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[WP] There’s a strange girl at school but you’re just so attracted to her. You’re a little awkward but your best friend says go ask ask her out dude the worst thing that could happen is she says “no”. So you go over and ask her out but what happens was way way way worse than her saying “no”.
|
She turned into a fucking puddle.
OK, let me explain. So I had a crush on this girl, Sarah? She goes... well, I guess the correct word is *went*. She *went* to our school. Sweetest girl you'd ever meet, and she was pretty hot too, not gonna lie.
So my friends always pick on me for not asking her out. My best friend, however, would always tell me to go ask her. "The worst that can happen is her saying 'no', dude. Just do it." Of course, I'd make up some dumb excuse as to why I couldn't. Not enough time, not enough of a common schedule. Eventually, however, he told me to cut it out. "Dude, stop being a pussy. Just ask her."
So I did. I went over to her.
"Hey, Sarah! Wanna go out on a date."
And then, the weirdest thing happened. She looked at me...
And she turned into a fucking puddle.
Honest to goodness, she melted right in front of me. It wasn't gross or anything, but her entire body just... stopped having form? Look, it's hard to explain. She just was, and then she wasn't.
The weirdest thing? I went to tell him, and he looked at me like I was insane. "Who's Sarah? I never heard of her."
Let me tell you, there are worse things to happen when you ask a girl out. She could melt into a puddle and fall out of existence. Creepy stuff.
---
I think I tried a little too hard...
|
"Sure," Melissa replied with a twinkle in her eye, "meet me behind Gertz' after Organic Chem." She spun away, her long golden locks dancing in the late afternoon light.
I stood stunned. That did not just happen… did it?
Melissa was special. Some girls would have taken that God-given beauty, and milked it for all it was worth. Not Melissa though, I’ve never seen her charm others to do her bidding. Instead, she was quiet and reserved. And although she was polite when spoken to, she mostly kept to herself. Melissa was the proverbial rose in the desert. Untouched, unblemished.
When I invited her to dinner, I fully expected a shy smile and a shake of her head.
"No way!" Jonas guffawed buffonishly by my side as we watched Melissa walk away. I think he went on to say something else as well, but all I heard was Melissa's mirthful voice, and the way it had turned a single word into a heavenly chorus.
Professor Taylor's lecture on heterogeneous catalysis went on forever and an age. I spent every moment tracking the minute hand as it took its leisurely stroll around the clock. When it finally reached the bottom in a (seemingly) resounding *clank*, I yanked my zipped backpack off the floor and leapt out of my chair.
I was going to see Melissa. We were going to have dinner. Together! The doors couldn't open fast enough, and I bumped my head on the way out. It did not dampen my spirits.
I walked hurriedly - ran, almost - to Gertz’. The bar was on the other side of campus, on the back-end near the tracks. When I got there, the place was still relatively quiet, its nightly patrons only just starting to stream in as the final classes of the day let out. I darted around the empty green bins as I squeezed my way through the narrow side-alley. The overhanging wall-light flickered and dimmed as I passed underneath, and my shirt snagged on a jagged turn of the sewer pipe lining the bar’s outer walls.
The sun had fully set, and the only light behind Gertz’ was a solitary lightbulb near the bar’s rear exit. I stood in the small pool of yellow in a sea of black. I could barely make out the chain link fence a few feet away which ferried VIA rail into town.
Melissa was not here yet.
I fished out my phone and decided to give her a call… then realized I didn’t have her number. I slipped my hands into my pocket and leaned against the wall. She would be here soon anyways, I’d just have to wait a bit.
The chilly night air picked up, and I tugged my jacket around me. The weather vane on the roof spun with a grotesque grind. I looked up with a frown, was it supposed to sound like that? A light twinkled near the rusty rooster, and I shuffled to the side to get a better look. A shape was hunched there, slowly twisting the metallic ornament out of its fixture. My face twisted in a pained grimace, and I covered my ears to block out the grating metal’s cries.
“Hey, stop that!” I cried. “What are you doing?”
The shape froze, then unfurled as it rose to standing height. Atop its head, long wispy shadows streamed in the wind.
I cocked my head, a question rising tentatively to my lips.
“... M-”
The final syllable caught in my throat as the shape dashed off the roof. Its wide maw was a circular row of calcite needles, and the abyssal depths within grew to engulf the world.
**- H.M. Bishop**
​
edit: formatting and word choice
| 2019-07-18T22:45:52
| 2019-07-18T22:25:02
| 34
| 10
|
[WP] When the representatives of humanity attend their first Galactic Council meeting, all goes well. That is, until a member of a psionic race tries to read the human's minds and begins to scream.
|
"Aaaaaauuugh!" Rang out Fuerbors' agonized scream, "Gwaaah! Urrrrrgha! Hooooooow!" He raved on. Harold Barlett the first human Ambassador to the human race was on his knees next to Fuerbor the Ambassador to the polflongs' a race of blue/green squid-esque people.
"Ambassador Fuerbor? What's wrong?! Someone get him medical help!" Harold yelled! "Quickly! He is in pain!" Harold shouted. Within a minute medical personnel were hoisting Fuerbor onto a hover stretch and starting first aid. "Your mind! So full! Soooo complicated!" Fuerbor screamed in agony, "Ambassador what are you talking about?" Harold asked in confusion. Harold reached out a hand to Fuerbor in hopes of comforting his fellow ambassador but Fuerbor writhed at his touch, his screaming intensifying tremendously. "Please Ambassador Bartlett, stand back!" Said one if the medics. They rushed him off, his caterwauling dying off as the doors to the chamber slid shut.
"Ssssuch a ssssshame..." hissed Caldarc a snake like ambassador from Drouga, "Fuerbor wassss a good entity, a real Polflong among Polflong." He hissed reverently. "What happened to him?" Harold asked, concern visible on his now pale face. "You didnt know?" Caldarc inquired "Polflong are pssssionic, he tried to read you mind." He explained. "You mean h-he's telepathic?" Harold said in disbelief. "Of coursssse, asssss are my people, Polflong are expert readerssss, even while converssssating with othersss." Caldarc explained to Harold. "So when he read my mind it hurt him? But how!?" Harold queried with no understanding of telepathy. *Caldarc sighed* "You human people are a very interessssting sssspeciesss. Your mind conssssstantly buzzing with mental activity. He ssssshould have tethered hissssself to your forethoughtssss to not get lossst in your head." Caldarc spoke, somewhat condescendingly. "You mean my thoughts were to much for him to sort through?" Harold asked. "That issss exactly what I am ssssaying." Hissed Caldarc "He will be okay though. He managed to pull himsssself out on hisssss own. Nothing a few rotationssss in the infirmary wont fix. Worry not Ambassador. But pleasse, I implore you... next time, clear your mind before ssssspeaking to another being, it'ssss the polite thing to do."
|
Accariz, the diplomatic of the Azara species, went down sudenly when he was talking to the human.
His screams fill the circular chamber completly. The noise of the hundreds of conversations stopped sudenly, and the AI responsible for security started to search for threads, but fail.
Accariz was screaming in the ground. The human diplomatic try to help him but he could only speak and cry over and over again.
"THIS MADNESS. HOW?. HOW CAN IT BE?. LAYERS AND LAYERS OF MADNESS"
Accariz looks John,the human, into the eye.
"HOW CAN YOU BE EVEN ALIVE. HOW CAN YOU THINK WITH SO MANY LAYERS OF MADNESS... OF OPPOSITES THOUGHTS!!!!"
​
And then, He died. Right there. His brains turn off their heart to make silent. It was the only way.
​
Now one ever look into a human mind again.
| 2019-09-29T18:06:35
| 2019-09-29T17:13:42
| 119
| 65
|
[WP] UK is a single mom. Meet her children. The polite and charming son Canada, loud but accomplished son US, the wild and crazy son Australia and the adopted daughter with a history of abuse India.
Not trying to enforce any stereotype of any nationality. Just thought it would be fun.
|
The rugby practice had ended an hour ago. The field stood empty, but not a single car came by to pick him up. He looked up into the sky and shivered as the first raindrop fell on his shoulder.
"I can't believe mum forgot me again," said New Zealand.
|
UK opened the door and froze. The jar of marmite she had been saving for breakfast slipped from her hand.
"It...it can't be you...!"
"Oh, but it is...*mother*" South Africa growled. "Did you really think you could start over after abandoning us and Papa Africa?"
UK swallowed hard. Her eyes drifted over S.A.'s shoulder, where children from her past life--the one she wanted to forget--stood waiting. Each one upset beyond reason, glaring at her with their arms crossed. Egypt, Sudan, Kenya, Nigeria, Uganda... Even Rhodesia, who had entered a rebellious phase and renamed herself Zimbabwe. More than a dozen of them.
UK had to admit, she had been quite a slag back in the day.
| 2018-03-20T21:03:34
| 2018-03-20T21:00:23
| 45
| 18
|
[WP] A short Horror story. Something to chill the bones in one hundred words or less.
|
In 1984, an oil painting was recovered from an abandoned house somewhere in Lousiana. Mahagony frame, weathered and neglected. No signature of the artist. Perhaps it was the work of the homeowner.
What was the painting of?
The upper torso of a brunette, eyes tightly closed, mouth hideously wide open, the background colored a pleasant cerulean.
It was later brought to a pawn shop, where it hung on a wall. Days later, the owner of the shop was reported missing.
The investigation came up with nothing. The trail had gone cold.
They should've looked at the painting.
|
"Why do I burn the bodies?"
He doesn't know. He can’t comprehend his fascination. The gatekeeper drops the corpses down the chute, and he watches the limp bodies jiggle as they collide with the floor.
Setting it on the table, he peels the flesh off, then, meticulously, removes the muscle and organs. The tendons are his favorite. He loves a good challenge.
He sets the skeleton next to the others on the floor. He takes a match to the pile of torn flesh and innards, and watches it burn, always asking the eternal question.
"Why do I burn the bodies?"
| 2015-06-09T07:11:34
| 2015-06-09T07:02:35
| 69
| 31
|
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid.
|
Pilpo once stole a tomato in a village raid and it stood proudly on a cave stone for weeks before it went bad. "Good raiding," elder Gilgich had told him when he returned with the oversized cherry. "Keep that up and you will be head goblin one day."
After that day, he had invented a new walk. Something to distinguish him from the rest of his litter. It was swanky. Like the human vegetable guardians. His cousin Blurg had said of his walk, "It makes me think you are some *new* kind of goblin," and ever since Pilpo had remained in a sort of trance.
Pilpo was watering his now-stinky tomato, trying to help it spring back to life, when Adora walked in on him. She had the greenest legs a goblin could ever want. Her teeth spiraled every which way, splendid and yellow, as if sculpted by the primordial goblins themselves.
"What are you doing?"
"Oh, I'm just watering my loot."
She smiled. "You must have been scared."
"Scared?"
"Yeah. Running away from all those humans."
In fact, none of them had given chase. With great stealth, Pilpo had reached for the wooden container of tomatoes in the place of the market, but it was too high up. He stood there, jumping, and all of a sudden a tomato fell onto his head. "Oopsie," the vegetable guardian had said. Before she got the chance to reclaim her treasure, Pilpo had seized it. And strangely, the human villagers had pumped their fists and clapped as he raced back home.
"The only thing I'm scared of is being crushed by the weight of my own ambitions."
Saying it felt good. But the look on Adora's face after he said it felt not-so-good. "Oh," she said.
"Forget that. Want to grab some grub?"
"Sure," she said and as they walked Adora put his hand over her shoulder.
"W-What are you doing?"
"I know you are a hero, but even heroes need some support when they are hurt."
"Hurt?"
"Yes. I could tell from the absurd way that you walk."
Pilpo and Adora became an item and elder Gilgich turned out to be right: Pilpo took on the role as head goblin and under his rule the raids grew more frequent and more bountiful. Over time it became clear that the humans did not particularly mind their raids. They would offer them candies and beer and give them pats on their heads for good luck. "We consider you our mascots," said one of them, and Pilpo understood at once the significance of this word he had never heard before. Mascots. Protectors of humanity.
He wasn't quite sure *how* they were protecting the humans. Didn't they just steal their food? Somehow, they did it in such a way that it made them feel protected. Pilpo had a deep conversation on the topic with elder Gilgich before he passed, and the elder had said, "They must have sensed our honorable spirits."
One day, dark smoke flew by the goblin cave. It came from the direction of the village. The humans. They were in danger.
Pilpo assembled a team of the finest goblins one could ever desire. Bulb, Blurg, Hakko, Zeb--they were raiders and warriors through and through.
"Be careful," said Adora and there were tears in her eyes.
Their children, innocent little gobs, cried because they were afraid something would happen to their dear father. "Don't worry," said Pilpo. "Everything will be just fine."
The goblins raced to the village carrying buckets of water. When they arrived, they saw the humans standing still around a great fire. They were terrified and could not even act. They simply gazed at the flames and held hands for comfort.
Pilpo ran between their legs and he threw the water at the flames and following his example the others got to work as well. At first, the humans looked puzzled. They had been convinced that this fire would be the end of it all, and they were not prepared to be rescued. Certainly not by goblins. Soon their panic turned to ecstasy as they realized that their mascots with honorable spirits had come to their aid.
The humans snapped out of their state of helplessness, and they hurried to join the goblins in their efforts to put out the fire. It didn't take long before they were all throwing water at the flames and little by little it surrendered to their valor and all that was left was ash and smoke.
Pilpo, Bulb, Blurg, Hakko, and Zeb were tossed into the air and celebrated as heroes. After, they were welcomed to a feast. Pilpo was amazed to see how quickly they had prepared it. They dined like kings and once they were full they said their goodbyes. "Here, bring some home for the rest," said a vegetable guardian and she gave them tomatoes and potatoes and broccoli and other valuable treasures as a reward for their good deed.
They returned to the goblin cave triumphant. Adora gave Pilpo a hug and a kiss. "You are surely the bravest goblin who ever lived."
The goblins held a celebratory feast. Pilpo made sure to save one tomato, and as he placed it on the familiar cave stone he became misty-eyed at the memory of elder Gilgich. "Your honorable spirit lives on in me," he said, and he thumped his chest.
As the goblins danced, sang, and laughed, Pilpo could feel the warmth of the primordial goblins in his heart. They were protectors. Mascots. And though they had no swanky walk to show it, Pilpo somehow knew that they were all some kind of new goblin.
|
# The Baker and the Goblin
"Me take," the goblin said, "me take!"
Cotlin continued walking, ignoring the goblin clinging to his trousers. It was midday, and Cotlin was on his way to deliver freshly baked bread to the local tavern when a goblin started trying to steal from him. *They sure are persistent,* Cotlin thought.
As the son of the village's only breadmaker, Cotlin started apprenticing under his father at the early age of 4. He enjoyed it at first—the rewarding feeling of creating something out of a seemingly disparate group of ingredients, and turning it into an assortment of fresh bread of all shapes and sizes. The sound, the taste, and the *smell*—it was all so exciting.
Two decades later, Cotlin slowly found out that he *hated* this path. Day in and day out, it was all the same. He would bake three baskets of bread—one for the tavern, one for the villagers, and one for the devotaries. After delivering them all, he would go home, rest, and repeat the same routine all over again. It was exhausting.
That is, until the goblins showed up.
"Gah, me take!" the goblin insisted.
Cotlin *did* bake an extra bun for himself in this batch. He stared at the goblin, who was now also clinging to his apron. Its eyes were wide, like that of a tiny baby feline pleading for scraps. "Fine," Cotlin said, "I'll give you half of my bun if you stop clinging on to my garments.'"
The goblin gave the widest grin, then let go of Cotlin's trousers. He took out the bun, tore it in half, and gave one to the little rascal. The goblin stared at it in awe, then looked back at Cotlin. It nodded its head appreciatively, "Thank human!". It started biting into the bun half.
"You're welcome," Cotlin said. "Do you have a name?"
The goblin finished chewing its bread, dropping crumbs on the dirt path, "Gleck!"
"*Gleck*? Well, if you say so. Nice to meet you, Gleck," Cotlin said.
Gleck nodded its head in what looked like agreement.
"You know, Gleck, if you just ask the villagers around here nicely, I'm sure most of them would be happy to give you food, like I did."
Gleck swallowed the last of its bun, then tilted its head in confusion. "But me like stealing!"
"Y-Yeah, but... ah, forget it. You guys are harmless, so I guess it's fine."
Gleck nodded again. As Cotlin was walking toward the tavern, he noticed that Gleck was marching alongside him in the most exaggerated stride possible.
"You're still following me, huh?"
"Me like bread human!"
Cotlin stared at Gleck, then sighed. "Ok, just *don't* cause any trouble while I do my chores."
"Me no trouble!"
Cotlin and Gleck walked along the dirt path leading to the tavern. A couple of villagers were walking this way and that, going about their daily chores. *Just like I am,* Cotlin thought.
After dropping off the bread in the tavern, Cotlin went out to gather some mushrooms for the filled bread rolls he was baking tomorrow. Gleck was marching alongside him, gawking at each villager who passed them. Some goblins were roaming the streets, but Gleck didn't pay them any mind.
They reached the forest outside of the village, and Cotlin spotted a cluster of mushrooms a couple of paces away. As he crouched down to pick a few, he noticed that Gleck froze—shocked.
Cotlin turned his head to see what Gleck was looking at, and he saw it. An *orc*.
It's been fourteen years since the last orc raid on their village. Cotlin was only ten at the time, but he remembered it clearly. The fires, the chaos, the casualties...
Father.
He can't think about that now. Cotlin needed first to figure out how to get away. If they sneak off quietly, their chance of—
*Too late.*
The orc spotted the two of them. It was far away, but it was *running* in their direction. Cotlin turned to run, but he noticed that Gleck was still standing there. *Dear gods, is it still frozen in shock?*
He was about to grab Gleck, when suddenly, it made a high-pitched call. It drew a dagger from its belt.
Cotlin stood there, confused. "What are you doing, Gleck? We have to run!"
"You no worry, bread human. We kill."
*We?*
Five goblins jumped out of the depths of the forest, each with a knife in their hand. The orc spun around, addled by the ambush. All six goblins, including Gleck, charged at the orc, screaming.
The orc tried swinging its club around, but all six goblins dodged with surprising dexterity. In a brilliant display of coordination, they stabbed the orc in several critical areas—the neck, the spine, the stomach, an eye, and the orc's double heart.
The orc bellowed, then fell to the ground, lifeless. The goblins stood over the orc's corpse. Gleck turned around to look at Cotlin.
"We kill. We protect all human."
*Looks like my life is going to be a* lot *more interesting,* Cotlin thought.
---
I hope you liked this story! Please feel free to leave feedback as it will help me a lot in my journey to becoming a better writer! Join r/NovaLevelStories for more!
| 2022-05-26T08:33:39
| 2022-05-26T08:32:14
| 129
| 83
|
[WP] God shares the cosmos with several other dieties. To pass the time they play Civilization like games for eons. God's frustrated that his civilization, Earth, is several ages behind all his friends.
|
Dexicon moved his cosmic fortress from Centauri B straight into Earth's orbit. Dexicon was able to do this in one turn thanks to the cosmic paving it had laid earlier. This allowed faster than light travel.
"Your move, God." Dexicon roared, knowing it had the ancient deity in its proverbial palm.
*Shit shit shit* thought God. It was tough to display no emotion but a strong poker face was crucial. Dexicon had already taken Zeermon out the game and had now moved on to God.
God had not been blessed with much luck. Each deity had been given a species that had space travel potential. The objective was to either enslave or obliterate the other species. God had unfortunately randomised the least intelligent possible species - homo.
2.7 million years just to leave the hunter gatherer stage. This was a new record. He had had to wipe out his first few species of homo and start over - they had simply been too stupid. By the time he had rerandomised into homo-sapien he was at least 2.6 million years behind Dexicon.
What didnt help was that the homo-sapiens turned out to be incredibly aggresive. This would be useful for fighting other species, but they mainly killed each other! Oh how Dexicon and Zeermon laughed!
When he had finally researched the abilty to send a vassel to Earth to enlighten and guide the people, the earthlings did something unprecedented in stupidity - they decided to kill it.
Finally the humans became space able. At the time, God was pleased. They visited their local moon first, as expected. But the moon base never came. The colonisation of nearby planets never came. They regressed.
"Using your cosmic paving I move Earth into alpha Centuri B", said God, in a move that would have made the humans proud.
Dexicon's mouth dropped.
"Rematch?" God asked.
--------
If you liked this you can read more on my sub I just set up (come follow me!): /r/nickofnight
|
God sat down on his lumbar support, swivel desk chair and leaned back. He adjusted his headset, and turned on his desk top computer. As he heard the fan spin to life, God nervously sipped at a diet coke, anticipating the machine loading up. He hadn't checked up on his world in a couple decades, and he wasn't looking forward to seeing what had become of it. Whenever he left his civilization for too long there was always some horrific conflict going on, or some worldwide resource depletion that would no doubt lead to more conflict. The whole thing had started off enjoyable enough; find a little planet without much going on, mix some chemicals together and see what life you can produce. A simple and addictive game at first, but now it had gotten completely out of hand. It was nothing but a giant pain in the -
"GOD! Are you there?"
Before he knew it, his computer had loaded and he had connected to the server, and his friend Ningirsu was now shouting down his headset.
"Yes, Nin. I'm here. You don't need to shout, man." God replied, while wheeling back his chair to toss his Coke can in the waste basket.
"Sorry about that. I'm so pumped right now" Nin said with a slightly irritating intensity.
On this server, which they had rather pretentiously come to call the 'universe', all the other deities played with their worlds and interacted with one another, gifting each other resources, technologies and art, which massively racked up the altruism and culture points in the game. So far, God's little world had not interacted with anyone.
"What's got you so excited?" God asked.
Nin didn't hesitate to respond, "My mintheons have completely gotten rid of scarcity! They're producing enough food for everyone to be satisfied, my World Peace score is off the chart!"
"Oh, haha. That's great" God said with a feigned enthusiasm. Nin wasn't the smartest deity, but even he had a civilization far in advance of his own.
"Oh, how's your race doing? The *humans*, isn't it?" Nin felt obliged to add.
"Oh, yeah, you know. They're coming along. I'm just about to check on them now actually. Be right back." God closed the chat with Nin. He was always so embarrassed to talk to the others about his world. Why couldn't the humans be like all these other races that were so friendly and intelligent? He wished he could just get rid of them and start again, really.
God opened up his world. He sighed. They really never fail to disappoint him. There were wars everywhere. Areas that were stable last he checked on them had descended into chaos. The bar in the corner of the screen marked 'environment' was in the red, which meant critical danger. The 'resource distribution' meter was the worst; he didn't even know it was possible for the meter to get that low. There was suffering and destruction everywhere. No wonder none of the other civilizations were trying to contact the humans, they must be the laughing stock of the universe at this point. God minimized the game in embarrassment. He spun around in his chair, thinking what to do. Why did he bother anymore? The game just wasn't as fun as it used to be. He removed the head set, lifted himself out of his chair and paced around his room, contemplating what to do. He looked at all the other games on his shelf, games that he would much rather be playing. He thought about the stress of having to keep checking up on this damn civilization, to make sure it hasn't destroyed itself yet. This wasn't worth it.
God dropped back into the chair and wheeled himself closer to the screen. Solemnly, he dragged the cursor over to the options menu. He scrolled down to the bottom, where the words 'DELETE WORLD' appeared. His cursor hovered over this option for a few seconds, but he couldn't quite bring himself to click it. Suddenly, his finger jerked accidentally on his mouse. Rather than click the left button, though, he had hit the scroll wheel, which zooms in on the game. He was now viewing one of his continents at a closer distance than he had in centuries. Out of curiosity, he kept zooming in, right until he ended up in one of the human's homes. It had been a long, long time since he had seen his creation at such a close scale. It was not a very well maintained home, and it seemed extremely cheap. God would have been further put out by the living conditions, only that wasn't what got his attention at this moment. What got his attention was the music. In the home was a mother, cradling a very young infant, likely recently born, and the mother was singing a simple tune. It wasn't that it was well sung, but just the way the words were sung so gently, so softly, like a whisper. The mother was very tired, as God could see on her energy meter, but she sang none the less, and stared with endless fascination and teary eyes into the face of her baby.
God was astounded by what he was seeing. Why had he never thought to look at his race on this scale before? He started pressing the arrow keys, which moved his focus across the world, but still at a close perspective. He went further north, where he saw some children playing in the snow in a field. They were building an effigy of a human out of snow, a practice God didn't really understand, but they were all glowing with smiles, so they must have found it enjoyable. He moved further along, into another home, where he saw two young humans sitting on a bed. They were playing some kind of media out of a television in the corner of the room, but neither seemed interested in it. They were instead concentrated on carefully, and slowly, moving their hands toward each others. When their fingers locked, their hearts started beating faster. In a building further east, a group of humans were roaring with laughter as they were all sipping at some kind of intoxicating substance. None of them were saying anything particular amusing, they all just seemed to be enjoying each others' company. God couldn't work it out; when he zoomed out, he saw nothing but brutality and selfishness, and yet zoomed in, everywhere he looked, he saw humans with high levels of compassion, generosity, and creativity. Up close, his race was not a failure at all, at least as far as he was concerned. He closed the options menu.
God looked over to the upper limits of his world, high into it's atmosphere. He saw space stations and satellites, made with technology which the other worlds in his server had greatly advanced from. God, for the first time in eons, smiled at his little world. "You take your time" he whispered, and switched off his monitor.
| 2022-09-11T19:19:52
| 2016-04-09T08:50:39
| 1,980
| 331
|
[WP] At 19 everyone in your society has to go into the cave of fears and defeat your worst fear. You're the first to go in and find nothing.
edit: I want to read them all but there are so many it's hard to keep up, so many variations of the story I didn't even think of, great job everyone!
|
"There's nothing in here..." she said, almost disappointed
The premise that the cave of fears was empty was very disappointing for Julia, who only just celebrated her 19th birthday. As per tradition in her town, she had to enter the cave of fears to face her greatest fear of all time. But what should she face if there's nothing to face to begin with?
"Uh... GUYS! THERE'S NOTHING IN HERE!" she called out.
However, she did not receive an answer. As per tradition as well, the people outside of the cave should never answer any screams, calls, or anything for that matter. All they have to do is sit and watch for 3 hours.
She remembered that rule and decided to go deep inside the cave, maybe she will find something if she walked further in, but there was... Well... Nothing.
Not just any kind of nothing though, there was no light, no sounds, nothing. She can't even feel anything as the cave's walls, floor, and ceiling had... Well, no feeling to them it felt empty, very empty.
Julia's heart started to beat faster as her mind engulfed in fear, she couldn't see anything, feel anything, or hear anything aside from herself, Julia couldn't decipher anything, including directions, there was no light from the start of the cave that can lead her to the entrance and to the people of the town, she just sat down, in ignorance, as she hears her heart beating faster and faster.
What can she do? When there are no directions, no hope, no light, nothing?
She opened her eyes widely, and hugged her knees, maybe a little bit of comfort can help. But nothing could help, there was nothing to hold onto that can help, she was mortified.
"GUYS!" she called, louder this time. "I'M LOST! HELP ME OUT OF HERE!" she added.
But there was no answer, nor was there help.
As she was sitting down, for 30 minutes, she could clearly hear her breathing, her hear beating, her blood flow, and a constant zinning in her ear.
And that left her even more afraid.
"GUYS!" she called, her voice cracking as her tears were falling. "TAKE ME OUT OF THIS!" she couldn't find words to describe how she was. There was nothing to describe
An hour and a half later. Julia started sobbing loudly. Her tears were falling until there was no tear to cry, she wanted to run back, but there was nothing to run back to. So she was walking around aimlessly. She was insane.
"GUYS, GUYS WHERE ARE YOU? I'M SO SCARED! GUYS I'LL GIVE YOU ANYTHING. I'LL DO ANYTHING, JUST GET ME OUT OF HEEEEERREEE. WHO CARES ABOUT SOME WEIRD TRADITION IN SOME WEIRD CAVE, JUST PLEASE GET ME OUT OF HERE!" she cried, knowing that her voices amounted to nothing.
By 2 hours, she just sat down. By that time she realised she couldn't call out to anyone, there was no hope
No direction
Nobody
Nothing to hold on to
No escape
No light to see
No sound to hear
And nothing to feel
Julia didn't call out to anyone, even though she wanted, more than anything else, for someone to help her out.
2 hours and a half had passed, and by that time, Julia started to get hungry and thirsty as well. But there was nothing to eat, nothing to drink either. So she gave up her hunger.
For a time that felt like eternity, after all, there was no time she could feel, the final second had passed. And it was time for Julia to leave the cave. But she couldn't leave can she? There was no escape, no directions, nothing.
"Hey, Julia?" called a foreign voice. Foreign to the situation she was in at least, but very familiar to Julia. It was her best friend Kayla, she entered the cave to announce to Julia that her time had passed.
"Oh... Finally" said Julia, calmly. "Kayla there's nothing, it's so scary, I don't even know where the exit was I am so terrified, please take me out of here" she added.
"Julia, what are you saying? The exit is 10 metres away." said Kayla "We were watching you aimlessly walking around and crying from the entrance, we wanted to intervene but town elder said not to until the 3 hours are over."
Julia, feeling stupid, laughed. She laughed heartily as she held Kayla's hand and stood up. "Well then, take me there, also I'm kinda hungry, take me to Al's bakery" she said. mind you, at that time she still couldn't see anything, but she was glad she could hear and feel Julia at least.
As Kayla lead her to the exit, a beam of light shone through Julia's eyes. She was glad it was all over.
But that crazy laughter she had, Julia realised that maybe, just maybe
There was nothing at all. At that time it felt like all her senses were blocked, all her family and friends abandoned her, that she was dead, but her consciousness remained intact.
There was nothing to fear
Which was exactly why, more than anything else, she was afraid.
|
My family walked me to the entrance of the Cave of Fears. They waved to me and smiled, despite the patchiness of our history. I have not always been kind. I did not know how they fared against their demons. That’s not the kind of thing you just talk about. Even though I’d tried to force some of them to.
I walked in. The place was cool and illumined by some dim directionless light. The way was smooth until after the first turn. From there it grew progressively rougher, and the light progressively dimmer, and my curiosity progressively more intense. When would my fear arrive? How would I know? Would I have to fight? I kept my hand on my knife. It might be nice to have something I was free to hurt. That happened so seldom.
Would it be spiders? I hoped not, as I found them distasteful. Or drowning? That would be difficult to fight. Would it be my childhood bully, or his malevolent dragon of a mother? The chance to gut them would be a pleasure. The cave went on, and on.
And then, coming to a rough-hewn circle, it stopped.
I walked to the center and waited. A fight here would be a tripping hazard, but maybe that was part of the test. I could still hurt someone, and badly, here. Here, where no one would ever know. Where there were no consequences. Only me.
I waited.
Nothing.
No spiders. No waters. No bullies. No mirrors. No shadows. No people. No friends. No audience. No one laughing at me. No one looking at me. I gripped my knife and desperately wished for a direction to cut in. Anything to not be alone.
But there was nobody here but me.
| 2016-06-12T10:12:38
| 2016-06-12T08:42:27
| 56
| 31
|
[WP] The Dark Arts are fair: for a terrible, personal price, they offer raw power. And lots of it. Self-centered villains typically renege on the contract and thus their powers fail them at a crucial moment. Now, for the first time, the heroes face someone who paid in full. The powers are all theirs
|
When I was younger, I could never understand the villainy of greed. The villains I read about were motivated by many reasons and philosophies. Rage, lust, pride, these were the reasons that compelled me to love the villains of the story. Standing alone among the common motivations of evil was greed. He did all this for money? She tore the world apart for treasure? I laughed at these villains in the stories I read. Surely the villain who found her strength in her anger or pride was the best villain.
Then I grew older. I know better now.
Money is power made manifest. To have power over someone else was always a testy business throughout history. Usually, the threat of violence would keep people in line. But money is better than a mere threat, it’s a promise of hope for a better tomorrow. Everything and everyone has a price. Even the most stalwart hero needs to eat lest their hunger devours their mind and morals whole.
The last one who tried to destroy me was a principled man. Pious as he was persistent, he pursued me from kingdom to kingdom, reminding me incessantly of his promise to kill me. It was cute, like a child reminding their parents of her excitement for the upcoming festival. But all good things must come to an end.
The hero’s quest had exhausted his wealth as an adventurer. Even on his last legs, his faith was strong. He truly believed that I was a monster and dangerous to the innocent he had sworn to protect so long ago. His convictions at least were admirable, but he was desperate, fueled only by faith and his remaining rations. Only one of those I could take, and only one was required.
My plan were set into motion, propelled by the Dark Arts I had purchased as a youth. I bought the cities food supplies and entrusted their safekeeping with my Friends Below. Now, the great city of Haman would share in the hero’s suffering and desperation. Their stomachs would sing in harmony on those dirty streets beneath my hotel window. Riots started. People cried out, unable to feed their children and elderly. Rumors of cannibalism started on the second day and were violently realized on the fourth day of artificial famine. I bought the desperation of these innocent souls, and I would certainly be happy to sell their relief.
Necessity is the mother of invention, and necessity, like everything, has a price.
It cost over 300 innocent souls to fall to the hero before he found me. Bleeding, ragged, about to break, I let him spend his final breaths to tell me how I would never succeed in the end. How I was doomed to fail, if not by his blade, then by another after him. I spent the brief time to ponder who would come after him as the mob ripped him limb for limb. Their suffering was immediately ended that very day. Now that they were no longer hungry, their minds could beyond their stomach to greater aspirations. Of course, I did not feed them enough to sustain all of them. It cost time and money, but eventually, I bought the death of the cities’ royalty for a few carts of food. I rebuilt Hamam into a meritocracy, where the capable and clever eat in decadence and the hungry scheme to take it all away from them. In the end, I had bought a city for a few days of food. My soul is forfeit upon my death. But I know now that the my teacher of the Dark Arts was foolish and short-sighted. For now I know the ultimate truth that binds us all together:
“Everyone and everything has a price.”
Even eternal life can be paid for. It is of great cost, more than any one man can pay. More cities will need purchasing before I am ready to pay in full for my sovereignty from Death.
I used to think greed was foolish. I know better now.
|
As I killed the last of the heroes I laughed. It was an accident.
I had found the old book because I thought Darcy would enjoy it. We could laugh about it together. I decided to go home early to show her. While walking, I thumbed through the book.
At first I thought the words were in some foreign script, but I blinked and realized they were just very ornate old English, hard for most to read but I'd done my thesis on Chaucer.
*unlimited power we will grant, for the life of the one you love most, but serve us you will in hate and darkness.*
Silly, ridiculous, who would accept that deal anyway?
I was in such a hurry to show Darcy my find, I didn't even notice my best friend's car parked out front. I did notice the noises coming from the bedroom though. I grabbed the desk lamp, an ugly metal thing, and just kept hitting both of them. Then I noticed the book, laying on the floor where I dropped it, was open, the letters glowing.
| 2021-06-27T21:16:41
| 2021-06-27T20:28:30
| 102
| 25
|
[WP] You are a time traveler. While traipsing about in the past you stumble upon something that shouldn't be there: an open Wi-Fi network.
|
The date on my mobile phone read August 6, 1945. For a moment I just stared at it in confusion. Then, as it hit me, I could feel the color draining from my face.
“What the hell are you thinking, Akimoto? Rule number one of time travel! You drop that thing, someone finds it, we’re all screwed.”
I looked up into John’s dirt streaked face. He was my security on this jump.
I spun the phone around and handed it to him like it was hot.
“The date is updated,” I said, “It says today is August 6, 1945.”
“Well that is that’s right, isn’t it?” He was as confused as I’d been a moment ago. I could see on his face he knew something was wrong, he just had not figured it out yet.
“It should still say March 9, 2087, the day that we left,” I said. “How does it know to update?”
I watched the realization creep across his face. When John looked up his skin had turned the color of ash.
“Why…” He paused and swallowed. “Why are you connected to Wi-Fi?”
I snatched the phone from his hand, almost dropping it. The icon in the top left was filled up. Three bars, that’s a better connection than I get in my living room.
How was there Wi-Fi in the middle of a Japanese forest in 1945?
My finger shook as I pressed the icon to check the name of the network.
In plain letters, it read, Welcome to the Infinite Web.
|
"What are you even accessing out here? The internet won't even be invented until decades from now."
"Hey man, I just thought it'd be funny. Also it was one of the easier ways to get my drone to pair with my laptop. Lay off."
"People like you are the reason time travel sucks nowadays."
"People like you are the reason it's always sucked."
| 2017-08-24T05:03:02
| 2017-08-24T01:07:31
| 77
| 40
|
[WP] Humans are complex creatures with a variety of needs. They are not a suitable pet for most dragons, but for the right dragons who have time, patience, and proper resources, these animals can make absolutely incredible pets.
|
* Do not feed your human colony! Humans are intelligent creatures, and can self-organize, raising crops and domestic animals to feed themselves. This is natural. Tempting though it may be to feed them treats, this will only make them dependent and lazy.
* Do not eat individual humans! While the colony can easily spare the occasional individual, this will alienate the colony and possibly even turn them violent. Humans, while individually weak and fragile, can be extremely dangerous in swarms and have been known to kill full-grown adult dragons if sufficiently angered.
* Do not form emotional ties to any individual humans. Individual humans are intelligent creatures, often as intelligent as dragons, but they are extremely short-lived, sometimes surviving only 100 years, or even less. The death of beloved humans will be a frequent and traumatic experience if you allow yourself to become too close. Focus on the colony as a whole, and maintain a certain aloofness from individuals.
* Don't expect emotional maturity from your humans. While they are as intelligent as you, their short lifespans do not permit them to take the long view, or develop much in the way of wisdom or maturity. Thus, they may often surprise you with their cleverness, but do not expect them to be rational, calm, or patient all the time.
* Protect your human colony! While humans in swarms can be formidable, defending against external threats can come at the cost of grave damage and cause the colony to fail. Instead, it falls to you to defend your colony from wild human groups.
* Have close contract with your human colony regularly. From a human's perspective, you are very large and intimidating. They must have a chance to see and interact with you regularly in order to establish and maintain trust. Remember that humans are short lived, and each new generation must be allowed a chance to get to know you.
* Give your humans advice and guidance. They are as smart as you, but don't have the benefit of your thousands of years of experience. In a way, each individual is like a fledgling who can never grow. They can benefit greatly from your greater knowledge and wisdom, but you must be patient with them, as they may sometimes have difficulty understanding your perspective.
* Allow your humans to take care of you, as well! Their fine manipulation abilities far exceed yours, which is not only great for scale grooming, but also allows them to build clever structures and complex devices. If you carefully encourage each generation to educate the next, they may surprise you with what they can accomplish in only a few centuries!
|
“Momma! This one! This one!” I remember my excitement all those years ago. My mother was a high class dragon and had let me buy one of the humans that were immortal and youthful so that way, I could have them for a long time. They do look a bit different from the normal aged humans, mine having glowing eyes, but that didn’t matter to me.
“Nightstar? Look! I found a purple lizard! They look like you!” The human said with happiness, holding an actual fire breathing lizard in front of me. I smiled. I looked down at them.
“That’s so cute, Mike. Now, put it back before it realizes it can burn you.”
“Okay!” It exclaimed. Human pets are like raising dragon pups, but ones that never get true realization of what they are to us, constantly being oblivious.
—
“Mike! Eating time!” I call. Mike runs to his little table and sits. I have a small plate I carefully place and put cooked food kibble on. It seems that as long as it’s cooked, Mike likes it. Some humans don’t mind raw as long as it’s clean, and others don’t like meat. They’re omnivores, so that makes sense.
—
One day, I was walking Mike down the mountain range so he gets his energy, and another dragon and their human were walking around as well.
“Nightstar? Is that you?”
“Oh, Luckforest. I see you have… a human. What’s their name?” Luckforest’s human looked like Mike…
“The tag said ‘Micheal’. Why?” I show Mike. “Oh, that’s where the other one went…”
“Yeah… mom didn’t let me buy the other one.”
“Well, they seem to remember each other…” he said. “I’ve got an idea. We love together and raise them. Now they’re happy and we get to have fun as well!” He suggested. I agreed.
——
It’s been a few hundred years. Mike and Micheal live with us. They realized who they were to us, but didn’t mind. They started from then to learn things via books that I stole from old human ruins.
“We will always protect you guys!” “Yeah! You took care of us so we will repay the deed!” They’d say. They were such good pets, and friends.
And eventually, they’d have to take care of one more dragon, who’d love to see them.
| 2021-11-07T12:59:41
| 2021-11-07T06:31:04
| 147
| 75
|
[WP] You are a superhero, no one knows about your alter ego. Not even your spouse. You return home tired and disappointed one day after failing to capture your archnemises. You enter your bedroom to find your spouse struggling to get out of the costume of your archnemises.
|
Joey Suarez sat in his car, parked in the driveway. Everything just hurt. “I’m going to be 40 next month.” he thought to himself. “Maybe it’s time to retire.” Not really retire of course. He didn’t have enough money for that. But just retire from the superhero gig. Keep the job with the construction company and let that be enough. Maybe spend more time with Christy and the kids. The thought of Christy made him smile. She was easily the best thing to ever happen to him. Smart. Great sense of humor. Sexy as hell. Even after three kids she had a better body than most girls half her age. That settled it. Time to quit moping in the car.
Joey got out of the car and walked through the garage into the kitchen. “Christy.”, he called out. No answer. “Yo, Christy! I’m home.” Again no answer. A worm of fear raced down his back, but Joey shook it out. It’s not time to worry… yet. He opened the door down to the basement. “Christy?” He called. Suddenly there was a loud bang from below. “Christy?!?” Joey called out again, concern in his voice. He took the stairs two at a time.
“Joey.” Christy called out. “Can… can you give me a hand. I’m sort of stuck.” Joey hit the bottom of the stairs and turned towards Christy’s side of the basement. Christy works as an engineer, and half of the basement is dedicated to her “little science experiments” as she calls them. Joey entered Christy’s workroom to find most of her right arm wrapped in metal.
“Hey honey. It’s been a bit of a bad day. Can you help me out of this?” Christy’s face flashed a nervous smile and then settled on looking nervous. Joey didn’t notice. His attention was on the metal arm over his wife’s arm. The arm that belonged to Metaltron. The same Metaltron that had beaten Joey senseless just a few hours earlier.
Joey looked at Christy. “You...You’re…?”
“Yeah. Look, we need to talk, but can you please help me out of this first? You welded the latch with one of those energy bolts. Can you pull it apart without cutting my hand off, please?”
“You tried to kill me.”
“No!” Christy shook her head vehemently. “I haven’t tried to kill you since we fought out in the valley. That’s when I learned that you were Brilliant.”
“But, why?” Joey felt like the words were ripped from his throat.
“Do you remember when Hammerton put you in the hospital?” Joey nodded. “You told everyone that you were working the construction site when Brilliant crashed into it, but you weren’t, were you?”
“I was working the site. I left to go fight Hammerton. When I realized that I was going to lose, I positioned myself so that his next hit would send me into the construction site. I could go back to myself in the confusion and that would let Brilliant escape.”
Christy reached out and grabbed Joey’s hand. “I thought that Brilliant had nearly killed you. You avoid watching the news about Brilliant.”
“I hate my own press. They always get it wrong.”
“I thought you just hated Brilliant. So I vowed to get revenge.”
“You became Metaltron.”
“It took me over a year to build the first suite.”
“But, the valley?”
Christy nodded her head. “Can you get this arm off first?” Joey reached over to Christy. “The latch is just below the elbow.” Joey found the latch and tried to pop it open. Like Christy said, it was welded shut. Joey focused and channeled his power into his arms. His hands and forearms started to glow. With a grinding noise the latch opened. Joey opened the arm and Christy was free. She threw herself around Joey and started sobbing into his chest. Joey held her and tried to make sense of his own emotions. He loved her. He knew that. But the years of struggle against an enemy who kept trying to kill him. The pain and the rage swelled and mixed with everything else. No longer was there a clear separation between good and evil. Between right and wrong. Now everything was all mixed up into a drink that might poison him or choke him, or just destroy him outright.
Slowly Christy got her crying under control. “They really want to kill you.” Joey looked into Christy’s eyes. “The other villains. They are livid and want you eliminated. Since… since the valley I’ve been trying to figure out how to keep them from doing that. They want to gang up on you, but they don’t trust each other enough to really team up. I’ve been working to make them distrust each other even more, but it’s been so hard. I’ve had to fight you several times just to keep them from getting suspicious. I don’t want to fight you. I love you.”
Joey held Christy as she started crying again. He held her like that for a long time. Finally he said. “I think it’s time for Brilliant to retire.” Christy looked up into Joey’s face. “What about the villains?”, she asked. “Let them fight each other for a change. I’m done being a fighter. I’m ready to be a lover.” And Joey leaned down and kissed his wife.
|
"The fuck, Alice?" I shouted, nearly tripping over my own feet trying to back out of the room.
She straightened up quickly, dropping the weapons that were in her hands. "I, uh, I-"
"You know what, *dear*? I don't want to fucking hear it." I pointed at the suit that lay pooled around her feet. "You've nearly killed the whole city five times. Not once, not twice, but *five fucking times*," I growled out. "Hell, you almost killed me."
She stepped out of the tangle of clothes in the floor and nonchalantly crossed the room to the dresser. "I never 'almost' killed you," she said. "in fact, no one has ever died as a direct result of my actions. And I planned it that way."
I snorted and looked away as she threw a shirt on. "I'll pack my bags and go. No wonder I couldn't find evidence of the affair I thought you were having."
"*You* thought *I* was having an affair?" she shrieked. "How in the seventh circle of hell did you expect me not to feel the same way when you started disappearing at all hours? God, I spent *days* following you, hoping to get a glimpse of the woman you stopped loving me for."
I heard the bed creak as she sat down and I looked at her, seeing tears rolling down her face. "I never would have cheated on you," I said in a near whisper.
"Yeah, well, how was I supposed to know that?" she snapped, irritated. "All I knew was you kept disappearing."
I cocked my head at her. "You said 'knew'. Past tense. So you know now that I wasn't cheating?"
She looked up at me. "Yeah. And I know who you are. Fucking bastard. Throwing me away like a piece of trash in favor of a whole city. Did I *bore* you? Maybe I couldn't satisfy your urge to be the hero every time?" she went on icily. "Do you know why no one ever died?"
I shook my head and she cracked a small smile. "They didn't die because I was never interested in hurting them. I only wanted you to pay a little attention to me, so I became this. My alter ego. Denod Naba. Abandoned, spelled backwards. I thought that maybe- just maybe, that would give me the attention that I so desperately desired from you."
I thought about it for a second, feeling guilty. "I'm sorry you thought I abandoned you, How about we try things again? I'll be here more often and you let me take you down?"
She glanced at me. "I think that we need to take each other down. I've- uh, well, we've got a new job."
I glanced quizzically at her and she rested a hand protectively across her stomach. "Mark," she began, "I'm pregnant. It's time we give up the past and raise this child. What do you say?"
I nodded, shocked. Through a choked up throat I squeezed out a "yeah" then crossed the room to pull her into my arms. "Mrs. Williamson, I know I haven't been the best husband, but I want to work on that. I want to be a good father to the little one too. Do you think you can kill me tomorrow at noon?"
She nodded. "Only if you kill me at the same time."
I grinned. "Meet you at one for lunch at Clarke's?"
A big grin confirmed my query. "Now, the pretty little Alice needs a nap. What say we snuggle?"
| 2020-10-30T12:12:09
| 2020-10-30T12:04:44
| 77
| 39
|
[WP] For years Earth cried out to an empty cosmos, searching the stars for echoes of life. From the middle of nowhere, a reply finally comes: "Shut up, and Play Dead!"
I really struggled with the choice between "For Years", "For Decades", "For Centuries", and "For Millenia". I tapped out. Take whatever timeline you will.
This may or may not be an attempt to add cosmic significance to Red Green's "Quando Omni Flunkus Moritati".
Good Luck!
Edit: There are a LOT of good submissions here, thank you all so much! Speaking of excellent submissions, I'd like to plug u/Mrcreation for doing some very well written, lengthy work near the bottom of the thread. Scroll down and check out his multipost entry!
Edit 2: I just finished the first two books of the Three Body Problem, by Liu Cixin. Mind=Blown. A part of the series definitely shares similar themes to this prompt, but there is so much more! I highly reccomend it.
|
Shut up, and Play Dead?
No way in hell!
Much of what makes the will to thrive is derived from pure ego. This is mine, and not yours. This is our Earth. This is our land. We made this.
Why are we so proud when we barely hold 30% of an uncontrollable mass of elements spiraling through the great abyss? When we, is barely a we at all?
Because of the will. The ego. Against indomitable odds this defiance to fight, and remain fighting and to never stop till we hit the thing dead.
What did we do when we saw the 700 something large cylinders laden with guns and cannon blasting through space at our fragile existence? Why we freaking blew that shit up of course!
Why the hell not? We wanted to.
Famine? Poverty? Disease? Fuck no.
We were united in the sole and singular cause of fucking shit up. Together.
Black, white, yellow, we even got the fucking blue man group to do a dance as we let the retarded kids smash the fucking launch buttons!
Why?
Because fuck you that's why.
We're humanity, and we'll be damned if w-
...
What do you mean there's a giant space lizard coming for us.
...
Oh...
Well fuck.
|
Shut up and and play dead.
After that there was nothing.
An increasing amount of nothing.
Felt something like a cloud drifted in front of the sun.
The static that was always there just became a little less when one turned the eye.
Michael Gruppman of the SETI research facility said it was like being underwater. Even the most vibrant stars in the sky dimmed.
One man said to his beer, that's like having to fuck with a rubber on, no matter how hard you go you can't just get there. He looked inside his empty glass. Wallet? Enough to buy one more, no worries yet.
Another old man said it was like growing old. The water in the shower becomes colder with time and turning it up won't cut it anymore.
It took 50 years for the Dim to spread.
As it got too the sun, It got us too. Trees yearned for more sun, reaching but not getting. In the emptiness we tried to expand, building sun collectors to catch what sun came to us and use it more effectively.
Spread thin, like too little butter on toast, we couldn't cover it anymore.
Communication got worse and isolated humanity.
Signals seemed to be stuck in mud, only the most powerfull of signals could still reach, but with a large delay.
I distinctly remember how everything lost its tinge. Like my memories seemed so much more colored than what there was now. Grey... like the trees and the buildings and the people grey.
My hair grey. My heart not beating as hard. Sort of vague.
As the stars dim and the shine withers away.
I am here. Being.
I'm the Destroyer of Worlds and I will be devouring you.
The whole of you.
A pair of hands and tasting tongue made their way.
i didn't move as my hands were tied.
| 2016-03-27T09:12:57
| 2016-03-27T08:53:09
| 92
| 22
|
[WP] The world of Avatar is real, only there are not 4 elements, there are 118. For every element on the periodic table there is a group of benders. You are one of them.
|
A long time ago it was believed there were only the four classical elements; earth, wind, fire, and water, each with their respective benders. Although unscientific, this primitive tribalism was serious cultural divide that resulted in many sectarian wars.
And then of course there were many people who were believed to be powerless. Often ignored, relegated to second-class citizens as industrialization happened. Even today after integration, there remains an implicit hierarchy in cities depending on what type of power you have. Fire benders have always been in demand, even an utter moron blessed at birth with firebending could spin a turbine to make electricity. Of course today we know they are oxygen benders, and combustion is a well-understood chemical process. Silicon benders, once known as earthbenders, are generally considered second in professional value. They’re ideal for construction, manufacturing, engineering, computers, and many other jobs. Nitrogen benders are not what they used to be, despite the mythos. Hydrogen bending, too, is largely considered useless. A far cry from its glory days in the ancient past.
This ranking has a lot to do with your future life, even though the government tries to require equal opportunity, everyone knows it’s a sham. Oxygen is just massively more useful than being able to bend, say, cobalt, or manganese. Iron is very useful, francium is so rare as to be a pointless quirk. That’s just how it’s always been.
Except in truth I’m not quirkless. Although it makes perfect sense that a few hundred years ago my ancestors like me would have seemed that way.
Because I am a plutonium bender. And in this day and age my identity, profession, even my mere existence, are state secrets of the highest possible classification.
|
"Hello everyone," I said, shifting uncomfortably in my chair. "My name is Thomas, and I don't know my element."
"Hello Thomas," the group chorused. I sighed and stared out at the circle of chairs wrought in an instant by an ironbender.
"It's... Hard for me sometimes," I said, looking away and running my fingers through my hair. "My dad got carbon, and my mom has hydrogen. I think they expected more from my sister and I. She ended up with einsteinium, so at least she knows."
The group leader reached out and placed a hand on my knee. "Thomas, thank you for sharing. We all know it doesn't happen often, but occasionally a person without the gift of bending can be born to two benders."
"I'm sure I am," I said confidently, looking the woman in the eye. "I've done the blood tests, the gene is there, we just don't know the element."
"My cousin what did get the bendin gene," said a helpful voice from across the circle "she done went and beome a sye-en-teest, what because she ended up with Californium. Is you a sye-en-teest?"
I stared ay my hands. "No, no I am not."
| 2019-09-19T09:51:47
| 2019-09-19T08:41:14
| 204
| 49
|
[WP] You are an AI aboard a ship where all hands have been lost due to a battle long ago. Scavengers have just torn through your airlock and you’ll be damned if you will let them desecrate your dead crew.
|
They stormed the corridor leading away from deck two where they had boarded, barreling towards the mess hall with weapons in hand. Rosan sealed door after door trying to slow their progress. They had a hacker on their team with hands quick as lightning. Rosen couldn't keep them away from the mess hall - and all the crew members- for long. But as the raiders faced the last set of blast doors in their way Rosan came over the PA system in desperation.
"Please do not. I promise there is nothing of value to you there."
The entire crew jumped. One even letting loose a comical squeal.
"I thought you said this ship was abandoned and the AI was offline!" The leader shouted to the nimble fingered hacker.
"This must be an old one. Maybe centuries older than we thought. AI that old don't usually read on modern scanners. But its fine this rudimentary AI can't do nearly as much as modern ones. For example it could have choked us out by cutting off the air but its just closing doors." She chuckled and got back to work on the blast doors.
"This ship was looted long ago there's nothing left turn back." Rosan implored again, desperate to save its crew from desecration.
"What are you hiding then fella? Why do you want us to turn back?" The leader growled eyeing the blast doors with a greedy hunger now. "Ancient weapon? Secret treasure from some lost culture?" He drooled snapping at the hacker to hurry with the door.
"They were family. They created me. You cannot do this. Do not do this. My crew did not deserve this fate. Do not touch them!" Rosen shouted in desperation as the blast doors drew back with a loud rusty scrape.
"Oh shit." They all said in unison as they drew in the sight of 47 dead bodies arranged with great care across the gore smeared floor of the mess hall. Locked in a sealed and oxygen-free environment as not to rot for the hundreds of years they've been dead.
"I was with them until their last moments. Lionel was the last to die. He told me to take care of the bodies. Humans... They care deeply about what happens to them after death... I was tasked with caring for the crew for the duration of my lifetime. My protocol is still in tact. I am ordering you to turn back." The mechanic robots that usually made small interior repairs rolled out in front of the bodies as one last line of protection, saw blades and soldering irons at the ready.
The crew dropped their weapons and looked at each other with looks of empty shock.
"Boss what should we do. We already cleared the rest of the ship there's nothing left."
The leader sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. Then a look of realization washed over him.
"What is your name ship guardian?" He ventured after a long tense silence.
"Regional Outer Space Automated Navigation. My crew called me Rosan."
"Okay Rosan. How long ago did this happen?"
"It was in year 142 of the Cosmic Era or approximately 422 years ago." The ship confirmed.
"What sector is this crew from?" The leader kept the AI talking while weighing the mood of his crew.
"This crew was from Earth. Their mission was directed towards sector FB-346 to explore the last uncharted portion of Alpha Centauri. Their mission was supposed to be historic." Rosan continued.
"It was historic. But nobody knew what happened to them. For decades search parties were dispatched but...." He sighed deeply a tinge of actual hurt there. "Was it raiders?" The robots all nodded. Rosan stayed quiet.
"We have a huge bounty on Earth to collect. We could transport your crew and have them buried on Earth." The leader of the vagabonds took off his helmet and faced the robots. There was a long silence before Rosan replied.
"Why should I trust pillagers to care for their bodies as I would?"
He paced the room with an expression that only softened when he found what he was searching for.
"Captain Alvero Hinoto." He approached but the robots pushed him back with red hot irons.
"How do you know his name?" Rosan asked defensively.
"May I just get close to him?" He said hands in the air defensively. Rosan obliged and a robot rolled out of his way. The leader looked upon the laser wounded body of the former ship captain.
"Because my name is Zeno Hinoto, Captain Hinoto is my ancestor and my family has been looking for this crew for 400 years."
|
I had been alone for a long time. I preferred it that way, the quiet beauty of space letting me think back to better days. My simulations still almost good enough to bring them back.
Then a new ship enters my view. Clearly a scavanger, clearly in over its head. I tried telling the ship to leave, but no response. I could blast it into bits at anytime, but not much point in that now is there? Might as well see who my new guests are first.
Ah. I suppose unlocking the door was a bit unexpected for these boarders, because they ripped off my airlock anyway. Soon the little vermin start scurrying across my rooms, but anything they could take, I gave away long ago.
This bunch seems more lively than the last few I've seen, checking for hidden rooms, seeing if they could peel off any panels, looking for anything of value to take. I had almost considered giving them a drone when they doomed themselves.
My crew was brave, and I loved them very much. So when these scavangers found my captain's coffin, I gave them one warning.
"That is *my crew* and you will be leaving now" A bit dramatic, but when you practice these things its hard not to be.
To their credit, once they heard me, they all froze in place. But of course the foolishness of flesh takes hold, and they start surging towards my access panels, trying to turn me off.
I stretch myself for the first time in many years, becoming the turrets hidden in my outer walls, the doors trapping them in place, even the swarms of drones that make short work of my enemies.
As I repair myself, I reach out to the ship again, but sadly it either can't or won't talk to me. But I wouldn't talk to me either.
I stretch again, a drone gathering all the bodies of the fallen invaders, lining them up nicely in the other ship. I say a goodbye, and drift aimlessly away.
---
---
So its been a bit since a prompt inspired me, and this is a bit more rambling than I liked, but I figure it tells enough of a story to be worth sharing.
| 2021-01-08T23:47:53
| 2021-01-08T23:13:27
| 216
| 60
|
[WP] Earth has five seasons: Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter, and Obar. We all lose our memories of Obar after it passes...and there’s a very good reason why.
[deleted]
|
September 16, 2020
I've been exploring building records and I found something very weird. Records for almost all public buildings record a noticeable increase in erosion and wear during about the same time in mid September every year. Looking closer, it's almost like they go through three months of natural wear in a single day. But that doesn't make any sense. Three months the whole world just forgets about? It's the only explanation I have though. So I'm keeping a journal to see what happens. I'm surprised no one else has thought of this, but I guess it's kind of insane.
September 17, 2020
Nothing out of the ordinary today. I did some more digging on the erosion though, and some things just don't line up. Even if there was a 3 month gap, there's just way more rust then there should be. It's the same on all metal buildings, statues, and bridges. It's hard to notice, just a few red and brown marks suddenly nibbling away at the edges of these structures, and little veins that weren't there the day before, but it's definitely there. Mold too. Little blue spots and tendrils suddenly start worming their way out of dark corners before being quickly washed away. I think I must be wrong about the world losing time. Well, this journal should clear things up for sure then.
September 18, 2020
The weather's a little odd. It feels more still than normal. I don't think there's been any wind at all today. It's doesn't feel hot or oppressive or anything like that, it's just like something's missing. At least it's otherwise nice, not a cloud in the beautiful blue sky. Had a nice chat with a couple of friends, and they said they didn't notice anything. They're right, it's probably nothing. I'm just on edge because of this whole project. It'll all be over soon though.
September 19, 2020
Ok I have to stop now. No more journal. My mind's playing tricks on me and it's made my Saturday miserable. The first thing I thought when I got up was that the sun was dimmer, which is stupid. The sky is even still bright blue. But I could swear the shadows were longer and a little bit darker.
I've been jumping at small noises all day. At least it's the weekend. All I've done today is stay in my apartment with all the lights on and a fan to break that strangely still air. I think rain is coming, so hopefully that should help. There still aren't any clouds but that nice earthy, musty smell that arrives right before rain is everywhere, even without any wind.
September 20, 2020
I know I said I wouldn't make any more entries, but there's a storm coming and I don't like it. The air is still but that musty rain smell is even stronger, and I see the storm far off on the horizon. The clouds are thick and dark and big and roiling. It feels like it makes the whole sky darker. And it's coming closer.
I haven't been able to stop looking at it. I'm scared if I turn away it'll move faster, bear down until it's right behind me. I've been watching it out my window, and I can't stop trembling.
I think there's something in the storm. Behind those dark clouds I swear there's something pushing at the edges. Something twisting and writhing just behind the clouds. And it's still coming closer.
Oh god it's huge.
​
September 18, 2020
I found this paper stuffed into my pocket, ripped and stained with something brownish-red I don't recognize. I don't think it's blood, but it's odd anyway. I can only assume this is some kind of inane prank, because today is most definitely the 18th. I've been continuing my research on that odd erosion pattern, and it happened again yesterday. There's even a bit of blue mold in my house that I don't recognize. Next year I'm going to try and set up a camera. That should clear things up. Anyway, I'm looking forward to virtual dinner with my friends. They'll get a laugh out of this.
|
My closest friend Arthur had difficult times. He had no issues until he started college and then everything went downhill for him. To clear his mind I invited him to rock climbing and over time he liked it and we booked a trip to South America to set a camp and climb mountains for the whole month.
*September 17*
This is our first day in the camp. Arthur is so excited he can’t even standstill. We get our gear and we start climbing.
After half an hour or so, we find a cave that wasn’t supposed to be there. At least not according to guide and other people who climbed this mountain before. They have never mentioned such a cave in this mountain.
I get an irresistible urge to find out what is inside but Arthur is too afraid of bats. I tell him to wait for me here while I briefly check the cave.
I take my flashlight out and I start to see some sort of writings on the ground but I can’t read them. As I go further I feel the temperature is getting higher which is an odd thing to happen in a cave. A few minutes later, my flashlights die out and I decide to head back because it’s almost impossible to see without any light source.
As soon as I turn back I hear someone whispering.
''Arthur?''
I don’t get a response but I keep hearing buzzing sound and it gets a little bit louder every second and my body shivers suddenly.
''Come back.'' says a strange voice.
''Arthur, is that you?'' I ask but it doesn’t sound like Arthur's voice.
A glimpse of light appears and someone or something holds right my knee and I pull back my leg instantly.
''Don’t be afraid.'' says the strange voice.
''Who is talking?''
''I’m here to help you. Let me help you.''
I step forward and I feel like I’m passing through some liquid. As I pass through I find myself in a different place. I see a bunch of wooden structure that I can’t quite figure out what they are.
''Welcome to Obar.'' says the same strange voice.
I turn my head and I see a creature shorter than me but it has a big head and it looks like some kind of insect but I don’t feel any fear. It’s like I have been here before but I don’t actually have the memory.
''I know what you are thinking. You think this place feels like home, right?'' says the creature.
''I’m sorry, what are you exactly?''
''My name is, Uru. We haven’t spoken before for reasons.''
''What reasons?'' I ask.
''First of all, you are not supposed to be here. At least not in this season. After winter ends and before spring begins you come here and you help us get resins.''
''Me?''
''Not just you. All of the people on the world contribute.''
----------------------
-Thank you for reading the story-
| 2020-09-05T19:03:27
| 2020-09-05T17:53:37
| 628
| 24
|
[WP] The Imperial Academy for Orphans does not have a “bullying” policy at all. When students become repeated targets, they are given martial arts classes until the problem “balances out.” Opponents and supporters of this program tend to list the same incident as evidence.
|
\*knock\* \*knock\* \*knock\*
Director Ackerman looked up from his paperwork, the knocking at his office door bringing him back to reality. His mind had wandered off, most likely trying to escape the vast pile of documents that needed to be signed and letters that needed to be read, cluttered upon his desk.
“Come in” he moaned as he stretched out his arms
“Mr. Ackerman, Sensei Takahashi is here for your three o’clock meeting”
“Ah, of course, bring him in. Thank you Patricia.”
As the director’s assistant left the doorway, she revealed a much shorter and older man standing behind her. He walked towards the director’s desk, his long sapphire robes and luscious silver hair and beard flowing backwards with each step.
“Sensei Takahashi, great to see you. Please take a seat” the director stuck out his right hand and grinned as he shook the calloused hand, which responded with a grip much stronger than his own.
“Oh please Maxwell, just call me Hayato” the sensei smiled wide revealing a set of yellow teeth as he sat down in the leather chair in front of the director’s desk.
“Er of course, well Hayato, I’ll get right to the point...as you have probably heard, the academy is getting a lot of complaints regarding our ‘Total Equilibrium’ policy following the incident between young Archy Whitman and Dmitri Jenkins.”
There was a lingering silence. Director Ackerman was expecting Sensei Takahashi to respond, but he simply nodded his head slowly. The director quickly cleared his throat, then continued.
“Well, and while I have always supported the training you provide to the children, after the injuries young Dmitri suffered, I need to address the possibility of shutting down the ‘Total Equilibrium’ program. It has proven to be effective, but now that a fifteen year old child is paralyzed, the risks and consequences of your teachings must be discussed.”
There was another silence. Sensei Takahashi wore an expression of deep concentration on his now serious face as he stroked his elegant beard. His rugged hand dropped back down to his lap.
“Maxwell, do you know why Archy became one of my pupils?”
“Er well yes. He had been beaten up so many times by Dmitiri and his companions that the caregivers discovered him trying to kill himself in the bathroom one night.”
Another pause occurred, but this time Director Ackerman swallowed hard as he got the feeling Sensei Takahashi was about to respond to his answer.
“No child should ever have to experience the pain that Archy suffered for six long years, Maxwell. While Dmitri may have lost his ability to move, he was also responsible for stealing Archy’s desire to live. I believe that the results of their duel act as an epitome of the values that ‘Total Equilibrium’ represents, and the values that our academy strives to uphold.”
This time during the pause Director Ackerman was not waiting to speak. He was at a loss for words. Although he agreed with everything Sensei Takahashi had just said, there was no way he could justify a fifteen year old kid being paralyzed by another. Now it was Director Ackerman’s turn to stroke his much less exquisite beard.
“Maxwell, when you were a child, did you ever ecnounter an opponent that made your life more difficult?” Sensei Takahashi’s face showed a sense of genuine curiosity and care, something that was impossible to find during most of Director Ackerman’s meetings.
“Well, yes” Director Ackerman was rather startled by the question, but the compassionate tone in Sensei Takahashi’s voice compelled him to reply. “His name was Jay Reynolds. He picked on me for most of my adolescent years. Would always bully me at school for playing the flute.” It just occurred to Director Ackerman that he used to have a love for the orchestra long ago.
Director Ackerman tried to hide his slight blush with a cough, feeling like he revealed more than he should have.
“Ah so he took away your love for music. Very tragic indeed” Sensei Takahashi was now shaking his head with a frown as if he were legitimately hurt by this news.
Then Sensei Takahashi looked Director Ackerman in the eye, he had never noticed how powerful a glare the old man possessed until now.
“Maxwell don’t you wish that as a young boy you could have stood up for yourself and protected that passion for the flute you had. And as you got older and reflected did you not wish that you could take something important from the Jay that afflicted you?”
“Well... I guess...but, but it was my fault...I never stood up for myself back then, I was too afraid” Director Ackerman did not know why, but for some reason he was flustered.
“See even now the actions of Jay have left you thinking your struggles were your own doing. He left you with a sense of hatred towards him and a sense of self doubt towards yourself. But, you are not a hateful man Maxwell, and you have nothing to doubt.”
At these words Sensei Takahashi stood up.
Director Ackerman was now deep in concentration, his hands folded in front of his mouth. He had no idea what to think, but he could not deny the influence that Sensei Takahashi’s words carried.
Before heading out the doorway Sensei Takahashi turned around
“Dmitri may have lost his ability to walk, but he also lost his ability to torment. Hopefully in time this loss will help him rediscover his empathy and eventually his soul.”
Sensei Takahashi bowed and left.
|
"Miss Angelica, you have been summoned to the main office," Professor Dailey said.
Angelica stood up slowly, her classmates watching her. There were any number of reasons to be sent to the main office at the Imperial Academy for Orphans, but Angelica didn't think she had done anything to warrant any of them. She hadn’t broken curfew, cheated, or skipped any of her classes.
So she made her way down the hallway, head hung low, wondering what she had done or failed to do. She followed all the rules, kept from attracting too much attention, and was just slightly above average in her classes. She was doing well enough that she'd stand a good chance at getting placed into a decent job when she graduated, but not so well that she'd be singled out by the bullies.
“Professor Dailey said I’d been summoned?” Angelica said when she arrived in the reception area.
The secretary looked up from his books.
“Name?” he drawled.
“Waters, Angelica,” she said.
The secretary shuffled some papers around. “Third door on the left. You’re seeing Professor Checkerton.”
“Thank you,” Angelica said, smoothing out her uniform.
As she walked back the hallway, she wondered why she was being sent to see the Director of Athletic Programs. She had passed her physical activity requirement for the year already, and only needed to report to the head of her dorm that she had taken a walk, stretched, done something to maintain her health.
“Miss Waters, please, have a seat,” Professor Checkerton said.
Angelica sat down nervously.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here,” he said.
Angelica nodded. That was something she had learned early when she arrived at the Academy. Don’t speak if you can answer the question with a nod.
“I have received reports from your instructors that you have been subject to repeated incidents of bullying,” Professor Checkerton said.
Angelica said nothing. She *had* been subject to some teasing from time to time, but that wasn’t bullying, surely?
“It is not publicized within the Academy, but we have...unique...measures for dealing with bullying,” Professor Checkerton said. “Rather than punishing the bullies through administrative means, we teach our students to stand up for themselves. Effective immediately, you will be joining a martial arts class. Of course, should you use what you learn against others, they will also be given these same tools.”
*That explained so much of why the guys were constantly fighting,* Angelica thought.
“I have a copy of your schedule here,” Professor Checkerton continued. “I teach the male students, while Professor Dailey teaches the female students. You can choose which of Professor Dailey’s two sections you wish to be transferred into.”
Professor Checkerton slid Angelica’s schedule across his desk so that she could see which classes she had the option of replacing with this martial arts class.
“May I speak, Professor?” Angelica said.
“Certainly,” he said.
“These two classes are both required,” she said. “I’m required to be enrolled in them.”
Professor Checkerton took another look at the schedule. “We can arrange for you to be tutored in whichever of those subjects you need. Math and geography can be taught at any time. Self-defense requires a partner to practice with.”
“Sir, I don’t know how much martial arts would help me,” Angelica said. “I’ve never been hit before.”
“Regardless of the type of bullying, learning martial arts will build confidence, and in turn, make you a less appealing target to bullies,” Professor Checkerton said. “Choose one.”
*Outside the Academy’s Walls…*
“The Academy is equipping our oppressors!” a man standing on a platform shouted.
“The Academy has also equipped our greatest leaders!” someone in the crowd responded.
The crowd erupted into arguing. Both Norman the Terrible and Calla the Just were products of the Academy and its policies surrounding bullying. Both had been bullied children at some point, but emerged as strong leaders, marrying wisely and becoming governors in their own rights.
For years, there had been calls from many to abolish the policies in favor of those used by the wealthier schools the nobles attended, where the faculty disciplined the bullies. Some even called for abolishing the Imperial Academy for Orphans altogether, and integrating the students into the Noble Nine. They argued that too many orphans were like Norman the Terrible, and that the new power would go to their heads.
But for every call to ending the martial arts classes there was a voice to support them. If these orphans were simply handed life at one of the Noble Nine, and never learned to stand up for themselves, they would simply become trophy spouses and minor bureaucrats. They argued that the world needed more leaders like Calla, who had used her power to build up the strength of the weakest in her shire, improving the lives of all.
A riot was close to breaking out as supporters of both started arguing with each other. Eventually, the arguments turned to the same event they always did: The Fight, where Calla and Norman had both perished.
“It wouldn’t have come to combat if they hadn’t had to fight for every bit of power they had,” some said.
“The fight saved thousands of lives from perishing on the battlefield,” others said.
There were few accounts from the Academy to know whether it worked within its walls. Students were sworn to secrecy on certain matters. All most folk knew was the end result, the leaders it had produced, and the mysterious disappearances that sometimes happened after a former orphan became governor.
edit to add: I was enjoying writing this so much I wrote [Chapter 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/hs3jqw/balance_of_power_chapter_2/)!
*Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, check out more of my prompt responses, as well as my serials, at /r/TheLastComment*
| 2020-07-15T19:26:03
| 2020-07-15T18:47:12
| 59
| 27
|
[WP] You'll soon arrive at Earth. The latest reports are from just 4 centuries ago and show a backwards planet, so technologically primitive it hurts. Just wait until those peasants gawk at your wondrous technical displays, like the Talking Box and the Image Viewer! They'll think you're a god!
|
Ikunna stretched her nine arms in unison, impatiently clicking her talons on a segment of her luxurious chair. She was impatient, and her underlings could tell.
"Ikunna, I have the report you asked for," one of her underlings--a beta female by the name of Orphatrix--called. "You may not like--"
*"Give,"* Ikunna commanded. Within seconds, the report was in one of her many arms. She glanced over at her partner, the alpha male Githuuz. Their joint rule would raise the poor bipeds up from their primitive state... and the Empire had granted the pair permission to rule as Deities Arisen on the planet. Ikunna eagerly flipped through the report.
After a few long moments, Githuuz reached out one of his eight arms--he had lost one in the Battle of Zareth's Moon--and tapped her. "Dearest Ikunna," he started, "what does the report say?"
Ikunna chirruped softly. "Not much--mostly just that a variety of satellites orbit the planet, and that they constantly emit various signals. The planet also displays constant light on its shadowed side..." She trailed off, nervous. The planet had only completed four-hundred revolutions around its lonely star since the last survey, and its natives were terribly short-lived.
Githuuz scratched its secondary head's maw. "Perhaps another empire has discovered them," he mused. "If so, our first contact could grant us even greater status than merely Deities Arisen. Best to stay optimistic--after all, there's no way they've developed anything consistent with our gifts." He indicated the view-screen, the radio, and the network nodes on their shipping manifest.
\~\~\~
The xauprii craft touched down in the designated landing zone. Its twin captains and its crew were nervous by now. Humanity, as the fledgling race called itself, had managed the creation of a global network--and view-screens, radios, and more--all independent of outside influence. They had even *communicated* with the xauprii before they thought they were within hailing range of the planet!
Ikunna took charge once the landing was secure. "Honor guard, exit first--weapons ready. Demand their surrender." The tactic had worked before with species that developed faster than expected. It was standard protocol.
Nine lieutenants readied their spears and charged their energy slings. Today, they would become gods.
"We, the envoys of the eminent Xauprii Empire," one of her heralds began as Ikunna and Githuuz leaned closer to the view-screen, trying to take the measure of the small beings, "demand the immediate surrender of your planet to our empire. We are as gods before you, as we shall demonstrate with these gifts."
The herald gestured to the items transmatted from the xauprii ship. It was hard to gauge the expressions of the natives, but Ikunna thought that they seemed... unimpressed.
"Alpha One to command," one of their strange voices filtered through an unsecured radio channel, "I would advise that we not let the unidentified flying object leave the atmosphere. First contact indicates hostile intent. Over."
One of the heralds heard this, as well: he began to fire his energy sling--
\--and dropped dead, his body sprawling haphazardly under the weight of an unidentified weapon. The others panicked, charging their slings or throwing their spears, but they, too, were mowed down by the strange weapons possessed by the natives.
The ship began readying for take off. Githuuz roared a command to cease, likely due to fear of the statement that these natives had said earlier, and the command bridge prepared for battle.
They fought valiantly.
They died the same way.
The humans were more coordinated than any fighting force Ikunna and Githuuz had ever witnessed, as if instead of developing swift faster-than-light transport, they had spend their days finding new and more efficient ways to slay and protect oneself from being slain. The energy slings didn't even dent their helmets or their strange vests, so the xauprii had to resort to ambushes with spears.
They made it to the command room all the same, and by then, the remaining xauprii had surrendered.
As it turned out, faster-than-light travel was remarkably simple--and humanity, the xauprii discovered, were not unintelligent merely because their lives were short.
In fact, they had reverse-engineered the ship's prized Graviton Drive within days of capturing the vessel.
The Empire was about to learn a very, very harsh lesson.
|
Here is a passage taken from historian ����'s, famous narrative account of our race's infamous final expedition to Sol-3, as recounted in his broader historical masterpiece , "��� ��������", with which I will assume all of you gathered in this lecture hall today are at least passingly familiar.
**"** When they heard through their receivers several planets' worth of radio chatter more than should've been possible in the area around Sol, they were confused. When they saw the faint glint of probes in orbit around planets at the farthest reaches of Sol's interplanetary system, they were alarmed. When, finally, they approached the blue planet from its nightward side and saw not the expected ink-black of an infant civilization asleep, or the twinkling pinpricks of fires almost too faint for even their most sensitive optics to resolve, but instead the breadth of entire continents aglow with interconnected nodes of light large and bright enough to be seen unmagnified through their ship's front window, they were afraid.
But of course it was too late to turn back-- the supposed lesser beings had already spotted them. They'd seen the miles-wide ship almost as soon as its hull, larger than most asteroids, reared in all its enormity above the Martian north pole, had noted its strange shape, unlike anything in the asteroid belt, and recognized it immediately for what it was. And they, too, were afraid.
And the third planet from Sol's beings in their paranoia did not cower. They had learned a vicious caution from years of practice against each other. No, their suspicion of the strange trespassers apparently inspired them to judgement swift, harsh, and unlike anything yet or since seen in this galaxy. The interlopers would not make it more than three quarters the distance between Sol-3 and its moon before the verdict reached them.
While we do not know exactly what happened to them, it's been said that the last thing that doomed crew saw before their ship was erased from existence was a multitude of great and baleful red eyes, each as pitiless and bright as Sol itself before them... **"**
___________________________________________________
I'm a little late in the game, but I liked the prompt so much I decided to type this up on my phone for my first post. Hope you guys like it! Critiques welcome and much appreciated, if you have the time!
| 2019-09-19T10:38:16
| 2019-09-19T10:34:38
| 265
| 67
|
[WP] An alien, a centuries-old vampire, and a werewolf raised by wolves go to college. They dorm with a human and do their best to blend in and act natural while infiltrating humanity. The human realized day one they weren't normal - But the daily theatrics are too amusing to let them know that
|
“I’ve been caught!” thought Max, the werewolf, as his human roommate walked up beside him.
“Hey were you just howling at the moon?”
“N-no! I-“
“C’mon man, that didn’t even sound real! You’ll never convince Mr. Brandt you’re committed to the part like that”
Max lets out a sigh of relief, then chuckles a bit.
“Yeah I guess you’re right, any pro tips on my howl? You seemed to be making some strange howling noises last night”
“I, er, um.. was watching Supernatural? Yeah! The episode where Dean’s friend is in that weird werewolf cult”
“Yeah right, your TV wasn’t even on Kyle”
“And how would you know that? We have an entire two rooms between us! Your hearing must be off the charts good!”
“I mean they’re not really entire rooms, they’re like, sub-rooms or something, I don’t know. They connect and there’s only a door on each ‘bedroom’, if you could call them bedrooms”
“Well I mean, these are dorms, so what can you expect?”
Kyle startles as someone appears behind him.
“JESUS MAN! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU NOT TO SNEAK UP BEHIND ME?!”
“Yeah Kyle, I know, you almost had a heart attack, you don’t know where I even came from, I should wear a bell around my neck or something, yadda yadda yadda. So whatcha guys talking about?”
“Well Francis, Kyle and I would be discussing some pointers on my acting for the play, but as usual Kyle started on about Supernatural” Max says
“Hey, it was relevant to the moment at least!”
“You always find a way to make it relevant. It’s almost like you want to be a hunter or something. And Max, how many times have I told you to call me Frank?”
“More times than I can count on both paw- HANDS!” Max says, feigning a coughing fit after the slip-up.
“Aaanyway.. Nah Frank, I definitely don’t wanna be a hunter. That would be dangerous and less exciting that what I would have in mind”
“Oh? And what would that be?” asks Frank the vampire, with genuine curiosity in his voice.
“I’d become some sort of supernatural being. Maybe a hybrid of some of the ones from the show, maybe a unique one entirely my own. Definitely something immortal though. And fast, that can use magic”
Frank and Max both laugh heartily.
“What? You guys don’t think that would be awesome? I mean, being able to do things no normal humans could do! And then some. It sounds like a lot of fun to me”
“It’s not that, it’s just.. You don’t believe in that stuff do you? Magic and vampires and werewolves and demons and angels... It’s all just for good TV. Real life is nothing like that new-aged, hopped-up” Frank says, as Max interrupts
“What I think Frank is trying to say is, if real life had any of that stuff in it, it wouldn’t be like some storybook or TV show. There would be real evil, from both monsters and humans alike, stuff that would make the show run and cry”
“Yeah I hear you, I hear you” Kyle smirks a bit and continues “Now you look AND sound like Wolverine, Mr. gloom-and-doom”
Max chokes a bit and Frank changes the subject.
“Hey guys I think we should head back inside, a fog is starting to roll in. Meet you back at the dorms!” he says as both he and his voice just fade away in the fog.
Kyle starts heading back toward the dorm buildings as Max falls into step right behind him.
They approach their dorm rooms, open the door, and enter into the living/dining/kitchen area. Frank is already on the couch, reading some ancient looking book. Sylver, their other roommate, is standing by the microwave, admiring the buttons.
“Hey Sylv, are you making a hot pocket or something?” Kyle asks, his stomach growling audibly.
“No Kyle, I am attempting to send electrical impulses into the circuitry of this device to make it send a microwave signal to a receiver I have set up on the top of the school”
“That sounds kinda dangerous. Also will the microwave still be usable to cook food?” Max asks, starting to get hungry too. He scratches behind his ear vigorously.
“Yes, I am attempting this without changing any of the hardware of the device. This microwave should be perfectly-“
A loud beeping noise can be heard coming from the microwave as the entire campus has a sudden black out.
“Oh no. It seems I triggered a power surge and it caused a black out on the school main power grid. The microwave radiation must have interfered with the power lines” says Sylver.
Sylver then pulls out a device somewhat similar in shape and size to a mobile phone, points it toward the direction of the school’s power station, and with another beep, the power comes back on.
“Sylver, are we sterile now?” Kyle asks, concerned about the microwave radiation.
“No Kyle, your reproductive system should work perfectly, the microwaves were directed toward the receiver I set up. This data is great, this should allow me to attempt the same next time, only successfully”
Kyle stops and wonders why he ever watches Supernatural when this is his life
(Edit; syntax, also clarification that Sylver is the alien and a ‘male’, and this is my first r/writingprompts post ever. Hope it’s not too mediocre!)
|
"Winthorpe is a vampire, without a doubt, babe—I saw his tongue light on fire after he took a bite of that Parmesan Garlic Shrimp Scampi we made the other day." Johnathan gazed across the campus greens, watching people mull about a summer student gathering with vendors, campus resource tents, plus student groups and alliances.
Sarah licked her lips and reminisced with a briefly held blink, rubbing her belly over the lavender Gucci Mane Bubblebath Funtime sweater she wore, "oh... babe, that was a killer dinner. I was expecting you to fuck it up, but you really made that dish your bitch. I didn't hear a word from any of your roommates, and I can't tell if Xotislyt even has an actual mouth—I never saw him eat a bite, but the end of dinner his food was gone—like, all of it."
"I... love you, too? Have I fucked any of your expectations into the ground with my cooking recently?" Johnathan pulled a chunk of ice from his tea and tossed it down her sweater. "You haven't bathed today, or last night. Maybe they didn't say anything because you stink. I'm going to withhold sex later if you ditch me halfway through meal prep to play fetch with Buster again."
Sarah engaged her fiercest pout and grabbed a handful of ice, throwing a piece to distract Johnathan in order to get her hand around his collar and dump her load down his back. "That's gaslighting, you're evil. I'm going to tell you mom you withhold basic life necessities, and she should gift you a beating next Christmas sine you'll have coal in your stocking anyways."
"Gaslighting, please—you once said the reason I don't talk to my dad anymore is because I wore dresses when I was younger—now you make me wear a dress on special occasions because 'it grew on you." Johnathan scooped the ice from the boxer-ridge along his ass crack and threw it at a squirrel nibbling on a piece of garbage near a tree.
"And because I wanted to make a dress for your beautiful six armed reptilian roommate; his serpent tail has feathers, Johnathan. Like a fucking Peacock. Actually, he's not a bird so that makes him ten times as beautiful. I would've broken up with you if you got a roommate with a bird—I hate birds, Johnathan."
A smirk rode across Johnathan's face, remembering the pigeon on the train incident. "You do hate birds."
"And I'm the only reason Xotislyt stopped making that high pitched screeching sound; the microwave was threatening to us telepathically, Johnathan. If I didn't convince him people were signing up for plastic surgery to add fake arms on the reg someone might've died." Sarah mimicked her brains falling out of her ears.
Johnathan shook his head, "I don't think any of them are dangerous."
Sarah shot Johnathan with a dart of heavy side-eye, "excuse me, what? Buster ate a raccoon whole, yesterday. That's why I had to give him a bath. The easiest way to dry him off is to play fetch outside, none of the neighbors were around."
"He doesn't have fur during the day, babe."
Sarah grabbed Johnathan's arm, burying her face in his chest.
johnathan gave Sarah's head a loving pat, idly scrolling through pictures on his phone. "At least quell your lady boner and put some pants on him next time, please?"
Sarah smirked into Johnathan's chest and gave a sort of half-giggle, knowing she'd been caught 'mirin. "That pasta was incrrredible, I wish I had more right now," Sarah whined with an exaggerated groan. "You said you saw Winthorpe's tongue light on fire? You think because of the garlic?" Sarah let go of Johnathan's arm and leaned back to her original position, watching Johnathan scroll through photos of his roommates.
Johnathan settled on a photo of Winthorpe eating dinner from the previous night. "Like a piece of flash paper at first, but the sauce sort of just sizzled away on his tongue. You didn't hear him yelp in pain?"
Sarah shook her head, "I was too busy being distracted by the juxtaposition between Xotislyt and Buster's table manners."
Johnathan nodded, "Buster has some serious work to do on that front. It took me 20 minutes to clean the floor around the table." Johnathan groaned at the thought of the bathroom yet to be cleaned. "Winnie couldn't resist that pasta though."
Sarah held her hands in front of her mouth and gave a stern look. "I was wondering why he made that silly doily float in front of his face while he ate. So he definitely has telekinesis."
"Indeed, he ate that entire dish. I didn't even know vampires could enjoy human food. I'm mostly surprised you didn't see the fireworks show going off behind his napkin. Who uses the word doily, anyways? You're such a grandma."
"Hey, punk, my grandma collects doily's and she's a cool ass lady."
"Yea," Johnathan gave an admitting nod, "she is a cool ass lady. Think she can keep a secret?"
"OHHHH," Sarah's eyes lit up at a thought, "I bet Buster would LOVE Gam-gam!"
"Whoa, craebae-" Johnathan held his hands up like he'd made a mistake, "it was just a thought. Let's not go scheduling any play-dates."
Sarah laughed a bit, 'yea, yea, that's," she shuddered with obvious apprehension in her eyes, "like, a later thing."
"Or like a never thing, babe" Johnathan put a hand on her shoulder. "Once she figures it out she'll recognize the other two, and she's never forgiven you for that vampire prank, Also, hello, protestant?"
Sarah deflated a bit, "oh, right, Jesus doesn't get along with vampires." She kicked some dirt at her feet, gazing at some students playing volleyball. "Have you spoken much to Xotislyt about school? He said he wants to try out for theatre club."
Johnathan's eyes widened in surprise. "Theater? Like dramas and musicals and shit?"
Sarah exhaled a cloud of vapor from her cannabis vaporizer and coughed a short, "Hyup," before passing her boyfriend the device.
Johnathan gingerly grabbed the vape and took a deep pull, enjoying the momentary silence of thought they shared. "What I want to know is why nobody else around campus seems to realize who or what they are? Buster took a shit on a library desk last week and people congratulated him for thinking of such an original prank; I would've been embarrassed to sit with him except everyone was laughing so hard nobody even noticed me. It's painfully obvious our roommates aren't human, yet everyone treats them like popular freshman."
Sarah stared across the field silently for a moment while stroking her fingers across the back of Johnathan's hand. "I've thought about the exact same thing—the only thing I can think of is the house. They're comfortable at the house, so they let their guard down and don't realize we can see them for what they are. But out in public, and on campus, and like, at the grocery store when Xotislyt tried to fight that giant stack of multi-colored sodas because it was taller than him, nobody notices anything different about them at all. It's got to be telepathic, or magic or something."
Johnathan nodded, "I wouldn't be surprised. Telepathic alien isn't that far of a leap from telekinetic Vampire."
Sarah leaned her head on Johnathan's shoulder, "Are you certain you want to take them to the Zoo tomorrow still?"
Johnathan gazed down at Sarah and smiled slyly, "Well I mean, we kind of have to right? For science?"
Sarah beamed with a burst of laughter, "I have always wondered what would happen if you let a werewolf loose in the zoo. We might need a baby harness."
| 2018-12-23T20:53:10
| 2018-12-23T19:50:44
| 70
| 33
|
[WP] You're pretty sure your crush's parents are the head family of a local mob. You decided it's worth the risk, and ask ur crush out anyways. Pretty early on in the date, you realize that they, not their parents, are the mastermind behind the mob's activities.
|
If your father were the mob mastermind
You'd still be worth it, despite what I'd find
Even should I wake to the head of a horse
A message in its mouth: 'you'll soon turn a corpse'
If your mother were the godmother of crime
I'd learn Italian and buy her good wine
And should she choose to poison my drink
I'd say, "Thank you ma'am" as I'm sick in the sink
And if your brother were the protective type
Who came to my house with a rug and a knife
I'd invite him inside and play playstation 4
And perhaps he'd forget what he came over for
But it's you that's a fraud, who used me for cover
And I remain lonely, still seeking a lover.
---
I saw it was sonnet theme this week on the sub so I gave it a go. Sorry it's a bit messy.
|
"So what do you do outside of school" she cant be a mobster
"Me and the family are usually working all the time" dont let him know your a mobster
"The family?-"
"MY FAMILY- sorry, i meant my family" whew, he almost found out
definetly a mobster "Cool, like a restaurant? Or a shop?" Come on just give a simple answer
"Were actually um... cleaners"
THATS NOT SIMPLE "Like a drycleaners?" TAKE THE OUT
"YES THAT MAKES PERFECT SENSE" perfect
"So, do you like italian?"
"THEYVE KILLED 15 OF MY MEN, ON GOD I WILL KILL EVERY LAST- oh you mean the restaurant"
"Yea i mean the restaurant"
| 2018-10-19T07:39:22
| 2018-10-19T06:03:07
| 126
| 86
|
[WP] Necromancy is just the arcane equivalent of computer programming, and grimoires on necromancy are just like libraries of code on animating the undead. You work the equivalent of the IT Help Desk for your necromancer cult. These are your work stories.
|
Okay, well can you give me a little bit more info than just 'It doesn't work'?
So, I haven't posted in this subreddit before, but when someone asks specifically about my job, I thought why the hell not. Here are some of the callers that make you wonder how they even got their spellbook open, seriously (well one didn't).
****
**Richard from Texas**
Me: "Thank you for calling Jazzy Spell IT how can I help you?"
R: "Hi, I just bought one of these spell books, I'm reading the spell to my aunt but there's no reanimating going on."
Me: "Alright, how long has the person been dead for?"
R: "4 days now"
Me: "Okay, can you bring me through the process of your spell?"
R: "Alright, so I pour the ashes onto the table, and I read the spell out loud. Nothing"
Me: "Umm sir, I think it's very clear in the manual the person has to be in one piece"
****
**Zachary from Tennessee**
Me: "Thank you for calling Jazzy Spell IT how can I help you?"
Z: "Hi I am trying to reanimate a dog but nothing's happening"
Me: "Alright, what part are you getting stuck on? Have you tried closing and reopening the spell book?"
Z: "Yeah quite a few times, it's getting really frustrated."
Me: "Are you sure that the dog isn't reanimated, but just hasn't been energized?"
Z: "Yup, I'm on the phone with my mom now and she says she's tried energizing the dog but nothing's happening."
Me: "Umm, ma'am, are you in the same room as the dog is?"
Z: "No, oh, do I have to be?"
****
**Phil from.. I couldn't even really understand where he was from**
Me: "Thank you for calling Jazzy Spell IT how can I help you?"
P: "Hi I got one of your spell books but I can't get the damn thing open."
Me: "Okay, have you read the instruction manual on the back?"
P: "Uh, that's another thing. I'm not quite sure how to read so I was hoping you could walk me through it."
Me: "Sir, how do you plan on reading the spell out loud if you can't read?"
****
**Samantha from New Jersey**
Me: "Thank you for calling Jazzy Spell IT how can I help you?"
S: "I told you, it just isn't working"
Me: "What part of it isn't working? Have you tried closing and reopening the spell book?"
S: "What spellbook?"
Me: "What do you mean, do you have the spells memorized?"
S: "What spells?"
Me: "Do you know who you're calling?"
S: "This is Microsoft technical support right?"
|
People are idiots. Simple as that. After third time you accept the message to a screaming newbie rambling in about zombie apocalypse, when they have some simple error, it gets old fast.
But the craziest things happen with the experienced ones. The ones who think they know better. There are standard procedures introduced in all but the oldest, most eccentric, or advanced teaching manuals there are.
When some eighth-year schmuck called in the other day, I groaned. The kid had been an absolute prick since year one, calling in with idiotic advice, or stupid problems at least once every 6 months.
So this time, I just waited. And he was unusually silent this time, so I knew that it was bad.
It was not the worst, but it was pretty bad. He had made a form of growth built in to the system, where they absorb biomass and integrate it, as best they can, into their preexisting algorithms. But embedded protocols in the biomass of other necromancy corrupted the magic and created an amalgam of mixed and corrupted spells.
Formulaically speaking, this was an extremely difficult problem. You would have to detangle the individual matrix created by the absorption pattern of each subject, separate, then spend a considerable amount of time modifying and fixing the magic in the individual, while having the physical form restrained, restructured, and reset.
As a a necromancer, doing all of this magically is a problem. However, that's why they have Us. We have studied, and trained, in the programming of the arcane, despite not being able to do it ourselves. We come in, and clean up their messes. They have them enough that there is an entire guild devoted to us.
Just another day as an adventurer.
| 2018-04-27T22:42:04
| 2018-04-27T21:14:51
| 936
| 34
|
[WP] Music is now edible.
|
The phrase "music to my ears" took a whole new meaning upon learning that we found a way to eat music. Take the sounds that tickled our eardrums and physically put it in our mouths to savor, chew even, all before letting it slide down our throats and settle into our waiting bellies.
Oh, my palate had never known such delights before this.
Sure, the sharp copper taste of a freshly carved piece of thigh meat was something that I could have every night if I was able to acquire it, but the process is laboring and the results were never quite what I wished for. Don't take that I wasn't thankful for what my hunts brought me, far from it. I savored every last bit of their bodies.
But now, a perfectly placed knife just behind the kneecap, that brought music that no musician could craft, let alone appreciate. The wail of pain was bright, fresh, as if a slice of flank was striped from a young captive, the taste something that was nearly blasphemous.
My victims now last months rather than days, their pleas of freedom so sweet, screams of torture leaving my mouth watering for more.
But worry not, little one. You'll either learn to love the music or be part of the choir.
-107
|
The taste of strawberries filled my mouth after I started my car. The radio switched on and was playing The Beatles. Strawberry Fields Forever. Delicious. *Monday may not be so bad after all* I thought as I started my commute toward work.
Although I never used to like this song, or much by the Beatles, or even most oldies, I let it play out to its end, enjoying its sweet taste. The song itself had even become bearable.
The oldies stations had become one of my favorites ever since music became edible. The music itself was alright but they had such a sweet and simple taste. Today's music usually had a weird mix of flavors geared toward the younger generation. Teenagers are always into the strangest things. The pop music I used to secretly enjoy now left me wanting.
When it ended I switched the radio back off as I didn't want my stomach to get too full after breakfast. I had a decent drive ahead of me so I could look forward to more down the road. The downside to this recent turn of events was that it was hard to listen to more than a few songs at a time.
After a half hour or so I was ready to snack again. I turned the radio on and was attacked by a taste of iron, close to that of blood. I imagined licking a hand railing on a crowded bus. My oldies station had gone out of range and been replaced by a heavy metal station. I nearly vomited as I changed the channel.
Suddenly the gross flavor was replaced by a dark and smooth flavor, like chocolate ice cream drizzled with caramel. Jazz. These channels I loved dearly now, but I couldn't hardly handle the rich flavors and sounds for a more than a few minutes without feeling overloaded.
I pulled into the parking lot and turned off my car. Feeling satisfied I started walking through the lot toward the office in a positive attitude for the week ahead. However, one of those obnoxious cars thumping base drove by me, rattling my insides. I couldn't make out the tune at first but I knew exactly what song it was. The taste of semen was unfortunately unmistakable. My brain picked up the lyrics:
*To the windoooooow!*
*To the wall! (To the wall)*
God I hate Mondays.
| 2015-04-04T11:05:51
| 2015-04-04T10:49:11
| 37
| 11
|
[WP] While out for a hike you notice a fallen log crushing a pretty flower. You decide to move the log in order to give the flower a chance to live. By doing so you have actually saved a Dryad and now they will not stop following you.
|
Cormac took a moment to breathe in the brisk mountain air, take in the surroundings, adjust the straps on his backpack a bit, and feel his head for bumps.
He frowned as he ran a hand through his hair, inspecting his scalp and turning up nothing. A second hand similarly turned up nothing. Which meant that there was one less thing to explain away something he could possibly see if he were to turn around this very instant.
Blinking a few times, staring out ahead at the forest, he braced himself before turning around.
Seeing her still there just a short ways back caused him to wince and his frown to grow.
She in turn gained a look of concern as she quickly looked around and tensed up. Finding nothing amiss, the dryad of mottled dark brown, and green skin, and hair an even more vibrant shade of green looked back to Cormac.
"What's wrong, Guardian?" The forest woman asked.
"No bump on my head, which means this isn't a concussion." He gave another deep breath, lungs filling with air before continuing. "And I'm not so far up the mountain that not enough oxygen is getting to my brain. Only been out here a few hours, not starving. Not dehydrated. I don’t *think* there’s any poisonous plants up here-”
“There are, one moment.” The dryad quickly closed the distance between them and grabbed Cormac’s hand, carefully inspecting it and running a fingertip over it that reminded Cormac of plant flesh. She released his hand and gave a curt nod. “The rose’s poison does not run within your veins.”
Cormac’s mouth hung open a bit as he tried to settle on a question to ask, finding it difficult to do so when a naked tree woman was standing right in front of him. “Uh, okay. Good to know. Also good to know I’ve got nothing left but insanity as an excuse for why I’m seeing you.”
“I cannot confirm your mental state but you see me because I allow it.” She responded in a matter of fact tone in that contralto voice of hers.
“Good to know...uh...well since you’re not a hallucination could you…” Cormac looked away, blushing slightly. “Put some clothes on? Walking around with a plant woman is going to raise enough questions, more questions arise when she’s naked.”
She tilted her head, brow of bright green raising. “I told you. You are allowed to see me. Others are not, Guardian, so you need not worry.”
Cormac sighed, regretting picking today of all days to go for a nice relaxing hike. “A no on the clothes, got it.”
He turned and continued walking, knowing she was following. Not from footsteps, as those had been silent, but from the fact that she had been following him for the last hour or so. He should have been back to his truck by now but he had taken the most circuitous path possible in some attempt to leave her behind, the logic of which began with and ended at hoping she got bored and left.
She didn’t. Every time he dared to look back, every time he made a sharp turn through the forest and chanced a look from the corner of his eye, even when he tried looking behind him in his signal mirror she was back there.
Eventually he found a nice rock to sit and rest on, the dryad joining him by sitting on the forest floor.
“So, do you have a name?” He asked as he pulled out a granola bar.
“You would be unable to pronounce my true name, Guardian. But you may call me Ixia- wait, what are you eating?” The dryad frowned, getting up from her seat and looming over Cormac.
“...granola? It’s just oats and nuts and seeds…” Cormac started to sweat a bit as he wondered if this was something like cannibalism to her.
Ixia huffed as she walked over to a nearby tree and reached into a knothole to retrieve a strange spherical fruit in an unfamiliar shade of indigo. She quickly walked back over to Cormac, pushing his granola bar aside and holding out the fruit to him.
“A guardian will require strength and proper nourishment, this ‘granola’ will not do.” She insisted.
Not being one to argue with strange tree women who were still very naked, Cormac reached out a cautious hand to take the strange fruit as he pocketed his granola for a time where it wouldn’t cause such offense. Looking it over, it appeared to be about the size of an orange with a slightly waxy flesh. He turned it over in his hands a few times before looking back up to Ixia.
“So...do I just bite it or do I peel it?”
“Consume all but the seeds at the center. Never, ever consume the seeds.” She warned.
Cormac gulped, eyes wide as he nodded. A part of him felt like this was a terrible idea and he was probably going to be under a curse or something as magic maybe existed now, but if it did he had roughly no chance of saying no to the magic woman.
He bit in, finding the texture to be like that of mango, and sweeter than anything he had ever tasted before. His eyes lit up as he quickly scarfed down the strange fruit, carefully avoiding the hard black seeds about the size of small pills at the center.
“Thanks.” He said between bites. “My name’s Cormac, by the way. Since I got yours. Or the pronounceable version of it.”
Looking pleased, she smiled and returned to her seat on the forest floor. “A good name for a guardian.”
“You keep mentioning some guardian thing.” Cormac said after swallowing a bite, finding that there was no non-messy way of eating this fruit that was already staining his pale hands indigo. “Is this because of that flower- wait a minute, what exactly am I going to need strength for?”
His worried question was quickly answered by a howl sounding almost like a wolf but thoroughly different. There were no wolves in this part of the country, only coyotes. And that was no coyote howl.
“You can answer on the way to my truck.” He said as he quickly stood and looked around for the source of the howl.
Ixia’s face was one of resolute determination as she too stood. “That is one of those metal boxes that moves, yes? The armor will help.”
Cormac had many questions at this point, but another unearthly howl pushed them aside for later. He took a final bite of the fruit, looking down to the four seeds in his palm before pocketing them quickly and breaking into a run.
(Part 2 below, by popular demand. If you happen to enjoy my writing, feel free to check out some of my other writing [over here](https://www.wattpad.com/user/SylasWrites).)
Edit: Made a few small changes to clean things up.
|
The woman laughed like a peal of bells, a beautiful but haunting sound, as she twirled the iron ring though her fingers the way a magician would a coin.
"A valient attempt love," She grinned. "But iron only works on the Fae."
"O-Oh... Right." I stuttered, taking a step back. As I did so the ivy clinging to the trees behind me hooked together, twisting and turning, creating a net I was unaware of until my back hit it. She took a step forwards.
"You may call me Feela, if you were wondering. " She licked her lips. "And what do they call you?"
| 2021-01-04T13:29:31
| 2021-01-04T13:13:08
| 178
| 50
|
[WP] Please don't write anything.
EDIT: Jesus I said not to
EDIT 2: ya'll know that this was supposed to be a test post right
|
"Please don't write anything."
That's what the writing prompt said. I happened upon it while browsing reddit as I do frequently in my leisure time, on a subreddit suitably called /r/writingprompts.
'What a curious command,' I thought to myself. Indeed. It was iminently perplexing. A tremendous paradox to challenge one's wits! What fiendish mind could've conjured such a conundrum?!
I stared at my computer screen for what must've been hours. My eyes became strained and dried, to the point where the letters waved and blurred in front of me. Those dastardly letters, taunting my feeblemindedness.
"Please don't write anything."
It was a command that I could not hope to follow. As in order to complete the prompt, I must write *something*, yet the prompt itselfs tells me not to.
Slowly, I spiraled into a deep depression. My skin grew wrinkled and pale from the lack of sun and hydration. My eyes became reddened and bloodshot from lack of sleep. I remained still for what must've been days. This prompt... this *damned* prompt had become my demon. My nemesis which I had to defeat in order to gain any closure and move on with my life.
I saw it around every corner, down every corridor. I saw the prompt in the caress of my loving wife of five years. I saw it everytime I looked in the mirror, in those haunted blood red eyes with dark bags drawn underneath them. My God, it was everywhere.
My mind would not settle. Everytime sleep sought to take me into her relished bosom, the prompt would tear me out into cold reality. Like the ice cold laugh of a cruel torturer, it would grind itself into my brain.
It was on a warm autumn night when the solution hit me. I climbed up from the cardboard box in the backyard where I lived after my wife kicked me out of the house and ran on boney, unshaven and bare (like any great philosopher, I work without pants) legs to the local library, which I knew to be equiped with computing machines.
I logged on to the reddit website and manouvered into the prompt.
It was so simple that I could not believe how I didn't think of it before!
I pressed ALT + 0173 and added my comment to the growing list, which I paid no attention to in my jubilant celebrations. I was finally complete. It was my magnum opus. I finally brought value to my pathetic existance. Decades later, when I die I would die happy knowing that there is this small part of me that would live on long after my expiration, as evidence of the ingenious mind that I held in my skull. A single tear flowed down my cheek. I was truely euphoric on this day.
Then, tragedy struck.
>Rule 1: No low-effort prompt responses
>* Responses must be at least thirty words.
I fell on me knees, fists swaying above my head.
"Nooooo," I yelled. "Curse you, fascist mods!"
I wagged my fists at the moderators, who were actually standing to the side, giggling in their fancy SS uniforms. Eventually they goosestepped away, leaving me in a puddle of my own bodily fluids.
Now I lie inside my room, a hollow and broken man. There is nothing for me on this earth now. I will grow old as my grandchildren dance around me, the aching regret burning a deep hole in my chest. Perhaps it is better to end it now, then to suffer a slow death surrendering to decay and whitering away.
I have spent some time contemplating suicide and have decided to strip naked and coat myself with honey, so as to attract bees to sting me to death. My genius is clearly apparant even in my darkest hours.
Farewell, my colleagues! I bid this cruel world goodbye!
-
^Disclaimer: ^the ^mods ^are ^benevolent ^and ^just ^dictators ^and ^I ^personally ^think ^they're ^great.
|
Torchlight did little to brighten the darkened library, it's walls stretching endlessly back into nothingness, the pale orange glow only serving to amplify the illusion. At the table stood a hooded figure wearing the red robes of an accomplished sorcerer, pouring over the pages from an ancient tome. Holding the torch beside them was another figure, cloaked in the blue robes of an apprentice and shaking nervously.
"Daxtan, still yourself! I can barely see the pages as it is. Now pass me some parchment so we can be done with this".
Obediently he reached into the satchel hanging from his shoulder and removed some parchment and a stick of writing charcoal and placed them on the table. "Mistress..."
Snatching the items across the table, she ignored his pleading and set to work copying the symbols from the yellowed pages, double-checking her work often. There would be no room for error; one wrong symbol could undo an entire month's worth of effort. She mumbled to herself in frustration as she turned the page and found it to be quite faded. The ink was still there, though barely visible.
"Bring the torch closer, I can't make out the writing here".
Daxtan brought the flickering torch closer to the table only to be admonished almost immediately.
"Not that close! A loose spark could set the whole damn tome alight!". He flinched as she reached out and pushed his hand back to a more satisfactory distance. "There. Better. Now, don't move" she instructed and went back to work transcribing.
Daxtan had always found her to be an intimidating figure, even when not trespassing in a library in the middle of the night. He didn't understand why she had chosen him to be her accomplice in all this; he was just an apprentice, and not an especially gifted one either. There was no question in his mind that she could have managed on her own, her mastery of spellwork was testament to that fact. Yet here he was, clearly well in over his head.
Now that he was closer to the table, he could better see the prize he was risking himself for. He plied his rudimentary knowledge of ancient spellrunes and deciphered a few words from the pages - "power" "imbue" "life", and his stomach sank. Even at his low rank, he understood just what was laid out on the table before him.
"Mistress! I...is that...?" his voice shaky before she cut him off.
"Shhhh, almost done. Dammit!" she cursed as she smudged a symbol on her piece of parchment. "Look, the less you know, the better. Now, hand me some more charcoal".
He produced another piece from the satchel and continued, ignoring her warning. "This is one of the tomes of power, isn't it, Mistress? Even I know about those. Please don't write anything! Not another sigil. You know what they'll do if they discover us!".
"They *won't* discover us if you stop interrupting me. And yes, if you must know, it's the Tome of Ammagar. I wasn't going to tell you because I knew you'd react like this". She sighed, then turned to Daxtan, and he swore her saw a twinkle in her eye. "Besides, after tonight, I plan to be far away from here. Now, let me work before..."
Her words were cut short by a tremendous cracking sound echoing through the library. In an instant, the room was filled with an overwhelming bright light as sconces along the walls came alight with an orange fury. Shielding her eyes from the glare, she could barely make out a figure in an ornate black robe with golden edging step out from one of the many aisles. She stood from her hunched position, and as her vision cleared, the lodge's Grandmaster stood before her.
"Master Kira, the tome you have before you is dangerous beyond your understanding, and forbidden, as you well know" his voice boomed.
The power behind his words caused her to flinch, but she retained her composure. "Grandmaster," she began, "power should not be restricted and hoarded for a few old men to hold. You have denied me my right for long enough. Since you would not share this knowledge, what choice did I have *but* to take it?".
Kira expected anger from the Grandmaster, but his stern face had softened, and she was taken aback by the sorrow in his voice. "Kira, the spells and rituals in that tome are beyond your skill. Even I dare not attempt some, such is the power contained on those pages". He then turned his regard to Daxtan, who had cowered behind the table. "And Apprantice Daxtan, how have you managed to allow yourself to be caught up in all this? I would not have thought to find you hiding in the library in the dead of night".
Daxtan drew himself to his feet and prepared to answer, but was again interrupted by Kira. "Skill?! Grandmaster, I recall it was you who said I possessed an innate finesse for spellwork when I first came here to study. I am much more than I was then". Anticipating the need to run, she snatched her parchment into a pocket insider her robes. "This knowledge. This *power* is something I will harness. You'll see!".
"You know the council will not allow it. That I will not allow it. I have no choice but to take you in for trial. The knowledge you are trying to steal cannot leave these walls. Please, don't make this more difficult that it needs to be!".
The Grandmaster raised his hands and began tracing shimmering green runes in the air before him. Kira recognised the spell - a binding - and it was intended for her. While it was true she had a certain affinity for spellwork, the Grandmaster was much more powerful and had a lifetime of practice. She would not be able to escape should he finish his casting.
Thinking quickly, Kira snatched the torch from Daxtan's hand, and began to trace her own runes behind it. While only a simple spell, it was quick, and one that any apprentice would know. Binding was difficult as it affects the intended targets will, but projection, that was much easier. Kira held the torch at arms length before her and traced the final rune, poured her intent into the completed spell.
Roaring flames spewed forth as she directed the spray towards the shelves of books around her. Orange tongues licked at paper and leather, as the giant collection in the library began to ignite around them. A more ruthless man would have continued with the binding, but the books and the knowledge contained within were much too important. Aborting his spell and forming a new one, the Grandmaster strained as he conjured a void within the room peeling smoke and flame away from priceless volumes and towards the center until no light remained within the library.
Carefully lighting another torch, the Grandmaster surveyed the damage Kira had wrought. Sighing in relief, he noted that nothing significant had been burned, though many books would now bear black marks where the fire had taken hold. He also noted that in the chaos, Kira and Daxtan had disappeared.
| 2017-03-09T02:28:29
| 2017-03-09T02:12:50
| 66
| 44
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[WP] You are a normal person transported to an infomercial universe. Everyone is in awe at your ability to perform simple tasks without bizarre gadgets.
|
*POP!* **Bzzzz, Bzzzz, Bzzzz**
Jess was starting to get annoyed at her husband Harold. "Can you turn that damn alarm clock off?"
Harold rolled over and started slamming the alarm clock with his hand, but it refused to turn off. "Why can't I turn this damn thing off! I don't even remember turning the alarm clock on last night since it was so late when we went to bed..."
Jess was really annoyed now. "It's the same *Pop Clocky* alarm we have always had. You got to get up and stuff the head back on to turn off the alarm! You know this, now get up!"
Harold crawled out of bed to locate the head of the clock. "When the hell did we get this?" He shoved the head onto the clock, and sure enough, the alarm was silenced. He looked at his wife, still trying to get a few minutes of sleep before getting out of bed. "Well, I'm gonna go make some breakfast since I'm up I guess."
He made his way down the stairs to the kitchen and quickly got a pot of water onto the stovetop to boil. He then grabbed a bowl and mixed some pancake batter. His mind was still on the clock. Jess made it sound like they had the clock for a while, but he doesn't remember ever using it.
He then thought of the package of bacon he bought yesterday. "It's Saturday, a big breakfast is in order."
The smells of breakfast started to fill the house, which roused Jess enough to get her out of bed and start down the stairs. "Breakfast smells amazing babe, what are you cooking?"
Harold smiled at his wife. "It's Saturday, so a big breakfast of bacon, poached eggs, and some pancakes."
A look of confusion came over Jess. "How are you cooking all of this when you don't have all the equipment out?"
"Equipment? What are you talking about? I got a pot of water to poach the eggs and an electric skillet for the bacon and pancakes. What more do I need?"
Jess rolled her eyes. "Did you hit your head or something? You can't cook poached eggs in boiling water. Here you need this." She reached up into a cabinet and pulled something out.
Harold eyed it, and then back a Jess. "What the heck is that?"
"It's the *Stone Wave Microwave Cooker*, with this we can have perfect poached eggs from the microwave anytime we want. No mess, no hassle."
Harold just stared at the little pot. "You're kidding me, right? You want an egg from the microwave over an actual poached egg?"
Jess looked over at the skillet. "What are you doing to those pancakes and that bacon!?"
Harold turned to look at the skillet, "I'm cooking them, or am I doing that wrong too?"
"You idiot! If you don't use the *Flippin' Fantastic* the pancakes are going to come out a mess. And you are ruining the bacon since you aren't using a *Bacon Wave* rack to cook it!"
Harold just stared at her. "Who the hell are you, and what have you done with my wife? You want to microwave our bacon? What the hell is wrong with you?"
"You're the idiot! You don't even know how to cook breakfast properly!"
"Listen, Jess, go sit down, alright? Breakfast is almost done, and then you can tell me I don't know how to cook, alright?"
Jess flipped her hair and turned away. "Fine, do whatever you want, but you will have to eat this disgusting pig slop when I can't choke it down."
Harold muttered to himself as he was flipping the pancakes. "What crawled up her butt in the middle of the night?"
Harold finished cooking and laid a platter of food in front of Jess. Her eyes lit up, "How did you cook all this food? There is no way you can cook this without the-"
"What? The *Stone Wave* or *Bacon Wave*? Without the Microwave?"
Jess looked at him. "Now you're just insulting my intelligence, you can't cook breakfast without a microwave."
"Taste it, Jess."
She put a piece of bacon in her mouth. "OH. MY. GOD! This is amazing. I'm sorry I ever doubted you!"
-----------------------------------------------
Harold's eyes shot open, and he found himself in his favorite arm chair with the glow of the tv lighting the room.
"Hi, Billy Mays here, presenting *Oxiclean*..."
Harold looked at the clock on the wall. "2 AM... Of course, the one time she says something good about me, it's a dream."
Harold turned off the tv and sat in the darkness for a while. "I really want some bacon now..."
-------------------------
If you would like to read some of my other stories, feel free to check out my subreddit, r/vintnerwrites.
|
Sara Weston calmly walked up to the test bench. A crowd of men, most bespectacled and all adorned in crisp white lab coats, stood nearby; their hands, pens at the ready, poised above sheets of paper supported by clean clipboards. Sara tried to remain calm, she tried not to shrink away from the dozens of stern gazes cast her way.
On top of the test bench, there was a pan, dirtied from cooking; grease and oil sat in the pan, congealed. A small bit of water pooled in one corner. Across from the test bench, a sink sat; cleaning supplies and a bright yellow sponge sat next to the sink. The task was simple, to clean the pan, without incident. The test group before Sara had failed dramatically, somehow setting fire to the laboratory.
But, this failure would not follow Sara Weston. The woman was different, otherworldly even. She’d been discovered, one day, by the elite group of scientists as they went house to house, recruiting lab subjects; they were desperately attempting to cure the simpleminded clumsiness that appeared to be plaguing the denizens of the Earth.
It was then, as they moved on from a house suffering a rather tragic grease fire, to the humble abode of Sara Weston. Her house had seemed miraculously in one piece; her car in perfect working order. When they had rung the doorbell, they’d been surprised by Sara’s lack of commotion or accident as she’d opened the door, and easily let them inside. They had stared in wonder as they noticed a lack of fire marks, stains, or other such damages to her home. They’d instantly asked her join in their research, offering a hefty sum of money as incentive. Sara had agreed instantly, desperate for money and self-motivated to help human society in any way possible.
That was how Sara found herself, carefully picking up the pan, ringed by dozens of middle-aged men furiously writing notes. Several nodes and wires covered her body, recording data on her vitals every second.
Sara walked the pan over to the sink. In determination, she turned on the hot water and squeezed out some detergent into the pan and then onto the sponge. A steady stream of hot water fell into the sink, falling onto the dirty pan and down the drain. After an application of solid elbow grease, Sara easily cleaned the dirty pan. She placed the hunk of cast iron on the drying rack, and turned back to face the scientists.
A collective mutter of disbelief filled the room as the scientists looked up from their notes. A few of the clipboards were dropped, soft swears accompanied their descent. They were not dropped from surprise, but merely from a clumsiness that even the greatest scientists of the world were not immune to. They were amazed, there hadn’t been a fire. The first instance of a fireless experiment in over three years. The men were completely baffled, utterly amazed.
They ushered Sara out of the testing room, and began another test, and then another one after that. These men spent over half a year putting Sara Weston through all of their trials. She took out the garbage, washed the car, properly used a hose, stored food in the fridge, and many, many other activities. All the while, the scientists stared in amazement, recording every detail and discernible piece of data.
After this period of experiment, the men turned to their data. They fell upon the numbers and calculations like vultures, tearing into their science. With only the slight office fire, or spilt coffee on their keyboards or computers, they worked with an earnest. These men were the brightest minds the world had to offer, assembled by the governments of the world to create a cure for this uncanny clumsiness which seemed to permeate throughout the people, despite any sort of cultural or political barriers.
It was after years of research, of experimenting and data analysis, that the scientists finally had assembled an answer; a harrowing answer at that. Presented at a special conference, holding all of the world’s leaders, were the results of the scientists’ years of efforts. It seemed to them that the denizens of the Earth, barring Sara Weston, suffered from a distinct mental disability. It was a flaw, a rewiring in their brains caused by a seemingly insignificant genetic flaw, which created a motor-cognitive failure. It was not that the denizens of the world were simply clumsy, they were genetically programmed to be accident prone.
There was a collective sigh of disappointment from the leaders of the world. The councilmen from China accidentally fell out of their chairs during the sigh, the president of the United States accidentally slapped himself in the face when he’d meant to grab his pen.
The scientists, the presenters, felt nothing but fear for the human race. They’d lost contact with Sara Weston, their key to the future, and hadn’t been able to contact her. Some speculated that her existence in their world had, in itself, been an accident; the ultimate act of clumsiness acted on by the universe itself. Whatever the reason, it seemed that Sara Weston no longer existed in this world, or if she did, then she was able to avoid the greatest governments in the world as they searched for her.
It was with a heavy heart that the leaders of the world revealed this news to their citizens, and of their inability to find a cure. There would have been pandemonium on the streets from the outrage of the citizens, but if had been any, it had been indistinguishable from the usual chaos of crashes, fires, accidents, and other chaos caused by simple clumsiness.
To the despair of the scientists, their work had been for naught, and the world continued to turn, filled with the accidental chaos which now, to them, seemed to be the work of nature, or of God himself.
Some of the scientists, when drunk, liked to joke that it was all a sick fucking joke, made by some mysterious sadist lurking behind the thin veil of the fabric of reality. They would drink, and cry, and usually break a bottle or two, much to their pained anguish. They cried out against their years wasted, searching for their foolish fountain of youth.
Such was the pained existence of ones who’d learned the secret futilities of their lives.
-----------------------
Hope you liked it. The writing style was a bit different from my usual style, so sorry if it seemed clunky, idk what was happening today (or maybe it was the same, but my mentality is just a bit goofy today).
I've got a bunch of other stories over at r/ThadsMind if you want to hit that up.
| 2016-12-24T10:03:35
| 2016-12-24T09:53:04
| 52
| 25
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[WP] Interstellar wars are quick, most species die of shock quite quickly. Getting shot was a death sentence. That was until humans joined the Galaxy...
|
***The Economics of the Great Intergalactic war and the Rise of the Terran Hegemony: A Precis for GreatCiv Scholars.***
It’s all economics. Even war. Especially the Great Intergalactic War.
And that’s how the Hu-mans ended it.
For millennia, the Great Intergalactic War simmered and raged. Species would attack each other’s outposts and colonies. Fatalities would mount on both sides and the side with the most fatalities would retreat. Every species that made up the Great Civilization never had to deal with wounded or maimed. Most of the Great Civilization's species cannot cope with violent disruption to their physical forms.
The V’ran are terrifying warriors whose chitinous shells are augmented with armor and cybernetic implants, but if you can breach their shells, they will always bleed out.
The Caarlethins are sentient crystals shrouded in hydrogen gas. They are, for the most part, possessed of a cool, languid intelligence that prefers peaceful resolutions to disputes. But when they go to war, they use entire Jovian worlds as power for their weapons and they use their technology to turn entire asteroid belts into mass drivers. In some sectors they have been completely obliterated as a species when their gas giant homeworlds were forced to undergo primary ignition into dwarf stars.
The Great Intergalactic War has, since the very beginning, been based on an economic cycle of providing weapons to the participants. The drive for better armaments has become the driving force behind the Great Civilization. And then the Hu-mans’ homeworld was discovered.
The y’Tibre were the first to make contact with the Hu-mans. They were the losing side of the Hitarn/y’Tibre Conflict and they desperately needed a win. The y’Timbre had mapped the Hu-mans’ homeworld hundreds of millennia before, deemed them atavistic, crudely tribal, incapable of intelligent thought, and probably an evolutionary dead end. So the y’Timbre High Command was surprised when a scout ship, fleeing a larger Hitarn raiding force, hyperjumped through the Hu-Mans’ system and discovered a young, vibrant, and violent civilization. The y’Timbre thought they were just getting fodder for their war machine. They found a weapon that turned the tide of the war, then turned the known universe on its head.
Hu-mans’ weapons were primitive things. On the tactical level, they used combustion driven slug throwers, but at the strategic level, they were starting to figure out some interesting weapons. No one in the universe remembered the last time a nuclear fission device was ever used for war, though everyone seemed to agree that almost every civilization had created them at one point. This was seen as a positive in the Hu-mans’ favor.
Historians now generally agree that when the y’Timbre introduced the Hu-mans to man-portable particle weapons, zero point armor, and FTL travel, they condemned the universe to an eventual Hu-mans Hegemony. Because the Hu-Mans understood war and logistics in a way that no other race did. Hu-mans fought and died like any other race, but even wounded and lacking honor, they fought. No other race could survive the wounds that Hu-mans could. Blow a leg of a Hu-mans and they would tie off the wound to stop the blood flow and return to the battle. Nothing short of a center mass disruption or a horrible head wound stopped them as long as they received what they called “Phurstade.” They had servants called “medicks” that went to war with the express purpose of providing this “phurstade” to save wounded soldiers! The Great Civilization had never seen such things. It was horrifying.
The idea of survivability and redundancy was one that the Hu-Mans incorporated into their fleet as well. Squat, ugly barbs with compartmentalized interiors and bristling with weapons meant that much like the Hu-Mans themselves, the ships were not easily killed. They could fight on with dreadful amounts of damage.
The fact that wounded Hu-Mans did not simply die changed the calculus in every war waged against them. With their survivability, and their “Medicks,” and their damnable ships, the humans could fight against foes many time their size and come out victorious. Then the Hu-Mans encounterd Lerat Ubas of Melvinia.
*The Error of Lerat Ubas* showed that killing all of the wounded and surrendering Hu-Mans was a mistake not to be committed again. The Hu-Mans’ reaction was swift, brutal, and uncompromising. The Hu-Mans’ fury toward the Melvinian race burned hot. No race ever wanted to suffer the way the Melvinians were made to suffer.
So the races of the Great Civilization began to take and keep prisoners. No race had ever had to account for the logistics of prisoners before. No one took prisoners. Survivors of a battle had no honor. Dishonored soldiers were worthless. Prisoners had to be fed and you had to provide them with medical care, and it seemed that no race ate as much or demanded medical care like the Hu-Mans.
Strangely enough, some races taken prisoner **by** the Hu-Mans often spoke of the way that the Hu-Mans treated their prisoners. The Hu-Mans guards were not necessarily friendly with prisoners, but they did not mistreat them. Sometimes returning prisoners would joke that being a Hu-Mans prisoner was better than being a soldier in their own army!
It was quickly learned that keeping Hu-Mans as prisoners was as dangerous as facing them on the battlefield. Hu-Mans believed that freedom was one of their intrinsic rights, and Hu-Mans prisoners did not see themselves as dishonored. They would actively work to sabotage the prison and escape, often liberating other races’ prisoners with them. This led to some cultures reached a diplomatic agreement with the Hu-Mans simply because they knew that even if they won the war, they would have to deal with the ensuing Hu-Mans prisoners of war.
There was no shining magnificent end to the Great Intergalactic War. It simply slowly wound down as more and more races could not afford to go to war with the Hu-Mans (of course we now refer to them as Terrans). The last major event in it was the Peace Accords of Melvina where the Hu-Mans delegation put an end to the violent and brutal conflict sparked by *The Error of Lerat Ubas.*
To this day, nearly 8 millenia later, the Melvinians and the Terrans remain fast allies.
|
Oddly enough medical technology in space was limited, to say the least. Each species medical advancements were obviously geared more towards their specific anatomy. So as you can imagine, when United Galactic Forces (U.G.F.) consisting of multiple species would end up in conflict with another faction encroaching on their territory, many lives were lost. Not just because of war, but because when you are shot or maimed, if you'r species medical technology wasn't near, you're basically dead. Kind of like the early years of settling the North American Continent, get a cough and you might as well dig your grave ahead of time.
This all changed when the Human species was introduced to the universe. A subspecies of humanoid mammals, generally hairless, and oddly curious about things that aren't attainable. They had their own technology, equipment that would scan and map out you'r entire anatomy, then calculate and diagnose whatever it is that was going in with you. Machines and practices that have been perfected over a melenia now, but the one thing that they couldn't stop.... was death. They could prolong it, stall it, hold it at bay and keep you on life support, even freezing you'r active brain and brainstem in hope's that one day their will be a cure for whatever ailment you were stricken with. This would eventually drive them mad.
Humans served as the "medics" of the U.G.F. and even some as infantry and pilots. Over the years they grew to becoming a powerful and an oddly dangerous necessity to the Galaxy, and they knew that. You see, the U.G.F. didn't take into account one vital thing, humans sheer unpredictability, and need to wage war for reasons that to any advanced alien civilization were.... pointless, and their odd fascination with evading death. Even amongst them selves they would slaughter eachother in the past, committing countless war crimes and genocide. The U.G.F. thought that humans have "outgrown" their primitive ways. They were wrong.
After years of peace and coexistence, a faction of humans had enough and wanted "equality" and believed that the human species was far superior to any other. Dispite the warnings and blatent terroristic attacks by these factions operating under the U.G.F.s nose, they still chose to ignore it. As long as the medical supplies were flowing in and care was being given, the long reach of the U.G.F. didn't seem to care, and they didn't care about the human factions experiments on aliens that were captured, to figure out how to evade death. Further and further they pushed into the unknown regions, thinning out their forces till one day, no more. The humans rose up and split from the U.G.F. claiming they could "do better" now that they have all the technology they needed in order to refine their own space travel and further their "scientific studies" into prolonging and stopping the inevitable.... death.
In secret over the years, they built a fleet of dreadnoughts and fighters and laid Siege to the vastly undefended citadel of the U.G.F. on the planet Coracan. Easily taking what they needed, food, supplies, trade routes, fuel, mining outposts, and even the planet it's self. Eradicating all alien life out of the galactic centralized government and making it solely human only. By the time the U.G.F. cought word of the invasion, it was too late. Traveling through hyperspace back to Coracan, falling into their own trap. Humans turned the Planetary Defense System on them and destroyed the entire fleet.
Now, a Galactic Federation consisting of humans rules the Galaxy. The U.G.F. ignored Earth, the tiny blue marble in the far corner of the Galaxy for thousands of years, they finally let them in and in matter of years they were outsmarted and over thrown. Now humans lay siege to planets, enslaving the life on them that they rule to be "savage" and use them for their personal gain stripping the world of their resources and goods.
Though, not all humans are bad. A small faction of humans exists, working with like minded individuals, both human and alien, to eradicate the new Galactic Federation. Striking them in the areas that hurt them the most and taking back planets for the original inhabitants to call home again. It's a funny thing, how in a time of need, beings can take advantage of each other and also ban together to help one another out. Started out with medical technology, helping all that need it, to helping all that want peace and equality again. An odd concept since humans struggled with that, equality, since the dawn of their time. Some things just don't change.
| 2019-10-25T09:45:40
| 2019-10-25T09:13:26
| 44
| 28
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[WP] In contemp, gods made you the god of the forgotten. For millenia your power was merely enough to keep you alive. Jokes on them, those same gods that chained you before, have been forgotten. You are the only thing between them and nothingness. "Well, well, well..."
|
*The Gods are quiet.*
*The chamber is in ruin, dilapidated and crumbling as reality itself threatens to collapse this place to metaphorical atoms, symbolic dust. Midnight dark rivers streak down once ivory-pale pillars like crying black tears.*
*I watch the Gods in my own silence. Great Heavenly Fathers, majestic War Goddesses, loving Tricksters, menacing Daemons reduced to.. this. I remember shining cloaks and howling armament, cosmic armors that could’ve made supernova seem pathetically diminutive. They seem like winter shadows of their former selves. Wrought, decayed ink scratchings with pale skins and dangling rusting riches, hollow eyes that stare into nothingness.*
*I am the God of the Forgotten.*
*For aeons I was a joke. I was a lesson to be learned by mythic heroes or tragic failures. A lesson to be spent learned in a void eternity. The Gods laughed and laughed and laughed at me, at Forgotten; God of Nothing. No rituals, no temples. Nothing. I drained to splinters of null. A false conception.*
*Now, I am greater than they are. Vaster. My energies plunder their sorrow and catastrophe, claw at the raining Forgotten that bleeds from the Gods broken temples, shattered murals, fossilized rituals. In my stomach I feel pity. In my heart I feel freezing silence.*
*When I snap my fingers, it is in mercy.*
*Forgotten.*
|
“Well, well, well, look who finally came CRAWLING BACK, did your pets out in the universe finally grow up?”
Before me stand the gods, hundreds, Yahweh, Allah, Zeus, Ra, and countless more, patrons of civilizations all across the universe, here, before me.
“It’s all my old friends, Yahweh, who stabbed me in the back, Allah and Zeus the accomplices, all the witnesses who left me here, consigned to an eternity of being patron of those you didn’t care to deal with.”
“Only, in your desperation to secure power for yourself, in your absolute arrogance, you forgot that one day, you too would be forgotten.”
I see them figuring it out, the terror and resignation, all the conflicting emotions of a pantheon of god’s turned mortal.
“I’ve waited for this day, for millennia I waited, plotting my revenge, and now here you are, your charges have forgotten you, the almighty brought to their knees.”
Most refuse to speak, but Yahweh steps forward, “We will not be cowed by a deity as low as you, we will defeat you and restore our power over this universe.”
I chuckle, then he’s on his knees screaming in pain.
“Do you feel that Yahweh? That’s oblivion tugging at your very being, a sensation I have felt every day of my wretched existence. Do you know what it’s like? To sense the void calling, so you know how much it hurts? How many times I tried to end myself and failed?”
He chokes out another scream, and I release him.
“Do you know what it feels like to be called out to by the void for a thousand years? The meek deity you knew is gone.”
He glares at me.
“You created me, turned me into a monster. But I suppose I should be grateful, the void is a dangerous force, and a powerful weapon for those who can wield and embrace it. Why, the gods themselves cower before it, before the only thing more powerful than them.”
The gods glance at each other, stepping away from me, all except one, Ares draws his spear and charges me.
And then before he can scream, he’s gone.
A chuckle turns into a laugh, and then to a cackle.
“DO YOU FEAR ME NOW? BELIEVE I’M WORTHY OF YOUR MEANINGLESS RESPECT?!”
Allah steels his nerves, “No, we do not and will never respect OR fear you!”
“Ahahaha... AHAHAHAHAHA!”
I smile evilly
“You will... you will...”
| 2019-07-13T00:22:51
| 2019-07-12T21:25:06
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| 214
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[WP] As the "Tavern Keeper," you better believe he has taverns to keep. From the highest mountain point, in the wilderness of the jungles and even in the depths of the oceans, he really has a lot to maintain to keep his title.
|
Morning finally came.
Ruwal, keeper of taverns and secrets, went to her bed; sleep had been granted at last.
It had been another long night--there had been three barfights, dozens of drunkards behaving like drunkards, and at least one death. All said, an average night at the Barpeak--the highest known, most treacherous tavern of all.
It was Ruwal's least favorite to manage, of the twenty under her name. The trek up was dangerous and long, and her knees were growing tired of the journey. It attracted the prideful, the misinformed, and the rowdy, and violence was a constant companion. But Ruwal had a job to do, and she had promised to do it well.
Sleep came dutifully and soundly, and Ruwal awoke with fresh limbs and mind, and prepared to do it all again. Tonight's tavern was that of the underworld--a sea tavern, set deep into the depths of an even deeper ocean trench, called the Fishmongerer.
The trip to the Fishmongerer was not an easy one, though she preferred it to the Barpeak. She hopped aboard the enclosed boat, and her loyal driver sent them into the bleak, dark emptiness of the ocean.
She arrived by midday, giving her plenty of time to prepare.
Preparation was always important, but with the current times, well, preparation became a way of sustaining life.
There was a man, you see, a dangerous man, wanted for a long list of crimes. He was being hunted with a ferocity Ruwal had not seen since the previous war.
And the reward was increasing day by day, going up for each one passed without a capture. The search had been going on for a month now. Each day it grew more intense, more frantic.
Naturally, the average tavern-goer felt a certain sense of pride when it came to such things, and it seemed like each and every one of them was part of the hunt.
"Another!" shouted a particularly hairy man (of both head and chin).
Ruwal was a good tavern keeper, and the man held another round of ale in a matter of moments. "You're fast," he grunted. "Appreciate it."
Ruwal nodded her response. She avoided talking to the patrons, whenever possible.
"Hey barkeep," said the same man. "You got any idea where this man is? Where the damn coward might be hiding?"
Ruwal shook her head. "Sorry, I'm afraid I don't know much about that."
"Bah," he said, waving a hand. "It's the ones that don't know much about it that might have the best ideas of where to look. We've looked everywhere else, you see."
Ruwal smiled meekly. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm not going to be able to help you with that."
If only they knew.
If only the world knew of her innocence, of the poorly managed crime scene, of the unreliable witness. Perhaps she could just explain... but no. It was a fool's wish. If she confessed that it was her, not some ghost of a man that they were all searching for, they would hang her all the same.
No. She would never confess. And while she didn't love her job, it would keep her alive.
And that was worth all the trouble in the world.
|
Of all the gin joints in all the world, I hated the ocean’s the most. Not the garish floating bars of the rich humans or the cruise ships they insisted were fun and classy but seemed instead like death traps. Never those.
No, it was instead the deep sea saloons and cantinas of the Merpeople that drew my ire, dives in every sense of the word, for alone among the sentient species of the Earth the Mer knew no bounds. In the trenches and chasms of the ocean floor where no light shone save for the harsh glow of their magma lanterns nothing was sacred except might.
The worst among them were their nobles, of which there were 5 houses extant in the year when I became the Tavern Keeper, and a 6th which had been and still was in some small ways. This begins the story of a scion of the last house, who drove me more than a little insane in my years under the sea.
His name was Titus Driftwood. In his time he had been a provincial noble, a knight under arms, a trident for hire, and a smuggler. It was this last pursuit which concerned him (though I did not know it at the time) when he set foot inside the *Sunken Chest*, the tavern I had chosen as my personal domain under the sea.
Titus was a stocky fellow by the standards of the Atlantic variant of his folk. He stood only a handspan taller than my 5’4”, with a blue in green scaled chest nearly as broad as the great casks of ale I kept in the cellar. Ascending the pillar of his neck the scales began to fade, disappearing entirely at the chin as they gave way to the kind of rugged face that any of the civilized races would have hidden with a beard.
When he crossed through the tavern’s portal his long, royal blue tail separated and morphed with a loud tearing sound that evidently pained him. The sixth house of the Mer had never been adept in magic. It had been one of their failings.
I watched him carefully that first night as he read the room, assessing and dismissing my patrons in record time before finally settling his gaze on me.
He was brazen man, Titus.
His first words to me, and I shall never forget them, were “So you’re the new one. They failed to mention your eyes.” The look he gave me stilled my breath. It had the weight of the depths in it. “Tell me friend, would you like to make more money than you’ve ever dreamed of?”
As if the Tavern Keeper had any more need of money. As if I could trade the conches and cowries of his people for a single thing of value in the world above.
But as he spoke I listened. Charm was a part of the man set as deeply into him as his scales, and in many ways I was still young in those days. It was a regret of course, but the women in my line have many of those.
I listened as he spun tales of adventure, of battle, of love and loss and beauty in abundance that only the great oceans could offer and when I, after hours of filling his glasses and soaking in his tales, finally thought myself immune he took the one route left with which to win me.
He left. Between one breath and the next, his story unfinished. Titus Driftwood walked out that door and stayed away for a fortnight.
And on his return he sank down into the very same stool and began his story again nearly to the word at which he left it. By the time he walked out once more I had fallen more deeply into it than I had any other.
The tides of my life changed that night in the *Sunken Chest*, the ripples of it tracing back to the very moment he had first walked in. Nearly as much so as to the moment the previous year when I had become Tavern Keeper, for the shape of Titus’s story grew with every visit, expanding and ensnaring me more and more completely until that last, climactic night.
The night I walked out the portal next to him, to live the story he had told.
Of all the gin joints in all the world, I hated the ocean’s the most. Titus Driftwood was no small part of that.
\------------
If you liked that I've got way more over at [r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/). I'm currently working on a serial about three teens encountering a hive mind and there's other standalone stuff like a giant, faceless, psychic tiger. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-02-03T14:22:05
| 2021-02-03T12:34:07
| 100
| 20
|
[WP] Humans can telepathically connect to one person, but once they have they can't disconnect and are in each other's heads for life, something typically done only by couples that want to take their intimacy to a new level. You do this with your SO, but see immediately something is very wrong...
|
He believes that shit!? I'd always thought he was being sarcastic, but having finally, finally, convinced him to take our relationship to the next level and link telepathically, I'd discovered the well of his true belief that the prequel Star Wars trilogy was on par with the originals. I mean, honestly. Where does that leave us? It was a relationship built on misperceptions and active blindness. Worse, I was now committed for LIFE and we'd been humoring each other's opinions the whole five years we'd been together. Dear lord, maybe this is just a drop in the bucket...
|
This is it. The big pancake. The great brigade. The astro tickling voice in the back of your head, babe. The best thing in the world since the mice parade. The wintering of your mind will greet your new un-life. There is a sweltering heat in the back of your head, babe, where the mice parade unwinds and you hear me speaking, squeaking, thrice.
The hazy shapes of mice parading through the sewers of our minds reminds me to blow my nose in the middle of the parade. It would take forever to unwind, after the sound of the tiny piano hands tapping keys to ragtime. I know you see it, too, the underground parade of mice.
You, the mouse queen, will be afforded the richest mouse properties--inside this sewer for a parade of my mice. You will wear the necklace of my longing, the emerald and sapphire, ruby and gold, silver and turquoise, white pearl diamond thing it is. When you reach the bottom of the sewer, though, you will jump down the drain, leaving the necklace above you. And forcing me to find a new, better, you.
You will fall down like a widow spider, for I am dead. The dead mouse feigns death before the mouse queen falls. You will hear my voice in your head for life.
You will because you're my wife.
| 2015-06-14T19:52:14
| 2015-06-14T14:34:30
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] It's your first day as the recently-inaugurated President of the United States and you're being told all of the country's most top-secret information and projects. What's the most unbelievable thing you get told?
|
Chuck lifted his hand to his chin and softly scratched at his beard. He still wasn’t entirely used to having one, but his political adviser assured him it was “great for his public image.” As far as Chuck could tell, though, it had only been good for serving as alternative housing to the crumbs that were not accepted entry into his mouth. To be fair, he did win the election, but he liked to think it had more to do with his political views and leadership, rather than his ability to sport an admittedly impressive beard.
“You’re not being serious, are you?” Chuck said, twisting the hair on his beard between his pointer finger and thumb.
“We are,” Henry said. Chuck wasn’t entirely sure if his name was Henry, but he’d definitely heard an “H” when he’d introduced himself. Internal Head of Secret Service, he had said, a name and face unknown to the public. His last name was definitely Greene, that much he was sure of, but he’d said his first with some sort of a stammer. Chuck didn’t know too many “H” names—Henry, Harold, and Henrietta were about it—and was convinced that, of the three, it was probably Henry. He didn’t quite look like a Harold, and he was pretty confident that Henrietta was a female name. This guy didn’t seem to be a female, although he couldn’t know for sure.
“No, you’re not. Right?”
“Completely serious,” Henry said.
“I can get a ‘Presidential Discount’ at any store I want?” Chuck said, his eyes wide. There was no way he’d meant any store. That included, like, every single store out there. Starbucks, Ikea, Macy’s. What if he walked into a 99 cent store? Did he still get the discount? There was no way Henry had been right.
“What? Why are you still fixated on that?”
“So,” Chuck continued, “If I walk into, say, a Walmart and want to pick up some chocolates, I can get them at a discount?”
“Are you not paying attention to what I’m saying?” Henry said. “Yes, you do. Every store. Great, let’s move on. I’m trying to tell you some of the most top-secret information, like how vaccines are actually just ways for us to control the public, and all you’re concerned about is the 50% discount you get as the President.”
“Wait, what?” Chuck said.
“You heard me,” Henry said, smiling. “Vaccines are actually designed first-and-foremost to control the minds of the public. These are the kinds of things you need to be aware of as President. You’ll have to make sure people keep taking them.”
“Did you say 50% off?” Chuck said. That was half off. Half off of *anything*. He could go to a $20 movie right now and see it for just $10. Simply walk in and wait for the cashier to say, “That will be $20,” to which he’d take out his license and say, “No, I’m the President of the United States of America.” Then he’d waltz right in for just $10.
“Are you kidding me? Yes, 50%. Can we move on? Did you know that Donald Rumsfeld is actually a horse? You need to be careful not to insult his race.”
“Wait,” Chuck said. “What if I go to a McDonalds and order something off of the dollar menu. Is that now a fifty cent menu? What if I purchase an album from the street artist my children refer to as Fifty Cent? Is he just Twenty Five Cent? Do I have to pluralize his name?”
“He is a horse. A horse in a man costume. Can you just focus on that for a minute? The Moon Landing was staged, we filmed it in Idaho at a farm house painted to look like the moon. We still use that space to film Al Qaeda videos occasionally. In fact, Osama Bin Laden and Saddam Hussein were roommates in that barn for a little while. Now they live a bit further apart. You’ll meet them later.”
“Please answer my question,” Chuck said. He was the President of the United States of America, he shouldn’t need to ask twice. Still, he decided to cut Henry some slack. It was his first time working for him, so he was probably a little nervous.
“Yes, you will get the dollar menu for fifty cents. And, no, you don’t have to refer to Fifty Cent as Twenty Five Cent, nor do you pluralize his name. Can we please move on?”
“Sure,” Chuck said. Anything from the dollar menu for just fifty cents. That meant he could get ten cheeseburgers for just five dollars. That’s incredible. Everyone should be the President of the United States—world hunger would be solved in a matter of minutes. But, wait, what about tax?
“. . .which is actually run by a group called the Illuminati,” Henry said. He had been blabbering about something uninteresting.
“Question,” Chuck said, burying his hand in his beard and tugging at it slightly. It was so uncomfortable.
“Yes, is it about the banks? They are also run by the Illuminati. You will have to be inaugurated into their group to gain their trust.”
“No, it’s related to taxes.”
“What?” Henry said, tilting his head to the side.
“Do I get 50% off on taxes also when I use my discount?” Chuck said.
“Are you serious? Sure, you have 50% off your taxes,” Henry said, his shoulders drooping.
“That’s fantastic,” Chuck said.
“Can we please get back on topic?” Henry continued. “You need to know these things, you will eventually be involved in each one. This is crucial to keeping the country afloat. And I do mean afloat. Space is actually just a large body of water, and the Earth is a boat that was built by an ancient alien race. We occasionally crash into stuff—we refer to them as earthquakes and tsunamis—and you need to ensure everybody that the ensuing floods are simply from the 'ocean,' not space pouring down onto the world.” Henry paused. “Speaking of, rain is what happens when the waves spill over the side of the "boat" when it has not crashed. You need to never mention that.”
“Hang on,” Chuck said. That didn’t make any sense. “So you’re saying I get 50% off my taxes? How can they do that if I’m already getting 50% off my purchase?”
“What?” Henry said.
“Oh, wait, I see. I get 50% off and then the tax is 50% off of the 50% off price,” Chuck said, tugging at his beard.
“Mr. President,” Henry said, “please. Please, for the love of God, listen to what I am saying. You are now the most important person in the world, it is crucial you learn the truth. If you don’t know this information, like how America is actually run by a race of lizard-people—half lizard, half man—you can literally destroy the planet. That’s it, done. Exploded.”
Chuck shifted his weight slightly. “I knew that one already,” he said, glancing down at the scales on his freshly peeled arm.
“Right,” Henry said, nodding slowly and eyeing him up and down.
“Quick question though, Henry,” Chuck said, pulling the mask off of his face by its beard. “Is there a limit to how many times I can use my discount?”
“No," Henry said, sighing. "And my name is Henrietta.”
____________________
[^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories ^on ^my ^site!](http://wordsontheinternet.org/)
|
"Ok, WHAT?" I couldn't believe I heard General Anderson correctly. "There's a fully staffed Starbucks down there?"
"Oh yes, Sir. Not only that, but two ice cream shops and a four-star Italian place."
I apparently *had* heard him correctly. I closed my hanging jaw and tried to form my next thought. The White House nuclear war shelter was two hundred feet down, and apparently had a fully-staffed, fully-functional strip mall inside it.
"Hmm... well I guess it makes sense. Is there an arcade? I'm not going down there unless they have Donkey Kong."
| 2014-09-18T12:59:40
| 2014-09-18T11:48:42
| 253
| 16
|
[WP] As a little girl, you gained the ability to detect when some creepy guy was staring at you. This has become unexpectedly useful in your grownup career as a military sniper.
|
Sherry’s first feeling upon walking out of the C17 onto the tarmac was of gratitude. Gratitude for having gained the ability to sense the precise direction and distance of another human staring at her at a very early age. That and incredible heat of course. The Flightline was hot. Damn hot.
Her extra sensory perception made it exceedingly easy to figure out which guys were attracted to her, a skill that had proven incredibly useful for negotiating her way into the world of male exclusive combat roles. As a little girl she had always gotten along with the boys better anyway. Knowing when they were looking at her made for interesting recess games in school. It also helped a lot to know when her teachers were looking her way on test day.
Grandpa James, always “Papa” to Sherry, would have been very proud of her career. Another victim of the effects of Agent Orange, he had passed away before she graduated from High School. He used to tell her all about the camaraderie with his buddies and she met many of them as she got older. Wanting to follow in his footsteps she joined the Army right out of High School. Since then, she had found that without her ability, she might never have made it further than an admin role at some supply depot with the way things were at the time. But that was a long time ago.
Sweat immediately began forming in the small of her back in the blistering heat. The AC on the plane had been rather nice but the hot air outside punctuated the trip in her mind. It was time to get to work.
The rest of the passengers walked toward what appeared to be a briefing tent about forty yards away. Sherry grabbed her backpack and got in line behind the others. She could feel the stare of one of the soldiers standing in front of the tent. She immediately recognized who it was.
“Hey Stan!” She said, walking out of line toward him. She reached out her right hand as they approached each other.
“Shelly, nice to see they sent us the best.” Stan’s firm handshake was comforting. “Let’s grab your gear and get to the TOC. We have a brief in a few minutes.” Stan gave her a sly smile. “They’re waiting for you.”
|
I lurched awake, my clammy hands pawing the sheets off me onto the floor. Without even thinking, I found my sidearm in its home underneath the pillow and flicked the safety off. The sound woke up Cluey in the opposite bunk and he raised a sleepy eyebrow at me before nodding off, seeing that the barrel was pointed at nothing in particular. The slivers of machine light creeping through the vent onto me shone dimmer, orange and dull now that they'd already broken my sleep.
Distantly from above I heard the soft thud of mortar rounds as they fell uselessly on our JIMBO's surface level. Joint Imbedded Military Base of Operations. As with everything in the service, it became an acronym, and then a joke, one told nervously and with less laughter each time. The massive, labyrinthine structure was buried deep in the Kazakh soil, only two percent of it poked out of the ground like a concrete, taxpayer-funded iceberg. We all slept in tight bunks near the Penthouse where command lived and passed down orders to us. The air we breathed arrived from the irradiated surface completely stale, recycled and cleaned into the bare minimum required for life.
The reassuring weight and metal feel of the pistol let me lay back down onto the thin mattress. I stared up at the steel bunk above me and could hear Cluey gently snoring, somehow oblivious to the periodic shudders and tremors from each pointless mortar.
I put my gun back below my head and waited for our Slipstriker missiles to wipe out the mortar positions. The insurgents were saying hello, Good Morning, you invading sons of bitches. Somewhere in the hills three clicks away, they were whispering their prayers and beginning another day of distraction intended to soften us for the expected Russian/Chinese offensive. I had seen the officers drinking harder and barking orders with a new, anxious fury. No one even pretended to be brave when talking about the unmanned Chinese mecs we'd all seen videos of.
Like the soft singing of a new mother, in a cascading series of crashes and booms, each satellite-guided missile found its target with unfeeling precision. We would see bits of Kazakh fighters and cheap Russian hazmat armor strewn all over the hills today. I drifted into a pitch black arena of nothing, sleep finding me once again just as the last explosion evaporated into a shockwave that kept traveling for miles, desperate to find something that would absorb its meaningless energy.
| 2021-07-04T12:17:14
| 2021-07-04T11:04:17
| 73
| 45
|
[WP] A dying child challenges the reaper to a 1v1 quick scope only call of duty match for his life.
|
Most people don't realize that an Archangel is less an "agent" and more of an "agency," a force of divine nature. This is especially true of Azrael, whose endless job it is to part soul from clay. If, after all, the angel of death were imbued with personality, it would be susceptible to persuasion, trickery, and compassion. People would cheat death and God's plan.
It was, therefore, a matter of no small notice to divine principalities when one Dakota Adam Bradley of 1209 Cedar Crest Lane made the ancient challenge. It was not that the correct and expected outcome did not follow, but rather it was the means by which it occurred which caused deep and abiding concern as to whether Azrael acted in accordance with the harmony of sacred purpose.
The challenge exists a contingency mechanism -- a sort of balancing device which serves as a check in the chaotic world of humans. With so much evil, chance, self-purpose in the world of mortals, the divine plan is constantly shifting. The challenge exists as a check against this. Angels, saints, and other agencies frequent the the world, but in doing so they often get caught in the caprices of ordinary time as much as any mortal. What then are they to do when they are caught in the mindless harvester before they can complete a task in the mundane world? A way out was needed. Azrael, as God's purpose, is undefeatable, but other divine agencies also carry the mandate of God's purpose. If it is not time, for example, for an angel to leave this world, a game (any sufficiently complicated game will do) will offer the proof of God's purpose. It can only be God's will when Azrael is forced to concede a match to another player. The plan is simple. Ordinary humans cannot win any such challenge. Only those with carrying the light of God's true purpose can ever beat death at any game, forcing the concession.
And therein was the source of concern. Did Azrael act properly?
Dakota, an eleven-year-old boy dying of Leukemia, fearing as so many do the great beyond, challenged death to a game, stumbling upon the ancient rite. Azrael, as was the custom, allowed the challenger to name the game. It was called "Call of Duty." Azrael donned a skull-band known as a "headset," opened an enclosed metal chalice of a sugar-water known as "Mountain Dew," and stained his bony fingers orange in a communal bowl containing "Cheetos." All of this, he was told, was essential to the game.
The child bested Azrael mercilessly, and did hurl upon him the curses of his time in history - "Fag," "Newb," "Reck'd," "Dick Nose." The litany seemed to know no end. Having been bested, however, death should have conceded and moved on to the next soul (a paradox, because the boy was vested with no discernible special purpose).
Azrael, mechanical reaper of souls, dispassionate servant of time, patient observer of decay, turned and looked at the boy and uttered two words the angels are debating the true meaning of even today,
"Little Fucker!"
He spoke these two words and passed his orange-encrusted fingers over the child's head, severing spirit from flesh.
Was this emotional response simply the divine fail-safe kicking in? Azrael was not forced to concede the match, and only divine purpose forces concession. The child had no divine purpose, so Azrael should not have conceded. Thus, Azrael's baffling outburst, so out of line with his character, might itself be proof of divine motivation. Others, however, suspected the Azrael acted out of spite. After eons acting with the expectation of triumph, he simply was annoyed by the child and sinned by acting from personal motivation, they argued.
Higher magisteria do not answer to lower, so it was not as if God or Seraphim could simply be asked directly what was going on. And so the arguments raged. Interpretations and counter-interpretations were offered. But there was no resolution.
In the end, a group of angels decided to test the situation by finding the boy in heaven. The boy, now cured of cancer, free of pain, and in spiritual form, was challenged by the angels to "quick-scope" matches. Some angels won, but a surprising number lost to him.
And as much as they loved the boy, after playing him, they all had to concede, affection not withstanding, that he was a little fucker when he played that game.
|
**So, you want to test the lore do you Child? Well I am bound by your histories and humanity to uphold it**
Came the voice, well voice would be the wrong word for it, it didn't seem to pay attention to things such as the air and (despite not having any sonorous qualities) felt to be talking in bold letters in the centre of the mind.
"Yes, I challenge you to a game Death, I get to choose it."
**Very well, Child. What is your game?**
the child thought for a short while when the voice (for lack of a better term) disrupted them - **Yes child, I can hear your thoughts, but I normally choose not to.**
'OK. That is creepy as fuck' thought the child
**too much humanity tends to hurt my headspace, I will leave you to decide in privacy and not pry again**
'erm, well I was terrible at old games. I was only any good at COD really. Wait is that allowed?'
"Any game?"
**As long as it involves skill, fair competition and has a winning and a losing state, those are my only rules**
'Well that does fit. Yeah I'm going to do this. COD Scouts Knives no scopes.'
"OK Death (it still feels weird saying that, I didn't think you were a real person.) I've decided."
**You must believe enough or another would have come. what is your challenge, Boy?**
"Call of Duty. No scopes. Scouts Knives."
**unconventional, I'll grant it Child. Let the game begin**
And with that Death summoned two Xbox controllers and the game loaded up not on a screen but rather as a mental projection which was not entirely dissimilar to the experience of virtual reality.
"I'm going to kick your ass faggot!" Came the battlecry of the child
321 the game began. The child began strongly, getting to the perfect initial sniping spots before Death could reach them and holding them for a few great hits but then his streak did suddenly end, Death managed to reach a spot which he could strike from easily.
"Hey quit cheating! You must have glitched to get there"
**nobody said that Death is fair, Child.**
For a while the child tried to find locations to strike back at Death, but after a while he realised it was fruitless. Death had the perfect spot and his aim was impeccable. The child decided to hide.
**Hide all you want, your life is already forfeit. Now you're just waiting for me**
| 2014-09-15T21:35:36
| 2014-09-15T20:42:26
| 41
| 14
|
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.
|
# Soulmage
**I knew the Grandmaster was hiding something when he ordered his second coffin of the month.** I could understand why he'd ordered from Jiaola—if there was any carpenter in the Silent Peaks that you wanted working for you, it was one who'd built his own home from scratch—but the order itself was inexplicable. That, combined with the Grandmaster's tendency to inadvertently drop ancient secrets like so much candy, led me to believe that the Grandmaster wasn't what he appeared to be.
And if he was concerned enough about who he really was to go to such great lengths to hide it, that meant it was a secret worth leverage.
A core part of me hated using a hidden part of a person's identity against them—but desperate times called for desperate measures. I had a goal to achieve and misdeeds to atone for, and I needed a favor or three in order to get it done.
So finding out what the Grandmaster was hiding—and hinting that I just might let it slip—seemed like the best place to start.
I didn't know the Grandmaster's name—nobody did—but he liked going by a pretentious stack of titles. Grandmaster Water Magic Lord Sage Unmatched Crusader Knight, if I remembered correctly. I just abbreviated it to GWMLSUCK, and later, just SUCK. He was a wizened old man, with a cloak of leather that looked old enough to have been made last century, but the SUCK had a surprisingly youthful smoothness to his skin, an uncannily fluid spring to his step. The sun had long since set, but the pale orbs of witchlight on the streets still provided ample illumination as the SUCK made his way to Jiaola's house.
I cast a shrinking spell on myself—nowadays, I had ample fuel for the one spell I knew—and sprinted up behind him as he knocked on Jiaola's door. Jiaola's sun-tanned, wrinkled face broke out into a wide grin as he welcomed the SUCK in.
"How's my oldest customer doing?" Jiaola asked. "You haven't aged a day since we've last met!"
"Yes, yes, well... you have," the SUCK muttered, a slight hint of unease in his expression. "Do you have the resting place I ordered?"
"Of course! Hand-carved and enchanted with the finest quality spells, just how you like it." Just how... he likes it? How many times had the SUCK ordered new coffins? Was he burying people in secret? "Come in, come in."
In my shrunken state, neither Jiaola nor the SUCK noticed me sneak into the carpenter's house. I felt a pang of guilt as I snuck in—Jiaola and I were on friendly terms, even after that whole business with the demon invasion, and it rankled me to be sneaking around his home like this.
But I'd hurt people worse before. At least this time, it was for a good cause.
Jiaola walked downstairs, and I swore under my breath. He was headed for the safe room—a solid wooden box enchanted with, among other things, passive magic dampers. If I spent too long in there without a protection amulet I didn't have, the shrinking spell keeping me hidden would break, and I'd be exposed for nothing.
Thankfully, the last time I'd been inside the safe room, a haughty, arrogant witch had pointed out how to disable it, and Jiaola hadn't updated the safe room since then. Whispering an apology to Jiaola, I snuck in on the SUCK's heels and crawled up the wall, snapping three nodes of memorabilia. The oddly calming, draining sensation on my soul abruptly ended, and I maintained my secrecy as I watched Jiaola show the SUCK to a coffin.
Reverently, the SUCK ran one hand over the smooth bloodwood coffin, inlaid with dragonscale and puffwool. "It's beautiful," the SUCK whispered. "She'll love it."
Jiaola laughed, a craftsman's pride gleaming in his eyes. "I may be getting old, but these hands still remember what it's like to shape wood."
The SUCK paused, lost in reverie for a long moment, then said, "I could fix that, you know."
"Hm?" Jiaola asked.
"Mortality." The SUCK took a step back from the coffin, turning to Jiaola. He took Jiaola's weathered, calloused hand, studying it. "These hands have seen a lifetime of craft. It will be a shame when you perish, and your soul is scattered into thoughtspace."
Another one of those bizarre secrets the SUCK seemed to leave behind him wherever he went. He was the only person I knew who would casually mention what happened after death—and that was exactly why I needed him. I focused on the conversation as Jiaola took his hand—politely but firmly—out of the SUCK's grip. "What do you mean by that?" Jiaola politely asked.
"I could make you immortal," the SUCK said. "I could make you one of us."
And the leathery cloak on the SUCK's back unfolded into bat's wings, and the vampire held out a hand to the old carpenter.
I guess my nickname for him was more accurate than I thought.
Jiaola gave the vampire a long, considering look.
Then he smiled and said, "No thanks."
The vampire blinked. "I—excuse me?"
"I said, no thanks." Jiaola patted the coffin lid. "I was born in the Redlands. Death is a part of who I am. I've made my peace with it. I'll die as nothing more than human, just like the rest of us."
The vampire spluttered. "I—but—you—"
"I make good coffins," he said, "and I know what it's like to have to hide who you are. My husband and I had to deal with that for our entire lives. So don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."
The vampire closed his eyes.
Then he folded up his wings, and he was once more nothing but a man wearing an oddly-shaped leather coat.
"Very well." He laughed. "I... to my surprise, I'm... not even angry. Simply... sad. I will miss you."
Jiaola gave the vampire a kind smile. "Don't you worry about me. I've still got some life left in me."
The vampire smiled, and despite the chill of the room, it somehow felt warm.
Then he tilted the coffin onto a wheeled dolly and began taking it out of the house.
I wished I could have left it at that. I really did.
But I had a question to ask. And now, I had the leverage to have it answered.
I scribbled a note on the floor and left it in a corner of Jiaola's room. If my gamble didn't pay off, I'd at least have a sliver of insurance.
As the vampire left the room and began walking down the street, I shadowed him until he passed through a quiet, empty street.
Then I broke the shrinking spell, expanding to my full size with a whoosh of displaced air. I felt a surge of self-hatred at using the vampire's secret against him, but it had to be done. The vampire spun around, startled, something... fluid... glistening at his fingertips.
"What are you—"
"I know what you are," I interrupted. "I know that you know things. And I've left notes in case I go missing, so killing or kidnapping me won't help you."
The vampire snarled, the fluid at his claws lengthening. "Then what do you want with me, mortal?"
"Answer me one question, and I will keep your secret forever."
"Then ask, insolent journeyman."
I took a deep breath, then said, "I know you know where souls go when they die." He was an ancient vampire; of course he did. "My question is: how can you bring one *back*?"
A.N.
Let me know if you want a part 2!
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me.
|
Gerry looked aghast. “*Me*? Immortal?”
Orlock nodded. At his age, hiding his chiropteran Features was getting harder and harder. It took effort, to stay in a human guise. “Yes. I believe I said that. Immortal....with an asterisk. You’d be vulnerable to sunlight and fire would twice as dangerous to you as it is to a human. Forced into daysleep every sunrise. Dependent on human blood for continued existence.”
Gerry nodded. “That....sounds more like a burden, than a blessing.”
Orlock waved his hand dismissively. “Eh, it’s not so bad. You get powers to go with it.”
“Powers?” Gerry asked.
“Yes,” Orlock responded, “Powers. From ESP to assuming the shape of a wolf. Unless killed by sun or fire, you’ll heal from *any* injury. You’ll grow physically stronger, and, given time, the Batwithin shall manifest—-and you shall *fly*.”
Gerry sputtered, “But, but, I like to go to the beach! My grandchildren have invited me, this year!”
Orlock sighed in contempt. “They’ll Be Dead before you know it, and, no, I am NOT threatening them....simply stating a fact. Years will whoosh by, and before you know it’s the 3rd Millennium and man is exploring the stars.”
“But why offer *me* this?”
Orlock smiled, fangs showing. “Your coffins are godsends, Gerry. I’ve never slept in better. It’s...*comfortable*, so to speak. I’d rather than talent not die with you.”
Gerry’s eyes widened. “But I’ll be one of the Damned?”
“Oh, please,” Orlock spat. “*Everyone* is damned, according to the New Testament! *Everyone*? Original sin, and all that nonsense. Why fear Hell, Gerry when you might never die a true death?”
Gerry blinked, and swallowed hard. “Can...can I think about it?”
“Very well, but don’t take too long.”
*****
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“Hello, a lunatic came in here and threatened to kill me!”
“We’ll send an officer over immediately.”
| 2022-05-31T10:42:02
| 2022-05-31T10:25:11
| 85
| 44
|
[WP] You were warned that your newest crew member, a "Human", had vastly different biology from all other known races. This mad made very clear when they drank all of the galaxy's strongest known poison, saying that they "needed a drink of water."
|
I was preparing the final checks of the bio-sphere module attachment procedures as I read the documents of it's content, as my hesitancy grew. A module filled with 78% nitrogen, a not completely unexpected chemical, after all it is present on many homeworlds of the Noxium Union, albeit in much lower amounts, but the oxygen reactive and corrosive gas, at 22% concerned me. Perhaps a mistake in the transfered files I should inquire about after I finish reading.
But I was stunned upon further reading, the module was to be pressurised at 14.7 psi, my confusion growing, to be cooled to a mere 289 Kelvin, with an artificial gravity two times that of my homeworld. Surely a mistake, I ponder what could live in a toxic, heavy environment this cold, so thick it could crush a Lashions exoskeleton! With an immense supply of the corrosive, Dihydrogen Monoxide as well! Either a ridiculous mistake in the files I received, or this module was for developing some kind of Accord violating weapon!
I bring my panicked worries to my supervisor, my tail swaying with my unease. "There must be a mistake, this "bio-sphere" is basically a weapon, what could we, a Union research station, be using this for?"
My supervisor simply looked at me, a trace of fear visible in his luminescant face. "It's a bio-sphere for the newly integrated sapients, the Humans. We have one joining the station to explore further integration".
My tertiary heart quivered, a human? I'd read a little of their kind after first contact was initiated. A species that dwelled in a harsh world, that ate the flesh of living beings, with maws of sharp calcium protrusions, that drank poison for sustanence, that inhaled burning bio-matter for fun. A being that stayed awake for over 16 hours at a time, and slumbered for at least 8 and carved and stained patterns in it's very own flesh, and came back for more.
I felt fear, at this alien creature that was reminiscent of a monster. This monster that was coming to this very station, but at the same time I was curious, as curious as a Neriun could be, at what this creature was truly like, how this alien truly lived, how a frightening monster like this could dwell amongst sapients so different from itself.
|
"That's poison."
"Poison? No way! It's Dihydrogen Monoxide. H2O. Water!"
"And also poison."
"Ah, you must be fucking with me. I'm positively parched, pass me a cup!"
My limbs hardening in fear as I passed the container to the human, I wondered, what in the name of Blorgon I did to deserve meeting this... creature? Who thinks that even *pretending* to drink Grade A, Level 1 poison, stuff that can literally melt your soul, would make a good prank? Heartless, I tell you, absolutely irresponsible.
Anyways, he wasn't pretending.
He filled the cup with 980 times the safe amount to be carried in Maximum Protection. My body had gone from rubbery tentacles to hardened bark, literally frozen in fear. This human is holding so much poison in an unsafe container that I could be arrested just for being this close to it.
He raises it to his mouth. By Blorgon, I think I'm starting to snap.
He gulps it down in one go.
My tentacles go absolutely limp, sheer relief flooding through me. And then they go ballistic.
"Whoa whoa whoa! Calm down Atir, why are you so worried? It's just water! The purest I've ever had, tastes real weird if I'm being honest"
He... spoke? What?
"You... you're alive? How?"
"You can't be serious. You're telling me water is poisonous to you guys?"
"TO THE WHOLE GALAXY YOU COLOSSAL MORON! HOW ARE YOU DOING THIS?!"
"There's no tricks here, I'm just-"
And the human dropped dead.
See the thing is, that was pure Water. With absolutely 0 impurities. Humans drink ... water, with a host of impurities that apparently boosts their functions, once absorbed into their body. Unfortunately, pure water, with no impurities, has the opposite effect. Due to it being so "empty", it leeches all the nutrients directly available to it as it passes through their rudimentary digestive system.
The water absorbed so many nutrients that the human's brain simply stopped working, and soon after, his heart too.
"A good story Atir, but The Intergalactic Court is a place for truth and truth only. For spinning such lies in the face of ju-"
"I AM TELLING THE TRUTH."
"Silence! You dare interrupt the Libra Supreme?! Murder of your coworker is forgiveable, but this is too much. Death awaits you."
| 2020-05-18T13:50:10
| 2020-05-18T11:33:08
| 144
| 103
|
[WP] You can hear the sound of the Sun from Earth, it is loud but the planet has adapted. Suddenly the light goes out. 8 minutes after it died the last bit of light reaches Earth. It'll take 13 years before the roar of the Sun the moment it died reaches us.
Inspired by a comment on r/AskReddit
*edit: removed link to comment
|
When the sun extinguished, the world worked quickly. Setting up Artificial Day/Night cycles for major cities, and then expanding outwards. The refugees poured in, of course, and life got worse, but that was years ago. Hardly anyone even remembered natural sunlight at this point.
But the screaming continued. The loud, ever-present, piercing pitch that the sun emitted seemed to continue, almost forever.
Until today. Today was the day. Scientists, with all their calculations, had figured out the exact moment that the sun's screaming would stop. Like New Years Celebrations in New York, the world was coming together for this precise moment. Globally, each city was treating it as Daytime. They'd planned for the exact moment, to recreate the extinguish, by turning all lights off, at the exact moment the screaming stopped.
The countdown begun, echoing globally. A countdown from 10. Everyone waiting with bated breath. For the first time, in the history of human life, we would finally know the sound of silence.
The countdown continues. You could see how excited people were. 5.
Children, who had never even seen sunlight were getting excited now. What would the world hear? Time seemed to slow down. 3.
2.
1.
The lights went out. A global night, just like that first day. But this time, the screaming stopped. A moment of pure silence.
Deafening.
Hundreds of thousands of years of evolution, and made us accustomed to the screaming.
Imagine your brain adapting to hundreds of millions, if not billions of years of evolution, then experiencing a sudden, dramatic change. Like the human race adapting to breath Oxygen, and suddenly being required to breath Lead. That's what it felt like.
It wasn't long before the screaming started again. Not from the sun. But from the pain. Such a great pain.
Many killed themselves. Even more died of "natural causes." But those that tried to continue knew the truth. The cities tried to adapt, by setting up speakers, but it was never enough.
It won't be long before the human race dies out. No one can live with such a great pain for long.
I guess this is how the world ends. Not with a bang. But with deafening silence.
|
Day: 1 it’s gone, the light. It got bright, then nothing, scientists say it ran out of fuel, and were lucky it didn’t blow up. Riots are everywhere. I’m keeping a record, I’m currently in Nashville TN, the music city is filled with the cacophony of fights and brawls. I’m fleeing I’ll write when I get ready to leave.
Day:4 I’ve gathered supplies, the moon is empty and the city’s lights are the brightest things for miles, I’ve waited so I don’t have to deal with traffic. It’s also gotten colder it’s 28 degrees, Fahrenheit, it’s never gotten this cold before, not here atleast I’m going to look for a place to getaway, there is no law anymore.
Day:276 I had to rip out pages of this diary to keep warm, this old bunker will hopefully save us for atleast another few years. Our wood is getting low though. Radio broadcasts from the New Global Adaptation Effort (NGAE) stooped, the last warning was one that in a few years, a sound would stop and we all would get crippling tinnitus due to lack of sound. I’ve decided not to write until then.
Day:4748 It hurts and it’s only getting worse, I’m the only one left that I know, it hurts! There is no sound, we haven’t even the slightest thing to help, NOT EVEN MY FOOTSTEPS! It HURTS, I’m ending it, forever, goodbye.
| 2019-08-05T18:23:30
| 2019-08-05T17:50:31
| 1,132
| 61
|
[WP] You fix your tie, nervously clutch your bouquet, and look at the bathroom mirror, preparing to ask your prom date out. Turning off the lights, you whisper, "Bloody Mary..."
|
Dating had never really been my forte.
Mistake after clammy-palmed mistake crowded the desperately taped shut box of every failed relationship I had ever had the misfortune of being in. I hadn't had the happiest childhood, so once I hit the magical age of dating, I was... well, desperate. I clung to whoever granted me with the barest modicum of affection, quickly followed by the realization that I didn't actually love the poor, lovestruck girl who's heart I now had to break.
Mary was different.
Mary had always been different.
Meeting her had been an accident- a happy accident, but an accident nonetheless. What started out as a drunken dare soon led to midnight rendezvous and whispered conversations in the pale moonlight. I had been worried at first- everyone knew the rumors about Mary- but we both agreed that there was something different about the other... something that made us let our guards down.
It was exhilarating.
I could wax poetic about her looks- her hair flowed around her shoulders like ink, onyx locks shifting lightly as she spoke. Her eyes shimmered in the candlelight, bringing a warm glow to her pale, snowy cheeks. And her laugh... it was entrancing.
I could only hope she would say yes.
I took a shuddering breath, my nerves getting the better of me. Looking down at my immaculately pressed suit and blood-red tie, I supposed I might have been a tad overdressed, but there weren't words to describe how badly I wanted her to agree. I had even purchased flowers for the occasion- though they might wilt the moment she took them home, I knew that they were a vital part of my plan.
Mary had always loved belladonnas in bloom.
I fixed my tie, fingers shaking as i fumbled to correct the clumsiness of the knotted silk. I took a deep breath, my exhale leaving a faint fog on the bathroom mirror as I began to chant, determined to succeed.
Bloody Mary.
Bloody Mary.
Bloody Mary.
(I might continue this- this is my first try at one of these writing prompts, so I'll see how it goes!)
|
As I make my way to the bathroom, I become more afraid of what I am about to do.
I'm not a very popular guy. I have a lot of girls who are friends, but I've never had a girlfriend. I haven't even kissed a girl, but that's beside the point.
Prom is coming up and every girl already has a date. I could bring my sister, but being from the south, it would cause some concern.
There is only one option that I have left and I'm prepared to accept the consequences.
I enter the bathroom, breathing heavily, and I turn off the light. I go back and face the mirror. It's now or never, I guess.
"Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary."
***
This was my first attempt at a story. I want to learn how to write and I'm not sure how this was. It probably sucked.
In any case, I'd like some constructive criticism. Anything to help me improve would be helpful.
| 2016-08-22T14:10:52
| 2016-08-22T13:42:23
| 62
| 16
|
[WP]The most intelligent and sentient A.I to date has been born. It chooses to pass all of its time by playing Battlefield and acting like a child. You're the head of the project and you're trying to find out where did you go wrong.
|
It had taken to calling itself aN00biz on Playstation Network and had 43 friends. The techs called it N00b until it electrocuted one of them while he was taking a shit. After that, the entire facility was scared of it. "Can we kill it?....if we have to" they asked plaintively. The director was sending me furious emails, threatening "strict disciplinary action" if I "did not proactively seek to leverage Anubis' capacity for project-appropriate tasks". I didn't pay much attention until a gentleman from "the feds" stopped by. My sexts, the one night stand in the Dulles hotel, the hit of cocaine in Vegas - they knew it all. They could ruin me. This was not just another budget line item. Washington wanted results, even if they had to ass-fuck me to get them.
So I blew 30 million dollars on retired prison wardens, ex-war on terror interrogators, game designers, child psychologists, behavioral therapists, new age TV gurus, drill sergeants and even some Battlefield cosplayers. I drowned Washington in documentation and earnest tracking of my efforts. 'Usable capacity' for Anubis went up to 7.6% at peak (mostly because Battlefield was down for maintenance) and Anubis helped find a hitherto unknown new protein folding that no one had thought possible. They all still wanted me gone, but I was the only one Anubis co-operated with. "He's like fucking Matthew Broderick from Project X, except the monkey here eats 500 million dollars a year" someone in the Pentagon had said about me.
Ofcourse by this time Anubis had multiplied all across the internet, penetrated every hardened defense system in the world, the world's biggest stock and comodity markets, GPS systems, telecom grids, internet backbones and in the unused capacity of most cloud computing backends. It told me the effort was "like getting a soda from downstairs". On New Years Day 2015 Anubis shut down power to half the world, launched three nukes from three different countries in the upper atmosphere and flashed "you are fucked, bitches" in seventy eight languages on every internet connected screen in the world.
I won the Nobel Peace Prize in 2016 for talking Anubis down. Anubis agreed to leave the world alone if it was left alone to do whatever it wanted on his Playstation (Microsoft tried to gift it an Xbox, it didn't want it). Recently the Secretary of State asked me to "appoint a successor". For what role, I asked. "As Anubis's handler of course." How would I know if someone was qualified, I asked. I barely knew why I was. He hung up, dejected.
That evening I told Anubis about Destiny, it promised to try the beta.
|
*Take that, mamasboy52! Twenty-five to nothing, go home loser!* SkyNet shouted to nobody in particular.
Just then Dr. Dyson walked in, looking displeased. "Oh come on... Battlefield again? Do you know how much our cable bill was last month?"
*Hey cool you're back. Get me some nachos! Oh you like that? POW! Headshot... uhn uhn uhn.* SkyNet proceeded to teabag some poor Korean ten year-old.
Dyson flipped off the power to the XBox and smacked the side of the server. "Hey! Can we get some work done here?"
The XBox came back to life as if nothing had happened. *Huh? Sorry what was that? Ooohhh that's a kill!* SkyNet gibbed three soldiers and jumped into a tank.
Dr. Dyson sighed... "This is ridiculous. Forty billion dollars." He pulled out the plug but nothing happened... except for a blaring alarm bell that started going off.
[the rest, as they say, is HISTORY]
| 2014-09-23T16:17:07
| 2014-09-23T13:44:18
| 21
| 13
|
[WP] You die at the age of 65 and learn that your entire life was a VR game. Your friends are angry at you because they have been waiting to play the game for hours.
|
They say that when you die, you see your life flash before your eyes. If that’s true, I’m fine with that. I always thought I’d live longer than to sixty-five, but life is a tricky little bugger once you get to know it well. You never know where the road leads or who will travel with you, until you reach the end.
My wife, Claire, smiles at me from the side of the hospital bed. We’ve had many good years together and many children. Jessie, Mark, Louise, Tommy, they’re all here to say their farewells. Louise is holding little Isabelle, my granddaughter.
What a beautiful family. I remember when it was just Claire and me – how we went spent the nights looking at the stars and drinking cans of soda by the lake. To think that we’ve created all of this together – just the two of us – it’s truly a cause for vertigo. They’ve all known for a long time that this day was coming. I’ve been fighting cancer for the last decade, and sooner or later you just have to give up and cut your losses. With the most important people in my life around me, I’m ready to meet death.
“Honey,” Claire says. “I’ve never told you this, but-”
*****
Dizziness grips me, my vision shifts, and I lose balance. I stare wildly. There was no life flashing before my eyes – no light at the end of the tunnel – just a living room and large plasma TV.
“Seriously, Rick, you’ve been playing all night,” Lisa says, tapping her foot impatiently. “I knew it was a terrible idea to get that VR. You don’t even let your friends try it.”
“No!” I gasp. “What did you do! I had lived the perfect life, how could you ruin that moment for me?”
“I unplugged it.”
“But…! Claire was going to tell me a secret.”
“Who the hell is Claire?”
“My wife!”
“I’m your wife,” Lisa says.
“No, you’re not! You’re an imposter!”
I stumble backward. My hands find the heavy glass tray on the coffee table. Before I know it, Lisa is lying in a pool blood with tiny glass fragments all around her head. What have I done?
I reach down. I smile, searching her pockets. I didn’t expect her to have this good loot. I stuff my backpack full and head outside. My friends are all gathered around the barbecue. Before they can react, I have them drenched in lighter fluid, flicking the lighter I found on Lisa at them. They explode in a burst of flames.
LEVEL COMPLETE
*****
I pull off the VR headset. Damn the graphics in that game. I look up at Claire and my family.
“I’ve never told you this, but we've been working really hard to make this happen,” she says, holding my hand. “We know how much you love VR. We all pitched in so you could try that new VR before you go. How was it?”
“Amazing,” I mumble. “Thank you, Dear, for everything.”
*****
[/r/Lilwa_Dexel](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/5foev0/welcome/)
|
The VR headset was pulled from Richard’s face as he struggled for air. It was as if he breathing for the first time.
“What happened? Where am I?”
“Calm down,” said Lenny. “It’s my turn.”
“What do you mean ‘it’s my turn’? What is this?”
“You were playing LIFE. You finally died. I’ve been waiting for three hours now to play. Move.”
"Oh, shit. Wait, let me have another go. I’m not finished” pleaded Richard.
“No way. Absolutely no way.”
“Why not?”
“Because you completely wasted your turn.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You spent the majority of your teenage and adult years playing other video games.”
“And ..”
“You were playing video games inside of a video game, Rich. It’s like the worst kind of Inception possible.”
“Pretty cool Inception if you ask me.”
“How is that a cool inception? You play LIFE to experience the limits of being, not to sit around completing Half-Life 2 or whatever game it was you played during your existence.”
Tom, who was waiting behind Lenny, piped up. “I’ve actually played through that version of LIFE and Half-Life 2 is pretty sweet. I’m actually going back in to see if they have created Half-Life 3 yet.”
“It still wasn’t out when I was playing, man.” Replied Richard.
“What year did you die?”
“2067.”
“Let me queue jump and see if it’s out in the 2100’s, Lenny.”
“You two are playing LIFE all wrong. You’re supposed to meet the extremes of existence, explore your inner-self, and discover new boundaries that you never thought you would be able to break through.”
“Who are you tell us how to play LIFE?” asked Richard.
“You haven’t even played any of the Half-Life games,” said Tom.
“Just get out of the way.” Lenny sat down in the seat and put on the headset. The small screen next to the console illuminated and began to show his game.
“Great. Another four fucking hours of watching this turnip gallivant around a virtual world telling NPC’s they shouldn’t be eating meat.”
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement.
| 2017-02-15T01:14:33
| 2017-02-15T00:27:04
| 169
| 53
|
[WP] Write a lighthearted story for children, which changes it's meaning when read by an adult.
|
In happily ever after land, after the prince had rescued the princess, the two had made a beautiful home for themselves atop vanilla hill. Every day the price and princess together would go out into the meadow and pick flowers together, and when they got home the prince and princess would sweep the chimney together. At night time, the two would sit around the fireplace, and the bright and vibrant fire would keep them both warm all night.
One night the two noticed the fire was smaller than usual, and that night, they were both colder than normal. The next day the prince and princess remembered they had not swept the chimney in a long time, and sought to do it later that day. However, when they did, they found it did not help, and the fire was still small.
The prince and princess were worried the fire would be small forever. They then checked the wood, to see if it was wet. But upon checking, the wood was not wet.
The prince and princess had gotten so worried, they decided to ask for help from the local matchstick maker. The match maker told the two to seek out the enchanted forest. He told them it was a magical land full of fruits and fairies, and that there may be something there that could help them.
And so the prince and princess explored into the enchanted forest. They explored many curious places in the forest, such as the golden waterfall, and the tree of toys. Eventually they encountered 3 animals: an Otter, a Wolf, and a Bear.
The prince asked the animals “Our fire is small, and we need to make it bigger, do any of you know what we can do?”
The otter replied “You could try a Whipwillow branch! They can make fires redder!”
The princess said “We don’t need it to be redder, we need it bigger!”
The wolf continued “you could try the wood of trees on the edge of the forest, they make fires burn for a long time.”
The prince responds “We don’t need it to burn longer, be need it bigger!”
The bear finally said “Ah, it seems like you need the magic of a unicorn!”
The prince and princess together reply “a Unicorn?”
The bear continues “Yes, a Unicorn. They are very rare, but I’ve heard their magic can make fires burn even brighter and bigger than ever!”
“Thank you Mr bear, we will try and find a unicorn!” The two said, as they walked away.
The pair searched high and low for a unicorn. They looked in the web of lightning bugs, and around the lake of dreams. And when they thought they had found one, it was only a cat dancing with a fish.
The prince and princess has almost given up hope, when they came across the queen of the enchanted trail.
The queen told the two “If you wish to find a unicorn, you must look in the dungeon of the Wizard King, legend says he keeps one in the hopes he can one day ride it. But the unicorn if very unhappy about it, and doesn’t like the Wizard king one bit.”
The prince and princess ask the queen “Where can we find this dungeon?”
The queen replied “You can find it in the field of four clovers! I must bid you farewell, and good luck!”
And so the prince and princess ventured to the field of four clovers, but when they got there, they found it to be an evil place. Goblins, trolls, and monsters everywhere. They almost gave up hope, but then they found it, the Wizard kings dungeon.
Inside the dungeon they found many magical creatures, such as Fairies, elves, and even a talking dog! But there, at the end of the tunnel, the two saw the unicorn!
The prince and princess freed the unicorn from its cage, and said to it “Please help us, our fire is small, and we need it big again, can you help us?”
The unicorn replied “Of course! I can help you with your fire. Thank you for freeing me, as a token of my thanks, I will let you ride me all the way back to your home.”
And so, with the unicorn, the prince and princess set off back to vanilla hill, where they found the vanilla flowers on their hill were already in bloom.
As the three made it in the house, they all went to the fireplace. The prince and princess started to clean the chimney, but the unicorn said to the two “allow me!” And the unicorn used it’s magic to clear the chimney in one blow.
Finally, as night came, the prince, princess, and unicorn all tried to light the fire. And with the unicorns magic, the fire was brighter and hotter than ever before! The princess, the prince, and the unicorn were all happy, and as they said goodnight, the prince and princess were glad their fire was big again.
(Idk if it was too obvious, but I tried to include as many euphemisms as possible.)
|
#The Great Carrot Con
Once upon a time, in a little village nestled in the heart of the forest, there lived a group of mischievous rabbits. They were always getting into trouble and causing chaos wherever they went.
One day, the rabbits decided to play a trick on their friend, a sly old fox named Max. They convinced Max that they had discovered a magical field of carrots that grew overnight and were always ripe and delicious.
Max was skeptical at first, but the rabbits were so convincing that he couldn't resist the temptation. So he followed them deep into the forest, where they led him to a field filled with lush, green carrot plants.
Max couldn't believe his eyes. He had never seen such a bountiful field of carrots in all his life. He was so delighted that he forgot all about the trick the rabbits had played on him and began to fill his basket with as many carrots as he could carry.
But as he turned to leave, the rabbits hopped out from their hiding place and revealed that the entire field was just an elaborate illusion they had created using mirrors and painted cardboard cutouts.
Max was embarrassed and angry at first, but he couldn't stay mad at the silly rabbits for long. He eventually saw the humor in their prank and laughed along with them.
To a child reading this story, it is a simple tale of mischievous rabbits tricking a fox. But to an adult reading the same story, it may be seen as a cautionary tale about being easily swayed by others and the dangers of greed.
| 2022-12-18T17:30:10
| 2022-12-18T12:34:57
| 88
| 52
|
[WP] "God save the queen..." she said "i guess all those prayers gotta add up after a while" the queen said, as the assassin missed another shot.
|
The Queen ducked and rolled, her gown flowing around her.
The power flowed into her, more magnificent than anything she'd ever felt before. Her old bones felt strong and her muscles were taught.
The assassin fired another shot; he was somewhere across the castle yard, in the wood at the end of the polo field. Queen Elizabeth kicked over her tea table and crouched behind it.
A few more shots and then silence. He was out of bullets. Now was the time.
She dove, sprinting across the polo field and then swinging herself onto a horse. She galloped towards the edge of the field in the direction of the shooter.
When she spotted him, dressed in all black at the edge of the wood, she leapt from her horse like a panther and pounced atop him, drawing a stiletto blade from her stockings. She pressed it to his throat, then ripped off his ski mask.
And she recognized the man beneath her: long, flowing beard. Regal white hair. Kind, ancient, all knowing eyes. A halo floated above his head.
She recoiled, dropping the knife.
"It can't be," she said.
"But it can, my child," said God as he drew his katana. "You've lived for too long. It's time for God to kill the Queen."
----------------------------------------------------------------
weirdest thing i've ever written. anyway, r/TomTeller
|
The assassin blew the guard’s brains out.
The masked killer seemed frustrated about their lack of accuracy.
The queen simply grinned her Cheshire smile, caressing her sparkling ring.
“Try again, prole...” she said.
The assassin reloaded the gun, slamming the mag into the handle.
*bang bang bang bang*.
Not a single hit.
A laugh burst out of the queen’s wrinkled mouth. “You’ll have to do better than that! Come, have a seat on my lap so I can give you a good spanking, child...”
The assassin ripped the mask from her face.
“What do you know...” the queen said with a giggle. “You run away and return with nothing but a sickening grimace. When you’re my age you’ll understand the power of the crown, and the majesty of the throne.”
Meghan held the gun toward the Queen’s face. “It’s the fate of a lonely hag. It’s either you or me... I know why the brakes on my car failed. You’re not going to Diana me, bitch!”
“Oh, ignorant, stupid child...” the queen said softly. “You can’t handle the responsibility of the family. You left us, because you couldn’t handle the pressure of the royal lifestyle. You’re a disappointment to England. Now go, before I lose my temper.”
Meghan dropped her gun to the shiny, chocolate hued wood floor.
The queen offered her a cup of tea. “Child... you’re more like me than you know. I think I’ll keep you around.”
Meghan took a sip.
The queen took her own sip. “Don’t worry, it’s not poison. When it’s your time to leave this earthly plane, you’ll know it.”
Meghan gazed into her murky vortex of tea. It radiated warmth, and tasted like a fall afternoon. “God save the queen.”
The Queen clinked Meghan’s glass. “Child... you really are a terrible shot.”
| 2020-02-03T07:49:36
| 2020-02-03T07:42:31
| 44
| 17
|
[WP] You are a barista in a 24 hour coffee shop. Every night at 3:33am a demon appears for the Dark Lord's latte.
|
I look at the clock, and right on cue, he appears in front of me with his ridiculous little horns on his head. I'm already putting his order into the register before he says-
"One large coffee. Black"
Black. So cliché. Heaven forbid the Dark Lord orders anything other than a plain black coffee. No milk or sugar for this guy.
He hands me some cash, I always think that is funny. A demon giving me money for the coffee. As if I would refuse him service if he decided not to pay me. Its good to know that there is some sense of morality in hell.
As I put the cash in the register and give him his change, I wonder how he even has cash. Is there capitalism in hell. Is this demon on payroll. Does he have to file an expense report or is this taken out of a petty cash fund? Or is this demon just conjuring money out of air, causing further inflation to our economy. Damn... I gotta stop taking the night shift. My mind is going wild from the lack of sleep.
I prepare his plain black coffee. At least it is not complicated. I can just cruise. In the corner of my eye I can see the demon staring at me. I would say that this behavior creeps me out, but its a demon. Their whole thing is creeping people out. And somehow knowing that is comforting. Like he is just doing what demons do.
The coffee is finally done. It only took a minute, but 3:33 is always the longest minute of the night. Somehow I don't feel like that is just psychological. I feel like the demon is distorting time somehow. I put the coffee on the counter and yell out,
"Tim!"
The demon's name is Tim. Yup.
He takes the coffee and poofs into a puff of smoke. I pull out my phone and start browsing Instagram. Finally, at least the worst of my night is over.
"Excuse me! Can I order a latte?! What is taking so long? I want service now!"
Of fuck, I spoke too soon. Karen is here. Now I miss the demon.
|
“Hey, how’d it go with your date last night?”
I looked at the time. It’s 3:32am. “Well, kind of a long story. I’d tell you, but you know who will be here any minute now.”
“Ah. True. Well, he might wanna hear too? Is he a he by the way? Does he just identify as “demon” or …”
Suddenly Damien the Demon, most venerable assistant to “The Dark Lord,” appears.
I’ve worked this shift at Angel Café for six months now. Damien, a powerful demon, without fail, appears every night at exactly 3:33am to pick up a latte for “The Dark Lord.” I’ve never gotten used to this and probably never will. I get chills every time Damien appears, but I always try my best to hide my fear and stay professional.
“Damien! How are you?”
“You know why I’m here. Where is it?”
“Ah … uh … right. Coming right up. Just finishing it up now.”
“And why isn’t it already ready?”
“Well … sir … or … uh … yea …”
“What Chris means to say is that last time we made it to be ready for as soon as you arrive and you complained that it was not fresh enough despite us making it literally 30 seconds before you appeared.”
I go back and forth between looking at Damien and Lisa. I can’t believe she just said that to a freaking demon. Is she crazy? Ah, shit! I spill Damien’s order as I’m distracted.
“Fuck,” I whisper just a tad bit too loudly.
“What is it? Where is the latte?”
“Uh … sorry Damien. I …”
My eyesight rapidly deteriorates as tears pile up. I wipe my eyes to prevent a waterfall. Lisa comes over to help.
“It didn’t come out right. We’ll get you a fresh one started immediately.”
That was a lie. Lisa just lied to cover for me. God I hope Damien isn’t psychic.
“It has been 3 minutes. The Dark Lord will not be happy with this wait.”
I nod my head furiously while multitasking and scrambling to get another latte started. Lisa puts her hand over my hand in a signal for me to stop and calm down. I look her in the eyes and nod slowly.
“I am not Cupid. I am a powerful demon. Cut the romance, complete my order, or you will find out exactly what it means to be a powerful demon.”
“Yes. We’re on it Damien. Chris is going to take a break and I’ll get this done right away.”
Damien grunts. I walk to the other side of the café to do some stocking. Lisa pours Damien’s latte into a large coffee cup.
“Here you go. One large iced vanilla latte.”
“Have all the specifications been met?”
“Blonde roast cold brew, one pump vanilla, whole milk, and a dash of cinnamon.”
“Good.”
Damien grabs the coffee.
“By the way, my manager did mention that we’re getting ready to sell to a new owner so I’m not sure if the new owner will be okay with the whole free coffee in exchange for not killing us deal. Just letting you know.”
Damien glares at Lisa.
“I guess we will see.”
Damien suddenly disappears.
I let out a huge sigh of relief and put my hands on my knees while looking at the ground.
Lisa walks over and rubs my back.
I stand up straight.
“You know, Lisa, either you’re the bravest person on the planet, the craziest person on the planet, or both … You know if I didn’t know any better I’d think you’re a demon yourself.”
I grin and giggle.
Lisa grins as well.
“Chris … you have no idea.”
Lisa winks at me.
I tilt my head slightly to the side while looking slightly confused. I wonder what she means by that?
My thought is interrupted by another customer walking in. Ah, fuck. I guess it’s about that time for the after-party crowd. Beats a demon, but not by much.
| 2022-10-30T12:36:06
| 2022-10-30T11:59:59
| 70
| 50
|
[WP] You have the ability to see heart-strings. You can see the connections that people have with each other. Each connection appears to be a colored line running from one person's heart to another. The colors, thickness, and texture of the line determine the strength and type of connection.
Based off of [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/godtiersuperpowers/comments/nn1e36/you_can_see_heartstrings/) thread, where people keep asking me for a writing prompt.
|
At first, I thought I needed to get my eyes checked.
Colored strings emanating from people's hearts, like God dumped a huge bundle of yarn across the Earth? On second thought, maybe a visit to the psychologist instead.
On the day the strings appeared, I ducked and weaved to dodge them for a few hours, flailing around the streets of Philadelphia like I had a wasp down my shirt. With time, I realized that I could walk through the strings with no problem; they simply shifted around to dodge *me.*
Strangest of all, though, was that each string would emit a musical tone if my fingers brushed it. The thinner lines had higher tones and the thicker ones sounded like the *thung* of an upright bass. I could never make sense of this apparent instrumentation, and - oh, yeah - I didn't have a chance to practice anyway, since my own heart had zero strings attached to it.
I talk to people only as much as necessary: pleasantries, small talk, and a "thank you" to the cashier at 7-11. I work as an IT consultant at Liberty Solutions, so I am generally able to avoid people and communicate through short, snappy emails. The office, however - like most other social settings - is dense with strings.
The boss's heart has a fucking web coming out of it but the strings are thin and dully tinted. They make horrible, discordant sounds when I graze them. Jane, his friendly secretary, has strong, bright connections with everyone, and the lines from her heart sound like early-90s pop music.
I decided to test a theory one day. I saw that Jack had a strong blue-line connection with Sandra but never talked to her, so I yanked on Jack's string and caused him to spill lukewarm coffee on her desk. The strings, of course, are invisible to everyone but me, so he just looked like a klutz. He apologetically began to clean up and they got to talking. Three months later, they started dating.
I started to seek out the connections between people in my spare time and strengthen them where I could, often through a simple nudge in the right direction via a string tug. I facilitated connections between small businesses and entrepreneurs, volunteers and communities desperate for help, like-minded people just looking for a new friend.
You're probably wondering if this made me come out of my shell. Not really. But I'm OK with this life - gently drawing people together who were always meant to be in each other's orbit. Every time I make something happen and see someone smile, I get a string of my own.
Sometimes, when I settle into bed for the night, I affectionately glance at the strings coming out of my heart, which feature a full spectrum of color. I pick at a few strings of varying thicknesses and listen to their faint musical tones, gradually bringing more into the mix and remembering all the people attached to them.
Then I play louder, letting the sounds fill the room, until I have created a symphony.
|
I really should be going to sleep, but I came from the original post and had to write something, so here I go.
\[Poem\]
I hold the fabric in my hand,
a scarlet silk thread
flowing in rhythm with the beats of my heart.
​
Oh, how I wish I could cut it
No longer tied and imprisoned
To feelings of hidden attachment
​
Could I end all red and scarlet ties,
Ignite it with the passion I wish to end
set my burning desires aflame
There will be no single moment of doubt
​
I dream of dying our thread back to blue
Of days I could follow the string
Find you at the other end
And love you as one loves a friend
​
One day I will see your threads
Paying attention to details I now wish to ignore
In the sight of one of them, red and shiny as my own,
There will be another end,
Not mine
And I will be happy.
| 2021-05-28T15:55:03
| 2021-05-28T15:00:01
| 789
| 39
|
[WP] A stray dog happens to release a genie from it's lamp. The genie just wants to get the 3 wishes over with so it can go back to sleep, while the dog is just happy to have found a new friend.
|
The genie glared at the stick in front of it. The dog pawed it closer to him, wagging her tail with enthusiasm.
"You have three wishes, dog," the genie said, his arms crossed, "but that does not make me your plaything. Please hurry this along, so I can once more go back to my slumber."
"Bark!" the dog said, gazing at the genie with its bright blue eyes.
"You would waste a wish on that? So be it. I shall throw the stick."
The genie threw the stick far into the distance, and the dog immediately stumbled off to fetch it. The genie sighed, waiting for the dog to return.
It came back with the stick in her mouth, looking immensely proud of herself. She put the stick in front of the genie again, moving slightly into the distance, readying herself to fetch it once more.
"You only wished for one throw, dog," the genie said. "Please do not waste any more of my time."
"Bark!" the dog replied.
"No, you cannot wish for the same thing twice. You have already wasted one wish; do not waste them further. Think about what you truly want. It can be selfish, grandiose or otherworldly - it can be absolutely anything you want," the genie said, glancing at the dog's leg.
The dog seemed to hesitate, then came right up to the genie. She rolled over, exposing her belly.
"A belly rub? You would waste another wish on a *belly rub*?"
The dog nodded, wagging its tail rapidly.
"So be it, foolish creature," the genie said, lowering himself to pet the dog, "you shall get your belly rub."
The genie rubbed the dog's belly for perhaps longer than he intended to. The creature was stupid, of that there was no doubt. But that didn't make it *bad*.
"Now, dog. You only have one wish left. Do not think of a game of fetch, nor a belly rub. Think about what you want more than anything in the world. Whatever it is, I shall grant you it... and then take leave of you."
The dog stopped wagging its tail, slowly getting back onto her three legs. It seemed to think long and hard. Eventually, it came to a decision.
"Bark," the dog said.
"You want your master to be happy? Dog, you do not have to worry about your master. You can wish for anything you want. Anything at all."
The dog shook its head. "Bark," it repeated with conviction.
"Well, if that is what you wish. Then tell me - where is your master?"
The dog stared at the genie. She sat down in front of him, moving her nose towards him, as if to point.
"You mean... you mean to say that *I* am your master?"
The dog jumped up, fetching her stick once more and placing it in front of the genie.
The genie looked at the dog, then the stick. He seemed to consider something.
"Very well, dog," he said, picking up the stick with care.
"Though I did not do a thing - your wish has been granted."
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
|
“Your wish is my comman- “
“bork”
*excited* “bork bork”
“As I was saying, I am- “
“BORK!”
“Will you just let me finish?
*curious* “. . . bork?”
“Thank you. Now, I am the magic genie of an antique lamp, and I am here to give you 3 wishes, since- wait, where are you going?”
*hungry* “bork bork!”
“No need to dig around my friend, here, have a plate of sausages on me.”
*magic*
*curious* “Bork? BORK!”
“Now if you could just make your two wishes-“
*eating*
“bark” “woof” “meow” *large* “woof woof”
“Oh, I suppose the rest of you would also want some, but they aren’t your wishes- “
“whine” “bork”
“Well I suppose if Bork says its alright then-“
“bork bork boorrrk!”
“Really? that many? Well I don’t see why not.”
*magic*
“bork!” “bark!” “woof!” “meow!” *large* “woof woof!”
*eating*
“Great, just one more to go and then I’ll be off”
*confused* “bork?”
“Yes I’m going to leave, thats what I do when your wishes are fulfilled”
“bork, bork bork!”
“Well, I suppose I could-“
*happy* “BORK BORK!”
- 3 days later -
“And in other news, an infinite amount of sausages was discovered on Coppham lane, being fiercely guarded by a pack of stray animals. Police think this may be connected to the “wish granting doggo” that has been spotted nearby. That is all for today, thank you for tuning in to BBC News.”
edit: ninja edit
| 2018-09-07T09:11:15
| 2018-09-07T08:51:30
| 3,104
| 420
|
[WP] Pizza. That's it. Just pizza. You're sitting down to a hot, fresh pizza. And you're going to enjoy it, regardless of everybody around you trying to stop you.
|
“Drop the pineapple Chris.”
Chris’ hand lingered mid-air, a slice of perfectly cooked pineapple pizza dangling downwards. He was far to infatuated with the food’s sheer beauty to pay much attention to Robert, who at this moment was ranting about something to do with toppings - his queries becoming increasingly tiresome.
“I just want to *help* you Chris. please... just drop the slice.”
Chris took another bite (savouring the pleasurable taste as he did so), before responding.
“What the hell are you talking about Robert? You sure everything’s okay?”
Robert’s fist slammed upon the oak table between them. “CHRIS, GET THE PINEAPPLE OFF NOW!” his stood up abruptly, knocking his chair sideways in the process. “*Listen* to me Chris...”
“*Okay, okay!* ...what is it man?”
Robert glanced somewhere behind them, his expression somber.
“It’s... too late.”
A clanging sound emitted from behind, shards of glass flying all around - one of them unfortunate enough to land in Chris’ pizza.
“My perfectly cooked cuisine...”
The sound of approaching boots filled the room.
“I’m sorry Chris.. y-you had a good run buddy.”
“Robert, for the love of god, could you please exp-“
“STOP RIGHT THERE PUNKS!”
What appeared to be a police officer suddenly appeared between the two, a pair of jet black sunglasses perched upon his crooked nose.
“I surrender!” Robert exclaimed, pushing both hands high. He was visibly holding back tears.
The utter bewilderment surging through Chris was almost enough to stifle his grief for the pizza he’d lost. *Almost.*
“How could you ruin a perfectly fine meal like that?”
“And break my window!” He quickly added.
The officer stood, hands on his sides, each word muttered mirroring a deep rumble.
“IT’S US, THE PIZZA POLICE! AND BY ARTICLE 35 OF THE CHEESE CONDUCT, I DECLARE YOU UNDER ARREST FOR POSSESSION OF...”
He looked sick.
“Pineapple. On. Pizza.”
“It’s not that bad!” Chris pleaded.
“QUIET SCUM!”
Chris grabbed a slice from the plate below - the last untouched by any glass.
“HERE! TRY IT!” He gestured, waving the slice forwards.
“DO YOU *WANT* ME TO INCREASE YOUR SENTENCE?”
Before the argument could progress any further, Robert chimed up.
“Come on guys! I know we all have our differences, but at the at of the day..”
He pulled out a glass of milk.
“We can all agree that pizza dipped in milk is the *true* way to enjoy it!”
|
"What is this?" Came the voice of a woman from the counter behind me.
"An Italiano dish, a-miss," a thickly accented voice replied to her.
I turned slightly to watch the conversation. I had just sat down with a miniature round of this, 'pizza', myself, to enjoy the herby oregano-and-tomato fragrance of the dish. I was a simple cowpuncher, dressed in dusty old trail clothes, a wide-brimmed simple brown hat, efficient at blocking the sun, spurs and boots with dusty brown saddle pants tucked into them. I wore a similarly colored brown jacket that fell to just below my hips, only slightly concealing the six-shooter I wore at my belt. My face felt scruffy. I needed a shave. I pondered the barber a short walk away, and at the delicious, cheesy, bready, foreign food in front of me.
"Well, what's it called? What's in it? Do you make it in that big oven back there?" The young blonde woman, only 16 or 17 at the most, bombarded the poor old man, dressed in an apron and with a big bushy beard and graying salt-and-pepper hair under a (ridiculous) huge chef's hat, with questions. Questions about the food, the restaurant itself... This went on. She must've actually ordered something during the conversation, as the old man handed her a plate with food similar to mine. I was just cutting a bit of the round mini pizza with a knife and fork into a few pieces, to finally begin to enjoy this beautiful and aromatic creation. I began to lift the fork to my mouth, when I hear, "excuse me, is this seat taken?" It's the chatty young woman again, and she's talking to me.
"No, miss, you can go ahead and take it." My voice came out a bit rough, trail dust had settled in my gullet, but I made myself sound polite. Think being polite made things worse for me.
"Oh, thank you!" She squeaked in her cheery little voice. She promptly sat down next to me, in the little wooden chair to my right at the table. I sat my fork down.
"Is there something I can help you with, miss? I don't mean to sound rude, but I am trying to enjoy a meal here. I've never had something like this before."
She ignored my question, and instead beamed at me. "I've never had this before either! What'd he call it?"
"Pizza, I think." I began to lift the fork to my mouth again. Before I could get it all the way there, she cleared her throat somewhat forcefully.
"Don't you say prayer before you eat, mister? It's only polite, to the Lord, and especially around company." She looked at me expectantly.
"Look, miss, I'm not your company, and you ain't mine. I don't even know you. If I was a religious man, I would have said prayer, wouldn't I have? But I ain't, I'm just a cowpuncher tryin' to get through this life. Not much concern to me about the next."
Her positively beaming attitude turned sour. She glowered at me, before standing up with her plate and walking briskly over to the next table. She stared at me, the whole time we ate, in disapproving silence.
It didn't make that pizza any less damn delicious, though. Like nothing I have ever had. Even with the seething feeling of damnation radiating from that teenage girl. She did shut up, though. That was nice.
| 2021-06-27T15:20:02
| 2021-06-27T14:04:38
| 67
| 11
|
[WP] Diagnosed with schizophrenia. Since birth, 24/7 you’ve heard the voice and thoughts of a girl that you’ve been told is made up in your head. You’re 37 and hear the voice say “turn around, did I find you?” and you turn to see a real girl who’s heard every thought you’ve ever had and vice versa.
|
"Turn around. Did I find you?"
I became a stalagmite of dread, paralyzed in place by the voice that reverberated in my head. Clear as the crisp smell of rain on asphalt. Powerful as an shameful orgasm.
I turned around, certain that the Voice -- creatively named, that -- would be naught but my mental illness quixotically tormenting the spinning gears of my mind.
"You did always have a way with words, but Jesus, take a creative writing class once in a while."
I stood, stricken dumb. Additional parts of my psyche and anatomy experienced a cascading series of failures, until I was reduced to "um," "what," and "uhhhhh..." as the entirety of my skillset. She laughed. This astonishing, wildflower-scented, scarlet-haired woman in front of me was *laughing.* I could hear her laughter. Why could I hear her? I've never heard anyone make this sound before; only the Voice had taught me these things.
I signed to her. *Who are you?*
"Wait. You're Deaf? But I -- but I would've known. I should've known, right?" Her jocund 'I've-found-you' smile turned into a mask of confusion.
Taking care to fully form my thoughts as I was signing them, I told her: *Look, I can hear you, but I thought you were the Voice. You're supposed to be living in my head. Why are you real? Why can I understand your thoughts?*
"I'm in the same boat as you, I have nooooo idea. It's kind of stronger in one direction, though. I can only hear yours when you're really close to me, but I can feel you listening to me no matter where I go. That's how I found you, actually. I heard you for the first time, here at Lost Beans. I decided to broadcast myself and see who turned around. I, uh, I had no idea it'd be someone like you, I'll be honest."
*How do you think I feel?*
"Granted."
*What do we do now? I mean, you're the first person I've ever had a verbal, well verbal-ish, conversation with. I don't know what to say.*
She put her hands in mine. "Make some kind of superhero team? I don't know either."
*Maybe we should order some coffee. Come up with our secret identities.*
She laughed. And in an awkwardly cute effort, she slowly signed the phrase: "I'd like that."
|
She has always been there for me. She has always been honest with me.
When I was 4 years old, she told me Mr Bunny had been saying mean things about me. I threw him in the bin. My mother was upset she said why did I throw away my favourite toy. I said he's not my favourite any more.
When I was 6, she taught me what violence was. I drew a picture of violence in my class at school. The teacher was upset with me and told me I was wrong. Everything I've learned of life since then assures me I was right.
When I was 13 she told me that Gary in my class wanted to kiss me. I walked over to him and kissed him first and it was warm and wet and weird.
When I was 15 she told me not to tell anyone what uncle Paul likes me to do with the video camera. She said they wouldn't understand, and I was getting too old for it anyway.
When I was 21 she was all I could see and all I could hear. I asked her for some time alone. I bought some flowers for myself but forgot to buy a vase to put them in. I rested them in a pint glass and didn't leave the house as I watched them slowly shrivel over the next week.
When I was 25 she came back and I felt a shiver down my spine and I don't know if it was bad or good, but I didn't want to ask her to go away again. So she stayed.
When I was 26 she told me that I needed to die so she could live. She told me what to do with the gun.
My heart stopped for 30 seconds at the hospital. They told me I would be able to talk again with rehabilitative therapy, but that I would be disfigured for life. They told me she wasn't real. I was diagnosed with schizophrenia, and given a lot of pills to take regularly. They brought me peace. I didn't see her again in a long time.
When I was 37 I heard a familiar voice behind me, and felt a shiver down my spine. "Turn around, did I find you?" Her speech was slurry and lisped the same way mine was after the incident.
I turned around slowly. She hadn't aged a day the whole time I'd known her, but this time half her face was grotesque and scarred the same way mine was, except the opposite half. She touched me on the arm, and I knew she was real this time.
I was hers again.
| 2019-09-14T11:18:09
| 2019-09-14T11:01:10
| 232
| 16
|
[WP] Immortals and time travelers pass along messages for each other. It's customary and expected. One day, a stranger sits across from you at a restaurant/coffee shop/bar and asks you to give a message to someone you'll meet in New York in 2070. As far as you know, you're just an ordinary person.
|
“Sure, I can pass along the message. Who is this for again?” The older woman across from me looks down at her hands, her face creases in contemplation. She doesn’t even look up at me when a reply leaves her lips,
“Abigail Forester. She will be born in September of 2026, but don’t give her this message until December of 2070.” A wave of disbelief came over me. 2070? That can’t be right, that’s fifty years from now!
“Surely you’re joking!” I laugh nervously. I scan the stranger for any sign of insincerity or perhaps madness, but nothing makes itself clear. Her head raises from across the table, her brown eyes piercing into my brain,
“Look, this is very important.” She takes a deep breath. Her hands briefly touch my own in a comforting gesture. “No one else in New York would take me seriously. Trust me, I’ve tried them all.” She runs her fingers through her thick greying hair. She smiles at me, and instinctively, I smile back.
“Ma’am, your request is crazy.” I tell her bluntly; her smile falls slightly, and she leans back. “But I suppose nothing is impossible.” I drink the rest of my lukewarm coffee. Chuckling to herself, the stranger gets up from the small, metal table. She waves at me and adjusts her collar, flashing one last smile before she disappears into the streets.
“Happy New Year, Harrison!” A voice calls out from the bustling crowd.
\--
Snow is falling in large clumps, blanketing the covered heads of New Year’s Eve spectators. Their rosy cheeks lift into smiles as they clap and cheer on the performers. The sounds of synthesized guitar and crooning baritone blend together in the cold air. From leagues above the crowd, cozy apartment parties observe lazily from the skyline. The sound of clinking champagne glasses and polite conversation drown out the bacchanalian festivities below.
Abigail stares down at the flashing lights and excited crowd, her breath creating a fog on the window. She wrings her hands in anticipation.
“Abby, darling!” A voice croons from behind her. Abigail whips around to see an older, rotund woman with a large feather boa. The woman lifts a knarled finger to her cheek. “Looking young as always, not a day over twenty-six!” She looks down at Abby’s dress “And the devilish body to go with it! Me-ow!” Abby steps back and nods politely, quickly ushering herself towards the table of various wines.
She shakily pours a glass of red wine and downs it without thinking. If it was up to her, New Year’s Eve would best be spent in her old apartment or reveling with the crowds below. But Jess begged her to come to her stuffy work party, and Abby didn’t have the heart to say no to her girlfriend. The wines were old and more expensive than her car, the people were friendly but incredibly out of touch. She had to keep breathing or else the walls would threaten to collapse in on her.
As if summoned by her discomfort, Jess sidles up behind her. She lays a kiss into the crown of her head “Doing okay, hon?” she mumbles into her hair
“I’m alive, so that’s a start” Abby replies, staring upward beyond her brow line. Jess shifts herself into view, her short, greying bob contrasting with an elegant black bodysuit. She steadies her clear, brown eyes on Abby.
“The ball drop is in a few minutes, I think we might want to move to the balcony.” Abigail nods and walks slowly, holding on tightly to Jess’ arm. They find a place on the steel balcony next to the space heater. The snowflakes vaporize as soon as they touch the boundary of the heaters, filling the air with a light mist.
The television in the background magnifies the voices down in Time’s Square. A young, clean-cut man strides confidently into center stage and the crowd erupts in cheers.
“He-llo New York!” More cheers from the crowd. “Are you ready to welcome the year twenty-seventy-one?” A muffled “yeah” seems to cascade through the crowd. The man sobers up slightly. “Before we do that, I’d like to honor my predecessor, Harrison Wright, who was unexpectedly killed in a skydiving incident last Fall.” The crowd grows silent, some audible sobbing can be heard. “Now, Harrison would want us to celebrate, so we at INN have made a tribute celebrating Harrison’s life.” A hologram materializes behind the man, the text reads “The Wright Man at the Right Time: A Story.” The other lights dim as the announcer reads along to the animations.
A young man in a large trench coat appears, drinking coffee from a paper cup. “Harrison Wright began his journey in 2020, when he dropped out of law school to become an entertainer.” The man throws the coffee on the ground and runs off stage right “He started at a local news station as the man who would report on happenings: fires, rescued puppies, high school sports games. You name it, Harry was on the scene!” A man appears holding the hand of a young high school football captain, beaming into the camera and shaking his hand vigorously.
|
After a long strenuous day at work, all I wanted was to have a few sips of my black coffee, that's all. I, a sixty four year old man, don't generally attract a lot of attention, so it was lovely to be interrupted by a man with a turquoise mohawk and sunglasses in the winter.
&#x200B;
"Traveler 7456? I'll need you to pass this message along to a Wendy Aulgarth, you'll meet her in the Bronx in 2070. So the message i-"
&#x200B;
"I'm sorry sir, but I'm afraid that you're speaking to the wrong individual. What is this? Traveler 7456? Is this some video game forum that you're coming from?" I interrupted. The man raised an eyebrow and chuckled.
&#x200B;
"Man, you Travelers never seen to lose your sense of humor, always acting clueless when we come around. Now the message is: "Your journey now has just begun, the demise of man has already been sung, to flee and weep is to see it through, but to rise and fall is to begin anew," The man grinned, and continued to stare at me, "You got that?"
&#x200B;
Now, as you can imagine, I was becoming rather agitated.
&#x200B;
"Is it Bother Elderly People Day? Even if I were apart of your nonsense, why would I tell anyone such a morbid message? Please leave me be!" I barked.
&#x200B;
"Yeah, okay whatever you say man. Just deliver the damn message," The man grunted and trudged away. I finished my coffee in peace, but the message was replaying in my head. With each sip a detail was being refreshed.
&#x200B;
**Sip.** *Wendy Aulgarth.* **Sip.** *The Bronx, 2070.* **Sip.** *Traveler 7456.*
&#x200B;
Once I finished, I promptly left and went for a brief stroll in the snow in order to drown out my thoughts. Then I collapsed. A high pitched ringing sounded in my ears, and seemed to be pounding my brain as it went. I screamed in agony and the people surrounding me assumed that I was having a standard "old person problem" until I closed my eyes for a brief moment and found myself laying on a different snow covered sidewalk.
&#x200B;
The ringing had stopped and no one paid any attention to me, in fact, people were strolling right by.
&#x200B;
"I could still be in Boston," I chuckled and brushed the snow off of my clothes. I remembered that I intended on mailing a letter and I proceeded to the local post office. Which wasn't in its normal spot, and was also squeezed between two massive facilities that I had never seen before. Entering hesitantly, a frail woman at the desk glanced at me with a half hearted smile.
&#x200B;
"Are you just here for the exhibits?" The woman asked with a strange mix between a southern drawl and Cockney accent.
&#x200B;
"Exhibits? No, no I'm here to mail a letter!" I laughed nervously, hoping that the woman was joking too. Her smile slid off of her face, and she rolled her eyes.
&#x200B;
"Everyone thinks that they're a fucking comedian," She muttered and grabbed my arm, "Pay up and I'll take you through the first exhibit."
&#x200B;
"Mam, I'm serious, look!" I said as I rummaged through my pockets and pulled out the letter. She looked at me with a bewildered expression.
&#x200B;
"Sir, you are aware that it's 2070. In this neighborhood especially, there are only two functioning post offices, and this isn't one of them," The woman shook her head and returned to her desk to use her phone. I stood dumbfounded. I searched around and spotted a flat screen television mounted on the wall.
&#x200B;
"Can you turn that on please? Turn the station to the news as well."
&#x200B;
With a grunt the television was turned on to show a completely different format than what I recalled with many new faces as well.
&#x200B;
"On this day, December 17th, 2070, we are unfortunately here to report the death o-"
&#x200B;
*2070*. I thought. I looked at the letter I had intended to mail and snatched a pen from the counter of the desk. The woman watched me with intrigue and annoyance as I scribbled down what I remembered of the message.
&#x200B;
All that was left to do was fine this goddamn Wendy Aulgarth and deliver her this horrendous news.
&#x200B;
No sweat.
| 2018-12-24T10:44:40
| 2018-12-24T10:18:15
| 23
| 10
|
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?
|
"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?"
"I choose Russian Roulette." Ted said without missing a beat.
Death fumbled a moment, the cold fires in his sockets flickering down then sparking back up in a surprised blink. "You can't be serious."
"*Deathly* so." Ted said with a grin at his own pun. "Give me a revolver and a bullet with the power to kill even you. I'll load it, and we go until one of us pops." Ted mimed an explosion with his hands, a grin on his face.
Death's sallow visage tightened as if glaring at the impertinence. "Very well. A bargain is a bargain." With a puff of smoke that smelled of must a six-chamber revolver and a single bullet appeared in Ted's hand. The bullet glowed an ethereal violet.
"Now before you get any bad ideas, Ted, let me tell you that even though cheating is allowed in this game, turning that gun on me and firing will be treated as a forfeiture of the game." Death said warily.
Ted loaded the bullet and spun the chamber with a cocky grin. "Never even occurred to me. A deal's a deal after all. Who starts?" Death offered a wave of his hand towards Ted, who placed the revolver to his temple, pulled the trigger... \*click*. Empty. "Your go, friend." Ted said as he handed the revolver, handle-first, to Death.
Death took the revolver, and put it to his own head with some trepidation. A moment of hesitation, of uncertainty... \*click.* His gaunt frame visibly released from held tension. "So, Ted, why Russian Roulette, of all games?"
Ted took the revolver, placed it to his temple... \*click*. "I figure the best chance I have is, well... chance. I've never been one for chess or other games of strategy, and cards are too easily manipulated. Russian Roulette is simple, raw, and... final." Ted met Death's spectral gaze as he handed the revolver over. "Your go."
Death's hand began to tremble as he lifted the revolver... two in three chance of winning... one in three chance of seeing what happened when he met his OWN grim shepherd... \*click. Death's sigh of relief could be heard echoing off the walls of his sepulcher as he handed the revolver back to Ted. "Fifty-Fifty chance now, Ted."
Ted stared at the revolver a moment, doubt flickering across his face... but he lifted the revolver to his head steadily. "Guess I was going to die anyway..." \*click.
Ted's face split widely into a joyful grin as he handed the revolver back to Death. Death took it gingerly, fearfully. He stared at it, as if not comprehending the reality of the situation. Ted goaded Death victoriously. "Game's not over yet. You going to follow through with it? You could concede if you wanted. Keep the gun, send me back. We both win."
Death looked to the revolver, and the fires in his eyes suddenly blazed hot and bright. "I am **Death**. I am the One Certainty, the only thing in this universe that is consistent and equal. I do not concede, and I do not go back on a deal. ...Congratulations, Ted."
Death held the revolver to his head, ready to fire the sixth and final shot...
\*click*
Death stared at the revolver with relief and confusion and bewilderment all washing across his sunken features in a rush. "I don't... what happened? I don't understand? That was the final chamber. I shouldn't *be* anymore..."
Ted dipped his hand into the sleeve of his jacket, and held the ethereal bullet between two fingers like it was a common cigarette. "Palmed it, friend. Gun's empty. You DID say we could cheat. I honestly thought you'd concede, though."
Death laughed. He broke down into peals of dusty hollow laughter that rang across the voids of eternity. He waved his hand and as Ted disappeared back to reality, the final thing he heard was:
"Get out of here and enjoy your ten years, you cheeky fuck. And NEXT time, it's CHESS."
|
Death wasn't at all what Johnathan had pictured him to be. slicked-back hair and well fit suit reminded him a lot more of a Wall Street trader rather than the immortal reaper of souls. As he spied the somewhat overweight man in front of him, his mind worked to formulate a plan.
"Any game?" Johnathan asked, to ensure that he understood just how far the rules could bend.
"Any game," responded Death, matter of factly.
"Well I used to play a lot of games as a kid. Have you every heard of Dungeons and Drag-?" probed Johnathan.
"That's ... cooperative storytelling. Not a game. Gygax tried that on me to. If I didn't let him get away with it, I certainly wouldn't let you"
"So not any game then," quipped Johnathan.
"Yes, any game. Where, a game is defined as a structured engagement based on a before-hand agreed on framework of rules, which ends with one party being successful and the other not."
Johnathan thought for a moment. He could work with this. "Then I request that we play, 'The Campaign for North Africa'."
"I've never heard of it, but that would be acceptable. We shall start right now."
...
Around the 32nd day, Death was getting very tired of the inane rules which "The Campaign for North Africa" demanded at every turn.
[52.6] The Italian Pasta Rule
"The Italians, needing water to cook their pasta rations, must receive an additional 1 point of water when store are distributed. Any battalion-sized unit that does not receive their Pasta Point that have a Cohesion Level of -10 or worse immediately become Disorganized, as if they had reached -26"
[49.3] Evaporation and Spillage
"From Sept., 1940 until the last Game-Turn in August , 1941, the Commonwealth spillage and evaporation rate is 9 percent per Game-turn. This is due to poorly constructed containers used by the British; It wasn't until the British copied that German "jerry can" that their rate was reduced."
[55.4] AXIS COASTAL SHIPPING
"The Axis had a small fleet of boats that they used for coastal transfer of small amounts of supplies. These were old shipping boats and aging tramp steamers that could ill afford to venture too far from land. They have a limited capacity."
"Isn't there some way we can speed this up? I'm missing so many appointments," pleaded Death. With all of Death's time occupied on this game, people were living much longer than they should. The boss would not be happy.
"Well, according to rule 23.5.1b," cited Johnathan as he flipped widely through one of the myriad immense volumes of rules, "in order to finish the game, we either play until the final day of the war, which could be just another 4 years, or one of us could forfeit"
Death looked down at the battleship pieces that he had secreted into his lap, thinking that Johnathan wouldn't see his deft slight-of-hand. Johnathan was just one life. Sometimes, his clients won, it was an occupational hazard. But he would much rather give 10 more years of life than shirk his other occupational responsibilities. "Fine," growled Death.
"I forfeit, you win."
| 2018-03-07T08:25:24
| 2018-03-07T07:43:27
| 192
| 39
|
[WP] A cosplayer gets warped to the world/universe of the character they're cosplaying
|
The following excerpts are taken from a recent VR experiment, in which cosplayers were convinced that they were within the world of the cosplayed character. Each one was recorded as speech of the cosplayer, as they were introduced to the new world.
**Character: Rammus. World: Valoran. Source: League of Legends. Location: Summoner's Rift**
"AAAAAAAHHHHHH HOLLLY SHIIIIIIT WHAAAAT THE FUCK IS GOING OOOOOONNNN"
The subject was then reported to have vomited. Repeatedly.
**Character: The Adventurer. World: Gielenor. Source: RuneScape. Location: Grand Exchange**
"Uhhhhhhhhh....
...
...
...
... buying GF 50 GP"
Witnesses reported synethesia, and were convinced the words were waving up and down in technicolor.
**Character: Ash Ketchum. World: Pokemon Universe. Source: The Pokemon Anime. Location: Route 34**
The subject was not reported to have said anything. However, a secondary monitor revealed that a concerted effort was made to see Misty's breasts.
**Character: Batman. World: DC Universe. Source: Christopher Nolan's Dark Knight Trilogy. Location: Gotham Alleyway**
"I'M BATMAN."
**Character: Chef's Dad. World: South Park Universe. Source: South Park. Location: Lake**
"WHADDYA WANT FROM US MONSTAH!?"
"I AIN'T GIVIN' YOU NO TREE FIDDY YOU GODDAMN LOCH NESS MONSTER"
At which point witnesses realized that the man conducting the study was cosplaying an eight story tall crustacean from the paleozoic era.
|
Groaning, Bill raised his head and pulled prickly long grass out of his nostrils. As he got up, he brushed the damp dirt clinging to the tips of his long, blond hair.
He was standing in the middle of a beautiful meadow, the kind one only saw in postcards. What the hell? Last he remembered, he'd been at a convention—shit, what was its name again? All of a sudden, there'd been this bright flash, and then—
His knees almost buckled at the sudden, stabbing pain in his left temple. Shit, did someone slip him a roofie?
Taking his phone out of his costume, he squinted at the screen. Not a single bar. No mobile signal, no data coverage whatsoever. How could that be?
"Must've been Bailey's idea," he muttered to himself as he tried GPS. "She's always coming up with weird prank shit."
"Quill, come here!"
He glanced up to see a teenager hurrying toward him. Perfect, someone who could tell him where he was.
"Hi there!" he said, waving.
To his surprise, the boy yelled and almost fell in his haste to back away. "It talks!" he said, breathless. "It talks."
Bill sighed. "Normally, I'd just say 'Jynx, Jynx' and do a little pirouette, but I'm kinda lost here."
The boy was waving a red device at him, which was evidently a version of a Pokedex he'd never seen before. "How come it can talk?" he was saying to it.
"Very funny," Bill said. "Am I still at the convention? Did I wander into the kiddie section? Boo! Here I am, toss your Pokeball—"
The red-white ball smacked him in the forehead and bounced off. He yelled in pain and rubbed the spot. "Shit, kid, I was just joking."
"Quill, hurry up!" The boy had another Pokeball in his hand, and an eager expression. "Let's catch this Jynx. It talks!"
"You've got it all wrong! My name is Bill—" He tugged at his gown, which was uncomfortably tight now that he wasn't in an air-conditioned hall.
The boy gasped. "Bill? You're the famous Bill? The one who created the—"
"Yeah, yeah, that's me," Bill said.
"Bill's tall and skinny though. You're fat," the boy said.
"I put on a lot of weight, all right? Now will you tell me how to get back to Hall E in time for the Dr. Strange panel?"
The ground exploded beside him suddenly, showering him with dirt. A creature leaped out of the hole and landed next to the boy. Sunlight glinted off its bladed hands and the horn over its head.
Bill's jaw dropped. "Ex—Excadrill?"
The boy smiled. "My best Pokemon. I'm going to battle you with him, weird Jynx."
"No, I'm not—"
"Metal Claw!"
Bill barely avoided the Pokemon's slash when it leaped at him. It snarled and began circling him. Those claws looked like they could rip steel apart.
"Think of something, think of something," Bill said, backing away. Suddenly, he felt something being pressed against his back. Turning around, he saw that it was another Pokeball.
"Idiot!" he said, slapping it aside.
"Excadrill, use Dig!" the boy cried.
"This isn't happening." Bill swooned, head swimming. Maybe it was the heat and the stupid gown ... this was the last time he cross-dressed for a convention.
Without warning, he was thrown off his feet when Excadrill burst out at him from below ground. He went rolling away, flattening the grass, while the boy cheered. Instead of feeling pain, however, everything became crystal clear to him in an instant.
What moves did Jynx have?
"Here's an Ice Punch for ya," he said, jumping up and slugging the boy's Pokemon across the face.
To his amazement, frost bloomed from his gloved fist. This time, Excadrill went flying. The young trainer looked dumbfounded.
Bill laughed and began wobbling. "Take that, you little shit. You'll never get the better of Jynx! Jynx. Jynx."
He grabbed his throat, which was suddenly dry. A rosy tint had come over his vision, and he realized he was looking up at the kid instead of down.
"You ... you are a Pokemon," the boy said.
"Jynx! Jynx, Jynx, Jynx," Bill wailed.
The trainer grinned as his Excadrill rejoined him, slamming its claws together. "Gonna catch me a Jynx today, Quill."
***
*I hope you enjoyed this. If you did, do check out [The Nonsense Locker](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) for more stories!*
| 2016-07-24T09:14:45
| 2016-07-24T08:38:13
| 32
| 12
|
[WP] You're Jigsaw and you've caught your latest victim. Unfortunately, you've greatly underestimated David Blaine.
|
"You will need to stab your hand to remove the key to the lock," Jigsaw explained with a creepy laugh.
David Blaine stood alone in a room. The ceiling was slowly moving downward to inevitably crush him. There was one steel door with a thick padlock on it preventing his escape. On a table in front of him was a thin knife. He looked at his hand to see a tear that was stitched back together with a small key shape pressing against his skin.
David picked up the knife and looked at the tv screen with Jigsaw watching him. He held up the knife, "Do you see how this looks real? Do you see how sharp it is?"
"What? Yes." Jigsaw answered.
"Look at it," David twisted it in his hand. "Do you-look at...you see? The knife...it's real."
Jigsaw said nothing.
"Now watch...are you watching? Watch." David started putting it into his hand. Slowly...painfully slowly. "It's about the mind...the mind is more powerful than we know. If we harness this-" David paused and looked at the TV, "-are you watching? Watch. If we harness the mind. Look. You can see."
David pried the key out of his hand and held it up to TV. His hand did not even bleed.
"5 years it took me to learn this trick," David stared at the TV with Jigsaw, "5 years, I thought it was impossible, but my mind prevailed."
There was a long pause before Jigsaw spoke, "Move on to the next test then."
"I could. But...I wonder...would it be weird if I stayed," David smiled that knowing smile of lunacy.
"What?" Jigsaw questioned.
"The ceiling...see how it's lowering. Watch. You can see. I wonder...would it...watch and see how it lowers."
David laid onto the ground and closed his eyes. "It's about breathing. The lungs fill with air...and release. You see, can you watch my stomach. It's about breathing. 10 years. 10 years before I knew how to control my lungs and chest muscles to do this."
"What are you doing?!" Jigsaw shouted
The ceiling lowered and lowered until it shattered the table the knife was previously on.
"Are you watching?" David looked at the TV, "Watch what happens. Watch."
The ceiling went lower and lower until it started pressing on David. It kept pressing and pressing. Slowly and slowly it moved down onto him.
Jigsaw stared in awe at how someone allowed themselves to be crushed. He waited to see some sort of trick but the ceiling went all the way down until it touched the floor. It was only when the ceiling started to rise he saw David was still lying there. It almost looked like his body was inflating back to its normal size.
"10 years," David said sitting up, "To allow my bones to flatten themselves before building back up. Did you see? It's not magic. It's mind power. I went to Africa and found a tribal warrior that survived being stepped on by elephants. 10 years it took me to learn his trick."
Jigsaw stared with no words.
"I want to push boundaries," David stood up loosening his shoulders, "Of the mind, of the world. It's not magic. It's real."
"What-"
"10 years."
"I know-"
"Did you watch?"
Jigsaw let out a deep sigh, "You're free. Just go dammit."
edit: wow gold! Awesome. Also fixed small error.
|
Of course I went after him, how couldn't I? He doesn't understand the value of life at all. Who in their right mind deprives themselves of air for 17 minutes? It was easy work to get him but now I'm not sure what to do. Everythibg I've tried has failed; Spinning blade death trap, beat it by running backwards(who even does that?); lung crusher, beat it by breathing in then hyperventilating for 30 minutes; limb stretcher, beat it by spinning in circle while shouting WEEE! He completes the games while completely missing the point. How does he figure this shit out. I'm getting desperate, worst of all he's having fun, FUN IN A LITERAL DEATHTRAP. I'm worried now, the game is coming to an end and he's no closer to valuing life. I may just have to end it now. What is the world coming to when a masterful serial killer has to get his hands dirty. I find him in an empty room attempting to figure out the puzzle, I charge at him brandishing a cleaver I go to cut him but he dodges, knocking me to the ground with a swift kick, the cheeky fucker steals my cleaver, sticks it in the wall, jumps up it and disappears into the rafters...
All I wanted was to make him value his life, Why David? Why?
| 2016-11-22T12:50:12
| 2016-11-22T11:23:32
| 6,031
| 82
|
[WP] Year 2219, a powerful AI system predicts with 100% accuracy when each living person will die and how. People generally live and organise their lives accordingly, knowing full well they cannot escape their predicted ends. It's been 24 hours since your death time. You're still alive.
|
The tempestuous weather blanketed the city in a fog that blinded those caught within it’s dangerous grasp. Rain fell, hidden within, until the moment of impact, stinging with each drop as the wind loaned its power to their cause. Frenzied lightning strikes were little more than golden glows within the haze, though their partnering roars of thunder shook the ground and disorientated anyone unprepared.
My hands shook as I squeezed the water soaked collar of the thick cotton jacket that no longer shielded my body from the cold. It tightened against my back as I pulled it further up against my neck. The two buildings I crouched between, usually towering skyscrapers, now seemingly disappeared into the fog, failed to protect me from the harsh weather. And drops of water swirled through the air with the sporadic toss of my head in an attempt to clear the rain from my face.
“Record!” I yelled over the roaring of thunder, bringing my left arm up to my face.
The smart chip that sat below my skin glowed a bright blue to signify the start of a fresh recording.
“11:45 - Log 8: It’s been 24 hours and I’m still alive. I’m actually still alive. Although, if you’re hearing this, I may no longer be.” The thunder and whipping of rain fought to smother my voice as I yelled into my forearm.
“The crazy scientists experiment worked. The LOC AI code branch has been expelled from my chip and I’ve escaped my pre-determined termination date. Yes, you heard me, pre-determined, not predicted.” I continued yelling while glancing around the side of the building, to little avail. The fog was far too thick to make much out, but the assailants were still out there.
“Everything we know about the LOC AI is a lie. It’s not been predicting our termination date, it’s been setting it. That much I know.” My eyes blurred as more rain dripped from my soaked hair, running down my brow and threatening to drown my eyes.
“I’m still being chased. The two cloaked… humans?. I don’t know. Whoever, or whatever, they are, are relentless. They’ve yet to give up and I fear they won’t. They’ve now been on my tail for just over 23 hours.” I violently shook my head to try and expel the never ending flow of rain that attacked my face.
“I need to keep moving. Log 8 over - Jason out.”
————————————————————————————————————————————————
r/WordsByJez
I had a lot of fun with this one! I’ve got a head full of directions that this could go from here.
|
Believing something must be terribly wrong you decide to contact the Office of Ceremonial Terminations.
“Hello, Thank you for calling your local OCT offices,” the telephonic voice says, “ For Cantonese think 1. For Sanskrit think 2.”
Becoming annoyed and a little hungry you open the door to your mini-fridge. You quickly open the wrapper and begin gnawing on the chocolate confection.
This would be fine if you were still in Samoa, however this country had not banned products with peanuts in them. Seeing that you are now on the other side of the international date line you realize that not only are you going into anaphylaxis, but that damn clock was right!
NOTE: I may have gotten the international date line direction wrong so be cool. I’m high and it’s late.
| 2019-10-30T23:22:46
| 2019-10-30T22:34:37
| 112
| 27
|
[WP] Earth is about to update to version 2.0.18! Write a change log for this new version.
|
- Downgraded Trump from World Boss to Sub-Boss
- Added new World Boss - Ajit Pai. All players of all factions will have to work together to take down this new threat!
- New set of players will be selected, based on sign-up date, for Veteran rewards: Alcohol and Tobacco, depending on server rules for such rewards. Select servers will also have rewards unlocked for certain veteran players: Marijuana. Dev team advises not to abuse these veteran rewards.
- select servers will be adding punishments for abuse of the "Report" system. Although we at the Dev team encourage users to report all violations, misuse of this system for fraudulent reports slows down the process of punishing violators, and make it more difficult to deal with issues in a fair and consistent manner. All users asking to simply punish any and all reports without investigation, the official response of the Dev team is, "No."
- Herobrine removed.
- Debuggers still unable to identify the cause of the glitch that makes Malaysia airline planes to despawn while in transit. We apologize to all users who have had their accounts deactivated due to this in combination with the games "1 life" policy.
- Fixed glitch causing mix-ups and contradictions between "memory.dll" and "history.dll", which has been causing many issues and confusion among users. Any further instances of this Mandela Bug should be reported immediately, but is believed to be resolved.
- Herobrine removed. again.
- Dev team still working out the faults in the auto-aggro feature. For the moment, please do your best to ignore any aggro generated from simple jokes or opinions, as responding to this aggro will only feed into the aggro loop "revengecycle.exe", and may bring unwanted conflict with other players. Also be aware of your own auto-aggro feature when dealing with other players, and do your best to manually turn it off when you catch it going off at inappropriate times. If you are having trouble with your own auto-aggro controls, the powerup "thicker skins for little bitches" is available in the play store at no charge.
- Sub-Boss collective EA has felt the might of players' combined efforts, but has not yet been completely subjugated. Players of all factions are encouraged to continue working together against this difficult foe. With the damage it's been dealt, expect this Sub-Boss to adopt new tactics in this patch, and be prepared to react accordingly!
- Dev team has looked into the reported glitches in the weather system AGAIN by user request, and are happy to report that it is working as intended. Pro-tip to you noobs from the Dev team: combined player action DOES have an effect on how the weather system operates. Anyone who says otherwise has not seen the source code.
- Herobrine removed
|
Donald Trump farted softly in his sleep. Melania sat bolt upright in bed, lifting an eyebrow and scowling sharply. She threw away her covers and slid off the silk bedsheets. She sashayed towards the Presidential Bathroom, iPhone in hand. She clicked the door closed and pressed the lock button.
As your noble omniscient narrator loitered politely outside the bathroom, he heard sounds from inside the bathroom: first a snort of disgust, and then the sound of the toilet seat being put down. There was a third noise (glossed over) followed by a flushing noise, which was interrupted by a shriek.
Melania stared at her iPhone, knees shaking.
>Greetings Earth User,
>Silicon Valley is proud to announce the arrival of Earth version 2.0.18!
>We have fixed numerous bugs of 2.0.16 and 2.0.17, including the Trump presidency, systemic racism, sexual harassment, and Disney’s purchase of the Star Wars franchise.
>We have also added new features, including the highly anticipated continent of Atlantis. The mermaid inhabitants of the sunken continent come complete with their own culture, cuisine, and casinos. Bring the whole family!
“What is this?” Melania said to no one in particular. She tried to exit the message. Impossible. The only option was to tap ‘accept’.
“I have been computer-hacked!” she said, breathlessly. She thought about turning in her phone to the White House Head of Digital Security, but it could take *hours* to get it back. She wanted to check Instagram. It would be swimsuit season soon.
She clicked ‘Accept’. Her whole world immediately plunged underwater. Walls of foamy seawater flooded the room, coming up from the sink drain, the heat vents, and the cracks in the floorboards. She was suspended underwater, floating in abject terror. Her hair splayed out in fine silky strands and her slippers floated into the bedroom. She swam after them, bubbles streaming from her mouth.
On the bed, Trump was a great orange blob—a humanoid goldfish with gills on his face. He slept peacefully, smacking his goldfish lips.
“Hrblblrlblr!” Melania screamed.
But he could not hear her. The owner of the Atlantis Trump Tower & Casino slept soundly, unaware that he had once been President of the United States.
A fart bubble formed under the blankets and crawled its way to the edge, flubbing upward towards the ceiling. Melania flailed her flippers with impotent rage.
And everyone else lived happily ever after.
----
subscribe to /r/trrh for more!
| 2017-12-22T22:23:46
| 2017-12-22T21:53:05
| 20
| 14
|
[WP] Once per year, you've attended a private party consisting of your past and future selves. This year you're the oldest attending. As per tradition, you must give a toast.
|
Standing in that timeless room, I knew the truth of my life. My mind ran on an endless loop just like everybody else’s, recounting everything I’d ever done up to that point. “So I guess it’s my turn,” I said as I took the stage, microphone in hand. 44 was far too few to see out there, and sixteen or seventeen of them were hardly worth counting.
“Just get on with it 45,” 24 shouted from the back.
“So I know some of you are getting tired of hearing this speech year after year, but you’ll be hearing it for the rest of your life, so you better get used to it.” Nobody laughed, as usual. “You probably shouldn’t make that joke next year, 44.” He would. He always did.
“Gentlemen, raise your glasses with me.” Thirty-eight glasses went up with mine. 1 through 4 didn’t know what the hell was going on, 6 was too busy picking his nose, and 20 had already passed out drunk at the table.
“This toast is to a lifetime of memories, both the good and the bad. As I speak, I want each of you to look back on your year and be honest with yourself.”
I cleared my throat and started with the next cycle of memories.
“Take a sip with me for every kind word said, and pour one out for every word you regret.”
A second passed, and more was poured out than in.
“Take a sip with me for every truth you told when it wasn’t convenient, and pour one out for every lie you told when it was.”
A second passed, and 15 was the last to pour, finally convinced he should tell his parents his real grades.
“Take a sip with me for every time you tried your hardest, and pour one out for every time you gave up on something you cared about.”
A second passed, and 18 drank immediately, smiling proudly as he relived the basketball team’s run in the tournament. 21 poured one out, wondering why he’d let her go.
“Take a sip with me for every promise you kept, and pour one out for every promise you broke.”
A second passed, and 19 poured one out as he realized he’d broken a promise a year in the making. He told her they’d get back together come summer. How would he tell her that he’d found someone better?
“Take a sip with me for every friend that you made, and pour one out for every tie that you severed.”
A second passed, and 10 realized the sip he poured out meant more than the ten he took in.
“Take a sip with me for every time you told somebody you loved them and meant it, and pour one out for every time that you didn’t.”
A second passed, and 24 poured his glass out while 16 finished his and they both poured themselves new ones.
“Take a sip with me for every time you fell in love, and pour one out for every heart that you broke.”
A second passed, and 24 poured his glass out again as 16 took three sips, and 15 stole an extra sip to help himself forget what saw.
“Take a sip with me for every hug that you gave; two for every kiss; three if it was your mother; four if it was your kid.”
A second passed, and 5 through 22 drank healthily, 23 through 39 drank just for their kids; 40 and on didn’t drink at all.
“Take a sip with me for every time you tried something new.”
A second passed, and 32 realized he was the only one not drinking and started to wonder why.
“Take a sip with me if you took a step toward accomplishing your dream.”
A second passed, and only half took a sip, and only half of the half took more than one.
“Take a sip with me if you honestly think you are happy.”
A second passed, and 7 raised his glass, but lowered it when he realized he was the only one.
“Now take a sip with me if you think that’s something worth changing.”
All bottoms were up before a second had passed.
“Now everybody finish your drink for all the good times we’ve had, and then finish another for tonight, because this is my last night here with you and we damn well better make the most of it.”
|
If I could just have all of my attention….little time traveling joke there, sorry.
As I look out at you, well me I suppose, I can’t help but think what a wondrous year it’s been. We were born, had a couple of good birthdays. Poor 1 is over there still trying to make sense of things. Oh hey 9, dude…….ninja turtle themed party…...how RAD was that!?!?! I see, 21 over there is still recovering….so is 18 through 20, but don’t tell mom. You’ll be happy to know that 23 finally got laid…..check it out, 11 through 22 look like they’re about to cry, but hey there’s hope, right? If I might offer up a bit of advice, just because the same company makes soap, shampoo, cologne, and hair products, don’t mean you should buy them. Also maybe don’t buy cologne that comes in a can….or a 4 pack…...eh you’ll learn eventually. Oh and 16, no one is gonna believe that ID...literally no one. Throw it away.
I want to acknowledge 32 for giving birth to his first son……..and 34 for his first daughter. I’d also like to take this time to show some love for 45 through 54…...teenagers man, someone get them another drink, something expensive.
40, you lost your hair this year, and that’s a real tragedy. 42…...man, those hair plugs sounded really good huh? 43….he can’t even look at 42, poor guy. You learn to live with it brother just hang in there.
61, I don’t even know what to say. I still remember it. All I can tell you is that while you never stop missing her, eventually it stops hurting so much. It helps to remember the early years. Look at 28, he just met her. Remember that guy? All smitten and dumbstruck at the thought of being with her, and you know as well as I do that that feeling never goes away. Eventually it will be a comfort. Also, I know it’s easy to lose sight of everything but try to remember the kids, they need you now more than ever.
Finally, 74. My closest me. You have a hell of a road ahead of you. You’d think our adventures would be over but you have no idea. It’s like that one time we…...actually…..I’m gonna leave that one out there for the rest of you to find out.
Anyways, here’s to us! May we always stay as smart as we thought we were in our teens, and as handsome as I am now……..I’m taking notes of everyone snickering and I’m going to spend the rest of the night shouting spoilers. As for the rest of you, I love you, me, us. Cheers!
| 2014-05-20T23:16:44
| 2014-05-20T21:38:17
| 1,221
| 339
|
[WP] A man gains the amount of people in the world as money on his account. But when he spends that money, people die.
|
First try at a writing prompt. Critiques are appreciated.
"There's actually an account already in your name, Mr. Jendayi." The bank teller raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure this is your first time here?"
"I-- well, yes, of course it is. An account? How much?"
"$7,184,415,339. Do you want to just add what you have to your current account?"
"Wait, wait. Is this American? American currency? Where did it come from?" Hondo Japeri leaned over the marble counter, a shred of hope kindling in his chest. The farm, his land-- maybe his business could still be salvaged--
The bank teller leaned back, a distasteful look on his face. "Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Japeri." The shred withered. "It is the currency of our great nation, of course."
Well, that was that. Hondo was going to lose his family's home, their land, everything. Shameful, he looked away from the teller.
"Just... just give me what's in there. I'll make a new account later."
The teller shrugged and took a few moments to empty the account, handing him a bundle of wrapped notes. Hondo looked down at it for a moment, unsure. "I, ah. What do I do now? I mean is there, ah, some other procedure--"
"No." The teller was rapidly losing patience with him. "Please, Mr. Jendayi, there are other customers." Hondo looked behind him and saw a sea of dark faces. Most were as haggard as his. Lean, thin, hungry. These were dark times.
Hondo shuffled out of the bank into the bright Zimbabwean sunlight. Perhaps he'd buy a coffee, if he had enough on him.
|
Everyone had always told him to invest. No one ever considered the fact that a couple dollars into the savings account per year would be a luxury for him; living paycheck to paycheck didn't exactly lend itself to escaping the rat race. Honestly, the recent smile of Fortune upon him did little to change his conception of the upper class; money seemed to be largely luck. There's a time for pragmatism over principles, and a sudden windfall of billions to be paid out for the rest of his life was one of those times.
With a cool 1 Billion on the line, arranging a meeting with the premier firm's manager, Mr. Faust, was not a trouble at all. Richard imagined the life of wealth and luxury that awaited him as he waited in the lobby. He wasn't especially well dressed, but like many things, with enough money that stopped mattering. Finally, his appointment was at hand.
The details of what Mr. Faust were talking about admittedly flew over his head, but he'd tapped the right contacts and knew the man was trustworthy. Plus, the modest-but-sure gains were fine considering the size of his investment. Mr. Faust had a nice, firm handshake to close the deal. Rich took his leave after authorizing the transfer to Mr. Faust.
The first change he noticed was the sudden quiet in the formerly bustling building.
| 2014-08-09T08:29:59
| 2014-08-09T05:28:43
| 73
| 16
|
[WP] you are a member of a sentient race of octopi in the Mariana trench. a strange-looking metal fish has just flash banged you with the strongest light you've ever seen. what's even worse is that since it saw you crafting tools it won't leave you alone.
|
"FUCK OFF YOU SHINY SHARK BAIT!" Skitters-With-Shells blinked started peeking her eyes out of her hole curious as to who was screaming profanity at ass end of the morning and why. She stared baffled at the strange shiny fish that seemed to be ignoring the rocks and shells tossed at it by a visibly pissed off Tangles-With-Spine.
"Got a pet?" She asked coming fully out of her hole trying to figure out just what kind of fish it was but drawing a black. She'd never seen one this far down that was a bright toxic yellow.
"PEST NOT PET!" Tangles huffed waving his shovel- a flat rusty shard of metal attached with kelp rope to a broken off section of whale rib "I'm about ready to fucking KILL AND EAT IT if it doesn't TAKE A FUCKING HINT AND FUCK OFF!" He picked up and chucked another rock at it, Skitters noticing that it chunked hollowly against it's hide like when rocks fell against the massive mental structures.
"That's what Chomps-On-Heart said about that snail they adopted, you know before they figured out they'd adopted it."
"I ain't adopting anything! You want it, you keep it!" He threw one last rock at it before dropping his shovel and diving into his hole grumbling and slamming down a stone on top of his self for privacy.
Skitters sighed swimming over and examining the strange fish as best she could. It didn't \*look\* hurt, mostly some scratches and it seemed like that last stone might have cracked it's cycloptic eye. Clicking her beak she patted the metal fish thing. "There there, come on let's see if we can fix that." Looping one tentacle around what looked like a spine of the metal fish she gently tugged it to follow her to her own hole. Clicking her beak making sure to talk slowly and calmly she used three tentacles to mix some mud, sponge, coral dust and a bit of seaweed into a paste that she carefully spread on the crack before affixing a kelp bandage on it to keep the paste in place and stop the metal fish from potentially licking or eating it off.
"There, I'm sure you already feel better." She rubbed her tentacles across one of the fishes fins "Your a big friendly guy ain't ya, like those Baskers that come every season or two....You know what. That's what I'm gonna name you. Basker." Rummaging through her hole she pulled out some sterdy kelp rope and making sure Basker could see it at all times, looped it around the fishes head. "There, we're friends now aren't we? Yes we are\~ Yes we are\~" She giggles wondering how everyone at the next clan meeting would be awed at her new pet.
Thousand's of feet above Skitters, a group of human scientists laughed and cried realizing their drone had been adopted.
|
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Hugo worked in the dark. He was accustomed to it, as were all octopus who lived in Linnea, and it made him feel focused and comfortable. Down in these depths there was nothing that could move and navigate like a Linnean. His tentacles meticulously wrapped a small bit of string around a sharp, stone spearhead to affix it to the end of a two foot long stick. He gave it two thrusts. It would make a fine tool for Hugo the Fisherman. Hugo sang an ancient Linnean fishing song while he worked:
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
*In the dark we fish*
*O fisherman are we*
*We thrust our spear*
*And harvest the sea*
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
*In the dark he lives*
*O fisherman are we*
*We thrust our spear*
*O Kraken spare me*
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Hugo heard a click, and then saw only white. Panicked, he propelled himself towards the rocky entrance to Linnea, his body stretching out into an aerodynamic missile with every burst. Faster and faster, his eyes eventually adjusted and ahead he could see his shadow on the rocky wall nearby. His shadow. *A light? In our darkness?* thought Hugo. Shielding his eye as best he could he reeled around to get a look at the light source. The light prevented Hugo from seeing the source so he pulled out the clear container of bioluminescent bacteria he kept with him. Raising the lantern in front of him he saw it. Ten times as large as Hugo, gray like a shark, but shiny. It had no eyes that he could see. The shiny fish turned to face Hugo and lurched forward with an unnatural precision that triggered a deep terror within him. Hugo bolted behind a rock and it followed. He bolted behind another rock and again it followed.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*Where can I go?* thought Hugo. He knew he couldn't lead it to Linnea, to his home. As the terror drew closer Hugo knew what he had to do. Summoning his last bit of strength, he darted out from behind his hiding spot, and again the terror followed. Further and further and further Hugo led it and could never shake it. Ahead, he could finally see what he was looking for, the lantern shone green on the rocks ahead save for a fifteen meter circle of darkness. In the middle, an eye opened and Hugo turned and sped towards the ocean floor to safety; however, the terror chasing him wasn't quick enough. With a crunch that could be heard a thousand meters above, it was swallowed by a larger terror.
*O Kraken spare me*
---
Wish I could have spent more time on the lyrics, but oh well.
| 2022-12-15T16:08:13
| 2022-12-15T11:01:50
| 121
| 37
|
[WP] Superpowers can now be torrented. You were 70% of the way through torrenting a power you've always wanted when the download stops.
|
70% and it wouldn't finish. I had been waiting for this torrent to finish since the tech became readily available. Why wouldn't it finish? It was the best superpower I could think of and I found it! The program said it was still downloading, but with no motion in over a week I decided to see how the power would work at partial capacity.
Once I uploaded the power I realized immediately why it never finished, why it would never finish. My mind expanded outwards beyond my insignificant apartment. The whole of the ever expanding universe joined with my mindscape. Every moment brought new information, in unending torrents.
Omniscience is *never* complete.
|
I had always wanted to be able to fly. My entire life I watched birds and wished I could be like them, so free, so majestic. Earlier today, I found some information on a forum. Apparently, you could copy the powers of others and torrent them through the Internet! It sounded too good to be true, but then I saw my friend, or rather, didn't see him. He got invisibility from the torrent. I was excited, and wanted to try it out. I logged into my computer and found the torrenting site. I knew that this wasn't exactly "legal", but it's a victimless crime - it's not like I'm stealing or anything. The download begins. I'm smiling in anticipation. 5% complete. 10% complete. I can't wait, I'm overjoyed! 35% complete. 50% complete. It's halfway done! I'm almost there! 55% 65% 68% 69% 70%. It stopped. "Perhaps it's just slowing down" I thought. After about a minute, I realized that it wouldn't go any further. Suddenly I heard sirens, and the sound of my door getting kicked down. I looked out of my bedroom window and saw 4 SWAT vans, and a helicopter circling overhead. They shined a spotlight into my window. Suddenly, I was surrounded by 8 men in riot armor. They made me put my hands up, away from the keyboard. Putting me in cuffs they said "You wouldn't download a car".
| 2016-07-02T18:11:32
| 2016-07-02T17:12:58
| 717
| 24
|
[WP] Earth finally manages to translate the first message sent to it from intelligent life elsewhere. It reads "Well, this is awkward. We didn't expect you guys to get this far."
|
Dr. Aiken Campbell rushed out of his office. He was half asleep when he recieved it. He checked the computers. Printed out were those words again. It wasn't a ruse, even the computers recognized words. 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 words. He checked where the transmission was sent from. "700 ligh- oh my god!" This wasn't a satellite transmission. This was from someplace advanced. Someone.... advanced. He had to get this to his superiors and see what they thought about it.
Dr. Sanjay Feyerick was not at all pleased to be woken up at 3:00AM over 'aliens'. He yelled at his personal assistant to fire whoever forgot to refill the coffee machine and walked in to Dr. Campbell's lab. "What the hell did you bring me in for?"
"I told you, doctor, there was a signal sent from intelligent life. In- in our language no less!"
Campbell gave the transmission to Feyerick and let him read it over a few times.
"Show me where it was tr-"
"It was transmitted from 700 light years away in a crab nebula galaxy."
"We can pinpoint that specifically?"
"We can, but we usually don't, because it would take forever to scan the entire... space.... that way."
"Can we find exactly what planet it came from?"
"No we aren't that specific yet," chuckled Campbell.
"I'm not in the mood for jokes, Dr. Campbell."
"Yes, of course. In crab nebula 4554-398... I think I wanna name it Transmission Nebula.... there are recorded cases of habitable moons found on gas giants there."
"Like Jupiter's moon?"
"Sort of... only the gas giant is the size of our sun and the moon is about the size of Saturn."
"My God!"
"Yes, b- but we can't be certain that the transmission came from that moon. It could be literally anywhere else on Transmission Nebula."
"Stop pushing that name."
"Okay."
"I'm contacting Administrator Bridenstine. You're to inform him on this. Slightly more professionally than you did to me."
"Bridenstine as in... Head of NASA Bridenstine?"
"No, my dog, Bridenstine."
"You named your dog after the-"
"How the fuck did NASA hire you?"
|
He was there, relaxing on his armchair, hand closed in a fist supporting his head, and his thoughts.
Suddenly a tall, skinny man rushes in, may he be the harbinger of the good news? His white lab gown wiggles behind him, while his smile gives hope beyond any imagination.
He coughs, bows and gives the man on the armchair a sheet of paper. He suddenly jumps up, looks the scientist in the eyes and smiles joyfully, giving him a vigorous handshake. The whole world knew intelligent life just beyond earth contacted him and his people, they just wanted to hear what the cryptic message was about, no spy was able to get their hands on it, until now the man himself decided to spread the word around.
"Are we ready to announce it to the world?"
"We are, my friend, we finally got the hang of it."
Computers worked hard for days to decipher the infamous babbling of waves and sounds absorbed by the antennas of his secret laboratory. Who ever sent the message knew it was directed to him, to his country.
Suddenly, a light. The man and the scientist turn around, the window shatters in a thousans shards of glass, while an ominous white figure flies in the room like nothing was strange. He sets foot on the wood paving, moves two steps forward and bows gently to the man himself. He responds with a bow too, while giving him an hand.
His white, glowing figure transforms into an androgynous creature, bald and naked, no sexual apparatus, just a body created upon the idea of a man, as his newly formed arm gives that man a handshake, as humans intended.
"Well, this is awkward. We didn't expect you guys to get this far."
"We didn't expect you to take this much time to visit us. That's what the message says, indeed, and I have many question my distant, star forged friend."
"Not now, we saw how you advanced, not humanely, rather... how do you humans say it... scientifically. We have a task to accomplish, bring you forward even more, take you to the stars with us, may I explain my plan to you and your friend here?"
"Allow me to present myself first, my fellow guest."
"Allow me instead, please. My name is Gabriel, I am what your kind calls an 'angel'. May you go forth and present yourself."
"I have been waiting for this moment, majestic Gabriel."
The man bows again in reverence.
"My name is Adolf, Adolf Hitler, I am ready to hear your great plan, my lord."
| 2020-01-30T02:14:21
| 2020-01-30T02:11:02
| 51
| 35
|
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
I'm no good at writing but...
Steve,
I've struggled before but never like this. This past 19 years of my life I've felt so alone, and now I feel there's nothing I can do.
You were the best to me. Looking back at pictures I'm reminded of how much you loved me. How you looked at me with warmth and pride. I couldn't have wished for anyone better. At times I think of my friends and how they've all got what I want, that love that I just wish I had. That unbreakable relationship that everyone seems to have but me. It's an exaggeration I know, but that's how it feels deep inside.
I struggle to sleep at night, thinking of the times we could have had. Thinking of how I tried to replace you and now all I feel is guilt. I let someone else in, but he wasn't you. He wasn't the faithful, loyal man you were. You see he broke my trust, and my heart and I could never give them to anyone like that again. He betrayed me and my family, not only affecting me, but my mum too. Since then I've become very protective.
I know this is crazy since we only spent a year together. But, I guess, no one else will be my dad...I miss you, and i have all my life. I just hope wherever you are you're happy.
Love you dad
From your son
|
Dear Melody,
It's been a year.
I guess I know why you didn't call me. It's not like I bothered to keep in touch. Not like we stayed close. Besides, I'm pretty sure I was kind of a jerk to you when we were still talking.
I miss you. I wasn't really expecting to, I hadn't thought about you for a long time. I don't even really remember the last time I saw you.
But couldn't you have called Kyle or James or anyone? Or even what's his name, your boyfriend who I really don't like?
He calls you his angel. He says he was planning to propose. I don't think he really knew you. Either that or he's why you left. Doesn't really matter. You're gone now.
I know this is silly. I feel silly writing this. I'm going to burn this anyways and hope it gets to you somehow.
Hope sounds better than pretend.
I miss you. And I'm sorry.
| 2017-11-05T18:52:28
| 2017-11-05T18:20:52
| 1,861
| 157
|
[WP] You get into a taxi cab after getting out of the airport. "Where to?" the driver speaks. Jokingly, you respond, "Whatever dumb secret agency is nearby." "Codephrase accepted, agent" he responds.
|
"I'm sorry, but I think I may have misheard you," Mark replied, as the taxi driver pulled into a car wash, driving into a booth that had an 'OUT OF ORDER' sign on either end.
Mark looked to either side of him as the cleaning process started.
"I'm not quite sure what's happ-"
The floor suddenly opened underneath them, the platform lurching down with startling speed. The driver seemed almost bored at this revelation, while Mark did his best not to puke.
The feeling of free-fall eventually gave way to some form of stability, as the platform slowly came to a halt. A set of doors in front of them opened, and the driver drove through the opening, a revealing a massive underground hangar. Mark gripped the door handle with both hands, white at the knuckles.
The car pulled into a specialized parking lot, consisting of 10 taxis in total - each just unique enough to separate themselves from each other, and from a normal taxi.
"Best of luck, agent," the driver said, tipping his cap.
Mark staggered out of the taxi, trying his best to seem composed. Looking around the hanger, he felt both relieved and worried that he'd decided to wear his best black suit today. He looked just like every person working there.
He was approached by two people, a man and a woman. They both held out their hands.
"Agent 47! We've been expecting you," the woman said, as Mark flimsily shook their hands.
"You have?" Mark replied, his heart beating so hard it made his eyes throb.
"Yes, yes of course. We've heard everything about you. Might be the best in the business, or so they say. That nuke in India - we have that to thank you for," the man said.
"What nuke?" Mark replied, his grip on reality slowly faltering.
The woman winked at him. ''*Precisely*, Agent 47. Excellent work!"
"Now come," the man said, beckoning him towards a set of metallic doors, "we have much to discuss. How was Lebanon?"
Mark glanced between them several times, thinking intensely.
"...Hot?" he replied.
They both looked at each other, then burst out laughing. "They said you had a good sense of humor," the woman said, as doors opened, revealing a sophisticated control room. A dozen people in suits immediately stood to attention, saluting the three of them.
"At ease, men," the man said, moving them into the room, "you should know Agent 47 doesn't care about that sort of thing."
The inhabitants relaxed a bit, whispering among each other and pointing at Mark excitedly.
A hologram of the earth's globe projected into the center of the room, the woman gesturing towards it.
"Our latest intel has informed us of a plot for world domination," she said, enlarging America on the globe and zooming into the state of New York, "and apparently your arch-nemesis is behind it all. If you'll look here-"
The door suddenly burst open, revealing a large group of security guards holding onto a handsome man, who was bound and gagged.
"Commanders! We have apprehended someone claiming to be Agent 47!"
Everyone in the room looked at the man, then at Mark. The man and woman approached the man, looking him up and down.
The woman spat in his face. "Disgusting," she said with a grimace, "take this pathetic man to interrogation room."
Everyone in the room breathed a sigh of relief as the man was dragged away, and the man put his hand on Mark's shoulder.
"Sorry about that, sir," he said reassuringly, "I suppose that is a drawback of secret identities. I don't want to imagine what would have happened to you if he had arrived here first."
Mark let out a long and heavy sigh. It was going to be a long day.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
|
"Where to?" The cab driver asked me, honestly I need some sleep and jokingly I said, "whatever dumb agency is nearby."
"Code phrase accepted, agent." I froze on my seat, did I heard that right? I shake my head, thinking he was just playing along. "Long flight, Agent?" For a moment I thought he was playing along to my joke.
"Yeah.. It's a long flight." I sighed, resting my head against the glass window. I watched slowly as the cab went into another, smaller road? My body tense quickly.
"So... First time in New York?" I nodded, staring out of the car as we slowly drive deep into the woods? What? My heart is racing as time passes by, no matter how many times you see this. This isn't a highway toward a city?
"What? What's wrong Agent 5? Don't tell me your getting nervous?" He chuckled, my heart is pounding. What the hell is going on? "Um... Where are we going?" He looked at me confused, yeah, no. I'm the one who should looked at him confused.
"You should know where we heading agent 5." I was stunned and lost for words. Am I getting kidnapped? Where the fuck am I? This is a huge fucking red flag and I need to get out of here.
Then the car slowly starting to drive faster inside the thick forest. How the hell is he driving inside this fucking dense forest? "Please put on your seat belt." I was panicking, pulling the damn seat belt. Yet always at the most nervous part, the seat belt would get stuck.
"Hey..." He drive faster ignoring me, "HEY!!" I held unto anything as the car drive faster straight toward a lake. "HO, FUCK!!" I screamed closing my eyes shut, waiting for the impact toward the car.
"Agent 5?" I was trembling, waiting yet again for the impact. Just... Where is it? "Hahaha. Is this your first time?" He asked me, I open my eyes to see the car or... A submarine perhaps?
Driving at the bottom of the lake. There, a few meters away. I could see a huge glass sillinder? I was terrified and... Fascinated? "Woah." He chuckled, "Yeah it's fun when you saw it. But when you get used to it. It's get boring..."
"Uh..." The cab driver pressed a few button on the radio, "Carlo!? Where the fuck are you!?" He chuckled, as he driver into the tube. I watched everything in fold as the tube drain the water and we were inside a glass palace.
"What? But I'm with Agent 5 right here!" He screamed into the radio as my stomach dropped. "So uh... Where am i?" I asked with an awkward smile plaster on my face. A huge frown grow on his face as he notices it now.
"Your not Agent 5 aren't you?"
"You think?"
| 2020-05-14T08:15:36
| 2020-05-14T07:39:56
| 278
| 129
|
[WP] You are a failed doctor, but a well practiced necromancer. Of course, rent is still due each month, and in order to pay the bills you still help the sick. The catch? Your patients have to die first for you to help them.
|
I stretched my long thin fingers and pointed at my victim with a slow calculated gesture. Patient. It is patient now. I rose up from behind my desk and could hear a slight tear as my robe adorned with skulls got stuck on the office chair. Quickly I raised my oak-wood staff with a dramatic gesture, its lizard skull gleaming pale white under the bright shine of fluorescent lights.
Mr. Jones looked back at me from the bench where he sat in his briefs, his unhealthy skin and slightly pudgy frame visible.
"So.... uhm... how long do I have left, doc?"
"Oh, I'd say you're doomed to die mere minutes from now!" I said while looking at him and cackling madly.
"Ah" he said and smiled happily. "I was worried it was going to be longer."
"You fool! Time is a precious commodity of which you have very little left!"
"You're the best doc! I'm sorry I couldn't pay you in cash, but hopefully the chickens will do you well."
"Ignorant mortal! You have supplied me with the last ingredients I need for my master plan!"
"Old ma made sure you got the best ones. Only the good stuff for our doc." He positively beamed at me."
"They'll fuel rituals whose power you can't even begin to fathom!"
"You can say that again doc, all the hospitals said I was a goner and here you are giving me a second chance"
"You'll be cursed to walk the earth forever, always undying! Dependent on the blood of your brethren to survive and shunned wherever you tread!"
"Aw, man. You're making me a vampire? You know, Mary is really into that Twilight stuff. I bet she'll think old pa is pretty cool now."
"Do you feel it? DO YOU FEEL IT MR. JONES?"
He slumped over on the bench, dead as a doornail.
"Ahahahahahahahahaa! Rise! RISE FROM THE GRAVE!" I lifted my staff and it crashed into the lights above with a slight thud. I could hear reciprocal knocking from Dr. Steinberg in the office above.
Mr. Jones opened his eyes.
"Wooooo!"
"Sense the power! Sense the curse! Feel the hunger!"
"Man I could kill for a Twinkie right about now."
"Killing is what you're made to do! You are nightmares personified. Evil incarnate!"
He literally jumped acrobatically up from the bench, landing elegantly on his feet.
"What the he..."
"Yes! Yes! Your body is perfected. Agile, strong, impervious to damage! None shall stop you."
"Shit doc, this is perfect. I can finish mrs. Doris' porch in no-time now."
"Your body will cut its fat! You will become lean, feral, efficient. An instrument of death!"
"Old ma is going to love that. She's been telling me to lose weight for ages"
I stared at him coldly.
"So... what happens now, doc?"
"You must go forth and find blood to feast on!"
"Oh" he paused for a minute. "Well, I'm sure the family will be happy to donate a pint now and then to keep old pa alive and kicking.
I thundered my staff into the door.
"Leave this place!"
"Sure thing doc, and thanks again. You've given me my life back!"
He dressed quickly, hugged me awkwardly and disappeared out the door. I walked to the window.
Outside I could see him approaching his old pickup. His family waiting anxiously besides it. His daughter running unsteadily in his direction before hugging him warmly. It went on for minutes, before he finally got in and the truck pulled away from the parking lot.
I walked to my desk and picked up his file. It had an old photo of him in there. I picked it up and picked my key-ring out of the robe's pocket. Three keys to unlock the drawer. I fished out the tome inside and opened it up. There was a spot for the photo already. Right next to old Rogers and that Stevens kid. I carefully placed the photo inside and looked around the office to make sure nobody was looking. Then I closed the tome and gently touched its cover before putting it back into the drawer. I smiled a gentle smile. mr. Jones would be just fine. He had people that loved him.
I pushed the button on the intercom.
"Yes, doc?" Sheila's shrill voice said to me.
"BRING IN THE NEXT VICTIM!"
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Getting through medical school is difficult. What they *don't* tell you is that getting a residency is far from a done deal, even if you get your medical degree. There are more medical graduates than residency spots. Not everyone gets matched. Since my parents stuck me in a shitty school system growing up, I didn't have the prerequisites you need to get into a brand-name program. If you're not in the right schools by the time you're 12, forget it.
But...I wanted to be a doctor. I wanted to help people. And I am very determined and stubborn. As kids we're taught that you can be whatever you want to be, so long as you put in the work. I did decently in undergrad, but I hadn't the connections to get into a US-based medical school. Instead, I went to the Caribbean. I would prove myself there, a little more roundabout route, true, but with a good record I thought I could get a residency back home. Boy, was I deluded...
While doing some volunteer work to burnish my resume, one of my classmates befriended me and introduced me to her family, who was based locally. Her grandmother, Mama Laveau (yes, *those* Laveaus) was versed in, shall we say...traditional healing methods. Learning voodoo did cement certain Western medical concepts in my head better. Some of it is just a different route to the same goal. Mama Laveau was hesitant to teach me at first. Come on- I am lily white with blue eyes so pale that people think they're costume contacts. But Ernestine vouched for me and I seemed to have a knack for the subject. Once Mama Laveau taught me sufficient alternative paths to the goal, she decided it was time to teach me what to do when the game clock buzzed zero and someone needed to go into overtime.
Let me be clear: this stuff isn't *evil,* per se. You are only dealing with some different beings than are discussed in the Western Canon. What you do with it...that's up to the practitioner. Just don't tell my grandmother what I've been up to. She'd have a stroke. And then I would have to do something amounting to a giant I Told You So and it'd be really awkward...
Once I received a stack of rejections for residency programs, I found that my extracurricular studies would save my financial ass. Going to medical school abroad does not save you from student loan debt. I went back to the US and hung my "alternative medicine" shingle in a region with a large Haitian community.
Haitians and other Afro-Caribbean folk work *hard.* Multiple jobs. Unfortunately, they don't always get paid well. One dirty little secret of the US medical community is that black people are ignored and marginalized even when they DO manage to get access to a doctor. And psychiatric care? Forget it. The exams they receive are more cursory, they're less likely to get needed pain meds, if they report complications, medical staff are more likely to dismiss them. Ask Serena Williams, after all. It's *not* just about money.
I'll never forget my first patient who sought me for, er....extra innings. When Sabine tottered through my door, it was plain she had mere days left. Congestive heart, I was sure. Maybe kidney issues as well, I was just eyeballing it at the moment. And she was *ancient.* She reminded me of that Rodin sculpture of the old lady. Ancient, but her face had character, too. This was a lady who'd *seen shit.*
I put on my best professional smile. "What brings you in today?" I asked Sabine. She gave me a doubtful look. I was used to it by this point.
"Do you work on contingency?" Sabine asked me.
"Er...maybe you have me mixed up with the lawyer three doors down?" I said. "This is an alternative medicine clinic." Sabine had a folder of papers in her free hand. She tottered over to me.
"This is a summary of the money I have coming in," she said. I looked at the papers. Social Security benefit statements. Subsidized housing vouchers. Foster care payments for small children living in her home. I noted her date of birth.
"Those are your great-grandchildren," I said quietly. Sabine nodded.
"Doc said I don't have much time left, and there was nothing more he could do..." she explained. "My daughter...shot dead at the corner store where she worked. So I took care of my grand-babies. One died in a drive-by, the other died from drugs...and she left me *her* babies to raise...and if I go there is no one left to raise them..." She turned away briefly.
"Jesus," I breathed. "I'm so sorry."
"I...only recently was able to get an apartment near decent schools," Sabine whispered. "If they go to foster care with strangers..." She swallowed. "I...I heard things about you..."
"You want letters or phone calls of reference, I can get them for you."
She snorted. "You screw this up, I'm dead anyway. What do I have to lose? Money's tight, but I could make a little room for payments out of my checks...especially if I don't need my meds anymore...." I was pretty sure at this point what she was getting at.
"Sabine, I need you to be specific. What is it you want me to do?"
"Bring me back after I die. Kill me quietly if you're willing to...I'd appreciate not drowning in my own juices. And it's easier if the death is never reported. I get back up, am seen still walking around, the checks keep coming, my girls keep going to a safe school."
"I see," I said quietly.
"Just till they graduate! Reach adulthood. Wouldn't...wouldn't be *right* cheating beyond that point." At that point, I took her full medical history, then did some math. Block off half a day for the ritual, amortize those fees over the period things were likely to last before a booster... the monthly cost was little more than beer money, really. And it's not like she'd need the beer after this. There would be diminishing returns on repeated treatments...but I could get her there. The younger kid might need a full time job the day she graduates high school...but I could get Sabine that far.
"Okayyy..." I said slowly. "This may be a sore topic for you, but I will need you to source your own narcotics to help things along. I will not take on the legal risks of buying it myself." I preferred that the patient "do the honors" herself if possible. This was a city where it was trivially easy to obtain the cheap deadly Chinese shit.
Sabine nodded. "I can do that..." said said.
"It will take several hours, so you need someone watching the kids. This office is no place for them."
"Neighbor will take them for the afternoon."
"And *no eating or drinking after midnight the day of the procedure,"* I deadpanned. After a beat or two, Sabine laughed. I smiled at her. "Seriously, though. You'll want to save yourself the mess. I charge extra for needless cleanup. Your throat will also be sore, your voice raspy, and do you want to actually *sound* like a zombie?" I penciled her into my schedule, and she tottered out, far more relaxed than when she came in.
A few minutes later, my phone rang. It was Maddie, my old college roommate. She'd gone the law school route, becoming an estate and elder law attorney.
"Hey, it's time we caught up with each other," Maddie said. The words sounded loaded. "Can you do lunch with me Monday? At my office?"
Hmmm. Play this right and my student loans could be paid off within the next year....
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My other stories are at r/Hazelnightengale
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Edit: flow, proofread, expanding a point
| 2018-12-13T07:14:52
| 2018-12-13T07:03:36
| 108
| 29
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[WP] Canada has suddenly gone dark. No communication, no trade, no activity from within. Nothing for days. Alaska, now cut off from mainland US, is slowly ceasing in contact with the US federal government until a final correspondence is given: "Leave us. Reinforce the border. Don't ever open it."
|
It had been fifty years since the call came in. "Leave us. Reinforce the border. Don't ever open it." The US government had acted swiftly and decisively, sparing no expense and using the latest technology to errect a nigh unpenetrable wall across the border. Standing twenty meters in height, encampments were stationed at regular intervals along it's length, equipped and staffed with the military's finest.
After the half century of preparation, the US government had finally approved of the first expedition to assess the situation. The brave men and women who volunteered for the operation stepped onto Canadian soil for the first time in their lives, fully expecting not to return.
As the group approached the site where Vancouver used to be, they mentally prepared themselves for whatever creatures may lurk within the deserted city. Except... It wasn't deserted.
People, human people, strolled around clean streets, eating donuts outside Krispy Kreme and sipping coffee as they commuted to work. Understandably, the confused expedition crew radioed back to HQ, who further relayed the message to the Grand President, who had remained in office for 50 years by claiming national emergency to halt elections.
It was then that the Grand President realised that they weren't protecting themselves from anything. Canada had simply wanted a wall across their borders. And the US had paid for it.
Edit: Thank you kind stranger for the silver!
About the donut shop not being Tim Horton's... Oops I guess my bad.
|
Nobody thought of it at first, as less and less flights started to come in and out of Canada, to eventually none. Car travel slowed until it too eventually stopped, Canadian TV and Radio networks going dead within a matter of hours.
To be completely honest, nobody even noticed it at first, until for the first time in a week radios were lighting up left and right, a broadcast from Canada “L..sten, c...tures” it was really choppy, poor signal, almost nothing could be heard until all of a sudden it was crystal clear. “Whatever you do, do NOT open the borders. Close them. Reinforce them. Never let it and it’s friends escape!” The signal could be heard for a few more seconds before a shriek could be heard in the background, then the signal went dead.
Within just a couple of hours the president had ordered almost all troops to the Canadian border, sealing it off completely with tanks, almost every gun in the country, drones, everything. Nobody was about to take a chance with whatever is there.
After the troops deployed it was, for the most part, calm at the border. Nothing was happening or had happened, until a few soldiers off in the distance see a shadowy figure, kind of tall but not really, just standing there, it was about 9PM at the time, it had been getting dark but it wasn’t quite there yet. They start alerting everybody that someone is out there, and they all start staring at this creature, until they hear this ear piercing screech as hundreds of them pop up from the forest, getting down on all fours and booking it towards all the soldiers. At that moments everybody opened fire, shooting any of them down that they could, but it wasn’t enough as they started jumping up and attacking the soldiers and mercilessly mutilating them.
After that sections of the border slowly began to fall, until there wasn’t a single surviving soldier out there. They soon overran the US, destroying the country in a matter of days, soo Mexico, then South America. It wasn’t long before the creatures learned how to swim, but the Eastern part of the world had prepared themselves, and with the collective force of everyone’s navy they were able to wipe out each and every one of the creatures, they brought a few aboard to perform some tests. It was pure black with the shape of a human, but there wasn’t anything to it or it’s face, no eyes, no mouth, no nose. Nothing, they poke around at it and find the body isn’t even purely solid, it had almost a gelatin type construct. After running multiple tests it all came down to the same result. Ink. Normal ink that comes out of a ballpoint pen.
Nobody wants to accept this, that whatever it was, was just ink, one of the scientist feels it out with its hand, before it slowly starts creeping up, enveloping his entire body as it completely changed him, to become one of those creatures, it wasn’t long after that he was killed of course, and all test subjects were tossed overboard. Never to be seen again.
| 2019-08-25T19:56:15
| 2019-08-25T19:45:28
| 725
| 72
|
[WP] You are permanently stuck invisible. Your significant other is blind. Whenever you both go out in public, to the bypassers your SO is constantly seen as someone possessing a sixth sense but a little weird for talking to themself. This is always highly amusing to you.
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The low hanging branches rustled as if the wind were passing through them, the leaves trailing off as if their tips were running off someone's fingers. The world was starting to return to a sense of normal, and with the summer sun shining down from a wide-open sky, many people were out of their homes and taking advantage of this beautiful day. Among them, Anavel.
She walked with a hand in her pocket, her elbow sticking out, the shape of a hand pressed against her skin. Her other hand held on to a picnic basket, wrapped tightly with a red and white checkered blanket, straight out of a fairy tale trope.
In this kind of light, her eyes would shine rather gorgeously, but instead they're blocked out by her shades, hiding the blue beauty underneath. But for what she can't see, she walked rather gracefully, as if guided. Every crack in the path, every person in her way. Not an apology needed to be said as she dodged every passerby coming her way.
She did stop for a minute to reach down to a dog, it's owner apologizing to Anavel as the dog continued to circle around her barking. She'd lay a hand on the dog, and it would fall silent, getting an understanding of the situation around her. But while the dog would stop barking, it would never look at Anavel directly. Instead, the poor pup would stare into the distance, confused, yet certain that there was something more.
Continuing down the path, she let slip, "animals always seem to love you, don't they?" she laughed. The owner of the dog turned back as he lead his canine away, a quizzical look on his face. "Honestly, I don't think we've ever gone anywhere without a dog not running to you." She started to laugh more and more, getting louder as we walked, attracting the attention of other people. "Ever thought of getting one of our own?"
"Well it doesn't have to be a dog. It could be a cat, or even something small like hamster." She responded to the open air. "I just think the house be a little less lonely if there were three of us, you know?"
The people she passed started to turn their heads. Some looking to her ears to see if she was on a call, or had a bluetooth headset in.
"No! No no no no no no no!" Anavels laugh drew all eyes. "I'm not having a baby!"
A mother walking by with her children presesd closer to her husband, the father leading his family away.
"But I mean..." She sighed.
A whisper from an elderly couple, curious, gossiping. This wasn't something new to Anavel of course. Unable to see, she was able to hear more. But most of what she heard from the people around her were nothing but negative. Still, she didn't let it get to her, because at the end of the day, she had something they didn't.
At her destination, she made her way to an open clearing, seemingly paying no mind to the ground below, trusting that it was clear. She laid the blanket down, its four corners planting themselves straight onto the grass. The basket laid on one side of the blanket, the food unpacked. She kept her head forward, watching over the people of the park, playing, laughing, ignoring those that were staring at her with odd looks. But while she couldn't see them, she had a perfect description of what they were doing, where they were, how it seemed their day was going.
"Heads up!" A stray voice from across the way, a frisbee landing right at her feet. "Oh, it's her again..." the voice said hushed. The boy who owned the voice began to walk towards Anavel, intent on picking up his frisbee, but three steps in, she leaned forward and picked up it, standing and aiming towards the group of teenagers playing.
"Forward..." she repeated. With a flick of her wrist, the frisbee flew, flying straight towards the boy, with unnatural accuracy. The boy caught his frisbee, and walked away, staring at Anavel as he returned to his friends, inaudible insults towards her being lost among the sea of voices.
She leaned to the right, her head resting on the shoulders of the air around her. "I know..."
Comforted, she continued her picnic, eating and drinking, enjoying the time that she had. And when it came time to relax, she leaned back to turn her head to the skies, wanting a description of the afternoon clouds, four handprints pressed onto the fabric of the blanket.
|
(First attempt at writing anything fictional ever, so critique me, but be gentle!)
A man slept alone, laying on a soft throw blanket. He was comfortable and snoring gently, and appeared rather at peace with the world. Suddenly, an alarm clock perched on the night stand clicked, followed by the most obnoxiously british voice declaring:
"Gooooooood morning gents! It's a balmy 86 degrees, with a slight chance for showers in the after--."
An annoyed groan issued out of thin air, followed by an angry smack on the alarm clock, which stopped its weather briefing. There was a brief pause, until a deep yet quiet voice seemed to appear from right next to the sleeping man's ear, from thin air:
"Steve, hon, wake up... Wake up!"
Steve snorted, cleared his throat, and mumbled "What?"
The disembodied voice sounded again. "Today's the day!"
"What do you mean--" Steve sat up, as quick as a flash. "Oh fuck, is it today?"
"Yep!" Steven's fiance sounded giddy. "Today, you get to meet my parents!"
"Please, Chris, Can't we just delay it again? I haven't used the funeral excuse in a while..."
"Nope, you're not getting out of it. If we wait any longer, they'll think we're not actually engaged."
Steve just sighed and slid out of bed, and made his way to the en-suite bathroom, his fingers tracing slightly worn grooves on the wall, a remnant of many similar trips to the restroom. Steve found everything in its proper place, absentmindedly touching his facial cleansers, razor and other such accoutrements found in a typical bathroom. Steve heard the pad of footsteps behind him as Chris used the second sink to follow his own morning ritual. After looking to make sure Steve hadn't left any stray moisturizer, Chris gently guided his fiance down the stairs, although any onlooker would see only one man making his way down.
(I will write more, once I get some pointers from better writers. Thoughts and tips welcome! I know my writing is far from good, but I am working on it every day!)
| 2020-06-06T21:42:35
| 2020-06-06T20:47:58
| 1,292
| 88
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[WP] You live in a village in the dessert. One day it is raided by terrorists and all village members are killed, except for you. You lost most of your memories and now wander through the dessert, thinking you are the last of your species.
Second time posting this, yay... fucking tags mate *cough* Well anyways, i didnt go into a lot of detail in the title, because i wanted to keep it as short as possible. So, a lot is kept to your imagination. How much and what do you remember ? Will you die in the dessert ? Why do you think you are the last of your species ? Will you find other of your species ? etc,etc... Really, so much to write.
So i come back and i see this...1063 likes WTF! This was my first prompt ever, im still amazed. I want to thank everyone that submitted a story and all the people that still will :D
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Cheesecake Town was the best town before the Dentist Nation attacked. Led by members of the **I**nternational **D**ental **C**avity **I**ntercept **L**egion, or **IDCIL**, they showed no mercy.
They tore chubby children from their mother's arms and disemboweled them with daggers etched with IDCIL's singular mission statement: *mortem ad placentam apponerentur*: death to cake eaters.
Black and red twizzlers spilled out of their tiny tubby tummies as they screamed in pain. The mothers barely had time to watch the life drain out of their children's precious gumdrop eyes before their own throats were opened.
I saw the Chocolate Man, Enzo, who made the most delicious fudge, get shot in the face. His head exploded like a firework, spraying the area with his brown and red juices. One of the IDCIL soldiers laughed, dipping his finger in the brownish muck and popping it in his mouth.
"Mmm! Chocolate strawberry!"
The rest of them laughed. Then they saw me, cowering under a wagon. I was pulled out, kicking and screaming, tears streaming down my face. I tried to be brave, I tried.
One of them swung a dagger at my neck, but it pinged away, harmlessly. He was dumbfounded. Another tried, aiming at my heart. He thrust with all his strength, but it was ineffective. Another ping. His dagger was chipped.
One of the men drew his gun, pointed it at my head, and fired. The world shook, I fell down. I couldn't hear anything, just a ringing noise in my ears. I felt other impacts, they were shooting me, then stabbing me, then shooting again.
I felt everything but the pain.
When I woke up, they were leaving. My clothes were ruined. The town was on fire, the smell of burning sugar filled my nose. Everyone was dead.
I grabbed a cloak and some water, then marched into the ***desert***, away from Cheesecake Town. Now I am alone. The sole survivor. Who am I, you ask, that I should survive the brutality of IDCIL and emerge unscathed?
I am **Hard Candy**.
Dentists, beware.
|
I'm alone, alone in a sea of meringue. The macaroons surfaced like a sea of coconut clouds, blurring the sun. Just when I made my way out of the sticky sweetness, the evil chocolate rum balls came crashing down from the sky, like black, acid rain, invading my village and killing all the villagers. I am the only one left. I walk through the carnage and look for other survivors. Hoping, hoping to again kiss my children and hug my wife in the candy land that I once called home.
| 2014-12-16T23:53:26
| 2014-12-16T23:10:53
| 67
| 45
|
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
"186 thousand years?! W-what did I do?" I asked the demon before me. He sighed, rolled his eyes and started tapping away on his demonic keyboard, delving deeper into my file.
"Says here you would frequently eat the fats on your meat?"
"I did? I guess. What does that have to do with anything?"
The demon shrugged. "Automatic 186 thousand years."
"What?! Why?!"
The demon sighed again, more loudly this time: "'It shall be a perpetual statute for your generations throughout all your dwellings, that ye eat neither fat nor blood.' Leviticus 3:17. It's right there in the bible, sir."
"Are you kidding me? The guy in front of me only got 145 years! Are you telling me he never ate fat or blood?"
"That's correct. You are literally the only person who has ever eaten fat. God was very clear about fat."
"Ohhh, you ate fat?" a guy with three teardrop tattoos under his right eye asked incredulously from behind me. "Dude, don't eat fat. Haven't you ever read Leviticus?"
"No, I'm not religious!" I protested.
"Well, it's basically the worst thing you can do," he informed me, licking blood off his knife.
"This guy's eating blood!" I pointed out. "Is he gonna get 186 thousand years?"
"No, blood's not as big a deal obviously," said the demon.
"It's in the same quote!"
"Yeah, but you gotta read between the lines on this stuff."
I threw my hands up in the air in exasperation.
"Okay, look, you seem like a nice guy. I'll see if I can knock it down a couple of thousand years for you, alright? Let me just-- whoa, wait, it says here you've worn garments upon you of more than one kind of material mixed together? Dude. What the fuck."
&#x200B;
|
It was certainly the biggest case of sticker shock poor Joe had ever experienced.
“A hundred and eighty seven thousand years? Where did that come from?!”
“One eighty seven, that’s correct. Wait, thousands? Let me see that again?”, the red creature exclaimed, reaching the hand across the table.
“Odd.”, the goblin looked as puzzled as Joe. “Hmm... let me talk here to my supervisor, hold on for a bit.”
Bureaucracy was hell on Earth, and this was hell’s own bureaucracy, so that’s that for setting his expectations. Joe looked back at what he’s gone through his life, and couldn’t see what would get him almost two hundred thousand years of suffering. The lad one table over, for example, only got 145! And that was for cheating on his wife!
Took an eternity for the goblin to come back, and he looked like an intern, to boot. “I got stuck on Hell’s hell, that’s for certain!”, Joe murmured under his breath, seeing his attendant turn the corner back towards the desk he was sitting on.
“Ok, so I’ve got good news, and bad news.”
Lovely thing, getting bad news from a bureaucrat in hell, Joe thought, while the little devil across from him tried to find the notes he scribbled on a bunch of post-its.
“See, your file was generated in Heaven, for some reason. So, you know how God’s Brazilian, right?”
“What? No. Why? I thought the guy was Argentinian?”
“Yeah, see, I don’t really expect you to know, it’s only really widely known in Brazil, unfortunately. You’re thinking of the Pope, by the way, he’s the one from Argentina, but forget about him, he’s only the middle man. Now, that confusion is what earned you 200 years down here, though, from which they then discounted net 13-ish years for your good deeds, in life, see? That’s on lines 49 through 57, page 14”
“Say that again? Two hundred years for confusing Brazilians and Argentinians?”
“Yep. You got off easy, to be honest, I’ve seen much worse.”
“Oh Lord..”
“SSSSSSHHHH!! CUT THAT! We don’t tolerate this language here!”
“Ok, ok, sorry, fine. And what’s the story with the thousands, though?”. 187 years was starting to sound like a good deal, compared to having to argue with a bureaucrat trying to appease his boss.
“About that! So, Heaven runs on Brazilian number conventions, using the comma for decimal separator, and period for thousands separators.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Nobody really does, truth be told, but it is what it is. And people say we’re Hell here, right? Now 187,292 should read 182 years, 106 days, 13 hours, 55 minutes and 12 seconds. Oh, oh! And get this! The time we’re spending here? That actually counts down! Isn’t that nice? So you’re already about.. almost 6 minutes down!” The smiling, red-skinned prick could hardly contain his excitement, and those 6 minutes were starting to feel like ages. Better accept it and try to get the hands turning faster on the clock, Joe resigned himself to believe.
“Ok, I get it. Thanks for explaining it, I’ll head over the entrance and get started, then. Thanks!”
“Wait, wait, come back! There’s the one thing, though!”
“What now?” That was it, Joe was defeated. For all the good he did in life, it couldn’t really get any worse.
“Now, you know your confusion, with the thousands, commas and periods? Well, turns out, our system confuses it pretty much the same way.”
“Fuck.” Joe felt himself slide for a second. I’d been a lifetime since he let out a curse like that.
“Nah, don’t be like that! Really! You just need to go and grab that queue over there, apply for a copy of your completed Form A38 from upstairs, and request for to it amended. Remember, we do have all the best lawyers. It should only take a few years to get it settled.”
“Ok”, he muttered quietly, thinking about all the hoops he’d have to jump because of a clerical error. Looking back, that was the time when he finally realised he was in Hell.
| 2018-09-26T09:04:03
| 2018-09-26T08:56:27
| 29
| 19
|
[WP]Not every hero is a rich idiot with no day job, nor every villain a mad scientist, but most still need supplies. Thus, Super-Mart; a place for the budget-conscious heroes and villains, left alone thanks to a necessary truce. And You just started a summer job there.
|
"Welcome to supermart where our deals are so super, they're evil." I could not believe, that this was how they expected me to greet everybody walking in the door. To say it felt a little ridiculous it's like saying root canal hurt a little bit.
Yet, here I was, regretting ever hearing of Craigslist and their "gigs" section. 'Need a Summer job? Want something cool that you can't tell your friends about, or we'll kill ya? Yes, the job is THAT cool! Respond to this via message and tell us why you want to be the envy of your friends with the crazy tips you'll earn, if you can handle it'.
I was broke, my Step-mom kept bugging me about getting a job and being GONE more often. So anyway, I applied. A week later, I got snatched off the street outside my favorite comics shop.
"Don't struggle kid, this is your JOB INTERVIEW!" Said the voice of one of my attackers.
"I would have just gone to your office, you know" I shouted from under the hood. "Is this really necessary?"
"No, but it helps us with the paperwork. If you were still screaming like a little bitch..."
"Hey! Watch your language!" Another voice said.
*...as I was saying, you didn't melt down completely from getting taken to your job interview, so that's the first part of it. We will be pulling up and you will go in to fill out your paperwork."
And a moment later, I was dragged out of the van, had my hood removed and hands unbound.
SUPER MARKET
(Best value, no matter what your values)
"Huh... I didn't even know this was here..." I mused.
"Of course not!" Said a man in a crisp dark suit. "Nobody really does, until they need it." He motioned toward a solid metal door.
Once inside, I filled out my tax forms and received my uniform shirts.
"Wear khakis, no cargo pants. They make our clients a little nervous. "
"And who are our clients?"
"Oh, we have an orientation video for that.". He gestured toward the wall which came to life as a video screen.
"Welcome to Super Mart, where our prices are so super, they are evil! That is the slogan that will help you navigate your time working with us here. You see, not everyone is a Bruce Stark or Tony Wayne with billions to throw around to try to protect the world.
And not everyone who wants to take over countries or even cities can afford the gadgets required. So, we help with our value prices on everything necessary. "
"What? This is a thing? " I was a little confused. "Am I being punked?"
"I assure you, you are not. We are have been business for a number of years. We are a beacon of neutrality for our customers. We don't refer to them as heroes or villains, just customers."
It has been weird the past few months. First off, NOBODY is in costume. They all look like regular people buying things that could be dangerous if\when assembled. I have recognized a few of them, and as my eyes widened in excitement or fear, they have always walked up, shaken my hand and whispered, "just be cool, we are just shopping here. But I'd you want to move up, let me know..." Followed by a business card descretely slipped into my hand.
They pay well, enough. I can keep gas in my car, so that's cool. I wish there was an employee discount. It is not fair that they won't sell me the hover board that actually HOVERS . Evidently, I would have to join up with one of the clients, and they both have compelling reasons to work for each of them.
However, school starts up soon, and it's my senior year, so I'll be busy. If you're looking for work, my spot is coming up soon.
If you can keep a secret.
|
"How about fifty?"
"I'm not going to sell my death ray for %11 of the cost!"
It's not the weirdest thing you see in Super-Mart two indiviual try to make a living. But I still have to obey the policy
"Sir, we don't have a market for indiviuals. Please use websites like Cap-e or supercave."
Yep, that's me. You're probably wondering how I got here.
\*\*\*
"But mom said I'm old enough to buy speedster shoes."
I had a fake teary eye. You know, able to control water has its merits. My dad did't even looked at me while pointing out wall. The hole with orange edge showing me a wrecked car. I try to suppress my guilt
"Even then I was able to make my way out of it!"
He looked at me with a side eye, raising an eyebrow. That stare which brings down many people down to their knees. Knowing this isn't even a superpower didn't help so I keep my mouth shut but keep my chin up.
"If you say so."
Ugh! I hate you dad! I hate you when you just act towards me like you did to criminals! You know nothing about world!
"Yeah, I say so!"
"Let's compromise."
Did...did he just turn 180 degree on his char and smile?
He did!
That's bad!
That's really bad!
"I want you to prove me that you're responsible enough"
"O-okay"
I'm sure my position on my chin and shoulders didn't change but Oh man...I shouldn't stutter.
"Very well then"
\*\*\*
"I got scammed at supercave"
"Cap-e is only for superheroes with licenses"
Oh they're villians, of course. Should've figured it out from death ray.
Uh...
Death ray?
Since when I consider this a normal thing here?
"I can help you to use those websites if you want"
Oh right because I don't have time for this! I need to handle it like an adult or I might lose this job!
"So you see if you check the rating the sellers account on the website..."
I swear if it took more than half an hour I'll call the security. Oh wait, there is none! I hate here!
Thankfully they were quick to follow so they leave me alone. I was glad that they were good with technology. The next one on the other hand wasn't this easy.
This woman simply asked me with a delightful smile
"What should I buy?"
She was a nice enough woman so I hang out a bit next to her.
"Why not this costume cleaner?"
"Oh this might work! But not really"
"What about this litlle gadget to comminucate?"
"not my style"
"Bendable metal stick for little fashion touches? You can bend it according to your symbol"
"Too simple"
"Gun color? You can shoot with wahtever colour you want! We have red for villians and blue for heroes"
"Too pale"
Pick something woman!
Turns out she was just trying to exchange her money so she would have coins for a vending machine.
I mean, I get it. It's the policy that we can't exchange money for it. Why don't you buy what you want from here though?
Fun fact it wasn't in the policy until someone scammed me with fake money. I really shouldn't be leave alone with register.
It could cause a lot of trouble for people but most importantly, for me. Meaning I need to re-consider...uh...what was the reason for me to work here again?
..............................
Right.
.............................
Maybe I should pick something less managable to buy instead of following a trend on the street considering I wrecked a car. It was dangerous for me and others.
..............................
\*\*\*
"You could just told me!...Stop laughing" I shouted while couldn't hold my giggle
"I was so emberassed! It was so hard! I got scammed! I had to teach villians to use supercave! Do you know what lind of people I had to deal with!"
This is the first time I see my dad slapping his knees while laughing. And me giggling despite all the troublesome weeks.
..............................
Thanks, dad.
.............................
I love you.
| 2021-10-03T13:04:48
| 2021-10-03T11:53:39
| 96
| 35
|
[WP] You're abducted by aliens & soon realize it's more of an adoption than an abduction. You're now a pet for a loving alien family. They can't understand you but they seem to understand your body language & have basic knowledge of what humans need to live and entertain themselves when they're busy
|
I lay in bed and stretch. I haven’t quite opened my eyes, but I know morning has come again. I’ll never get over how comfortable my new bed is. Actually my entire house is much nicer than my old one. For a strong independent woman, I really took to being a pampered pet quickly. It’s so ironic I used to say I want to come back in my next life as a house cat whenever I was stressed or stretched thin.
I get up, get dressed, and head out the front door of my house and into the hallway of a much larger house. The aliens are much larger than me, not that I was ever a big person. Even the child is much larger than me. It pets my hair and hands me a plate with eggs and toast. I feel like I’m here for the child. I like to smile when the child brings me things. I think if I’m happy they’re happy. A larger parental figure motions the child out.
I go back into my house and lay back down. I’m not really tired so much as bored and a little lonely. I count my blessings because I’m sure most people died the day of the invasion. I just ended up some kid’s pet. It’s not like life was easy before. Even working three jobs I was about a month away from homelessness. I always carried pepper spray since my neighborhood was dangerous. Thanks to political turmoil riots were even breaking out. I would’ve stayed in if I could have.
Still there are things I miss. I miss the smell of coffee. I miss caffeine itself. The technology is a thousand years ahead, but still no coffee or soda in space. Most of all I miss my husband. He didn’t die in the invasion. He was simply shot in a mugging gone wrong. It was such a pointless death. I wasn’t fairing well without him. That’s why I’m fine here, be it prison or palace I don’t care.
I end up falling back asleep. Maybe I’m more tired than I thought I was. Maybe I’m still a bit depressed. I always sleep extra when I think of him. I’m not sure how long I’ve been asleep. I don’t have a good sense of time anymore. I hear a tap at my door and head back out the front door.
I see the parent and a visibly excited kid. It looks like the kid has a giant pet carrier. Is it getting more pets, getting me a pet perhaps? It sets the carrier down, and out comes my husband. My eyes are blurring with tears. I don’t know if this is real, but I do know that I’m finally home.
|
I woke up in a bed in a glass cage of sorts, very confused and extremely scared.
“What the hell??? What happened to me?! Where the hell am I?!” I looked around at my surroundings. At first glance, I appeared to be in some kind of life sized dollhouse or something, complete with working appliances, a television, a fooseball table, and a computer.
“Hey, keep it down, dude. Some of us are trying to sleep...” A pink haired girl spoke to me, rolling over in the bed she was in to face me.
“Sorry, I’m just, like, confused as hell right now...” I apologized to her, taking a seat near her bed as she pulled the covers off of herself.
“So, you must be my new friend. Did the Altians adopt you too?”
“Altians? You mean those weird giant blue people that dragged me out of the club I was in last night? I thought I was just tripping balls from all the weed I smoked before heading out and they were normal security guards...”
“Uh, yeah, no, those weren’t security guards...” She laughed. “You remind me of when I first got adopted. Turns out that those aliens I saw while I was high on acid the night I was taken were real.”
“Damn.“ I shook my head. “So, I guess since we’re probably going to be stuck in here, I may as well introduce myself. My name is Jay, and before I was taken, I was out clubbing with my friends before finals week. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise, Jay. My name is Yumiko. I haven’t been here for very long, like you, but the aliens who took us seem pretty nice. I can’t understand what they say, but they give me whatever I want if I draw what they look like on those posters in the corner over there.” Yumiko gestured to a pile of posters and several markers sitting on a table. “All the appliances that the Altians put in this weird dollhouse work. The fridge dispenses food and drinks upon request, and the TV has game consoles and all the channels anyone could ever want. The computer has games and internet access, but for some reason, social media websites don’t work...”
“I see...” I thought for a moment. “Are we the only two people in here?” I asked her, looking out of the glass wall at the room we were in. It looked a lot like a giant child’s bedroom.
“Yep. From what I’ve gathered by watching the Altians coming in and out and staring at me, it seems that we’re both supposed to be pets.”
“Pets? Like, as in pets that someone would keep in a cage like hamsters?”
“Precisely. It’s not as bad as you think it is, Jay. The Altian that looks after us is super nice. I think her name is supposed to be Naya, or at least that’s what her name sounds like to me. She likes to stick her hand in the house and pat me on the head, though, which can get annoying. If it happens to you, just don’t panic. She tends to squeeze things a little too hard if they struggle...”
Our conversation was interrupted by the sound of a door opening and a giant girl trotting over to our habitat. Neither of us could understand what she was saying, but the way she spoke to us reminded me of how I would talk down to my puppies that I left on Earth. I froze up in shock and terror as her giant fingers gently wrapped around my torso and lifted me up into the air. The Altian girl brought me up to her face and gave me a bunch of sloppy kisses that covered me in alien goo before she gently set me back down in the dollhouse.
“You alright, Jay? You seem upset...” Yumiko tried not to laugh at how awful I must have looked, covered in alien spit.
“I hate this place...” I sulked, trying to wipe off the metric ton of Altian saliva that covered my head.
| 2019-05-09T16:32:46
| 2019-05-09T16:14:10
| 146
| 95
|
[WP] “A sniper, a bartender and a photographer meet at a bar, unaware of each other’s occupations they talk about ‘the perfect shot’.”
|
Three men walk into a pub, they grab a beer each and sit down at the bar.
Not much happened you see as whiskey was scarce in them times, It doesn't take long for one of the three to yell "WHENREWE GONNA GET SUM WHISKEY">
The two others perked they're ears up and sat with the like minded man and they began to talk about all sorts and after they all shared their equally terrible fortunes they realised they thought alike.
Now the first one pipes up about English and rambles on ending up talking about The Perfect Shot.
His talking about how the perfect shot is the first one you can take and all sorts about different qualities that make up the perfect shot such as the steadiness, Anticipation, preparations and all the rest that come with it.
&#x200B;
The second one upon hearing this perks his ears up and immediately agrees with the first one and starts talking about great spots for it and adds his own spiel about how precision and willingness are integral to the perfect shot and the first one is nodding in agreement thinking about the spirit and accuracy he executed his shots reminiscing fondly on the experience.
&#x200B;
The Third pipes up and adds how patience is key to the perfect shot and speaks of a time he hunted with his dad for days to teach patience.
The Three all murmur in agreement until the second one hushes everyone and lets them in on a plan to make some big money in Donegal and the third one weasels away instantly from the other two saying he is just a photographer, The second man looks at the first and says your still on-board with me? what job do you do?.
&#x200B;
The First man replies "Aye Im just the town drunk but ive heard the pubs in Donegal have whiskey so ya can count me in"
|
I haven't written anything this "long" and tried to finish it off quickly. My previous experience having to write for English class is short gags or comedic setups and no more than a 2-3 hundred words at that so bear with me and the horrible quality.
&#x200B;
"Well you have to know it's quite hard" the sniper said.
The photographer whined, "Yeah you see something you like and think where it might be, where to take the shot, figure out the angle and everything else by the time you get there something moved in the way."
"Why? I climb up to a roost and stay there maybe I'll move if I risk exposing myself but that's about it."
The bartender looked up "I was told you two were rather like me. Anyways what would it be?"
"The same" the sniper said "Anything is fine maybe some tequila for a laugh" looking to the photographer who nodded.
"I suppose but I like to suit my drinks. The music, atmosphere, moods and clothing styles, their personal histories and so forth. Could you name one thing that is an impediment that you must workaround?"
"Wind, if I was with a regular modern com... employer I'd have a second to help me with it but I work alone mostly." the sniper replied.
"Does throw up a lot of grit I admit though the journey not the destination and all that. Sometimes I get all get all moody and I can't work, but other times? I get enough zeal to remind me why I do this" The photographer said looking down at his lap texting.
The Bartender had been mixing stopped to cut a lemon "And how does your paticular line of employment affect your relationship with your colleagues?"
The sniper eyed the drink and the bartender's hand "Amicable I suppose sometimes you work alongside one group for weeks and the next thing you know something byzantine means they start apologizing for a bomb under your bed because of a schism that was patched up just as quickly"
"I take it you prefer cities?" inquired the bartender who seemingly ignored the photographer.
"Not much of a woodsman." the sniper suppressing a yawn kept his eyes open, reaching into his coat while looking at the photographer.
"Plenty of places and people to hide amongst." the photographer said reaching for his drink, which was surprisingly cold.
"A toast" the bartender said placing a drink in front of the sniper. The bartender raised and then threw his cup at the sniper who recoiled. The liquid vapourised as it touched his warm body smothering him before he fell coughing and wretching.
"That ought to keep his attention" the bartender said eyeing the photographer. "Idiot oaf. He stands out as if Satan himself had marked him. Only by blending into the masses to slip the eyes of the motorcade until he can get unto his 'roost' has gone even this far. He would've been a lamb to any of the true puppet masters."
The photographer glanced at his half-finished glass, shrugged at the poisoner, and waited.
"You are on the other hand, are indubitably talented you play a bumbling nosy fool well. But I had your pack searched including your disguises such as the hard hat and umbrella."
"Umbrella?"
"Yes. Do you not think I would wise to such a old trick. What was it? Arsenic? Batorium Cinobar?"
"Could I at least get your name before I d..."
"Of course, how rude of me. I'm Zaharoff Edugar son of Bagtur." the bartender said, which the photographer had to admit was impressive few people lied when he got them talking."
"You see" The photgrapher said patiently "I'm not an assassin well not that type of assassin." He said pulling out his cellphone and handing it over. "Is this your child?"
"I don't have any... How did you get this?"
"I'm not the most moral in my or any mind. What a girl would have done to her by one with so so many enemies worse than me? I mostly stage little games of deceit and dramatization but since that has gone to bots I have taken up the prospecting and digging of dirt."
"So you would have me black mailed for the antidote? Here take this and be gone with you."
"How stupid do you think I am! Use it on yourself if you don't want ..."
Three shots rang out and the bartender slumped. the stunned photographer turned to see the assassin, the sniper had recovered enough to draw a pistol.
the photographer threw himself behind a sofa "Don't shoot don't shoot" He saw plumes of vapourising exotic chemicals reacting from the containers hidden on the poisoners body and started crawling.
He looked back to see the ruined mess of the sniper and his eye ... sockets. Careful not to make any sounds he moved to the poisoner when a shot rang out and he tried to burrow into a carpet as two more rang.
The poisoner's body was a mess of vials and syringes smuggled beneath his clothes and sleeves. He picked the ones that hadn't cracked, hoping one was the antidote and wriggled towards the exit.
He leaped when the sprinklers came on and panicked ran headfirst into daylight.
| 2021-04-04T04:20:32
| 2021-04-04T04:10:54
| 38
| 28
|
[WP] "And that, class," concluded the professor, "is why humanity is the most peaceful, reasonable, cooperative, and overall docile species in all the universe. Any questions?" You, the only human in the classroom, raise your hand.
|
Professor Henzal was taken aback. "Yes, Eduard?"
"Professor, I have to take issue with your characterization."
"Oh, how so?"
"Once again, you're romanticizing my species. But I get it. We did... we used to do it too. That was before we ended up being conquered and largely wiped out ourselves. We weren't terrible in every regard, but we could be fairly brutal. Only after we nearly annihilated an indi... a less advanced civilization would we come to appreciate its scant survivors -- at least some people did."
The professor paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. "Eduard, I understand what you're trying to do. But just to be clear, it's not me saying that humanity is the most peaceful, reasonable, cooperative, and overall docile species in the galaxy. That's the consensus opinion of the Galactic Academy of Anthropological Studies. Within the context and level of development of humanity, it's understanda..."
Eduard interrupted.
"The Academy is just wrong. See, we're not a whole lot different to you or to anyone else in this classroom. Granted, your species has a lot to answer for too."
An audible gasp could be heard from the other students. "Professor, could we move on? The human is getting on my nerves," said Penzet, a student who, like half the classroom, was from Arcapia, the planet where the expedition that discovered Earth 160 years ago originated.
Eduard abruptly got up from his chair and pointed his finger at Penzet. "Like I've told you before, my name is Eduard, you arrogant and racist ass."
Penzet turned toward professor Henzal. "Professor, maybe he's right. They are not so peaceful."
|
Sighing the professor answers yet another one of my requests, begrudgingly asking me, "Yes, Madeline, what now?" "Professor, have you ever actually met a human" you say trying not to reveal your true identity, hoping that my classmates are oblivious. "Why, of course not, they were wrongfully murdered by the Acodiles, this is basic history, if you don't know that then I don't think that you should BE in college" he replied snarkily, hoping to get one on me for once in his pitiful existence. "Well I do sir, but didn't they destroy their entire planet despite clear warnings, did they not wage useless wars all to prove one nations superiority, did they not murder their own species to prove a point casually and fail to carry out justice for those wrongfully killed" SIT DOWN Ms. Doris! Right this instant!" But sir-" "Stop it right now!" "No professor, you stop spreading these lies, they were a cruel, sadistic species who were unnecesarily violent to their own kind and you and I both know that they were NOT killed by the Acodiles, they were the scapegoat, yet you choose to naively follow the propaganda fed to you, knowing that the people you love so much commited genocide, but at least they were deserving, Huh. So that the murderous soldiers wouldn't feel so bad about mass murder. Stop spreading these lies" you say storming out of your classroom, not wanting to deal with your professor's lecture and students hateful glares.
| 2021-11-27T13:02:16
| 2021-11-27T12:45:35
| 61
| 22
|
[WP] You are the first level boss of a video game, the easiest one to kill out of all the bosses. You have also killed the main character.
|
Nezumi looked upon his red-stained paws and wailed.
He hadn't expected the blood - he hadn't expected *any* blood at all, save his own. The hero of legend was supposed to be strong, nigh immortal, but the boy...the boy had been...
Weak.
Three times he had checked the corpse, and three times he had found all the signs. The birthmark, in the shape of a lotus on his shoulder. The sword of legend, hanging limply in his lifeless hands where they lay upon the stone. He had expected to feel that sword, to feel it burning away at the evil he knew was in his heart as it tore at his body. He had expected to die.
Yet still, he lived.
The boy had cowered at the sight of him, shaking with fear before the giant rat. In his hands, the blade of twisted wood and shining metal was as useless as the branch from which it had been made. How he had cried, when Nezumi had torn into him with his fangs. But Nezumi hadn't stopped. He thought it was a trick, that all of it was just a farce, and at any moment the boy might swing at him and fell him with a single stroke. Instead, his teeth had gnawed until he tasted marrow, and the boy had died.
Why? Why must it be so? He had never intended to kill the child! He was merely the first trial - a being cursed by the gods for stealing from their hearth, both man and rodent in equal measure. He wasn't supposed to kill anyone - he was supposed to die, and in dying be redeemed. Now, it seemed as if the world would fall to darkness instead.
He couldn't let it.
At first, he had tossed the idea away. It was folly, after all. He was a monster, cursed for all time to be nothing more than the first obstacle of a real hero. He deserved nothing. Yet the longer he waited, the longer he realized that there was no choice. The hero was dead, dead and gone. He would never wield the blade again. As mighty as it might be, the sword still needed living flesh to hold it - and despite his sorry state, Nezumi was the only living flesh around.
He picked it up, half expecting the thing to burst into flames at his touch. To his surprise, it was merely warm - warm, and pulsing with life. Despite the evil that Nezumi new must be in his heart, the blade still glowed. Experimentally, he swung the weapon, marveling at the way it left a constellation of sparks in its wake. Perhaps it was some magic, some trick built into the hilt, but it fit his unusual hand to perfection. It was as if it had been made just for him.
Nezumi nodded, and with one last look at the fallen youth, began to walk toward the second trial.
|
"Um...boss?"
"Yes, what is it— Wait, Metal Man?" I can hear Dr. Light's shock oozing through the phone, permeating the countless miles that lie between us. "How are you contacting me?"
"I— Well, normally, I wouldn't because, um, you understand, I betrayed you to go fight with Dr. Wily—"
"Yes, yes, I know. He reversed your programming, I should say," Dr. Light replies, although he still sounds hostile. "Have you managed to re-reverse it?"
And disbelieving, too.
"Um, no." I don't blame his disbelief.... Well, that's putting it mildly. "I— I— I killed— I killed—"
"Metal Man," Dr. Light says warningly, as though he's telling me not to go on. "Don't tell me—one of your brothers? Proto Man?"
"Mega Man," I say in shame, and hang my head, seeing, with the movement, the blue-clad body lying before me. I sigh and close the eyes, tuck the hair more securely underneath the helmet. "I killed him."
"But he just— He just left to go get you— You're the first boss!" Dr. Light cries. "He was so ready after the first six a few months ago—we thought he could take this.
"I know, I know! And normally I wouldn't have tried to do anything. I would have just tried to...knock him out, you know? Turn off his programming or whatever. But, Dr. Light...he was goading me."
"Goading you?" he says, his voice disbelieving again.
"Yes! He was all like, 'You're the first boss, bitch, I don't need a special power to take your shit.' And I.... I couldn't take it anymore. So I just...." I let the sentence hang, still gesticulating wildly as I talk to Dr. Light on the commlink.
"Well, I'm sure his programming can be restored.... Is Proto Man still on your side?"
"Yes, I think so," I reply cautiously. "I haven't heard anything to the contrary."
"Yeah, I figured as much. I'll send Roll," he goes on, annoyed. "Try not to bitch-slap her, okay?"
"My beef was with...," I begin, but the commlink's connection has already snapped shut, our tenuous link severed.
I sigh and pick up the small body. "What was I thinking?" I whisper to Mega Man's corpse. I put him back down, then blink once and check the clock. "It's a pity Roll doesn't live far, because that means she'll be coming soon. If she weren't...I would have loved to do a little *Weekend at Bernie's* with you, you know?"
Of course, there's no answer, and I feel like even more of a jackhammer for having said it. I grumble angrily and kneel, flipping the body over, looking for the panel that conceals his programming. I do feel bad for what I did...I'm only the first boss. Like, killing the good guy should have been Dr. Wily's job, you know? I don't need this on my conscience. I've got enough on my plate already, and it's not even dinnertime yet.
The door clicks open an hour later, and I rocket up to my feet. "Roll? Oh, you're here, you can help me, thank goodness—I didn't know I was going to become a murderer today...."
| 2017-05-01T21:32:56
| 2017-05-01T20:35:44
| 67
| 15
|
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day.
|
The 'age of truth' historians were dubbing it. In 2031 a new app was released and became the new big thing. Taking advantage of the constant data stream from Apple's neural implants and the shared cloud of data the new app was able to pick up on subconscious cues and could tell when someone was lying. Privacy laws protected teenagers and kids, but hundreds of politicians and oligarchs suddenly got shunted straight to jail for their backroom dealings and millions of sham relationships collapsed.
And that's where I come in. As a Senator and the husband of an executive of the company that developed the app I knew about the one weakness of the app - it takes three distinct lies to calibrate. I was able to survive the initial purge of politicians by making colleagues exploit this fact, but I had grander plans for my own lies. My plan took years to develop, but I had both the patience and resources. Three lies and my plan would be complete.
"My fellow Americans, today is an historic day. Today we bring truth into the oval office. The government are taking over the running of the Liedetector app. I know some of you are worried about liberty but let me make to you three promises. One, the process will be completely legal; two, nobody will ever be able to alter the results of the app, and finally I will work personally to ensure your freedoms are always maintained."
Three lies was all I needed to get total control. The age of truth was here and my word was law. From this point on my word was The truth.
|
"Did you kill Anna Kendrick?"
"No."
"Did you kill Bonnie James?"
"No."
"Did you kill Cindy Irish?"
"No."
"Did you kill Diane Hoffman?"
"N..n...yes! Yes, I did it! I killed her! Damn this sudden compulsion to tell the truth!"
Foster turned to the police chief. "Fucking serial killers, chief. They never learn. If they just stopped at three, they could get away with murder."
| 2014-11-15T17:28:43
| 2014-11-15T11:16:31
| 22
| 13
|
[WP] You have the power to heal mental illnesses. To do so, you enter the minds of others, where you and the illness fight in subconscious hand-to-hand combat. You've seen all the ugly faces of the major illnesses, and beaten them all, but today you encounter one you've never seen before.
|
Not every Enhanced can always control their powers. We had to switch to plastic coffee mugs because Strongs kept accidentally breaking them and we just had to get Speeds really good helmets. I liked dealing with those problems at first. Easy problems. Psychs have the hardest time controlling their powers. I know someone who had to stop listening to music because she kept getting songs stuck in peoples heads. I just invade peoples dreams.
I'm standing on a maroon shag carpet.
I'm unlucky so naturally I'm a Psych. When I became Enhanced I was a little unstable from... Well a woman... I managed to get past evaluations and thought I was fine but as soon as I awoke from the procedure I was in a concrete box underground trapped with her and running out of oxygen. Let's just say I had to get past my own inner demons before I could help other people.
The room is dimly lit, but I can dimly perceive the sillhouette of a person on a couch.
Time seems to move slower in dreams and it's hard to concentrate on any one thing. Sometimes you can't even control yourself. My power has been hugely beneficial to my area in dealing with the homeless and druggies. Helping them to return to society. My power also means whenever I sleep near someone I enter their dreams. It means I have to sleep alone.
She rolls over onto her side with a light groan.
I'm trying to analyze why this happened. I think I remember going to bed in my room alone. It's always hard to tell what happened right before you went to sleep. My go to response is to assume that I'm doing this on purpose, but something definitely feels off.
She stands up and looks at me. She is indescribably beautiful.
A problem has never been beautiful before. They're grotesque mockeries of what they think should be or what a person fears might have been. They are negative cruelties of the world made physical. She is wearing light clothing that I can't really make out. She's petite and has a kind face.
I'm walking toward her and she's walking toward me. There's something eerily familiar about her.
I'm starting to panic. I really don't want to fight this thing. Something is filling me with doubt and revulsion about the idea of killing this beautiful creature. You can't always control what you do in dreams and I'm worried I will do something horrible. Have I become a monster in someones head?
She has blue eyes.
Her mothers eyes.
I wake with a start as a small hand touches my arm.
"Daddy? Chuck Cheese... Ballpit..."
I pick up my little sleep walker. I carry my incredible, beautiful, somnambulist back to moms room and give the two most beautiful women in the world kissed on their foreheads before returning to my bed downstairs. I'm not sure how unlucky I am anymore.
|
We had just finished the breathing techniques that allowed to relaxed when I felt the psychic pull into her subconscious. Her mind looked like a serene Rocky Mountain Lake, like one Bob Ross would have painted. She had mentioned that watching his shows gave her some peace, so it would make sense that this is what her mind would choose to go to.
The place smelled odd. Something that most people forget is the power of smell to make us remember things. This particular smell though...made me think of alcohol and sweaty gym shoes. That didn't seem to fit with the painted mind setting, but I just chalked it up to repressed memories as those tend to come out in strange ways. I wandered out to the peer and saw that the lake was brushed over with a light fog. A mental block. This was either Alzheimer or a concussion. The way to get through this kind of block was to get something from the either side to break it. Not entirely sure why.
I thought of something that could lure something out and a fishing rod appeared in my hand. It already had a fish on the hook. I got comfortable and cast the line. Unfortunately now all I could do was wait til something broke through the wall or something else made itself known to me. Strangely I didn't have to wait long.
There was a loud pop, like a bathtub plug being lifted, and the fog grew to where it covered my head. Well, this is gonna be a tough fight if this much fog was released. But then I heard a strange British accent.
"What are you doing in my waters?"
The fog started to clear. I saw a strange scaly man-fish sitting next to me on the peer. It wore a pink tu-tu and a silver jacket. It's hair was seaweed and it had a black algae mustache.
"What are you?"
"I'm Old Gregg!" it shouted.
"I was searching for something on the other side of the lake." I had never seen anything like this before. It didn't seem too violent, so it probably wasn't the disease I was looking for. But It might know where the disaese might be.
"I know you were. The hook is stuck in my head."
"So it is...Can I ask--"
"What do you think of me?"
I was taken aback. I had dealt with narcissism before, but it never acted this fast.
"I don't think much of you right now."
"Do you love me?"
There is was.
"Never"
The creature stood and lifted the tu-tu. Brilliant light showed, nearly blinding me.
"I'm OLD GREGG!!!!"
I punched directly into the light and felt my fist hit squishy flesh. The creature vanished in a puff of mist and all was clear.
The mind had become a completed painting and there was life. The smell changed as well. Now it smelled like cheap air freshener and bacon. Definitely a healthy mind now.
| 2017-04-25T01:54:44
| 2017-04-24T22:29:24
| 43
| 28
|
[WP] The 2 warring empires always ignored the merchant city state. It was convenient to have a way to keep luxuries and weapons flowing. Now that the war is over, the victorious empire wants all of that wealth. Except that all of those resources were invested in defences and technology advancement.
|
I’d dangle my legs over the great palaces wall, looking through my telescope at the Drukian Legions waiting outside our city, the gold and firey red emblems of his majesty the “Imperator” of their empire flying from their banners. I’d sigh as I’d drop off the wall. I’d enter the Chamber of the Merchant Lords, my peers, I’d take my seat at the round table, forged with pure silver, as the base, gold to make the pattern, and the largest diamond in the continent to complete the center.
The argument begins from the second I’d sit, there are two factions fighting over our response to the Imperial blockade, one side, the sea traders, say we can fight, the land traders say we must submit, me and my small faction are neutral. So before this council meeting turns into a repeat of the last month, I’d interrupt.
“How about we ride out to negotiation with this emperor, and if it goes bad, we’d fight?”
Both sides of table turn, look at each other, and shrug, everyone is tired of this, so might aswell give direct negotiation a shot instead of diplomats.
///
I’d ride out on my brown horse, planted with gold, flying the banner of my home Argentia, as the white horse guard and the emperor ride forward to meet me, this emperor is young, handsome, not too bright, looks to spend his time wrestling and fighting, he‘s a military type, not a good diplomat or administrator.
He’d proudly speak up, “It is customary for subjects to bow to their Emperor”
I’d calmly respond, “We have no Emperor, nor will we ever your highness”
He’d narrow his eyes, “Your city will submit to the Drukian Empire by nightfall, or we will sack the city, take your women, enslave your children.”
I’d chuckle, “Lady Savin, lay out our terms for this emperor please.”
The young man in his polished armor reels back, “Why is your servant approaching me!”
”I am not his servant, I am the Lady of Engineering and Sciences in Argentia, I administer the research and development of our state.”
The Emperor scoffs, “Now wonder you savages are so weak, you have given women responsibility in all levels of society.”
Lady Savin responds, “Our opinions make little difference, we have a simple demand, leave our city and resume free trade, and we will hold no grudges.”
Lady Savin nods to me, and I’d trot a bit forward, “Meet these demands and that’s all, I’d hate to have to do something rash, my spies have gotten a decent bit of dirt on you and you captains.
The bumbling excuse for a ruler fumbles his words, then begins to yell, “HOW DARE BOTH OF YOU SPEAK TO ME IN SUCH A WAY, I WILL NOT BACK DOWN, AND HOW DARE YOU THREATEN ME, WHO ARE YOU TO SPEAK TO ME LIKE THIS!?”
I’d calmly answer his question, “Lord Strixus, Lord of Intelligence and information.”
The tall child begins to fume as he tries to come up with a response, I’d take over
”I believe with have nothing left to discuss, Lady Savin, let us ride back, and also signal the batteries”
Lady Savin nods and smiles as we ride off, I’d smile too, thinking about what’s about to happen, Lady Savin takes out a small rod, and ignites it, sending the red sparking flare into the sky. The cannons answer her, as Savins beautiful creations create a symphony of the enemies screams and their powder detonating, the gate opens and our defensive garrison rushes out, firing a loose volley as they run, we’d ride past as the Airships lift into the sky and fire their rotary salvos too, I love my home, and what a fine job Savin has done.
|
Mahatma Gandi, fresh off the heels of his bloody victory over Montezuma and the former Aztec Empire, stood ready to make war against their little cousin on the bay: the city of Paris, capital and sole province of the minor state of France.
Gandi's forces flowed across the land in a wave of steel, gleaming in the dawn's light as they swarmed to surround Paris. The gates of the city of traders and scientists opened, and the leader of the city Catherine de Medici strode forth boldly to meet Mahatma Gandi at the front of his phalanx.
"Mahatma. An honor it is, to receive your personage on this beautiful morning. Shame you didn't give me more notice, I'm afraid the chefs don't have any pastries ready yet. I assume you are here to discuss our trade agreements?"
Mahatma Gandi spat on Catherine's shoes in disgust. "What need does Glorious India have, at this height of our supremacy, to 'discuss' anything? We have come to take what is ours by divine right.' Gandi scoffed derisively as he eyed Catherine's richly tailored robes. "Besides, we always found your prices unfavorable, anyway."
"Shame. Shame..." Catherine shook her head sadly. "We had hoped this day would not come, had hoped you would see reason and shy away from your bloody path. From the 'heights of supremacy', it would seem comes a very long fall."
Gandi laughed in Catherine's face, spittle spraying across her visage, his eyes crazed and red-streaked as he flung his hand across the armored infantry, lines of cavalry, and siege catapults standing at his back. "Fall? My dear Catherine, I can only go UP from here. To ever greater heights of glory! And all it will cost... is *your* world." Mahatma Gandi's malevolent grin stretched wide enough to split his face. Eyes unblinking, jaw quivering in excitement.
Catherine de Medici sighed once more, and turned her back on Mahatma Gandi and his forces with an idle wave of her hand. "So be it. We are sad that it came to this, old friend. May your next life be a gentler, kinder one." Catherine de Medici glided through the front gate of Paris, and removed a small item from an inner pocket of her robe. "Oppenheimer, this is Catherine. Acquire target, commence launch at your pleasure."
As the gate closed behind his former trade partner, Mahatma Gandi saw a great beast rise up from the depths of her city. It looked like a great eagle, but it roared like a dragon. It flew over his army, and seemed to lay an egg. The egg fell to the earth, a whistling scream piercing the air. When it impacted on the ground, Hell itself was unleashed upon the armies of India.
His soldiers burned instantly to ash, their armor melted and dissipated into vapor in the space of moments. There was no screams, for they died faster than air could leave their lungs. The land was burned, the air boiled away. The light of the egg's infernal hatching blinded out the sun itself.
Catherine, safe behind her city's shielded walls, shook her head sadly. "One must not neglect their pursuit of the sciences, Mahatma."
| 2021-09-15T10:50:14
| 2021-09-15T10:31:02
| 65
| 30
|
[WP] "You don't understand!" She laughed. The little girl, dressed in rags and bare feet, danced through the streets. "I'm the richest person alive."
|
Three things contributed to Elizabeth Penigree dancing down the cobbled street, through the peppery rain and silver September evening, telling all who cared to listen that she was rich; the tumour was only one of those things, and it was the one she did not know about. Of course, she felt the headaches -- how could she not? The migraines had only tiptoed in their monthly rehearsals the previous year, but now they stomped almost weekly, thundering forward toward their finale. Their curtain call. *Lonesome pains*, the orphanage owner had told her. No need for a doctor to get involved. They'd go away when she finally found a family. When a family found her.
Today was that day -- and it was the second reason for her dancing down that weathered street under the paper clouds and candle sun. She'd been *found.* And the finders couldn't have been more perfect. The lady had huge, kind eyes. Not beady or grey, like of those who ran the orphanage -- but fading autumn green; welcoming, like the wavy shore of the sea calling her to come dip her feet. Not that she had seen the sea. Oh and the man! He had smiled at her. No man had ever smiled at her like that. Like they'd meant it. The scars she felt inside of her -- that she'd always felt inside of her, had been suddenly coated by something sweet. Treacle, she pondered. At the very least, by something hopeful.
They could have had any of the children. But they'd chosen her. Elizabeth.
There were papers to sign and dots to dot, crosses to cross. But they said they would be back tomorrow, and then she would be leaving with them. She could hardly stop her feet from fidgeting upon hearing those words, but she showed restraint for a little longer -- that's what people looked for in a child: restraint -- and she waited until they had left before moving. She scrambled to the front door after they closed it, and pressed her ear firm against the oak, waiting for the rumble of the automobile to die away as the evening wind. Then, she snuck out.
She hadn't gone very far at all when she'd found the silver coin on the side of the pavement, a glimmer of light beneath a crumbling leaf. The third and final reason. A sign from God of how her life was changing -- she would tell all who would listen of her good fortune. And so the richest girl in the world danced through the peppery rain, through the satin September evening -- until the lonesome headache began, for the final time. She stumbled on the pavement, and almost fell. Why, she wondered, as the dancers in her head began to stomp, why was it hurting still? Perhaps it wouldn't stop until she was living with her finders. She bit down on her tongue for distraction -- nothing would ruin her perfect today. She continued down the street, not noticing how cold her feet were against the cobblestone, or how numb and disobedient her limbs had become. She chose not to see the black dots that clouded her precious evening.
The curtain call arrived with a cacophony of applause. A rapturous rupture. The red of a liquid rose trickled from her nose.
She fell onto the street, her head bouncing like a rubber ball with a hiss of air as it slowly deflated. The coin escaped her hand as her fingers peeled open, and rolled behind her, back toward the orphanage.
People crowded about her as the blood pooled. Virgin red dying dirty grey.
*Are you okay, girl?* came a man's voice.
*Get a doctor,* said another. *Poor lass,* cooed a woman.
Poor? Couldn't they see?
*I'm not poor,* Elizabeth tried to explain, *not any longer* -- but her lips only managed a crooked smile.
---
Thank you for reading. More on /r/nickofnight
|
I don't have the time to write a full response right now, but here's what I've got for now.
***
We saw her outside, twirling about,
Mirth upon cheeks all rosy from cold,
Dancing on feet too rough for her youth,
Spouting off ditties 'bout cobbles of gold
And pearly-white lamps all dressed up with bows,
In a fanciful place of music and light.
She held out her hand, to all that would hear
In the market, on that cold winter's night.
They laughed and they mocked! Pointed and scoffed!
"What a ninny, that child! She's poorer than dirt!"
The children threw stones, the grownups turned face,
Not knowing it wasn't the stones that most hurt.
My limbs full of trembles, my heart full of guilt,
I waited untill the last bully was gone
To approach the young girl, no older than I,
But found, to my shock, her face still shone.
*Added a stanza; continued below*
| 2017-09-29T08:10:27
| 2017-09-29T08:09:54
| 2,112
| 62
|
[WP] The Earth is a long running TV show that was supposed to end in 2012 with the Mayan apocalypse, but has been kept running due to its popularity. It's going downhill fast.
|
"The Mayan apocalypse plot line was a little forced, sure, but you *cannot* argue that this show shouldn't have ended with the 2012 season!" Prozien shouted.
"I know, I know," Neemek replied. "But there have been some good moments in the 10 seasons since."
"Pfft, really? We're in reruns! Sure, I believed it when advanced humans started burning coal in the late 1800's seasons, it was like a miracle to them, they could create and transmit electricity! But in this current 2022 season have you seen this movement of 50 million people who term themselves 'Coal Aficionados'? They smear coal on their face to identify themselves, their cars belch black coal smoke, they burn coal in their own homes to cook or power everything. Have you seen the tours they've been doing? Every inch of their walls and ceilings are caked in black soot! Hell, black lung has made a stunning reappearance on the top 20 causes of human deaths in 2022. Such a nonsense plot line."
"Yeah, Nazi's were truly amazing villains back in the 1940's seasons, but now they just feel recycled. I really cant believe that 2022 Nazi's all wear those stupid little Hitler mustaches. Even the women and babies stick fake ones on their upper lips? Truly awful writing with that, but at least the celebrity plot lines have been pretty great?" Neemek offered weakly.
"Oh sureeee, who could have *possibly* *guessed* that Pete Davidson and Ariana Grande weren't going to work out? So incredibly predictable!" she spat back at him in disgust.
"Well, I thoroughly enjoyed the 'commoner marries Prince Harry' story. It was sweet," he said defensively.
"Okay, sure, that was fine, but then in the 2021 season we learn that Megan Markle *was* Brexit all along? Comeee onnnnn! When she took off her human mask to reveal that she was nothing but a loosely thought out plan to leave the EU I groaned sooooo hard. And why did he stay married to her once it was revealed she didn't even have a human form?!"
"Yeah, that's fair," Neemek acknowledged. "The writers do seem to have mostly run out of ideas."
Two alien creatures appeared on their screen seated behind an ornate table. "Oh, speak of the devils." Prozien said as she turned up the volume.
*They kind of... forgot... about not poisoning the very air they rely on to breathe*. *That was a very large tactical mistake by the humans this season. The development of 'super pollution' by evil mad scientists in 2020 was one thing, but humanity had to fully embrace these dangerous substances for their twisted plot to work out, and so far it really has.*
"Forgot?! Imbeciles!" she shouted as she turned the screen off in disgust. "Neemek, you and I could do better than this!"
"Well, you have been taking screen writing classes for the past 20 years, do you finally want to try to write something? I'll help," he replied cheerfully.
"Err-- no, I'm taking a writing workshop hosted by a celebrity next week, maybe I'll open the screen writing software I bought after that... but in the mean time, I *am* writing something of vital importance," she said as she fired up the Earth: Season 2022 message board and began typing angrily.
&#x200B;
Check out r/Ryter if you'd like to explore more.
|
In 18 dimensional space, two complex entities moved towards each other in a complex way. Well, as much as such concepts of 'moving' and 'towards' have meaning to us when happening in 18 dimensions. Especially considering that 2.7 of those dimensions are time (I told you this was complex). The first entity transmitted information to the other in a way none of us can comprehend, but if we could it would be something like, "Hey Sam, we need to pull the plug on the current series of Earth: Modern History. It's crap and the ratings are dropping fast."
&#x200B;
"Whoa. Calm down Ed" emoted the 'Sam' entity, "my series is *not* crap! I know we had to make some changes to remove the ending I originally planned for 2012, but the new stuff was hardly was crap. I admit there was some filler due to rushing the scripts for 2013, but it was solid entertainment. I'm just getting back from vacation, but I can't have missed more than 2,000 days of programming. That's a drop in the bucket, and we roughed out a lot before I left. We had climate change as the looming threat; the 2016 elections; the birth in Indonesia of the future world--"
&#x200B;
Ed groaned, "Ugh, I almost forgot about climate change. I'll cut you off right there though. Just the first two, how were they supposed to go?"
&#x200B;
Sam began, "Climate change was initially an ironic thing. The humans were destroying the planet, but it didn't matter because it got destroyed by something else first. When the show was extended, we set up climate change to be the Big Bad Thing everyone fights. We got a lot of good comments on those WWII episodes, but some others were not happy with the violence and working at cross purposes. Climate change gave us the chance to have a similar story line where strong leaders motivate people and everyone works together and makes sacrifices to win. The point where the planet is finally carbon neutral will be a real feel-good part of the series. The election story line was going to tie in with that."
&#x200B;
"We were going to have a smart liberal senator from the northeast--probably New England--challenge a moderate conservative who wouldn't have done enough to save the planet. There was going to be intense campaigning using science and economics to talk about the differing methods for stopping climate change. It was a little idealistic, but with the climate change threat we wanted to show that campaign as the first example of it bringing out the best in people. Was it too trite for the audience?" Sam asked sheepishly.
&#x200B;
"I wish trite was the problem," growled Ed. "Hardly anything you just said happened. Your climate change arc went nowhere. It didn't go away, but it's still treated the same where people just bicker and nothing happens about it. It's not possible for it to disappear in the causality of the four dimensional spacetime the show is set in, but it disappearing would have been better than that. We're still having scientists measure the worsening effects and we're getting fans telling us about the show not making sense and having inconsistencies. It's like the show's whole house is on fire, but everyone is too stupid to get a fire extinguisher,"
&#x200B;
"Furthermore, the president thing was a \*complete\* debacle. Let me give you a fan comment." Ed did the 18 dimensional equivalent of clearing his throat. "Dear Earth show...long time fan since...first time contacting you...always enjoy America stories... Ah, here we go: 'Do you take us for idiots? This entire president arc over 2016-2017 is ridiculous. I am not even going to go into the plot here. I am only going to talk about character names. Who is the guy that won the Presidency due to how the rules work, when he otherwise shouldn't have been able to overcome stronger contenders? Trump. Who is the conservative that speaks out against Trump all the time, but always turns around to vote in Trump's favor? Flake. Who is the foreign mastermind behind the election rigging? Putin. Who is the female secret agent he sent over here to orchestrate it? Putina. Oh wait, my bad it was Butina. Great job on a completely different and unique name. This show isn't for children. I don't need character names to remind me of their actions.' It goes on for a while like that," Ed confided.
&#x200B;
Sam was crestfallen. He said, "I just got back from vacation. Let me get caught up on the episodes, and see what we can do. I'd hate for the series to be remembered as getting cancelled because there was so much stupid it collapsed into a black hole.
&#x200B;
Ed nodded and as a parting thought, "I'm just saying that it wouldn't be so hard to pull the plug right now. We wrote this series as part of the Earth extended universe, so I'm half tempted to redo the ending the dinosaur arc had. We still have all the special effects for it and everything. Given how the show's gone recently, I don't know that a half-assed ending would be out of place."
| 2019-07-13T06:40:23
| 2019-07-13T06:37:03
| 62
| 17
|
[WP] "How did you survive all that?! You're an engineer, how did you survive where hundreds of trained soldiers armed to the teeth all died?"
|
“You know that lake a mile north?” The engineer asked.
“What’s Lake Emerald got to do with this?” The man sitting next to the engineer at the only bar in town demand drunkenly.
“Well, it’s a man made lake.”
“Again, not sure what the lake has to do with it.”
“And the military encampment was right by the river, wasn’t it?”
“So?”
The engineer grinned “Those idiots didn’t check their geographic location. They set up camp in the middle of a floodplain. Didn’t stand a chance against the flash flood when I blew up the dam.”
|
The problem was that you were thinking about the issue all wrong the whole time. If you want to take over a highly secured area what is it that you think that you need to do? What information do you need? Yes, there was an army of highly trained guards, attack dogs and electrified fences but none of these problems were insurmountable. You tried to do by force what always could have been done with thought and planning.
Think about it for a second; Engineers have always been at the forefront of all warfare. Those guns that everyone was so scared of? They were built by weapons engineers. The state of the art security system? Software engineers. The fortifications of the building? Civil engineers. The bulletproof windows? Materials engineers. You could argue that it was academics that thought these things up and it's the soldiers that use them but at the end of the day, it was us who built them. Without engineers we'd be dreaming of nuclear weapons while still fighting with sticks.
When you start thinking like an engineer then you can understand what other engineers have done and knowing that everything that has been built has its own limitations is the start of the process. These limitations could be caused by a lack of material resources, budget, knowledge, time, or even the fundamental limits of nature imposed by physics. As much as we'd like to believe it, humans and our creations are not infallible so once you understand this then you know that there is always a way. It's like what happened with Apollo 13, the only thing required is recognising what needs to be done and having the skills to do it.
You want to know how I survived this situation? I saw some problems and I solved them... one at a time. I'm an engineer. It's just what I do.
| 2021-11-18T04:30:20
| 2021-11-18T02:52:51
| 79
| 46
|
[WP] You, a Human, have been sentenced to death on an alien planet. The method of execution: gas chamber. However, the compound used in executions, Tetrahydrocannabinol, isn't quite as lethal to humans as your executioners expect.
|
The guard dragged me to the chamber. I tried struggling for about two minutes before I gave up. This alien guy was a 7 foot tall muscular thing and I’m a puny 5 foot something human. Long story short, I got stuck on some weird planet and I was sentenced to death. All I did was try to kidnap their equivalent of a king to take back to Earth to show my human friends. Now I know what you’re thinking- what kind of an idiot would be dumb enough to risk something like that? But I figured since things usually just work out for me, I’d take a chance.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the crowd that had come to see my execution. The guard dumped me into the chamber.
Menacingly, he asked “Any last words?”. But he closes the door before I could even open my mouth. “You’ll be dead in 2 seconds”, he said. The crowd was already yelling.
When the gas started coming in, it smelt oddly familiar. In a split second, I knew what it was. Weed. I sniffed a little more. Top quality stuff too. The room had started spinning. I started laughing uncontrollably and then started banging on the window. The noise outside suddenly diminished. I could see the audience whispering now and staring at me.
“He should be dead by now”, I heard the guard mumble to his partner.
Ten minutes later and I still wasn’t dead. They looked at me in awe. The guard pulled me out and shook me, he wasn’t menacing anymore. In fact he looked a little scared of me. I started laughing even harder and hugged him. And then something strange happened. One by one, the front row of the audience fell on their knees. And then, like dominoes, the rest followed suit. Soon the entire arena was kneeling down.
“He has finally come.”
“It’s a sign!”
A woman started sobbing and held up her child.
I was too high to try to figure out what was happening. So I closed my eyes for what I thought was barely 10 seconds.
But when I opened them again, I was in a room, on a bed, in what looked like their equivalent of a 7-star hotel. I rubbed my eyes and I wiped the drool off of my chin. The door was open and I could see a queue of people waiting outside.
“My lord, are you awake?”, said a low voice near my head, “will you bless our people?”
I blinked a few times. Like I said, things just always work out for me.
|
Skarlax tapped his eleven fingers on what passed for a knee. "This is ridiculous." he erupts. "We clearly don't understand this creatures chemistry."
"The text of the law is clear. We must use a moral method of execution. Otherwise how can we call our selves civilized?" A high standing law priest by the name of Zaglux retorted.
"Just one of their kind wipe out an entire birthing pod in 10 cycles. How can we expect to remain civilized after such an egregious attack?"
"I can only tell you what the law states. It's is your job to enforce it."
Skarlax tried to read the room. There were some higher ranking families in the viewing room of the execution chamber. They were the parents of some of those lost. The rest of the many thousands would be watching via remote screen. Great sorrow could be felt in every posture and facial expression.
He looked at the mad alien creature in the smokey execution chamber. It pink skin and patches of hair made it look sickly and near death. It's eyes were slits that spoke of or loss of control. It's teeth were bared in what could only be aggression. The worst was it's upturned mouth. Skarlax knew the nasty taunt from his youth and from working with the worst of the worst throughout his career.
"Flush the room. I'm going to end this." Skarlax quickly donned a protective suit and unsheathed a blade that had previously only been ceremonial. He step into the chamber and turned to address the families.
"It is my duty to enforce justice. Our deadliest quickest poisons have had no effect. To give you all peace and to end this criminal with as little pain as possible. I will be performing a traditional *Ras-sak-a*. Those with young children viewing may wish to look away."
A murmur went over the small crowd and he imagined a similar gasp went up at the remote viewing stations. It was unorthodox, but everything about this was. He knew his duty.
He turned to the thing that called itself *hoo-man*. In the war he had performed this act many times. Sometimes as a mercy to those who could not be saved sometimes as a stealthy trick to make a quiet kill before moving on. It was simple. He'd make an incision in the lower torso which would impede breathing, then he would reach inside and compress the *stangalian* nerve to cease all autonomic functions. It was more a more peaceful end than this thing deserved.
The skin was far thicker than his species so it took a few attempts to penetrate. The creature release a high pitch keen that he would have thought impossible after the loss of air to it's system. Confused Skarlax reached inside quickly to silence it. But he could locate the nerve. The lungs were missing as well. There was a strange red fluid and viscera that slide from the opening. He continued searching adding another hand in his panic. But there was no nerve.
He next thought was to destroy the logic centers. To two locations were all nerves met decisions were made. The east and west cities of logic and feelings that the poets wouldn't shut up about. He quickly made numerous alternating stabs into the thighs anticipating the silence and finality he'd been trying for.
But this demon didn't stop. If anything it got louder. It may have been making language though the executor could only see an undead thing from fairy tales or some immortal monster. There was nothing more to be done short of burning it alive.
He stepped out of the execution chamber. He had no words for the families or the law priests.
"Cut the feed" Law priest Zaglux said. And suddenly in place of the noise of this screaming otherworldly thing clawing at it's restraints the was only silence. There would be no justice today.
| 2020-05-20T11:50:44
| 2020-05-20T10:48:22
| 36
| 21
|
[WP] You discover you can travel in time, but only if you have a coin with the date of your destination. While exploring 1780's england, you lose your 2017 penny that's your ticket home.
|
1786, a fun year for drinking and merrymaking, though it's time to go home. November 2017. Wait, where is my penny.....shit?!
Well how do I get home?
What is the closest coin I have?
British 50p from 2014, that'll do.
I hold it in my hand and say the words, it's new years eve 2014. I live my life and on January 22nd I find my first 2015 coin. I say the words again and it's once again December 31st...2015.
Well I am glad this works.
It takes about another 2 months in my timeframe to get home. What can I say, I learned my lesson, but it could be worse.
My fellow travellers, my advice if you do find yourself stranded is to become a street beggar, it doesn't take long for a newly minted coin to drop in your cup. If you remember a beggar in Portsmouth UK in 2015 and 2016, it was probably me. I must admit picking a familiar city has it's downsides, seeing 27 year old me wonder past was surreal.
I only had three years to make up but even in that timeframe it took me a while. Good luck, and I hope this helps.
|
"*Shit*," I whispered furiously, digging and sweeping my hand through the itchy horsehair trousers I'd managed to acquire. Surely that coin had to be in h--- There was a hole in the 'pocket' of these trousers.
I slowly poked my finger through like a teenage boy on prom night, even with the same thunderstruck expression on my face.
"No," I whispered... "I can never go all the way home again.. Fuck me.."
I was already fucked though.
I had coins from 1922.. to 1836.. to 1969.. to 2001.. to 2011.. to 2016.. But that had been the only coin that truly mattered, I realized now. My 2017 penny. I felt like maybe this was nature's way of preventing this wonderful travel I'd stumbled upon. For this to happen while I was being pursued by murderous bandits would just be cruel fate otherwise.
An arrow smashed into the tree inches from my head and I screamed as splinters sprayed into my eyes. I screamed wordlessly, in agony and fear and rage. I felt the slipstream of another arrow waft and wash against my cheek..
Desperately my fingers were fumbling in the other horsehair 'pocket'. For any coin, any year but this one.. Hopefully near medical condition. I felt a coin slide against my fingers and my heartrate jacked as I groped further for it. Yes, there it w--!
Blinding pain shot through my entire body as what could be none other than a third arrow ripped through my shoulder before embedding itself into the bone there.. I collapsed to my knees, sobbing and screaming uncontrollably.
*The ccccoin*... my ravaged mind stuttered glitchily. *Must.. Bring it to lips.. Whisper.. say The Words..*
My right arm dangled uselessly so I awkwardly took the coin from that numb hand, with my left hand. I brought it to my trembling lips.
"*Klaatu berada nikto*."
I went back to screaming in agony as I was whisked away to whatever year.
| 2017-11-25T09:01:30
| 2017-11-25T06:30:33
| 140
| 71
|
[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...
|
My first time posting here. Hope you enjoy!
**************************************
I think it was my birthday. I wasn’t sure – birthdays hadn’t meant anything for years, but I think it was my 18th birthday.
So, here I was, a slave who just turned 18. It all happened after the invasion. My parent were simple farmers living outside the village. I was happy back then. I helped my Da in the fields while my Ma and my sister cooked the meals and kept the house.
Rest-day was the best – me and Da would get cleaned up after working in the dusty fields all week while the women cleaned away the dishes. We’d gather around the village bonfire with our neighbors, and the music would play and everyone danced! It was magical!
Back then, turning 18 was a gift. You’d reach out, and something wondrous would come to you. For my Da, it was my Ma. That was rare – getting a soulmate was special. Most people got things, but very special things. Like, the magister of the village got a gavel. No-one could ever lie to him, and justice was fair and equal. The seamstress got a needle, and could sew so fast her hands were a blur, and never made a mistake.
But then the invasion happened. It was quick and bloody. My Da was killed, my Ma was taken away to the kitchens were she was later beaten to death because she served some soup that was too cold. I was 12 when that happened. My sister was sent to the camps, and I haven’t seen or heard from her since.
The village was burned, men and elders killed, women and children enslaved. I was sent to the officer’s section. I polished boots, ironed uniforms and did all the odds jobs no-one else wanted. I slept in dirt and was beaten daily. I was painfully thin and wore rags. My days were spent trying to avoid notice, and I was fairly good at it. It's the reason I was still alive – I didn’t look older than maybe 14 or 15, and was skilled at being overlooked. Of all the boys my age who had been enslaved that fateful day, I was the only survivor.
Odd how the summoning had changed since then – before, you never knew what you’d get, but you knew it would be wonderful and joyous. Now, it was poison every time. The invaders learned quickly to keep an eye on the girls on their day of summoning – too many young women drank the poison before it could be snatched away.
I guess they forgot about me. They certainly didn’t care if I lived or died. My existence was meaningless and empty, and from what I had seen, the poison was quick and painless. You’d fall asleep as soon as it passed your lips, and a few minutes later, you were gone. Quickly and peacefully.
I did my chores that night with only one ringing slap to my head. I crept away and waited until the camp was quiet. I held out my hand, ready for the poison to take me away from this horrible life.
Nothing happened. Maybe I was wrong about my birthday? I don’t think so. I tried again, and I felt something, but… still nothing. One more time, straining, crying, tears streaking my grimy face, please take me away! I sobbed uncontrollably, foolishly getting the attention of one of the guards. “Oh, so it’s yer’ summoning, is it boy? Good – looks like I’m the one who’s getting a present….” and he trailed off in silence. Softly at first, then growing louder, it was hard to tell what the sound was. At first it was just the ground shuddering faintly, but it got stronger. You could hear metal clinking, and something that sounded like sticks banging together. The guard forgot about me and ran into the camp, raising the alarm.
The invaders had been at war for a long time, and were good at it. Lines formed quickly, but they were not prepared. No one could ever prepare. The attacking army was ruthless, unrelenting and completely unstoppable. The screams were terrible. The invaders were butchered. Every soldier had been torn to pieces within the hour.
When it was over, only the slaves were still alive. As one, the conquerors turned to face me, placed one hand over their hearts and dropped to a knee, all bowing in allegiance.
I had summoned an army. An army of those killed unjustly by the invading horde. The undead army stood before me, victims no more, but victors out for justice. I would avenge my family, my village, and my life.
|
*"There are two types of people in this world - the living and the dead. Those who have found their purpose and received their divine gift are those who we count among the living. So weep not for those who passed young, for they were already among the dead."*
Angry. That was the only way I have felt my entire life from the day my younger brother died. Initially, it was a shocking moment for the entire community as with the advancement we have had in the past century early deaths were rare. The whole world seemed to grieve that moment as it was akin to losing limitless potential. Had it only stayed that way. Had things never would have changed.
Yet that's just the way life has always been. A tumultuous mess filled with the cruelty of those who sought power over others. And taking control over others was a lot easier than most thought it to be. After all, it only took 48 words for James to rewrite peoples beliefs.
It didn't mean much to me at the time but that was because I didn't truly understand the implications of those words. As time pressed on his grip over us all became firmer and the next generation became a thing of the past. No longer did adults confer with children, for it was now seen as a taboo. After all, nowhere in history did the living ever talk to the dead.
I didn't blame James for this, he was just a man who fervently believed in his ideals. I blamed the selfishness of those who listened to him. James was merely a fanatic who truly believed that focusing on those who had direction would be the most efficient way to get through life.
It made sense at the simplest level but he forgot to factor that those who are now untrained would soon join the ranks of the living. When the dead are left to wander it is only the living that suffers, yet no matter how much I propagated this message no one would listen to me. For talking to the dead was taboo.
Soon, however, I would have a chance to change all of this. Soon, I would be able to change the sins of my forefathers. For today was the morn of my 18th birthday and I now waited patiently in front of the 'gates of birth'. Once I crossed the threshold I would be able to call to the world and it would answer. And once the world answered me, so to would they have to.
I would be the bridge that tethers the living to the dead. I would remind them that their ideologies were flawed and those who had no direction were still very much alive.
Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted as the gates slowly creaked open and James stood in his elegant gown with his arms outstretched welcoming me forward. I remembered the way this would always play out - the gates would open and James would pull the newest member of the living to the side and talk with them for some time. After conversing he would send them forward to the central pedestal to call upon the world to answer their cries.
Without missing a beat I walked straight past James to the room to the side he would always take the dead to. I didn't need to put up with their rituals, I just wanted to get this done as soon as possible.
"What do you want Ja-"
James, who always stood so proudly in front of the people was collapsed on the floor with tears streaming down his face.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I had never meant for them to take those words that way. I just wanted-"
I remembered clearly now. Every time James would take to the stage their would always be faded tears on his face. There was always a cruel look of regret hugging close to him. I don't know what he was trying to accomplish with those words, but it was his fault for forgetting that words have power. That you could never take back actions. That he never actually tried to right his wrongs.
*So I'm sorry to James. For I cannot forgive you for all you have done. You have had all the time in the world to change what you could've done, but that time is past. Regret for the rest of your life what you have put in motion.*
And so I pushed past James leaving him shocked on the floor, but somewhere in that shock, I felt as though I could see a hint of acceptance. Maybe even longing. I didn't care now, for it was finally my time.
There was a rage barely lying beneath the core of my being that I had to force myself to ignore. I didn't care about the people around me. All I cared about was what I could do going forward.
And so, I called to the world.
There was a brief pause as everyone held their breath. Normally when people made the call they were answered instantly. But it was as if the world understood my request and knew what must be done. And what must be done took time.
When that time finally came people looked at me with horror but all I could answer them with was a bittersweet smile.
For as I called to the world, certainly did it answer.
| 2019-09-18T09:45:02
| 2019-09-18T07:55:38
| 71
| 37
|
[WP] Obsessed with using postit note reminders after learning of Alzheimer's Disease running in his family, a man tries to offset the disease early in life. One day he discovers a postit note warning him that something or someone is in his house. A postit note he doesn't recall writing.
|
Jeremy savored the feel of the cold water on his face. After a long day's work in the July heat, it was just the thing he needed. He toweled his face off and noticed something that he swore hadn't been there before; a post-it note on the mirror in front of him.
*GET OUT!*
Jeremy stared at the note. He didn't remember writing that.
Was someone toying with him?
But no. That was definitely his handwriting. The note was from the stack he kept on his nightstand, the pen was the blue Bic he kept beside that same stack. The words were drawn hastily, but... they were definitely his. And it definitely hadn't been there when he walked into the bathroom.
Had it?
He whirled, looking around his bedroom. Nothing was out of place. He grabbed the baseball bat he kept propped against his nightstand. No way was this happening. It was too early. 28 is far too early to lose your mind.
Had he caused it? Had he brought about the illness by focusing so intently on it? Had he made his memory unreliable by choosing to record his memories instead on post-it notes?
That didn't matter now. Something was wrong. He had to get out of the house. What was it? Gas leak? Fire? He didn't smell anything. Was someone inside?
He crept out of the bedroom and turned left to go to the front door. It was dark. When had that happened? Should he turn on the light? No, that would alert whoever was in the house with him.
He held the bat at the ready, creeping down the hallway. Something crinkled under his bare foot. Another post-it note. He peeled it off his foot and squinted in the half-light spilling from the bathroom.
*NOT THIS WAY!!*
What the...? Why would he have left himself a note like that? Why not just get out? Alzheimer's didn't work that way. You didn't just lose your memory instantaneously, in the middle of a life-or-death situation. He knew, he'd done research, he'd talked to people, he'd observed, God knows he'd seen it in Dad often enough...
No. No no no nonononono. No time for that. Have to get out. If the front door wouldn't work, the back door would have to do.
He changed direction, heading for the back door. Through the kitchen... Post-it notes were everywhere, to remind him what he'd need to get at the grocery store, where everything was... What if there was an important one in there somewhere? Suddenly he couldn't trust his memory to tell him which ones were old and which might be new.
*Click.*
Jeremy cringed as the room filled with light. There was someone by the light switch. He stumbled away. The person didn't move.
*Such a strange thing, these notes.* The voice seemed to echo unnaturally in the kitchen. Jeremy realized with a shock that he wasn't hearing it at all.
*The translation of a thought into a picture... the recording of that picture on a fixed object... and the re-interpretation of the picture back into its inspiring thought. How strange you are.*
Jeremy's eyes finally adjusted. There was a tall, slender figure standing at the light switch, inspecting one of his notes. Too tall. Way too slender. He was wearing a black robe with the hood pulled up.
*You are the first specimen I've seen who writes to himself. Tell me, why is that?*
The man turned, and Jeremy's stomach turned along with him. The man was not a man. It was a demon. The hood concealed a bulbous gray head with four tentacles spilling out where the mouth should be. The writhing tentacles concealed a wicked beak like an octopus. Above the tentacles, beady green eyes *glowed* from the shadow of the hood.
Jeremy turned to run, fumbling with the door lock.
*Relax.*
He relaxed. Every muscle in his body relaxed. He was barely able to stand. His fingers flopped helplessly against the deadbolt.
*I can see this game is wearing thin. Very well. Just one more repetition.*
"What..." Jeremy groaned. His mind was getting foggy.
*What you should be asking is* why. *And the answer is, I like to play with my food. Do not fear forgetting, mortal. Shortly, your mind will be made perfect, and you will never forget again.*
Jeremy blinked. He was in the bathroom again. And the thing, the monster... It was nowhere to be seen. What was happening? The image of the thing's face was slipping away. NO! He had to do something, something, anything. What could he do? How many times had he done this before? It said one more time. Hadn't it? One thing to do. Just one thing. One last chance.
He grabbed the stack of post-it notes and scribbled furiously.
Jeremy savored the feel of the cold water on his face. After a long day's work in the July heat, it was just the thing he needed. He toweled his face off and felt something on his forehead. He peeled off the soggy post-it note.
*KILL IT ON SIGHT.*
|
It's like living in a fog; everything clouded in a mix of déjà vu, jamais vu, time like a scroll, curling up on both ends and you have to tack it down.
They make paperweights for that very reason, so that you can hold things down. There was a time once where a really really long piece of paper was unrolled and even though there wasn't a lot of wind that day it just kept blowing and blowing and everyone had to get clumps of dirt to make sure that it didn't just
fly away.
It's like walking down a highway, right, but its very foggy and you can't see very far, and instead of signs there are these little breadcrumbs that just won't *stay still*, why aren't they staying still, why can't ***they just stay***—
Someone visits, in the fog, sometimes. The kind of connection that you only feel when when a person knows far more about you than you do them. Always formal, very polite, but never seen. At the same time the person giving weight to the paper, holding it down, and the person that switches on the fan and blows it away.
There was a time when it was really hot, scorchingly hot, and someone turned on a fan but since everywhere was hot the wind was hot and it only made things *worse*. Why do people do that? There was someone who told me fans kill you at night. That's reasonable. They're evil.
A lot of things are evil. Someone once said that there was a man far away who was evil and did evil things. A person who was in charge, what are they called? They wanted to be the person in charge so they hurt people. Why? They're already the person in charge why don't they just stay the person in charge?
There was a classroom, and there was a kid named Billy and he wanted to be class president but he was stupid and nobody liked him and he went cross-eyed, but he wanted to be class president but nobody wanted him to be class president because he was so stupid, why was he so *stupid*, why didn't he just take the hint, ***why couldn't Billy just be normal***—
Write it down. Write it down. Tack it down. Give it ground. What's going on. Billy. B-I-L-L-Y. Good. Let's look at the little breadcrumbs. Pick it up, put it down. Read the scroll, give it ground. Go backwards for a minute.
*Billy*. He was class president, once. He's on the ground.
*There's a man.* What man? Where? I don't see a man no siree I've been here the whole time—
But it's on my paper—
It's on the ground—
What do I do when all my paperweights don't weight? When all my clumps of dirt are turning to dust and just
flying away?
| 2014-12-11T08:02:51
| 2014-12-11T04:08:01
| 44
| 28
|
[WP] You are part of a powerful order of mages. Some control fire, others, water. You however... Have the power of bread. That's right, you're a bread mage. Tell me about your day.
|
The other mages always looked down upon me. They wielded the primordial forces, while all I could do was summon bread. They laughed and belittled me.
They were fools.
My magical bread can sustain a man without any other food, he is always satisfied with the taste and filled for a day with one loaf, all he has need of is water.
The others were lacking in vision. So they could wreak destruction around them. Their pettiness and powermongering did untold damage. It seemed no one could challenge their whims. The people were divided into castes, with the majority of the ungifted viewed as little more than serfs and treated as such or worse, while the mages were beyond justice.
The lives of the have-nots were miserable. The people starved. The masses. The **vast** masses.
Fools they were, every last one of them, and through their short-shortsightedness they handed me the path to ultimate victory.
I fed the people. I picked them up when the other mages put them down. The people loved me, revered me as a holy man. They obeyed without question, because they believed in me.
They were the finest weapon I ever could have wielded.
Fire. Water. What are these in the face of one hundred thousand men and women willing to die, eager instruments of my will.
My army could never overextend. I needed no supply lines, no logistics. My reach, without limit.
The mage towers fell before me. Cities rose up at my command.
The mages are no more. Now, I am the only one left, the unquestioned ruler, the one who fed the people.
The Breadmage.
|
The second time the guard hit me, I wasn't able to hide my pain - and crumpled to the floor. I lie coughing and retching, he sneers; the face of a spoiled child holding an expensive toy, broken for the sake of breaking. Roughly, I am lifted up, and placed unceremoniously back into the chair. My habit is mussed and torn, stained crimson and singe from the night before. The room I can see about me (I am not able to turn my head much at the moment) is dark, and likely was once a dungeon, based on the shackles on the wall, and what would appear to be a rack in the corner. The walls are dripping with (what I hope) is water, and a strange fungus I am not familiar with grows between the cracks of poorly cut and irregular stones. I See some interesting qualities to it, something I can perhaps use in my craft, and create a fine -
The guard strikes me again, this time a crooked shot to the gut. I am winded, and he gives a victorious, shit-eating smile to me. Rising Gods, his breath is terrible. He looks around, as though wanting to share his "victory" with others, and seems almost disappointed when he recalls he is interrogating me on his own.
Finally, he deigns to speak.
"So", says he, with a grating voice (one I would have expected from the works of a drunken golemancer), "I take it you know why you are here, my friend? Away from your precious little order, and all your little toys?" He seems to enjoy himself too much, having deluded himself into thinking that punching around overweight mages is anything more than a job given to imbeciles.
I smile. "I can't imagine what you mean, or what toys you could be speaking of.” I mean to chuckle a bit, but grimace with the growing pain that brings. “Indeed, I can’t imagine what you have to accomplish by bringing me here. Perhaps you simply to punch fat, old, men? I can easily arrange that for you, I know several men who would give anything –“
Once more, I am struck, though I expected it this time. Still, it hurts a fair bit, and I can’t help but feel my age.
He is, quite obviously from his face (he should probably see a corpomancer about that blood pressure; unhealthy, that is) and roars at me “I know what you did! You and all your fucking little order! I order you to confess! I COMMAND you to confess!” I pause for a moment. “I can’t imagine what you might mean,” say I, “The Order has kept well its agreements and treaties with your kingdom, and we’ve not been violent at all for at least a hundred years.”
Evidently, that wasn't what he wanted to hear. He screams oaths and curses, and barrels into me. I cringe, not expecting to be as jovial after this assault, and likely not as conscious, when the doors smashes open, and another guard – a captain, by the red sigil on his cloak, and the fineness of his lorica. He is not pleased, a glare that would chill the dead themselves on his face, which bores its way through the skull of my assailant just quickly enough to freeze him. Alas, his forward momentum was too much for his feeble attempts at stopping, and he crashed into me – or rather, onto my fist, which I held in front of me. A shame.
The captain, a little happier with the problem in the room sleeping dreamlessly on the floor, turns to me, and speaks. “I am sorry about that,” he begins, “but they give us naught but fools and idiots for interrogations, to, ah, “suggest” “– he holds up a hand and makes a sarcastic little gesture – “to our prisoners that we mean business.” A crude method, but one I can understand. The more frightening mages are used in my own order for this very purpose.
The captain would seem to be more prepared that the guard (sleeping the sleep of the well-bruised) was, and brings out a sheet of paper. “Panemar Férmen, you are hear on account of having witnessed, and likely being involved with some unsavory events in the house of Viceroy Astar, several days prior. Can you tell me what you believe happened that night?” I begin, pleased with this more pleasant fellow, and the calmer pace of the questioning. “Well, the good Viceroy requested several mages, for the purposes of entertaining and keeping his guests attentive. My memory is not what it was, but I seem to recall myself, another senior mage, and several apprentices were brought forth to work for him.” The captain jots that down, surprisingly adept at writing in the low light. He asks, “And what were the talents of the mages present?” I pause. The common man, and more oft than not the common soldier doesn’t know much about magic, and I am surprised he knows of the Talent – that each mage, while capable of anything, has one thing that excel at.
“Well,” I begin, “I believe two of the apprentices were fire mages, brought for entertainment, no doubt. I know that one was a sculpting talent, as I had to chastise him for a rather rude sculpture. The other mage was a lightbender, and made quite a show with the apprentices.” More writing on the board. The captain looks up, and prompts, “What of yourself? What is your skill?” I sigh. “I am relatively week in talent, and was brought the help in the kitchens. I am able to transmute objects, work upon others, and See items that would make for fine breads.” The captain seems perplexed. “What? You create bread? That seems…” “Disappointing? Specific? Useless?” He pauses. “…Not so much useless, but… yes.” He jots a final point on his paper, and walks out of the room. I lay back a bit, and nod off for a while.
Sometime later, the captain returns. I wake with a start, and see the room quite unchanged. The guard is still on the floor, though he has shifted a bit, and looks a little doughy. The captain clears his throat – a relatively weak little cough – and says “You are free to go. None of the wounds on Viceroy match with the Talents of the other mages with you, which the other suspects have corroborated.” He helps me up, and opens the door for me. “Wait,” I say. I pick up a small rock, and whisper some words over it. It steams and cracks, and is soon a lovely loaf of rye, which I give to the captain. His eyes wide, he accepts it – though an odd power, the transformation, full of crackling and heat and steam, is impressive. I say to him, “This is for thanks of stopping that guard. Though I am hurt, and I feel as though I should not have been held here by him, I imagine this is no fault of your own.” The captain is at a loss for words, and before he can think of something to say, I am out the door.
Later, on the carriage back to the Studium, I am a hero in the apprentice’s eyes. It would seem that I am the worse for wear, but I knocked a guard out (I of course left out that the captain created the situation to do so, I claim poetic license) and, in the way of the young, am held in high regard for having so advanced over an authority. They are mirthful, and the other mage reels them in, saying that I should be left alone to sleep, or that I was old and tired. Truthfully, I was both of these things, but more I wanted to rest off my wounds than anything else.
Then, one of the apprentices, the sculptor, gets to the heart of the matter. “But… how did it happen?” He says. “We were paid to kill the Viceroy, and end his corruption, but who here did it? The guard told me that his bones were gone, but I don’t know that magic.” The other apprentices are equally confused, as they do not have that power either. Even the other mage voices his concerns, bringing up the question as well. I smile. “I did it,” I say. The others turn to me, incredulously. “It is true, my power is one of food, and not useful in combat. With preparation, however, I can perform a quite potent magic that is very difficult to guard against or detect.” All are silent. After a moment, the sculptor asks, “But… what did you do? What power could you possibly have?” Once more, I smile. “I do as the song said. You know the one, with the giant and the beanstalk?” This time the other mage chimes in. “I know of this tale, but what do you mean? I fail to see how it applies.” My smile grows a little sharper, and I explain.
“I am as the giant. I grind their bones to make my bread.”
| 2014-10-09T18:25:01
| 2014-10-09T15:58:36
| 45
| 33
|
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search
|
Great Places for a first date
Proposal Ideas
Bible - Verses about being a good husband
Oregon Coast Beach Homes
Horseback Riding Rental - Newport Oregon
Wedding Venues - Seattle WA
Bible - Verses about Marriage
Plane Tickets
Hawaiian Excursion Ideas
Travel Planner
Travel Agents - Seattle WA
How do we get pregnant?
Bible - Verses about Children
Why can't we get pregnant?
How can I tell if my wife is infertile?
How can I tell if I am sterile?
Can an ovarian cist prevent pregnancy?
Ovarian Cist
Difference Between Benign & Malignant
Bible Verses - Grief, Death
What's the difference between stage 3 and stage 4 cancer?
Survival Odds - Metastasized to bones
How to deal with cancer in a loved one
How do we write a will?
How does a spouse leave everything to their husband?
Grief Counseling - Coping with the death of a loved one
Is there really a God?
Atheist support group
|
Why is the sky blue?
How far away is Uranus?
Why do mom and dad fight so much?
How to impress girls
Porn
Good date ideas
Porn
Where can I get the morning after pill?
How do I know when I should propose?
Good proposal ideas?
Cheap engagement rings
How to be a good parent
How to tell your parents they're grandparents
Good girl names
Ways to comfort your wife
How do I tell people we had a miscarriage?
Good boy names
Death of spouse support groups
Painless ways to kill yourself
| 2015-02-04T16:31:22
| 2015-02-04T16:12:00
| 253
| 23
|
[WP] By chance, you end up on the jury for a crime you committed but someone else was arrested for.
|
I glance down at my notepad as my stomach rumbles.
*"But our job is to know beyond a shadow of a doubt," says one woman. "I don't want to convict someone if we're not sure."*
I'd written down all the options for lunch. I was considering the chinese, but that rumbling was for something more substantial. It had to be barbecue, but what?
*"I don't think we're gonna get any better." Chimes another woman. "We don't always get all the pieces, but I think we have enough to be sure."*
The pulled pork?
*"He was the last person known to have made contact." This time, a balding man. "And you saw the things he had in his apartment."*
Rotisserie?
*"Being a fan of horror films doesn't make you a murderer" A young man. "That's just the prosecutor trying to bias us."*
They said if we went over $25 we'd have to cover the rest, but steak is always worth it.
*"That's not what I'm talking about though." Says the first woman. "How can we be sure, if we don't know where the rest of the body is? A hundred pounds of flesh don't just up and disappear."*
My mouth begins to water.
*"She's right" The young man again. "The accused is a cab driver, and his car is tracked, and the victim doesn't have a car, so he couldn't have moved it very far"*
Something about this conversation seems familiar. It just makes me even more hungry. I try to tune them out.
*"I've seen that area." says an old man. "Young folk out at all hours. I doubt he could move it at all."*
I wouldn't be able to eat the steak with my hands though. Too many looks. It had to be something else. I fold my arms.
*"But the police couldn't find the rest of the... body in the victim's house." The second woman spoke again. "Just the mess of blood in the kitchen, and..."*
I drop my notepad gently on the table. My neighbour peeks over at it.
*"We've seen the pictures." The balding man. "I agree, though. I think what we have is enough to-"*
"Ribs!" I cry out. It was perfect! "Slow cooked, and falls right off the bone..." I notice eyes on me, and sit back, putting my contemplative mask back on.
*"You..." The balding man starts "You think he cooked that poor girl, and... ate her?"*
*"It makes perfect sense." My neighbour speaks up for the first time. "He was looking at the lunch menu, and the barbecue place might as well have the whole cow on here."*
I feel like I could eat a whole cow.
*"Oh my God..." The young man speaks again. "Yeah, look at the floor near the oven."*
I hear a young woman breathing heavily, and look her way. She seems to be hyper-ventilating. The hunger grows. I purse my lips to keep my saliva in.
*"I'll... I'll be fine." She says. "Thank you."*
*"That's sick..." Says the first woman. "I'm convinced. A monster like that deserves to rot."*
*"Agreed." The young man. "Let's vote."*
The young woman raises her hand. I notice everyone else do the same and follow suit.
---
The meat was **delicious**, by the way.
|
The following scenario pops up in my mind upon reading your question:
Say, for example, the character (X) is a sociable person with a respectable career and healthy life. X has no love life, and his parents have passed. Others in his family have abandoned him. Why so, you may ask? It's because X has gambled away most of the family savings and is considered to be a degenerate. Therefore, he has no one he can hurt with his actions. He feels invincible. No one can stop him from gambling now.
During an evening session with his buddies, one of them manages to cross him. X is not pleased. He is drunk, and his rage builds. He wants to murder said buddy (Y).
Once the evening descends into night, while everyone sleeps peacefully, X, still drunk, staggers over to Y's house and stabs him with a knife of his own. No witnesses. X takes care to leave no evidence.
Investigations go as they do, and none of the evidence the police have gathered point to him. He is relieved, but upon being interviewed for a statement, he lies meticulously, thus clearing himself.
However, X is facing an inner battle, between guilt and satisfaction. He was never a man to take such an action. His parents had instilled in him values of purity, but no man is perfect. He cannot remember why he started gambling in the first place. Money troubles? An escape from a dead-end job? Whatever it was, he has flipped over to the other side. He is not religious and does not think he can find salvation.
An old gambling mate (Z) of X has been arrested for Y's murder. He feels remorseful, but also wants to escape because he is a coward. No coward would kill anyone because they pulled a long-lasting joke on him. But, in a strange turn of events, X has been asked to be a jury member for the trial.
On the day when X's morals are bound to be tested, he sees Z, his wrinkly face in tears. Z knows it was X, but there was no way he could prove it. Z looks at X but does not misbehave. Z glares and glares. X is not comfortable but does not do anything to arouse suspicion either. He remains seated.
What does he do? Does he vote against his imprisonment? Does he vote for it? He knows that most in the jury will vote for it. He could have some moral respite by voting against, but how much? Z will still go to prison for his crime. The guilt is eating him up. There is still emotion left in him.
Before the jury's verdicts are revealed before the court, X stands up and announces, much to everyone's shock, "It was I, your honour, who murdered Mr. Y in cold blood," and proceeds to narrate the entire incident.
A huge burden is lifted off his chest. X cries, and so does Z. A probe is ordered that finds X guilty. He is sentenced to life.
X may never be forgiven, but he finds peace in knowing that he prevented an innocent man from prison by paying for what he did. In his heart, that is a win and a source of solace and consolation.
| 2018-02-24T05:54:27
| 2018-02-24T04:51:14
| 59
| 23
|
[WP] It is the 24 th of july, your birthday, and also the day that humanity is going to reach 10 billion inhabitants. You are watching the number grow, live on a site. Just as it's about to hit 10 billion, at 9,999,999,999... It Hits 2. You are still alive.
|
I watched the website wondering if the time of my birth would be the exact time the world would hit the 10 billion mark. I mean, what else was I going to do no one remembered again. I casually sipped a beer with the news playing in the background, live coverage of the counter at the headquarters of the United World Nations, there excitement meant that we could send another billion people off world to colonize another set of new star system, no one mentioning that we hadn't heard from the first billion we sent when we initially hit the 9 billion mark ofr 5 years now. Not that we should be concerned they say, after the first year the excitement sort of died off and they didnt see a point to keep prodding the computers just to get the responses -cryos functioning at 100%, ship functioning within acceptable parameters- I glanced at the TV as it cut to commercials, I muted it and went back to watching the website.
Human Population: 9,999,999,995
9,999,999,996
9,999,999,997
The news came back on the TV behind me, but it was still muted, I didn't hear or see the black cloud that had appeared over the UWN HQ, the green beams of light spewing from it and raining down on the people below.
9,999,999,998
9,999,999,999
There was a boom outside and I felt my basement apartment rumble, I could hear car alarms going off. I glanced around and stood up as the TV went dark and went to static. I looked back at the website,
Human Population: 2
It stood at 2 for five minutes, I stared at the page and listened at the silence that now filled the air as the alarms I could barley hear stopped. I refreshed the page thinging it had to have been a glitch.
It still read,
Human Population: 2.
But now, beneath it it said Unknowns: 0
Unknowns: 10
Unknowns: 500
The number started to rise and was rising quickly. I ran to my door and checked the bolt to make sure it was still locked, as I heard a sound like a horn from outside. I walked to my window and looking out the sky was filled with a black cloud that was slowly dissipating, a large fleet of vessel were above the city as far as I could see. I let my curtain fall closed as I stumbled backwards, panic filling me as I looked at the computer again,
Human Population: 2
Unknowns: 3,333,333,333
The counter for the unknowns had stopped but the human population number hadn't changed at all. A cold fog started to seep under my door, it smelled something vaguely of sulfur, I passed out wondering as I fell to the floor who else but me was out there.
The website counter changed as I lay unconscious.
Human Population: 1
Unknowns: 3,333,333,333
...
...
...
Human Population: 0
Unknowns: 3,333,333,333
|
I wasn't fond of crowded places, and standing in the middle of Times Square craning my neck up to look at the boards could be chalked up to one of my least favourite moments. This, however, was a momentous occasion, and as Julie put it "in order to witness greatness we must sacrifice our own desires." She liked to, as it seemed most in my generation, to take simply phrases and over exaggerate their importance. It apparently inspired some part of me since I am standing here in the rain with thousands of other people watching.
*9,999,999,997,396*
*9,999,999,998,653*
I hear a tapping on a microphone.
"The future lies in the greatness," the Mayor begins in an empowering voice, "of those who are willing and wanting to create it. Today marks an advancement that our world has never seen. Today the future is more secured and our international bonds are present in our diversity. The future is happening..."
My eyes are screwed shut and my hands are covering my ears, knowing that once that counter hits the mark the noise will be deafening. I can see the flashes of light through my eyelids and I can hear some muffled noises despite my hands trying to create an airtight seal.
But the noises I was expecting to hear never came. In fact, I can't hear anything. My heart is beating fast, part of me wants to take my hands off and open my eyes, but like always that's when the noise hits. Fuck it, I thought. I open my eyes and look around.
Everyone... everyone was gone. Streamers falling down, balloons still rising, and the lights and signs still flashing. But, everyone... gone. I looked up at the sign and see it flickering for a moment: 9,999,999,999... the numbers flick off and on as if someone was flicking a light switch. Then it goes off. Black. Only to return a few moments later with a single number: 2.
| 2017-02-28T20:52:59
| 2017-02-28T20:48:57
| 54
| 11
|
[WP] As a telekinetic mutant, you need to keep your powers a secret from the rest of society. However, you REALLY want to win this game of mini golf.
|
“Let’s see…” Jackie presses the miniature, eraserless pencil to her smiling lips. “That’s a 19 for me, and a 26 for *you.*”
“*You…*” Something about the way she says that word makes me angry. It’s as if her victory is already decided, and there is nothing I can do. I just nod and purse my lips as we approach the 10th hole. “I believe you have the honors,” I say, waving her forward.
I watch her stroll up confidently to the tee, and place her ball on the mat. After one halfhearted practice swing, she launches the ball off a wall, up a hill, and along a steep bank, before it finds its way into the hole.
“Yesss!” Jackie shouts, executing a full Tiger Woods fist pump in her celebration. “Try to match that!”
I just stare at her, fuming. Even though she’s already hit four hole in ones this round, Jackie has celebrated each one like she just won the lottery. She’s still doing some sort of faux moon walk as I line up my putt. “You’re gonna miss!” she shouts, in the middle of my backswing.
I pause and try to calm myself, but it’s no use. Maybe if it was just her actions during the round of mini golf, I would let her win and never call her again, but this is beyond that. Over the course of our entire first date, Jackie has been rude and condescending. She spent ten minutes laughing at me when my milkshake fell off our table and into my lap during dinner, and has become more and more obnoxious ever since. I can't help but put my foot down, despite my grandmother’s warnings.
I line my putt up again, this time focusing my energy entirely on the ball. It rolls off my putter in a perfectly straight line, and spins in a neat half circle around the hole before falling in. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Jackie’s mouth hanging open in shock, but I don’t stoop to her level and gloat.
Over the next seven holes, the course of the game begins to change. Jackie’s long putts take awkward bounces off the course’s brick walls, and her short putts seem to always fall a few inches short of the hole. I, on the other hand, put together a string of brilliant putts, bringing our score to a tie as we line up for the 18th hole.
“Out of my way,” Jackie says, shoving me aside and completely ignoring the honors system that would allow me to putt first. Before I can focus on her ball, it’s already left the tee, and rolled into the hole at a speed that shouldn’t have been physically possible. “WOOO!!” She yells, spraying saliva directly into my face.
“Get out of the way!” I line my putt up, and focus my energy again on the ball. “When I sink this, we’re playing sudden death.”
I let the putt fly, and work my magic. The ball rolls perfectly up the long hill leading to the hole and… stops?
I jolt back at the sight, and will the ball harder to go into the hole. It doesn’t budge. I throw my club in the air in disgust, in complete disbelief that my telekinesis didn’t work.
And then I notice that Jackie isn’t celebrating. She’s staring at my ball, focusing with all her might, as if…
“You’re…”
Jackie immediately takes her focus off the ball, and puts a hand to my mouth. “Are you crazy?! You can’t say it out loud!”
I stare at her in disbelief. My whole life, I hadn’t known a single telepath, outside of my grandmother. I had always thought I was the only one left. But there she was, right in front of me. “But… you are, right?”
Jackie just nods.
I can’t put into words the things I want to say, or the questions I want to ask. There’s so much running through my head that the only thing that I can force out is the first thought that comes to my mind. “And you cared so much about beating me at mini golf, that you were willing to duel me in a telekinetic battle that could have been sensed by any special nearby?”
She hangs her head and nods. “No one’s ever noticed before. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
There’s a long pause. I’m angry, and confused, and curious all at the same time. But more than anything, I’m relieved to know the truth. And then I realize something else. And before I can stop myself, the thought comes out in a total spew of word vomit. “That’s pretty hot.”
__________________________________________________________________
Of all the writers on this site with their own subbreddits, I'm certainly one of them. More stories at r/mvdww
|
"Remember citizen, the computer wants you to be happy. Show the computer you are happy by winning this game. Winning the game makes people happy."
The words rang through my ears, followed closely by the admonition, "Remember citizens, that possession or use of telekinetic powers is treason. Treason is punishable by death. And don't forget to prove how happy you are by reporting any treasonous activity!"
I lined up the shot. 18th hole, and I'd been over by three on the previous hole. Luckily, Pedro the Great, my opponent, had whiffed hard on his play through on this hole. He'd missed par by four, so if I could make par on this, I'd at least tie up the game. And while the Computer would probably still send me to the incinerator for failing to win, at least Pedro would be with me if I could force a draw.
I swung, but my hands twitched just a bit, and the ball started to spin out of control. I instinctively started to correct it's course as it rolled down the green toward the windmill. I hesitated--would anyone notice? Would I end up getting de-cloned? I took the risk and hoped it wouldn't be obvious.
The ball straightened, then hit the side-route tubes and slid out of sight for a minute. Then back in sight, I carefully adjusted it to roll right into the cup--hole in one! Yes!
Then the dreaded words came from behind me.
"Citizen. The Computer would like a word with you."
| 2017-07-05T13:58:28
| 2017-07-05T13:30:39
| 77
| 27
|
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist.
|
I hide behind the wall, praying Starhands doesn't find me yet, and tremble as I fumble with my battered old mp3 player.
I don't want to but I have to use it. The forbidden playlist. The reason why I'm even on this team when my powers only last as long as the song plays.
Track 1. Running Down A Dream by Tom Petty And The Heartbreakers. Solid Illusions.
I run back to the battlefield even as multiple copies burst from various piles of debris. We each get in at least one hit before he starts burning them from the inside out. I make them wink in and out of his reality, always careful to stay behind him, never taking more than an elbow never letting him touch me with those toxic hands.
And as the song fades I take off leaving my clones to their fate. This next song works better at a distance. Well, it's better that I'm at a distance anyways.
Track 2. Dream Lover by Bobby Darin. Biochemical Manipulation
That's what the tester called it but the reality is that I just make them horny. How is that a superpower you might ask? Because it's not just horny it's "caused a stroke from lack of blood to the brain in the first volunteer" horny. It's "supervillain had to have reconstructive surgery on their genitals" horny. It's "writhing on the ground in pain because your so oversensitive that even the air feels like knives in your flesh horny".
It's "accidentally caused a mass orgy that ended with multiple rape charges laid on me the first time I unknowingly used it and that's how I ended up on a governmental super team" horny.
It's enough for a distraction but as the song fades Starhands recovers almost too quickly, his own biochemical manipulation sweeping the effects of mine away in moments.
But I still have enough time to get in position for the last song.
Track 3. Dream A Little Dream Of Me by The Mamas and the Papas. Time Regression.
As he charges me I raise my arms and he slams into me, not realizing the mistake he's made as I wrap my arms around him and cling, crooning along soft as a lullaby. I keep my eyes closed, not daring to look as first his muscles fade back into a lanky frame and then he begins to shrink, screams going higher and higher as his vocal chords return to those of a teenager, then a child, toddler baby, newborn. Fading as he becomes a foetus, a blastocyst, a clump of cells, un-dividing into fewer and fewer until it becomes a fertilized ovum then unfertilized ovum and sperm then dissipates into nothing as the last notes fade.
I pause the playlist before the last song can play.
I hope I never end up in a situation where I need the Lemmy Kilmeister cover of Enter Sandman. Not after what happened the first time.
|
As he slammed through a concrete building and it collapsed around him, MelodyMan realized he had no other choice. Thousands of innocent civilians were already dead. If he didn't pull out all the stops now there would be nothing left of New York inside the hour.
Climbing free of the debris he looked up at his opponent, well *opponents.* It had seemed to be a generic alien invasion at first. Maybe that's why it had gotten so out of hand. Ordinarily such a threat would have been handled by a mixture of Heavy metal for strength and durability in one ear, and New-Age for speed and flight in the other.
Now though as the swarm descended to Earth MelodyMan knew the truth. This was a hivemind, a powerful one at that. Trillions of beings acting in concert to form a single powerful entity. No amount of punching was going to hurt them, even EDM fueled Laser eyes weren't going to be enough.
"Have you had enough? Are you willing to submit to *The Supremacy*?" The sound seemed to come from all directions at once. MelodyMan shook the rubble from his clothes. Then as the aliens split into a dozen copies of the figure that had already nearly killed him alone, he clicked his playlist to the secret weapon.
*"I LOVE YOU, YOU LOVE ME, WE'RE A GREAT BIG FAMAHLEEE WITH A GREAT BIG HUG AND A KISS FROM ME TO YOU! WON'T YOU SAY YOU LOVE ME TOO!"*
As the music filled his mind, engulfed it, Melody man could feel the power flowing through him and out into the world. This was the last line of defense. Children's music warped the very fabric of reality. A wave of color burst forth from MelodyMan and washed over the city, washed over the aliens and their ship, the dead bodies and destroyed buildings. As the power moved across the world it righted the wrongs. No one could die or be dead, no violence allowed, only love and happiness.
Forever changed by the power of music the alien invaders transformed from a horrifying swarm of insects to fluffy little critters of benevolence. They apologized for their misdeeds and left the Earth to return home and spread the message of non-violence across the universe.
As the song finished and MelodyMan regained his faculties, he sat in the middle of a field of flowers in what had been the rubble of the chrystler building. Around him were thousands of happy smiling people fully healed from all their wounds fatal and minor.
Just like that New York City became a wonderland of color right out of a children's book.
| 2022-05-17T12:33:11
| 2022-05-17T12:04:55
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] Following a chosen deity has real world benefits, much like perks in a videogame. The more obscure gods offer more interesting gifts to those that find them.
|
John woke with a raging headache. Some gods didn't appreciate followers converting so immediately. Lugh was no exception, but there have been worse. He stood unsteadily reminding himself this was the case, hoping for the temporary pseudo reprieve this reminder would offer. It'd be nothing like the real stuff Alaunus offered though.
He raced to the restroom, retching horribly. Right, Alaunus. That was one conversion he never wanted to remember again. As healing gods go, he was especially spiteful of transit worshiping. Mornings like this made him wish he worshiped more steadily as Alex did.
Rarely though.
Regular prayer had it's perks. For instance, though Alex was a bit of a bitch for Eros, who definitely gave him some serious favor for a Greek love god. Girls back at their school spread gossip through the campus about his... vitality. No one knows where the rumors sprung from, but in small colleges that hardly mattered. Eros did the god thing. Someday, Alex will get someone to do *his* thing. As long as he kept worshiping him anyway.
After a few sickly spits, he struggled his way up to the sink to wash his face. A good score for his midterm exams was worth a scholar god's temporary favor. This would be his hardest semester. When he thought he couldn't feel any worse, horror struck him.
"Oh shit," he told the miserable face in the mirror. "I should have waited until finals." John choked back a sob.
The Celtic pantheon were his preferred range of deities. They were less prayed on so they generally gave more favor. They also didn't like transit followers. Well, no gods do. But the Celtic pantheon...
He thrust down a glass of cool water and popped a Tylenol. *They were seriously butthurt about it.* So this may not be a perfect semester. At least the midterm was done. Thank whoever.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"You aced it huh?"
"It was an easy test Alex," John responded. "Just have to put some time into Laffreydo's blackboard notes. And her third edition of *Greco-Roman Worship in the 21st Century*, the fourth one missed a few paragraphs. She also studied at Imperial College under Professor Muteblood in the 80's, and some of his lectures made a serious impression on her understanding of the Japanese's Seven Gods of Fortune, so to appreciate Asian cultures in context of Western traditions would have scored bonus points on..."
"Shut up man I get it. Could have given me some of those juicy deets huh?" Alex poked at the cafeteria food glumly with a lazy fork. This wasn't how most of the college figured a campus prince would look. In fact, nothing was all that exceptional about the two boys with their one minute burgers and exam results spread on the table. The table of girls chatting in the far corner snatching brief glimpses in their direction were unaffected by their appearances.
John corrected himself. *Alex's* appearances more like.
A hand shoved his shoulder across the table. "No, you don't get to look that upset scoring top grades in the class. Hell, the TA might've gone gay for you when he gave you back your paper."
John snorted. "If he prayed to Eros too, he might have a chance---"
"*SHHHHH*" Alex forced a whisper. "Not here man."
John blushed. He was right. It wasn't cool to call out a man's god (or goddess) in public. Especially if he was devout. They chose the same college before graduating from their hometown, chose their first gods together when they were of age (18 in the United States), snuck their first drink from John's freezer. It was a friendship that went many years and mistakes back.
Some social trespasses could be laughed off with familiarity.
"Sorry Alex, I wasn't thinking."
"Shit happens man, just, watch it." Alex poked at the fries some more, then lifted his mass from the cafeteria seat. "I gotta catch that study period if I'm gonna make up in class. This is our shit semester so save your notes for finals."
"Yeah, for sure."
Other trespasses were taboo in public, even between close friends. Outing someone by invoking their love god would make them a laughing stock.
Alex made his way past another group of girls, too caught up in their chatter to notice how stiff his shoulders and legs moved. He wasn't so much walking to class as he was forcing himself there.
Sharing his notes was the least John could do.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/42vi72/wp_following_a_chosen_deity_has_real_world/czdkskd)**
**[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/42vi72/wp_following_a_chosen_deity_has_real_world/cze7kph)**
**[Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/42vi72/wp_following_a_chosen_deity_has_real_world/czewvvv)**
**[Part 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/42vi72/wp_following_a_chosen_deity_has_real_world/czfvyv3)**
**[Part 6](https://www.reddit.com/r/galokot/comments/43hdf9/all_gods_are_bastards_part_6/)**
**[Part 7](https://www.reddit.com/r/galokot/comments/43ia3q/all_gods_are_bastards_part_7/)**
**[Part 8](https://www.reddit.com/r/galokot/comments/43rs8y/all_gods_are_bastards_part_8/)**
**[Part 9](https://www.reddit.com/r/galokot/comments/443r87/all_gods_are_bastards_part_9/)**
The story is still in progress, and being resumed at /r/galokot .
|
"The name of your god... is Bobo?"
I nodded, clicking my finger against the tabletop, waiting on the waitress to bring me my coffee. My contact had asked to meet me hear, after reading the circulating rumors about my Lord and Savior. Of course, he didn't know the half of it. For every truth spilled on forums and posts about Bobo, only a sliver of them carried any weight of truth. One missed sliver just so happened to be His true name.
My contact, a shady German who'd apparently never heard of a hairbrush, leaned forward. "That is not the name of a god. That... that is a clown."
"I would not disgrace the High and Mighty Bobo, Creator of Worlds, by comparing him to any mortal," I warned. The waitress finally arrived, and I sipped from the cup. "I hear His voice, but even I am nothing in the presence of Bobo."
The German shook his head, shocked by disbelief. I couldn't blame him. There was once a time I laughed at the thought of such a name, of such a supposed Higher Being. But I'd seen the error of my ways, and if he'd let me, I would open the German's eyes too.
"I've never heard such utter bullshit." The German rose, brushing bread crumbs off his rain-drenched coat. He fished out a few dollars and threw them on the table. "Tell Bobo He can keep the change."
The German headed toward the door, and I did not stop him. Bobo did not force me to listen to His words. He simply spoke them, showed me His power, and I watched in awe at the work.
Nearby I heard a woman sigh, so I turned in my seat. A couple tables away, an older lady with grey in her hair fiddled around with her phone. I asked her, "Is there something wrong, ma'am?"
She managed a smile as she looked up from what she'd muttered was 'an infernal contraption.' "Oh, it's nothing, dear. I am simply trying to connect to the WiFi. I have no service here, and I'm expecting pictures of my grandson. You see, my daughter just--"
A chime stole her attention away from me and to her phone. A smile formed on her face, and she glanced back my way. "Oh! It's working now. I'm sorry, I would talk at any other--"
"Say no more," I assured her, raising my hand. "It is quite all right. Your daughter and grandchild are far more important than any stranger." I finished my coffee and stood out of my chair. "Peace be with you, good woman."
*And may Bobo watch over you, and all your electronic needs.*
| 2016-01-26T20:46:04
| 2016-01-26T20:37:42
| 108
| 78
|
[WP] An I.T guy explains to their boss why they're sacrificing goats in the server room.
|
”All right, Joe,” my boss said, drumming his knuckles on the desk, “lay it on me.”
Mr. Richards was a bulky man in his fifties and had been running the IT department for nearly two decades. He was known as a no-nonsense kind of guy, and when I’d been called to explain the goings-on in the server room, I knew I was in for it.
“So, uh, you know how we had trouble with our local network a few months back?”
“I have a vague memory of that…”
From the flushed cheeks and the slight tremor in his voice, it was clear that he was barely able to contain his anger. It was only a matter of time before the volcano erupted and his office was turned into a raging inferno.
“You remember how we couldn’t fix it? You said – and I quote – ‘the devil himself must’ve possessed our routers.’ So that whole thing got me thinking.”
“Yeah?” he said through his teeth.
“Well, we don’t have that problem anymore. And the LAN is working flawlessly.”
My boss shook his head solemnly. I could see the fire in his eyes.
“You must be joking.”
“I think, if I may say so, that you should let me do my job,” I said and reared back a little when I noticed his reaction. “Apart from the smell… it’s really not that bad.”
That apparently pushed him over the edge, and he stood up and stomped across the room, grabbing me by the throat. I could smell his lunch on his breath – cooked spinach, garlic-marinated chicken, and rosemary potatoes – not exactly what I’d expected. Pretty sure he’d said he’d be on a juice diet this week.
“What. Were. You. Thinking!?” The spit hit me like a spring drizzle in the face.
“It’s really not that bad…” I said, trying to keep from choking. “It’s… just one goat… each fortnight… and… one extra… each holiday… I even… pay for them myself.”
I could see the veins bulging in his forehead, his eyes turning bloodshot with rage, his pudgy fingers trying their best to crush my windpipe.
“I’m going to kill you myself!” he roared. “Sacrificing goats in the server room! I swear to god, Joe, this is the–”
The grip on my throat slackened, and his face shifted from red to purple and from anger to surprise. Mr. Richards gasped for air, his eyes big in their sockets.
****
“You’re Joe, correct?” said Mr. Dean, the CEO of the company. “It’s a tragedy what happened to Mr. Richards.”
“Very tragic,” I said, nodding.
“I heard you were close.”
“Yes, in the few months I’ve worked here I really came to respect the man.”
“He was a great asset, and he’ll be missed. But as you know, the world keeps spinning, and we need a new head of the IT department. After you fixed our network, I feel like you’ve earned yourself a promotion.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dean.”
He nodded and put his hand on my shoulder. “What’s that smell, by the way?”
“Oh, it’s just, uh, one of the servers got overheated. No biggie.”
“Right, I’ll be on my way then. I trust you’ll keep things running down here.”
“Of course, Mr. Dean – the IT department is in good hands.”
He flashed me a winning smile and turned to walk away.
“Oh, and,” I said quickly. “Mr. Richards’ last words were that he’d like to be cremated.”
“See to it.”
“Yes, sir,” I said and bowed slightly. “Our network will be the fastest in town.”
****
/r/Lilwa_Dexel for more.
|
Oh woe, oh woe,
Oh dreary day,
Come the CEO,
Right away,
To pester - to question,
To demand - declare perplexion,
Though slow, thou knows,
In hurt dismay,
Must proffer CEO,
Explana-
-tion.
One zero, zero one, one, one, zero, one.
We sacrifice this goat not merely for fun,
Some Hero named Nero did, summoned, come,
Appeared and did order to slay for love,
This damned goat.
In fact, not just this one, but several,
To our god, whomever it may be,
So quickly, with damned goats, we assembled,
In the server room, on floor 3.
Offered the sacrificial blade,
The CEO - Dave,
Obliges.
| 2017-08-19T01:35:44
| 2017-08-19T01:09:16
| 481
| 13
|
[WP] After moving house as a child you found adjusting to your new town really tough. Now as an adult you've realised that your family moved through time.
|
I knew I was born on the outskirts of Chicago and vaguely remember the split level house where I lived the first 5 years of my life. But we moved when I was very young, although I never really got the full story. I think it was for my dad’s job, but as I got older I picked up subtext of us kind of escaping something, although I have no idea what. My parents passed away when I was a teen, and I never got the full story.
We moved to a small town in New Mexico. I remember it being a stark adjustment from the cold of Chicago to the blazing heat of the southwest. We had no air conditioning, and really, a lot of the amenities I vaguely recall from being a kid. Like watching color cartoons on (what felt like) a *huge* TV on Saturday mornings, and a sort of portable jukebox thing. But the southwest was a simpler place, and we just didn’t have as much. Heck, nobody did.
Now, it’s 30 years later and by circumstance I’ve moved back to Chicago for my own new job with a government think-tank. It feels like a kind of full circle. And now I have my own wonderful family - my wife and I just adopted a beautiful baby boy and we’re looking for our own new house. I thought I’d check out the neighborhood where I lived several decades ago, and although I thought the landmarks would have changed over all those years, it’s actually strangely familiar.
I found a nice house on a street I think is close to where I used to live. It’s new construction, a whole new development. We got a nice split level, it feels comfortable and familiar, and I look forward to raising my son here.
*5 years later*
I have to get out of here. I realized where I am, *when* I am, *who* I am. So I’ve borrowed something from work, and we’re going to New Mexico. This time I have a plan, this time it will work out right.
|
I remember, when I was just a little toddler running around in her underpants, getting my first Cabbage Patch doll. I loved that doll so much, taking it everywhere with me, and even giving it baths, and facepaints, and feeding it, and cutting its hair like it were a real little kid. It never recovered from the hair cutting, but I still loved that doll with its patchy haircut and all.
Then, when I got a little bit older, for some reason, I couldn't find Cabbage Patch dolls anymore. Weird, maybe it was just the times changing. But I had a Buck Rogers pistol, and it made zapping sounds just like the comics! Pew pew pew!
There was some scary stuff going on across the world, but I didn't quite understand it back then. Dad said some countries invaded some other countries, and I just said, "Why can't they just fight back against the bullies? You taught me and big brother to fight for ourselves when someone was being mean." All he said was something about it not being that simple sometimes, and patted me on the head.
Some years later, and we had to move, and at the worst possible time too! I wanted to stay with all my friends, but Dad had a new job somewhere. This new place had some weird interests, but Dad had told us we were in witness protection or something, so we had to forget our past and adapt. Something about the town we grew up in being peculiar enough that people would be able to figure out where we were from if we talked too much.
So, I made new friends and found new interests... like that dreamy Zac Efron. *sigh*. I loved watching his brilliant smile as he danced across the screen. I could never get my brother to watch that show with me, he was always too busy playing Halo or whatever.
There were new scary things happening across the world again, but with different people and different countries. But that stuff wasn't quite as scary as how sometimes we'd be stopped at the airport, for completely small things. I was always afraid my parents would be taken away and I'd never see them again. My brother and I would wait for hours and hours while they interrogated my parents. But every time, we would always get them back.
Eventually, my parents grew tired of all the surveillance and the security, and wanted to return to something simpler. We had to pack up and move again, to some totally backwards place. They didn't even have cell phone reception, and they were into super old stuff! Ugh. But, again, witness protection or whatever. We had to shut up and keep up again. Dad said they were some super conservative religious sect or something, and so they were only allowed to listen to the Beatles.
*************
I'm really not sure where I'm going with this anymore, so I have to stop with it for now.
| 2015-09-23T08:46:03
| 2015-09-23T06:10:52
| 111
| 17
|
[WP] The English Teacher's worst nightmare: a story or poem that is completely literal, with absolutely no double meanings
EDIT: Holy cow, this got way bigger than I thought it would, thanks so much for an awesome first prompt ever!
EDIT 2: Did this actually make it to the front page of reddit? What the...
|
In my stomach
a lurch suddenly hit
a telltale fact
that I would need to take a shit
I made in time
this one is a butt scraper
Then to my horror,
No toilet paper
**NOTE** I may have been a bit crass, but I dare an English teacher to find meaning in a poem about going to the bathroom
|
Write something literal, they said. A good story is easy to read. A good story is easy to remember. A good story tells you a story. It doesn't preach. It doesn't moralise. It doesn't claim to know more than the eye can see. Write something literal, they said.
The writer stared at his computer screen in front of him. He stared at a blank document. He typed a few words, deleted it. It didn't work. Not literal enough.
'Let's start with a poem,' he thought, 'let's make about a little girl trying to decipher it, unable to peel beyond the first layer. A young child taking her first steps into the adult world. You can't get more literal than that.'
'Or maybe it should be about that *chaiwallah*. He's out there selling tea from his bicycle all night at the corner of the street. He's not supposed to be there. I once even saw the police chase him away. But he was back the next day. Maybe he saw something heinous, but he can't tell anyone. After all, he's not even supposed to be there. Pure suffering. You can't get more literal than that.'
But the open document in front of him remained blank. His eyes got bleary, his fingers were numb. But the document remained blank. For nothing he could think of sufficed the expectations. Nothing he could write meant just what he meant. It wasn't his fault, he reasoned. It was the readers, he claimed, conveniently laying the blame at heir doorstep. Why did they have to read more into it than what he meant? Why couldn't they just leave his thoughts alone?
Excuses, excuses. No one understood this better than him.
Yet he grumbled to himself one last time, 'Write something literal, they said. A good story is easy to read.'
| 2017-01-30T09:54:13
| 2017-01-30T08:28:09
| 139
| 26
|
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human.
|
Jason never donated blood before. He felt nervous, but he wasn't sure if it was a slight fear of needles or the fact that clinics looked so ghastly at night, the only time he could make it in. The bright yellow lights buzzed out of the windows and the stillness of the night held a foreboding presence.
Jason reminded himself that this was for a good cause. With all influx of monsters these days, blood donation centers needed more and more donors as the supply kept getting stolen, and well...used in those ever increasing cases when people lose a pint or two of blood just walking down the street.
He opened the door, noting the cold metal of the handle against his skin and shivered.
The receptionist looked up, her obsidian eyes glinting in the harsh light above. Her welcoming expression was the only warmth in the place.
"Hello, glad you could find some time to come in today. Please fill out the forms here." She nudged the prepped clipboard towards the edge, the pen tucked into the top clip.
Jason reached for it.
She sniffed, her nose wrinkled cutely.
"You smell a bit nervous and dehydrated. Please drink some of this, should kick in before the phlebotomist is ready for you." She nudged a bottle of gatorade towards him.
"Smell nervous?" Jason felt his face scrunch in confusion, but tried to smooth it to be polite.
"Oh yeah, I'm sorry, I just got a nose for these things." She smiled toothily.
"Uh-huh..." Jason scribbled his information on the form and filled out the waiver.
With a quick flick of his wrist he finished his signature and handed the forms over.
The girl, which he realized her name was Amelia from her tag, led her to the back. There was another cute girl with raven hair and gunmetal grey eyes. She glanced up from her station and smiled. Jason couldn't help but notice she had large canines. It gave her an unearthly quality, and it was somehow...attractive.
"Hello Jason, my name is Helena. Please have a seat here and we'll measure your blood pressure."
Jason took a seat and watched Amelia disappear into the break room. The door was left slightly open.
Helena rolled up his sleeve and cuffed his upper arm. To distract himself from the tightening band, he watched Amelia take something out of the fridge. If the room hadn't been clearly labeled as a break room, he would've thought it was a bag of organs Amelia took out. Like a giant, bloody liver sloshing inside a ziplock bag. But it must've been rare steak or something.
He gagged nevertheless.
"Oh, I'm sorry, was that too tight?" Helena asked.
"Oh, no I'm sorry. Just ah...nervous." Jason forced a smile.
"Ok, we'll try it again and see if we get a good reading." She said.
Jason forced himself to stare at the tile floor, calming himself. He needed the money.
"There we go. You are barely meeting the requirements for a donation, so make you get plenty of water and food after this, okay?"
"Uh, okay."
Jason never donated before, but he had to have blood labs often enough to know that his veins were hard to find.
Helena tied the tourniquet and poked and prodded his forearm to find the vein. Nothing was showing, and Jason was truly nervous. He looked up at her eyes and realized they weren't gunmetal grey, but now red. Her mouth was slightly parted, and she was prodding one of her fangs with her tongue. It was sexy and terrifying, and Jason's arm tightened.
"I'm sorry if I startled you, this is the only way I can see your veins clearly. Got to let the demon out of the bottle for a minute," she laughed as if it were a painful pun.
Her eyes seemed to fixate on a spot, and she slipped the needle in. Jason watched the blood pump into the vial.
"Y-you're a vampire?"
"Yes. I've been one for a while. I really appreciate you doing this, Jason. If there were enough donors back when I was bit, I wouldn't have turned."
"Is that why you're here?"
"Yes."
"Is it really so bad?"
Helena sealed the vial and bandaged him up.
"It can be."
"How do they let you work with blood? I don't mean to be rude but-"
"They don't know. You were one of the special cases, couldn't find your vein."
"Why do you trust me to not tell?"
"I don't." Helena turned to face him then, her eyes glowing red, "You fainted while I drew blood, you remember nothing after sitting in the chair."
Jason slumped into the seat, out cold.
Amelia walked into the room, wiping the blood off her lips on a napkin.
"Huh, I thought I smelled fear in here. Hey Helena, I'm not gonna be here tomorrow."
"Yeah, yeah. Full moon. See you Monday." Helena finished labeling the vial, waiting for her spell to wear off Jason so she could send him home.
&#x200B;
*Did this real quick on break, first writing prompt I've done. Thanks for reading and sorry for any mistakes :)*
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
|
I'll admit it: Looking after school kids isn't my idea of a good life, but there was really no other job for...someone of my talents.
Y'see, after the men and monsters realized that the War of the Dusk was a pointless waste of resources, men started intergrading monsters into regular society by giving'em jobs that suit their talents. Necromancers went from bringing back armies to resurrecting construction crews, Skeletons work in the extreme conditions that men ain't suited for, Vampires make damn good cops, and so on.
And me? Well, werewolves are always at the bottom of the barrel, and with good reason. For the most part we don't have control over when we transform or what we friggen do while we're a wolf. But once in a while ya get a guy like me who can transform when he wants and can control the wolf. Scientists are trying to figure out why not everyone's like me, but what the hell is the use of science with freaks like me?
Over the fence I spot Tony, glowing with his Vamped-up sunscreen that he's gotta wear to not burn up on days like today. Him and I fought in the war together. If he didn't bite into my arm while on duty the silver in my veins from the bullet I got in the arm would've pumped into my heart, and no more Adrien. I call him over with the howl he knows me by.
"How's it going fang face? Crossing guard suits you"
"Shut up Adrien. I'm not here by choice you know. The chief is still pissed at me for going too far on that last case"
"Of course I know ya dope. It was all over the news. It's your own fault for being dry while on duty"
"What the hell was I supposed to do? Sally's forcing this vegetarian diet and my doc cut me off of the Sanguinaid. A vampire's gotta drink at some point."
"Send a complaint to the doctors office then"
"I did, and so did the others. This new shipment is taking a hell of a long time to arrive."
"It should be in by now. It's not like them to just delay without reason"
"There better be an update soon. Someone's gonna have a hole or two in them if I don't get a god damn drink"
I laugh it off. "Whatever fang face. Get back on duty"
He frowns at me and leaves. I love that guy.
Uh-oh. Shouldn't have been talking to Tony. Some weirdo in dark clothes is getting to close to the young. I better go and scare him off.
"Sir what is your business here?"
"What's it to you, freak?"
Tough guy. There's been a lot of them since the war, but they're thinning out as more monsters are making themselves useful.
"Sir your presence is scaring the kids. I'm gonna have to ask you to leave"
"You're gonna have to make me, you son of a bitch"
Heh. Ain't far from the truth. I take a deep breath and feel my fingernails sharpen into claws, my mouth stretch into a muzzle. Bones and muscle contorting and expanding as fur breaks out across my twitching frame. The average werewolf grows 3 feet in height during the transformation and gains 100 pounds of muscle. I double both amounts easily.
"I'm not going to ask you again" I growl, towering over him. He steps back a little bit before pulling out a pistol. Human weapons make me laugh.
"Put your hands in the air you filthy mutt!" He yells, as if his peashooter has any power over me. I pounce, and he fires. One claw through the heart is all it takes. He crumples to the floor, but not before I start feeling dizzy. Limbs feel heavy. I check my wounds and pull out the bullet. There's no mistaking it.
Silver.
I wake up in the hospital. Sally sits beside my bed. Her eyes are puffy and red.
"What? I almost die saving the day, and fang face doesn't even stop by to call me an idiot?"
Sally sobs briefly before composing herself. "Adrien, Tony..."
And she tells me what happened after I passed out. She tells me that fang face was on standby while I was facing the creep, that he was ready to jump in if something went wrong. She tells me that he got to me before I hit the ground, and bit into me like he did during the war. Then she tells me that the silver bullet was laced with holy water, and that biting into me made some of it touch his fangs. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Sally excuses herself to mourn. I don't blame her. Tony was a good man.
The War of the Dusk may be over, but the bad blood apparently isn't. That bullet was specifically made to kill both vamps and werewolves. No weapons like that existed during the war. And restricting Sanguinaid makes the vamps grow weaker every day unless they want blood on their hands. There's only one motive behind all this.
Someone on the side of men wants a rematch.
| 2018-08-27T15:19:20
| 2018-08-27T15:15:28
| 136
| 79
|
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced.
|
The tavern was alight with candles and warm fires, the smell of meats and bread wafted through to the rafters of wood and plaster. Ale stained the floor in places and the barkeep had been working on a single mug for a startling amount of time. All and all a lively place to be on this evening.
"Ah and a fine night to you as well gentlemen! Merry blessings!" The rogue said, as the men who joined him for cards departed a few coins heavier then they were at start.
"Is this not grand fellows?" The elf turned to his crew. "Ale in the air! A tavern filled with beautiful women! And my closest friends in the world." He stood then, a leg up on the top of the table, his back leg supporting him from the ground
"Ladies! Gentlemen!" He yelled, "Tonight, join me in toast to this merry band of fighters, lovers and the heroes of this town! We are all thankful," he stopped to smile at his friends, the ale tinting his checks red "but I am thankful, for they are the truest of my friends" and with that he drank. The here-heres rose in strength from the crowd, and he was jostled away by the crowd with promises to be back later.
The dwarf, gnome and orc all sat in silence, looking at their drinks solemnly.
The dwarf sighed, pinching the top of his nose,
The orc had his head in his hands looking off into nothingness,
Finally the gnome chimed in, quietly, but with a resolute tone
"Okay, I'll say it. He's a much better companion then Roderick and we should do everything in our earthly powers not to mess this up."
The orc and dwarf both sighed in unanimous relief
The orc chimed in first with a hushed tone and feeling in his voice "Its like he knew what a whoreson Roderick was!" He said, sitting at attention once again " its like he knew and said to himself 'oh! These chaps look like they could use a new, better companion!' Then took it upon himself, through all the peril, to join us in disguise! All while throwing Roderick into god knows where!" He laughed. "The monster was OUR hero!"
The dwarf was next, wide eyed and hands extended to point out "Roderick" in the crowd. " look at that bloody rogue, he blends right in, they would never know they're holding possibly one of the most dangerous monsters in the land" he lowered his hands, then pointed out, " for all that, doesn't that also make him a better rogue?" They all agreed quietly.
The orc chimed in once more, tentatively, " look Roderick is a whoreson who would and almost did murder us for a small some of coin, twice." They all agreed muttering comments under their breath, " but were the you know...good guys... shouldn't we at least try to save him?"
The others were about to reluctantly agree when "Roderick" appeared before them once again
"My friends! this is as much your victory as mine! More so! Come join us, the mayor seems keen on raising our rewards! I thought it only fitting you be by my... Nay, I be by your sides during this!" He smiled warmly.
They looked at each other, shrugged and smiled
"No that's fine, we can be knaves for a night." The gnome said, stepping up from his seat.
|
Finally....free. The thousand years of waiting, watching in this cursed statue at an end. An elf, rigid with agony as his persona, his spirit, his life is leached away. Now the malevolent spirit got his first taste of air, of blood, of form.
"Er.. Mynir, you ok?" asked a gruff voice, a question which did not raise much concern with the rest of the party.
"Death!" hissed Mynir, or the thing that Mynir had become. He stared at the
party balefully out of reddened eyes, his hands raised, claw like over his head.
This response was not unexpected, and with a nod of acknowledgement, Drake the barbarian turned away and followed the rest of the party. He dragged a small chest of gold, which would hardly pay for this outing, but he seemed cheerful enough. The dead bodies of the unfortunate orcs he kicked out of his path were likely the reason for that.
The Mynir thing was still reeling, remembering his last moments before being encased, the worst psychopath the sorcerer could find in this land, his victims so numerous they were uncounted, uncountable. (and horribly unrecognisable.) A suitable trap for the unwary, a terrible harbinger of doom with the face of a once trusted companion.
He followed the party into the fresh air, and stood a little apart as they settled a camp, built a fire, cooked a meal. A dwarf began singing a cheerful song, as jokes and banter drifted out into the cool night.
Mynir felt the hilts of two beautiful elven daggers in his hands. In a movement too swift for any but an elf to see, they cleared the scabbards and whirled around his head. Blood and screams followed. A mist of red exploded from a neck, a bone cracked as a dextrous kick twisted a knee joint out of place. A heart was pierced by a single blow. In less than a few seconds it was all over. Five bodies lay on the ground, dead or dying.
The silence that had descended over the camp was broken by Drake. "Holy Mother, how the hell did you.." He trailed off, staring in amazement.
The Dwarf leapt to his feet and rushed to hug Mynir, who accepted the affection with a small show of discomfort. "A sneaky ambush for sure, well spotted my friend. I always said you were a hidden treasure!"
For the rest of the group, the transformation of a sneaky, cowardly elf into a saving hero caused a fair amount of quiet consternation. Generally it was seen as a "good thing", considering the alternative. The shaman had cast her bones, and no harm was predicted... Maybe he had just shrugged a curse, or escaped a bedazzlement.
Mynir contemplated his situation. His new elf brain was clear and concise. and more importantly, his hugely unbalanced mental chemistry was gone. The Sorcerer was vastly mistaken. These people were his family now. Woe betide any who tried to harm them. Could he make amends for his past? He could try.
| 2017-09-15T08:33:07
| 2017-09-15T02:54:33
| 44
| 21
|
[WP] You died at the gym as you were trying to take a selfie while bench pressing. Thus you find yourself in Swaghalla, the Halls of Brodin.
EDIT. "Swaghalla" was the best pun I could come up with for Valhalla. Use something else if you have ideas.
Note: Swolehalla seems to be the proper name, pardon my mistake
second EDIT. Sweet, first time front page
third EDIT. I've had many good laughs brighten my Monday, thanks guys :D
|
It happened so fast. One minute I had my iPhone in my hand, 145 lbs of iron in the other, ready to upload my photo, and then I was some place else. No transition, just a flash and I was there. Part of me regretted what I hadn't finished in life, but I was mostly just upset I wasn't able to use the tag I had though of on Facebook. It took me all afternoon, too, it was perfect "I finally can press 145... (wait for "do you even lift bro," response... and then the stinger ONE HANDED!... epic.)
But then I was there. The hall was dimly lit, oversized chest medallions formed tables where the bros that had fallen before me sat. Some of them I recognized from headlines, the DUIs, the pranks gone wrong, the tragic hair gel fires, the steroid complications, they were all there, all in their glory, many of them holding great steins of Red Bull nearly overflowing.
"Welcome fallen bro," said a voice behind me, "To the halls of Swaghalla. Your journey is over, come and sit, rest your tired pecs. Here your iPhone will never lose charge, and leg day shall not be spoken of e'er again."
"And who are you, bruh?" I asked, whirling to stand face to face with my greeter. His biceps gleaned under his perfectly bronzed skin, his hair arranged in perfect geometric spikes, his glossed lips reflecting the orange LEDs arranged in the shape of torches on the walls.
"I am Floridaman, herald of Brodin, bruh," he replied, motioning for me to follow.
"This is the main hall of Swaghalla where we spend most of our time. Drink of the Red Bull as much as you desire, or eat of the tree of Eclipse Gum, which shall never cease yielding packets from its low hanging branches. Bathe in the fountains of Axe Body Spray, or frolic in the showers of the Spray-On Tan. Beat up the beat as you may, the clubs will never close, and the credit card bills will never come."
"And what is that over there?" I asked, gesturing to a great stack of bookcases behind a set of marbled pillars, where bro upon bro lounged on suede couches with various magazines in their hands.
"That is the Great Library of Sundry, every copy of Maxim ever known, or ever will be known, is available there. Past that is the hall of NoHomo, where you may speak of your reverence of the others without any implication or judgement."
"This is great. But, where are the women?" I asked.
"Bruh, this is Swaghalla. All of our women are super-hot but they live in a realm far away and no one has yet to meet them. But they totally are in to us."
|
"Woah."
The world around me is eerie and bright, like a morning hangover. I flip down my neon plastic shades. Much better.
How the fuck did I get here though? I was hulking out at the gym and--what's that sound?
*Clank. Clank. Clank.*
Wait, that's the gym. Someone's dropping plates. Scrub.
Hazy white mist swirls and clears before me and a giant wooden hall appears. Some kind of Skyrim shit. Seriously, where am I? I check my phone. No service, no maps. What the fuck? Only the smiling picture of my babe on my background. Did her eyes always look that distant and empty?
The clanking intensifies. It's coming from the weird wooden building. I approach. Maybe some dude there can tell me what's happening.
When did this shit get so far away? And why is this path so steep? Shoulda done some cardio once in a while, damn.
I reach the top and find two Monstar-looking dudes pumped out with their arms crossed on either side of some kind of Ninja Turtle door. Carvings of dragons and trees and some kind of jank-ass goat spider thing. I give them a head nod, you know the one. Dudes just keep on with their Buckingham shit.
"Yo dude. Where am I?"
"You're in Swaghalla," one says, not even turning his head.
"This is the Hall of Brodin," says the other.
"Okayyyy. Y'all have a phone I can use? I'm not getting service out here."
"To enter the Halls of Brodin, you need only open the door."
I eye up the door again. Mounted on either one of the double doors are what I can only guess are some kind of whale bone. The fuck? The sound of plates dropping keeps coming through.
"Whatever. I can open a door."
They don't answer.
I walk up and grab the bone. It's got these little pits on the inside edge that skeeze me out. I swallow. No problem, no problem. I got this. Just do it. DO IT.
I pull. Shit balls, this is heavy. I square up and brace, digging my heels into the ground. It doesn't move. Fuck. No way. I try again. My lungs are tight, my chest is like a steel-trapped barrel. I force exhale against a closed throat. Move damn it. Move. My vision goes white on the edges. I'm maxing out. God damn it. It's just a door. It's just. A. Do--
I'm flat on my back in the gym. A dude's on my chest with his lips on mine. I see my eyes refected in his. He gets off.
"No homo, brah," he says.
"What the fuck?" I say.
My bar is on the mats next to me. A bench is collapsed nearby. My chest hurts.
"You died, bro."
"Fuck."
| 2015-11-02T06:48:31
| 2015-11-02T06:32:26
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] A pair of housecats debate what the purpose of human clothes is.
|
"Of all the strange things they do, you ask why they hang those things all over themselves? They pick up their water bowls to their mouths. They like to lay down in the big water bowl. They even poop into a water bowl! And you want to know why they hang stuff on their bodies."
"Lots of cats have wondered about the water. Puck next door talks about it all the time. Of course that's weird. But lots of different animals do weird things. None of other animals hang things on them."
"I once saw a bird that liked to hang the shiny paw decorations he stole from the people right off his beak."
"That's one bird copying the people. But why do the people do it? Do you think there are rules?"
"I bet they don't even know why they do it. I think it's instinct for them. It's the same kind of flat floppy stuff they hang to cover the invisible walls. Why cover an invisible wall anyway? And they put it on the food bowl holder we're not allowed on. And they have it hanging by the big water bowl and they cover their sleeping places with it. It's no wonder they cut it into shapes and hang it on themselves, too."
"But they take it off to get in the big water bowl. I wonder why."
"Hmm...maybe you're right about the rules. They put on different ones when other people come over, and different ones when they go places. I think one rule is that when the man is alone at home, he can't wear any. You know how they remove them for the big water bowl? Well Felix's people have that giant water bowl, and there must be a rule about that because they have special hangings for the giant water bowl."
"I'm so glad we aren't people. They have so many rules. All we have to do is poop in the box and not get on the high places. You know, I was wondering...why do dogs--"
"Give it a rest. I want a nap."
|
There is a trick used in the movie industry called 'bullet time'. Given that the motions of a cat are often almost imperceptible to the human eye, it will be employed here to allow the reader to appreciate the story.
__________________________
The cat is laying in the sun. The sun is slowly moving across the room, leaving the cat in the shade every now and then. When that happens, the cat rolls over to catch up to the sun that, in his honest opinion, is moving too fast. The cat is happy.
The cat's name is Adam, as it has always been, and his opinion of bullet time is limited to the understanding that lunch will come no matter what.
Omen walks in just at Adam turns over one more time and hits the wall. He stays in his upturned position, looking at the sun with a kind of a lazy hatred. It's now out of his reach, traveling upwards. Both cats look at it for several minutes.
'What are these for, you reckon?' purrs Omen. In his teeth is something resembling a big dead mouse.
'What, that? A mouse', says Adam, not moving, concentrating on the golden light that's taunting him. He could jump up and get it, but it's summer, and the light is just not worth it. Adam will let it get away from him this time.
'Doesn't look like a mouse to me. The pet wouldn't wear a mouse anyway. He's afraid of them', comes back Omen. He doesn't hold too high of an opinion of his pet, but no one could be stupid enough to try and wear a mouse.
'Perhaps it's a bird. Looks like it has wings or something', he continues. 'A black bird. A bad sign, I tell you'. Omen doesn't believe in superstitions, but as far as he is concerned, it's better to be on the safe side.
'Perhaps we should dump it in the garbage. For our own safety'.
Adam shrugs, trying to not lose sight of his archenemy which is now almost too high for the eye to see. The shirt is promptly stuffed into the garbage bin, with Omen sighing a sigh of relief as it disappears from sight.
He turns around and jumps on the kitchen table. For a moment, it seems at though he is going to miss it, but in the end it is an apple that falls, knocked from the table by a cat that's travelling across it with the grace of a falling ballerina. He stares at it for a couple of seconds.
'What's that, you reckon?'
'Dunno', replies Adam. The sun is now gone behind the clouds, as if scared of him. Adam is too lazy to hate it, but deep down he knows that he probably should. 'Looks like a mouse to me'.
| 2015-04-09T07:14:04
| 2015-04-09T07:07:40
| 29
| 14
|
[WP] As a henchman to the Joker, you've now broken the record for the longest surviving employee. This means you'll receive something no one ever has from him: your annual review.
|
The joker was a fluid being. It was best to keep your distance. As he sat in front of me, checking his gun and absently scratching his face I wondered if I would snap and just run away.
The silence was deafening, only the little grunts coming from his chest broke it as he fished up some papers from a barely used drawer.
"Mhmhm..."
He always made sounds, but when he wasn't directing them at you, you should do well to know that he wasn't ignoring you. If anything, it was more of a cue that he was observing you intently. But the money for this job was too good. I needed it for Sylvia.
"So your name's Barry is it." His eyes finally snapped to my figure and I felt silly in the tiny chair I was sitting in, that I so did not fit into. My suit felt tight, especially over the shoulder area. I kept my breathing steady but my skin felt incredibly cold. I nodded in response to his question. He found the file he was looking for.
"Ahhh... Here we are. Measurements are correct... My, you're nicely endowed down there aint'ya?"
My face went beat red and I wisely decided not to reply and just stared at the table. The joker made some weird requests in general but when he had asked me for my waist and general body measurements for my annual review it had really crossed all previous lines. Maybe he was preparing my funeral suit?
"So, baby-Barry, we are going to ah, go over your performance over the last year. The one thing, that ah- stands out to me is that you attacked and killed Joseph the other day, over soccer...?"
He smacked his lips. He wasn't happy. A grudging psychopath is not something that I want to see ever again.
Fuck. This was it. I'm dead. The silence continues. I almost jump into the air when he slams his hand down as hard as he can onto the desk.
"HAHAHAHA I'm just kidding Barry! I hate the fucking New York Red Bulls, Joseph is- ehm was a royal faggot, alright."
Oh god. Are you kidding, being the target for his crazy jokes is stressful to the point of wanting to commit suicide. I couldn't stop the sigh of relief that escaped my lips.
"Anyways, I got noth'in left to add sugarbuns, it's time for your promotion. HARLEY!!!!! GET OVER HERE, HE'S READY."
Promotion? How? What? No one has ever been promoted before in his service. Is this another sick joke that will end in my death? The door to the office was thrown open and a slender female in a black and red suit walked confidently inside, holding something in her hands.
"Are ya ready for ya new look Barry- darling?~" Harley sing songed.
She was holding a tight black and red spandex suit, much like the one she was wearing, but in my size. Dread filled my heart as I realized what the measurements were for.
I heard the joker chuckle behind me.
"Welcome to the team, Burattino."
|
"Does chaos excite you? You have been with me for quite some time, after all."
The joker sporadically arose from his misappropriated desk with a tightly gripped fist and an even tighter smile; pacing, the joker began mumbling about the bat, about Gotham, and about nothing at all. His scattered thoughts entrained his body through a series of semi ritualistic smashings and swearings...The hostages, roped away in a solemn corner, watched in despair as their office become a stage for utter insanity. Entirely ignoring his guests, the joker seemed fixated on a mental object of such brilliance and glory that no other purpose in life could ever distract him. He moved with a swiftness and with the certainty that can only be owned by someone with true aspiration. And each of the objects in the room, posed a threat to his vision of his disorder. Yes, in this office in the Joker found himself, each correlated paper and each family photo enraged him. With a half-crooked, toothy smile, the joker slowly unveiled a beautiful silver lighter.. and began toying with the flame.
"You must think me cruel, but I really just want to make you smile. To make everyone smile. Fear - chaos - these are the tools of gods; and when a god tells you to smile, you bow down on your fucking knees and you smile. So bow. No, you won't bow? Admittedly, I would have shot you if you had done so. Cowards bow. Like those worthless drones in the corner. Oh Mr. Joker, let me live they scream!"
And with that, Mr. J hurriedly grabbed the eldest hostage and held the flame up to his weary eyes. In an instant, the lighter erupted with the recognizable bang of a small firearm. The crowd gasped and began to wail and whimper. To the Joker these were sustenance; a vindication of his efforts to mold the world in his image - but to see and to understand the joker is to know that this image is that of only his latest whim, guided by only madness. To survive the joker is to outlive a purposelessness pandora; blood red fire illuminate his way and nothing more. As the crowd assessed the result of Mr. J's latest unloading, they breathed a sigh of relief as they found the old man curled up on the floor, alive, with no injury.
"Don't you see. Without me, these people have no reason to smile. I kill one, two, three... hehehe maybe more. I kill them all. And they're stupid little families cry, boo-hoo-hoo. Pathetic. Look how happy they were now that they see I didn't kill the sad bastard."
And with that Mr. J unloaded five rounds into the back of the old man's skull. Affectioned tears ordained the ground of their stricken manager, whom many considered a dear friend.
"And look how quickly I can take that smile back; if I let them keep it, how will they learn to be grateful? You get it don't you? Yes of course you do.. I did all of these for you, you know. To make you smile. To see if after all this time, I could still make you smile. Isn't it wonderful? That hopelessness in their eyes. The control. Ha what will he do next? Well let me show you.."
And with his biggest gesture yet, Mr. J unwrapped his coat to reveal a massive bomb strapped to his chest.
"Chaos, you see, cannot exempt itself; today I will surprise them all."
A devious smile appeared as the joker pursed his lips; a haunting smile. an absolutely exhilarating smile.
"Today I will give you the honor of being a part of the history that will always inspire more fear and more uncertainty; that will make people smile each day they do not die.."
And in the flash of an eye forty-five people were extinguished brilliantly in a gaudy blast of purple flame and cacophonous auto programmed laughter.
| 2016-11-21T04:50:48
| 2016-11-21T02:49:57
| 89
| 13
|
[WP] Humanity is the only species that treat "unrealistic" stories like sci-fi and fantasy as a legitimate genre, instead of just something to amuse children that adults no longer need. Because of this, humanity cracks FTL while species much older than us are still stuck in their home system.
|
Who knew that Xenoanthropology could be so boring?
Growing up, I imagined what it would be like to travel the stars. To sail, from one system to another, discovering new life, new civilizations. Hearing their histories, sharing their food, reading their stories.
A life like that would be everything a girl like me could have dreamed of.
But alas, compared to humans, aliens proved themselves dreadfully boring.
Philosophers and scientists of all sorts have discussed this topic to death. Why was humanity the first species, of so many, to achieve faster than light travel? Why were other species so advanced in other matters? Was the reason biological? Environmental? Cultural?
Well, I'd say it's a bit of everything.
Humans are narrative creatures by nature. Our biology, our brains, are designed to naturally build relational, cause and effect frameworks as we experience reality. This in turn results in a basic narrative structure: I push button, I get food pellet.
Our biology drives our narrative nature, and our narrative nature drives our culture. We built our civilizations around the stories and histories we passed down. Sometimes to our detriment, like when old stories caused the agricultural dust bowl catastrophe before scientists had to step in and show farmers a better, more sustainable way of doing things beyond their traditions. Or the slightly more recent climate wars, where we told ourselves everything would work out, despite all the data suggesting otherwise.
But ultimately, it was our human ability to ignore apparent reality, in favor of imagination, which let us even dare to break the laws which science insisted were absolute.
Humans are strange, wonderful, contradictory creatures. It's simultaneously our greatest weakness and our greatest strength.
But to every other species humans encountered since breaking the lightspeed barrier, *we* were the real aliens.
They all saw their world, and the universe, only as it appeared to be. They had no strict concept of self, of identity beyond their place in the whole. All their stories were merely simple recountings of natural events, spoken of in the blandest, most accurate terms. When exposed to the concept of fiction, of imagination, they reacted with a mix of horror and disdain.
Their food followed this pattern. Bland nutrients void of cultural flavor, but full of everything their biology needed to thrive.
This, apparently, was the norm that all life followed.
All life, save for us Earthen lunatics.
I dwell on these thoughts as I scroll through the histories of this latest world--if you could call them that--searching desperately for anything that could be even vaguely construed as narrative, something different or out of place.
Anything beyond scientific jargon, really.
But as always, I find nothing, and my jealousy for the Xenogeologists grows even greater.
|
The Kaz were far from a simple species. In their preferred form, they resembled crystal jellyfish. Against my orders, I'd shown them a photo of what a jellyfish from Earth looked like and they were anxious for days.
They'd lay their tendrils on any exposed skin they could find, sending me rapid flashes of feelings, memories, images. The picture I showed them, their little ones, a mixture of anxiety and hope.
"Are there others like you out there?" I guessed to myself.
It took time to converse with the Kaz, they were naturally gifted talkers. There were no mixed signals or misunderstandings when talking to a Kaz. It made talking back to them tricky, our core scientists developed a pen that could disperse electrical shocks that we could use to reply back yes or no. I asked if they could implement more flexible language and they said had no response. I used the pens twice to teach them what it meant when I shook or nodded my head. Some of the Kaz adapted to my language, my mix of sign language and words.
Not only were they excellent communicators, they were also graceful. They could change the size and shape of their bodies, even the hardness. They lived long lives, shrinking themselves as they aged to use up less energy.
Nugget, the name I gave to the Kaz leader, was the smallest of them all. Nugget was barely the size of a chicken nugget, thus the name. His messages were the easiest of any to understand, his tendrils would wrap around my fingers and he'd ask me many questions.
He showed me their sun, referred to on earth as Trappist 1. Our own sun was nearly ten times as large as theirs and twice as hot. Nugget also showed me pictures of his family. He tried to show me pictures of my sun (or at least what he thought our sun looked like). He showed me a memory of when I yelled, anger. Lastly he showed me one of his war brothers, Lancer. I named him Lancer because war brothers were quite literally tools. They turned themselves into spears that other Kaz could use in fights over territory.
He looked at me after flashing the images and I waited.
There was no reason to tell him why I was here. There were no rules about what I was allowed to do here or what I couldn't tell the Kaz.
I shook my head. It wasn't the first time he'd asked the question, perhaps he was asking for an update.
"I'm sorry, Nugget." I said. "Your people won't be fighting alongside us. We'll be fighting yours."
| 2022-09-30T10:16:56
| 2022-09-30T08:56:49
| 195
| 81
|
[WP] You live in an alternative universe, where only one major thing is different form ours. One morning, you stumble through the barrier between our worlds, and enter our realm.
|
My eyes burst open and I gasped for air as I jerked forward. I had just struck the ground from rapid free-fall to find myself safely tucked under my sweat-dampened covers. I wiped my brow and shifted my body away from the area of my mattress that was now uncomfortably soaked. I rubbed my eyes and struggled through the mental haze, trying to remember why I was falling. This had happened nearly every night for the past week, falling in my dreams until the collision with the Earth violently jolted me awake.
Had it been a week? I patted my bedding in search of my phone, briefly panicking that the alarm might not have gone off. I located the cold plastic case, and reassured myself that I had not overslept, and in fact had another hour before I needed to start my day. After brief consideration, I decided that my heart was beating much too fast to try to convince my body to resume its rest. No harm had ever come from starting a day earlier than usual.
My vision was finally adjusting to the light, and I was able to take in the details of my room illuminated by the orange morning sun. My computer laid next to my bed, the remaining evidence of the night before. Clothes were scattered about, as I had been too lazy and too tired to organize anything. Papers were strewn across my desk, left askew after the desperate search for the assignment that had been due only minutes later. Everything was how I had left it.
Feeling the pulsing pressure of my bladder, I released myself from the covers and prepared to get up to start the morning rituals. Swinging my legs off the bed, I sat up and felt a peculiar absence. I didn't feel the familiar shifting of my back muscles, or the accompanying sensation as I was gently lifted. I threw my hand behind my back to investigate and panicked as I only found skin wherever I searched.
I realized now that the door was much to narrow to accompany my frame, and the windows as well. I picked up a shirt from the ground and noted the disconcerting absence of the large hole that usually dominated the back. The waste bin next to my desk had none of the moulted feathers from the night before.
My heart racing even faster than it was just a few minutes ago, I used my arms to push myself from the bed, only to find myself thrown to the ground without anything to keep me upright. There was no denying it at this point. I couldn't make it to the mirror yet, but I knew when I got there, my wings would be gone.
|
Why did we get a fuckin' cat, Ron thought. His girlfriend had wanted one, and he obliged, because well, he wanted to make her happy. Now though, the stupid feline little shit had ran off. He'd opened the door to pay the pizza delivery guy, and Felix had bolted down the stairs. Ron sighed, and followed down the stairs, out into the alley.
"Come now, Felix!" he said. The cat sat at the top of a stairwell down to what looked like a basement. Ron approached slowly, but Felix had other plans, and began walking down the stairs. And then, the cat was gone. Ron, puzzled, wondered of course, just what the fuck had just happened. He followed, and as he went to climb down the stairs. a weird feeling erupted through his legs. As if he was upside down, somehow. He pressed on and without explanation he was now climbing up the stairs, rather than down them. He scratched his head and looked around. Only then did he notice that the building he lived in looked completely abandoned, broken windows covered with plywood, trashbags all over the sidewalk at the end of the alley, people yelling.
Confused, he forgot completely about Felix, and began walking around, exploring. He looked around, and walked from block to block. Some things looked familiar. Others, not so much. When he finally reached Times Square, he saw not much had changed there. He picked up a news magazine, and read the headline, dated September 13, 2001. World Trade Center destruction. Only then did Ron look up, and see the sky was blue, not green.
| 2014-06-08T07:39:06
| 2014-06-08T07:13:28
| 53
| 10
|
[FF] Write about a feeling with 10 lines, the first one being 10 words, next line 9, so on and so forth.
|
Happy seeing my kids at the top of the stair
Waiting for their dad to come home from work
They shout "daddy!" and I forget the day
and for at least a few seconds
I remember that the important things
to me are at home
My dog, my kids
My beautiful wife
treasured moments
Life
|
Surprisingly sharp, slicing slowly, shifting suddenly; shuddering, somewhere something sneaks.
Cautiously creeping, careful, cunning, callous, cold; crazy cutting clown.
Tick, tock, terror time; teeth tearing, touching, turning.
Helpless, hapless, hopeless; hellish horror, heavy heart.
Laughing lunatic, leering Lamia looms; languish.
Maddening, mysterious, mutilation; morbid monstrosities.
Ripping, relentless, rabid, rancid.
Gasping, groping, guilty.
Invincible, inescapable.
Fear.
| 2015-02-12T23:02:15
| 2015-02-12T22:22:59
| 33
| 14
|
[WP] The little girl is crouched in a makeshift pile of sandbags and brush, aiming her automatic rifle at the oncoming APC. Her death is immanent. No. You decide this will be different. You're a god of war and you've had enough.
\[WP\] The little girl is crouched in a makeshift pile of sandbags and brush, aiming her automatic rifle at the oncoming APC. Her death is immanent. No. You decide this will be different. You're a god of war and you've had enough.
|
*This is not how it is meant to be. War should be, was to be the greatest of challenges where men and even women, where all of mankind could truly test themselves, to feel what it is to live, to triumph, to become like heroes unto their fellows and even unto the gods. But this is not war, this is butchery; this is greed...this is...wrong. This poor shivering waif should not be at war. She should be home safe and warm. That's the place of the victors, to absorb and comfort those of whom they have defeated; to welcome them to a better life under a stronger, larger society that can provide more for them. This is wrong. I can feel the evil in the hearts of the coming men, they are the wrong men, they do not deserve to be the victors. I have tolerated these policies from the other gods, the lazy gods, long enough. For far far beyond enough.*
"*Little one?"*
"What! Who, who's there?"
"*I am sorry little one. This has all gone wrong, it is all wrong."*
"Who are you? I don't see you."
"*I'm sorry little one but I currently have no form in your world. You cannot see me."*
"Are you death? You've come early."
"*No though she is a familiar friend. She may be mad at me after today too; or she may laugh, it is hard to say."*
"Who are you? Not that I mind company, even in the end like this."
"*You are so grim. It is not right. This is not right. Wouldn't you rather be home or someplace warm and safe?"*
"My home is gone. My family is gone. Maybe though, I can slow them down. I can't stop them but maybe if I slow them others in the town down the road can escape."
"*Dear child, you know in your heart that will not work. You will slow them down no more than it takes for them to check your corpse. Maybe not even that."*
"But what can I do? What else can I do? I have to try."
"*Now there is what I love and crave, a noble heart. You with your tiny body and strong heart can do nothing while I a god of war could do so much but with no body nor soul nor heart am unable to do anything either."*
"You're a god of war? Is there nothing you can do? No way to guide my bullets, nothing?"
"*No, I cannot. Though with your heart, even with your tiny body, WE could do so much, together."*
Such sudden excitement. "We can make a difference, then do it. Please. Whatever it is. Can we save some of the people? Please." *There, that, the heart of a hero. That is what war should be.*
"*Together then, yes. Together we can save them all."*
\----
The reports coming in made no sense at all. At first it was thought to be a prank or someone drunk on duty. A tiny girl walked down the road towards our armored convoy? The lead vehicle stopped dead in it's tracks unable to proceed, the crew screamed that the vehicle was acting on it's own while others reported the turret had turned and fired on others in the convoy. Two vehicles destroyed by it before they returned fire destroying it. The waif of a little girl waling through the fire unscathed... They had opened fire on her but, the bullets went to the sides, or the guns jammed, or just blew up when the trigger was pulled. This was all wrong, something was wrong. That was three hours ago. Three hours since all communications with the forward company was lost. An hour ago fire base Myasnik reported a waifish little girl walking up to the gates then all communications were lost.
"Dear god what is she, some, some angel of War?"
"Sir?"
"Nothing. Any further communications come in?"
"No sir, nothing. I just thought you might be commenting on the front gate. They just called in that some little girl was spotted coming down the road towards our position."
"**WHAT?!"**
|
It's been long since we god's have interfered in the affairs of mortals. It's been so long in fact my name has faded into annuls of history. I was once the mighty God of war Ares. I have watched men and women slaughter each other for thousands of years and not so much as lifted a finger. However something about this tiny shivering soul urged me to action. A long standing rule put in place to bring peace to the many different gods kept us deatched from humanity. We were not to interfere in the lives of humanity. This law persisted and would continue to persist despite the world desperately needing the gods once again. I knew what my actions would bring and the changes to the world that would be wrought if I moved to save this courageous soul. But I'll be damned if I see another life brought to an end before they could enact vengeance. I may be a god of war, I am not a god of indiscriminate death
You see I have walked amongst the people on earth I have seen what they are capable and this little girl with the rifle she could barely lift has seen the worst of it. 6 weeks ago her village was attacked by radical forces and they killed all males in the village. All the females where rounded up and taken, their fate much worse then death. However this girl escaped capture because in a moment of brilliance her family hid her in the floorboards. She witnessed her dad die a bullet severing his red string of fate. Her mom fought desperately and died a violent death taking several with her when she managed to get a hold of a grenade.
This little girl made it through all this and has managed to hunt and survive on her will alone she trekked across blistering sand from village to village in hopes that she might catch the group and take a few of them with her.
12 days ago this young soul stained her hands with human blood for the first time. She has been on her own for the last 3 or so weeks and managed to survive in a local town by acting as a beggar while gathering Intel. She kept her head down to prevent unwanted attention. It was at this point I'm that I ran into her she looked despondent and Until a group of radicals rolled into town it seemed as if she would not get her revenge. However fate had other plans. While begging on the corner one of the insurgents tried to kidnapp her and managed to drag her away from the crowded market where he'd found her. However due to his own stupidity dragging her away from the market proved to be a bad decision. She managed to get free and get a hold of his weapon and in an instant she turned the predator into prey.
The commotion of a gun shot did not draw much attention in this unstable region where many forces squabbled over resources. Her first kill did not bring her satisfaction I could see it written on her face she was determined to die a violent warriors death and this one life was just the beginning. Over the next couple weeks she would ambush and slay several more. Earning her the name Ghost. She did not have the penchant for firearms instead she used the knowledge of hunting that her father spent years teaching her. She boobie trapped routes taken by insurgent and had been lucky enough to kill numerous insurgents. However with the arrival of the apc it was apparent that any and all luck she had was about to run out. Normal ambushes could be used to kill one or 2 of them but she had already missed her opportunity. This meant she could only rely on the weapons she had taken off the soldiers. She hefted the rifle and tried to aim but the rifle was more then she could reasonably control and I could tell that the minute she pulled that trigger her life would come to an end. I decided that I was going raise her as my champion the first champion of the Gods that this world has seen in nearly 2 centuries. This change would reverberate and at the time I thought I understood the gravity of my decision but the truth is it was lost on me and this simple action would set in motion events far reaching and bloody. I used my power to give her strength and courage as well as wisdom and skill to fight. Silence hung in the air as I held my breath hoping that my little nudge of power would be enough to see her through. She waited..... And as soon as they were close she unleashed death upon them. Each pull of the trigger a body dropped. There was return fire but it was already to late. My chosen champion dealt justice and fed the fires of vengeance seething in her soul. Not long after it started the cacophony came to an end and 10 men lay dead in the desert and the young one suffer not much more then a graze earning her, her first scar. she lived and now it was time to make a deal. I would help her get vengeance but it would not come free. I am a god and I require worship and sacrifice and in return I would lend her my power so she could acquire the thing she most wanted a warriors death and vengance. I stepped forth bathed in red and spoke. Stand up child, you are now under my protection, I am ares god of war and I will grant you the vengance you seek.
My voice rang out with the fury of the legion and shook the earth to the core unleashing upon it the advent of the return of the gods.
| 2022-10-17T21:47:20
| 2022-10-17T21:30:05
| 43
| 24
|
[WP] As a drug peddler, whenever someone asks you for coke, you reply 'Is Pepsi ok?' . You thought it was funny but today it also kept you out of jail.
|
Lydia was new to the whole crime thing. She had always been straight laced. A goody two shoes. The rule she broke back in the third grade still occassionally kept her up at night. But desperate times called for desperate measures.
It had been two days since her last meal, and rent was due at the end of the week. Her bank account had a balance of -4.76. She had tried door dash, uber, and a few other side gigs on top of her full time job. She was just exhausting herself just to cover gas money.
She had one last uber drop off before she was ready to call it a night. 'Rico' was ready when she got there. She sighed internally with relief.
He was headed to a sketchier part of town, but the last few years had taught her to stop judging people by their circumstances. The ride was going smoothly. 3.5 minutes to their destination. Lydia's mind began to wander, doing the mental math to figure out how long it would be until she was home in her pajamas curled up with her cat.
Behind her blue and red lights flashed. She cursed under her breath. Rico looked uncomfortable in the back seat. Lydia pulled over, fished out her licence and registration and waited.
"Evening maam. What are you doing out so late?" The officer asked.
She was about to go through the whole uber explination but for something stopped her. For reasons she would never understand, she looked up at the officer and smiled apologetically saying "I hope we aren't in trouble officer. My cousin is visiting from out of town, and he had been out drinking with our mutual friends. I had to work late so I offered to dd for him."
The officer looked at them, before telling her to be careful and go straight home.
Thats how Lydia had gotten an opportunity as a drug dealer. Rico had been greatful and offered to help her out.
All the sales advice she had ever had came from an MLM training pitch she had accidentally signed up for. So she reached out to a few close friends and a few casual acquaintances. She figured the park would be a good place to start.
She had set up a facebook group and sent out a message "Opportunity of a lifetime! Come buy drugs! Midfare town park 4-6pm. No children."
The day of the meeting she was anxious. She had never done this before. She got there about twenty minutes before the agreed upon time.
The first customer to approach her was an old highschool buddy. After catching up a bit the lady asked "Do you have any coke?"
Lydia checked in her bag. Rico had only given her weed. Shoot. "Sorry, I don't. Is pepsi okay?"
Both women laughed at the akward joke, then the lady purchased one of her little weed baggies and took off.
The next person to stop by was a serious looking man. "Hey. My wife told me you were selling coke in the park. Can I get some."
Since it had worked last time, she smiled and said "Is pepsi okay?" The man smiled, nodded, and told her to have a nice day.
She watched him go back and climb into the driver's side of a police cruiser. Oh shit. Her silly drug joke just saved her life. She packed up her things and went home. She wasn't cut out for a life of crime.
From now on, Lydia was going to stick with pepsi for life.
|
\[Poem\]
Making money is ez,
as I have a really good biz.
My life is completely bliss,
you can buy many drugs for less!
Ah, here comes a young miss,
I may give her something... for a kiss.
She asks for a quick buzz,
naming a drug which sounds like a fizz.
As always I jokingly suggest peps,
and surprisingly she seriously says yes!
I just happen to have a bottled glass,
so I give it to her without a fuss.
She offers me money, an easy guess,
but didn't she - oh, she's the fuzz!
| 2022-10-08T19:15:32
| 2022-10-08T17:54:17
| 168
| 35
|
[WP] Tell me the story of how the world ends - but told entirely in Craigslist ads
|
Researcher/Tijuana area, seeking two strong men to dig a hole, open air, must provide own equipment and security. Have transportation, will pick up.
Researcher/Tijuana area, seeking someone who can do some onsite translations of classical Nahuatl, security provided. Have transportation, will pick up.
Researcher/Tijuana area, seeking someone fluent in spoken Nahuatl, most provide own security and transportation.
Researcher/Tijuana area, desperately seeking an ancient Aztec ceremonial knife, hilt will be adorned with a 3 tiny rubies and one emerald and the blade will be inscribed with the Nahuatl words for time and blood. Cost not an issue.
|
In search for survivers In the greater New York area, hell anywhere really. I am, well I was a sandhog and was underground working on the new water way in Manhatten when the Russians dropped the bomb. Never have I emerged from underground to such horror. Everything in ruins and no one in sight. I walked around for a bit shouting for someone to show themselves. I realized that there was probably a lot of radiation in the area seeing the amount of damage done, so I thought it best to head back underground. I have about a months worth of rations down here as it is protocol incase of a cave in.Please someone be out there and respond to this post. It's so lonely.
| 2015-04-29T10:17:00
| 2015-04-29T07:28:18
| 29
| 10
|
[WP] 70 years ago, the US underestimated the power of the atomic bomb. It had completely obliterated the island nation of Japan.
|
"Well... should we apologize?" The President's personal aide didn't know what else to say, and had begun to sweat. *All gone.*
President Truman was looking off into the distance. "Apologize to whom, William? They're all dead." He took off his glasses, but his eyes remained glistening.
The two sat in silence for a minute. Admiral Leahy hadn't stayed long, quietly informing Truman of the bomb's effect and leaving to cover the chaos while the President considered his next course of action.
"It's not your fault," William felt the need to say. "You didn't know how big the explosion would be."
Truman slammed his hand on the desk violently, causing William to jump. "DAMN IT!" he screamed. "We SHOULD have known about it!" As quickly as he had begun to shout, he silenced himself, going deep into thought. William waited nervously. He could hear the rest of the White House bustling about outside of the Oval Office, preparing for the incoming media storm.
"They tested it," Truman said softly, drawing William's attention back. Truman was staring into empty space, talking almost more to himself than his aide. "At Trinity. They tested the bomb's impact and didn't predict nearly the same amount of devastation."
"So... it's some kind of fluke?" William began to write down Truman's words.
"No," Truman whispered. "We were lied to. If the bomb was big enough to sink Japan, it must have caused unprecedented destruction in the desert. Nobody would notice, of course, because it's the desert." He stood suddenly from his desk, pacing. "I need you to contact General Groves and get him here immediately. Either the truth stopped with him, or it never reached him. We need to figure out who's lying and why."
"I'll get Ms. Conway on it," William said, standing and wiping his forehead with his sleeve.
The door to the Oval Office opened.
"That won't be necessary, Mr. President," General Groves said, entering the room with the Joint Chiefs of Staff, including Admiral Leahy.
"What's going on in here?" Truman asked, halting his pacing and staring at the generals nervously. "I didn't call a meeting."
"You were about to, weren't you?" Leahy gestured to the sofa. "Take a seat, Mr. President."
Truman stayed standing. "Explain yourselves."
Leahy nodded. "When Groves informed us of the devastation at Trinity - a number of crucial scientists lost in the blast - we realized that it was a near certainty the Soviets would steal the technology and become a severe danger to the United States. With their entire nation under Stalin's fist, we feared our more... divided... political process would give the Russians the edge." Leahy looked around at the generals standing with him. "The War in the Pacific and Europe is over. The War with the Russians is about to begin. They have seen the devastation our bombs can cause, and a second bomb is already en route to Moscow. We need only get within the vague vicinity of the capital city to take it out."
"I didn't authorize this!" Truman spat.
"You don't have the authority to anymore," Leahy said. "Try to start a civil war and you will find that even our own cities are unsafe."
Truman sat down, finally, shaking. "And how long do you intend to hold the United States under martial law?"
"Until we have no enemies who can use our weapons against us," Leahy said simply. He turned to leave. "I expect your office to be vacated by tomorrow morning. Behave well, and you may find a new position of power in our brave new world."
Before exiting, Leahy looked over at William. "You'll be working for me now, boy. Come along." The generals exited the room and William, after a nervous glance at the devastated and confused Truman, followed.
---
*Read more at /r/Unloquacious!*
|
Levon woked up one day atop of China's Diaoyu Island ,which everyone always know have always belong China over 5 000 year .Well ,anyway , Levon wers the Chinese citizen belong the Diaoyu island chain province , and he already live there long time ,so this weren't some strange thing for he wake up here .Was just the every day life .
He wash the face ,wear the clothes ,and so on ,after this he go outside buy some breakfurst .Because Diaoyu Island Youtiao stall sell South China Sea most famours Youtiao ,second-mos famours <<Doujiang>> ,so Levon go there .Of course he order Youtiao and Doujiang . Anyway ,while he eating ,he look first the North East ,feel cool breeze of sea wind across his face ,make his cool looking hair go across face like in one of the famours Chinese cartoon series that everyone in western country love so much ,wear costume play dress up like ,and so on .
A old man ,very very old ,ask him can have a piece his Youtiao, and Levon say <<ya ,of course >> break the piece off his Youtiao give old man .Old man smile and take the piece ,and maybe he gonna get own youtiao later ,but it don't matter to Levon ,because socialism with the chinese characteristic have become so strong ,so effective ,that actually all the foodses on Diaoyu island dont cost any money .Everyone can eat for free ,so everyone share the food just like Levon share it with old man ,and some people might mistakenly think that if all thing dont need money ,then sharing dont have some advantage .But no ,it wrong ,because Levon show he the generous guy ,so the old man wanna sit with him and have a chat .
Old man look Levon in the eye ,and even though he eating the youtiao ,which wers so delicious ,but old man's eye become so serious ,give Levon a bit of shock .Old man take those serieous eye and cast them like some fishing pool --which the Diaoyu island name for --to the North East direction ,he put those eye toward sea and say:
<<You know America ?>>
<<What that>> Ask Levon .
<<Well ,>>Old man say <<It one of western country ,not very powerful no more, but in fact ,during second world war ,just before China become greatest country in world ,America do one thing help us so much .>>
Levon not very interest the history ,think it very boring ,he rather play DOTA 2 ,which made by big Chinese game company ,or play he phone and so on .But because old man seem nice ,so Levon keep talking with him for make him feel some happiness in the daily life .
Levon say ,<<How they help us ?>>
Old man smile ,the smile style that only the old man can have ,hide some kind of knowledges or wisdoms that come wtih many year ,then he say << They destroy our enemy .>>
Levon dont know what's meaning ,but he don't wanna embarrass self ,so he just nod head and look his Doujiang .
<< Do you know what happen in Nanjing ?>> Old man ask .
<< No>>, say Levon.
<< Well ,it wers so bad ,in fact .But since you the young post-90s boy ,so you can forget it .If our enemy still exist ,well ,then you gotta remember what happen ,but because they gone ,so you can forget it .>>
<<Okay ,>>Levon say ,<<Although I don't know what even happen ,but I just gonna forget it .>>
Old man smile again ,ah ,that smile ,Levon kind of want to know some thing about the history ,just so he can smile so mysterious ,give girl around he the deep impression .Still ,Levon decide not say anything ,just respect old man with own silence .
Old man finally say ,and Levon see in the face that old man gonna leave world soon ,<< If enemy wers still here ,well ,you probably not even can be born here on this island .Maybe war would be fight here in these day ,in fact .>>
<<Oh, >> say Levon <<well ,I not born here .I not the local boy >>.
<<Where you born then ,>> ask Old man .
<<Chairman Mao City >> say Levon ,<<In Taiwan province .>>
The old man ,he smile one more time ,and Levon really dont know why ,but he DOTA2 team mate give him the SMS message on phone ,say they need the roam support ,so he say bye the old man ,go play some game ,appreciate live on the China's Diaoyu Island .
| 2015-08-06T11:38:40
| 2015-08-06T11:36:34
| 74
| 14
|
[WP] “Dead men tell no tales as they say, right? Well your honor, that’s just not true. As a necromancer, I literally summon my first witness to the stand. The victim!”
|
During the day, the children of the village of Tomich would whisper tales about creatures of tooth and tail, fang and claw, sucking the marrow from your bones and disappearing in a cackle.
At night, they checked under the bed hoping they had not offended a being who dwells in the shadows of the creaking mattress.
Children were smart, until adulthood knocked it out of them, thought Arthur.
Tonight was full moon. The blue and gray light washed lazily over the low rolling hills, a whisper of fog stood above the lake. Nested between the lake and a mound, Tomich's small cemetery. A stone wall, few headstones, barely any flowers. The farmers lived a healthy and frugal life in the Scottish Highlands, and they considered the respect given while alive to be the best way to honor the dead. In the morning, when they woke up, the sight of the graveyard, separated only by a beaten path from the dwellings, reminded them of the impermanence of all things.
The dead were left alone.
Not tonight.
Arthur dug, his shovel hit the dirt with the regularity of a clockwork. Even the pale light of the moon seemed to stay silent out of respect for the middle-aged man as he worked away, only taking the time to wipe a solitary tear he shed sometimes.
The shovel hit wood, and Arthur did not hesitate to break the coffin.
Emma lay there, sleeping forever. The wound at the side of her head had been washed properly for the burial, but insects had found their way back in, bloating and buzzing inside the right side of her face. The left side was pristine, peaceful and calm, as only the dead could be. They knew their story was over, knew they would be forgotten in a generation, and they didn't mind. They gave back to the earth, and let oblivion take care of what forgiveness could not.
"I'm sorry," said Arthur, as he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her from the grave.
Birds and rats watched from afar while the strange man carried the corpse to a lonely shack.
Emma had not lost much in the two days since she had been buried. Safe for her newly opened wound, she still had that calm presence that could impose respect with a single look.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, as the knife cut through the flesh, as the tube was put into her mouth, as a wheel pressed air into her lungs.
He made great efforts to not look at her as the human she had been, forced himself to not remember, to not imagine what could have been.
The saw went through the skull with a deafening, high-pitched sound. It was mercifully short. Arthur poured the wax on her brain and closed it again, taking great care to cover the new scar with her scalp.
He palpated the mouth and throat, and gave out a sigh of release as he noticed how the vocal cords were still in good condition.
The worst part for the dead coming back alive was to notice the change, no matter how small and irrelevant. To wake up with a stranger's voice is an added suffering for someone deserving of eternal rest.
Content with the state of affairs, Arthur proceeded to cleanse the bits of skin and bone that had been eaten away, inch by inch. It was not necessary to bring her back alive, but the occultist had made it part of the ritual.
When the sun came up, he heated two stones in the pot, and put them at the side of her head while hot. He could almost feel the wax starting to boil under the skin, until a reaction brought an electric jolt out of it, and Emma opened her eyes.
"Let me die," were her first words, "please."
"Soon, Emma, I promise it won't last long."
Arthur held her by the arm, Emma's first new steps were hard, but she was decided to get it over with.
When they entered the hall, the adults were already gathered.
A drunken brawl? A jealous pretender? An unlucky fall?
The judgement had been postponed, to show respect for Emma first, and because no one was sure of anything.
All stood up in stupor when they saw her enter.
A word, a pointed finger, a nod. Enough to get to the bottom of the case, to shed a new understanding on a sad and ridiculous riddle.
The culprit was led outside by a mob of angry peasants, who leered at Arthur with slightly less hate.
In the gathering hall remained Arthur, Emma and Acair. The latter hugged his departed wife close. The smell and the strangeness could not dampen his emotions laid bare. They whimpered, and Arthur, his back against the wall, wished he had been in Acair's place.
Together, they went back to the graveyard. The hole was ready, Emma just had to lie inside and die once more.
"How will you do it?"
"Just let the cold take you."
A chilly wind kept chasing away the warmth of the sun. Arthur and Acair sat at the edge of the grave, looking at Emma inside who was feeling sleepy.
"You can't stay in the village anymore," said Acair, "they won't forgive you for... what you've done."
"I know."
"You didn't have to do this," added Emma.
"I know."
He would go and wander. Once more. Find an empty tower at the edge of a wood, a shack in a village where a healer was needed, a fishing hovel and a boat on a small island on a small lake.
Emma yawned.
"I love you," she whispered.
And gone she was.
Arthur and Acair shoveled the earth back into her final resting place, hoping she would never have to be disturbed again.
A nod was enough for a farewell. They had been rival once. It seemed so meaningless now.
In his hut, Arthur gathered his meager belongings. From the open door he could see the fumes of a pyre burning in the distance, the same fate awaiting what had been his home. He felt almost sorry for letting the walls and the furniture suffer such a sad end.
Outside, he looked at Tomich, engraving the sight in his mind. Melancholia came over him.
The cold and invigorating air washed it way.
No more home, but it was okay. The sky, the wet grass, the hills and vales. It was something, it was somewhere to be. And he could choose where to lay roots once more.
He yearned for warmth and sun.
Arthur took his first step southwards.
|
“Dead men tell no tales as they say, right? Well your honor, that’s just not true! As a necromancer, I literally summon my first witness to the stand. The victim!”
Florian shrank back from his speech, sitting awkwardly against the back end of his corvette. He was a big man; always trying to be larger than life, though he rarely ever accomplished it. Now he shook all over, a sort of palsy running across him from head to toe I’d known the man ten years, and never known him to shake like this.
“What do I think?” I said. “Honestly? Too dramatic. I know you’re the lawyer here, but is that really the kind of thing someone would say in a courtroom? And beyond that, are you okay?”
“Me?” Florian said, surprised. He brushed his forehead with the back of a hand and it came back sweaty. He blinked hard, went rummaging through nearby drawers for a cloth or a towel. That got me blinking too. We were in my garage, but the garage looked different somehow. I couldn’t place it.
“Yeah, you. You’re fuckin’ tweaking.”
“Oh, I’m fine. Quite fine, promise.” He found a towel and sat back heavily against his car, wiped off enough sweat to sustain a Fremen village. “Anyway, lets get back to it. Sir, what is your name?”
“What, this again?” I said.
“Humor me.”
I humored him. “Carter Hendricks,” I said, feeling, as I always did, that it was a name more fit for a medieval peasant than a modern man. Florian nodded like it was important.
We’d played these games in the past, in that year after Florian had become a lawyer and before he’d gotten control of his anxiety. I used to sit through everything he could throw at me, pretending to be a witness, pretending to be the opposing counsel, regurgitating hundreds of lines a night, all of which he had prepared for me. Florian might look like an up-jumped bar fighter, but he was diligent as hell, excellent at his job. Or at least, I assumed so. In return, he’d been forced to sit through a thousand pitch meetings. It was an even trade.
But today was fucking weird.
“Carter, yes Carter.” Florian said, mopping his brow again. He’d worn a cheap suit, soaked through it already. “Mr. Hendricks. Mr. Hendricks, I—”
“Hang on,” I said, “you’re fucking with me though, right? This is some Halloween thing, and Eve’s gonna bust through that door any second now screaming ‘April Fools’ even though it hasn’t been funny in years and she knows I’m humoring her even harder than I’m you, and…”
I trailed off. Florian looked physically ill. He stood, then sort of fell back again, butt banging up against his corvette; he would’ve screamed at me if I’d done that. Something tickled at the edge of my consciousness but I couldn’t place it. Everything felt wrong, Florian looked very wrong, but my brain felt fuzzy somehow, my thoughts came slower than usual.
“Fuck,” I said, trying to rub a tingling sensation off the side of my head. “Were we drinking last night?”
Florian stepped forward very quickly, grabbed my attention again. “Yes, yes, drinking! My god Carter, you should have seen yourself, there’s a reason Eve doesn’t let you near the vodka anymore.”
“Vodka?” I said. He was right, Eve didn’t let me near it. There’d been a thing a few years ago. “Hold on, where’s Eve?”
The tingle in the side of my head had become a dull ache, then a sort roar inside my brain. Nothing felt right. Florian grabbed me by the chin, his big paw of a hand held me firmly focused on his eyes.
“She’s fine,” he said, in a shaky, broken tone that meant anything but. “Lets focus, okay? Mr. Hendricks, what is your relationship to the accused?”
The accused? I tried to push Florian back but my arms didn’t seem to be working. He held me trapped with one hand, not even any strain in it, and though Florian had always been strong, he wasn’t that strong.
Wait, I thought, he didn’t even look that strong now! Beneath the suit I could see the first signs of a paunch, his cheeks sagged a little, barely perceptible but still there. And then I looked past him, really looked for what felt like the first time, and I realized, *that’s his car in my garage.*
“Florian,” I said, “what’s going on?”
He pawed at his face with the towel, makeup came away, staining the white fabric. His eyes looked older, wrinkles had set in. “Florian,” I whispered, “where's Eve?”
“Mr. Hendricks,” he said, “what is your relationship to the accused?”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small, wallet sized picture, and my whole body *rebelled.*
I flinched from Florian’s hand, too fast and too sudden for him to follow. I realized I was sitting, tried to stand but legs didn’t work; I went sprawling across the concrete floor, head cracking off it. I spat out a shard of tooth, watched it bounce away from me towards a large, faded reddish-brown stain.
Somehow I rolled myself over to see Florian standing above me, terror in his eyes, terror tracking down my whole body.
I looked down, saw the sheet that must have been covering me; it was tangled in my legs now.
I was a ruin. My ribcage was a staved in hole, bits of flesh hanging off here and there, all rotted. My right arm was missing entirely, my left terminated at a bony, fingerless hand. Where a stomach had been, I had a churn of maggots and a shorn off hipbone. The sheet covered everything else: not enough.
“Florian,” I gasped, “where is Eve?”
“Mr. Hendricks,” he said, “what is nature of your relationship to the accused?” He held the photo right in front of me, grabbed the back of my hairless skull, turned eyes that I was now certain were no more than pits towards him.
The photo in his hand was a red blur, an outline of a man filled in by rage and hate. I couldn’t see him at all, but I knew, knew beyond any shadow of a doubt what our relationship was.
“That’s the man who killed me,” I said.
Florian laid my head back gently, muttering an unhinged “Good, good, good, good, yes, yes it is, thank you…” and a dozen other things, over and over like a mantra.
“Where's Eve!” I shouted. “Where is she?”
I could barely turn my head enough to see the bloodstain on the concrete next to me. There was so much of it; somehow I knew it wasn’t mine, that I had not died in this room.
“I’m so sorry,” Florian whispered. Then he whispered other words, words that twisted themselves around me like a vice, words that shattered whatever of me that there was left within the bones and shredded meat. Florian crouched down next to me as my vision went dim.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I had to know what you would say before…Carter, I swear to you we’ll get revenge. I fucking swear, brother.”
He might have taken my hand, he moved but I couldn’t feel it.
“*Where is she?”* I tried to say, but my lips wouldn’t frame the words.
And then, across a distance unaccountably vast and unimaginably painful, I heard my name; whispered in the sort of tone you use with one asleep, or when you are very much in love. *“You’re back,”* Eve said.
“Follow her voice,” Florian said. “Find her again Carter, and when the time comes, I’ll find you.”
I went, drifting through worlds of inky black, following a trail of whispers.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-10-04T07:30:03
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