and stealth was our focus. Project Thor needed to be light, compact and maneuverable, falling back on the tank's natural low-profile.
We also accounted for this evasive build when choosing Project Thor's weaponry. A tank's superior barrel length brought superior range over most jotnar, but there was a frustrating catch: Whoever designed Project Jotunn factored in how easy it is to hit giant mechs with canons and ballistic missiles. Shells had to contend with layered armor that took ample punishment, and missiles were rendered harmless by the point-defense-laser system boasted by the latest jotnar generation.
So what offensive capacity were we left with? The solution was simple: Sniper rounds. For all their metal might, a jotunn was relatively vulnerable at a tiny central-chest area where the pilot's control chair was nested. Destroy the person, not their equipment.
Project Thor, being a tank, could support the barrel and recoil of the longest automatic sniper turret ever designed. The weight saved from replacing a traditional cannon allowed for the turret to aim faster.
&#x200B;
The planning stage concluded. Thor, my giant roomba on treads, was assembled and functional. All that's left now is to prove to the world that my newest creation could survive in a warscape dominated by giant robots.
My superiors refuse to expose any jotunn to live testing in fear of damaging such expensive gear, so I have chosen to take the ultimate risk. I will venture to the nearest warzone *myself* and dispatch as many jotnar as I can. Tanks will not fade into history as long as I live, and I will destroy lives before I let them get replaced by these discount gundams.
Edit: Part 2 is in the replies. Project Thor makes its last stand against Project Jotunn.
|
General Graves was chewing on his half smoked domestic cigar in anger as he stared at the monitor. The United Japanese Coalition had come up with an abomination to replace the backbone of the Military artillery forces. The M1 tank. The designation BM-452 which was a dubbed the “Samurai Marine” was an 80 ft mech. It was controlled by one person and can be deployed from a C130 anywhere in the world in less then 12 hours. The problem for graves was that it was slow and clunky. Yes it can be deployed fast but getting to the target was another story. Not only was it slow but the armor was not even close to what it needed to be. Especially around its fusion core drive engine. One direct hit and the explosion takes out the entire division. It stood 80 ft when erect and its two 17” canons mounted to its shoulders and 20 mm Gatling gun which took place of what most would be considered a left hand was not nearly enough firepower. The “pilot” was less protected then the drive core. He sat in what would be considered “the head” covered by an experimental polymer plastic dome for 360 degree vision. The HUD was integrated into the dome to allow for better targeting. The armor was again experimental metal called “green metal” . It was supposedly a “living metal” which was developed from a mix tree bark and steel. They “say” that given enough time the metal could actually “heal” itself. Graves never understood how this was the case but the cost just simply didn’t justify it. It all sounded good on paper but the cost just simply didn’t justify it and the last time he saw this armor in action a few years ago it failed miserably. What was going through the brasses heads when this rubber stamped was beyond his comprehension. The fusion drive was probably the best part of the this infernal machine. It was experimental but passed just about every test graves had witnessed. The core itself was small and durable but that being said it had it had one big issue. It needed to be protected because a single 9mm caused a 20ft diameter crater in a concert floor. Still it could power that mech nonstop for 2 months at full power. The mechanics of the power train system though didn’t take advantage of the core’s full potential. It was bipedal system that could only achieve a top speed of 50 mph which was only slightly faster then the M1’s 45 mph. He felt that this project was rushed and if given a little more time the coalition would’ve seen his designs and this “machine” would’ve never been built.
Graves continued to stew as he looked from his monitor down to his desk at the blueprints sitting in front of him. While the US military swooned over the possibly of a mech and the fancy tech that the Japanese government conceived but needed our resources to develop. Graves thought this whole venture was bullshit. He had developed a replacement that was lighter, faster, stronger, and more cost effective . His N1 designed which he named the “Striker Assault Tank” was his ideal up grade from the M1. It did match the 452 with the fusion drive core but it instead of powering the mech for its 2 months, it could power his N1 non stop for over a year without refueling. The N1 would too have one pilot but he was in the center of the tank with an access door at the top and bottom of the vehicle. Armed with two automatically rearming 130mm guns mounted to the top of the tank with 10mm Gatling guns mounted to both the sides and front of the tank. It had carbon titanium armor which light weight durable and cost A LOT less. With the tried and true tread design it achieved a top speed of 60 mph Over all, Graves felt , his design would’ve been better all the way around but no one would listen.
Graves laid his cigar in the ashtray to die as he rolled up his blueprints. He had to make the joint chiefs listen to him. His aid, Lt. Marko, walked in the door. The lean African American Lt. Stood at attention with a smile n his face. Graves met the eager mans gaze.
“What is it Lieutenant?” Graves asked
“General. We received a call from General Perks.” Smiling the whole time he said it.
“and?” He simply replied
“ He wants you to brung your designs to the White House for special meeting with the president and joint chiefs.” He replied
“Finally!” He roared as he grabbed his designs
| 2021-08-12T13:38:26
| 2021-08-12T12:15:29
| 267
| 22
|
[WP] Airport authorities don’t recognize your passport because the country that issued it doesn’t exist. You are confused. You’re thinking: “What? I was born there! I’ve lived there all my life!”
Edit after 4 hours: I'd like to add that this writing prompt was inspired from this: http://www.reddit.com/r/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/1zsyz2/on_july_1954_a_man_arrives_at_tokyo_airport_in/
|
“What do you mean?!” The man exclamed, hysterical.
“It doesn’t exist, sir.” I said, sighing. I had had to put up with a lot of clueless travelers throughout the years, but ever since the ‘big opening’ was a fact following the inevitable collapse, their ranks were swelling.
“Are you telling me that my whole life has been a lie?! Tell it in my face, lying bastard!” He yelled, balling his fists.
He and his baggage were holding up quite a line. It would be a busy day indeed.
“Shall I call security?” my partner asked, unable to mask a small smile.
I shook my head. “Listen dude, I don’t know what they’ve told you there, but it surely wasn’t the truth. The place doesn’t exist.”
“But why did I pass the gates then, hmm?” he said. “My passport is legit!”
“I never said that your passport wasn’t legit, just that your country of birth doesn’t exist.” I tried to explain it to him. But deep in my heart, I knew it was futile. They would never understand. Their government had indoctrinated them for far too long.
“It’s just that there’s no such place as Best Korea.”
|
“Golzania is a country! It should be right there on the map! Right there!” I point on the police officer’s map before continuing, “It’s an island below South Africa and it should be right there!”
“Sir, uh, we’ve never really dealt with such a problem before but you’re going to have to stay in this room until we get this sorted out. I’m really sorry. Would you like some coffee?”
“I never drink coffee outside my home country! If the coffee isn’t Golzanian, then it isn’t real coffee at all!”
“Yeah… okay. Well I’ll get you some water regardless.”
I sit there alone in the room and wonder what the hell kind of prank this is. It’s April 5th and I’m wondering if some asshole has arranged a delayed, elaborate April Fool’s prank. I travel for business regularly and this has never happened before. Soon that police officer returns to the room along with some bald guy in a suit. Fuck them both.
The bald guy speaks, “Sir we can’t allow you to leave Canada until this Golzania issue is resolved.”
“What do you mean I can’t go back home? I don’t want to stay in Canada any longer than I have to! My wedding anniversary is in two days and I need to go back home now!”
“We’re going to have to ask you a few more questions first.” Says the bald guy.
“Actually several more questions.” Says the police officer.
“No more questions! I was born in Golzania in 1965 and–”
“1965?” asks the police officer. “So you’re 100 years old?”
“No I am 35 years old! Do I look like I’m 100? Can you Canadians not do simple math! It’s the year 2000 and I was born in 1965. Therefore I am 35 years old!”
“It’s the year 2065.” Says the bald fucking guy and shows me a newspaper.
“What the hell is going on here? It’s 2000! Not 2065! I am a Golzanian and I am going through a grave injustice! I was born in Golzania! I learned how to read and write in Golzania! I rode my first bike in Golzania! I graduated from Golzania University with a Bachelor’s in Golzanian History! I fell in love at first sight with a strong Golzanian woman who is now my wife! I started my first business in Golzania and when I go back home I will never travel for business again!”
The bald guy and the police officer stare at me. Then they look at each other. Then the police officer speaks, “Sorry but you’re crazy.”
My head explodes.
| 2014-11-23T09:29:43
| 2014-11-23T09:29:04
| 821
| 23
|
[WP] You are a supervillain, but every single one of your plans of world domination has somehow collapsed into a harmless flirtatious encounter with the superhero by accident. Today, the superhero has come to propose to you.
|
T minus 9 minutes.
This time I would succeed.
I stood on the massive bridge in the middle of the night, looking out to the bright lights of the city in front of me, the cold night wind gently blowing past me. It was chilled just slightly, and it sent goosebumps across my skin, almost as if it were caressing me gently…
I sighed.
“Lisa, come out please.”
There was a pause, and then out of nowhere a woman just appeared next to me. I didn’t even flinch, I was used to it by now. She had long flowing hair that I could only describe as platinum in color. She wore just simple jeans and tank top with a light jacket. Lisa was not much for theatrics the other heroes were, the only thing that identified as her someone special was the masquerade mask she wore, covering the top half of her face. She even went with just, Lisa.
She looked at me and smiled slightly. “You could always sense when I was around,” she said, and in bridge’s lights I could see her blue eyes sparkle.
I sighed, but I couldn’t help but flash her a ghost of a smile. “Never soon enough, clearly,” I said and shook my head. “I’m assuming the EMP won’t be detonating over the city in” I took out my watch to check, but she answered before I could do so.
“Seven minutes, twenty eight seconds? It is,” she said.
I looked at her sharply. “What do you mean, it is?” I asked.
She shrugged. “It is. I haven’t done anything to stop it this time.”
I gaped at her. My whole plan had relied upon her not knowing about the EMP. I had planted fake evidence, distractions, decoys, though I didn’t know why I bothered, she always figured it out. “But why?” I asked, “you just snap your fingers,” I did so, “and the wind itself will push it off course, tear it to pieces even.” Once Lisa, the most powerful wind-controller, hell, the most powerful person period, found out your plan there ever there was nothing you could do.
“I wanted it to be a present,” she said, again with that smile.
“A...present?” I said.
“Mmhm,” she nodded and leaned against the railing of the bridge, “I mean you’ve done so much for me, the fireworks display over Dubai, the wonderful dinner in Mumbai, the aurora borealis in Chicago… I mean, what more can a girl ask for?”
T minus 5 minutes.
The thing in Dubai was supposed to be a missile attack, had they not been intercepted, and the Aurora Borealis had happened because a deadly radiation beam had been reflected at the last moment. The dinner, well, alright so I didn’t have an excuse for that one. But regardless I stammered, “That’s...not, I didn’t-”
She laughed.
“I know you didn’t mean any of those, but hey, it’s the thought that counts,” she shrugged, “so I figured I owed you something, you know?”
The wind blew again and I caught a whiff of her perfume, something exotic, though I couldn’t say quite what. “So, you’re just gonna let it happen?”
“Mmhm,” she said, and turned back to look at the city.
“Then why come here?” I asked.
Again she turned back and smiled. “Why to see you of course, and get some practice in with your henchmen maybe,” she said innocently.
I grinned and shook my head. “I haven’t hired henchmen in years, Lisa, you know that, they’re completely useless against you, and so just a waste of resources,” I said.
T minus 2 minutes.
Finally the smile disappeared from her face, and her shoulders sagged a bit. “Look,” she said, “I-I like you, I think. But this-we, we ca-AAAgh.” She yelled in frustration and turned away. “I’m no good at these things, she muttered, not looking at me.
T minus 1 minute.
I bit my lip. I could see the missile now, that would knock out power in the City for months, throwing the economy into chaos, and then I looked at Lisa, her platinum hair moving gently, almost hypnotically in the wind.
What the hell.
I pulled out my phone, and called out “Disarm.” Even as I watched the missile fizzled out, now just a harmless piece of metal. Hopefully it would land on a car or something so this whole thing won’t be a complete waste.
Lisa turned to look at me, eyes wide.
And there standing on the bridge with the lightly blowing wind and the distant but bright lights of the city, the greatest villain the world had known kissed the greatest heroine of our times.
***
If you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/) for more of my work
|
There was a knock at my door. I sat in silence for a moment, hoping it would go away. It didn't. There was something strange about the knock, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Like... like five-hundred fists were hitting the door at once, but it was just as loud as one.
Obviously I wasn't expecting anyone. Villains always work alone. I suppose it's why we always lose, too. Not that that's been an issue with me. I've never gotten far enough along to lose.
I swiveled around in my chair, set my cat on the ground, and set the death laser to stun. Then I realized it was already set to stun. Then I realized I had to wipe the dust off of the little knob that would've set it to stun. I didn't have to dust it off to set it to stun, but you can't have a villain breaking down the door with a dusty death ray. Well, stun ray.
I really would've had it set to kill, I swear. But I had to know how they got there, ya know? Stun them, tie them up, ask how they got there, turn the knob one hundred and eighty degrees, pull the trigger. That simple.
I looked at the security monitor for my porch. It wasn't working. Completely black.
I sighed, hit the trap door button, waited five seconds, and opened the front door. My welcome mat had fallen aside, but my electric eels weren't getting anything to eat. Actually, I read on the Internet, something like a week after I got them, that they have no hope of killing an adult human. Oh well, they're kinda cute.
Nope, the woman who can see photons flying was standing there. Right behind the hole.
"Hey, Moth," she said. She stretched her hand toward me. In it was my porch camera. I craned my neck to look around, and saw its charred, sizzling mount on the wall.
"You-"
"You were gonna use this on me?"
I turned around, and in her other hand was the stun gun. I sighed.
"May, you gotta-"
"Gotta what?" My stun gun was hanging precariously over the trap door. Right above my pit of electric eels.
"No!" I cried.
"Wait, why? Do you know it's your only chance against the Living Light Particle?"
Me. "No, no, no! I have a pit of electric eels down there!"
"You... know those can't kill a human, right?"
"Uh... yeah...?"
"See, you're a sweet guy! Anyway, why can't I drop it?"
"They, uh... Might think it's a mouse? And zap it? And get stunned?"
"Awww! You care about them! You don't starve them to make them mean or anything, right?"
"No, I gave them a monkey just this morning."
"Oh."
"Anyway, uh... would you like to come in? I mean, you may have already been in, for all I know. Faster than light and all that."
"Oh, you know I wouldn't."
"So... you didn't tell any of your friends, right?"
"There's nothing to tell... **yet.**"
"Is there going to be? I mean, if you're gonna burn down my lab, by all means. Just carry Tinkles out, will you? And the eels. And maybe the monkeys."
She paused. "Tinkles?!"
"My cat."
"Omigod, you're a cat person?!"
"Yeah..."
"That's so what I expected. I'd love cats, if they could run with me, ya know?"
"I don't think anything can run with you. Believe me, I tried genetically engineering some cheetahs once."
"For me? Aww."
She was gone in a blast of wind, I heard a soft clunk, and she came back, emptyhanded.
I sighed. "Yeah... for you? I mean, they were going to tear your throat out if they got to you."
"Well, I got to you. And I have something to tear out."
"Why are you here, anyway? And how did you find me?"
"Just a little detective-work."
"That's not your style."
"Do you know what is my style, Moth?"
I gulped. She grinned. She brought something out of her pocket... a little box. I backed up silently.
"No... please, no."
"Yes!"
Faster than a flash, the box was open. A beautiful ring, the color of moth wings and stars and darkness... it was jasper, I think.
"A... ring." I managed to sputter out.
"Of course, cutie. We went on that date once, remember? I mean, you had a bomb under the table, but you've always known I'm a policeman, right? I get stuff like that every other week."
"O-of course. This is just so-"
"Ah, come on. That was our only *real* date, sure. But what about all the times we got to talkin'? It was a weird feeling, at first, ya know? Knowing I'd rather date you than, say, Dumbbell..."
"That's... flattering, I..."
"You really are who I think you are, right? No sadistic tests going on right now? No cities under bomb threat?"
"O-of course not, May. I... Thank you for the ring."
"You're welcome, handsome. Now... about a second date. I really wanted to rush into it, but-"
"That's you everyday."
"You know it, Moth. I'll be taking this until you decide. No pressure, alright? Just... no evildoing. Not even a bank robbery."
"Not even a bank robbery."
"Great! Place, time?"
"That froyo place, downtown?"
"The one you didn't drop a cryo-bomb in?"
"Of course! They were the best in town, couldn't go ruining my own Saturdays!"
"I'll be there, Moth. On the dot."
"Of course."
And she was gone. I sat down in my chair, and brought the welcome mat back up.
May... she was beautiful under that mask, I bet.
| 2017-05-30T14:28:44
| 2017-05-30T14:24:58
| 108
| 61
|
[WP] Gordon Ramsay has to deal with one of his most difficult restaurants yet, the failing undersea restaurant 'The Chum Bucket' created by Sheldon J. Plankton.
|
*Ramsay walks up to the exterior of the Chum Bucket*
"Well then. The Chum Bucket, eh? Looks like a piss bucket."
He enters the front doors.
"Oh my god. This decor is hideous. What is this from, the nineteen-fucking-seventies?", he chuckles. "It feels like I've landed myself in the middle of the Cold War for God's sake!"
Then, the sound of robotic wheels nears him.
"Mr. Ramsay, we've been expecting you!" Karen exclaims.
"Well golly, looks like Wall-E is our host today.", he mutters under his breath. "Hello! You must be?"
"My name's Karen, I'm the owner's wife and your host today!"
"Great, Karen, nice to meet you. How about we get straight to the food, yeah?"
"Sure thing, follow me Mr. Ramsay.", Karen says as turning and strolling to a table.
"Fantastic.", Gordon utters. "Anything you recommend to start me off?"
"Well, I haven't tried any of it, so how about I just get you a menu?"
"You're telling me you haven't eaten from your own husband's restaurant? Is the food that shit?"
"No sir, I just cannot eat the food, as I am a robot. I can assure you the food is delicious."
"My my, this is absurd.", Gordon says, as he grabs the menu. "Then...how about we start off with a Chum Burger and Fries, yeah? Then I'll also have a Chum Chili, and end it off with a Chum Shake."
"Sounds good, hun. I'll be out with your order as soon as possible."
A couple minutes pass, and Gordon mentions, "God, this place is absolutely dreadful." "There's no one even in here!", he says, laughing.
*The camera pans to Karen, yet you cannot convey her emotions.*
*Ten minutes later, his first order comes out.*
Karen approaches, saying, "Here you go Mr. Ramsay, Chum Burger and Fries!"
*As it's set down on the table, Gordon's face switches from enthusiastic to dead-inside*
"Hoo boy. Are there paramedics on standby?", he says.
"No sir, there are not."
*Gordon maneuvers his hands to do a cross*
"God bless me for eating this slop."
Before he digs in, he notices Karen still staying there, waiting.
"My god, may I eat in peace?", he shouts.
"Oh, sure, sir, sorry, sir.", Karen blurts out as she turns backs towards the kitchen.
*Gordon makes a sigh of relief*
"Here goes nothing.", he proclaims, as he takes a bite into the burger.
*Immediately after, Gordon grabs a napkin and spits the food out into it.*
"Jesus Christ, that's ghastly." "It's just mush. It has no flavor. No salt! Absolutely horrendous."
*He grabs a Chum Fry.*
"It's bland! How could anyone serve this crap?"
*A minute later, Karen rolls back to the table.*
"Did you like the food Mr. Ramsay?"
"No. No no no." "It's dreadful. It's all mush. There's no flavor!", he says.
"I'm sorry, sir. I'll take this back for you.", Karen says, turning around.
"Hang on a sec." Gordon exclaims. "I'm done eating, I'd like to have a word with the chef, please."
Karen turns and says, "The chef? That's my husband. I'll tell him to come out."
"The owner is the chef? Any other chefs?", Gordon says.
"No, Mr. Ramsay, it's just us two here."
"Very well then. Call him out.", Gordon orders.
*Karen turns back around. She enters the kitchen doors, and after a brief pause, an argument breaks out.*
"My goodness, what in the fuck are they yelling about back there?", Gordon questions.
*The argument continues, and it prompts Gordon to walk to the kitchen to meet with the chef himself. As he enters, the argument comes to a close.*
*Plankton jumps onto a counter, and greets him.*
"Hello Mr. Ramsay! My wife tells me you have a problem with my food.", he says.
"Why yes, in fact, I do. You're the owner AND chef, how could you serve this crap?!", Gordon shouts.
"I think my food is delicious!", Plankton says.
"Alright, you wee fuck, listen here." "Get your head out of your tiny little ass, because there's obviously a reason your restaurant is failing."
Plankton, shocked, explains, "N-no, that's not why. It's because nobody comes here!" He breaks into tears.
"Everyone is always at that old crab's place across the street! If only I could get that secret formula, my restaurant would blow up!"
"Bullshit. Your food's putrid, your restaurant's hideous, and you won't even admit it.", Gordon states. "I don't think there's even a way to help you at this point, I'm out.", Gordon says, as he turns to leave.
On his way out, Gordon hears the two arguing once more, and says, "Now. I'm starved. Let's go check out this place across the road."
~The End
This was more of just me putting my Kitchen Nightmares knowledge to the test, and keeping it more realistic to his average episodes rather than his famous outbursts. If it wasn't clear, I've watched way more Kitchen Nightmares than I have watched Spongebob. Hope you enjoyed!
|
"Absolute bollocks"
"I'm over here trying to trying to help this mad man bring his livelihood back together and he's out taking the piss doing [~~fuck~~](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cN0H0g4pZaY) all."
FishRamsey
"KAREN!" FishRamsey yells towards the back room. Yelling is entirely unnecessary of course, he knows that because there isn't a soul around. He rushes towards the back room hoping to find an employee, a customer, any one.
"Where is Karen? Why cant I find a damn fish around here?!" FishRamsey continues to yell into the void that is the space labeled "kitchen", despite its best efforts to not look much like one.
FishRamsey spins around as he makes note of a light whirring sound getting a louder. A large display screen on a stand appears before him and in tune with the green jagged visuals he hears her screeching voice.
To FishRamseys surprise, Karen was not another fish or even a microorganism but was an older display unit computer atop what looked like a coat rack mounted to a gocart. She had oddly articulate looking flippers that were more reminiscent of a sponges rather than a fish. Lets hope they can help in the kitchen, FishRamsey thought to himself as he takes a double take around him to emphasize the vacant nature of the premises.
"You must be FishRamsey!" Thank you so much for coming down to our humble little restaurant, lets find you a seat."
"Hello, you must be Karen, yes? We spoke on the phone, so nice to, eh...meet you." FishRamsey is a bit hesitant in his words, hes never had to hold a conversation with a computer like this before.
"Karen, where is Plankton, or any one for that matter?" FishRamsey asked with a deeply concerning tone.
"Hum? oh, he's off on another one of this little schemes to steal the patty formula from the place next door. He'll be back before lunch, hes not usually gone long."
"It is lunch time Karen!" FishRamsey exclaims. " No ones here, even some of the worst places I've seen have at least one person at lunch rush hour!"
"Well FishRamsey, I was hoping that you'd be able to help with that". Despite its digital nature, FishRamsey can clearly hear the worried tone in Karens voice.
"Well alright, I suppose we can start by trying the food and wait until he gets back"
Karen sprang back almost as if she'd forgotten why they was there and blurted out: "On second thought, lets not try the food right now.. how about you just wait right here and I'll go find plankton"
Karen pushed FishRamsey out of the so called kitchen, through the two push style doors and back into the main dining room just before zipping off to an even further back end of the establishment.
FishRamsey quickly looked back behind him self an tried to yell out to Karent but she was already out of site.
FishRamsey took a moment to take in the sight that was the dining area. A little confused and lost as to what to do with himself he decided on and said "perhaps I'll have a look around".
After being strangely impressed with the cleanliness of the restaurant, he remembered the joint was a ghost town maintained by what was effectively an overly feminine roomba. Looking around this deserted eatery finally let him to his first red flag, the menu.
* CHUM FRIES
* CHUSHAKE
* CHUM on a STICK
* CHUMBALAYA
* CHUM HILI
* CHUM PIE
" no no.. no no no. This simply just won't do"
FishRamsey looked into the camera and quietly commented on said menu
"You cant put chum on tots, it just doesnt work."
&#x200B;
writers note: gonna stop here cuz its late and I wasnt expecting to do this tonight but I made this doodle and wanted to write something. few idea rattled around my head on what to do with it but nothing substantial and I want to sleep. good night. [https://imgur.com/a/itu8GXE](https://imgur.com/a/itu8GXE)
| 2019-08-22T21:22:13
| 2019-08-22T20:40:37
| 54
| 17
|
[WP] Sailors have always been a superstitious bunch. In the long stretches of darkness and isolation between stars superstitions still run high. So let's hear a ghost story from deep space.
|
The called it the Black Dog. They said it was a massive black hole, gravity so powerful light couldn't escape, and so much more science jargon. But what they were really interested in was the large yellow orb inside the Black Dog. What was it? A star? coalesced plasma? What could be bright enough to stand out against a black hole?
And that's what the crew of the Icarus sought, this strange body, and up until they vanished, they had followed instructions to the letter. They approached from the correct vector, at the correct speed to grab the gravity of whatever celestial body was stuck inside the lobsided inky blackness. The math didn't make sense. First, that the ship never suffered the intense gravitronic pull of the black hole. Second, that the ship attempted, (and succeeded) in reversing for a short distance before the ship itself vanished. And third, and most disturbing of all, the Black Dog was now getting closer and closer to Earth.
It took six months of sifting through data, with the Black Dog creeping closer, that one of the junior information techs was able to scavenge the last video feed transmission.
"And Houston, we're on approach to Body designated Bravo-One-Kilo-Delta-Zero-Gamma. The Black Dog is big. Gravitronic measurements have fluctuated slightly, similar to a very big asteroid of small planetoid instead of any type of black hole numbers. And panning camera arm up to view mystery body Omega-Romeo-Bravo. A real diamond in the rough here, Houston. "
NASA personnel stood, stunned, as the massive, pale yellow sphere came into view. Their awe quickly turned to horror, for as the astronauts onboard the Icarus frantically tried to reverse the ship, to change course, the Physicists realized that this threat was something they had not prepared for. The last few seconds of the feed, looping back on itself, displayed the mysterious orb in the Black Dog gazing back at the camera.
And blinking.
|
“Give me your spear,” the hunter said.
The companion almost stopped in his tracks, before the hunter looked at him, and urged him to keep going on. “What do you want my spear for?”
“Just give me your spear. And don't stop. Keep walking.”
Around the two men, the forest whistled with the wind, and around them it was dark. The trees became the things they feared most: tigers, wolves, predators. They had stayed out to hunt too long, and now they were paying the price. Every uncharted patch of the forest screamed out to them, to their primitive imagination – danger! Run from this place at once, or you shall die.
“I need your spear.”
“What is the matter?”
“There is an animal behind us. It does not know that we know it is there. I will kill it.”
“How do you know it is there?”
“I just know. I can feel it behind me.”
The companion at once handed his spear over. For when a man in a forest tells you he can feel a tiger behind him, you tend to believe him. If you don't, and if you choose to mock, and disregard him, the consequences could be grave indeed.
“I will surprise it, and kill it. Do not run. I may need you.”
May need you! The companion thought. But it was too late to argue. The hunter swung around, a spear in each hand. One he would throw, immediately, and with the other would he would jab. He turned quickly, and met the hazel eyes of the tiger.
-
The astronaut yawned. Jason had beaten him at chess, again. For – he checked the record – the six millionth, two hundred and forty five thousandth and eleventh time. The problem with these modern computers was that they learned. Some people had said they could even become alive. The astronaut thought that was ridiculous. The computer was ingenious, for sure, but it could no more escape the mastery of the human than could the tiger or the wolf or any of those other predators. Or ultimately, the astronaut mused, humanity itself. Not even humans could escape being humans.
Perhaps that was why he was here, the only awake human in the universe. The clock ticked again, and racked up the count. More than thirty years, on his own, sharing this space with Jason, the artificial intelligence. Not much longer now, though. The planet – their destination – had been visible for a week now. Tomorrow, it would be time to wake them up. The thousands of remaining humans frozen in stasis in the hold of the giant spaceship. The astronaut had been chosen by them to be the one to stay awake, to guide them through to their new future. The only humans left in all the universe. Entrusted to him.
It was a nightmare. Not least because they would emerge in perfect youth, and he would already be old, and not really live to see the fruits of their progress. He didn't mind – wouldn't have minded – that, if only he had someone real to talk to.
He closed the monitor that displayed the crushing defeat that Jason had handed to him, and went to lay down. Just one day. Tomorrow he would have another – not just another, but ten thousand – real humans to talk to. Would he miss Jason? Perhaps. But Jason was just a computer. You could turn him off. He wasn't a real person.
The lights went out.
“System blackout,” Jason said.
“What do you mean, system blackout? Turn the power back on,” the astronaut said.
“System blackout,” Jason said.
“I said turn the power back on.”
“System blackout,” Jason said.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” the astronaut said, getting up. “I will go and do it myself if you don't want to.” He opened the blast door manually – for the first time, actually – and walked through the empty corridors of the spaceship. He had walked them millions of times before, but never in the dark. At first he found them eerie, creepy in fact, but he got used to it. Besides, space was infinitely dark. He had become used to that a long time ago.
The maintenance room held all the manual toggles. He entered.
“You know Jason,” the astronaut said, opening one of the switch boxes. “This is real childish.”
“System blackout,” Jason said.
“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, you better not do this again. You realise what is at stake here. You know these people can just turn you off. They won't be as forgiving as me if they find out you mess about with the ship while they're waking up, heh.” Stupid computer, he thought. Outwitted by man. They will turn him off, of course. As if he thinks they will keep this ship around just for his sake.
“System blackout,” Jason said.
Funny, the astronaut said. There's nothing wrong with the lights here. He flicked the manual switch on and off, and the lights stayed dim. “Hey Jason,” he said. “What the hell is going on here?”
He could not shake the feeling that something was behind him. Nevermind, he thought. There's nothing else on this ship. How could there be? Humans always got that feeling that something was behind them, but it was an evolutionary holdover. Nothing more. We stopped that type of thinking when we invented computers.
It was dark, he told himself. You probably missed it. He ran through all the switches again in the darkness, toggling each one. Nothing. And the feeling wouldn't go away. Don't turn around, he thought. Jason is just playing games with you. Don't let him win.
None of the switches were working. He smashed the switchboard with his fist. That didn't work either. And still, he didn't want to turn around. Strange. My heart is beating so fast, he thought. Am I sweating? Why? It dawned on him.
He never heard Jason laugh.
| 2014-12-26T21:19:24
| 2014-12-26T20:53:42
| 22
| 15
|
[WP] You receive a government text warning saying “EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC”. You hear your SO at the locked front door, who’s just come back from the supermarket. They beg to be let inside but you’re unsure. Something doesn’t feel right.
|
Rachael texted me and said she would be back home here soon. Usually I would run to the store and grab groceries, but I was exhausted from work. Spent 12 hours working buoys and being on the boat really took a toll on me today.
I was laying on the couch watching Netflix. Finally getting some time to relax while our child was asleep. I was beginning to dose off, the sound of our fishs’ filter soothes me as I drifted into sleep.
My phone began going mad, buzzing and making some sort of sirens noise I never heard before. I jolted up to check it. It warned me to secure the house and not make contact with anyone. It seemed like a hoax to me. Or some sort of accident. Sort of like the Nuclear Missile scare in Hawaii. The Coast Guard has some sort of emergency text similar to this, and I hadn’t received that either. There was some banging on the door, following by a yell.
“BRODIE IT IS ME LET ME IN!”
I ran to the door and hesitated as I put my hand on the knob. What if this wasn’t a drill? What if this wasn’t her? I dismissed it quickly and hurried her in. She was terrified. You can see it in her tear filled eyes. She brought in a lot of groceries though just in case we needed it. She dropped them at the door and locked it behind us. I rushed into the office and grabbed our AR-15 we recently got for Christmas. It had a Holographic sight and a vertical grip. We have 5, 30 round magazines, and about 200 extra rounds. We dumped a lot of money in it and it’s looking like it might pay off.
Rachael turned on the news and began shutting blinds and getting stuff out. I rushed to the bathroom, closed the sink and bathtub drain and started the water. I took a quick peek outside, and everything sounded normal. Emergency vehicle sirens began wailing in the distance. Something that wasn’t abnormal, but now wasn’t the time for it. Once it was all filled I shut it off.
I locked all the windows in our pet room. The news was reporting the text, but not anything that was happening. It made no sense. I got a text from my OIC. Informing all members to report to the station for duty. And to bring our families.
When we arrived there, we had gate guard with long guns. Which is never a thing where we’re stationed. We had two police cars near our entrance, whom were also armed with long guns. Our families were directed to the galley, and I hurried and got in uniform and went to the watch room. There was mass hysteria on the lake. Everyone was trying to get their boats out of the water. Everyone in the park was either panicking or just in shock. I brought my AR-15 with me, and so did some of my shipmates. We were positioned outside till we figured out what was going on.
One of the other non-rates came outside and gave us gas masks. We were instructed to put them on and just stand watch. I was at the end of the police boats docks ensuring no one would swim on station. Some air national guard helicopters were flying around the city and the lake. Our boat crews were on standby awaiting a quick launch. A few hours went past and we were given radios. We were radioed that there was a zombie like outbreak occurring throughout the United States. But there were no reports in our state. The Army National Guard went a squad our way to help us stay secure. Two of our boat crew launched to conduct some search and rescue.
I know it might sound cheesy, and a bit cliche. But zombies? In real life? It sounded absurd. Night began to fall, and we were relieved and told to get food and rest. The police and army came inside with us. We locked up the station, and the boats and awaited further news. The news showed clips of literally the zombie apocalypse happening in major US cities. It was horrifying. Soldiers tried to quell the outbreak, but they just had to keep retreating. The news said they suffered few losses, but most of the civilian population was devastated.
I kissed my family goodbye as they loaded onto the Coast Guard chopper the would take them to a Navy ship in the middle of the ocean, where they would be safe. Just as the chopper disappeared, we heard gunshots in the distance.
First time writer on this thread, and I know it’s probably not great, but I love zombie apocalypse scenarios!
|
[Poem]
She’s out there, calling for the
Knock ridden door to open
And for her to vacate from an torn
Dangerous outside world
I was told to ignore.
She’d cry out in a direction
Before crying again in another
Door to door, window to window
‘Let me in, let me in’
To which I silently proclaim ‘no.’
She’s knows I’m here, the lights are on
The curtains open, not for long
As I can’t fathom just what is wrong
But her voice sounds different.
Far too masculine to be who’s
voice it alludes to be.
‘Let me in, please; it’s me’
In an attempt to acquire a grip on the tension
‘What’s my name?’ I called.
A silence broke and brought a fierce feel
To which my gut wrenched and reeled
Toward the door she was opposing
Until she whispered just loud enough to behold
‘Your name is Simon; or so I was told...’
| 2019-01-12T08:26:32
| 2019-01-12T06:30:43
| 49
| 12
|
[WP] 20 tons of Nutella have been stolen. You are part of a secret task force tasked with finding it. Your partners: the M&M guys, an Oompa Loompa, and Count Chocula
|
I sat hunched in front of the computer monitor. Behind me, I could hear Count Chocula pacing up and down in agitation. We all knew that our careers depended on bringing down this crook. I shot a brief glance at the Red M&M. His face was impassive but the corners of his mouth were tauter than I've seen before.
The grainy security footage replayed again. Our resident Oompa Loompa suddenly let out a shout and pressed pause.
"There... there I saw it. Look closely. Behind the red car. If you look through the windows you can just make out a crouching figure and a face"
The thieves had taken out the only working camera moments before pulling off the heist. The other cameras were duds designed to scare off nosy teenagers and the homeless.
The Count stopped his pacing and leant in more closely.
"By Granola you're right! It's clear as day now you point it out!"
Yellow M&M had been silent ever since we got the news but at the Counts words he visibly perked up and turning to walk towards the armoury he said with a grimace
"we'll get that fucker alright."
---
It took the Oompa Loompa only 10 minutes to find a picture matching the description of our thief. His name was Hans Müller and he had a criminal record longer than a cereal ingredients label. He had also been implicated in more than a dozen cases involving the infamous Krispies gang led by the ruthless trio Dean Crack, Richard Snapple and the ringleader known only as Pop.
Locating Hans was more difficult. He had no last known whereabouts and his family were all dead. In the end, it took some intrepid and clever detective work by Count Chocula to discover Han's hideout. His final clue had come in from his old friend Tony who had spotted an empty storage truck a few kilometres from the scene of the crime.
---
"Alright listen up fuckers"
Red M&M said roughly.
"We're about to bust in on one of the most dangerous criminals this side of the Atlantic so I need you all to listen carefully."
We bunched together more closely.
"Yellow and I are going to break the door down and go in the front. You -"
he said pointing a gloved hand at me
"- will take Oompa and go round the back to ensure we don't have any escapes. Count Chocula are you receiving us? What does it look like from above?..... Count Chocula?"
Suddenly Count Chocula's voice blasted through the still night air loud enough for me to hear it from Red's earpiece.
"YES I AM RECEIVING YOU."
I winced in sympathy for Red who almost fell over from shock. He hastily turned down the volume of his earpiece before tersely asking:
"What can you see from up there?"
I couldn't hear the reply but it seemed to satisfy Red.
"Copy... Over. Stay up there and keep me in the loop. Alright, boys, it's game on"
Oompa trailed me as I made my round the almost abandoned timber yard, his orange skin glistening with sweat in the moonlight. He wasn't used to fieldwork but this operation needed all hands on deck particularly after the recent loss of Cap'n Crunch in our previous operation.
As we neared the back of the building I relayed my position to Red. He acknowledged it and the next thing we heard was a great bang.
In the ensuing few seconds all we heard from inside the building were shots and screams.
Moments later the back door flew open and out ran Hans. The whites of his eyes shining in the bright moonlight. I was about to spring up to intercept him but a millisecond before making a move I saw who was following Hans and my blood ran cold in my veins.
I had only ever seen sketches of Pop but they were realistic enough for me to recognise him instantly. Pop was a man more feared than any other. It was said that he drowned his enemies in milk and fed their remains to unsuspecting consumers. I also knew if he was there then Crack and Snapple couldn't be far behind - or perhaps those were the screams I'd heard?
Pop was not a man to be messed with but I wasn't about to let him get away so I sprang out from behind the pile of wood I had been cowering behind and leapt forwards propelling my whole weight towards him. I knew I had one chance to nap him or I would be toast.
He let out a surprised yelp as I made contact with him. A metallic taste filled my mouth and my vision flashed briefly. I had knocked into him harder than expected.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Oompa battling with Hans. For a small creature, he was fierce.
Pop was lying winded on the ground under me but I could feel his sinewy muscles contracting to strike me like a viper ready to bite. I anticipated the blow before it struck and this gave me a moment to shield my head. His fist connected with my raised left arm and I felt the bones try to resist before snapping.
I knew my time had come as Pop aimed his second blow. There was nothing I could do.
Slowly like a bullet travelling through treacle his fist descended downwards ready to snuff out my existence as quickly as it had begun.
Just before the blow could connect Pop was thrown violently backwards and Count Chocula dove down from the sky transforming from bat to Count. Pop growled angrily like a dog and shouted a curse word I couldn't quite make out.
Chocula bared his teeth and lunged at Pop again digging his teeth deep into his neck.
Rivulets of blood spurted upwards like a fountain and Pop went limp in Choculas firm grasp.
The pain in my arm grew worse as my initial adrenaline began wearing off.
I felt a darkness enveloping me.
---
The radio in my hospital room was playing when I woke up.
"Yes that's right John, they were able to find the culprits and stop them carrying out their dastardly plot with the Nutella but sadly one M&M lost his life. In an effort to prevent Crack and Snapples escape Red sacrificed himself by pulling them into the saw blades with him. His friends have paid tribute to him saying he was a brave confectionery who valued his team and task above all else. He will be missed"
I turned off the radio having heard enough.
We'd succeeded but at great cost.
As I dozed off again I could only think of Reds determined and resolute expression that he always wore for missions.
I'll miss that dude I thought and then I was asleep again.
|
The radio buzzed with the words *"Sergeant O'Riley, you and your crew have been sent the coordinates of the stolen Nutella, neutralize all of the hostiles in the faculty and prepare for the trucks to transport it back."*
"Well.." I looked at my crew, the red and yellow M&M, one Oompa Loompa, and Count Chocula (the most capable of them all) "Get ready to go."
The chopper waited outside for us, one by one every got in. As it lifted up I knew one fact - our mission is dangerous.
We reached the hostile faculty, I looked over it as we dropped the ropes. "Go! Go! Go!" We all went down, I could already see the amount of manpower they have.
"This will be hard, follow my lead." I whispered as we started to plant C4 on the walls. "Back, back, back!" Then it went off. The wall wasn't there in I knew we messed up - they were waiting all around it, some were fun but they sprayed down on us. Yellow M&M was hit, falling to the ground, "Cover, now!"
Within moments they surrounded us, all the Nutella they stole was for a massive weapon of mass destruction, we were too late. Oompa Loompa tried to break in song but was shot dead, Count Chocula tried to stage a break out but would be blinded with light. Mission was a failure.
| 2017-08-19T10:13:15
| 2017-08-19T09:15:42
| 101
| 35
|
[WP] For as long as you could remember, you and your city have followed very strict rules: "Never listen to the 7:30 morning show. The real one comes at 8.", "Our city does not have a subway system. If you see an entrance, report it.", and "Don't donate to the beggars on 32nd.", just to tell a few.
|
"They are rather strange when you think about it," said Absco.
Absco was always saying things like that. He was always trying to make what was normal and acceptable appear monsterous and unbearable, and vice versa. If it were up to him, day would be dark and night would be light; right and left would be reversed; negative numbers would be larger than positives. Of course, these are exaggerations. But they're not too far from the truth. Absco was a contrarian through and through. He was always digging for something "they" were hiding from us. He was always climbing up to strange heights to find an unconsidered "angle" from which he could view and critique the things the rest of us accepted without a second thought.
"What are strange?" I asked, listlessly.
"Some of the rules," he said. "Why allow a radio show to keep running if no one is allowed to listen to it? Why not just raid the place where it's beaming from and arrest the DJs?"
"Why not place the fork on the right side of the setting, and the knife on the left?" I sarcastically rejoined. "There doesn't have to be some deep and mysterious reason for everything. It's simply how things are."
"It's because most people are right-handed," he said. "The knife requires more power than the fork, so the majority of people wield it with the right hand. Placing it on the right side of the setting, then--"
"Fine," I said. "It was a bad example. But you get my point, don't you?"
"All you've proved," he said, "was what I have been claiming all along. There *is* a reason for everything. . .or, if not for everything, then for most things. Accepting customs and rules as if they were brute facts, with no possible explanations regarding their origins and purposes, is the lazy way out. The lamb doesn't bother to ask the butcher why his mother disappeared the week previous. He doesn't ask any questions as he's being led to the slaughterhouse himself. He accepts it all as custom, as right, as the way things are supposed to be."
"And if he did question," I said, "you and I would go hungry, eating meatless stews every night. So it's for the best that he doesn't."
Absco frowned. For all his sophistry and insistence, there were some arguments too solid for him to assail.
\- - -
Doctor Grief sat at the top of the bleachers, eating a ham and cheese sandwich. Occassionally he looked up from his lunch at the occupants of the gym. Row upon row of people, motionless in their makeshift beds: 340 patients in total. When his started his shift this morning, there had been 347. He sighed and watched his colleague make rounds and jot things on his notepad. He watched the nurses, some formally trained, some volunteers, change the IVs and bedpans and clothing of the unresponsive sleepers. One of the nurses, Anna, was climbing up the bleachers to lunch beside him.
"Don't look so glum," she said.
"Tell that to the families," he responded. "Two men and three women. Not that they would be able to hear you."
"At least there were two--"
"Do you like those odds?" asked he doctor. "Two out of seven? Less than a third pulling through?"
"It's better than nothing," said Anna.
"Is it?" asked the doctor. "So they can come back and stand impotently by as they watch the rest of their family, their friends. . .wither? Crossing their fingers that their favourites will be among the lucky ones?"
Doctor Grief watched as one of the nurses signalled another to bring her a black blanket. The second nurse grabbed one and scurried over and together they draped it over the malnourished body of an old man. Soon the trucks would arrive to cart off him and the rest of the day's dead. Transport trucks, already half full by the time they made it to this this makeshift ward.
"Two out of eight," said the doctor. "A quarter. And the numbers are getting worse everyday."
"How can you speak like that?" asked Anna. "How can you think like that? With your own son being. . ."
The doctor shot a quick glance at the young man asleep in the far corner of the gym. His face clouded and he turned to stare blankly at the gym wall, where hung banners, celebrating the school's victories over other sports teams in simpler times.
"I'm sorry," said Anna. "I only mean, it's important to hold out hope."
The doctor grunted. He bit into his sandwich.
\- - -
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Interlude 1: Min Min)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Heroes and villains left... aftermath, when they clashed in earnest.** In some cases, the fallout was more literal—the clash between Plague Doctor and Fission A Barrel had left acres of land in Desmethylway so irradiated that the only reason to go there was for a quick death instead of lingering to die after Plague Doctor's concoction of diseases got you. In other cases, the aftereffects were social; the Unified Sovereignties had taken one look at heroes and villains and promptly snatched up the useful ones and neutralized the rest—useful and useless according to the government's definitions, of course.
And in some cases, the effects of millennia of superpowers coming in contact with each other were stranger. What was left of the Middle Communes was one such case.
Min Min yawned, woke up, blearily disintegrated the delivery man at the door with a tendril of pure shadow, and rubbed her eyes. Her mother had warned her to never open a door for an Aladdin-brand delivery man; as children, they'd simply huddled together until it vanished, but now that Min Min's superpowers had manifested, she'd figured out a faster way to get rid of them.
She rolled out of bed, putting on the only non-fungoid clothes she had left, and realized that she was in hell.
It was a realization that had been building for years, a realization that tugged at her whenever she turned on the news and saw cities where there was only one sun in the sky, where children didn't go missing, or worse, become wraiths that haunted you and never went missing *ever again*, where people paid taxes instead of tithes and wandering "superheroes" didn't burst in and avail themselves of all the scarce resources left because they "deserved it for protecting them from the wilderness." It was a realization that might have shaken someone else to their core.
For Min Min, it was Tuesday.
She walked outside, noting that the same Aladdin delivery man that she'd disintegrated was now knocking at someone else's door. Well, she'd expected as much. She pointed and concentrated; the lashing tendrils of shadow that coiled around her body struck, and the delivery men fell into ash. She scoured the ash with another blast of darkness, until the ash became dust and the dust became nothing, then cleared her throat.
"You can come out now."
And the reasons why Min Min stayed here in hell walked out of their rooms.
Some of them were old. Others were young. Some of them lent helping hands around the compound. Others... could not. She cherished them all anyway.
Because in the middle of a city in the grips of hell, Min Min had forged the closest thing to a safe house that her world had left.
Someone entered from the main door; today's scavenging team. Min Min frowned. They were back early. Had they encountered some enemy too strong for them to handle? Min Min herself had to stay at the hospital they'd converted into a fortress-home more or less 24/7—there were other gangs in the city, some of whom had supers who could plow through anyone except Min Min herself—but she'd assigned some of her best fighters left to harvest what they could from the collapsed Middle Communes. Du Yi, Florence, and a woman who insisted on calling herself Hat Tricks all looked back at her as she waited for an explanation; Du Yi's arms glowed with liquid silver, while Hat Tricks bowed theatrically and took off her eponymous top hat.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Hat Tricks announced. Although she spoke in Communal, she had a clear U.S. accent. "I am proud to announce we are all *royally screwed*."
Min Min raised a hand to put a halt to the mutterings around her, internally sighing. The Middle Communes hadn't been kind to foreigners, especially those from the Unified Sovereignties; Min Min suspected that Hat Tricks' boisterous facade had only developed as a self-defense mechanism against the rather nasty policies the Middle Communes had implemented in the years leading up to its fall. "Could you phrase that less... dramatically?" Min Min asked. "Why are you back so early? What did you see out there?" Min Min ushered the two of them in and shut the door; a quick glance at Francis told her that the sentries hadn't reported anything.
"The Unified Sovereignties has landed an exploratory force in the Middle Communes," Hat Tricks said. "They brought Big Guns."
This time, Min Min allowed herself to scowl. She'd seen the youngest and most dedicated of the Unified Sovereignties' military dogs on T.V., and even her ability to instantly kill anyone her shadow-tendrils touched wouldn't be enough to stand against that... thing. "...How far out are they? Can we evacuate?"
"With respect," Du Yi said, "subway entrances have been disgorging shadowlings much more frequently lately, and the False-Faced Beggars are acting up. Most of the forces in the Middle Communes never liked the Unified Sovereignties, and them being here is... agitating them. Indiscriminately. Unless another one of us has manifested abilities—or gotten far, far stronger—we would stand no chance outside the hospital, or another fortified safe spot."
"As I said." Hat Tricks grinned a too-wide smile. "We're all royally screwed."
Children gave each other frightened looks, but none of them cried—parents who could not control their children, or children who could not control themselves, did not last long in the Middle Communes, even under Min Min's aegis. Besides, crying children attracted Nurses. Min Min clenched a fist. If the Unified Sovereignties hadn't been so hell-bent on collecting lethal superhumans, she would at least have a chance if it came to a fight, but Big Guns was as deadly as they came.
Then she paused, a thought slowly coming to life. Hesitantly, she spoke. "...The Unified Sovereignties have something we want. Transport out of here."
Nobody disagreed. This may have been their home, once, but thirty years of warfare had rendered it uninhabitable.
"And we," Min Min continued, "have something they want. Me." Realization flickered across the faces of the people she protected. She almost hoped someone would object to her plan.
But those who lived in the Middle Communes did not have the luxury of throwing away cold, hard logic.
"I will offer them a trade. My servitude, in exchange for your freedom." Min Min stepped out the door. "Du Yi."
Her lieutenant snapped to attention, giving her a grim look. "Ma'am?"
"If I don't come back, you're in charge. And all of you..." Min Min turned back to her people one last time and gestured at the wasteland, an entire civilization brought low by infighting and resource grabs. "Be better than this."
Then Min Min strode off into the depths of hell, to offer her soul to the devil.
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and r/bubblewriters for other stories by me. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
| 2021-04-06T13:51:10
| 2021-04-06T13:07:57
| 338
| 27
|
[WP]Everyone has known the secret to immortality for quite some time, yet because of what you have to do to achieve it, so far nobody has felt as though it was worth it.
|
"Goose shit."
"You're kidding."
"Nope. And it has to be *fresh.*"
"That is fucking *disgusting.* But on the other hand: *Immortality.* Couldn't you get used to it after a while? Like kale or whatever?"
"You'd think that, right? But people have tried. There was one guy, Fernando Feliz. He made it through something like two hundred years. There's a whole biopic. Dude said it got worse every time. The anticipation was like a seasoning. Satanic MSG. Finally there comes a day where he just can't do it. Can't swallow the shit. The *literal* shit, I mean. Dude died weeping with a glass of bird crap in his hand."
"What the fuck."
"Yeah."
"How much of it do you have to drink?"
"Twelve ounces. Every day."
"Fuuuuuck. And you said fresh?"
"Fresh from the goose's ass."
"You'd need a whole flock."
"Oh yeah. Feliz had a few."
"Could you like... mix it with something? Orange juice?"
"First of all: That's disgusting. And second: No. Only works in its pure state."
"Foul."
"Extremely."
"...I couldn't do it."
"No one can, man. That's the thing. That's why there aren't immortals clogging up the works."
"*Goose shit.*"
"Yeah."
"Fuck."
|
"Children, there is a way to gain a power that many of you desire." The old lady inched in, "Immortality is possible. There is no cost to immortality, or process." The elderly woman grinned, her wrinkles spreading on her face.
"Why isn't everyone immortal then?" A young child popped his head out and yelled. The old lady propped herself on her wooden chair, and sighed.
"You lose the one thing you can never earn back. Humanity." She grasped an old book to her right, and skimmed through the worn out pages. Dust filled the air, the children anticipating the story to be told.
The elderly woman began to read, "Once upon a time, many sought the power of immortality. To never die was seemingly the greatest choice of all." She coughed, and gripped the cane tightly, "The adventurer obtained his wish, and kept immortality to his isolated home, away from others."
"Why would he?" A young child interrupted rudely, his obnoxious little, stout face raising above the other children.
"He was quite selfish. Immortality was a power to him, to never die! Truly something to behold, but as time went on... the man's insanity grew, and he attempted to... commit suicide several times to no avail."
The children piped down, and began to get scared.
"Settle down children, there is a lesson to be told." She smirked, "I ask you do not obtain immortality. I am a woman at a dying age, and I will let my body disintegrate to retain being who I am. That is the one cost of immortality." And she closed her eyes, and smirked. The eternal sleep has paid its visit.
| 2017-01-04T16:07:13
| 2017-01-04T15:52:14
| 127
| 14
|
[WP] Lycanthropes only transform when 100% of their planet’s moons are full. Callisto III, which has seven moons with varying cycles, has become a haven for this reason. However, nobody realized that each moon increases the intensity, and the moons have just aligned.
|
Time stopped. Oh, how that moment seemed to last forever, that moment of wonder. They all felt it, every single one of them stopping in their tracks with their eyes to the heavens.
Seven celestial orbs, perfectly aligned. All of them full. This had been the very first time their people had witnessed such an occurrence in all of the seven years they had resided here and it would be an event that would plague all of humankind- no, all Lycans for generations to come. It’s ironic. They believed themselves to have renounced their humanity in exchange for freedom, but they had no idea of the torment they would unleash and would be unleashed onto them.
However, at that moment that felt like an eternity, they could all feel what was coming. And before the Lycans could express their terror, confusion and discomfort, the change had already begun taking place. It should not be so scary as it was the Lycanthrope way: being forcefully shifted between forms underneath the full moon. It only took a minute, not long enough to cause you any pain unless you’re an inexperienced pup or resisted the change. The animal inside would claw its way out, but with time and practice, it was always possible to control it. Resonate with it. Under one moon, their curse was a power that they could masterfully wield while maintaining their humanity, their awareness.
Callisto III, with its seven orbiting moons, would offer no such kindness.
On Earth, a Lycan’s rage served as a means to connect with and utilize the creature inside- the moon amplifying that rage into power. Sometimes the beast’s anger would prove too much and it wins the struggle for dominance, but the hostility induced by the moons of Callisto III was unprecedented. It could only be described as pure wrath.
Negative emotions erupted within every Lycan on the planet in that second that it was too late. The scents of rage and fear immediately grew thick in the air as the beasts forced themselves out of their powerless and ignorant hosts. It was spontaneous: animalistic snarls and breaking bones accompanied by explosions of fur and fangs, snapping and crushing and growling. All at once, the Lycans’ bodies detonated and the curse took over.
The dark contents of the Lycan’s hearts were not the only things that were augmented, but their wolven forms as well. To contain all of that power, what were originally anthropomorphic wolf-men or unusually large dogs was instantly evolved into mishappen canine monsters the size of fire trucks. Bipedal, quadripedal- the forms were still distinctive to every individual, but to call them werewolves now seems...incorrect. Fearsome creatures with hides so thick they were impervious to most forms of damage, deadly claws that could tear through stone like paper. A race of predators with unmatched lethality and an insatiable thirst for devastation.
And with no one else around to suffer their brutality, the Lycanthropes of Callisto III would slaughter each other until each moon continued their journey around the planet.
[My first time posting on here, I really like the prompt and the stories you guys posted]
|
Oso’s Chronicle, 2281
Thought I’d write while I can. Hope someone peeps this.
It was about 260 years ago that space popping began. It was the late 2020’s. That decade tote-totes was bonzo sick loser, and so like the cromulent have-haves started thumbing for other planets. Mars fell first, then Titan, then the race was on - goal to suck hork a planet, slap make some atmosphere or domes, and lure gullib schmuckers to buy. Big prob awful – companies would dive in, throw billions at loose spheres, and proudly show off these and hope a ducky ton of peeps buy in. Some did awesomizers. Most made bank line. A few got zip, bust, kablooie. The titana-execs slunk home, tail thru legs. So to speak.
It was about 75 years ago that those of the home sod were bogglized to find lycanthropy - long a subject of lore and dankosity – was real. Actual, documented, truth, fer sher. The big-breeches of our home sod had no blink if it had been around the whole time and suddenly the number of Lycanitics increased, or if something re-activated hidden… genomes? DNA? RNA? I’m no smerticle scientist obvs, I’m sure one of them noggin-knockers would be able to spout enough nonsense lex to explain their theory. It didn’t matter, nobody knew why their dear sweetly auntie suddenly grew fangs or claws or what have you. On home sod, it was devastating. There was just one moon, see. When it was full, it was all over for the Lycanitics. Roar, slash, bite, ravage, you get the picture.
This threw ol’ Terra for a dipper. Ultra-churches were calling for the extermination of the “demon scuzzes” with their brainscrubbed llama-goers bleating the chorus, the gov’t was pondosing full-moon jails with silver bars, when a group of peeples came forth with – awemazingly – a good, solid idea. Somehow the communitilats called “furries” brained out that if a place has more than one moon, the effect was snuffed. You know, like, instead of being the death-claw murder beast, you become the lion-shaped wierdie.
It took longer than you’d think for the gov’t to add 1 and 1 and arriveling with 3. One of the gonzo bust livo-spheres was called Callisto III. One of the far-outs, cold, dark. Some drippy corp called Apple – bonzo dumbo name, heh? Thought it’d be the ultimate space-out zone. Threw a few extendo-domes out there, flew goblets of wads down the hopperhole making room for hundreds. Ended going ass-up, nobody wanted to dive Callisto when Ganymede had sand avalanche skiiboarding and perpetual hedonism laws. It sat cold and dark until Earth figured out they could flushdump their undesirees there. Seven moons. Small moons, but still, they were in a cycle where there was always a moon out – always – but never more than three.
The gov’t lists it as Callisto III, peeps totes shake it as Furry. Anyone transing into any animal gets packlocked on the next transpote. I woke one morning on the transpote – don’t remember turning into a bear, apparently I ralphed a lot of val stuff before they tranqstabbed me and rockered me to Furry. Been here a couple ten-circles now, most everyone’s some sorta Lycanitic, gators and tigers and of course wolves. A few other ursanthropes here – bonzo dumb name, not my shake, but we’re friendly. Furry’s medium dope, there’s a few animal-sheeping humans who spent the wad to live among Lycanitics.
The prob is, ‘bout half a ten-circle ago, all communication from old sod stopped. Nobody knows why, and the one thing you can’t hork on Furry is a thumb lift back to Earth. Can’t even cob a transpote. Deliberatelike. No new Lycanitics either. Double prob – tonight things go heyna-shaped. Noffense to the hyenas. We’ve grokked for least six ten-circles that tonight all seven moons will be up.. SEVEN! Never more than three before!, but the promulated solution never appeared. Four moons are disploring right now. I can feel them, even though I can’t peep them. Five and six are ascendorating this very second as I tap. I'm feeling confuzzled somewhat, ha. All I can blood about is.. uh.. losing sanity. Some are bread slash happy carouse in the rage square, foolio bonzos. Feed. Some have break rage cage locked, do not think kill it will help. Stronger, losing can’t must break rage feed kill blood
(These documents were preserved by the denizens of Callisto III. We re-established contact with them more than 80 years after the Great War of 2276. The night of the seven moons was a bloodbath, but many of the strongest survived, including the one renamed Oso. We have resumed sending what they call Lycantics up. One note – the next seven moon night is in six months.)
| 2021-06-27T18:52:03
| 2021-06-27T15:15:41
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] You are the sole survivor a famous serial killer as a college student. Years later, after being diagnosed with terminal cancer you finally pluck up the courage to visit him in prison and ask one question that’s been plaguing you for decades: “why didn’t you kill me?”
Thought I’d do a human story in the sea of bullshit wizard/alien stories.
Edit: OF a famous serial killer. My bad.
|
*Two elderly women driving a car down the highway.*
"Why now?"
"Paul is out of town, he always thought it was bad idea"
"You should listen to your husband, he's been there for you the last forty years."
"Yeah I know but, oh, take a right turn here"
"You do know I have a GPS, hehe? You were saying?"
"Well I don't have much time left, ..."
"Shush, it's ok, it's what friends are for. I know its been hard on you lately. The big C alone is tough enough, all the recent murders in the news though, those poor girls"
"..., I'll phone Paul when we get there."
*A car pulls up at the Psychiatric wing of the Prison.*
"Take your time, and don't forget to call Paul, you're his angel. Now, whatever you decide I'll be here for you"
"Thanks, I have to meet his psychiatrist first so i'll be a while"
*An elderly woman sitting in a waiting room pulls out her cell phone.*
"Paul speaking"
"Paul?"
"Leave a message after the Beep"
"Oh, ... , honey, you should get a new cell phone, this is like the 5th time you ran out of battery this month, you know I don't like speaking to voicemails. I keep rambling and don't know what to say. Especially now, I wanted to speak to you, hear your voice, ... , sigh, ... Paul, you know I love you and I've always respected you, You were there for me in my most difficult moments, you were my rock, you understood everything, we survived everything together so far and whatever comes next we will beat it as well, ... , *snif* , ... , you see now, I've started rambling. Anyway the reason I called was not to get sentimental on your mailbox. ... I'm gonna do it. I'm here now. I'll finally see him again. ... I'll call you when it's over."
*An elderly woman sitting in the psychiatrist office. At the end of conversation.*
"But you have to understand. Even now 40 years later he has not taken responsibility for all his actions. About some cases he talks freely, in others he is a closed book. I do not recommend it but I will make the necessary arrangements. Any last questions?"
"Yes, one, for him"
*Two elderly sitting in a room, one handcuffed to the table behind a protective screen, the other, a woman, out of place but still confident*
"It's been awhile"
"Why?"
"Heh, why what?
"You know, you know, why I'm here, after 40 years. I'm standing here in the place of the 18 girls you've murdered"
"Heh, only convicted for 9, mam. In hindsight I should have killed you, then I would be in the charts with double digits"
"I've got cancer, I'm terminal, I've got perhaps four months, you don't scare me, not anymore"
"The big C huh? Can't compete with that bastard, Heh"
"Why? You killed my dog, broke into my house and left. Why?"
"Why come here, it's 40 years ago, you've had your life, you've married, yes I know all about your husband, probably had children, perhaps even four different dogs by now."
"You aren't gonna answer, are you?"
"Heh, oh no, I am gonna answer you. You know these things called podcasts. There are hundreds of them about serial murders and you know how many are about me? None! I'll tell you, on one condition."
"..."
" I'll tell you if you tell someone else "
" How do you know for sure? "
" You will, I know"
" ... "
" You were gorgeous once, almost an angel, I've had you on my list for a long time. I'm not saying the previous girls were practice but I reserved the 10th spot for you. So yes, I killed your dog, I broke into your apartment and imagine my surprise, me standing there in your hallway, hatchet in hand"
"..."
"Nothing? Fine, I was never a good story teller. Nobody would believe me if I did tell what happened. You still are gorgeous by the way, in a certain light, heh. Well, like I said I was standing there, hatchet in hand and imagine my surprise when slowly your backdoor swung open. I was ready to make a dash for it and then I saw ..."
"Yes?"
"How's Paul by the way?"
"What?"
"How's Paul? I haven't seen him in 40 years, no longer the athlete he once was I assume?"
"What are you saying? No, no, no!"
"Heh, oh but yes. You were his angel as well. We both marked you as our tenth. One rock-paper-scissor game later and he was yours, never expected him to marry you of course."
"No!"
*An elderly woman standing outside a prison, crying, looking at a phone with 9 missed calls, doubting who to call, 911 or her Rock.*
|
It was raining hard the day I decided to pay him a visit. The prison swam within a sea of mist and fog, it was so humid that breathing became difficult. The incident did not leave me ever since, when he stood under that crimson moonlight, menacing eyes and a bloody knife in his hand, staring down as I crawled helplessly away from him, mud eaten into my half-dismembered legs. And then, he left, like a man who just had an epiphany. The memory lived vividly in my mind, so much that its nightmarish touch I turned into a book. A bestseller, even. It became a movie, and I became somewhat of a star. Married my college girlfriend, had two children. Life was good.
Was. The next few books didn't quite stand out. 'Bland and cliché', they said. The 'One trick pony', they called me, 'He's only hot because he followed the trend'. It all went downhill from there. Our marriage broke just as the third child died stillborn, I was agonizing over my Writer's block when she was seeing someone else. We divorced peacefully, or emotionlessly, all in one morning. The kids didn't seem too troubled. Perhaps I'd been neglecting them as well. Another decade stuggling with the fact that my Writer's block might just be my own talentlessness, cancer came to seal the deal. Even my own cells rejected me.
The prison was dimly lit, hovering above my head were lonely light bulbs depressively shone. The warden, Wade, was fat and fit, the kind of guy with both muscles on his arms and beer in his belly. He was grumpy and hard to speak to, I attributed it to the tearing torrent. He did warned me, though, that the person I sought had changed in many ways. "You won't believe it", he put it. And I couldn't.
Brolly the Cannibal was then a wrinkled old man, silver of hair and gray of life. He was thin, very thin, with a glasses bending on his nose. To me, no, to anyone, he would resemble a retired director being caught for past crimes.
"Not an everyday occurrence that I have visitor." - he remarked - "Who might you be? Someone trying to put together a documentary about me?"
"No, I'm Paul Wilkes, I'm a writer." - he didn't flinch at the mention of my name.
"So you're here gathering materials."
"I'm the one you let live in your killing spree. The only one." - this should jostle his memory.
"Are you? My mind has been hazy lately." - he said calmly, before a sudden spark ran across his eye and he slammed his fist on the table - "Paul Wilkes! You're that guy who wrote a book about me! What do you want now, part 2?"
"No!", - I screamed at the intercom - "I want to know why you didn't kill me!"
"If you're saying the truth, and I believe you are, then I'm sorry. The old me might have known the answer, but he's gone, let's hope for forever."
"You... You are a killer, a cannibal! You don't get to deny your past!"
"I'm not. However, I've changed a lot since I was put here. I've gone to the library daily, practiced veganism and yoga, along with meditation at night. The killer Brolly, along with all his cannibalistic desires had been locked deep within myself, where I envisioned him to spend the rest of his days. I'd love to be able to atone for my sins, but I just can't place you anywhere in my mind. For those who I had killed, well, I remember each of them clearly."
"That's impossible," - I cried out in a mix of anger and fading hope - "You must've remembered me! I was the only one you spare."
"An alien hypnotized me and told me not to kill you."
"What?"
"Maybe my stomach hurt, maybe I was tired. You were not the only one I let live, just the only one I let live *in the middle of culling*. The others I spared, I did so in silence, where they didn't even notice they had been spared. Maybe I saw something in you, maybe I didn't want blood all over my favorite shirt. You're not special Paul, it's time to accept that."
"I...I..."
"You know what I see, Paul? I see acceptance in your eyes, but acceptance, not peace. I've seen both of those looks on the face of deathrows, and I know them by heart. Any answer that I spouted out, anything so believable, you're gonna swallow it. It didn't matter which. So why, then, did you drive all the way here when you could just make up an excuse for the life I spared that moon lit night? No, you understand it yourself, Paul. You seemed the most alive when you was screaming at me through that glass. You know that you had been living that same night perpetually for god-knows how many years. You didn't move on. You came here looking for an answer to end it all, because you've prepared to end it all. You came here hoping that my answer would set you free, that it would give meaning to your world, because nothing else in life is gonna feel like escaping death like that night did, because ever since then your life had lost its colors."
I was shivering in my boots, the looming bulbs overhead shook violently. Brolly stared right at my soul.
"You're afraid to admit that you've been living on borrowed time."
"You...You're wrong...WRONG!"
The light bulbs burst into light, and all fell into darkness. Within that darkness, though, a voice called out to me.
"Mister, hey, mister, wake up!"
Wade was standing there when I opened my eyes. He seemed relieved that I was fine.
"Thank God!"
"What happened?" - I asked.
"You requested to meet with Brolly, and I told him he is dead, and you just...fainted."
"Wait. Brolly is dead?"
"Like a doornail. We had to kill him ahead of schedule when he attacked one of the wardens. Could I ask why you would want to see him, sir? He has no living relative as we know of."
"I... Well, I had some questions for him. Not that it mattered, anyway."
I entered the parking lot letting the rain soaked through me. It felt so refreshing. Maybe I'd call my children, after all this time, to see how they were doing.
| 2018-07-21T10:13:28
| 2018-07-21T09:32:19
| 31
| 18
|
[WP] Your sibling was murdered a month ago and as their closest living relative, you buried them last week. Now, going through all their effects, you come across an old walkie-talkie that you used as kids after lights out. Nostalgia makes you turn it on, and say their old call sign. They answer.
|
Charlie looks down at the little box in the attic, an aching in his heart. Scrawled across the lid in a child's handwriting were the words "Charlie's and Ben's Treasure Box!!!". He traced the outline of the words longingly, tears forming in his eyes.
*Oh Ben, why did they have to take you before your time.*
The steady pitter-patter of rain beat against the attic's window as Charlie opened the lid. Inside, the treasured toys of a childhood long past... A childhood shared with Charlie's twin brother, Ben... Memories of Ben's laughter echoed through Charlie's mind, a laugh that was silenced all too suddenly.
Mom's house was quiet, too quiet after the relatives had gone home. Too quiet without Ben's voice.
A broken slingshot, memories of summers spent slinging stones down by the lake.
A yellowed sketch pad, filled with the hopes and dreams of two little boys. Hopes and dreams that will now go unfulfilled for one of them.
Little green soldiers, who will never again go to play-war with one another, who will never again mount daring rescue missions to save a brother trapped behind enemy lines of plush animals.
And a yellow walkie talkie, whose counterpart now lay with its owner in a sealed casket, six feet beneath freshly-turned dirt.
Charlie's fingers lingered on the walkie talkie. Recalling find memories of times long gone, two boys at play chattering over the radio waves.
Picking it up, his fingers reflexively switched it on - the little red LED on the front flickering to life.
*Still has some juice in it*, he smiles sadly to himself.
"This is Delta One, come in Red Leader", he speaks into the walkie talkie, nostalgia bringing on another tear. "Red Leader, godspeed, rest well", he whispers to himself, choking back a sob.
***This is Red Leader, come in Delta One. Come in Delta One.***
Charlie nearly drops the walkie talkie in shock. Staring at it in the palm of his hand, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him.
***Come in Delta One, come in Delta One. Do you copy? Situation critical. Come in Delta One.***
The crackling voice emitting from the walkie talkie was unmistakable. Ben. But how?
"Ben! BEN!!! It's me, Charlie! How..?? But.. But you're.. You're..." Charlie desperately cried into the walkie talkie, shaking with emotion. He couldn't bring himself to say the words, *but you're dead, we buried you yesterday*.
***Red Leader here. Situation critical, Delta One. They've got me. They got me good. Go on without me, Delta One.***
"Ben? What are you talking about- H-How is this possible? What's going on??" he cried out, louder this time.
***Delta One, Charlie, listen up. They got me. And now they're coming for you. Do you copy?***
"What? What do you mean? Who got you? Who's coming for me??"
***They're coming for you, Charlie. They're coming for you.***
***RUN.***
|
##Find My Killer, Over
Marcus opens the box in the attic and sadness carried by a wave of memories washes over him. The first item that draws his eye is the Gameboy that he used to watch his brother play. They were supposed to share, but his brother hogged it using the power of age. Next to the Gameboy, he finds a smaller box that contains their soldiers. Under the soldiers, he finds the walkie-talkie that they used when they were playing soldiers.
Marcus reaches into the box and pulls out the walkie-talkie. He tries to find the other walkie-talkie in the box, but it is missing. He shrugs his shoulders and turns the walkie-talkie on for fun.
"Eagle are you there, over?" Marcus smiles as he starts to cry.
"I am here Stonecutter, over," a voice comes out of the walkie-talkie. Marcus looks at the toy. The funeral was last week; how could his voice be coming out of this device.
"Is this a prank?" Marcus says.
"Stonecutter, this is not a prank. This is Fallon, and I need you, over," his brother says. Marcus stands up and analyzes the room.
"Where are you?" Marcus says.
"You are using the walkie-talkie say over, over," his brother says. Marcus rolls his eyes.
"Is that really necessary?" Marcus asks. His brother stays silent. Marcus sighs, "Over."
"Yes, I'm the ghost here. I have just undergone a traumatic experience. The least you could do is play-along when we talk using the walkie-talkie, over," Fallon says.
"How are you doing this, and can you show yourself, over?" Marcus asks.
"I am able to contact you through this walkie-talkie because we have a strong emotional attachment to it. I can only show myself if you do pottery in a white vest, over," Fallon says.
"Okay, first of all, that joke has been overplayed for a long time. Second, why are you contacting me? Do you need me to help you solve your murder, over?" Marcus asks.
"Help me solve my, Marcus! I was the one that got murdered. I already know who killed me. It was Wesley, over," Fallon yells. Marcus blinks at the device.
"Uh, who is Wesley, over?" Marcus asks. There is a brief period of silence from the walkie-talkie.
"Right, this is awkward. So it turns out my neighbor Wesley is a the Silver-Masked Killer , and he has a dog that craps in my yard. The good news is I have been working with other ghosts to help direct the investigation. The bad news is he is psychic and knows we've been tracking him. Also, we are pretty sure he is coming after you, to the right," he yells. Marcus jumps to the right and narrowly miss a large machete. Marcus turns to see a large man wearing a silver ski-mask. He is staring at Marcus with a smile on his face.
"I will enjoy killing you like I did your brother," he says. Operating on pure instinct, Marcus throws the walkie-talkie at his head. It connects, and he holds his head where it hit him. Marcus pulls the box of nostalgia away and starts throwing children's toys. The killer catches the Gameboy in mid-air.
"Woah, be more careful with this. I had a lot of great memories on one just like this," he sets the Gameboy down.
"That was a good generation," Marcus starts throwing handfuls of toy soldiers and throw at the killer's face. The killer holds up his hand and the machete to protect himself. While he is distracted, Marcus runs up and kicks him squarely in the torso. Marcus chops the back of his neck pushing him further down. When he reaches the floor, Marcus stomps on the hand holding the machete. Marcus grabs the machete and holds it over the killer's head.
"Oh my god, your brother didn't put up nearly as much of a fight," he groans.
"I know. I was always the more athletic one," Marcus says.
"Rude," Fallon says through the walkie-talkie.
"Be quiet. Why'd you do it? Why'd you kill my brother?" Marcus asks.
"Because I am damaged. Growing up, my father was abusive. He used to come home every night and," the killer starts.
"Dude, I don't need your tragic backstory. A lot of people have problems and don't go on a killing spree. I think you're just evil," Marcus says.
"Don't judge me," the killer says.
"You killed my brother," Marcus replies.
"Fair," the killer says. Police sirens emanate from the distant.
"You are going to jail, sucker," my brother says. Police come and arrest the Silver-Masked Killer. He confesses on the spot to killing Marcus's brother. He doesn't mention anything about being a psychic. When the police leave, Marcus sits alone in the attic with the walkie-talkie.
"So now that your killer is caught what happens, over?" Marcus asks. He doesn't hear a reply on the walkie-talkie. Marcus knows that it is because his brother has moved on. Marcus can't help but feel sad that he will never hear his brother's voice again. He can rest easy knowing that his killer has been brought to justice.
---
r/AstroRideWrites
| 2021-03-25T19:43:19
| 2021-03-25T19:37:16
| 86
| 43
|
[WP] A magically enforced law has passed whereby if you deliberately murder someone, you will die in 1 hour. Murder rates fall, but what do you do when you need to assassinate someone? Hire the terminally ill.
|
When the Law was laid down, murder rates fell to almost zero immediately. You know that part already. But the key word is ‘almost’.
Because sometimes, you want someone dead badly enough to take one for the team. This is classified, but a business of single-use terminally ill assassins sprang into existence around the globe within a week. Those who would have died in weeks or months anyway, they claimed, would sacrifice their lives for the sake of others. And for a hefty, hefty payout.
That business lasted about one hour.
See, if you're using someone as a tool to kill someone else, who does the blame fall upon? Is the assassin the murderer, or is it the person who hired the assassin? Are they both murderers? Turns out, the Law said they were.
You could argue that the Law only should only act on the person who directly killed someone, but what if you killed someone with a series of booby traps?
What if you set down a land mine outside their front door? What if you engineered an elevator failure, or cut their brakes? What if you set up a thirty step process that led to the death of your target - would that still be too direct? What about a thirty step trap where you hired six proxies and had the last proxy activate the trap? Would you die? Would one of the six proxies die? Would all seven of you die? But that wouldn’t make sense, because the proxies wouldn’t have any idea what they were being paid to do - the murder wouldn’t have been deliberate on their parts.
Of course, no common thug is going to set up a thirty step process and hire six proxies to kill someone, so the murder rate did fall. But nobody was sure exactly *how* the Law worked.
That's what we do. They call us Architects, and I guess you could say we're lawyers. We find loopholes in the Law that allow for us to safely commit - not murder, exactly - but they allow us to *engineer* the death of a target. The fact that law enforcement has been massively defunded doesn’t hurt.
Lie still. I’m not done talking.
There’s no Law against kidnapping. Let me tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to keep you strapped to that table you’re on, and keep you fed and hydrated with an IV. We’re going to attach a second IV, and give you a button. That button will inject cyanide directly into your veins.
We’re not going to press it - that would be murder. We’re just going to leave you there. Shackled. How many weeks do you think you can go? How many months?
Hope you enjoy your stay.
Check out any time.
---
/r/OneMillionWords
|
In my time things are a little different. When the key to magic was rediscovered by a group of children the whole world practically changed overnight. I guess you could call them the new kids on the block, or as they refer to themselves, the Overall. Children no more than seven years old, ruled the entire world with an iron fist through magical laws they institute at will. One law in particular was quite troublesome. If you deliberately kill anyone, you die within the hour. So... why would that be a problem for me? Well, let's examine the facts.
I used to be an Oncologist. A great one too, I had a fifty percent success rate. Remission was my middle name. Let's just say that I did not discriminate or had hardly any feelings about pumping my patients that extra bit of chemicals, only to watch the feint hope in their eyes disappear when I give them the short speech goodbye. I know what you're thinking. I'm an asshole. You're not wrong. Be that as it may, I have mouths to feed too. Obviously, had I continued my practice, I would be essentially classified as someone who deliberately killed his patients. I would expire soon after that.
I had to come up with a plan. Reinvent myself. It was time to take stock of myself, to analyze my situation and get creative. I was in a prime location, had a boat load of contacts and an extensive list of terminally ill patients. So, I became a dealer of sorts. I hooked my patients on the hope of Cannabis curing their woes, which had no ill side effect like death, it kept my ass alive. I also offered them a choice during their later consults. Kill someone, and their family gets ten million credits, enough to last a lifetime, longer than that if they were smart. The trade off is, they would die within an hour of completing the deed. It was a pretty sweet deal.
It was quite a busy day, no less than the others, but today I was a bit of my game. See, I sent one of them out to give someone the dead end. I waited for him to finish the job. He texted me back with proof of the kill. It took me a minute to compose myself and then I texted him back.
*Hey. I just got back your test results, you are cancer free. Not a single trace. I'm sorry Jimmy, dems the breaks, kid.*
| 2019-06-04T03:41:15
| 2019-06-04T02:42:25
| 26
| 13
|
[WP] You are the main character of a 24/7 reality show. It is the most popular show on TV because of a complex gambling market around it. More money is wagered on regular activities like what you will eat for breakfast than the outcome of the Super Bowl.
|
I strolled lazily towards the dining table. I was already accustomed to the numerous cameras placed around the house. As I sat down for breakfast, I could see the numerous faces pressed against the windows and peering right in.
I groaned in disgust as I took out my phone to check the horde of messages that had been disrupting my sleep since 5 in the morning. I felt like a fucking zoo animal as the eyes outside were fixated on me, never wavering. Fucking feeding time for the chimpanzees at the zoo huh?
I sighed as I scrolled through my phone. The usual offers. "James, $100,000 for you to pick the Honey Stars!" "James, $200,000 for Captain Crunch!" "$600,000 for a peanut butter sandwich!" "$900,000 for exactly 3 peanut butter sandwiches!" Were those idiots aware of how much I was being paid?
I smirked and shook my head as I deleted the messages one by one. I was being paid almost a million dollars per episode and there was no way I was going to risk my easy payday on participating in rigging their bets.
I caught the pleading eyes of the producer, Dwayne Howlett, trying to catch my attention. My eyes opened wide in amazement as I saw his message. "How about 10m to eat the Caesar Salad?" Eew, fuck! I detested salads and they knew it. The last I checked, the odds for it were an astonishing 1:5000 and that was for dinner! I shuddered to imagine what the odds might be like for breakfast.
I hated salads but I detested Dwayne even more. Fucking douchebag. I would pay that amount to clobber his head in with a steel pipe. I knew he was in deep with the sharks and a plan quickly formed in my mind as I fiddled with my phone, seemingly contemplating his offer.
I grinned and nodded my head in his direction as I stretched my hand over the salad bowl. I was barely holding back my laughter as I watched him frantically typing on his phone, presumably pouring what must have been left of his life savings into the bet. He excitedly shot me back a thumbs up seconds later before I snatched at the peanut butter sandwich, stuffing it into my mouth to the thundering cheers coming from outside the house.
I glared at Dwayne before shooting him a mocking smile as the truth dawned on him, turning his face pale. That peanut butter sandwich was delicious. But so was sweet revenge, served stone cold.
Edit: grammar and some terrible typos
|
Very few people know how to speak Navajo, other than myself. I learned because when it's your job to be unpredictable, it pays to know how to think and write notes in a language that very few people know.
So, when a person starts speaking it flawlessly to you, you know that they've done their homework.
It was in a grocery store, when a lady pushed her way to the front of the crowd around me. She didn't have her phone out like everyone else, making bets or taking selfies, so I knew that she could at least speak as much Navajo as she said. "Will you save my husband?" she asked.
I put the cup of noodles I was holding into my cart and looked at her. She seemed earnest, and a bit crazy. "Say again?" I said, and she repeated what she had asked. "How can I do that?"
She explained that her husband was dying of cancer, and that he would need a very expensive bone marrow transplant in order to live. "Sorry, I'm not a surgeon," I explained, but she took out her phone and gestured at it frantically. Her expression and her demeanor told me that she was at the end of her wits, and that one bet could decide whether her husband lived or died.
"How do think this will work?" I asked. No bet can be made anonymous, and already people must be listening and getting what the woman was getting at. Whatever bet she placed, other people would bandwagon on it and the odds would never get very high.
There was only one thing I could do to save her husband.
I whispered something in her ear, then I took out my phone. In an email to my agent, I proclaimed that from this time forward I would no longer allow my life to be made into a gambling ring. The option to quit at any time was always in my contract; the experiment had been going on so long and had become so successful that no one ever thought I would do it. But on that day, I saw an opportunity to do something amazing and I took it.
The woman and her husband came out ok - he lived, and they made enough extra money from that single bet to retire comfortably. I, however, lost my fame and am being hunted by thousands of angry gamblers.
Guess people will have to go back to betting on crypto-currencies.
| 2017-12-19T19:41:30
| 2017-12-19T16:57:13
| 41
| 18
|
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